Everyone had told me the Alamo was small — smaller than I could imagine. So by the time we arrived in San Antonio, I was envisioning something akin to a tiny house.
Well, it’s bigger than that. And the Spanish mission building has gorgeous shade trees beside and in back of it — perfect respite from the sun. But the Alamo also is surrounded by tourist stores. Jewelry and all kinds of trinkets probably made in China.
We saw kids in Davey Crockett coonskin caps and others with swords made of balloons. Lots and lots of people milling about, meandering along the Riverwalk, spending lots of money. San Antonio’s tourism industry seems to be doing quite well.
San Antonio doesn’t feel like the seventh most populous city in the U.S., but we mostly were downtown with the other tourists so didn’t see many residential areas. We saw empty storefronts but also condos and apartment buildings under construction.
I wished I were fluent in Spanish. And I’m sure this trip will provide many more opportunities to bemoan my lack of language diversity.
***
Our food choices have been gastronomical and comical delights. I’d made spaghetti sauce before we left, so we heated it and boiled noodles one night while camping. The next night, we had hillbilly Caprese — mozzarella and tomato slices on generic Ritz crackers. The night after that, we were too tired to do anything but make PB&Js.
But the next day in Louisiana, we stopped at the Crazy ‘Bout Crawfish Cajun Cafe. I asked about the gator. “Tastes like chicken,” the waitress said, deadpan. John ordered the gator sandwich, and I had the crawfish sandwich. John’s was better. Like chicken fingers.
We spent our fourth night in Galveston. (John’s cousin in Houston, upon learning we were headed there, warned: “Prepare to be underwhelmed.”) We ordered takeout from Mr. Taco, which was quite satisfying and a nice, cheap introduction to Tex Mex.
Since then we’ve had homemade Guacamole and jalapeño cornbread, and split a scrumptious chicken Parmesan. Tonight, camping outside Big Bend National Park, it’s whatever’s in the cooler that hasn’t spoiled.
***
We’re excited to see and hear the wildlife in Big Bend. While camping by Lake Pontchartrain, we were treated to an owl menagerie. One, whose call I didn’t have the presence of mind to record, was joined by a second, and they flew just over our tent, providing a silhouette against the moon as they hooted in what seemed like angry confrontation. Coyotes yipped in the distance. In my half-awake state, I thought they were the sounds of annoying dogs at the campground. Sammy was fascinated.
Lake Pontchartrain was a beautiful stop. The rain had quit, and Spanish moss-draped live oaks lined the roads through Fontainebleau State Park. We (meaning John) set up camp and got to the lake just as the sun was setting. The calm waters provided a perfect reflection.
***
We’ve spent a lot of time on the highways, and songs, whether our own or the radio’s, have helped with entertainment. Three wooden crosses by the side of the road had us channeling Randy Travis. Traffic jams around Baytown, Texas prompted, “We will never pass this way again.”
Closer to Galveston, we listened to Psalm 23, part of the lyrics of a hopeful song called “We are Messengers — Come what May.”
In Sonora, Texas, today, John turned on the radio and found only one station with poor reception. So we continued chatting. We were entering desert terrain then, and he told me to keep my eyes open for jackalopes.
I’m a North Carolina girl who knows not to go hunting for snipes. But I didn’t know about the jackalope.
Live and learn. Come what may.