San Antonio: Really? The Alamo?

Once we realized that New Orleans was off the map due to hurricane/tropical depression Isaac, we had a choice. Do we cut straight across the panhandle of Texas and work Lake Arcadia in Oklahoma back in? Or do we continue south to San Antonio and wend our way through the upper part of Louisiana? Well, someone decided it would be fun to be able to say we drove from tip to tip across Texas, and San Antonio sounded way more fun than Kansas, so south we went.

We expected longhorns and cowboys, and while I didn't really think I'd find cowboys running alongside the highway, I did think there would at least be cattle. Wouldn't you? Noooope. I'm pretty sure we saw more cows in the Badlands. In fact, I know we did.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. We should have gotten off the highway if we really wanted to see anything at all. Bugger that. It was already going to be a 16-hour long drive through unrelenting heat. Damned if I was going to take us anywhere but straight to San Antonio and out again. So we drove and drove and drove and drove, making a game out of guessing what was over the next rise.

Suddenly, we were presented with nature's bosom. Each hill looked like a perfect boob, complete with nipples. It was impossible NOT to see it, so it's not just that we have dirty minds.

See? Tell me how that doesn't look like a giant tit sticking out of the ground.

Texas also apparently has a problem with hills. No, not mountains. Hills. They took the effort to cut a hole through all the hills they wanted the road to go through. It would have probably been much easier to just go AROUND the hills, or even OVER the hills, but no. This is Texas. The signs along the highway say, "Don't mess with Texas" so apparently even the landscape isn't safe.

 
At least the speed limit is 80 mph. It was great! At least until a state trooper going the opposite way used the turnabout to get onto our highway. He got behind us, and I was going 5 miles over the speed limit, so I slowed down. Then he slowed down. Then I thought he was going to pass me, but he didn't, and I had to go around another car going even slower. Then he got behind us, and slowed more, so we slowed more.

Then we freaked out and took an exit as soon as we turned a corner and he was out of sight. Only problem was that this was a side road that ran parallel to the highway, with a max speed limit of precisely the speed the cop was going. So, we were just driving next to him, after taking an exit we had no reason to be on with out of state plates, and B looking at a map to try and act lost.

We're idiots. He could have just crossed the grassy medians and pulled us over for god knows what, but, of course, he didn't. Which meant we were stuck on this side street and then a random gas station just waiting for him to get far enough ahead that we wouldn't have a repeat performance.

We made it to San Antonio and found a parking garage close to the riverwalk. By the way, everyone in Texas owns a giant pickup truck with ballsacks attached to the back, or a giant SUV. We screamed as the first massive vehicle turned the blind corner at the same time we did.

We got out and started walking down to the riverwalk. The riverwalk is actually sort of below the city, and we were stunned at how beautiful it was. Pristine walkways with an arrangement of tropical plants, various waterfalls, giant trees, and upscale restaurants surrounded the admittedly disgusting water with ducks swimming around in it.

We were walking along, and after passing a grassy set of steps leading up to La Villita, I realized that there was a stage set up across the water. Then I realized that the set of grassy steps was actually amphitheater seating. Coolest drama club set up ever!

 

I imagine it also makes it harder to throw rotten food.

The only problem with San Antonio was the heat. It was ridiculous. We haven't been drinking enough water, so both of us almost keeled over. We sat down inside the air-conditioned part of Casa Rio and ordered lunch. Delicious lemonade! Britt got an enchilada and tamales. Not sure what a tamale is, but it was like a cross of mashed potatoes and cardboard without the benefit of tasting like mashed potatoes. She liked them, but she was probably suffering from heat-stroke at the time. I got a combo plate of what ended up being fried stuff. Not the best idea on my part. My stomach took one look at it and flipped the hell out. "Seriously? You starve me, abuse me with convenience store cappuccino and taquitos, then tantalize me with the prospect of a real meal only to find out it's practically the same crap served on a plate instead of in a paper bag? No. This ends here. I've become a shrunken and pathetic shell of myself and I want a DIVORCE."

After lunch, I pulled out the city map a random tourist information person had handed to us. Huh. There's a place called the Alamo here. Even I know that's an important historic site, right? What's it doing in the middle of San Antonio? Can't be right. Maybe it's a dedication site or something, or... Shit. It's the goddamned Alamo. Two blocks away. We can't not go.

So we went to the Alamo. We got up to street level, pressed the button on for the crosswalk signal and jumped in surprise when it started talking to us. The cop across the street must have been laughing his ass off every time the thing said "WAIT". Whenever it spoke, Britt and I jumped, yelled at the crosswalk post that we were waiting, and erupted into a fit of giggles. Rinse and repeat, the entire time. Worse was when the buttons for both directions had both been pressed and the signals were competing with each other to give the pedestrians directions. Glad I'm not a blind person in San Antonio.

