There we were again, in a bar in San Francisco, facing people who were afraid of us because we're from Texas.
Yes, we explained that we're from Austin. But some people understand better than others that we live in a tiny blue dot within a deep-red state, and that we're probably more alarmed by Ted Cruz than they are.
Long ago, we learned that when people ask where we're from, it's better to say, "Austin," than "Texas." Austin makes people smile. It's a cool place, they say. "So, you've been there?" "No, but I really want to go."
But if, as was the case this time, the bartender tells folks you're from Texas before you're able to mitigate the damage by saying "Austin," you get that oh-no-this-person-might-shoot-me look. It's depressing, really, because there's a lot to like about Texas. A whole lot. Otherwise, we wouldn't live here.
A couple of years ago, we went to a wine dinner in Colorado in a notoriously conservative part of the state. We were resolved not to talk politics with the locals at our table, whom we didn't know but quickly grew to like. We drank wine. And more wine. Finally, one woman at the table had consumed enough to blurt, "I like Texas OK, but I really cannot stand that governor of yours."
We grinned.
"Neither can we!"
Turns out everybody at the table was a Democrat.
This is a travel blog. Please don't think I'm turning it into a political one. But one's point of origin makes its way into just about every discussion when you meet people as you travel, and Texas, these days, tends to make the other person think of two things: (1) politics to the right of Attila the Hun and (2) guns.
After chatting a while, those folks in the San Francisco bar realized my husband and I were harmless. But we had to talk them down, and it's a discussion I'm tired of having.
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