A uniquely Texan experience

Killer flights
We finally arrived in Houston at 21:05 on Tuesday night after flying for 24 hours though ironically we left Auckland at 15:40 the same day. A bit of a groundhog day experience... We were very happy to see my sister at the airport, not only because it was very noce to see them but also partly because we knew it signalled the end of 30-odd hours in planes and airports.

Drop dead gorgeous baby
Of course the reason we are in Houston is to meet our newest nephew and my sisters first child, the beautiful Matthew Alexander who was born two weeks ago. So far he has been asleep most of the time that we have seen him as he hasn't quite understood yet that night is for sleeping and not day... Good thing the walls are thick in their apartment, and in some situations jetlag is quite useful! We woke up the next day after an 11-hour sleep during which we had not heard anything of Matthews alleged crying stints throughout the night.

Texas shoot em up!
Maybe it was the jet lag, or maybe we ate a strange mushroom on the plane on the way over but we thought it would be a good idea to have a truly Texan cultural experience while we were here. Going to a shooting alley.

Just to make sure it would be ok, I called them up before we went over and asked if we needed a license. The answer was no, they just needed to know that we had some experience with a handgun and if not they have a short class we could take and then it would be fine.

The place was scary! The sign on the front door let us know that they were a glock dealership and when we walked in, there were small hand guns on display in glass cabinets for you to hire and the bigger guns for purchase where on the back wall in full view. We nearly changed our mind and turned around and left when the guy at the till said (in an American accent) "Hi, can I help you". We signed up for the class, choose our gun (a glock) and waited around for our teacher.'

Shortly afterwards, this big, muscular, military looking guy turned up and led us to a classroom. He asked us some questions like "why were we taking this class?" and "how much experience did we have?" and "had we ever loaded a magazine before?". I honestly don't think that he understood that I had never shot a gun or even touched a bullet before. I tried to explain that it was illegal in the UK and that not even the police carry guns there and he definitely thought I was pulling his leg.

So we went through the basics - this is a gun, here is the safety, this is how you load the bullets (I discovered that there were actually 15 and not 6 bullets in the magazine) and this is how you aim. Then we headed to the range to shoot.

If the entrance was scary this was even more so. We passed normal looking people calmly practicing their shooting and stepped over spent shells on our way to our boothe. Our instructer was very calm and professional though which calmed my nerves a bit and after Johan showed off with his brilliant and accurate shooting, it was my turn to step up and have a go.

I guess that you never really appreciate a situation until afterwards. The first shot was rather scary and then the instructor reminded me of how to stand, aim and press the trigger and that was it. I didn't do nearly as well as Johan but I wasn't too bad either. It wasn't until afterwards when my heart stopped racing that the magnitude of it all hit me. I now know how to shoot a handgun, followed very swiftly by, what a scary place the US is! This act that in many developed countries in the world is extreemly difficult or illegal to do, is commonplace and even normal in some places in the US. Definately a defining cultural experience.