TOM AU TEXAS.

That king-sized bed begged me to stay, but the train waited for no one. After rushing to the station, I quickly learned that my ride was running a few hours late. Having just come from California, I knew the rains were causing big trouble for the sunshine state. There was a mudslide somewhere down the line, causing the tracks to be inoperable. After discovering this delay, I relocated to the nearest coffee shop. You know, there is always work to be done.

Several hours later, I was aboard the 1 Sunset Limited. Our journey through the Sonoran Desert began. This desert is known for being ecologically balanced and having wild diversity. The scenery of this place was seriously shocking. Despite the beauty outside my window, I needed to get some goddamn shuteye. After using my bandana to shade my eyes, I retreated to rejuvenating REM sleep.

A few z's later, I awoke to a different desert landscape. We were now trekking through the Chihuahua Desert. The train took us through some tremendous terrain. The desert was full of basins, mountain ranges, and gorgeous native grasses. We rolled into El Paso right as the sun was setting. The mega mountain range surrounding the city was surely shocking. Already in awe, I saw the infamous border wall for the first time. My mind was muddled as I compared the difference between each side. There was so much bouncing around in my brain, I swam into my soul that night. I stared out the window and watched the world go by until it slowly turned to darkness.

A wise man once said that being on a lengthy train journey is a sort of purgatory between the life you left and the life you are going towards. During this Tom time on the train, I had the pleasure to peek into this purgatory. There was too much time. I spent most of my minutes, studying, reading, writing, and talking with fellow travelers. Undoubtedly, a majority of my time was spent deep in thought. All aspects of my life were up for analysis.

The following day we rolled into the hippy haven known as Austin, Texas. My sleeping situation for this sejour had suddenly fallen through. I quickly routed myself to The Firehouse Hostel right in the heart of downtown. My last experience with hostels was in Europe. I had never thought of staying at one in The United States, but it was worth a shot, right?

The Firehouse Hostel was hip, humbling, humourous, hectic, and a hell of a home. Once an infamous brothel, this place harbored every category of character. Sharing a room with seven strangers is undoubtedly an exciting experience. The room was regularly rotating. Every day, someone is coming and/or going. Hanging out in the kitchen is where you can easily find some drinking mates for the evening.

My first night in town was the weekend before all the University of Texas students returned to classes. I would have been foolish not to go out and participate in the festivities. Several of the hostel homies and I hit the town. We drank all around dirty six but ended the night at the Latino nightclub. This year I listened to hours and hours of reggaeton, which allowed me to conceal my gringo-ness. The walk back was unquestionably the best part of the night. There was a fight. Cops on horses aggressively chased drunkards off the street onto the sidewalks. People were puking and passing out all over the place. Friends hauled their drunken companions. A famous ticktocker was out interviewing the carousers. Things were popping off, to say the least.

With eleven more days in the state capital, I wanted to establish a routine. My mornings started with a run to the University of Texas campus, where I could sculpt my body at the outdoor gym. After a quick shower, I would explore for some espresso and a place to study. Finding a new study spot each day was simple; most coffee spots were bohemian and very much my style. After completing the typical Tom tasks, I spent time unlocking new parts of the map. Nothing is better than skateboarding around and getting lost in an undiscovered city.

My favorite find was actually a rediscovery. When I was six years old, my parents took me to this magical place known as Barton Springs. This natural spring was converted into a municipal swimming hole back in 1929, and it is unquestionably the most beautiful public pool I have come across. It was fascinating to return to this place some twenty years later. Oh, how much I've grown since the last time I plunged into those freezing waters. Barton Springs was one of my frequently visited spots in Austin.

Naturally, perusing the local bars and restaurants was a must for this curious culinarian. I had accumulated a squad of French speakers who joined me for many nights. When we were together, we mostly spoke French, and I certainly got to flex my skills. I felt like a foreigner as we explored the various drinkeries and restaurants that Austin had to offer. My favorite spots included: Hotel Vegas, Sour Duck Market, The Driskill Bar, Pêche, The Firehouse Longue, and Clarks Oyster Bar.

My memory is full of magical moments. The midnight fire alarm at the hostel was a funny one. Getting pulled down Rainey street on my skateboard by a pedicab was legendary. I cannot discount the beautiful river trail packed with active austinites. My hostel mates hotboxing our room with meth is quite the story and unrelated to the fire alarm one. Of course, there were interesting kitchen conversations with opinions from around the globe. Even found a Spanish study partner from the north of Spain. My time here definitely flew by quickly.

Just like that, I was boarding the evening train, next stop San Antonio. I had an overnight layover in Alamo City. Luckily the station was close to all the action. The downtown district was quite lively on that Saturday night. After skateboarding around the city, it was time to settle on a place to dine. Intrinsically, I chatted with the bartender and learned about the local service industry hotspots. The most appealing recommendation was the rock/punk/metal bar. This place was mythical. I walked right into a rockin' metal show and navigated through a sea of leather to get to the bar. With my forty-pound pack and skateboard, I stuck out like a sore thumb. That did not stop me from vibing out for a few drinks. Losing track of time was simple, and I had to rush back to the station. Being late is never ideal, but they still let me aboard.