A visit -- should I say pilgrimage? -- to the Alamo is de riguer at least the first time in San Antonio. It would be like going to Rome and not visiting the Vatican. Almost exactly like.
I'd read enough about it to be prepared for it being so very small -- it's really just the chapel of what was at one time a larger mission complex -- but I was not expecting the quasi-religious atmosphere. It is called "The Shrine;" men are required to remove their hats; not photography, no videos, no cell phones, and keep your voice down so as not to disturb the other worshippers.
I don't know whether it is always the case, or these were left over from the Fiesta last week, but it was filled with floral tributes, from modest bouquets to large wreaths. Other than the building itself, there's not much to see. A few display cases with a handful of artifact, Davy Crockett's beaded buckskin vest, some original documents. And plaques. Lots and lots of plaques.
Mike asked what I thought of it, and I demured answering until we had left the grounds. The grounds are worth a look. They will be very familiar to anyone acquainted with the California missions.
So, what did I think? I thought it was appalling. A romanticization -- an idealization -- a sanctification, an attempt at rationalization and justification of what was nothing more than a rebellion against a lawful sovereign power. Ferber was right, of course; they stole Texas from Mexico. It was not an act of independence against an aggressor, or an invading foreign power, or an oppressor -- the Texans WERE the aggressors and the invading foreigners, and the oppressors of the native peoples. Mexicans who were on the wrong side of the border found themselves suddenly foreigners in their own land, subject to discrimination and inequality and oppression -- and they still are.
It's a glorification of war over diplomacy and of
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Popular Culture in San Antonio
Here we are, in San Antonio for the Popular Culture Association/American Culture Association national conference. More about that on my personal blog, "Life in the Middle." We drove from Baton Rouge on Tuesday. All I have to say is that 8 hours is too long and Houston is too big. It goes on and on and on. The less said about Darlene's guidance to the Saint Anthony, the better. Let's just say I still have moments of sheer panic and amazement that I didn't kill us both. How can you "stay right" and go to the south, when you're headed west?
Love our hotel, the Saint Anthony Riverwalk, built about 1900, now owned by Wyndham, and astounded that we got it for $75.00 a night. Bless you, hotels.com.
John Wayne stayed here while filming "The Alamo" -- ask for the John Wayne Suite, if you're in the money. The sweeping staircase in the main lobby, with wrought (or cast -- I admit that I can't tell the difference) iron banister, leads up to a luxurious lounge, right out of some elegant movie of the '40s. Past reception is "Peacock Alley," the truly spectacular lounge with crystal chandeliers, high ceilings, plaster moulding -- certainly not your average budget hotel. After deliberation, we opted for the covered valet parking over the cheaper self-parking lot outside. I might have left the Mazda there -- in fact, I might have left the Mazda in one of the $8.00 lots down the street, but it's worth the extra to avoid all of that sun damage to the new car -- to say nothing of bird poop and possible vandalism.
We were a bit nervous on arrival, because of some of the negative reviews, and took a deep breath before opening the door to our room. We were very pleasantly surprised. The room is a decent size, with room for the king-sized four-poster bed, a small desk, and two side tables. The bathroom is at least as big as the one at home, and the walk-in closet is as big as the one in our spare room. The bed has an oversized mattress, with high-quality linens. Short women have complained about having difficulty climbing into bed, and they should offer a step stool; getting into bed should not be an Olympic sport.
It's true that there are only two shallow drawers in the t.v. armoire, but there is a shelf the length of the closet, as well as hooks and plenty of hangers. Besides, it's a hotel -- not an apartment. You can set up the luggage rack in the closet and live out of it, if you have that many clothes. The bathroom could use another shelf or some kind counter space, but we're managing. We're only here for 4 days.
On the other hand, the plumbing does need some attention. The cold water in the sink drips; there's no plug, not even a cheap rubber one, or other cover for the drain. I cover it with a washcloth so that I don't drop anything down it. It was obvious that the bathroom had been cleaned, since there was dried, crusted scouring powder in both the sink and the tub. I wasn't sure what it was at first, and quickly tried to rinse it down before Mike saw it and decided to complain. Someone needs to teach the housekeepers to rinse after cleaning, but at least it was cleaned. Not sure whether we'll leave a tip.
Mike wanted a room at the front with a view; I'm happier with the interior room to the back. They are darker and quieter, and we aren't here to sit in our hotel room and stare out the window. I rather forcefully reminded him of "the incident" in Salt Lake, where he demanded that they change our room for one in the front with a view, then couldn't sleep due to the lights and noise from the street, so that we changed back the next day. I refuse to go through that again, particularly since that room had a bathroom that was so small you had to sit on the toilet to use the sink. The only reason to change a room is because there is something wrong with the room itself.
We were both exhausted and wound-up, so we headed down to the hotel bar for happy hour. We were the only two in the place, which is confusing, as the drinks were good, the prices were low, and the bar tender very friendly. According to him, the place is much lively on the weekends, which makes sense; we wouldn't be there on a Tuesday night if we weren't away from home. He recommended a restaurant on the River Walk so, a margarita on the rocks later, we decided to head over in that direction and get the lay of the land.
The River Walk wasn't quite as crowded as some of the reviews claimed, although I can well believe that it was during the Fiesta. It is just like Disneyland! We could have been down in the restaurant at Pirate's of the Caribbean. The river is only about 3 feet deep in this area, lined with stones and bordered by the walk itself, with its shops and professional landscaping, so, frankly, it looks like the product of designers rather than nature. All of the restaurants have tables on both sides of the Walk, but, at that hour (about 7:00), they were all taken, as well as the patio tables. A bigger disappointment was the number of chain restaurants; as I told Mike, we did not travel 500 miles to eat at Joe's Crab Shack.
Tired, hot, and crabby (maybe we should have reconsidered Joe's), we found the restaurant recommended by the bar tender. One look and we knew it was not for us. Acenar HotMex/CoolBar was clearly too, too hip for us. At that point, not wanting to endanger our marriage by traipsing around any longer, we returned to the hotel restaurant. At least we would be close to our room when we'd finished.
Once again, we practically had the place to ourselves. There was one other couple, who finished shortly after we were seated, and a single woman having dessert, some kind of rich, chocolately cake thing with ice cream. I was tempted to skip straight to dessert, but ordered the Saint Anthony salad and pecan-crusted Chilean sea bass instead. I had to see why Gordon Ramsay is so fond of it. Mike ordered the caesar salad and shrimp linguine.
The salad was acceptable, but, as they tend to be, overpriced for what it was. The pickled onions were an interesting note, but they had not balanced the dressing to account for them, so the entire dish was too acidic. The fish came on a bed of linguine tossed with wilted spinach; a bit too oily for my taste, but a presentation I'll remember for home. It makes a nice changed from mashed potatoes.
I'll be honest -- I don't understand the fad for sea bass. It's a mild, flaky white fish. The texture is a -- smooth, rather like catfish or eel. Not as meaty as halibut or swordfish, and certainly not as strongly flavored. I suppose that's it -- it can take a lot of sauces and won't fight the flavors. The pecan crust was crunchy, but something about it -- I kept smelling chlorine as I was eating. Maybe the champagne mustard?
Mike asked the waiter if John Wayne had eaten in the restaurant, and according to him, he had steak and eggs there every morning for breakfast, at the table where the single woman had been eating. Just try to prove that he didn't, but Mike was thrilled to think he was that close to the Duke.
Love our hotel, the Saint Anthony Riverwalk, built about 1900, now owned by Wyndham, and astounded that we got it for $75.00 a night. Bless you, hotels.com.
John Wayne stayed here while filming "The Alamo" -- ask for the John Wayne Suite, if you're in the money. The sweeping staircase in the main lobby, with wrought (or cast -- I admit that I can't tell the difference) iron banister, leads up to a luxurious lounge, right out of some elegant movie of the '40s. Past reception is "Peacock Alley," the truly spectacular lounge with crystal chandeliers, high ceilings, plaster moulding -- certainly not your average budget hotel. After deliberation, we opted for the covered valet parking over the cheaper self-parking lot outside. I might have left the Mazda there -- in fact, I might have left the Mazda in one of the $8.00 lots down the street, but it's worth the extra to avoid all of that sun damage to the new car -- to say nothing of bird poop and possible vandalism.
We were a bit nervous on arrival, because of some of the negative reviews, and took a deep breath before opening the door to our room. We were very pleasantly surprised. The room is a decent size, with room for the king-sized four-poster bed, a small desk, and two side tables. The bathroom is at least as big as the one at home, and the walk-in closet is as big as the one in our spare room. The bed has an oversized mattress, with high-quality linens. Short women have complained about having difficulty climbing into bed, and they should offer a step stool; getting into bed should not be an Olympic sport.
It's true that there are only two shallow drawers in the t.v. armoire, but there is a shelf the length of the closet, as well as hooks and plenty of hangers. Besides, it's a hotel -- not an apartment. You can set up the luggage rack in the closet and live out of it, if you have that many clothes. The bathroom could use another shelf or some kind counter space, but we're managing. We're only here for 4 days.
On the other hand, the plumbing does need some attention. The cold water in the sink drips; there's no plug, not even a cheap rubber one, or other cover for the drain. I cover it with a washcloth so that I don't drop anything down it. It was obvious that the bathroom had been cleaned, since there was dried, crusted scouring powder in both the sink and the tub. I wasn't sure what it was at first, and quickly tried to rinse it down before Mike saw it and decided to complain. Someone needs to teach the housekeepers to rinse after cleaning, but at least it was cleaned. Not sure whether we'll leave a tip.
Mike wanted a room at the front with a view; I'm happier with the interior room to the back. They are darker and quieter, and we aren't here to sit in our hotel room and stare out the window. I rather forcefully reminded him of "the incident" in Salt Lake, where he demanded that they change our room for one in the front with a view, then couldn't sleep due to the lights and noise from the street, so that we changed back the next day. I refuse to go through that again, particularly since that room had a bathroom that was so small you had to sit on the toilet to use the sink. The only reason to change a room is because there is something wrong with the room itself.
We were both exhausted and wound-up, so we headed down to the hotel bar for happy hour. We were the only two in the place, which is confusing, as the drinks were good, the prices were low, and the bar tender very friendly. According to him, the place is much lively on the weekends, which makes sense; we wouldn't be there on a Tuesday night if we weren't away from home. He recommended a restaurant on the River Walk so, a margarita on the rocks later, we decided to head over in that direction and get the lay of the land.
