San Antonio, TX
In typical fashion, and despite being dog-tired, a sudden awakening reveals it's 4.39am. The body still thinks it's in England, and of course once awake the mind starts rolling through all manner of things. It's another hour before blissful unconsciousness reasserts itself but it's over all too soon as Dom, lively and excited about the day to come, texts asking if I fancy breakfast.
We wander down to Las Canerias, the riverfront restaurant and Maria, the waitress, seats us by the window so we can watch the early morning river tours float past as we munch our way through a hearty Texan feast. I manage a portion of eggs, potatoes, chillies and spiced meats. Dom trumps me by ploughing through the same, and then loading his plate up with extra portions of french toast, bacon and cheese.
Breakfast completed Dom's mind turns to the World Cup. Despite the England vs USA match due to start - we believe - at 11am, Dom determines that beer is an essential component of the day. To avoid the carnage of a minibar bill he opts for finding a liquor store. I wander with him into the morning heat, which feels like walking into the blast of a hairdryer.
One block from the hotel is a Walgreens. Unlike the UK, in America pharmacies sell all sorts of healthy things, such as cigarettes and alcohol in large quantities. You don't get that at Boots!! Dom grabs a 12-pack of lager while I rifle through the souvenir stand, purchasing an Alamo fridge magnet to add to the ever-burgeoning collection of travel trophies that greet us each morning.
By now it's 10am, so I jump online for about an hour and get some work done before fatigue catches up with me and I lie on the bed and shut my eyes for just a moment. An hour later I wake up, momentarily disorientated but feeling much refreshed and knock on Dom's door, expecting the football to be in full swing. Dom, beer in hand, opens the door, and tells me it's not on for ages yet so we chill and then my phone goes.
It's Maiden's tour manager, who informs me they've just arrived into San Antonio from last night's gig in Houston and are going to head straight out to a bar to watch the match. Do we want to join them?
Having previously avoided watching a single match in its entirety throughout 40 years of living, I'm not exactly thinking it's my preferred way of spending the afternoon, but Dom's wildest dreams have just come true. Iron Maiden and the World Cup together in one room. So we head out and find a couple of band members, Rod, their manager, Steve the tour manager, Maiden’s photographer John and a few other friends and associates and I spend the next two hours with a pint of Alamo beer in hand (a typically tasteless example of American brewing) and listening to the groans and cheers of England’s lacklustre draw.
The bar fills up as the match progresses and there’s lots of good-natured ribbing between assembled Yanks and Brits. And unsurprisingly the Americans, both in the entourage and assorted strangers in the bar, are over the moon when the goalie fumbles the ball and England’s lead vanishes with an excruciating own goal. Despite that, there’s a lot of sympathy for the poor chap from the Brits in the room, everyone imagining what it’ll be like for him to be defined as possibly the man who ruined England’s chances for World Cup glory, for the rest of his career.
Rod and I go through some press matters at half-time, discussing interview times for Dom on this trip and upcoming opportunities for the band, and then with the match over we have a few hours to kill until the cars arrive to ferry us to the venue. A pleasant stroll along the river seems like a good idea and we make it as far as The Alamo, the fort that was the focus of a major battle in the 19th Century war against the Spanish to free Texas from colonial rule. But it’s so darn hot and ripe with humidity that within ten minutes we’re drenched in sweat and exhausted.
We fall into the nearest bar – Rita’s on the River – which is famous for its frozen margaritas and has a mariachi band playing away. As we sit listlessly listening to the trumpets and watching the slow procession of tourists wander past it astounds us how big everyone is. But then San Antonio is apparently, "the fattest city in America". Being only 100 miles from the Mexican border, the food is very much built around burritos, tacos, nachos and all the other calorie laden, artery-busting, grease-dripping staples of the Tex-Mex diet. And this side of the border it’s given extra gusto by servings that are twice the size of a new-born child and covered in thick layers of cheese. With an extra side of mayo. And some more cheese, please.
Arses the size of spacehoppers wobble along, above legs made of tree-trunks, while the rolls of flesh that used to be waistlines prop up a multitude of chins below vast perspiring foreheads. But not everyone is so corpulent. There’s lots of military uniforms about as the airforce and army have huge bases in this part of the country and there are families wandering around with relations in uniforms. What they think of the guy who rollerskates past us wearing a 'Legalise Gay, Repeal Prop 8’ t-shirt remains to be seen, but he’s got balls of steel waving his rainbow flag down here in Texas!
