Detroit & Houston - Texas part One

After the first part of the flight from Amsterdam to Houston, I arrived at Detroit airport and remembered why traveling is so good. Even somewhere as familiar as USA has its peculiarities. Despite it being the middle of the night back home, I felt wide awake and alert to everything.

Detroit airport is nothing special – except for the fact that it is one long terminal with 80 gates either side of one long hallway, and it is connected by a metro above the shops! It's not even that far to walk from end to end – max 10 minutes with moving walkways speeding things up – but the element of convenience seems so important, they built this thing to keep the people happy.

When I finally get to Houston (and the airport is called BUSH, as in the first George... is that meant to be ironic?), I realise I didn't exchange any money or get cash from the ATM. The 120 dollars from my last trip to USA are all I have – well, should be enough... but it halves after a 60 dollar taxi ride gets me to the Ramada Plaza hotel.

The Plaza - sounds, grand, huh? Well, it's not. Luckily, I like crappy hotels, cos this is one of 'em! Everything in the place is worn at the edges, with huge airco machines spewing out foul cold air in the corridors and the room. I enter a freezing room despite 20 degrees outside, telling myself I should be happy that I booked it online for less than 60 Euros.

It is 10 pm, and I had seen an entertainment place on the other side of the freeway running by the hotel. I walk over there to find the sound of 80's music pumping out the windows of a bar. I am in my jacket – not used to the 20+ degrees evening temperature – and a t-shirt. The guy on the door explains that normally I would need a 'collar' to get in. What he means is, the people inside are wearing Polo shirts... it is not that fancy. The bouncer picks up on my accent, and tells the cashier to let me in for free. That quaint English accent buys you a lot...

The bar is loud, full of my favourite music and I itch to get on the dancefloor. But I am the only person in the place dumb enough to bring a jacket and there is no cloakroom. Unwilling to leave it on the side, I stand and look enviously at the locals jigging around to Saturday Night Fever and the like.

Finally I get home at 1am, and get a decent night's sleep.

Onto downtown Houston on Sunday morning, and I am down to my last 15 dollars. I tried some ATM's last night and none of them accepted my card – it's not looking good. I get to Houston, cannot find a machine, and the hotels will only change money for guests – unbelievable. I then follow directions to the last two possibilities, International banks. I try the Chase machine – nothing. But finally I am saved by a Bank of America. My own little credit crunch is over.

Houston at 9am on Sunday is not a busy place – more like a ghost town. The main industry seems to be parking areas, the city is full of them even with people standing outside waving customers in. On the way in, the taxi driver had explained “this is the cultural area – there's the theatre and that's the Hard Rock Cafe...” An additional attraction she mentioned was Wrestlemania. I don't buy into the image of all American being cultureless – that's not my experience at all, and when I've been to New York and San Francisco, I found it to be directly the opposite. However, Houston is clearly not a hotspot.

Another stereotype is there is a Fast Food place on every corner in US – but not in Houston, it took me ages to find one. McDonalds, of course – main benefits, free Wi-Fi, and being the only place open for breakfast on Sunday. While standing in line, I heard a woman explaining to a friend how her 4 year old had seen her favourite wrestler just yesterday.

The morning was redeemed by the children's festival, starting up at 10:30. There were all kinds of food stands and games for the kids plus various stages with entertainers. The most exciting thing was the motorcyclists in the cage – strange but fascinating. The boundless enthusiasm of the stage presenters, greeting every attempt by the kids to join in with cries of “that was awesome”, is impressive. It goes beyond stereotype, because there is a genuine wish to support the kids, no matter how good they are. I watched a painful scene at a Karaoke booth as a young girl died trying to sing a Kelly Rowland song. At the end, the presenter boomed over the PA “that was awesome – Kelly's got nothin' on you, girl.” Fantastic.

As I headed back to the Hotel to meet my friends arriving soon from Holland, I reflected that I am happy to have seen Houston, but glad to be leaving. As a city, it leaves you pretty cold. But like all travel, I go away with something new and am glad I have seen it.