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While much is made of American people’s ‘patriotism’, usually in a tongue-in-cheek manner at its supposed over-exuberance, I had thus far only experienced subtle examples of this on my journey. By this point I had finally left New Orleans (albeit kicking and screaming) by means of a rather sketchy Greyhound ride and found myself in the Texas state capital and home to the SXSW music festival, Austin.
A city shaped a great deal by the gargantuan University of Texas (whose football team play in a 100,000 capacity stadium in the north of the city), Austin is young, dynamic and incredibly hospitable if you are looking to alter your state of mind with reckless abandon.

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During my second night of partaking in this southern hospitality, whilst drinking with a guy by the name of Dustin who I had got chatting to about The Knife and Fever Ray in the sandwich shop he worked in earlier that day, it suddenly dawned on me… Tomorrow / today was Veteran’s Day (the hopefully grandeur American equivalent to Remembrance Day) and Austin being in Texas, what with Texas being, well… Texas, I figured that if I was ever going to have the chance to witness some stereotypically exuberant patriotism then I needed to be at the Ann W. Richards Bridge at 11am.
At the time of this epiphany, the prospect of shaking the devil out of myself and hauling my camera and sorry arse onto public transport in Texan daylight seemed not just unappealing but near impossible. After Dustin (I assume) had successfully secured my passage back to the hostel, I set the now customary four alarms and settled down to a brief sleep. An undistinguished exit that morning did nothing to allure me to my dorm mates, but in all honesty I had only really struck a chord with the one-legged English biker in the bottom bunk across from me up to this point and that was a bridge that I wasn’t overly concerned with the burning thereof.

A little behind schedule I made it to the bridge to find a parade already in motion, although it was a steady procession at best, I pressed on up North Congress, making a long steady rise up the hill towards the Capitol building. As I moved up the street lined with people young and old enthusiastically waving American flags and charming home-made placards for the attention of loved ones parading, a sense of celebration and pride seemed apparent which I guess was what I had expected but it was still compelling to witness. Upon reaching the top of North Congress, I had caught the front of the parade which bizarrely yet wonderfully consisted of aged veterans slowly edging along in pristine classic American sports cars gleaming with chrome and glossy primary colours. Some were wearing their perfectly pressed combat uniforms and had draped lists of the conflicts they were involved in; occasionally letting you know how old they were as an added bonus in a practice that seemed to subtly highlight the different manner in which the Americans regard past conflicts to the British practices with which I am more familiar.

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It was as these cars turned left at the top of North Congress, their engines rippling for a few seconds each time an advance was made in front of the waiting crowd that I spotted an observer who ticked all the boxes regarding my stereotyped assumptions of an enthusiastic Texan patriot. She first came to my attention as she (brashly it must be said) shouted thanks to each and every vet whose attention she momentarily secured. In her mid-forties at a guess and wearing what I’m going to (by means of another rash assumption) describe as her ‘Sunday best’ suit, complete of course with star-spangled banner pin-badge, I still don’t know quite what to conclude from seeing her in full flow.
Part of me worries that her dedication to Veteran’s Day serves as a stark reminder of the human cost accrued by America’s existence as ‘leaders of the free world’ and consequently the exaggerated need that some of its people find to constantly re-affirm their ‘freedom’ while their kinsmen and women continue to risk life and limb in controversial conflicts around the world.

On the other hand there was something quite awe-inspiring in the connection that she seemed to feel to each of these brave men and women who had enlisted in order to protect those ideals which she held so dear and it gave me a sense of satisfaction that the vets would be greeted by her and others like her as her appreciation for they and their colleagues and undoubtedly, friends sacrifices was completely genuine.
Once the both sombre yet rousing service at the Capitol building had drawn to a close, a marching band rendition of ‘carry on my wayward son’ brought a smile to my face as I tried to snap out of the philosophical mood that the morning’s proceedings had left me in. I headed back to East Cesar Chavez to immerse myself in the colourful Hispanic streets of East Austin, an area that boasts a spectacular Mexican community and some incredibly cheap yet delicious eateries. I retired to Taquería Chapala for some tacos and enjoyed the music and welcoming vibe as the fierce sun slowly started to disappear over the horizon, drawing to a close one of the most compelling days of my journey thus far. All that remained was to find out what on earth happened the night before.

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