24 Hours in San Antonio

We had a long weekend in mid-December.  We like to get out of town for long weekends.  However, if I haven´t mentioned it before, my only real complaint with Saltillo is the lack of accessible destinations for a weekend away.  Of all people, Mario came up with that weekend´s plan of going to San Antonio, TX.  We had never been and I´ve wanted to go ever since we moved here.

However, Mario didn´t realize that San Antonio is three hours north of the border.  We are three hours south of the border.  And one can never tell exactly how many hours one might have to wait in line at the border on a given weekend in mid-December.  One three-day-weekend, 6 hours each way, no driving in the dark in Mexico--it made for a quick trip!

But it was well worth it.

What does a family with small children do for 24 hours in San Antonio?

Get a hotel very close to the Riverwalk.  I asked people who had been there, what exactly we should see.  Every answer?  The Riverwalk.  Mario also wanted to see the Alamo.  Fortunately, the Alamo was right between our hotel and the Riverwalk.  Perfect.


We arrived in the evening on Friday.  We knew we wanted to take a Riverwalk boat tour.  The hotel had all kinds of helpful magazines and pamphlets, so within a half hour, we bought our tickets and were standing in a short line to board the Miss Laura (Bush), piloted by Captain AJ.  Oh, yeah . . .

I have a feeling that the Riverwalk is pretty at any time of year, but they light luminarias along all the sidewalks and bridges during December.  Those lights, combined with the Christmas trees and other Chrismas lights glittering on the river, made for a particularly lovely ride.


Furthermore, the weekend we were there (December 12, 13, 14), the Riverwalk was hosting an arts fair.  Hundreds of artists and crafters--spanning the gamut from oh-la-la to string bracelets--set up booths along the Riverwalk.  It made walking tricky in parts, but I love me a good art fair, anywhere.

Living in Mexico, we had no need for Tex-Mex food (which seems to be a must in San Antonio).  We came ready for real Texas barbecue.  It did not disappoint.  Word to the wise--there are oodles of excellent restaurants lining the Riverwalk.  I´m sure they´re all lovely.  But if you dine just off the Riverwalk, both your wallet and your belly will stay full.

On Saturday morning, we wandered through the Alamo.  In the 1930s, the Alamo was entrusted to the Daughters of the Republic of Texas.  Thanks to these lovely ladies, this piece of history is preserved and is open to the public, free of charge.  It is a simple little museum, but well put-together.  I was glad I had read up on my Texas history last year.  (I highly recommend True Women by Janice Woods Windle, although the Yellow Rose of Texas series by Gilbert Morris is also entertaining.  Yes, I still learn history through historical fiction.  I´m not ashamed.  And I bet I can beat most people in historical Jeopardy.  So there.)

The kids were not as excited about the Alamo as Mario and I were.  There were carriage rides parked off the sidewalk by one of the exits and Joey happily spent nearly an hour watching the horses.  Then he discovered the the koi swimming in the canal.  Clara was just not amused.  Can´t win ´em all.

So we finished off our tour of San Antonio by heading to LaVillita.  It´s a tiny neighborhood which is now composed of art galleries.  Having somewhat grumpy children by that time, we didn´t venture into any of the galleries.  But the neighborhood was charming, reminding me of my time in New Mexico.  Plus, they had a Coffee Expo in La Villita´s square.  Coffee shops from all over San Antonio were boasting their wares.  It smelled amazing.  But I was not willing to stand in the long lines, so we just smelled the loveliness.



Cutting through the Riverwalk once more, we ended our 24 hours in San Antonio with lunch at Shilo´s deli, celebrating central Texas´s German heritage.  You thought the German immigrants mainly congregated in the midwest?  No, my friends--Texas was a big draw for Germans in the nineteenth century.   Shilo´s deli has a fantastic sausage selection to prove it.  They even offered imported German beer.  No small feat in the land of Shiner.  And don´t get me started on their interior decorating--they opened shop in their present location in about 1920, and I don´t think they´ve changed a thing.  Floor tiles, ceiling moulding, high-backed booths--I could have just sat and stared.  But their food was excellent.  And so were their prices.  If you need a meal in San Antonio, please go to Shilo´s.

Unless you´re a vegetarian.

San Antonio, we will be back!  24 hours were just not enough.

*********************************************************
Where is Shilo´s?

424 East Commerce St.  Not far from the Rivercenter Mall and Menger Hotel.

Where did THAT come from?

