Oklahoma City

Oh my. I had such low expectations for Oklahoma City that I was sure I was going to be pleasantly surprised. Sadly, I was not.

To be fair, my first impression of Oklahoma was a good one. About twelve miles inside the state line I came upon the Oklahoma Visitor's Center, which was also the most beautiful, fancy rest area I have ever seen in my life. We're talking Corian countertops, gleaming fixtures, stone floors, stalls with actual doors that locked...you name it. Oklahoma, it seems, is serious about making its visitors feel welcome. The center was staffed by two older ladies in american flag shirts and was decorated liberally with animal skins and wagon wheels. The actual helpful part (excepting of course the lovely bathrooms) was two giant banks of pamphlets and brochures in the center of the room, detailing any number of activities to be enjoyed in the state. Two things immediately caught my eye: first, a brochure for the bombing memorial because that is the only thing I think of when I think of Oklahoma City. I literally know nothing else about the city (and I'd like to say I know a whole lot more now that I've visted, but....) Secondly, I saw a brochure for the Oklahoma City Museum of Art, which featured on its cover a number of gorgeous works of glass art and a tagline that advertised "the largest Chihuly collection in the world" (!!!!)

It was already 2 and the art museum closed at 5 and the bombing memorial at 6, so I drove straight to the art museum. I was on my very last bit of clean laundry so I was wearing a fairly goobery white tank and blue short combo. Not my favorite, especially for going out in public. I didn't want to take the time to check in at my hotel and change though, so I sucked it up and went anyway. I also had my backpack since my shorts had no pockets, so I definitely looked like nerdy tourist girl. It was kind of good for me because I tend to feel self conscious when wearing certain things and this was a good example of why that is so unnecessary because nobody is looking at me. Anyway.

Parking is free in Oklahoma City on weekends, so I found a decent spot and walked a few blocks to the museum. It was seriously HOT outside, sun beating down, no breeze whatsoever. Walking into the museum, however, I was greeted with two fantastic things that made me forget about the hot weather. The first was a giant blast of conditioned air. The second was a giant Chihuly sculpture in the lobby of the museum. It was at least three stories tall and I didn't even bother to take a picture of it because I wouldn't be able to get it all in the frame, but it was fantastic (here is a picture). I proceeded to the front desk, bought my ticket, then headed right up to the third floor to see the Chihuly exhibit. I loved it. My favorite part was probably the hallway with a Chihuly ceiling. So beautiful.

After the Chihuly I drifted into other exhibits in the museum. There was a great kinetic art exhibit and another room dedicated to minimalist art that contained some interesting pieces (though there was one minimalist piece that was just two similar shapes arranged together, both painted the exact same shade of lavender that kind of annoyed me with its simplicity. What could any artist possibly be trying to say with that kind of work?). The other exhibits were mostly portaits which didn't interest me so much. I really enjoyed seeing the museum by myself because I could take exactly as much time as I wanted on each piece. I could linger with the ones I wanted to see more of and breeze right by the ones that didn't grab me. Another good experience for me.

When I had seen everything of value (to me), I took off. The heat slammed me in the face when I exited the museum and sucked every last impulse to see the bombing memorial right out of me, so I headed for my hotel. I was staying in the Econolodge, in a cluster of similarly priced hotels on Oklahoma City's west side. Only forty or so bucks a night, and it showed. I approached my (accidentally smoking instead of non-) room and with equal parts delight and apprehension noticed several rows of motorcycles in the motel's parking lot. Now I don't want to stereotype bikers, in fact I am sure they are all probably just enthusiastic, delightful people, but the vast numbers of them did give me pause. Some of them were outside their rooms, smoking and chatting to one another and I did my best to give them a friendly smile and wave, but they were not charmed enough to return the gesture. Just as well.

I carried my essential stuff into the room and headed out in search of food. Dinner acquired, I set about locking myself in my room for the rest of the evening. There was a deadbolt but no chain and the door didn't quite meet the frame, plus I was on the ground floor, so I felt a little exposed. It didn't help that five minutes after I sat on the bed (that caved in if you didn't sit exactly the right way, btw) the family in the room next to mine began a loud, shouty, violent fight. The walls in the Econolodge? Very thin. Also, our two rooms had once been adjoining so there was a door right there that would shake every time one of them slammed the door to the room (which happened often). It sounded like a mother and father and potentially two kids, one in his late preteens or early teens and one a bit younger. The father seemed to be the violent force but everyone was willing to join in on the shouting without too much trouble. The initial conflict was about chinese food that the one kid brought back that the younger kid didn't want to eat, but there were myriad other conflicts throughout the night that resulted in loud arguments. I turned the TV up as much as I could to try to drown them out without disturbing the people on the other side of me. There were moments when it got particularly heated and I considered intervening somehow, but I was worried that they would retaliate at me if they knew I had said something (They were in the room on the end so I would be the only one who could have heard) and I rationalized that it probably wouldn't do much good anyway. It really broke my heart every time I heard one of those kids crying though...and it happened at least five times that night.

The next day I packed up my things, eager to get the hell out of there. Next stop, Memphis!