Author - Grant
From – Houston, Texas
To – San Antonio, Texas
Miles Driven – 197
Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157614750321998/
There are so many things wrong with this first paragraph that it borders on embarrassing. Firstly, in order to completely tell the tale I want to tell, I have to admit that recently I read Twilight. A week ago I was in desperate need of a book and happened to be in Walmart where the choices were either the entire Jackie Collin’s back catalog, one of those dodgy little erotic novels that always seem to centre around Mexican stables or an entire shelf of Twilight going for just $7.87 a pop. Being down with the kids, I decided to see what the
hype was all about…and the font was large. Let me be clear about this, it’s a girl’s book. Specifically a 14 year old girl with a half inch layer of grease covering her acne-ridden face whose parents don’t get her and who has a crush on Phil in Biology but doesn’t have the ovaries to talk to him because of crippling shyness. It’s the kind of book that, when seen in public, invokes the same looks from strangers as if I were carrying Fun, Fat & Forty. And it was rubbish. However, on the morning of Day 117, I was done with the book and knew that Kate wouldn’t want to read it because she likes to read grown-up books, extremely slowly (she’s been on Moby Dick for 4 months now). So along with the customary tip, it was to be left to the maid. Always keen to go the extra mile, I even left the inscription “bite me” (it’s about vampires) and signature from the author herself. Now it’s time to just sit back, relax and wait for it to appear on E-bay. The impending law suit should be spectacular.
Today was a moving day as we headed deeper into Texas t
o San Antonio and the most memorable thing about the car journey was a new game involving seeing how far Kate can travel without needing a bathroom break. One particular set of toilets started being advertised well over 50 miles away and so they provided the goal. I am pleased to say that she made it (despite being silent for the last 25 minutes) and boy were we rewarded for our patience. This isn’t going to turn into a toilet review but Buc-ees turned out to be a treasure trove of tat and meat. The tat came in all sorts of formats from cow-hide covered toilet seats to postcards of cowboys with ass-less chaps and the meat varied from raw to jerked, if that’s a verb. If you ever find yourself moseying between Houston and San Antonio, pee at Buc-ees – you won’t regret it.
Apparently San Antonio is second on the list of most desirable places to relocate to (behind Charlotte, North Carolina) but we’d only set aside 24 hours here as we need to get to Colorado before the snow melts. A quick tangent, please don’t ever take any of the statements in this blog as fact. For example, the first sentence of this paragraph involved a conversation between Kate and I that concluded San Antonio was in the top 5 of some list or other and that the number one in that list was definitely somewhere in North Carolina and most probably it was Charlotte. We’re about as reliable at tourism facts as the bike tour guys in Central Park who regularly inform tourists that king Kong is still in The Bronx Zoo. Anyway, 24 hours in San Antonio means lunch in Market Square, a trip to the Alamo and something touristy on the Riverwalk.
I couldn’t tell whether Market Square was supposed to be a replica of a Mexican market for tourists or whether it had genuinely evolved that way but the hum of fried corn tortillas hits the back of your throat the second you enter the courtyard. Following the tried and tested tactic of hitting up the stall with the biggest line, we watched three Hispanic women
make Gorditas (“little fat ones” in Spanish) from start to finish with lightening speed and military precision. One woman hand moulds the masa harina (corn flour) into fat little pockets and throws them on a griddle. The second tends them on the griddle and throws them into the deep fat fryer to crisp up the outsides and the third fills them up with the same generic contents as a taco/burrito/fajita/anyothermexicanentree. We got a selection of chicken and ground beef and whilst they were dripping with fat, they made for a tasty snack and it would be pretty easy to gourmet these up to something special with some better fillings. Taking a stroll to work off these Gorditas only got us deeper into trouble as a few stalls down was a cake shop with an eye-popping array of choices. Unable to decide on just two, we tried a pink icing topped “yello cake” which was pretty bland, a pineapple filled flaky pastry number whose Mexican name escapes me but it contained more than it’s fair share of “chus” and “ras” and a sickly sweet coconut, condensed milk and sugar dessert reminiscent of Indian sweets in both density and amount of dentistry work it will require in the very near future. Some appalling Nacho Libre impressions next to the huge selection of wrestlers mask later and we were set for The Alamo.