At 6.30, Dom and I jump into a people carrier with Rod and are transported to the venue – the AT&T Center. It’s a typical US sports mega-dome which proudly proclaims it’s been voted ‘Indoor Rodeo Of The Year’ for the past five years. Tonight a sold-out crowd of 13,000 fans are here to pay witness to Iron Maiden, on the third date of their North American tour.
While the anticipation builds Dom and I check out the catering (very good indeed) and catch a bit of the support act, Dream Theater, of whom Dom is a big fan. And, me? Less so… I leave him to it and slip into the hospitality room to chill out and plough through some emails.
Soon enough it’s time to jump on the mixing desk and await the spectacular new show Maiden are touring. And it’s jaw-droppingly good. With a set-list based around the last decade of their career and the visuals continuing the space-age theme of their forthcoming album, ‘The Final Frontier’, it boasts the best light show I’ve seen in years.
They kick off with an impassioned ‘The Wickerman’, and third song in drop an unexpected classic in the shape of ‘Wrathchild’ which sends the crowd nuts. They follow it with a new song, ‘El Dorado’ which is immense, a truly powerful seven-minute blast which already sounds like a monster hit. More seminal tracks follow including the drama of the WWI epic ‘Paschendale’ and the evergreen ‘Iron Maiden’ itself in which the band’s mascot Eddie stalks the stage like a terrifying alien, and even plays guitar!
In true Maiden-style Bruce implores the crowd to, “Scream for me Texas!” and the response is deafening, but is nothing compared to that which greets the first encore, ‘Number Of The Beast’. Followed by the plaintive drama of ‘Hallowed Be Thy Name’ they finish with one of their oldest tracks, a classic version of ‘Running Free’, with Bruce donning an old school British policeman's helmet and telling the crowd that he should arrest them all as having this much fun should be illegal.
And with a bang, they’re finished; two hours of heavy metal magic dished out to an ecstatic crowd. There ain’t many British acts who’d have over ten-thousand Texans waving Union Jacks and roaring their approval.
In the hospitality area later I get chatting to three locals – Cassandra, Paolo and Diego, who calls himself Joey. They’re very entertaining, with Cassandra and Paolo confessing they’ve only left Texas once, when they drove to Las Vegas for the weekend. Joey is a bit better travelled having just got back from Afghanistan as he’s in the US Navy. They’re horrified when I confess I had no idea that the AT&T Center is home to the San Antonio Spurs, their local basketball team. “But man, they’re world famous,” they cry. I have to disillusion them that the world is not just America.
They offer Dom and I a lift back to our hotel and joke with us as they get lost on a roundabout tour of the city, “Are we the first Mexicans you’ve hung out with? The world is turning brown, my friend!” I confess I wasn’t expecting to be crammed into a car with three Mexicans this evening and they in turn try and persuade us that we should head out for food at a local dive, which is a basic shack with cracked windows, sex-workers, tattooed bikers and Mexican drug gangs. "Hey man, you need to go to the hole in the wall,” trills Cassandra. “They're the cheesiest, greasiest motherf*ckers in the world. It tastes so good! Those waitresses, they don't speak no English and they’re big hoochie mamas! You’ll never eat so good, and the portions, oh my! You gotta sack off those fancy restaurants and find a hole in the wall..."
Eventually we make it to the centre of San Antonio and on the riverwalk we all convene at the local Irish pub, Waxy O'Connors. Bruce, Dave, Nicko and Janick from the band join us for drinks and much red wine, beer and tequila is consumed. Cassandra and Paolo are awe-struck to meet their heroes and as word gets around that Iron Maiden are out having an aftershow drink, fans start arriving asking for autographs on beer mats and posters, getting photos with their idols and generally milling around in disbelief that these titans of metal who they’ve just worshipped a couple of hours ago up on a huge stage are amiable and relaxed fellas, happy to have a drink and a chat.
It’s gone 2am when I retire, leaving them happily ensconced in the throng. Looks like it’ll be a long night!
