I couldn’t really remember the Alamo so it was nice to swing in again.
Jono was as excited as I had been the first time. We were both reared on various ethically questionable swashbuckling tales and films and so the mission where Davy Crockett met his bear had always featured in our imaginations as a significant place. A borderland problem between Mexico and Texas, borne out horribly in blood on both sides. Crockett and his companions holding out impossibly until the last. A glorious defeat that helped towards a more lasting victory.
“Remember the Alamo,” said the signs in the Texas Lone Star restaurant in Gloucester Road when I was 12. “Do you remember?” my dad would ask with a glint in his eye. “Remember what?” He’d point at the plaque on the wall. “Remember the Alamo.” I’d forget by the time we went there again. That was my dad’s sense of humour. Year after year. Until one day, 16 year old “over it” Al mumbled “Yeah dad, the Alamo,” at which point he immediately pointed at another sign I hadn’t even noticed saying “Remember Sabine Pass,” rolled his eyes and said “You kids never remember Sabine Pass, all you care about is The Alamo,” and in so doing won my begrudging teenage respect for a joke many years in the making.
I had a bit of chauffeur work to do in the morning getting people back and forth to classes, so even though I’d booked a day off I lost the morning. The afternoon saw Jono and I trundling around exploring San Antonio with no set plan whatsover. We fell into The Esquire just in time for Happy Hour, and as a result had an extremely tasty American style tapas for next to nothing.
Sometimes stumbling really is the best way to find a new place. The Esquire overlooks the Riverwalk and is full of taxidermy. We enjoyed our food. I just worried for the poor lynxes.
I booked a table tonight at a restaurant I found on the internet. Bliss, it’s called. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but the menu looks fab and I want a good birthday meal with plenty of wine. I’m driving in to UTSA at 8am tomorrow to get a bunch of young men and women to engage with a poem about slavery. I don’t want to be too vulnerable in the morning, although if I have to demonstrate emotionally available work those tears are very close when I’m hungover
Ok so it’s before midnight and I’m in my room. That’s a win, yes? Sure I blew about $300 on high class alcohol and tasty bits. But that’s nothing in the scheme of things. I had a lovely night. I also had foie gras in a room with two right headed vegetarians – people who are denying themselves nice things on purpose because someone has to bellwether. I used my birthday as an excuse. And I had a yummy meal with them
Bollocks I’ve got to get up early tomorrow, and be coherent and inspiring. Plus it’s past midnight here which means blog time. Morning, uk. 🙂