The River Walk wasn't quite as crowded as some of the reviews claimed, although I can well believe that it was during the Fiesta. It is just like Disneyland! We could have been down in the restaurant at Pirate's of the Caribbean. The river is only about 3 feet deep in this area, lined with stones and bordered by the walk itself, with its shops and professional landscaping, so, frankly, it looks like the product of designers rather than nature. All of the restaurants have tables on both sides of the Walk, but, at that hour (about 7:00), they were all taken, as well as the patio tables. A bigger disappointment was the number of chain restaurants; as I told Mike, we did not travel 500 miles to eat at Joe's Crab Shack.
Tired, hot, and crabby (maybe we should have reconsidered Joe's), we found the restaurant recommended by the bar tender. One look and we knew it was not for us. Acenar HotMex/CoolBar was clearly too, too hip for us. At that point, not wanting to endanger our marriage by traipsing around any longer, we returned to the hotel restaurant. At least we would be close to our room when we'd finished.
Once again, we practically had the place to ourselves. There was one other couple, who finished shortly after we were seated, and a single woman having dessert, some kind of rich, chocolately cake thing with ice cream. I was tempted to skip straight to dessert, but ordered the Saint Anthony salad and pecan-crusted Chilean sea bass instead. I had to see why Gordon Ramsay is so fond of it. Mike ordered the caesar salad and shrimp linguine.
The salad was acceptable, but, as they tend to be, overpriced for what it was. The pickled onions were an interesting note, but they had not balanced the dressing to account for them, so the entire dish was too acidic. The fish came on a bed of linguine tossed with wilted spinach; a bit too oily for my taste, but a presentation I'll remember for home. It makes a nice changed from mashed potatoes.
I'll be honest -- I don't understand the fad for sea bass. It's a mild, flaky white fish. The texture is a -- smooth, rather like catfish or eel. Not as meaty as halibut or swordfish, and certainly not as strongly flavored. I suppose that's it -- it can take a lot of sauces and won't fight the flavors. The pecan crust was crunchy, but something about it -- I kept smelling chlorine as I was eating. Maybe the champagne mustard?
Mike asked the waiter if John Wayne had eaten in the restaurant, and according to him, he had steak and eggs there every morning for breakfast, at the table where the single woman had been eating. Just try to prove that he didn't, but Mike was thrilled to think he was that close to the Duke.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Big Bend and Environs, Day 10 : Lafayette and home!
Breakfast in the dining car, seated with a 20-something couple who clearly resented being stuck with a couple of old people. Next train trip -- all meals in our roomette.
As we got closer to home, and the routine anxieties of everyday life came creeping back, I realized that we had not seen a newspaper or listened to any news on the radio or television for 10 days. For all we knew, LSU had been shuttered, Baton Rouge had washed away in a torrential downpour, Congress had staged a coup . . .
Mike kept checking for cell service, and called Lois as soon as he could. The cats, of course, were fine. Buddy had brought a live jay into the house and she had all kinds of adventures getting it back out. Trip to cat owners -- the best cat sitters are farm girls; they aren't afraid of much of anything. She told me that there were blood spots and bird poop all over my bathroom, but no real damage.
Miller had given her a few moments panic by hiding behind the compost one day, as he does, and not coming when called. She thought he'd jumped the fence, but there's no way that big cat is going too far from the food.
I also began to imagine what could possibly go wrong when we went to pick up the car (would they have a record of our pre-payment? Would the car even still be there?), but all of my fears were totally unfounded. In point of fact, it was a holiday, so the parking was free and there wasn't even an attendant on duty. I do wonder how much I overpaid, but at $2.50 a day, I'm not going to nitpick.
We used Darlene to get out of Lafayette without getting lost once, then turned her off and managed the rest of the drive without her assistance. Got home, unloaded the car, petted the kitties, then a quick trip to Sam's for a slice of pizza for lunch and a roasted chicken for dinner. It doesn't take long to return to business as usual.
As we got closer to home, and the routine anxieties of everyday life came creeping back, I realized that we had not seen a newspaper or listened to any news on the radio or television for 10 days. For all we knew, LSU had been shuttered, Baton Rouge had washed away in a torrential downpour, Congress had staged a coup . . .
Mike kept checking for cell service, and called Lois as soon as he could. The cats, of course, were fine. Buddy had brought a live jay into the house and she had all kinds of adventures getting it back out. Trip to cat owners -- the best cat sitters are farm girls; they aren't afraid of much of anything. She told me that there were blood spots and bird poop all over my bathroom, but no real damage.
 |
| Catch birds? I've been asleep the whole time. |
Miller had given her a few moments panic by hiding behind the compost one day, as he does, and not coming when called. She thought he'd jumped the fence, but there's no way that big cat is going too far from the food.
 |
| What? What? |
I also began to imagine what could possibly go wrong when we went to pick up the car (would they have a record of our pre-payment? Would the car even still be there?), but all of my fears were totally unfounded. In point of fact, it was a holiday, so the parking was free and there wasn't even an attendant on duty. I do wonder how much I overpaid, but at $2.50 a day, I'm not going to nitpick.
We used Darlene to get out of Lafayette without getting lost once, then turned her off and managed the rest of the drive without her assistance. Got home, unloaded the car, petted the kitties, then a quick trip to Sam's for a slice of pizza for lunch and a roasted chicken for dinner. It doesn't take long to return to business as usual.
Big Bend and Environs, Days 8 & 9 : Marfa (again) and Alpine (again)
Wednesday, December 29 -- Very sad to leave Captain Shepard's, but eager to get home to our kitties. Wonderful breakfast at the Marathon Coffee shop -- which was finally open! I do wonder how half of these places stay in business. The Oasis cafe looked like it was closed for the season. -- The breakfast enchilada was a welcome variation on the omnipresent breakfast burrito.
Driving in to Alpine gave us a completely different view -- figuratively and literally. There is much more to the community than is evident from the train. The first thing we noticed was Sul Ross Sate University up on the mountainside to the north. It reminded me very much of Weber State; built about the same period, and in a very similar setting. We were to learn that it began in 1917 as a Normal School, then became a Teacher's College in 1923, that it has about 1800 students, and 3 branch campuses. If they are hiring, buying Capt. Shepard's might not be so impossible after all.
We decided that since as were in no hurry, we would do as the signs suggested, and visit the Museum of the Big Bend. We followed the signs up around to the back of the campus to the Museum, housed in a picturesque stone building courtesy of the WPA that has been recently renovated.
The museum is more or less what one expects. It has multiple videos, re-creations, displays, etc. that attempt to present the geological and human history of the area. Interesting, if somewhat overwhelming, exhibit on early maps of Texas.
Even with that stop, we still had hours to kill before we could check in to our very own Airstream, so we stopped at the Apache Trading Post on the way out of Alpine and watched a video on the Marfa Mystery lights. I picked up some very nice gold and red jasper earrings made by as local artist, and an authentic Navajo wedding jar.
On a whim, we stopped at the Marfa Dairy Queen for lunch. After waiting for an inordinate amount of time, I was given the worst burger I have ever had. I swear it had been microwaved -- hot, limp lettuce, hot pickles, hot, soggy bun, and the beef had that boiled taste and texture. The microwave seems to be the cooking method of choice in these parts. Every dessert we've ordered has come to the microwave, and I'd lay money that our mashed potatoes and corn had been passed through it at the Famous Burro. I use it enough myself at home to know! Jett's Grill, the Gage Restaurant, and Starlight Theatre were the exceptions. I guess that the average person is so used to using it at home that it doesn't strike them as inappropriate to use it in a restaurant.
Finally time to head to El Cosmico. Bit of a letdown. Trailers not restored so much as made habitable. A distressed wooden table of the yard sale variety and two mismatched captain's chairs, a bit worse for wear, replaced the original -- what? probably a table with padded benches -- an electric cook top set into a hot pink stand in place of a stove; no oven, not even a (gasp!) microwave, the sofa is now a vinyl padded bench with no back cushions, and the bed was a futon on the floor. No rod in the closet. A small shrine had been set up on a counter, with an Indian-style print and candles. It's really all meant for the neo-hippie Marfa arts crowd, not us aging boomers with a nostalgia for our childhood.
Still, it was a Vagabond -- it did have the original wood paneling, sink and cupboards in the kitchen, and bathroom -- and the most privacy we had the entire trip.
We walked up to the town center and found that the gift shop next to the Paisano was closed, so I couldn't buy that bracelet I had seen a week ago, but the courthouse was open. We climbed up several staircases of diminishing sizes into the cupola. I kept a sharp eye out for any hidden nuns.
Then a stop at the Get Go for dinner fixings and breakfast provisions. Yet another establishment that does not live up to its press. Lots of bottled, canned, packaged "gourmet," and "natural," products and "specialty" personal care items, but very little food. No bread. Almost nothing that was fresh. Racks of gourmet teas, but no milk or eggs or juice. I finally found a couple of cans of a sparkling juice drink, and a pint of cream. Looks like we'll be finishing off the packaged oatmeal and cocoa that we brought with us, but we still have nothing for dinner.
Mike dragged me to the Marfa Mystery Lights viewing area a good hour before desk. Cold wind blowing. Cloudy skies. Spectacular panorama that loses interest after 15 minutes. Walked around and read the historical markers. Then, nothing much to do except wait. Others arrived more timely. Finally started seeing lights -- car lights on the highway from Presidio. Both of us astounded at people's gullibility and determination to see what they want to see. When you see a string of lights that begin one at a time at the crest of the hill, then follow each other in a straight line down the same path to the bottom, more or less evenly spaced, it's a fair bet that they are car lights -- particularly when there's a highway just over there.
Mike, of course, was more disappointed than I, since he's a true believer in the supernatural, but even I had half-hoped to see something mysterious and intriguing. I can't say that there are not mystery lights there. All I can say is that the only lights we saw were car headlights.
We then drove around for more than an hour trying to find a place for dinner. Everything was either closed -- including the burrito joint at the gas station -- or much too expensive -- we weren't about to pay Maiya's prices. Padre's turned out to be a bar that serves food. We would have stayed, but the band was just tuning up and we just wanted a quiet dinner. Ultimately discovered a Subway, bought sandwiches, and ate them in the trailer. Not so bad, but very frustrating -- pizza place closed for the season, Tacos del Norte closed for the season, Carmen's not open for dinner, other places either not open for dinner or not open on Wednesday. Once again I was left to wonder how people stay in business then they are closed during the tourist season. Perhaps they cater to the students as Sul Ross?
