A version of RECOLLECTIONS OF A ROAD TRIP TO WEST TEXAS first appeared here.
At last, the long, grueling Texas summer is over, although it is still rather warm outside. Gone are the hundred-degree weather and the apathy and death wish that come with it.
To find a respite from the oppressive atmosphere of Dallas in the dog days of summer, when it feels like having cling film wrapped around your body, my husband and I used to go on road trips around Texas. We use different criteria for choosing our destinations. Sometimes it’s a city. Sometimes, a place a friend recommended. Sometimes, a cardinal point – just because. This time, the starting point was a magazine clipping that fell from my secondhand travel guide to Texas. It was a review of a family-run restaurant in the town of Turkey, in the Texas Panhandle. It wasn’t the food that interested me but the location.
Accordingly, we headed west. The first stop was the town of Mineral Wells, home of the Baker Hotel. This once magnificent hotel was popular among Hollywood stars of the 1920s and 30s for its mineral baths. Nowadays, this beautiful building is derelict and surrounded by chain-link fences. The town’s historical center was somewhat gloomy. Half the storefronts are boarded up, colors are fading, and paint is peeling. A pall of listless resignation hangs over the town.
We stopped at a town called Memphis. It was about noon and the sun was pounding relentlessly. The center of town was deserted. On the patch of scorched grass outside the courthouse were a few vendors behind trestle tables, languidly fanning themselves. A good ol’ boy was manning a smoker. There was a promise of barbequed ribs in the air. It was a fundraiser for war veterans. We left before anyone showed up.
There was a Civil War memorial behind the courthouse, dedicated to the sons of Texas who lost their lives between 1861 and 1865. There is a Civil War memorial in most towns around the state. Historical and political considerations aside, I admire the way generations of Texans continue to honor their heroes and preserve their history.
We continued west along straight roads that seemed to stretch to the confines of the world. We were now stepping into oil country. Oil pumps called nodding donkeys shared space with grazing cattle. A few pumped lazily away but most were eerily still. The pumps seemed to be herded together like cattle.
Tumbleweeds and dirt devils were very common. At the time, Texas was suffering a terrible drought. Some local folks told us that it hadn’t rained since July 2010. It was Labor Day weekend in 2011. The fields were scattered with fire scars and patches of blackened earth. Entire rivers had become ribbons of dry red dust. Ranchers were selling off their cattle for beef because they couldn’t feed them any longer and beef price was good then.
The fields were scattered with fire scars and patches of blackened earth. Entire rivers had become ribbons of dry red dust.
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The contrast between the big city and the countryside could not have been bigger, and not for obvious reasons. In Dallas, the economy was thriving. We were not aware of how bad the situation was outside our bubble. Texas was hit by the worst drought on record and the countryside bore the brunt. Agriculture and the livestock industry sustained billions of dollars in losses, which in turn affected the economy of small towns.
We finally reached Turkey and cruised the Main Street up and down. The restaurant from my clipping had closed down. Turkey looked like a ghost town with its empty streets and boarded-up stores; a sight that we had become accustomed to by then. The statue of a turkey provided the only cheerful note. As it turns out, the town got its name from the wild turkeys that used to roost nearby and not from the country of Turkey. We drove south to Matador, another intriguing place name that conjured up romantic images of bullfighters.
The town of Matador was named after the extinct Matador Ranch and was established in 1891. It had nothing to do with bulls and red capes. It is also the seat of Motley County. We stayed at the Matador Hotel, owned by three West Texas sisters, all three retired school headmistresses and administrators. They ran the place like clockwork. They lovingly restored the 1915 building to its former glory, furnishing it with family heirlooms, furniture bought from neighbors, and artwork from local artists. Our room had a railway theme and was dedicated to their uncle Bill, who used to work for the Cotton Belt Railroad.
The following morning, beckoned by the smell of freshly brewed coffee, we made our way to the dining room, where we enjoyed a delicious home-cooked breakfast. There were two other couples. The conversation was a bit stilted at first—hushed comments peppered with the scraping of knives and forks on plates. The dynamics changed when one of the sisters sat down with us for a chat, but it turned out to be an interview for the local paper. It is such a small town that hotel guests made the news, she told us with a broad smile.
“So where are y’all from? Y’all have an accent”, she said, smiling, as she settled, pen and notebook in hand. A Brit and an Argentinean in the middle of the Texas countryside. That sure is news around here.
After the other couples had been interviewed, we talked about the town. Our landlady confirmed that Motley was a dry county, which means that no alcohol can be sold or served in public places. The sisters, however, had applied for a liquor license in the hopes that things would change now that the conservative old guard, adamantly against alcohol, was gone.
With a knowing smile, she said that despite their public opinions, many old-timers had liquor cabinets in the privacy of their homes. “And, oh, by the way, the woman across the street is a bootlegger” This neighbor brings in alcohol from other counties and sells it on the sly. I pictured a middle-aged woman furtively unloading six-packs in the dead of night, looking over her shoulders and speaking in hushed tones.
We set out on this journey not to see great natural wonders or fabulous man-made structures but to experience the heart of Texas that beats beneath the surface.
And we found it.
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