Surprises of Tulsa

You can’t judge a book by its cover and you can’t judge a town from first impressions.

Tulsa belies its appearance.

On initially driving around the town in search of a wine store, we found ourselves in rather down-at-heel and grim environments. Crumby neighbourhoods, a bit

threatening in that decayed urban way.

We wondered why on earth our friend Miriam would live in such a place, let alone seem so happy about it.

Visting Miriam is our mission to Tulsa.

We find her house in a very socio-economically mixed street near the downtown area.

Miriam is a paediatrician, who teaches medicine as well as practising it. Osteopathy is one of her specialties. She is an old Yale buddy of Bruce’s.

So we find her address a bit odd. But not her house, where we staying. It is an eclectica of art and slightly hippie aesthetic. It has an

above ground pool on an expansive deck out the back and a view of the river with petro-chemical plants on the other side. We sit in the sun on the deck, meet the dog and cat and listen to the birdlife. We sit in the kitchen drinking wine and nibbling Amish cheeses and we talk and talk and talk. Miriam has been diagnosed with rectal cancer. There is much to talk about as well as the good old days.

For our first night we decide to take Miriam

out for dinner so we can keep on talking and not be interrupted by the practicalities of cooking. We have a short time and we have our priorities. We are old and wise. So, as we cruise the streets, the car becomes a bubble of babble - new sights and old memories. And also news of new people Miriam would like us to meet. How to juggle the time?

We decide to have a dinner party the next night with Bruce cooking his special smothered pork.

But first, Miriam, who has taken the day off work to be with us, takes us on her official tour of her city - of her downtown area and the uptown area, the theatres, the handsome CBD streets, the river, her hospital and her

medical practice.

We have a glorious lunch in a modern cafe overlooking the river, the Octoberfest fun park, and the petrochemical plants which are very much a part of the city aesthetic - twinkling lights and beautiful by night, says Miriam.

We get to appreciate that industrial prettiness later from her back deck

- the oil refinery against the setting sun.

It is a divine, sunny day in Tulsa. The people are hospitable. The food is fresh, healthy, tasty. I purr over a seafood jambalaya and salad. It is all very civilised.

And we visit the most sublime formal gardens, the Philbrook Estate and Museum, Philbrook being a mighty Tulsa oil

magnate who created for himself a magnificent reproduction Italian villa which is now a Tulsa treasure. There is a splendid exhibition of contemporary native American-designed formal evening dress which takes the breath away. Well, not Bruce’s. He is antsy to get to the garden. And what a garden. It provides an utterly lovely walk. It must be one of the most exquisite formal gardens in the world.

It is a joyful treat, a feast for the senses. We talk to gardeners about the butterfly plants and the population of monarchs, about the future of bees in the garden and the world, about herbaceous borders.

We marvel at the perfect reflection of the villa in the great pond.

We go to a fabulous Reasor’s supermarket to buy up supplies for dinner and, while Bruce is cooking, Miriam sneaks me out to a chic fashion shopping mall looking for, and finding, black slacks I long have been fruitlessly pursuing.

Friends Diane and husband Boodi join us for dinner. They are warm and interesting Tulsa establishment. Boodi’s blood runs strong with Native American on one side and blueblood Mayflower American heritage on the other. We talk of blood and history. Bruce offers up that he is the oldest son of the oldest son of the oldest son back to an officer in the Continental Army of George Washington during the Revolutionary War, a line of descent which makes him eligible as one of the Sons of

Cincinnatti, one of the most exclusive clubs in the world. Very small. Of course, he never joined up.

Our dinner party- convivial and delicious. Bravo Bruce. And we all pile into cars with chocolates and pecan brittle to see the third US Presidential Debate.

No, incredibly, our friend Miriam does not have television.

For the last debate, we were staying with our friends in Fayetteville,

Georgia - and they did not have a television. Dan took us to his grandmother’s to watch on her telly.

Here in Tulsa, Miriam also does not watch television so is taking us to her partner Dan’s place to watch this piece of history on his telly. Dan is out of town but due back later tonight.

Dan’s place is something else. He is a collector. His large and handsome house is a magnificent and extensive museum of ethnographica, art, and collector eclectica. Wonderful touches of whimsy and originality are all over the place, including arraying his extensive tie collection as an embellishment to window curtains and amassing marbles in glass-fronted cabinets. He has a lot of marbles.

Oddly, Dan does not have the Internet. Bruce sets up his phone as a hotspot. Miriam hooks in to work on some medical notes and I hook in to participate in the Twitter discussion on the debate.

We all hate Trump and are pleased that Hillary shows an edge over him in the debate. After Diane and Boodi have gone, Dan arrives home

and takes us to a wonderful old city entre hotel, gracious in its fastidious period preservation. The foyer is most imposing. It's fashion drawcard for the millenials, however, is its swish rooftop bar where we get to see the city of Tulsa spread out and sparkling.

And so it is that we see Tulsa in the light of our friends - a place rich in theatre life, in emancipated politics and vibrant arts, excellent shopping, and historic districts going hand-in-hand with gentrification and renewal.

We give Tulsa a loving tick as we hug our host goodbye the next day, and hit the road again.