Thursday, December 30 -- Mike opted to brave the outdoor shower rather than try to squeeze into the tiny trailer tub. The water was warm, but the temperature was about 30, so I made do with the indoor facilities. I wonder if people were shorter in 1953?
Breakfast was a struggle with the 20 lb cast iron kettle. It might have been easier if the sprout were not broken, so that I had to lift it up to almost 90 degrees to pour out the hot water. I managed, however, to make the coffee and oatmeal. It was nice to eat out of real dishes rather than disposables.
Nothing to keep us in Marfa, so we got to Alpine hours early -- and realized that we could have had dinner at any number of restaurants there. Filled the tank and left the car at the train station while we re-visited the Holland Hotel. On our honeymoon trip from Los Angeles, the train had stopped at Alpine for an hour or more. We spotted the Holland, and walked over to check it out. The dining room was filled with locals enjoying Christmas dinner. We were enchanted with its quaint charm and quirky rooms, and planned to stay there when we came back to Big Bend. Sadly, when we were going to make reservations, we discovered that it had been "renovated" and all of the rooms standardized. The new lobby certainly is impressive, although I seriously doubt that the coffee bar is a "restoration," and I'm sure that the general public will be quite taken with the new look.
Tried to call Amtrak to check on the train schedule, but no cell phone service (we are getting rid of Virgin as soon as we get home!). Mike suggested that we ask the woman in Ivey's Emporium if she would call for us (she called the car rental company for us a week ago). Lovely woman who just handed us the phone. And yes, they are that Ivey, the Terlingua Ivey's. Her daughter came in and we had a lengthy conversation about the Holiday Hotel, Starlight Theatre, the Holland Hotel, Sul Ross -- and Baton Rouge. Turns out she went to Nichols State and her son is planning to attend McNeese (or is it the other way around?). She also recommended the Alpine Guest Lofts, which they also own, the next time we are in the area. I picked up another pair of earrings made by a local artisan, and a little gift for our neighbor who was cat sitting.
Since it was only about 11:30, Mike insisted on an early lunch, "just in case we can't eat on the train." I agreed primarily to kill time. Another surprisingly good meal, this time at the Bread & Breakfast Bakery Cafe. I chose the carrot soup (which needed a little something -- tarragon? ginger? dill?) and half a turkey sandwich on freshly baked cheddar-jalapeno bread. Mike had a chicken fajita wrap which included a full complement of vegetables.
The train arrived more or less on time and departed quickly. Our roomette was not ready -- the previous occupants disembarked at Alpine -- so we were sent to the dining car for lunch! I did the sensible thing and ordered the spinach salad -- without chicken -- and treated myself to a raspberry sorbet. My husband, on the other hand, chowed down on the Angus burger and key lime cake. I shall say no more.
The trip home was not quite as excellent as the one out -- the crew were all tired, having been on the train since Los Angeles, supplies were running low, and we just wanted to get home -- but no major complaints. I finished the copy of "Giant" that I had bought at the Marfa Book Company the day we arrived. Interesting differences between the book and movie; more or less distorted the themes of the book and made them more palatable to the film's audience.
Dinner in our room again, and in bed sometime after San Antonio.
Driving in to Alpine gave us a completely different view -- figuratively and literally. There is much more to the community than is evident from the train. The first thing we noticed was Sul Ross Sate University up on the mountainside to the north. It reminded me very much of Weber State; built about the same period, and in a very similar setting. We were to learn that it began in 1917 as a Normal School, then became a Teacher's College in 1923, that it has about 1800 students, and 3 branch campuses. If they are hiring, buying Capt. Shepard's might not be so impossible after all.
We decided that since as were in no hurry, we would do as the signs suggested, and visit the Museum of the Big Bend. We followed the signs up around to the back of the campus to the Museum, housed in a picturesque stone building courtesy of the WPA that has been recently renovated.
The museum is more or less what one expects. It has multiple videos, re-creations, displays, etc. that attempt to present the geological and human history of the area. Interesting, if somewhat overwhelming, exhibit on early maps of Texas.
Even with that stop, we still had hours to kill before we could check in to our very own Airstream, so we stopped at the Apache Trading Post on the way out of Alpine and watched a video on the Marfa Mystery lights. I picked up some very nice gold and red jasper earrings made by as local artist, and an authentic Navajo wedding jar.
On a whim, we stopped at the Marfa Dairy Queen for lunch. After waiting for an inordinate amount of time, I was given the worst burger I have ever had. I swear it had been microwaved -- hot, limp lettuce, hot pickles, hot, soggy bun, and the beef had that boiled taste and texture. The microwave seems to be the cooking method of choice in these parts. Every dessert we've ordered has come to the microwave, and I'd lay money that our mashed potatoes and corn had been passed through it at the Famous Burro. I use it enough myself at home to know! Jett's Grill, the Gage Restaurant, and Starlight Theatre were the exceptions. I guess that the average person is so used to using it at home that it doesn't strike them as inappropriate to use it in a restaurant.
Finally time to head to El Cosmico. Bit of a letdown. Trailers not restored so much as made habitable. A distressed wooden table of the yard sale variety and two mismatched captain's chairs, a bit worse for wear, replaced the original -- what? probably a table with padded benches -- an electric cook top set into a hot pink stand in place of a stove; no oven, not even a (gasp!) microwave, the sofa is now a vinyl padded bench with no back cushions, and the bed was a futon on the floor. No rod in the closet. A small shrine had been set up on a counter, with an Indian-style print and candles. It's really all meant for the neo-hippie Marfa arts crowd, not us aging boomers with a nostalgia for our childhood.
Still, it was a Vagabond -- it did have the original wood paneling, sink and cupboards in the kitchen, and bathroom -- and the most privacy we had the entire trip.
We walked up to the town center and found that the gift shop next to the Paisano was closed, so I couldn't buy that bracelet I had seen a week ago, but the courthouse was open. We climbed up several staircases of diminishing sizes into the cupola. I kept a sharp eye out for any hidden nuns.
Then a stop at the Get Go for dinner fixings and breakfast provisions. Yet another establishment that does not live up to its press. Lots of bottled, canned, packaged "gourmet," and "natural," products and "specialty" personal care items, but very little food. No bread. Almost nothing that was fresh. Racks of gourmet teas, but no milk or eggs or juice. I finally found a couple of cans of a sparkling juice drink, and a pint of cream. Looks like we'll be finishing off the packaged oatmeal and cocoa that we brought with us, but we still have nothing for dinner.
Mike dragged me to the Marfa Mystery Lights viewing area a good hour before desk. Cold wind blowing. Cloudy skies. Spectacular panorama that loses interest after 15 minutes. Walked around and read the historical markers. Then, nothing much to do except wait. Others arrived more timely. Finally started seeing lights -- car lights on the highway from Presidio. Both of us astounded at people's gullibility and determination to see what they want to see. When you see a string of lights that begin one at a time at the crest of the hill, then follow each other in a straight line down the same path to the bottom, more or less evenly spaced, it's a fair bet that they are car lights -- particularly when there's a highway just over there.
Mike, of course, was more disappointed than I, since he's a true believer in the supernatural, but even I had half-hoped to see something mysterious and intriguing. I can't say that there are not mystery lights there. All I can say is that the only lights we saw were car headlights.
We then drove around for more than an hour trying to find a place for dinner. Everything was either closed -- including the burrito joint at the gas station -- or much too expensive -- we weren't about to pay Maiya's prices. Padre's turned out to be a bar that serves food. We would have stayed, but the band was just tuning up and we just wanted a quiet dinner. Ultimately discovered a Subway, bought sandwiches, and ate them in the trailer. Not so bad, but very frustrating -- pizza place closed for the season, Tacos del Norte closed for the season, Carmen's not open for dinner, other places either not open for dinner or not open on Wednesday. Once again I was left to wonder how people stay in business then they are closed during the tourist season. Perhaps they cater to the students as Sul Ross?
Thursday, December 30 -- Mike opted to brave the outdoor shower rather than try to squeeze into the tiny trailer tub. The water was warm, but the temperature was about 30, so I made do with the indoor facilities. I wonder if people were shorter in 1953?
Breakfast was a struggle with the 20 lb cast iron kettle. It might have been easier if the sprout were not broken, so that I had to lift it up to almost 90 degrees to pour out the hot water. I managed, however, to make the coffee and oatmeal. It was nice to eat out of real dishes rather than disposables.
Nothing to keep us in Marfa, so we got to Alpine hours early -- and realized that we could have had dinner at any number of restaurants there. Filled the tank and left the car at the train station while we re-visited the Holland Hotel. On our honeymoon trip from Los Angeles, the train had stopped at Alpine for an hour or more. We spotted the Holland, and walked over to check it out. The dining room was filled with locals enjoying Christmas dinner. We were enchanted with its quaint charm and quirky rooms, and planned to stay there when we came back to Big Bend. Sadly, when we were going to make reservations, we discovered that it had been "renovated" and all of the rooms standardized. The new lobby certainly is impressive, although I seriously doubt that the coffee bar is a "restoration," and I'm sure that the general public will be quite taken with the new look.
Tried to call Amtrak to check on the train schedule, but no cell phone service (we are getting rid of Virgin as soon as we get home!). Mike suggested that we ask the woman in Ivey's Emporium if she would call for us (she called the car rental company for us a week ago). Lovely woman who just handed us the phone. And yes, they are that Ivey, the Terlingua Ivey's. Her daughter came in and we had a lengthy conversation about the Holiday Hotel, Starlight Theatre, the Holland Hotel, Sul Ross -- and Baton Rouge. Turns out she went to Nichols State and her son is planning to attend McNeese (or is it the other way around?). She also recommended the Alpine Guest Lofts, which they also own, the next time we are in the area. I picked up another pair of earrings made by a local artisan, and a little gift for our neighbor who was cat sitting.
Since it was only about 11:30, Mike insisted on an early lunch, "just in case we can't eat on the train." I agreed primarily to kill time. Another surprisingly good meal, this time at the Bread & Breakfast Bakery Cafe. I chose the carrot soup (which needed a little something -- tarragon? ginger? dill?) and half a turkey sandwich on freshly baked cheddar-jalapeno bread. Mike had a chicken fajita wrap which included a full complement of vegetables.