Apparently the thing to do at The Alamo is to run through it shouting “Remember The Alamo” but as the only Alamo I have any knowledge about is a car rental firm it w
as clear that we needed to do some research. Out come the iPhones on the 3 minute drive to bring up Wikipedia and give ourselves the absolute minimum knowledge required to not embarrass ourselves at the culture…a tactic I remember successfully using at the opera many moons ago. Cue another Grate (that’s Grant & Kate) Sketchy Guide To History which should be taken this with a bucket of salt. The story goes that Davie Crocket (of racoon tail headpiece fame) and two other chaps with less memorable names roused a group of about 150 others to defend The Alamo against invading Mexicans despite it clearly being a suicide mission and thus ensuring their iconic place the history books. Like Goldie Lookin’ Chain sang, “it might be messy, but it’s money for free”. Only knowing this story 60 seconds before entering means it’s
hard to summon up any real enthusiasm for the history so we lasted about 10 minutes wandering around the gardens before taking the requisite comedy “cactus in the ass photo” and moving on.
The Riverwalk is a big deal here. They have managed to tame the mighty San Antonio river so that it travels at a snails pace just inches below the sidewalk with little threat of flooding thanks to the numerous flood gates around the city. It has provided the framework for a myriad of touristy opportunities like riverside restaurants and guided boat tours – so we did both. The boat tour is just as cheesy as you want it to be but Jeff, our guide, had the enthusiasm and wit to keep us and our 30 fellow squashed-in passengers well entertained throughout. Time to rescue the miserable Molly (who is now just one week into her 6 week confinement) before heading back down to the Riverwalk for dinner.
As I’ve said before, with just 24 hours in a city, it’s basically impossible to find a
nything beyond the touristy crap they want you to find and in that situation, it’s best to just smile and go with it. That might explain our dumbass grins as we sat riverside, in ponchos sipping frozen cactus juice margaritas with a Mariachi Band in the background. Probably not something you would see Kanye doing…or indeed anyone under 60 but as long as it doesn’t become a recurring habit, we’re good. Another mound of table-side made guacamole to start ad this one had the nice twist of adding a little fresh orange juice which had the dual effect of giving it a nice twang and stopping to oxidation process on the avocados. Mains were some flank steak with chimichurri and mixed veg for me and balsamic glazed chicken and guacamole risotto for Kate. Mine was pretty good but Kate’s was kind of stringent and bordered in inedible for me. Still, on she battled and even managed her third dessert of the day, a peach cobbler with ice cream. With her sore foot still putting a stop to her running and the eating increasing exponentially here in Texas, it’s only a matter of time before she hits the divorce weight limit that entitles me to keep all of my assets.
To – San Antonio, Texas
Miles Driven – 197
Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157614750321998/
There are so many things wrong with this first paragraph that it borders on embarrassing. Firstly, in order to completely tell the tale I want to tell, I have to admit that recently I read Twilight. A week ago I was in desperate need of a book and happened to be in Walmart where the choices were either the entire Jackie Collin’s back catalog, one of those dodgy little erotic novels that always seem to centre around Mexican stables or an entire shelf of Twilight going for just $7.87 a pop. Being down with the kids, I decided to see what the
hype was all about…and the font was large. Let me be clear about this, it’s a girl’s book. Specifically a 14 year old girl with a half inch layer of grease covering her acne-ridden face whose parents don’t get her and who has a crush on Phil in Biology but doesn’t have the ovaries to talk to him because of crippling shyness. It’s the kind of book that, when seen in public, invokes the same looks from strangers as if I were carrying Fun, Fat & Forty. And it was rubbish. However, on the morning of Day 117, I was done with the book and knew that Kate wouldn’t want to read it because she likes to read grown-up books, extremely slowly (she’s been on Moby Dick for 4 months now). So along with the customary tip, it was to be left to the maid. Always keen to go the extra mile, I even left the inscription “bite me” (it’s about vampires) and signature from the author herself. Now it’s time to just sit back, relax and wait for it to appear on E-bay. The impending law suit should be spectacular.Today was a moving day as we headed deeper into Texas t
o San Antonio and the most memorable thing about the car journey was a new game involving seeing how far Kate can travel without needing a bathroom break. One particular set of toilets started being advertised well over 50 miles away and so they provided the goal. I am pleased to say that she made it (despite being silent for the last 25 minutes) and boy were we rewarded for our patience. This isn’t going to turn into a toilet review but Buc-ees turned out to be a treasure trove of tat and meat. The tat came in all sorts of formats from cow-hide covered toilet seats to postcards of cowboys with ass-less chaps and the meat varied from raw to jerked, if that’s a verb. If you ever find yourself moseying between Houston and San Antonio, pee at Buc-ees – you won’t regret it.Apparently San Antonio is second on the list of most desirable places to relocate to (behind Charlotte, North Carolina) but we’d only set aside 24 hours here as we need to get to Colorado before the snow melts. A quick tangent, please don’t ever take any of the statements in this blog as fact. For example, the first sentence of this paragraph involved a conversation between Kate and I that concluded San Antonio was in the top 5 of some list or other and that the number one in that list was definitely somewhere in North Carolina and most probably it was Charlotte. We’re about as reliable at tourism facts as the bike tour guys in Central Park who regularly inform tourists that king Kong is still in The Bronx Zoo. Anyway, 24 hours in San Antonio means lunch in Market Square, a trip to the Alamo and something touristy on the Riverwalk.
