“Oh, you’ve got to go to Austin”
“Austin’s so cool, you’ve got to go to Austin”
“If I was going to live anywhere in America, it would be Austin”
Austin got a lot of build-up, but truth is I had a bit of a grump on about Austin before I even got there. It’s not Austin’s fault, but it was all that “Keep Austin Weird” stuff. It just sounds so, to use a naff word, naff. Like something dreamt up by an ad agency on the 9th floor of some glass and chrome tower. It reminds me of Rik Mayall in The Young Ones, running around with “I’m mad, me”. All that. If you’re weird, you don’t spend your life saying “I’m weird”. It’s a little bit trying too hard. It’s also more than a little bit pleased with itself.
According to the “Vice” website, the slogan “was born in early 90s when some weirdo called a radio show and muttered the words in a half-awake daze. That’s the local legend, anyway”. Whatever. True or not, they’ve kinda hung onto it.
I was staying in a very smart boutique hotel on South Congress – now inevitably SoCo, the first area that became cool when Austin became cool, the first hipster zone. That was a while ago though and now it’s not so much hipster as chic. Here, the guys with the MacBooks probably aren’t freelance graphic designers; they’ve probably got jobs.
Hotel San Jose was lovely. Very stylish. There was an outside bar, a pool and lots of very cool, very young, very sweet people working there. The bar did snacks. Bread, olive and cheese snacks was $28. But they’re playing Marquee Moon right now, so they can charge what they like.
I got there deep into the evening, and immediately noticed one of the curious things about SoCo is that it’s not so much an area as a street. And it’s not even a street, it’s the main multi-lane artery into the city. A huge highway – well, a huge highway by my standards – and there are bars and shops and food places, but not that many and there are a few people knocking around, but not that many. It was hot – it was 10pm and it was still hot – but there was a seriously cool, arty band playing in the outside hotel bar, so who cares?
Later, round about midnight, I went for a walk – it was still hot – and most places seemed to be closing. The Continental Club – one of the oldest, most established clubs in Austin – is directly opposite the hotel and was kicking out some good ole boy cowboy boot music, but there was a pizza slice gaff calling.
Maybe all the good stuff’s behind the main drag, maybe you’ve got to go looking.
If the night was hot, the day was hotter. It’s not as oppressive as New Orleans, not as sweat-drippingly humid, but it was hot. Still. East 6th is the new now, so obviously… let’s go to East 6th. Walk down South Congress and, in the daylight, Austin’s big. It’s big. The streets are wide. The vistas are big. And there’s no public transport.
“How do people get around?”
“It’s probably best to get an Uber”
Which is fine, but a bit odd. There’s a bus which runs sometimes, but no one’s too sure about that. Someone said they thought there was a train, somewhere.
East 6th was full of bars. Pubs. The Blind Pig. Maggie Mae. The Shakespeare, and OK, it’s daytime and they’re shut but it looked scuzzy and dirty and you don’t need to stretch too far to imagine it at midnight.
I’m sure that during SXSW it’s a hoot, and if you’re with your mates on someone else’s dollar, fine. But increasingly I’m a bit Popeye about all this. I am what I am and I’m not what I’m not and what I’m not is the bloke who hangs out at a loud bar where everyone’s having a really good time, where alcohol is the lead singer in the band. I don’t think I ever really wanted to do that stuff, and if I ever did, well the moment has passed.
I think I used to want to be Loud Bar Guy Who Liked Getting Pissed. They always look like they’re having such fun, laughing and joking with loads of people and having such fun. It was never going to happen. My bladder’s too small. I’d spend all night saying “Excuse me” in a very loud, laughing fun way. Now I kinda know I’m SoCo Guy. Eating $28 bread and listening to Marquee Moon and knowing every guitar note. (Didn’t actually get the $28 bread. I’m still more Middle-Aged Jewish Guy than SoCo Guy).
There were lots of street people – the majority black – down and out. Some had signs, most were just strung out. Occasionally they’d make an effort to hustle, but it was a bit half-hearted.
Across the road I saw a load of people queueing. The queue stretched for almost a block. I went across the road and…
“Excuse me, I’ve got to ask. What are you queueing for?”
“It’s Friday 13th and the tattoo shop is doing a third off all tattoos…”
It’s ridiculously hot and they’re out in the street queueing to get a few quid off a tattoo. Thing is, I had a look and all of them, they already had more tattoos than the average second division footballer. Still, a bargain’s a bargain.
This was the hipster hang out? I think not.
Turns out, this is The Dirty 6Th. The East 6th is the other end of East 6th, over the other side of the 1- 35 (another major north-south highway) and that’s the East 6th. Keep walking.
What I needed was a guide. Not a guidebook, a mate. Someone who knew what was what and where was where. Someone to take me to the laundrette that turned into bar was. Without that there was just a very wide, kinda dusty road where every so often, every other block or so, there was a bar that was probably very cool at night. There wasn’t – and this did surprise – much of a café scene down the East 6th. Maybe they were hidden or disguised or only visible to locals. There were cool bars – Hotel Vegas was definitely cool – but it’s a different cool, it’s a cool I never really got to grips with.
Walking back to the hotel, I saw a restaurant with a sign outside “Keeping Hummus Weird” which made me happy for all sorts of reasons.
Going to a city for a day or so and thinking “Right, that’s it. Done Austin” is clearly a ridiculous idea, but at the same time it’s lovely to go and have a look, to sniff the air, see the architecture and maybe have a chat.
Austin was one of those perfect examples of a place where you had to know someone there, where you had to have someone show you how it works. It looked lovely – big wide streets, beautiful huge river running through the centre, a mix of shiny skyscrapers and more stylish, older buildings. Everyone I spoke to – people in bars, in the hotel, the odd encounter – they were all lovely. Really sweet and polite. And everyone looked good and looked young and interesting (though I’m not sure what that last one actually means)
Like Brighton, no one I spoke to actually came from Austin. They’d all come here cos it was a really cool place, a cool place to live – the same reasons why, in recent years, Apple, Google, Facebook and other tech companies have come here. But when somewhere becomes a designated Really Cool Place To Live, it has an impact. When people told me about it being a really cool place to live, they invariably followed it with “but it’s getting really expensive” and clearly that gentrification has had an impact on the lower rungs of the ladder. Like everywhere I guess, really cool places are only really cool if you can afford the rent, and despite the initial grump, I think – I’m sure – if I had a life and a car, I’d find Austin a really cool place to live.
For me it’s still a bit of a thrill just being here. Last night, at whatever o clock it was, I stole a drink and went and sat on the central reservation of South Congress, looking down over and across the city, looking at the still shining towers and the flickering lights of the cars – probably Uber drivers buzzing around the East 6th, taking revellers back home. What a treat. What a privilege. Just thinking about heading to Portland next. Fantastic.