The train arrived more or less on time and departed quickly. Our roomette was not ready -- the previous occupants disembarked at Alpine -- so we were sent to the dining car for lunch! I did the sensible thing and ordered the spinach salad -- without chicken -- and treated myself to a raspberry sorbet. My husband, on the other hand, chowed down on the Angus burger and key lime cake. I shall say no more.
The trip home was not quite as excellent as the one out -- the crew were all tired, having been on the train since Los Angeles, supplies were running low, and we just wanted to get home -- but no major complaints. I finished the copy of "Giant" that I had bought at the Marfa Book Company the day we arrived. Interesting differences between the book and movie; more or less distorted the themes of the book and made them more palatable to the film's audience.
Dinner in our room again, and in bed sometime after San Antonio.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Big Bend and Environs, Days 6 & 7 : Big Bend National Park and Marathon, Texas
Monday, December 27, our last day in the Park. Breakfast buffet at the Lodge, a quick stop at Panther Junction to send off some post cards, and then north to Marathon. We stopped once at the Fossil Bones Exhibit. The time spans -- 70 million years -- are incomprehensible. The fossil bone casts on exhibit were quite like the quartz shaped I had seen in the rocks at Boquillas Canyon, which gives further weight to my idea that they are fossils -- a jawbone, yes, and possibly some ribs.
Arrived in Marathon roughly an hour later, checked in, and fell in love with Captain Shepard's Inn. It is currently for sale (and has been for about 5 years, we were told), so we indulged in a fantasy of buying and opening shop as a B&B -- if only we had a spare half-million and enough capital to see us through until it began to turn a profit -- or more bravado -- or less sense. The place has been fully restored and modernized -- although someone needs to go through with a screwdriver and tighten things up! The bathroom door knob came off in my hand and the one of the screws holding the deadbolt to the door of our room had come out. Nothing that can't be fixed easily, but it does suggest an absentee landlord.
Lunch at Johnny B's soda shop. Interesting take on a club sandwich -- including pickles and onion, with American cheese. The Sunset Limited passed through, going east, as we were eating. We'll be on that same train in just three days' time.
Quick stroll around downtown -- shock at Pitaya Verde's Rodeo Drive prices, but quite pleased to pick up a few good used books at the local book store. More than a little put out by French Co. Grocer's $50 minimum purchase on a credit or debit card -- or they'll add the service fee to your bill! So, they lost a $30 sale -- I don't give in to such extortion. Shall I report them? Probably. It's a blatant violation of their agreement. Such unethical behavior offends me. If they don't want to abide by the terms of the agreement, then just don't take the cards. Many other shops in Marathon don't.
I scheduled Marathon as an R&R stop for me, a chance to spend a day not driving, so after lunch I sprawled on the bed with my books and Mike went out to make movie history. When he came back, he told me that another couple and their adult daughter had arrived. They just grunted when he greeted them and hurried up to their rooms. Americans really don't understand the B&B culture -- and it's still a B&B, even if they don't serve the B.
Our final big blow-out evening. Retrenchment now in order. Drinks first at the White Buffalo bar, then dinner at the Gage Hotel restaurant. Good food, but nothing on the Starlight Theatre. Mike was mad for the cow skull lamps and the cowhide chairs. I made the mistake of ordering their "famous" chicken fried steak. Well-prepared, but it was enough for four people! I ate what I wanted, and left the rest. We need to cut back on more than just the money we're spending on food.
Awakened around 5:00 by other guests tramping around. I found all of the lights on and the front door open when I went down. Not just unlocked, but open. We were told when we picked up the keys to make certain that we locked that door when we went out. The same people who gave Mike the cold shoulder yesterday, so I guess it's no surprise. There's another car in the parking area, so there must be another guest, but a very quiet one.
Tuesday, December 28 -- Breakfast this morning at Shirley's Burnt Biscuit, which is highly rated on several websites. The reason for the press escapes me. The biscuits and gravy were excellent, but everything else had been made in advance and stored in a refrigerated case. Want a breakfast croissant? Help yourself from the fridge. Want it hot? Pop it in the microwave. Uh, no. We waited -- and waited -- for the cinnamon rolls to come out of the oven. Again, quite nice, but nothing to rave about. While we waited, we wandered through the "antique" store in the other half of the building, and choked at the prices. Maybe we're spoiled by Denham Springs. Most of what they were selling wasn't antique, anyway. It wasn't even old. Lots of Chinese and Indian imports; a stack of acrylic crocheted afghans ($50?!?!?); soaps and hand lotions, with a smattering of old china tea cups and saucers and some old flatware that should have been sterling at those prices.
The other guest had gone by the time we returned. Judging from the magazine left on the table, he? -- she? -- they? -- were Chinese. I wonder if they were visiting Big Bend? I hardly think they'd come all the way from China just to visit Marathon!
Marcy, the housekeeper, was doing the rooms. Mike mentioned to her that we were thinking of buying the Inn (Oh? Really?) and she could not have been more excited. She insisted on giving us the grand tour, including the remodeled carriage house (if we did buy it, that bathroom would be the first thing we upgraded!), and the honeymoon suite with jacuzzi under the stairs (hmmm -- a Harry Potter themed room, where magic can happen?). Seems that at one time it was a bonafide B&B, and she made the breakfasts, and would like nothing better than for those days to return. I didn't have the heart to tell her that the only way we'd be able to make a go of it would be to do all of the work ourselves.
Lunch again at Johnny B's. Godawful ham and cheese -- thin sliced ham and American cheese -- on white bread. The small town life is loosing its charm. Very friendly people for the most part, but . . . We fed bits of Mike's chicken strips to a black and white cat and missed our kitties.
Another couple was just unloading their suitcases and large dog from their SUV when we got back. Mike mentioned to them that pets were not allowed. They said he (the dog, not Mike) would be spending the night in the car. We'll be watching . . . I guess we're feeling somewhat proprietary.
I spent most of the afternoon snoozing and reading, while Mike wandered farther afield to film some of the unique sights of Marathon, including a goat in an abandoned hotel.
A disappointing meal at Famous Burro. Despite the name, it does not serve burritos, or any kind of Mexican food. I ended up with tilapia while Mike had brisket -- the pulled pork had not yet been pulled. It does have a great atmosphere, though, with locals dropping in for a drink at the bar on their way home, and we really like the vintage gas station architecture.
Just one more day before we get the train to go home -- and not a day too soon. In fact, if we had driven, I think we would have headed home this morning. We've had a lovely trip, and now we want to go home. On the other hand, El Cosmico awaits.
Arrived in Marathon roughly an hour later, checked in, and fell in love with Captain Shepard's Inn. It is currently for sale (and has been for about 5 years, we were told), so we indulged in a fantasy of buying and opening shop as a B&B -- if only we had a spare half-million and enough capital to see us through until it began to turn a profit -- or more bravado -- or less sense. The place has been fully restored and modernized -- although someone needs to go through with a screwdriver and tighten things up! The bathroom door knob came off in my hand and the one of the screws holding the deadbolt to the door of our room had come out. Nothing that can't be fixed easily, but it does suggest an absentee landlord.
Lunch at Johnny B's soda shop. Interesting take on a club sandwich -- including pickles and onion, with American cheese. The Sunset Limited passed through, going east, as we were eating. We'll be on that same train in just three days' time.
Quick stroll around downtown -- shock at Pitaya Verde's Rodeo Drive prices, but quite pleased to pick up a few good used books at the local book store. More than a little put out by French Co. Grocer's $50 minimum purchase on a credit or debit card -- or they'll add the service fee to your bill! So, they lost a $30 sale -- I don't give in to such extortion. Shall I report them? Probably. It's a blatant violation of their agreement. Such unethical behavior offends me. If they don't want to abide by the terms of the agreement, then just don't take the cards. Many other shops in Marathon don't.
I scheduled Marathon as an R&R stop for me, a chance to spend a day not driving, so after lunch I sprawled on the bed with my books and Mike went out to make movie history. When he came back, he told me that another couple and their adult daughter had arrived. They just grunted when he greeted them and hurried up to their rooms. Americans really don't understand the B&B culture -- and it's still a B&B, even if they don't serve the B.
Our final big blow-out evening. Retrenchment now in order. Drinks first at the White Buffalo bar, then dinner at the Gage Hotel restaurant. Good food, but nothing on the Starlight Theatre. Mike was mad for the cow skull lamps and the cowhide chairs. I made the mistake of ordering their "famous" chicken fried steak. Well-prepared, but it was enough for four people! I ate what I wanted, and left the rest. We need to cut back on more than just the money we're spending on food.
Awakened around 5:00 by other guests tramping around. I found all of the lights on and the front door open when I went down. Not just unlocked, but open. We were told when we picked up the keys to make certain that we locked that door when we went out. The same people who gave Mike the cold shoulder yesterday, so I guess it's no surprise. There's another car in the parking area, so there must be another guest, but a very quiet one.
Tuesday, December 28 -- Breakfast this morning at Shirley's Burnt Biscuit, which is highly rated on several websites. The reason for the press escapes me. The biscuits and gravy were excellent, but everything else had been made in advance and stored in a refrigerated case. Want a breakfast croissant? Help yourself from the fridge. Want it hot? Pop it in the microwave. Uh, no. We waited -- and waited -- for the cinnamon rolls to come out of the oven. Again, quite nice, but nothing to rave about. While we waited, we wandered through the "antique" store in the other half of the building, and choked at the prices. Maybe we're spoiled by Denham Springs. Most of what they were selling wasn't antique, anyway. It wasn't even old. Lots of Chinese and Indian imports; a stack of acrylic crocheted afghans ($50?!?!?); soaps and hand lotions, with a smattering of old china tea cups and saucers and some old flatware that should have been sterling at those prices.
The other guest had gone by the time we returned. Judging from the magazine left on the table, he? -- she? -- they? -- were Chinese. I wonder if they were visiting Big Bend? I hardly think they'd come all the way from China just to visit Marathon!
Marcy, the housekeeper, was doing the rooms. Mike mentioned to her that we were thinking of buying the Inn (Oh? Really?) and she could not have been more excited. She insisted on giving us the grand tour, including the remodeled carriage house (if we did buy it, that bathroom would be the first thing we upgraded!), and the honeymoon suite with jacuzzi under the stairs (hmmm -- a Harry Potter themed room, where magic can happen?). Seems that at one time it was a bonafide B&B, and she made the breakfasts, and would like nothing better than for those days to return. I didn't have the heart to tell her that the only way we'd be able to make a go of it would be to do all of the work ourselves.