We walked down the block, turned the corner, and BAM! Have an Alamo. No lead up, it's just there. Thought there would be a park around it with an entrance to the protected historic site. Nope. It is the entrance. When I asked Britt what her thoughts on the Alamo were, she said:

Oh my God, it's so hot. Can we go now? Look, a rock. Did you take a picture of it? Good. Let's go. Ooo! A gift shop! A PRESSED PENNY MACHINE!!

After the Alamo -- I'm sorry, was that too quick for you? Didn't you read earlier that we are the WORST tourists ever? -- we went back through the Riverwalk to our cars. We wandered through a few gift shops, and I decided I wanted a T-shirt. At the Ripley's Believe It Or Not shop, I saw one that caught my eye and carried it around with me through the store. It just said "San Antonio, Est. 1691" in a fancy font, but then I realized that I must be more overheated than I thought, because it was bright pink with sparkly blue letters. So I picked up a different one, except it said that San Antonio was established in 1718. Confused, I brought them both to the girl at the counter and asked when the city was established. She didn't know. Can't blame her. I mean, who the hell actually knows that kind of thing off the top of their head? Except, because the second shirt also said Ripley's Believe It Or Not on it, she tried to tell me that maybe 1718 was went Ripley's was established.

Seriously?

We found a Five and Dime with a ton of T-shirts for sale, only to be more confused than ever. We found shirts saying 1691, 1718, 1824, 1845, 1846, and this foolishness:

I give up.

Then there were these:

 

Not sure why overt demonstrations of religion bother me, but they do. Is it because I always feel a little impure and guilty? Is it because they're all so very, very tacky? Or is it because they emanate a holy radiance of fanaticism that I find a little disturbing? I don't know. Chalk it up to the mystery of life, I suppose.

We sat under a bridge to get out of the sun and watch the numerous ducks paddle their way down the river. A nearby maintenance worker was singing to music coming from the restaurant, so Britt started bobbing her head to it too. He laughed and came over to chat. When we told him about the San Antonio date of establishment dilemma, he got on his radio and asked someone for us. Wikipedia states 1691, but there are a lot of historic moments that correspond to the dates we saw on the shirts. Radio-voice told us one number then gave another a little while later (neither being any that we saw), cementing the idea that nobody actually knows.

I'm not sure how we led into the next part of the conversation. Pretty sure there was no lead up, but my brain just wants to pretend people don't just jump into things like this. Kenneth, the maintenance worker, said that he had half a handlebar the night before and it was the best time of his life. Everything and everyone was funny and he was drooling, but he was happy. Britt and I nodded our heads at the appropriate times, thinking that maybe a handlebar is a mixed drink or something? Nope. It's a pill. I really think the DARE programs in schools need to explain more about the different street names for drugs. Or give us little wallet cards with synonyms on them or something. I think this might be important information somehow. There have been way too many times that people started talking and I have no idea what they're going on about, so I just smile and nod. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY NO TO DRUGS IF I DON'T EVEN KNOW WE'RE TALKING ABOUT THEM?!

Kenneth: I got home late and my girlfriend wanted sex, but I just passed out. So she's slapping me. Slap! Slap! SLAP! Just slapping me. But I took care of her later. Where are you girls from?
Britt: We're on a road trip from Massachusetts. Passing through here on out way home.
Kenneth: Shit, you guys must be rich to do that kind of thing.
Me: No, not so much. We've been camping or sleeping in rest areas mostly.
Kenneth: You could always sleep at my place.
Britt: Thanks anyway, but we're heading out soon.
Kenneth: I came here on vacation too, four years ago.
Me: Liked it so much you never left?
Kenneth: At the time, I thought it was paradise. Now all I want to do is shoot that duck. *finger-pistol motion towards nearest duck* They leave huge shit piles on the sidewalk and I have to get up early to clean them up for the tourists. But if I don't, the city doesn't make money and neither do I. So you're just going around the country fucking men in all the cities?
Britt: Uh, no.
Kenneth: You should stick around and get a drink. That place down there has magaritas to-go.
Me: I saw that! Pretty tempting. We haven't been able to drink on this trip. No time.
Kenneth: You could sleep at my place. My girlfriend might be pissed, but whatever.
Britt: No time. We have to be back to work on Tuesday.
Kenneth: Shit, you have a long way ahead of you, huh?
Us: Yuuuup.
Kenneth: And you can't even get a drink?
Us: Noooope.
Kenneth: That sucks.
Us: Yuuuup.
Kenneth: ... You guys twins?
Us: Noooope. (Really?)
Kenneth: ... You guys sisters?
Us: Noooope.
Kenneth: You guys are weird.
Us: Yuuuup.

As I'm writing this, I realize how awful it all sounds on paper, but it wasn't. He wasn't creepy, we weren't weirded out, no warning bells were sounding in our heads. He was just conversational. Granted it was a strange conversation, but he wasn't being all close and molesty. More like, eh, worth a shot, no? Oh, okay, have a nice trip girls, enjoy the city. Watch out for the duck shit.

He also mentioned that he had run into a group of people that had fled New Orleans. We'd been keeping tabs on Isaac, but that sealed the deal. New Orleans would be a definite no-go.

:(