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.
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