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.
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