Lunch again at Johnny B's. Godawful ham and cheese -- thin sliced ham and American cheese -- on white bread. The small town life is loosing its charm. Very friendly people for the most part, but . . . We fed bits of Mike's chicken strips to a black and white cat and missed our kitties.
Another couple was just unloading their suitcases and large dog from their SUV when we got back. Mike mentioned to them that pets were not allowed. They said he (the dog, not Mike) would be spending the night in the car. We'll be watching . . . I guess we're feeling somewhat proprietary.
I spent most of the afternoon snoozing and reading, while Mike wandered farther afield to film some of the unique sights of Marathon, including a goat in an abandoned hotel.
A disappointing meal at Famous Burro. Despite the name, it does not serve burritos, or any kind of Mexican food. I ended up with tilapia while Mike had brisket -- the pulled pork had not yet been pulled. It does have a great atmosphere, though, with locals dropping in for a drink at the bar on their way home, and we really like the vintage gas station architecture.
Just one more day before we get the train to go home -- and not a day too soon. In fact, if we had driven, I think we would have headed home this morning. We've had a lovely trip, and now we want to go home. On the other hand, El Cosmico awaits.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Big Bend and Environs, Day 5 : Big Bend National Park (Day 2)
Sunday, December 26 -- Awake early, eager to get out and explore more of the Park. A quick breakfast of oatmeal and cocoa in the room, then out for a short hike around the Basin. The Lodge-area map that we were given at check-in includes a "walking trail" around the lodging facilities on the paved road "in compliance with the President's "Healthier America" plan" that will give you your 30 minutes minimum daily recommended physical activity, but there are also several longer loop trails that go up into the mountains. We opted for the shorter of these, which was roughly a mile and a half, since we wanted time to do other trails throughout the park. A quick stop at the convenience store for sandwiches, and we were on our way.
We hiked about half of the Lost Mine trail, which gives spectacular views of the basin, and then turned back, as we wanted to get to Boquillas Canyon before too late. Although the weather was mild, it was still winter and got dark early. I didn't relish the thought of navigating those hairpin turns into the basin after dark.
We lunched at the picnic area at Dugout Wells, once considered the cultural center of Big Bend because it was the location of one of the few schools in the area. It appears to be a natural oasis, which settlers "dugout" to improve the seepage of water, and later installed a windmill, which the Park service continues to maintain. The picnic area is in a grove of cottonwood trees that surround a small stream and pool, which also support shrubs and grasses. After lunch, we walked the self-guided Chihuahuan Desert trail that is marked out around the area. It loops back around to the other side of the oasis area, away from the picnic tables. As we came into the trees, I smelled a very strong odor of urine, and thought "Something's been marking it's territory." It became progressively stronger, and just as I was going to ask Mike if he smelled something, there was a rush and a heave in the grasses to our right, and half-a-dozen javelina (collared peccarys) pushed through to the road on the other side of the vegetation. They appeared to be females and young; the largest, which was probably the boar, stayed down in the mud where he was. I was entranced; Mike was concerned that they would charge us. However, they did not act at all aggressively, and kept the thick vegetation between us and them. While that made us (and them, undoubtedly) feel safer, it rather precluded any decent filming.
By this time, two other cars were parked at the picnic area, and since we hate crowds, we were glad to be on our way to Boquillas Canyon. We stopped at the overlook for filming purposes. Signs along the road warned against buying illegal items and detailed fairly severe penalties, and there, on a large rock at the overlook, were a dozen or so wire scorpions, roadrunners, ocotillo, etc., a few large chunks of quartz, and some tacky, painted walking sticks. A handwritten, misspelled note on cardboard gave the prices ($6 each for most) and asked for donations "for a school for the children" as well; a plastic bottle with the top cut off and weighted with a rock served as the cash box. We would see more of these later on the canyon trail.
Mike was filming across the river, and through the zoom, he could make out a person sitting at a small fire under some trees, watching to see if anyone took any of the items. We could also make out a narrow path down the bluff to the river bank, so apparently the sellers simply wade or swim the river and hike up the bluff to leave their wares in the morning, then return to wait until dark to collect any wages. The bottle, however, was empty and likely to remain so, although if I'd realized that the same, legal, items in the gift shop cost $14 . . .
Then back on the road and down to Boquillas Canyon. The trail proved to be more strenuous than the one at Elena Canyon -- up over a shoulder of the bluff then down again, scrambling over some fairly large boulders. The trail was lined with wire sculptures for sale. We stopped to sit on the rocks and take in the view. I noticed what looked like fossils in the rocks, but could not identify most of them. One looked a lot like a bottom jaw bone. We could see the canyon from where sat, so down the rest of the way, then along the river bank.
The river was fairly low, so at first we were walking over sand and gravel, but soon were stumbling over some extensive stretches of tumbled rocks about the size of a man's fist. We learned later that some of them had washed down from as far away as Emory Peak -- some 60 miles away. And there, across the river, was a small family of burros!
We didn't quite get to the canyon entrance -- it seemed to move as we got closer! -- but we did get within filming distance.
At this point, we had to turn back. We had left the water in the car, and even in December, it's quite warm in those parts. By the time we got back to the car, I was well on the way to dehydration.
As we reached the top of the trail, we heard shouts and laughter coming from across the river. Three young people on horseback were riding back and forth across the river. One of the young men chased and roped a calf which had been peacefully grazing with its mother. He was clearly showing off I suspect that at least one of the others was a young woman. They eventually crossed to our side and rode their horses up the path (I had noticed . . . deposits . . . on our way down) to check on their sales. They were, of course, uniformly disappointed. They were riding very nice horses, fully equipped with saddles, bridles, etc., and they themselves were nicely dressed . . . it does make one wonder exactly who makes those items and exactly who profits. It also points out not only the futility but the ridiculousness of attempting to close the border between our two countries. Just license them already.
After drinking nearly a gallon of water in the car, we made our way back to the Basin and dinner at the Lodge.
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| "The Window" |
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| Casa Grande |
We lunched at the picnic area at Dugout Wells, once considered the cultural center of Big Bend because it was the location of one of the few schools in the area. It appears to be a natural oasis, which settlers "dugout" to improve the seepage of water, and later installed a windmill, which the Park service continues to maintain. The picnic area is in a grove of cottonwood trees that surround a small stream and pool, which also support shrubs and grasses. After lunch, we walked the self-guided Chihuahuan Desert trail that is marked out around the area. It loops back around to the other side of the oasis area, away from the picnic tables. As we came into the trees, I smelled a very strong odor of urine, and thought "Something's been marking it's territory." It became progressively stronger, and just as I was going to ask Mike if he smelled something, there was a rush and a heave in the grasses to our right, and half-a-dozen javelina (collared peccarys) pushed through to the road on the other side of the vegetation. They appeared to be females and young; the largest, which was probably the boar, stayed down in the mud where he was. I was entranced; Mike was concerned that they would charge us. However, they did not act at all aggressively, and kept the thick vegetation between us and them. While that made us (and them, undoubtedly) feel safer, it rather precluded any decent filming.
By this time, two other cars were parked at the picnic area, and since we hate crowds, we were glad to be on our way to Boquillas Canyon. We stopped at the overlook for filming purposes. Signs along the road warned against buying illegal items and detailed fairly severe penalties, and there, on a large rock at the overlook, were a dozen or so wire scorpions, roadrunners, ocotillo, etc., a few large chunks of quartz, and some tacky, painted walking sticks. A handwritten, misspelled note on cardboard gave the prices ($6 each for most) and asked for donations "for a school for the children" as well; a plastic bottle with the top cut off and weighted with a rock served as the cash box. We would see more of these later on the canyon trail.
Mike was filming across the river, and through the zoom, he could make out a person sitting at a small fire under some trees, watching to see if anyone took any of the items. We could also make out a narrow path down the bluff to the river bank, so apparently the sellers simply wade or swim the river and hike up the bluff to leave their wares in the morning, then return to wait until dark to collect any wages. The bottle, however, was empty and likely to remain so, although if I'd realized that the same, legal, items in the gift shop cost $14 . . .
Then back on the road and down to Boquillas Canyon. The trail proved to be more strenuous than the one at Elena Canyon -- up over a shoulder of the bluff then down again, scrambling over some fairly large boulders. The trail was lined with wire sculptures for sale. We stopped to sit on the rocks and take in the view. I noticed what looked like fossils in the rocks, but could not identify most of them. One looked a lot like a bottom jaw bone. We could see the canyon from where sat, so down the rest of the way, then along the river bank.
The river was fairly low, so at first we were walking over sand and gravel, but soon were stumbling over some extensive stretches of tumbled rocks about the size of a man's fist. We learned later that some of them had washed down from as far away as Emory Peak -- some 60 miles away. And there, across the river, was a small family of burros!
We didn't quite get to the canyon entrance -- it seemed to move as we got closer! -- but we did get within filming distance.
At this point, we had to turn back. We had left the water in the car, and even in December, it's quite warm in those parts. By the time we got back to the car, I was well on the way to dehydration.
As we reached the top of the trail, we heard shouts and laughter coming from across the river. Three young people on horseback were riding back and forth across the river. One of the young men chased and roped a calf which had been peacefully grazing with its mother. He was clearly showing off I suspect that at least one of the others was a young woman. They eventually crossed to our side and rode their horses up the path (I had noticed . . . deposits . . . on our way down) to check on their sales. They were, of course, uniformly disappointed. They were riding very nice horses, fully equipped with saddles, bridles, etc., and they themselves were nicely dressed . . . it does make one wonder exactly who makes those items and exactly who profits. It also points out not only the futility but the ridiculousness of attempting to close the border between our two countries. Just license them already.
After drinking nearly a gallon of water in the car, we made our way back to the Basin and dinner at the Lodge.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Big Bend and Environs, Day 4 : Big Bend National Park (Day 1)
Saturday, December 25 -- Christmas morning! Breakfasted in our room on instant oatmeal, hot cocoa, and mango nectar, after opening our stockings. Because the trip is our big present to ourselves, we opted to give each other small token gifts just for fun -- and it was fun. Next year, I'll keep my eyes open for small gifts all year long.
We hiked around the area and visited the ghost town cemetery, which is still in use.
An overview of the ghost town from the top of the hill to the west. The area is dotted with old mine shafts, most of which have been filled in, but a few were covered with metal grates so that tourists can get a glimpse of history. Apparently someone lives in that old school bus in the foreground; he's interviewed on the DVD "Ghost Town: 24 Hours in Terlingua.'