During our day of wandering Cholula and reminiscing, we (or maybe I) kept pretending that we were thinking seriously about moving back there.  Truth be told, if Volkswagen were to call Mario and offer him even a moderately interesting job, I'm quite sure he'd jump at the opportunity.  After working elsewhere, we're realizing that VW was a marvelous company to work for. 

Anyway, while I was doing all my pretending about moving back, I was mid-thought, thinking how nice it would be to be near the zocalo, as they now have a (very) small playground when a voice in my head interrupted me out of nowhere, saying, "but Cholula is so far from Texas." 

Where did THAT come from? 

For almost as long as I can remember, or was aware of the Great State of Texas, I have nursed a huge grudge against the entire state.  Why?  That's a little vague.  Maybe because it's so stinkin' big.  And Texans are famous for being very proud of their very big state.  I think in my mind I equated Texan pride with arrogance (despite not knowing any Texans) and I just wanted to avoid the entire state like the plague. 

Then I moved to Coahuila, which shares a pretty extensive border with Texas.  In fact, once upon a time (during the colonial era, I believe) Texas and Coahuila were one enormous state called, rather uncreatively, Texas-Coahuila.  And slowly but surely, Texas grew on me.  Like the suave southerner it is, it wooed me oh-so-gently.  Now, after just three years in close proximity, I can honestly say that I like Texas. 

I never thought those words would pass my lips. 

But do I like it so much that the thought of being 10 hours away from the border would give me pause to consider moving back to central Mexico?  Apparently so. 

Who'd have thought? 

Five Hours?!?

My fears for the last week centered around the five hour layover I faced in Dallas on Monday. Two year old in tow.

Five hours in an airport with a two-year-old?!? What will we do?

I researched the airport, all available play areas (DFW has at least TWO!), planned on riding the inter-terminal train until the novelty wore off, and letting Clara take her sweet time to eat a meal (which normally lasts at least an hour . . . endless frustration for me!).

Quite unfortunately, the airport itself helped me out considerably with our kill-time conundrum. In the past, I've always breezed through customs and immigration at DFW. On Monday, passing our bags through customs took around TWO HOURS. The line started at the baggage claims and then snaked its way through the entire baggage claim area. Thank goodness we had that layover!

Once we were finally free to wander the airport, we explored Terminal D and one of their huge, glass sculptures. Once Clara warmed up to it, she loved running through that labyrinth, giggling at me on opposite sides of the glass, screeching as I chased after her. My apologies to my fellow travelers in Terminal D. I don't usually let my daughter run amok in public, but as she was just screeching in glee, running off some steam, I figured better that she was loud in public rather than being loud on the airplane.

Later, we sat down with two other small children and their parents at the Children's Play Area in Terminal D, which quite unfortunately only had a bead chaser as the sole working toy. Not having one at home, it was a novelty for Clara, and she also thought rearranging the chairs and climbing on stuffed "pigs" was delightful, so it worked for her. It could be disappointing for a higher-energy child.

Our flight left from Terminal B, so we took the train over there (also a hit with the transportation-loving toddler). I would have liked to ride around the entire airport, but time was actually against us! While it's not listed on DFW's website, Terminal B also has a play area. However, we didn't get to check it out. I do know that somewhere in that airport they have toddler-sized climbing equipment, and I have a feeling that it's in that Terminal B. Too bad we didn't get there in time.

At our gate, I spied a man who looked disturblingly familiar. Because, yes--it was my childhood best friend's father! Clara needed to walk off some steam down the hall (and I needed to decide if that man was REALLY my friend's father . . . yes, it was. We wound up sitting right behind him on the airplane). As Clara and I headed down the hall, I spied another friend's mother arriving at the gate. No way. Two people I knew on my flight?!?

Oh, the beauty of being from a small city.

As Clara and I were the last to get off the plane, my parents were able to greet both friends' parents before they met me, AND they saw another friend's dad get off my flight, too! Dear heavens!

While part of me feels like I really do belong in Saltillo now, it's clear that part of me will always belong here.

Oh, Texas . . .

We just completed the Saltillo-NE Indiana road trip. Ironically, it took about as much time as the Toluca-NE Indiana road trip did three years ago. Oh, the joys of having a toddler in the backseat.

But really, all went well. However, as a public service, I do feel compelled to comment on one teensy issue we encountered.

TEXANS--GET OUT OF THE LEFT LANE!!!!!

