population 2,930 (if you're coming along the I-10) 2,450 (if you're coming along U.S. 90)
One. Ran Horn's Van Gogh gallery-- a "must miss" gallery-- featuring Ran's original works, reproductions of Van Gogh, and a dim labyrinth of dusty books. And some yippy dogs. And other uncountable strange things.
Two. The Fancy Junk shop. It is hardly ever open, but the front yard-- with its whimsical windmill-monsters-- is worth looking at any time of day.
Three. The burro. I have no photo of the burro, but it is the best thing about Van Horn; read the field notes below for more on this.
field notes: van horn / february 2006
The burro looked at me dolefully. It was wearing a pink and purple Mexican blanket, and bore a heavy load of miscellaneous dusty things: pots, pans, bags. Its rider was a smallish person wearing a hooded coat and sunglasses and tall boots.
Burro, what are you doing outside the Chevron truck stop along the I-10 frontage road? You are an anachronism, burro, displaced from your own time. I went to approach the rider, to say hello-- how is your burro-- but as I came closer, the burro and rider started off at quite a good clip. I wasn't about to chase them down, so I watched them carry on along the I-10.
I saw them a few other times: one morning, camped out by U.S. 90; another night, outside Dollar General, the burro with its baleful look on the sidewalk. By then, I had decided my first appraisal of the burro was completely wrong. The burro was not an anachronism. The burro was the future.
One afternoon in Skopje, Macedonia, I was struck by a man grazing his horse on the lawn of the old Macedonian Telecommunications skyscraper. That was the first place I had a sense of being past its prime, with the crumbling Communist buildings and the people carting their fruits and vegetables by horse between them. Van Horn, Texas, has a strange resemblance to Skopje. They are both mean towns, towns where you automatically draw defenses up, where you cannot walk down the street without a surly, hungry gaze cast your way.
And yet I was happy to see the burro. I prefer a future of droopy burros than hurtling trucks... but the burro, finally (obviously) is neither the past nor the future; it is the present. Right Now... this strange nexus in time where we have both burros and semis, where we haven't yet figured out what it means to live in post-superpower America, where anything can happen.
So, do you want to live in a Van Horn future? Ask yourself this. Don't think you're immune from it because you live in Concord or Seattle where life is better. Van Horn is cutting-edge, a pioneer, a portend; it's facing now the problems you will face in ten years. For example: golf courses closed due to lack of water. Buildings in disrepair without the will to inhabit them. Transients, looking for a better life Elsewhere. Here, try to imagine the Van Horn of 2006.
nickname: Crossroads of the Texas Mountain Trail
selling point: "17 motels, 18 restaurants, 5 R.V. Parks, 3000 local inhabitants... Who do you think this town was built for? YOU!"
Food: Bring provisions. The tiny supermarket here has a few limp vegetables turning their sad pockmarked faces towards you and some (often moldy) white bread. I think Dollar General is about to put it out of business. There are two white-bread-cowboy restaurants (The Sands and the Cattle Company) featuring terrible food and somewhat-edible Pecan and Coconut pies. The Cattle Co. has $2.50 glasses of wine. There is a Pizza Hut which is probably your best option, sorry to say, and Chuy's, the most notable Mexican place. It features greasy chips, old man Chuy walking around and gently checking on you, and a mural of Jesus coming and rapturing Van Horn.
Nature: You can walk around the scrubby fields, aka the Forgotten Works, and look at all the strange rusted metal objects and wonder what they were in their past lives. West along the I-10, there's a scenic overlook with a tiny hike up a pile of rocks. Otherwise... drive many miles to Fort Davis State Park.
Other Things to Do: Cry in despair. Give food to the homebums trying to catch a ride out of this town. Study the architecture of collapsed buildings. Wonder what karma brought you to this spot, and try to clear it.
Nearby: You are not nearby anything. That is why Van Horn exists. If it was nearby anything, it would not exist, because everyone would leave. This is the quintessential Interstate town, existing by virtue of the Interstate, miles from nowhere.
