The Balinese Room

Karen posted a picture of what remains of the Balinese Room on her blog Sunday — pretty much all that remains is the historical marker. We were thankfully gone, out of the country, when Ike hit, just like we were out of the country when Katrina hit, and I haven’t been down to Galveston since. I’ve seen pictures, and heard stories, and the pictures and the stories are too sad.

I have always been fond of The Balinese Room, from it’s tiki bar loungey-ness to it’s underworld beginnings. It represents to me decades of yore which seem far more colorful and interesting than the time in which I reside. More recently, it was the home to our Saturday night party at the first and second annual Sandblast Scooter Rally.

Galveston has often played final fiddle to other famous US cities — it’s smaller than New Orleans, less Victorian than Boston, the water is not so nice as it is in Tampa. But to this girl from Oklahoma, who saw the ocean for the very first time while driving past Crystal Beach, Galveston is home to endless corridors of mystery and fascination.

Karen has been blogging recently about recovery efforts in Galveston. Five months have passed. Pictures abound on Flickr of high water marks and rebuilding efforts. But the stories are the most interesting to me.

The Sandblast Rally has to be moved this year, thanks to Ike and other factors. And because it’s no longer on the beach (it’s in New Ulm, Texas) the name has to change to. Now it’s the Mudblast Rally. The first annual, I guess. The saddest thing about this is that there is no place in New Ulm like the Balinese Room. There is no place anywhere like the Balinese Room.

But today is Fat Tuesday, which means tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the day for starting over. The day for cleansing. I wonder if that makes Galveston’s Mardi Gras celebrations more poignant this year — after all, starting over is what they need the most.