A popular remark during the 1960s and 70s was, “Apart from that, Mrs Kennedy, how was your trip to Dallas?” – a cruel reference to the assassination of John F Kennedy on 22 November 1963.

 In 1996, my father and brother joined me on a trip to Scotland to do genealogical research on the Orkneys, the home of our forebears. Because it was Dad’s first and only trip overseas, we allowed him to choose the stopover. To our surprise (and dismay), he chose Dallas.

This was because he was an old cattleman from North Queensland who was raised on the black and white movies of the 30’s 40’s and 50’s, featuring the wild west of America with lots of cowboys wrangling longhorn cattle.

Little did he know that Dallas is now an IT centre and the cattle were chased from the streets a long time ago. 

We set out to see ‘the sights’. When we asked at reception where we could catch the bus, the African American concierge looked condescendingly down his nose and said, ‘white folk don’t take the bus!’

On finding out the fare of a cab to the CBD we informed him that ‘these white folk do take the bus’.

When we clambered onto the bus it was clear that we were the only white folk. The locals were astonished and delighted at the same time. All on board were singing and rocking so of course we joined in, even Dad in his North Queensland Stetson. It was such a delightful trip.

When we got to the Tourist Information Centre, it was smaller than a doctor’s surgery and manned by two very weary women. We were told that Dallas doesn’t actually need tourists.

Begrudgingly, they gave us the option of seeing either the Book Depository from where JFK was assassinated, or the film site of the TV show Dallas. Dad chose the latter as he wanted to see a REAL Texas ranch.

We arrived at the ranch, which was deserted, only to find that all the horses, cattle and ranch buildings were fake! They were made of plastic. Dad was appalled.

At the plastic bar he asked for a genuine Texas steak. All they could deliver was Mexican bean soup. 

By this stage I was looking for a green space to run in, something like Hyde Park or Central Park with trees and grass. I could only see a patch of green from the top of the hotel around 10 km away; I set out for it. 

I eventually found the ‘park’ and commenced a jog on the grass when I saw a cavalry of golf buggies charging toward me, somewhat reminiscent of the Charge of the Light Brigade.

When they reached me, they very politely but firmly pointed out that this was a private golf club. They also told me that there was ‘no such thing’ as public open spaces in Texas.

When it came time to leave, I felt we hadn’t connected with the iconic cowboy culture… but I could certainly feel the ‘Live large. Think big’ way of life. The people we met were generous and amicable, and they actually loved the Australian accent, the last thing I expected anywhere.