I see I have not written for a while; my friend Z from New York has been here on a month-long visit, and that has taken some focus that I might otherwise have devoted here, but now I find myself near midnight, awake in Austin, Texas, and thinking there's things I want to say.
Mostly about this place - Texas. I don't know Texas at all, really, having driven through it a couple times as a pre-teen (I rode; parents did the driving), but I have some experience with Austin. I've had my share of visits, all work-related, as this one is, and I remember how strong my first impressions were. Austin, they say, is unlike the rest of Texas - it's cool, it's fun, it's young, it's hip. Years ago, I spent my time - when not at the offices - on 6th Street, taking in the funky live music scene, or walking along the river looking at the bats, or wandering through the state capitol in the deserted late evening hours (they used to be open until midnight). It was certainly a cool place, Austin; even I, devoted San Francisco resident, felt that there was something livable about Austin.
It's been years now, except for a trip two years ago in which I flew in, was taken directly to a spa/resort on the outskirts for a week long health immersion, and was taken directly back to the airport. I could have been anywhere. But this time, I find myself in a very cool hotel - Hotel San Jose - in an uber-hip part of town. And when I say hip, I mean it: funky shops with handmade everything, pop up shops and gourmet food trucks, old renovated buildings with redesigned neon signs and furniture that looks like it could belong in either Ready Made or Architectural Digest. I don't even have the words for it - I don't write enough about design to have the language. It's like the Old West meets Haight Ashbury.
Maybe some pictures will help. The 8-ball painted stone holding down my lunch check, a random painted side of a building, the amenities and decor at the hotel, and another random painted side of a building. Lively posters on the light posts.
I feel like I'm in a travel story. My room has colorful, Mexican-inspired cotton robes, subtle sexy lighting, a ceiling fan (lest we forget the famous Texas heat), a hippie duvet, polished concrete floors, a sliding barn-like chartreuse green bathroom door, Dr. Brommer's soap for the sink, a poem (Night Flight) tacked up on the wall, a fresh single mum in a bar glass on the desk, cosy and well-placed outdoor seating areas that make me want to smoke just to take advantage of them, staff with no uniform but plenty of moxie and tattoos, a fantastic list of movies on DVD (just pick them up at the front desk; everything from Mon Oncle to The Life Aquatic, in which "Steve Zizzou sets out to find the mysterious jaguar shark"), a Polaroid camera you can check out (film costs extra) and a typewriter for general use in the lobby. Just in case you need a typewriter.
I'm totally enchanted by the place, and as I find myself walking around and looking at the shops and restaurants and bars, peeking in fantastic hotel lobbies and reading menus with offerings that look delicious and have a vegan option ("Well, of course our seitan is house-made"), I find myself having some strange feeling which I can't quite pin down. I love it - it's vibrant, fun, cheeky, well-done, arranged for human comfort and pleasure. It's like Europe; you know, it's just done *right,* which is such a surprise in America, not to mention Texas. And also I have some envy - I live in San Francisco, and I can't think of a single stretch of street quite like this. I'm city jealous. I love where I live, but if Austin weren't smack in the middle of Texas, I'd consider this a viable alternate. The last time I felt that way was when I went to Seattle. So in a sense, even though I KNEW Austin was cool, I don't remember it being THIS cool, which means either it or I, or both, have changed.
A disclaimer here: I'm not saying there's anything wrong with Texas, by the way. I mean, I'm from Cleveland. To each his own. As I say (the only Latin phrase I can really rattle off): de gustibus non est disputandum, which means there's no accounting for taste. I have my own tastes and prejudices for and against place. I feel no desire to upset Texans, I'm just expressing genuine surprise at discovering this sort of fantasticness anywhere, especially where I least expected it.
Anyway, I have meetings tomorrow morning, so I'll sign off now, but I highly recommend Hotel San Jose and its environs, if only to see what a very nice place an urban space can be. It somehow gives me hope, this place. It got it right.
ADDENDUM:
My cabbie the next morning told me that the San Jose used to be a place for hookers, and the whole area was run down and depressed. They remodeled the place, as well as the Austin Motel next door, making in a draw for the hipsters and scenesters, and then the nearby businesses followed suit. "The hotel has been written up in magazines," she said. "Architectural Digest." Did I call it or what?
