I must thank my hosts. My time in Texas was enjoyable and will leave me with memories of places I had not had the opportunity to visit before now and the time I was privileged to have with you two. Thank you for your graciousness and generosity in sharing your home and a piece of your home state with me.
Fondly
Lucky Traveler 57
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Houston - Our Last Supper...And Lunch
We had lunch in the Melrose district at a restaurant which, again, makes excellent use of the vintage bungalows in the area. There are two neighboring houses. They are connected by a tented area between them holding additional dining space to that found inside. There is a deck in front of one of the houses and a garden in back for outdoor dining during temperate weather. July is not temperate....we ate inside.
For dinner that evening I had decided to treat my hosts to my homemade crab cakes, a recipe our friends insist could be award winning. A friend of theirs joined us. I discovered I was one can of crab short and their friend is a vegetarian so he and I decided to make a quick grocery run to the Walmart supermarket that was "just around the corner". After a 10 minute car journey, I began to realize that "just around the corner" has a somewhat different meaning in Houston than it does in Chicago. We enjoyed dinner, cocktails and conversation but called it an early night as their friend had to work the next morning and I was flying back home the next day. At the airport I bid my hosts goodbye, thanking them for their generosity, and strolled into the air conditioned terminal to await my flight.
For dinner that evening I had decided to treat my hosts to my homemade crab cakes, a recipe our friends insist could be award winning. A friend of theirs joined us. I discovered I was one can of crab short and their friend is a vegetarian so he and I decided to make a quick grocery run to the Walmart supermarket that was "just around the corner". After a 10 minute car journey, I began to realize that "just around the corner" has a somewhat different meaning in Houston than it does in Chicago. We enjoyed dinner, cocktails and conversation but called it an early night as their friend had to work the next morning and I was flying back home the next day. At the airport I bid my hosts goodbye, thanking them for their generosity, and strolled into the air conditioned terminal to await my flight.
Houston - The Rothko Chapel and Menil Collection
The Rothko Chapel was on my "want to see" list during my Houston visit. There is a subtlety to his work that has always appealed and spoken to me.
We park in the shade of a tree lined street. There is a reflecting pool outside the chapel in which sits a weathered metal sculpture dedicated to Martin Luther King. The chapel inspires reverence and quiet reflection. It's Philip Johnson design contains no artificial light. The illumination, provided only by the large skylight in the middle of the room, in muted by the metal fixture suspended from it. Around it's edges and through the circular opening in it's center the sun's rays shine through. Large, typically dark works by Rothko hang on the four walls. As I stand in the center of the room, a cloud drifts overhead. The light in the room dims, then brightens again as the cloud passes on. We depart quietly, careful not to disturb the spell the room has the ability to cast.
Light is also important in the nearby structure houseing th Menil collection. A series of louvered ceiling panels shift to regulate the light that flows into the galleries. Before the building stand several crepe myrtles. The vibrant and beautiful colors of their flowers have become almost synonomus with Houston in my mind.
The collection rotates but on this day holds a wealth of works by Max Ernst, a full gallery of the brilliant surrealist Magritte as well as Warhol, Raushenberg and 3 works by Jasper Johns that I have previously viewed at a special exhibition at Chicago's Art Insititute. There are also several Rothkos, works he created as alternatives to those housed in the chapel. We are told that the founder of the collection, which is primarily her private one which she gifted to the city of Houston, had close relationships with several of these artists. My host notices that the works by Johns and Rausenberg are hung in the same gallery which he states is appropriate because they too had a"close relationship" with each other ....if you get my drift.
The collection of antiquities has pieces dating back 5000 years. I'm certain that today these treasures would not be allowed to leave their countries of origin.
The donation of these works to the city is an outstanding example of generosity to and love by Dominique de Menil for the city of Houston. I felt, during my visit, that her philanthropy is equally cherished by the people of the city.
We park in the shade of a tree lined street. There is a reflecting pool outside the chapel in which sits a weathered metal sculpture dedicated to Martin Luther King. The chapel inspires reverence and quiet reflection. It's Philip Johnson design contains no artificial light. The illumination, provided only by the large skylight in the middle of the room, in muted by the metal fixture suspended from it. Around it's edges and through the circular opening in it's center the sun's rays shine through. Large, typically dark works by Rothko hang on the four walls. As I stand in the center of the room, a cloud drifts overhead. The light in the room dims, then brightens again as the cloud passes on. We depart quietly, careful not to disturb the spell the room has the ability to cast.
