The moon on a stick

We do love the Moon around here, what with "Houston" being the first word said from there (if you ignore all the other words).  So when it came to putting up a crazy art happening in the centre of town, why not stick with our favourite theme?

moonGARDEN is a set of 22 big round things that glow, in Discovery Green in the heart of downtown.  Some of the moons play music, others put on shadow puppet displays now and again.  It was quite lovely, walking around them in the dark, but also rather strange. 

The whole thing is sponsored by Ikea which I imagine means that, after the ten days of the exhibit, they're all being deflated and flat-packed, ready for reassembly the next time 22 moons are called for.

Moonscape.

Shadows.

You could wave a torch around in front of some and they'd interact with you!

Dark side.

An inflatable astronaut to walk on an inflatable moon.

 Moonlight.

Goodnight moons.

The captain has extinguished the no smoking sign

Air travel used to be so romantic.  Silver-plated cutlery, being invited to the cockpit to meet the captain, relaxed puffs on a cigarette as the stewardess hands you a third gin-and-tonic before takeoff (as long as you were seated in the smoking section, of course).

These days it's all non-reclinable seats, taking your shoes off at security, and having to pay - pay! - for alcohol.  Except at the 1940s terminal building at Houston's Hobby airport.  Here a little slice of the real aviation experience is preserved, where in days-gone-by you would sip a cocktail in a grand art deco building until you were escorted onto the tarmac to walk up carpeted stairs to your flight.

The building is at the far side of the actual working runways, and was in disrepair for many years until a group of hardy volunteers decided it needed to reclaim its former glory.  Back in the '40s, notoriously unsafe air travel was mostly forbidden for business executives, but it was the oil industry (of course, crows Hannah) that pioneered shuttling their higher-ups between oil fields and skyscrapers the length of the continent.  And so the airline industry was born.

Pete was unimpressed by all this nostalgia, but what did spark his imagination were the old flight simulators in a hangar next door.  Although they have long had their plugs pulled you could still sit in a replica 737 cockpit, twisting knobs and pulling flight controls to your heart's content.  In the back was a panel were the trainer could press buttons to simulate emergencies for the pilots to deal with.  If you're a nervous flyer you don't want to see how many possible failures there are.

What began as a quick visit to a quirky museum ended many hours later as I dragged my protesting son out of a cockpit.  If you think 5-yr-olds enjoy exerting control at home, wait until you see them on a flight deck.  Thankfully I was in command in the car, where I made sure to order a large scotch from Hannah before lighting a Benson & Hedges Silk Cut.

America's youngest billionaire.

When flying was good!

Keeping up with the latest news (from May 1988).

Modern business traveler.

What "smartphone" used to mean.

No idea, and no explanation given.

When did this go out of fashion?  Answer: never.

Trolley dolly.

Someone stole a lot of branded airline goodies.  And then donated them to this museum.

Passengers and staff who might have been here since the 1940s.

Air traffic control.

Out on the actual Hobby tarmac watching Southwest flights and private jets zoom about.

Your captain today is only five years old!

Mayday!  Mayday!

And, with the simple flick of a switch, the pilot makes everyone's lives miserable.

Vive Chile!

I've mentioned before how my home country doesn't do well in the independence celebration stakes, mainly because everyone's celebrating independence from us.  But one continent where that doesn't ring so true is South America, where our Spanish neighbours get to take most of the blame.  And one country in particular that likes us is Chile, where a disgraced British Admiral was instrumental in their fight for independence!

I learned that when we visited Chile.  I also learned that Chileans are the friendliest people, so it was little surprise when the mother of one of Pete's friends invited us to a Chilean independence party within minutes of meeting us.  I guess one thing Chileans aren't great at is judging character.

Of course we went along, for one reason: empanadas.  Think Cornish pasties if Cornwall was in the Mediterranean.  Actually, there was another reason: Chilean wine.  We ate and drank through the dancing and the speeches; all in Spanish, but that's only slightly more difficult to understand than American.

The videos and pictures of the stunning Chilean landscape made me homesick for a country that's not home, and left me wondering if I shouldn't organise something similar as a celebration of Britain for Houstonians.  The only thing I could come up with was Guy Fawkes Night: "come and burn someone in effigy to celebrate foiling a terrorist plot 400 years ago!"  Might be a bit of a hard sell...

Vive Chile!  It's nice that Texas chose a flag that's so similar.

Pete and his friend Elena being patriotic.

Want to start a fight at a Chilean party?  Say: "I've always thought Argentinean empanadas are superior..."

 Chilean youth.

Dulce de leche cake for dessert.

The Consul General of Chile in Houston, don't you know!

Dancing, singing...



...and wine!

Processed food

Like all good people, every week we buy a box of organic veg from our local non-profit urban farm run by ex-refugees.  It's tasty stuff even though - lacking layers of supermarket plastic and a big label - I'm not always sure what we've bought.  Also, once a month they invite you to come and work on a farm as a volunteer.  I've never been much of a gardener.

"Don't we pay for other people to do that?" I asked Hannah.  "Isn't that the point?"

"They're a non-profit!" she told me, with the fiery conviction only someone who works for big oil and buys organic veg can muster.

"I'm a non-profit and no one volunteers to help me," I muttered.

"What was that?"

Which is how I found myself covered in sunscreen and mozzie repellent standing on a small tract of land, sweating buckets in the humidity, tearing up clumps of weeds with my bare hands and hoping that any rattlesnakes had been driven away by the real estate prices.  The fire ants were certainly still there, and playfully nipped at my fingers as I deforested their home.

The organisation, called Plant It Forward, has an impressive setup, with four urban farms dotted across Houston, where they harvest a staggering amount of greenery that appears in boxes like ours, as well as farmers' markets and local restaurants.  A couple of other victims had turned up to volunteer like us, including one guy who said he was traveling the world with the intent of meeting 10,000 people and writing a book about the most interesting 365.  I didn't ask if I made the cut.

I have to confess, after an hour in the searing heat I took Pete off to find a cold lemonade at a nearby coffee shop.  As the Godson of a diary farmer, the nephew of another, and the cousin of a third, I'm very used to being the most clueless person on a farm, but had assumed that plants were less hassle than animals.  I may have assumed wrong; hand me a milking stool and a set of udders any day.  I might also ask Hannah if we can pay double for our box of vegetables from now on, so I can avoid having to do this again.

Half-an-acre of land can produce an incredible amount of greenery for harvest, and an incredible number of weeds for some chump to pull up.

Tiptoeing between the beds.

Meeting the farmer, and getting assigned our tasks.

 That's OK Hannah, you just relax in the shade.

Thankfully, child labour is still legal in Texas.