“My only worry in the world is that the tide don’t reach my chair
~from a country song
My first ever experience of a country bar began one barmy twilight as my two step mentor and I left our boys at home and headed out into the arms of a pair of tasty margaritas, followed by a couple American beers, some dirty double rums and…anyway, there were a pile of cultural shocks that bombarded me throughout the night, starting with the fact that mechanical bulls are still around and permanent fixtures in the redneck’s itinerary.
The name of the joint we landed up in was Coyote Joe’s and although it wasn’t particularly busy the atmosphere truly was something I will never forget. The country lovers rose to appreciate the live band in their themed boots and hats, the music was the kind you can’t help but tap your foot to.
I learnt lingo like ‘the Virginia wheel’ and watched a line of perfectly synchronized twirling and shaking to an authentic beat from under a wide brimmed hat.
We were surprised (not pleasantly) with live comedy throughout the night as a pack of dumb doras took to the floor in their t-shirts and stilettos rocking out to urban pop whilst country blared around them. The spectators began a wave of laughter and the occasional horrified intake of breath when one bent too far over. You know it’s bad when men look away in shame.
As Shan took cowboy after cowboy on a whirl of the dance floor I met a wonderful yank (his branding not mine) who kept me laughing, drinking and learning for the rest of what turned out to be a hog-killin’ time.
I could be a country gal, ride the tractors and master the line dance; all I need is the whole kit and caboodle.
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