Light is also important in the nearby structure houseing th Menil collection. A series of louvered ceiling panels shift to regulate the light that flows into the galleries. Before the building stand several crepe myrtles. The vibrant and beautiful colors of their flowers have become almost synonomus with Houston in my mind.
The collection rotates but on this day holds a wealth of works by Max Ernst, a full gallery of the brilliant surrealist Magritte as well as Warhol, Raushenberg and 3 works by Jasper Johns that I have previously viewed at a special exhibition at Chicago's Art Insititute. There are also several Rothkos, works he created as alternatives to those housed in the chapel. We are told that the founder of the collection, which is primarily her private one which she gifted to the city of Houston, had close relationships with several of these artists. My host notices that the works by Johns and Rausenberg are hung in the same gallery which he states is appropriate because they too had a"close relationship" with each other ....if you get my drift.
The collection of antiquities has pieces dating back 5000 years. I'm certain that today these treasures would not be allowed to leave their countries of origin.
The donation of these works to the city is an outstanding example of generosity to and love by Dominique de Menil for the city of Houston. I felt, during my visit, that her philanthropy is equally cherished by the people of the city.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Galveston
We depart in the afternoon for an overnight stay in Galveston. the outer bands of the tropical storm slow our travel somewhat as we encounter a driving rain. The shower is fierce but brief and as we near the city the rain ends. Although, when the rains come, they are hard, they are too short and scattered to provide relief for this drought stricken region. In Houston, underground aquifers have dried up causing the ground to shift and streets to crack and sink. In a final bit of irony, the shifting ground causes water mains to break. Streams flow down the streets into the sewer drains from the broken mains. As many as 500 breaks per day are reported.
As we cross the causeway that connects the island to the mainland, off in the distance the glass pyramids of the Moody Gardens come into view. The homes here are built high on stilts as protection from the fickle waters of the gulf and the floods that accompany the tropical storms.
I have come to Galveston for the architecture. In this I will not be disappointed, even as I discover that the historic areas are much more spread out than I had expected. Although hurricanes and storms have taken their toll over the years there are wooden frame houses, which, through surviving, prove not to be as fragile as they appear. We pass cemeteries with imposing monuments and burial plots raised above ground level to protect them from flooding. There are the massive stone houses of the wealthy and the impressive facades of the office and professional buildings in the Strand district. Iron balcony railings are reminiscent of New Orleans and I remind myself the Louisiana is a scant few miles away. Numerous markers provide detailed information on the history of the structures.
Due to the storm, the skies along the shoreline are gray and the surf high and rough. We have dinner in a building in the Strand district whose interior appears to have been re purposed several times over the years. Along one wall are cast iron columns with Beaux Arts style capitals. A brick wall, whose original use can only be guessed at, stands in the center of the space. Outside, a group of children play a makeshift game of hopscotch on a giant chessboard set in a plaza. Upon departing the restaurant we learn from the historical marker outside that the building had a mansard roof that had been lost in a storm which, at one time, made It 7 stories tall.
My host tells me that , from what he can see, the gay nightlife on the island is a ghost of it's former self. It is 10 pm on a Friday night, however the few gay bars are nearly empty. Just for the bragging rights that I was once there, I suggest a drink at "Lafitte's" the oldest and best known gay bat on the island. It is, to put it kindly, a dive. An enormous drag queen approaches us. Between the noise and her thick southern accent it is difficult to understand what she is saying to us. I do manage to make out her query, "What's your favorite show tune?" A stereotypical gay question if I ever heard one. ...I hate questions like this. After, trying, unsuccessfully , to evade the question I finally answer "I don't know, probably something by Stephen Sondheim" Her reply was so rambling, bizarre and nonsensical that I cannot even recall what is was. I do recall that is made me question both her sanity or sobriety. We quickly finished our drinks and depart into the hot Texas night.
The next morning the sky is bright and clear. All traces of the storm were gone. It had been a weak and fast moving system that broke apart upon nearing land. The morning and early afternoon are spent touring the island, occasionally stopping the car so I can hop out and snap a picture of particularly interesting buildings, My host rests on a bench under the shade of a balcony talking to a woman from Peru while I stroll the few blocks of the Strand taking pictures and doing some quick shopping. I purchase a Texas chili spice, t shirts and refrigerator magnets to add to our already overwhelming collection. Also token gifts for my staff and a family gift of Texas dip mix for my much loved cousin and her partner and child.
