As dusk descended on my campsite on the outskirts of St Louis, Missouri, flickers of floating light caught my eye.
When one drew closer, I realised it was a firefly with a flaming tail that switched on and off. I had never seen fireflies before and the novelty wasn’t lost on me as I scanned the growing darkness with eager eyes and childlike fascination.
The small twinkling lights looked like the stars had jumped from the sky and were now playing among the lush green carpet. I felt like I was at the centre of the universe in the warm evening air.
Kansas City has reinvigorated my roadtrip. I was lonely, tired of my own company and bored. I had never planned on coming to Kansas City, but desperate for company, I took Hiker Buddy Brian up on the offer of his couch so I could have some good conversation and resocialise myself.
It was such a great decision to make as cruising around in Hiker Buddy Brian’s Mustang convertible, riding mechanical bulls, sharing meals, making new friends and having great conversations was exactly what I needed at this halfway point on my way east.
Whilst it is nice (and essential for me) to have time on your own to reflect and whatever, too much can drive you crazy. The alone time has made me appreciate my friendships so much more because without friends, my life would be interminably lonely. And I’m too much of an extrovert to cope well with long periods of solitude. I don’t think I quite thought through this solo roadtrip very well and certainly didn’t think I’d be doing it all on my own. I thought it would be easy to meet people going the same direction as me, although it turns out that if the people I met weren’t nutty, they were going west. I’ve discovered that travelling in America you need to throw out the travel manual you use in other countries or continents. It just doesn’t work the same way.
So I showed my new friends my appreciation for their company and the fun times they showed me by baking a pavlova, the first one in six weeks.
I have found so much fun in Kansas City and tonight was almost too much excitement to bear.
We went out to dinner, tapas at a cute little Spanish restaurant called La Bodega with Hiker Buddy Brian and his friend (my new friend) Hillary and then cruised around KC in The Mustang with the top down singing songs that included some Australian music by ACDC and Jet.
Then we hit the nightlife of the Power and Light District and I was told I had to ride the mechanical bull. I had always wanted to ride a mechanical bull, but never really had the opportunity, or the guts to do it when the opportunity was nearby. But, when in the Midwest at a bar that caters to the country music loving crowd and has a mechanical bull as its centrepiece, you are in the right place to take that bull ride.
And so I did.
I got off that bull jubilant and with quivering legs from gripping it so tightly. Not even watching the “professional” girls and guys working at the bar leap upon the bull and expertly ride it without holding on with their hands could take away from me the fact that I totally nailed that bull ride.
Kansas City got really exciting tonight as I filled the evening with a number of firsts, starting with my first visit to Chipotle to pick up a burrito for dinner.
Chipotle is a chain of Subway-like Mexican that has taken America by storm. I’ve heard so many people ooh over it, but had never ventured in until Hiker Buddy Brian and I popped in for a quick bite before heading to another first, a professional soccer game.
We then drove to the game in Hiker Buddy Brian’s black Mustang convertible, my first ride in a convertible. That was quite exciting and I felt super cool as we drove at 70 miles an hour on the freeway with the wind blowing wisps of hair around my face and with me playing my fingers in the wind.
The brand new Sporting Kansas City soccer stadium is right next door to Kansas Speedway, so we ended up parking in the speedway parking lot fairly far away from the stadium. I started to get giggles of excitement as I saw those iconic yellow school buses in the lot and I predicted that they would shuttle us to the stadium. I could scarcely contain my excitement as that prediction came true and I was soon climbing aboard one with the awe and wonder of a small child. Whilst they cannot hold a candle to the school buses kids in Australia travel on, and are historic relics that somehow keep plying the bus routes with the bare minimum of fittings, I was completely enthralled in the experience and emerged hot and perspiring but jubilant.
According to Hiker Buddy Brian, scalping is de rigour and an accepted practice in America. As we didn’t have tickets for the game, which had already started, I was looking forward to that first experience too, but there were no scalpers and we had to do a lap around the stadium to get to the box office.
Excited to be at my first professional soccer match
Inside, we found vacant seats close enough to our allocated seats down the end closest to the Sporting Kansas City supporters who were cheering loudly and bringing a crazy, festive atmosphere to the ground. I couldn’t help but smile and be in a good mood.
Shortly after sitting down, we saw Kansas City score the very first goal in the newly built stadium. They’d only played one previous game in the venue which was a draw at nil all. Confetti burst out from behind the goals, the crowd jumped to their feet and cheered as loud as their voices would allow them. It was so much fun.
I bought a bag of peanuts in their shells at half time, because the cashier had a little sticker on front of the register saying “Would you like peanuts with that?”. I wasn’t sure what to do with the shells as it is a messy process and I’d never eaten them at a special event. Hiker Buddy Brian told me to throw them on the ground. My littering sensibilities struggled with this. I looked at him and said “Really?” and he was like “Yeah, of course, they come through and clean everything up afterwards.” I was still hesitant. If I didn’t throw the shells on the ground, it would be easier for them to clean up, but the only other place I could put them was back in the bag with the ones I still had to shell and eat. I tentatively tossed one on the ground under the seat in front of me and felt desperately naughty. I then countered with the argument “why would you want to throw them on the ground and make a mess at your feet”. But with little other choice and hankering for salty peanuts, I threw the shells on the ground, kicking them under the seat in front of me so as to avoid getting the shells and skins between my toes.
It was so much fun. A night of calculating firsts and then to top it all off, from the safety of the apartment, we watched an amazing thunderstorm sweep across the city with flashes of light, cracking lightning bolts and some claps of thunder that made you feel as if you’d been cuffed behind the ear.