The large building in known as "The Mansion." The extension on the back has been restored and is rented out as "Upstairs at the Mansion." The owner hopes to gradually restore the entire building as a hotel.
Note the flying saucer -- aliens as well as ghosts!
Wifi is everywhere! I also like the name of the coffee shop "Espresso -- and little else" or, in more colloquial English, "Espresso -- and not much more."
Finally, some "found art" in Terlingua.
Terlingua is less than a 30-minute drive from the southwest entrance to Big Bend National Park. However, given that it was a holiday, the entrance station was closed, so we drove on in to the Panther Junction visitor's center to purchase our permit, rather than risk spoiling our trip.
The visitor's center was surprisingly busy, although perhaps not. Most of the visitors appeared to be on the same mission as we were, and the majority appeared to be international visitors. We heard a fair number of different accents, and three Asian children were inducted as junior rangers while their parents recorded the event.
Pass purchased and affixed to the inside of the windshield on the driver's side, we turned back south to Santa Elena canyon and the Rio Grande. Numerous roadside special exhibits explain the geology, flora, and fauna of the region. We were especially impressed with Tuff Canyon, a narrow, deep (20-75 feet) desert wash roughly half a mile long.
We reached Santa Elena canyon at lunch time, so we picnicked on smoked salmon pate, lobster pate, and olives from our Christmas stocking haul, before walking down to the river and the astounding canyon that it has carved.
We surprised a roadrunner on our walk back to the car, Mike's first. I find them the most amazingly primitive birds, and have no trouble believing that they are related to dinosaurs.
Up the narrow, twisty, winding road to the Chisos Mountains, then down again into the basin. Luck was with us when we checked into the Lodge. Someone had canceled and we were able to get one room for both nights! In honor of the holiday, we were presented with a gift bag of a Big Bend mug (just what we need -- another mug), a small bag of specialty coffee, and handful of Christmas candy. The only dinner option was the Christmas buffet, so we forced ourselves to endure turkey, ham, stuffing, corn, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, green beans, and pie or cobbler, all for less than $20 a person. I also declared that we are eating out next Thanksgiving! All the trimmings with none of the work.
We hiked around the area and visited the ghost town cemetery, which is still in use.
An overview of the ghost town from the top of the hill to the west. The area is dotted with old mine shafts, most of which have been filled in, but a few were covered with metal grates so that tourists can get a glimpse of history. Apparently someone lives in that old school bus in the foreground; he's interviewed on the DVD "Ghost Town: 24 Hours in Terlingua.'
Terlingua is less than a 30-minute drive from the southwest entrance to Big Bend National Park. However, given that it was a holiday, the entrance station was closed, so we drove on in to the Panther Junction visitor's center to purchase our permit, rather than risk spoiling our trip.
The visitor's center was surprisingly busy, although perhaps not. Most of the visitors appeared to be on the same mission as we were, and the majority appeared to be international visitors. We heard a fair number of different accents, and three Asian children were inducted as junior rangers while their parents recorded the event.
Pass purchased and affixed to the inside of the windshield on the driver's side, we turned back south to Santa Elena canyon and the Rio Grande. Numerous roadside special exhibits explain the geology, flora, and fauna of the region. We were especially impressed with Tuff Canyon, a narrow, deep (20-75 feet) desert wash roughly half a mile long.
We reached Santa Elena canyon at lunch time, so we picnicked on smoked salmon pate, lobster pate, and olives from our Christmas stocking haul, before walking down to the river and the astounding canyon that it has carved.
We surprised a roadrunner on our walk back to the car, Mike's first. I find them the most amazingly primitive birds, and have no trouble believing that they are related to dinosaurs.
Up the narrow, twisty, winding road to the Chisos Mountains, then down again into the basin. Luck was with us when we checked into the Lodge. Someone had canceled and we were able to get one room for both nights! In honor of the holiday, we were presented with a gift bag of a Big Bend mug (just what we need -- another mug), a small bag of specialty coffee, and handful of Christmas candy. The only dinner option was the Christmas buffet, so we forced ourselves to endure turkey, ham, stuffing, corn, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, green beans, and pie or cobbler, all for less than $20 a person. I also declared that we are eating out next Thanksgiving! All the trimmings with none of the work.
Big Bend and Environs, Day 3 : Presidio and Terlingua Ghost Town.
Friday, December 24 -- Contrary to the warnings on Trip Advisor, there was absolutely no noise from the courtyard during the night. Probably because it was too cold to sit out there with a drink. It might have been different on New Year's Eve, of course, and undoubtedly was during Spring Break.
We walked over to Carmen's Cafe for breakfast. (We both miss living in a pedestrian friendly area!) We'd it in a New York Times' article about Marfa, and were not disappointed. The place quickly filled up with regulars as we were eating, testimony to the quality and value of the food. We were the only "strangers" there; everyone else was greeted by name as they entered. Everything -- salsa, tortillas, beans, potatoes -- is homemade and the eggs are cooked to order. Mike is still raving about the huevos rancheros. Our only regret is that we didn't leave room for a fresh, homemade doughnut -- and that we weren't in Marfa for lunch.
Mike was still determined to go into Mexico at Ojinaga, despite the warnings from the woman at the Chamber of Commerce yesterday. However, one of the customers at Carmen's put that idea to rest. He'd asked us where we were going, and when we told him Big Bend, said that we would love it, but advised us to take food with us because "You'll pay 10 dollars for a burger and coke." Then when Mike mentioned going over to Ojinaga, he exploded and told us in no uncertain terms, "Don't you go into Mexico! Don't go! My wife and I used to go all the time, but we haven't gone in two years. People like us -- like you and me -- can't go into Mexico!" I'm not sure exactly what he meant by that, as he was clearly Mexican-American and spoke fluent Spanglish, sprinkling his conversation with "Andale!" and other Spanish terms. He explained that Ojinaga is an entry point for drugs into the U.S., and that there are killings daily. Mike grudgingly agreed not to go. I know that he was very disappointed, but I think he would have been in any case. Bordertowns are not the same as the rural villages of Oaxaca that he visited 10 years ago.
Back to the hotel to check out and get on the road. Mike noticed that the barbershop had opened while we were at breakfast, so he took advantage of the opportunity to get a haircut in a real barbershop, not a styling salon. I was forbidden to sit and wait for him, as it is a solely masculine domain. Finally, we fired up Darlene, and headed out of town toward Presidio and the Rio Grande River Road.
We hit Presidio about lunch time. Border patrol making their presence known. According to our GPS, El Patio was the nearest restaurant, so we stopped and are we glad we did (bless you, GPS). The food was pure Tex-Mex. The chicken enchiladas I had were amazing! Strangely, the decor is straight out of Cervantes. A primitive (or modern?) wooden sculpture of Don Quixote graces one corner, which is painted with a mural of southern Spain. In honor of the season, he sported a Santa hat.
Darlene got us out of town, but then began giving us bizarre and obviously erroneous directions, which I wisely did not follow. After telling us to "drive 47 miles," she would tell us to take every road that branched off to the right. She spent a lot of time "recalculating." She also did not recognize Fort Leaton as a destination. However, I can still read and follow road signs, which I did, and gave Darlene a rest.
Mike had spoken with a retired Border Patrol agent in the barbershop who had recommended Fort Leaton, and as it is just a few yards off the highway, we stopped. A sign on the door of the gift shop told us that the Ranger had left on an "errand" (I believe that is spelled "l-u-n-c-h") and would return soon, so to just wander at will, which we did. Interesting and unusual site of a 19th century fortified (hence the "fort") adobe trading post built and run by Ben Leaton (hence the "Leaton") from 1848-1851. Spectacular views, as well, as it's situated on a high point.
With Ojinaga clearly visible to the southwest across the Rio Grande (or Rio Bravo del Norte), it wasn't surprising to find a detailed exhibit about the Battle of Ojinaga and Francisco "Pancho" Villa.
After meeting the single most voluble Ranger in the Texas State Park system and purchasing a few souvenirs, we managed to break away and get back on the road toward Terlingua Ghost Town.
Finding the Big Bend Holiday Hotel was an adventure in itself. We found Terlingua, but Darlene could not find the address or even the street -- Ivey Road -- we were given in our confirmation e-mail, and we saw no signs for the hotel. The waitress at the Ghost Town Cafe sent us five miles down the road to the Big Bend Resort Hotel in Study (that's stew-dee) Butte where we lucked out by finding a convenience store clerk who was a local and knew not only the area but everyone who lives there. After I gave her the address, she said, "Well, Ben Ivey owns all that up in the ghost town, so it has to be up there by the Terlingua Trading Post," and sent us back to where we came from. We passed the Ghost Town Cafe and just kept going to the top of the hill, and there we were.
The Cinnabar Room did not disappoint. It appears that the owners are slowly restoring the rooms, doing them one at a time and going them right. The room was quaint, comfortable, and atmospheric with all of the right touches, including colored tiles and a rough wood bookcase with a pressed tin back and what appears to be a sotol (yucca) stalk ceiling. The linens, bed and bath, were high quality Egyptian cotton. They'd laid a fire for us in the chimena fireplace (but neglected to leave matches, so we weren't able to enjoy it), and left bottled water and juice in the mini-fridge. The only downside was that the bathroom is four doors down the porch. It is as well-appointed as the bedroom, however, and closer than those at most campgrounds.
Quick shopping at the Trading Post, as it was closing early for Christmas Eve, then a pre-dinner drink at the Starlight Theatre. Returned shortly for a dinner that even Gordon Ramsay would envy! We had read the reviews of the Starlight, but they still did not prepare us for the absolutely amazing food. I'd gladly stay a week in Terlingua just to eat my way through the menu. Everything was perfectly balanced. Mike had the pork medallions in a chipotle reduction which was rich, dark, smoky, and pleasantly spicy. I had the sauteed chicken with mushrooms and spinach in a cream sauce. Contrary to my expectations, the chicken was not in strips, but a half of a breast, cooked to perfection, with lightly sauteed mushrooms and barely wilted spinach in just enough sauce to coat. The vegetable medley of yellow squash, onion, etc. was also lightly sauteed, still with a bit of crunch. Mashed potatoes finished the meal. Sadly, we were not able to contemplate dessert, but I'm sure that it would have been astounding.