Entering Texas, I though it was just a US-driver-thing. However, as we skirted Memphis and entered northern Arkansas, suddenly most drivers realized that the passing lane it just that--for passing other cars.

Yes, people--this is the official name of the left lane. The passing lane. NOT the fast lane. I'll be honest--for years, I called it the fast lane myself. Knowing that I am a bit of a slow driver, I always stuck to the right lane. However, plenty of people consider themselves fast drivers. And according to this logic, they need to be in the "fast lane". All the frickin' time.

Or, as I tried to explain to Mario once, in the style of a high school geometry proof, "apparently it's cool to drive fast. And if the left lane is the fast lane and it's cool to drive fast, the left lane is therefore the cool lane and everyone wants to be there." Hence, the passing lane was dubbed the "cool lane" in our family.

But it's not. It is the passing lane. So once you've passing whoever you're passing GET YOUR ASS BACK OVER TO THE RIGHT LANE!

This brings me to the closely-related point #2. If you've got your cruise control set at 71 mph and the person in front of you has theirs set at 70.5 mph, it is NOT OK to take a full 10 minutes to pass this person. For 20 seconds, put your foot on the frickin' gas and PASS THEM ALREADY!

While one may think that it's cool to hang out in the left lane, the rest of us view said driver as clueless and inconsiderate. Furthermore, this is dangerous. Save us all untold amounts of frustration, a stroke on the part of my husband, and a high-speed (likely fatal) accident and only venture into the left lane if you're actively passing someone.

Then get back over.

Thank you.

Destination: Laredo, TX

I know that for most people, Laredo isn't much of a destination. It's more of a place to pass through. As in, passing through to the other side of the border. However, we have found ourselves frequenting this border town this winter.

Conventional wisdom holds that life is cheaper in Mexico. In some ways that's true, and in other ways it really isn't. Rent is much cheaper here. Food is considerably cheaper here. Doctors are cheaper here. But everything else is about the same price or more expensive. That adds up to a lot more expensive, considering that salaries here are much less than they are in the US.

For this reason, the city of Laredo does a booming retail business, catering to the masses that flock from Monterrey (or even Mexico City) around the Christmas season. Like lemmings, Mario and I joined them. We originally went for tires. We came back for the electronics. And Old Navy's cargo pants. And Mountain Dew. I have learned that Mario is a sucker for a good deal (and Mountain Dew). I'm a bit terrified of the thought of him witnessing the real January clearance sales. He may just become like a Spanish man he knew in Sweden who bought a pair of shoes that didn't fit, just because they were a great deal. Yikes!

While in Laredo, the hordes from Mexico often zero in on the Mall del Norte, which if one drops the final 'l' from 'Mall', can be translated to the "Evil from the North". Wow, even in my anti-consumerist, self-righteous phase, I don't think I would have ever gone that far. Yet those who owned the mall named it that. And on any given Saturday over Christmas vacation, there are more cars with Mexican license plates in the parking lot than Texas ones. Just imagine if they named it something a bit more flattering.

I don't believe this misadventure in translation could have been a mistake by any Laredoan. From keeping my ears open, they are the most bilingual people I have ever met. [Keep in mind that I haven't traveled widely outside of North America.] Salespeople fluidly spoke to me in perfect English and the customer behind me in flawless Spanish. I noticed them talking to themselves in Spanish. And in English. For them, the choice of language really didn't matter. From what I heard, it also sounded like good English and good Spanish--not the goofy mix of Spanglish that I often fall into.

I've heard it said that the US/Mexican border is one of the most culturally jarring or divisive borders in the world. Meaning, over most international borders, there is a bit of overlap culturally. From my time in New Mexico and El Paso, this was clear. El Paso and Ciudad Juarez seemed to be worlds apart from each other, despite the fact that they were just separated by a few yards of bridge and river.

In Laredo however, I felt a bit more cohesion. Crossing the border, it was still glaringly obvious which side of the border we were on. But there seemed to be more ties across the bridge. Perhaps it was the heavy tourist traffic from Mexico. Perhaps it was the bilinguality/biculturality of the people of Laredo. Perhaps it was because Nuevo Laredo (in Mexico) is just much prettier than Cd. Juarez (it doesn't take much).

Whatever it was, I didn't feel quite like I was in as much of a time warp as when I've crossed from El Paso to Juarez.

Or when I've crossed by airplane, but clearly that's different altogether.








This last photo of of deer and jabali strolling the campus of Texas A&M International University. I had to add it, as it's not at all how I imagined Laredo.