I got the hell out of Dodge and drove 350 miles to Kansas City where I was catching up with Hiker Buddy Brian who I met in Utah.
Arriving in the pretty city that was surprisingly devoid of people, I found what I’d been looking for – a nail salon.
After several weeks of travelling my feet were desperate for a pedicure. My heels were cracked and flaky skin formed a ring around my feet like a chalk outline on the footpath.
It turns out everyone in Kansas City was in the nail salon. All the Midwest bridal parties were having their nails done in preparation for “the big day” and engagement and wedding rings adorned the hands of almost all the women in there. After a short wait I sank back in the massage chair and had my feet primped and preened and my back and shoulders pummelled.
I felt like a million dollars when I walked out the door and into the surprisingly sultry weather. It was the perfect start to my city break and my feet sang with excitement.
The big billboards along the interstate between New Mexico and Texas announced that I could follow the Yellow Brick Road to Dorothy’s house and the Land of Oz. After Googling where the Land of Oz was, I found that it would be on my way to Kansas City, well on my way via one possible route.
The significance of this little tourist attraction was not lost on me as the company we set up in LA is called Yellow Brick Films, with an origin steeped in Wizard of Oz fascination.
I was prepared to be overcome by tackiness at the attraction, clearly the only reason people would actually stop in Liberal, Kansas. However I was completely taken aback and overcome by the sweetness of the experience.
Our teenage guide showed us through a replica of Dorothy’s house, pointing out things like how food was kept fresh and how to churn butter. I think there were others on the tour who had had first-hand experiences with those vintage implements.
Then our guide morphed into Dorothy as we entered a big shed with “Land of Oz” painted above the door. Her drama classes paid off as she led us along the yellow brick road past life-size dioramas of the story and she narrated in the first person of Dorothy.
I was completely surprised. It hadn’t expected to admire it so much and was super glad to have made the stop. So with a big grin, I spent up at the little gift shop and noticed how the Emerald City looks like a bunch of silos painted green.
As I was driving along the I-40 highway (major interstate freeway) from New Mexico to Texas, I started getting excited about what the Welcome to Texas sign would say. New Mexico’s Land of Enchantment signs were cool, as were the Utah – Life Elevated ones.
I expected big and brashy. Maybe a Stetson shaped sign like the Arby’s chain restaurant has. Maybe a big cow cut-out like those that adorn the hills of Spain. Or a giant oil well with neon letters spelling out the greeting.
But no. It was a no-frills, ordinary looking green highway sign that didn’t match up to the Texan reputation.
That is, food for the soul. Which is what I say when I go gallery trawling.
Apparently Santa Fe is the second or third art destination in the US, and Canyon Road certainly helps it earn this reputation. Around 300 art galleries stand shoulder to adobe shoulder along the narrow street. Sculptures abound in gardens and front courtyards. Shingles discreetly identify some of the galleries that open up to a maze of rooms filled with colourful and exciting artworks.
I felt my soul fill up as I browsed the art and pondered my favourites in this historic district that keeps such a local charm and flavour.
I imagined what it would be like to have the disposable income to make considered but personal purchases and certainly found a few that I would have bought if I had a $10,000 art budget.
I also marvelled over the creative talent and wished I could bring to tangible life the ideas that form in my imagination.
Time seemed to stand still as we walked along the street, soaking up the creative atmosphere. Or maybe that was the chocolate vortex we were in after consuming some meso american hot chocolate at Kakawa prior to setting out on Canyon Road.
I’d never encountered a hostel where, in addition to paying for your bed, you had to do some other cleaning task to qualify to stay.
Sure I’ve come across plenty of places where you work in exchange for a bed, but not where the sole cleanliness of your room relies on the effort of the person who stayed there before you.
For me, this wasn’t such a big deal, I was happy to clean up after myself. Unlike at home, while on the road I’m quite pedantic about cleaning up after myself and drying my dishes rather than letting them drain in the communal kitchens. However, when the initial state of the place is pretty tatty and the chores are said to be “to engender community” I kind of get a bit affronted.
You wouldn’t think it is a hostel with all the broken down old cars and ancient caravans waiting to be restored in the carpark. As I marketer, I know that’s not how you present your business. The verandahs in front of the rooms all had planks of wood and other bits and pieces caked in dirt cluttering them up and the kitchen looked like an explosion had gone off.
In the kitchen’s defense, that was after a veritable truckload of donated food past their sell by dates had entered the hostel. Something they get for their non-profit status. So while it was a bit scungy yet oozing potential, the free food is a bonus to backpackers always on the lookout for a cheap feed.
I’ve just popped into Denver to go to the Tattered Cover which has been talked about endlessly on NPR.
It is fabulous and all wooden inside. Floors, beams, ceilings, bookshelves, furniture. It’s all wooden.
It has a coffee shop, is cosy and feels like a place of great knowledge. It’s kind of like a library, but better because the hush isn’t from fear of librarian wrath but from the peace of those inside. Sipping a coffee, hiding in a cosy nook and thumbing the pages of a good book are part of the charm of this place.
It is well-lit with soft, vintage ceiling lights – no harsh fluoro lights. The books are given plenty of space to hold their own the shelf, falling over slightly in a “pick me up” repose that makes you curious beyond the cover. Staff picks and displays abound, making ever corner you turn a new discovery.
I imagine this would be a great place to escape on a cold Denver day.
I’m excited because I now have 18 hours of Isabel Allende’s Island Beneath the Sea to listen to on my roadtrip and fill in the miles of highway to my next destination.
a little cameo 