On the way back to the room, we were literally stopped in our tracks by the night sky. We forget how much we've lost due to light pollution. The moon had not yet risen, so the Milky Way was clearly visible, as were billions and billions of individual stars. It's always a humbling experience to realize how insignificant this planet really is in the vastness of the universe.
Asleep early again, to be awakened a few hours later by unidentified animal sounds. Mike thinks it was a coyote, but I've never heard a coyote make that noise. It was a strange yipping that turned into a screech rather than a howl. Desert fox? Screech owl? Coyote with a cold?
We walked over to Carmen's Cafe for breakfast. (We both miss living in a pedestrian friendly area!) We'd it in a New York Times' article about Marfa, and were not disappointed. The place quickly filled up with regulars as we were eating, testimony to the quality and value of the food. We were the only "strangers" there; everyone else was greeted by name as they entered. Everything -- salsa, tortillas, beans, potatoes -- is homemade and the eggs are cooked to order. Mike is still raving about the huevos rancheros. Our only regret is that we didn't leave room for a fresh, homemade doughnut -- and that we weren't in Marfa for lunch.
Mike was still determined to go into Mexico at Ojinaga, despite the warnings from the woman at the Chamber of Commerce yesterday. However, one of the customers at Carmen's put that idea to rest. He'd asked us where we were going, and when we told him Big Bend, said that we would love it, but advised us to take food with us because "You'll pay 10 dollars for a burger and coke." Then when Mike mentioned going over to Ojinaga, he exploded and told us in no uncertain terms, "Don't you go into Mexico! Don't go! My wife and I used to go all the time, but we haven't gone in two years. People like us -- like you and me -- can't go into Mexico!" I'm not sure exactly what he meant by that, as he was clearly Mexican-American and spoke fluent Spanglish, sprinkling his conversation with "Andale!" and other Spanish terms. He explained that Ojinaga is an entry point for drugs into the U.S., and that there are killings daily. Mike grudgingly agreed not to go. I know that he was very disappointed, but I think he would have been in any case. Bordertowns are not the same as the rural villages of Oaxaca that he visited 10 years ago.
Back to the hotel to check out and get on the road. Mike noticed that the barbershop had opened while we were at breakfast, so he took advantage of the opportunity to get a haircut in a real barbershop, not a styling salon. I was forbidden to sit and wait for him, as it is a solely masculine domain. Finally, we fired up Darlene, and headed out of town toward Presidio and the Rio Grande River Road.
We hit Presidio about lunch time. Border patrol making their presence known. According to our GPS, El Patio was the nearest restaurant, so we stopped and are we glad we did (bless you, GPS). The food was pure Tex-Mex. The chicken enchiladas I had were amazing! Strangely, the decor is straight out of Cervantes. A primitive (or modern?) wooden sculpture of Don Quixote graces one corner, which is painted with a mural of southern Spain. In honor of the season, he sported a Santa hat.
Darlene got us out of town, but then began giving us bizarre and obviously erroneous directions, which I wisely did not follow. After telling us to "drive 47 miles," she would tell us to take every road that branched off to the right. She spent a lot of time "recalculating." She also did not recognize Fort Leaton as a destination. However, I can still read and follow road signs, which I did, and gave Darlene a rest.
Mike had spoken with a retired Border Patrol agent in the barbershop who had recommended Fort Leaton, and as it is just a few yards off the highway, we stopped. A sign on the door of the gift shop told us that the Ranger had left on an "errand" (I believe that is spelled "l-u-n-c-h") and would return soon, so to just wander at will, which we did. Interesting and unusual site of a 19th century fortified (hence the "fort") adobe trading post built and run by Ben Leaton (hence the "Leaton") from 1848-1851. Spectacular views, as well, as it's situated on a high point.
With Ojinaga clearly visible to the southwest across the Rio Grande (or Rio Bravo del Norte), it wasn't surprising to find a detailed exhibit about the Battle of Ojinaga and Francisco "Pancho" Villa.
After meeting the single most voluble Ranger in the Texas State Park system and purchasing a few souvenirs, we managed to break away and get back on the road toward Terlingua Ghost Town.
Finding the Big Bend Holiday Hotel was an adventure in itself. We found Terlingua, but Darlene could not find the address or even the street -- Ivey Road -- we were given in our confirmation e-mail, and we saw no signs for the hotel. The waitress at the Ghost Town Cafe sent us five miles down the road to the Big Bend Resort Hotel in Study (that's stew-dee) Butte where we lucked out by finding a convenience store clerk who was a local and knew not only the area but everyone who lives there. After I gave her the address, she said, "Well, Ben Ivey owns all that up in the ghost town, so it has to be up there by the Terlingua Trading Post," and sent us back to where we came from. We passed the Ghost Town Cafe and just kept going to the top of the hill, and there we were.
The Cinnabar Room did not disappoint. It appears that the owners are slowly restoring the rooms, doing them one at a time and going them right. The room was quaint, comfortable, and atmospheric with all of the right touches, including colored tiles and a rough wood bookcase with a pressed tin back and what appears to be a sotol (yucca) stalk ceiling. The linens, bed and bath, were high quality Egyptian cotton. They'd laid a fire for us in the chimena fireplace (but neglected to leave matches, so we weren't able to enjoy it), and left bottled water and juice in the mini-fridge. The only downside was that the bathroom is four doors down the porch. It is as well-appointed as the bedroom, however, and closer than those at most campgrounds.
Quick shopping at the Trading Post, as it was closing early for Christmas Eve, then a pre-dinner drink at the Starlight Theatre. Returned shortly for a dinner that even Gordon Ramsay would envy! We had read the reviews of the Starlight, but they still did not prepare us for the absolutely amazing food. I'd gladly stay a week in Terlingua just to eat my way through the menu. Everything was perfectly balanced. Mike had the pork medallions in a chipotle reduction which was rich, dark, smoky, and pleasantly spicy. I had the sauteed chicken with mushrooms and spinach in a cream sauce. Contrary to my expectations, the chicken was not in strips, but a half of a breast, cooked to perfection, with lightly sauteed mushrooms and barely wilted spinach in just enough sauce to coat. The vegetable medley of yellow squash, onion, etc. was also lightly sauteed, still with a bit of crunch. Mashed potatoes finished the meal. Sadly, we were not able to contemplate dessert, but I'm sure that it would have been astounding.
On the way back to the room, we were literally stopped in our tracks by the night sky. We forget how much we've lost due to light pollution. The moon had not yet risen, so the Milky Way was clearly visible, as were billions and billions of individual stars. It's always a humbling experience to realize how insignificant this planet really is in the vastness of the universe.
Asleep early again, to be awakened a few hours later by unidentified animal sounds. Mike thinks it was a coyote, but I've never heard a coyote make that noise. It was a strange yipping that turned into a screech rather than a howl. Desert fox? Screech owl? Coyote with a cold?
Monday, January 3, 2011
Big Bend and Environs, Days 1 & 2 : Lafayette to Marfa
If we count travel -- and since we were on the train, why not? -- then Day 1 was Wednesday, December 22. Very thankful that I listened to Mike and drove out to Lafayette the week before to check on the station and parking situation -- using our new GPS whom we have named "Darlene."
Still don't know whether the empty lot across the street from the station is for Amtrak parking, but wouldn't have left the car there even if it were. Dropped Mike and the luggage off and took the car to the nearest public garage, and there encountered my first adventure. As I pulled in, I noticed the sign, and had the sense to ask, "How short is "short-term?" The attendant informed me that I'd have to pay in advance for 10 days. This took much longer than it needed to, as he was constantly stopping to let cars out, and then asking me for the information I had just given him -- and that he had written down! He eventually explained that he had suffered a stroke, and had only recently returned to work. All was finally resolved, and I walked back to the train station, with something like an hour and a half to spare, but better early than late.
The train was on time, and we were soon established in our roomette, where I luxuriated in being carried along without having to attend to the road. Dinner delivered to us in our roomette -- a bit cramped, but we were able to eat our steak (New York strip) and sip our merlot in private. Shortly afterward, the porter made up our beds and we were down and out by 8:30! This was only the first of many early nights. Neither of us sleeps especially well on trains, but we certainly do better in a roomette than we would reclining in a coach seat. Mike claims that he didn't "sleep at all," but he wasn't nearly cranky enough the next day for me to believe that. Besides, I know his sleep breathing.
Really, other than a somewhat supercilious dining car attendant, who clearly thinks he's clever and witty and is clearly wrong, the trip was pleasant and relaxing and over too soon. I could easily have ridden another day or two, just reading and looking at the scenery and being called to meals or having them delivered to us in our roomette.
Train travel is no longer as glamorous as it once was, but it is still more human than air travel. We could walk through the train at our leisure, visit the (ahem) facilities, sit in the observation car, sipping a drink from the bar, never once told to return to our seats and fasten our seat belts. And when we were tired of the public, we could retire to the privacy of our very own roomette. The dishes may be plastic and the tablecloths paper, but there are dishes and there are tablecloths and there is real food cooked to order. The napkins, by the way, are still cloth and the flatware, while not silver, is at least stainless steel. Even those lowly travelers in coach are permitted to purchase a meal and eat it in the dining car, if they chose not to eat in the cafe car. Meals are included in the cost of the room or roomette -- both are considered "first class", although I'd have to say that roomettes are more on the order of 1.5 class.
Awake about 5:00 the next morning, but no cats to let out. Was lucky enough to get the shower on my second try. We decided to save ourselves time by putting up the beds ourselves. Breakfast in the dining car when it opened about 6:30. I succumbed to temptation and had the Classic Railroad French Toast with blueberry compote. Then back to our roomette and more lounging and sightseeing until time for lunch. We'd made an early reservation, since we'd eaten so early and were departing the train about 1:30.
We heard at lunch that a passenger was left behind at Del Rio. It was one of the scheduled 10-minute "smoking stops," and we'd all been warned to stay on the platform near the train. Apparently he had decided to ignore that warning and take a stroll. Rumor has it that he expected the train to wait for him.
Trains come through every other day, so his choices were to stay in Del Rio for 2 nights (sans luggage), pay $300 plus in cab fare to try to catch the train at the next stop of Sanderson, or convince someone to come out and get him. I sure hope he enjoyed that cigarette. We'd gone into the station to look for an ATM (with no success), but no farther.
That was also the stop where Santa was handing out candy canes to the passengers. He got on the train with us, and did the same thing at least as far as Alpine. A nice touch that added to the holiday atmosphere.