We head back to Houston stopping at NASA for t shirts for my partner and I and a toy for our cat to add to her already overwhelming collection. My host has been ill so when we return he goes to bed to get some much needed rest. His partner and I order Chinese food and call it an early night as we have plans to visit the Rothko Chapel and the Menil collection the next day.
As we cross the causeway that connects the island to the mainland, off in the distance the glass pyramids of the Moody Gardens come into view. The homes here are built high on stilts as protection from the fickle waters of the gulf and the floods that accompany the tropical storms.
I have come to Galveston for the architecture. In this I will not be disappointed, even as I discover that the historic areas are much more spread out than I had expected. Although hurricanes and storms have taken their toll over the years there are wooden frame houses, which, through surviving, prove not to be as fragile as they appear. We pass cemeteries with imposing monuments and burial plots raised above ground level to protect them from flooding. There are the massive stone houses of the wealthy and the impressive facades of the office and professional buildings in the Strand district. Iron balcony railings are reminiscent of New Orleans and I remind myself the Louisiana is a scant few miles away. Numerous markers provide detailed information on the history of the structures.
Due to the storm, the skies along the shoreline are gray and the surf high and rough. We have dinner in a building in the Strand district whose interior appears to have been re purposed several times over the years. Along one wall are cast iron columns with Beaux Arts style capitals. A brick wall, whose original use can only be guessed at, stands in the center of the space. Outside, a group of children play a makeshift game of hopscotch on a giant chessboard set in a plaza. Upon departing the restaurant we learn from the historical marker outside that the building had a mansard roof that had been lost in a storm which, at one time, made It 7 stories tall.
My host tells me that , from what he can see, the gay nightlife on the island is a ghost of it's former self. It is 10 pm on a Friday night, however the few gay bars are nearly empty. Just for the bragging rights that I was once there, I suggest a drink at "Lafitte's" the oldest and best known gay bat on the island. It is, to put it kindly, a dive. An enormous drag queen approaches us. Between the noise and her thick southern accent it is difficult to understand what she is saying to us. I do manage to make out her query, "What's your favorite show tune?" A stereotypical gay question if I ever heard one. ...I hate questions like this. After, trying, unsuccessfully , to evade the question I finally answer "I don't know, probably something by Stephen Sondheim" Her reply was so rambling, bizarre and nonsensical that I cannot even recall what is was. I do recall that is made me question both her sanity or sobriety. We quickly finished our drinks and depart into the hot Texas night.
The next morning the sky is bright and clear. All traces of the storm were gone. It had been a weak and fast moving system that broke apart upon nearing land. The morning and early afternoon are spent touring the island, occasionally stopping the car so I can hop out and snap a picture of particularly interesting buildings, My host rests on a bench under the shade of a balcony talking to a woman from Peru while I stroll the few blocks of the Strand taking pictures and doing some quick shopping. I purchase a Texas chili spice, t shirts and refrigerator magnets to add to our already overwhelming collection. Also token gifts for my staff and a family gift of Texas dip mix for my much loved cousin and her partner and child.
We head back to Houston stopping at NASA for t shirts for my partner and I and a toy for our cat to add to her already overwhelming collection. My host has been ill so when we return he goes to bed to get some much needed rest. His partner and I order Chinese food and call it an early night as we have plans to visit the Rothko Chapel and the Menil collection the next day.
Let the Rains Begin!
As I sit writing, it appears the long awaited rain may have begun thanks to a tropical storm making it's way up the gulf. We have been tracking it's progress the last two days and speculating on whether or not it would bring some relief to the drought stricken area. Presently, it has me trapped under the tent which sits over the deck of the house. Even as it will make getting back into the house problematic, I will not complain as any amount of water, even that provided by a brief shower, is sorely needed and exceedingly welcomed by the residents in this are of Texas. I call home and hold up the phone to share the sound of the rain pounding the canvas shelter above me. Stepping into the house during a break in the shower, the news is reporting that similar storms should be expected during the rest of the day as the outer bands of the storm move over the thirsty city. The rain has diminished to a light mist and the sweet smell of damp earth envelopes me.
Houston Architecture & Dinner With a Friend
We get up and go for breakfast at a place renown for it's large variety of bagels made fresh on the premises. Even though it is small and nondescript in appearance and decor, it is Zagat rated and has been written up by a number of different people and publications.