I couldn’t tell whether Market Square was supposed to be a replica of a Mexican market for tourists or whether it had genuinely evolved that way but the hum of fried corn tortillas hits the back of your throat the second you enter the courtyard. Following the tried and tested tactic of hitting up the stall with the biggest line, we watched three Hispanic women
make Gorditas (“little fat ones” in Spanish) from start to finish with lightening speed and military precision. One woman hand moulds the masa harina (corn flour) into fat little pockets and throws them on a griddle. The second tends them on the griddle and throws them into the deep fat fryer to crisp up the outsides and the third fills them up with the same generic contents as a taco/burrito/fajita/anyothermexicanentree. We got a selection of chicken and ground beef and whilst they were dripping with fat, they made for a tasty snack and it would be pretty easy to gourmet these up to something special with some better fillings. Taking a stroll to work off these Gorditas only got us deeper into trouble as a few stalls down was a cake shop with an eye-popping array of choices. Unable to decide on just two, we tried a pink icing topped “yello cake” which was pretty bland, a pineapple filled flaky pastry number whose Mexican name escapes me but it contained more than it’s fair share of “chus” and “ras” and a sickly sweet coconut, condensed milk and sugar dessert reminiscent of Indian sweets in both density and amount of dentistry work it will require in the very near future. Some appalling Nacho Libre impressions next to the huge selection of wrestlers mask later and we were set for The Alamo.Apparently the thing to do at The Alamo is to run through it shouting “Remember The Alamo” but as the only Alamo I have any knowledge about is a car rental firm it w
as clear that we needed to do some research. Out come the iPhones on the 3 minute drive to bring up Wikipedia and give ourselves the absolute minimum knowledge required to not embarrass ourselves at the culture…a tactic I remember successfully using at the opera many moons ago. Cue another Grate (that’s Grant & Kate) Sketchy Guide To History which should be taken this with a bucket of salt. The story goes that Davie Crocket (of racoon tail headpiece fame) and two other chaps with less memorable names roused a group of about 150 others to defend The Alamo against invading Mexicans despite it clearly being a suicide mission and thus ensuring their iconic place the history books. Like Goldie Lookin’ Chain sang, “it might be messy, but it’s money for free”. Only knowing this story 60 seconds before entering means it’s
hard to summon up any real enthusiasm for the history so we lasted about 10 minutes wandering around the gardens before taking the requisite comedy “cactus in the ass photo” and moving on.The Riverwalk is a big deal here. They have managed to tame the mighty San Antonio river so that it travels at a snails pace just inches below the sidewalk with little threat of flooding thanks to the numerous flood gates around the city. It has provided the framework for a myriad of touristy opportunities like riverside restaurants and guided boat tours – so we did both. The boat tour is just as cheesy as you want it to be but Jeff, our guide, had the enthusiasm and wit to keep us and our 30 fellow squashed-in passengers well entertained throughout. Time to rescue the miserable Molly (who is now just one week into her 6 week confinement) before heading back down to the Riverwalk for dinner.
As I’ve said before, with just 24 hours in a city, it’s basically impossible to find a
nything beyond the touristy crap they want you to find and in that situation, it’s best to just smile and go with it. That might explain our dumbass grins as we sat riverside, in ponchos sipping frozen cactus juice margaritas with a Mariachi Band in the background. Probably not something you would see Kanye doing…or indeed anyone under 60 but as long as it doesn’t become a recurring habit, we’re good. Another mound of table-side made guacamole to start ad this one had the nice twist of adding a little fresh orange juice which had the dual effect of giving it a nice twang and stopping to oxidation process on the avocados. Mains were some flank steak with chimichurri and mixed veg for me and balsamic glazed chicken and guacamole risotto for Kate. Mine was pretty good but Kate’s was kind of stringent and bordered in inedible for me. Still, on she battled and even managed her third dessert of the day, a peach cobbler with ice cream. With her sore foot still putting a stop to her running and the eating increasing exponentially here in Texas, it’s only a matter of time before she hits the divorce weight limit that entitles me to keep all of my assets.Tomorrow promises to be a rubbish day as the permanent vacation lifestyle goes on hold and we have to do some real world chores.
1 comment:
so when are we going to see your spotty Lancashire arse in a pair of leather chaps eh?
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