The train passed over Lake Amistad immediately after Del Rio. Rather ironic name these days when most of the border crossings are closed and tourists are warned against entering Mexico at the few that are open. Then over the Pecos River Bridge, said by our conductor to be the highest railroad bridge in the U.S., and past Langtry, home of "Judge" Roy Bean (yes, he was a genuine historical figure, if not quite as good looking as Paul Newman). I suppose it depends on how you define "bridge." In any case, the bridge is close to 300 feet high, and we got a splendid view of the river and some of its canyons.
Lunch in the dining car again -- I can highly recommend the black bean chipotle burger -- and into Alpine about half an hour early.
The rental car was waiting for us at the station, but no agent, probably because the train was early. Of all the paperwork that I brought, I'd forgotten that particular confirmation e-mail. Mike walked across the street to find a phone, and the nice lady in Ivey's Emporium let him use her phone. The agent was there in a few minutes, I signed the forms (and declined all forms of additional insurance; I like to live on the edge), we powered up Darlene, and were soon on our way to Marfa and the Hotel Paisano.
Film buffs will recognize Marfa as the location of the shooting of the 1956 epic "Giant." The stars and some of the crew were housed at the Hotel Paisano. While we did not reserve the Liz Taylor or Rock Hudson suite, we cherish the thought that we slept in the same room as a cameraman or assistant director. The hotel is on both the National and State Historical Registers, and deservedly so. It is an absolutely spectacular example of pre-WWII Texas Mission-style architecture by Henry Trost. The lobby alone is worth the trip. It's tiled, with beamed ceilings, original (or reproduction) oak and leather furniture, and French windows looking out into the courtyard, with its 4-tier cast iron reticulated fountain. Our room on the 2nd floor looked onto the courtyard, with French windows opening onto a tiny balcony, about 2 feet deep, with wrought-iron rail. The bathroom was, for the most part, original. Sadly, the rooms have been redecorated in American Standard Motel. We had a few issues with the plumbing (the cold water handle in the shower came off in my hand and the shower head itself desperately wants either cleaning or replacing), but were assured that they were working on it. The major drawback is the lack of an elevator, but my big, strong husband managed the large suitcases.
Strolled around Marfa, where Mike had a second lunch of Marfalafel at the Food Shark. I had a taste, and don't understand what the fuss is, although perhaps it is exotic for west Texas. Tried to visit the Presidio County Courthouse, but it was closed. I was struck by its similarity to Reata in "Giant." I know that the house is based on the Waggoner Mansion, but perhaps Boris Leven integrated aspects of more than one building.
I spent the rest of the afternoon reading in the room while Mike wandered around filming Marfa.
Then we both got all dolled up -- me in black satin pants! -- and went down to Jett's Grill for our first fine dining experience on this trip.
What a let-down! Call me naive, but I expected a restaurant called "Jett's Grill" to feature Tex-Mex cuisine -- modern or traditional -- or in some other way celebrate the movie. What I didn't expect was a "fine dining" restaurant (based on the menu and prices) that includes a bar and big screen t.v. Our recommended "reservation" resulted in nothing more than "Sit wherever you like." The food is acceptable, but overpriced for what it is.The salmon on the menu had been replaced with seared tuna (soooo 2000, and as those who know me are aware, I am not a fan of raw fish, regardless of what it's called), so I opted for the cilantro lime chicken. More lime than cilantro, and could have used a bit of jalapeno, but at least it wasn't overcooked. Mashed potatoes and green beans, nothing to write home about. The creme brulee, however, was perfection. Smooth, thick, cold creme with a crisp, caramelized topping that had been created using a blowtorch, not a broiler -- and big enough that I didn't want another.
Still don't know whether the empty lot across the street from the station is for Amtrak parking, but wouldn't have left the car there even if it were. Dropped Mike and the luggage off and took the car to the nearest public garage, and there encountered my first adventure. As I pulled in, I noticed the sign, and had the sense to ask, "How short is "short-term?" The attendant informed me that I'd have to pay in advance for 10 days. This took much longer than it needed to, as he was constantly stopping to let cars out, and then asking me for the information I had just given him -- and that he had written down! He eventually explained that he had suffered a stroke, and had only recently returned to work. All was finally resolved, and I walked back to the train station, with something like an hour and a half to spare, but better early than late.
The train was on time, and we were soon established in our roomette, where I luxuriated in being carried along without having to attend to the road. Dinner delivered to us in our roomette -- a bit cramped, but we were able to eat our steak (New York strip) and sip our merlot in private. Shortly afterward, the porter made up our beds and we were down and out by 8:30! This was only the first of many early nights. Neither of us sleeps especially well on trains, but we certainly do better in a roomette than we would reclining in a coach seat. Mike claims that he didn't "sleep at all," but he wasn't nearly cranky enough the next day for me to believe that. Besides, I know his sleep breathing.
Really, other than a somewhat supercilious dining car attendant, who clearly thinks he's clever and witty and is clearly wrong, the trip was pleasant and relaxing and over too soon. I could easily have ridden another day or two, just reading and looking at the scenery and being called to meals or having them delivered to us in our roomette.
Train travel is no longer as glamorous as it once was, but it is still more human than air travel. We could walk through the train at our leisure, visit the (ahem) facilities, sit in the observation car, sipping a drink from the bar, never once told to return to our seats and fasten our seat belts. And when we were tired of the public, we could retire to the privacy of our very own roomette. The dishes may be plastic and the tablecloths paper, but there are dishes and there are tablecloths and there is real food cooked to order. The napkins, by the way, are still cloth and the flatware, while not silver, is at least stainless steel. Even those lowly travelers in coach are permitted to purchase a meal and eat it in the dining car, if they chose not to eat in the cafe car. Meals are included in the cost of the room or roomette -- both are considered "first class", although I'd have to say that roomettes are more on the order of 1.5 class.
Awake about 5:00 the next morning, but no cats to let out. Was lucky enough to get the shower on my second try. We decided to save ourselves time by putting up the beds ourselves. Breakfast in the dining car when it opened about 6:30. I succumbed to temptation and had the Classic Railroad French Toast with blueberry compote. Then back to our roomette and more lounging and sightseeing until time for lunch. We'd made an early reservation, since we'd eaten so early and were departing the train about 1:30.
We heard at lunch that a passenger was left behind at Del Rio. It was one of the scheduled 10-minute "smoking stops," and we'd all been warned to stay on the platform near the train. Apparently he had decided to ignore that warning and take a stroll. Rumor has it that he expected the train to wait for him.
Trains come through every other day, so his choices were to stay in Del Rio for 2 nights (sans luggage), pay $300 plus in cab fare to try to catch the train at the next stop of Sanderson, or convince someone to come out and get him. I sure hope he enjoyed that cigarette. We'd gone into the station to look for an ATM (with no success), but no farther.
That was also the stop where Santa was handing out candy canes to the passengers. He got on the train with us, and did the same thing at least as far as Alpine. A nice touch that added to the holiday atmosphere.
The train passed over Lake Amistad immediately after Del Rio. Rather ironic name these days when most of the border crossings are closed and tourists are warned against entering Mexico at the few that are open. Then over the Pecos River Bridge, said by our conductor to be the highest railroad bridge in the U.S., and past Langtry, home of "Judge" Roy Bean (yes, he was a genuine historical figure, if not quite as good looking as Paul Newman). I suppose it depends on how you define "bridge." In any case, the bridge is close to 300 feet high, and we got a splendid view of the river and some of its canyons.
Lunch in the dining car again -- I can highly recommend the black bean chipotle burger -- and into Alpine about half an hour early.
The rental car was waiting for us at the station, but no agent, probably because the train was early. Of all the paperwork that I brought, I'd forgotten that particular confirmation e-mail. Mike walked across the street to find a phone, and the nice lady in Ivey's Emporium let him use her phone. The agent was there in a few minutes, I signed the forms (and declined all forms of additional insurance; I like to live on the edge), we powered up Darlene, and were soon on our way to Marfa and the Hotel Paisano.
Film buffs will recognize Marfa as the location of the shooting of the 1956 epic "Giant." The stars and some of the crew were housed at the Hotel Paisano. While we did not reserve the Liz Taylor or Rock Hudson suite, we cherish the thought that we slept in the same room as a cameraman or assistant director. The hotel is on both the National and State Historical Registers, and deservedly so. It is an absolutely spectacular example of pre-WWII Texas Mission-style architecture by Henry Trost. The lobby alone is worth the trip. It's tiled, with beamed ceilings, original (or reproduction) oak and leather furniture, and French windows looking out into the courtyard, with its 4-tier cast iron reticulated fountain. Our room on the 2nd floor looked onto the courtyard, with French windows opening onto a tiny balcony, about 2 feet deep, with wrought-iron rail. The bathroom was, for the most part, original. Sadly, the rooms have been redecorated in American Standard Motel. We had a few issues with the plumbing (the cold water handle in the shower came off in my hand and the shower head itself desperately wants either cleaning or replacing), but were assured that they were working on it. The major drawback is the lack of an elevator, but my big, strong husband managed the large suitcases.
Strolled around Marfa, where Mike had a second lunch of Marfalafel at the Food Shark. I had a taste, and don't understand what the fuss is, although perhaps it is exotic for west Texas. Tried to visit the Presidio County Courthouse, but it was closed. I was struck by its similarity to Reata in "Giant." I know that the house is based on the Waggoner Mansion, but perhaps Boris Leven integrated aspects of more than one building.
I spent the rest of the afternoon reading in the room while Mike wandered around filming Marfa.
Then we both got all dolled up -- me in black satin pants! -- and went down to Jett's Grill for our first fine dining experience on this trip.
What a let-down! Call me naive, but I expected a restaurant called "Jett's Grill" to feature Tex-Mex cuisine -- modern or traditional -- or in some other way celebrate the movie. What I didn't expect was a "fine dining" restaurant (based on the menu and prices) that includes a bar and big screen t.v. Our recommended "reservation" resulted in nothing more than "Sit wherever you like." The food is acceptable, but overpriced for what it is.The salmon on the menu had been replaced with seared tuna (soooo 2000, and as those who know me are aware, I am not a fan of raw fish, regardless of what it's called), so I opted for the cilantro lime chicken. More lime than cilantro, and could have used a bit of jalapeno, but at least it wasn't overcooked. Mashed potatoes and green beans, nothing to write home about. The creme brulee, however, was perfection. Smooth, thick, cold creme with a crisp, caramelized topping that had been created using a blowtorch, not a broiler -- and big enough that I didn't want another.
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