Mostly about this place - Texas. I don't know Texas at all, really, having driven through it a couple times as a pre-teen (I rode; parents did the driving), but I have some experience with Austin. I've had my share of visits, all work-related, as this one is, and I remember how strong my first impressions were. Austin, they say, is unlike the rest of Texas - it's cool, it's fun, it's young, it's hip. Years ago, I spent my time - when not at the offices - on 6th Street, taking in the funky live music scene, or walking along the river looking at the bats, or wandering through the state capitol in the deserted late evening hours (they used to be open until midnight). It was certainly a cool place, Austin; even I, devoted San Francisco resident, felt that there was something livable about Austin.
It's been years now, except for a trip two years ago in which I flew in, was taken directly to a spa/resort on the outskirts for a week long health immersion, and was taken directly back to the airport. I could have been anywhere. But this time, I find myself in a very cool hotel - Hotel San Jose - in an uber-hip part of town. And when I say hip, I mean it: funky shops with handmade everything, pop up shops and gourmet food trucks, old renovated buildings with redesigned neon signs and furniture that looks like it could belong in either Ready Made or Architectural Digest. I don't even have the words for it - I don't write enough about design to have the language. It's like the Old West meets Haight Ashbury.
Maybe some pictures will help. The 8-ball painted stone holding down my lunch check, a random painted side of a building, the amenities and decor at the hotel, and another random painted side of a building. Lively posters on the light posts.
I feel like I'm in a travel story. My room has colorful, Mexican-inspired cotton robes, subtle sexy lighting, a ceiling fan (lest we forget the famous Texas heat), a hippie duvet, polished concrete floors, a sliding barn-like chartreuse green bathroom door, Dr. Brommer's soap for the sink, a poem (Night Flight) tacked up on the wall, a fresh single mum in a bar glass on the desk, cosy and well-placed outdoor seating areas that make me want to smoke just to take advantage of them, staff with no uniform but plenty of moxie and tattoos, a fantastic list of movies on DVD (just pick them up at the front desk; everything from Mon Oncle to The Life Aquatic, in which "Steve Zizzou sets out to find the mysterious jaguar shark"), a Polaroid camera you can check out (film costs extra) and a typewriter for general use in the lobby. Just in case you need a typewriter.
I'm totally enchanted by the place, and as I find myself walking around and looking at the shops and restaurants and bars, peeking in fantastic hotel lobbies and reading menus with offerings that look delicious and have a vegan option ("Well, of course our seitan is house-made"), I find myself having some strange feeling which I can't quite pin down. I love it - it's vibrant, fun, cheeky, well-done, arranged for human comfort and pleasure. It's like Europe; you know, it's just done *right,* which is such a surprise in America, not to mention Texas. And also I have some envy - I live in San Francisco, and I can't think of a single stretch of street quite like this. I'm city jealous. I love where I live, but if Austin weren't smack in the middle of Texas, I'd consider this a viable alternate. The last time I felt that way was when I went to Seattle. So in a sense, even though I KNEW Austin was cool, I don't remember it being THIS cool, which means either it or I, or both, have changed.
A disclaimer here: I'm not saying there's anything wrong with Texas, by the way. I mean, I'm from Cleveland. To each his own. As I say (the only Latin phrase I can really rattle off): de gustibus non est disputandum, which means there's no accounting for taste. I have my own tastes and prejudices for and against place. I feel no desire to upset Texans, I'm just expressing genuine surprise at discovering this sort of fantasticness anywhere, especially where I least expected it.
Anyway, I have meetings tomorrow morning, so I'll sign off now, but I highly recommend Hotel San Jose and its environs, if only to see what a very nice place an urban space can be. It somehow gives me hope, this place. It got it right.
ADDENDUM:
My cabbie the next morning told me that the San Jose used to be a place for hookers, and the whole area was run down and depressed. They remodeled the place, as well as the Austin Motel next door, making in a draw for the hipsters and scenesters, and then the nearby businesses followed suit. "The hotel has been written up in magazines," she said. "Architectural Digest." Did I call it or what?
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