We then begin a tour of Houston's historic areas and neighborhoods. They are a mixture of modest bungalows, grand, turret sporting Victorians and, due to Houston's lax zoning laws, new construction, at times completely out of scale with the homes on either side. In their defense, they generally appear to attempt to be sensitive to the architectural heritage of the area. One sees, however, a lack of craftsmanship and patina evident in the older structures,.
We prowl the galleries and shops of West 19th street in The Heights. I admire the Art Deco facade of The Heights Theatre. It was initially Moorish inspired prior to it's remodeling in the 1930's. After being gutted by fire, it's interior, now a gallery, has an open, loftlike feel.
We then drive through the West University neighborhood. In it's gated streets, the large, gracious professors homes hold court.
We cruise by beautifully renovated places in the Montrose district. Originally resettled by artists and bohemian gays, it is now turning upwardly mobile as the urban pioneers have moved on.
We return to my hosts home going though Meyerland. It's long, low midcentury homes are almost icons of their era.
This evening we meet with a friend from my spring cruise through the Caribbean. We have dinner in a charming restaurant fashioned from a 4 room bungalow. As we lose ourselves in conversation and champagne, the dinner goes on for close to 3 hours. There are smiles, hugs goodbye and a promise by me to exchange email addresses between my hosts ad friend. It's wonderful to see him again and reminisce about the good times we had on the cruise.
The evening winds down as my hosts and I share drinks at a local bar. We return to their home, I undress, and do not fall asleep this night so much as pass out!
We then begin a tour of Houston's historic areas and neighborhoods. They are a mixture of modest bungalows, grand, turret sporting Victorians and, due to Houston's lax zoning laws, new construction, at times completely out of scale with the homes on either side. In their defense, they generally appear to attempt to be sensitive to the architectural heritage of the area. One sees, however, a lack of craftsmanship and patina evident in the older structures,.
We prowl the galleries and shops of West 19th street in The Heights. I admire the Art Deco facade of The Heights Theatre. It was initially Moorish inspired prior to it's remodeling in the 1930's. After being gutted by fire, it's interior, now a gallery, has an open, loftlike feel.
We then drive through the West University neighborhood. In it's gated streets, the large, gracious professors homes hold court.
We cruise by beautifully renovated places in the Montrose district. Originally resettled by artists and bohemian gays, it is now turning upwardly mobile as the urban pioneers have moved on.
We return to my hosts home going though Meyerland. It's long, low midcentury homes are almost icons of their era.
This evening we meet with a friend from my spring cruise through the Caribbean. We have dinner in a charming restaurant fashioned from a 4 room bungalow. As we lose ourselves in conversation and champagne, the dinner goes on for close to 3 hours. There are smiles, hugs goodbye and a promise by me to exchange email addresses between my hosts ad friend. It's wonderful to see him again and reminisce about the good times we had on the cruise.
The evening winds down as my hosts and I share drinks at a local bar. We return to their home, I undress, and do not fall asleep this night so much as pass out!
Houston - The Drive Back
Returning to the country road we made our way to a gay campground. Although, it being midweek, the campground was empty, the owner, an acquaintance of my host, gave us a tour. Trailers owned by the regular weekend guests were scattered about. Some were embellished by decks or tented outdoor pavilions. A small, tiered fountain stocked with goldfish burbled, it's sound giving us a feeling of some relief from the Texas heat.
We sat for a time chatting with one of the owners. He mentions how quiet and somewhat lonely the camp is during the week. Particularly when compared to the shenanigans that occur on the weekends when the camp is full.
On our drive back to the city, we pass a wildlife preserve along the road. There are goats and cattle housed there as well as an emu and a small herd of deer. In some pastures along the road we see the iconic Texas longhorn steer.At one point we spy roadkill in the form of an armadillo making me feel as if I am getting the full Lone Star State experience.
As we re approach the urban area we stop for dinner at a Texas barbecue joint. It is a fitting conclusion to my Texas hill country adventure.
We sat for a time chatting with one of the owners. He mentions how quiet and somewhat lonely the camp is during the week. Particularly when compared to the shenanigans that occur on the weekends when the camp is full.
On our drive back to the city, we pass a wildlife preserve along the road. There are goats and cattle housed there as well as an emu and a small herd of deer. In some pastures along the road we see the iconic Texas longhorn steer.At one point we spy roadkill in the form of an armadillo making me feel as if I am getting the full Lone Star State experience.
As we re approach the urban area we stop for dinner at a Texas barbecue joint. It is a fitting conclusion to my Texas hill country adventure.
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