a curious uni kid takes on 'merica: To Texas and beyond

#11

Number one: I'm sorry I've been so crappy with the blog stuff lately! Things have been happening at an alarming rate, and I've been living each moment like it's my last and embracing the traveling life...but Dice is on my back to keep the blog going, even when I insist on napping instead.
So apologies, but thanks to all the wonderful people that have posted me positive feedback and kind words of encouragement as I continue to attempt to punch out some kinda-interesting stuff. You rock.

I think arriving in and spending time in Houston has reminded me of why I love traveling so much, will never cease to do it and will throw away every cent I ever make on it for the rest of my life. It's the hostel life, m8. It's meeting people form all over the world, spending time with them, getting to hear their stories; who they are, where they're from, what they're doing and why...and the simplicity in the fact that you very probably will never see them again. You can literally be anyone you want. I have fond memories of traveling Europe pretending to be an Australian professional surfer, backpacking up the Gold Coast of Australia and pretending to be a German from Munich and having my new-found Australian friends teach about about the customs of Australian everyday life. I routinely will set up my traveling companions in sticky situations, meeting a Spanish girl and then pointing to a friend, saying they too spoke Spanish (when they didn't) and you should definitely go over there and start speaking to them in a foreign tongue. It's meeting people on the road, having a laugh, having people genuinely interested about your life and your personal story,and having a good time. Backpackers make fabulous company, and that's why I think I'm addicted to hostel life, and precisely why I'll be THAT 50 year old woman in your hostel room when you've barely reached 25 and you can't possibly fathom why someone so OLD would stay in a youth hostel. Hint hint this happened in Switzerland with my traveling companions at that time, except she was more 60+...(do you REMEMBER?!?!) And our last night in Houston, we had an elderly couple from Dallas who graced us with their company, drinking tea and doing sudokos together whilst Dice tried to retrieve her knickers from the bathroom and I tried to kick the empty vodka bottles under the bed.

The last couple of nights have been social, meeting our new friends and becoming (as much as you can) a tight little foursome. I will always remember Houston and humid and hot, the Irish pub down the road with free jelly shots and beer on tap (yes, we were served) and dancing. Oh, the dancing. Patrick requested songs and Dice and I tore up the dance floor with our spectacular choreographed dances that we practiced routinely whilst we lived together in Melbourne. Texans looked on, thinking we were 'definitely from outta town 'yall' but it was the most fun. We boot scooted all over that joint, the wind in our hair and the world at our feet. I think of Texas and I think a grand hostel, the fan that did a terrible job of cooling the room down and creepy old men that shouted at us from across the side of the road.

Meet the creepy Texan

We walked out of the hostel (mistake number one), rented bikes (mistake number two) and headed downtown (mistake number three). The town of Houston isn't spectacular. There's not a lot around, and remember the thing about the homeless people. It started raining and thunder storming, but we pressed on. Dice is a bit of a safety nut, I think it has something to do with her growing up in South Africa, but when I'm not calming or reassuring her about things or telling her she is being absolutely ludicrous and yes we will hop into this kind stranger's van with no doors or windows with the promise of candy and a ride home, how convenient. But it's good. For the most part she balances me out. It was a frightful ride, Houston was like a ghost town, the only people we saw would leer and (often) follow us. When it started raining we got utterly drenched, and rode home in the rain (thanks to my keen sense of directions), grabbed smoothies and hopped into a hot bath with berry face masks. We used a clever combination of toilet paper and one of Dice's socks to successfully plug the bathtub.