8.5.05

I Survived the Alamo. Chapter One

Previously, Fred and Matthew journeyed to Texas for vacation and mom-seeing.

Runaway Brides, Waffles, and a Morbid Morning

I waited for the firemen to leave. I didn't want to wake Fred, and I couldn't go back to sleep. After waiting a safe period, I ventured out into the hotel. It was around 5 in the morning.

Hotels these days offer some amazing breakfasts, especially the cheap ones (hotels or breakfasts, you decide). This one had not only an amazing coffee machine that made it by the cup after you press the buttons for the desired type and strength, but a WAFFLE IRON! They had little cups of waffle batter set out, and a waffle iron with a built in timer to remind you when to flip and when to serve. It was early, and there was almost no one down, save for a couple of maintenance guys and the desk clerk.

CNN was rattling off, over and over, the top stories shaping our world, including the discovery of the runaway bride (the clerk and I shared views on taking her back: "Give me back the ring bitch"), some sort of sex and drugs blackmail scandal at a San Antonio area military training centre, the Jewish Cowboy running for governor, and the 60th anniversary of Hitler's suicide.

I made some waffles, vended myself some coffee and sat with my book (Burmese Days) to await the dawn. Man it got boring. The woman at CNN San Antonio reread the same stories over and over (I wonder if she was just looped), I drank more and more coffee, and stepped out for yet another smoke.

A walk! That would be lovely. I didn't have to go far. Right behind the hotel was the most beautiful abandoned mill I have ever seen. I want it. I walked around some more, found the jail, multiple bail bondsmen, two mortuary services, and a motel with "Fantasy Rooms" available. We definitely picked the right part of town.

Having had a morbid enough morning, I sauntered (I was in Texas, and could therefore not sashay) back to the motel, to find Fred awake and aggressively caffeinating.

Soon, it was time to go meet mommy for breakfast. I went in to take a shower. It was a pretty standard hotel/motel bathroom, although the room service here did not find it a "nice touch" to fold the ends of the toilet paper roll into a point. I got undressed, turned on the water, and as I pulled the shower curtain, realized that someone had burned cigarette holes into the curtain in the shape of a jack-o-lantern smile. Yay...The day was looking up.

"Romantic, Historic, Newly Renovated" the Hotel Valencia Riverwalk

Fred in his infinite internet-based intuition had booked our Microtel room only a short distance from where my mother was staying. While not exactly close to the convention centre where the IRA fest was to occur, the Hotel Valencia Riverwalk was undoubtedly costing the school my mom works for a pretty penny. Never mind the fact that my mother's boss (Mel) also dragged along the company credit card which was going to cost the school even more to feed them and us.

It was quite a fancy little piece of four star accommodation. At times, the place seemed more like a hipster club. The lobby was a split level affair with dark shades of black, red and gold. The entry way had a waterfall beneath a stone arch, emptying into a U shaped pond, lined with river stones. Speakers pumped out that strange blend of electronica, lounge and trip-hop that is all the rage in the urban-cool. The sound of the water and the tunes made for quite an impression. Not so much a fancy luxury hotel, as a high-budget afterhours club. The hallways were painted red, and the tracklighting and exposed ventilation ducts were hidden behind black metal grating along the ceiling, adding to the club atmosphere.

The Secret Knock

Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits.

Thus was the secret, and ever so original, secret knock to announce our visit to my mother's hotel room (which she shared with her boss, Mel, and coworker, Karen). The door began to open, and I was on the verge of booming out my traditional, and ever so original, "Are you decent?" However, the room was dark, and my mother hurriedly crept out the door and whispered "Mel and Karen are still asleep." So, no...They weren't decent.

It was so wonderful to see my mom. The last time I saw her,a few years previous, I was in an unhealthy and far from sane period in my life. The funny thing was, SHE looked a lot healthier than the last time I saw her, and I know I did. Fred, mom and I hugged and kissed and 'so good to see you'd in the hallway before going back down to Citrus, the hotel restaurant.

The breakfast buffet spread was a tad fancier than the Microtel's. For one thing, there was no sign of either a soda machine or CNN. There were waitstaff and white cloth napkins. The buffet was pretty standard fair (no more waffles, though), with silver chaffing dishes with an assortment of grits, oatmeal, red potatoes, bacon/sausage and croissants. Yes, standard. Very standard. Plus, you could get a made-to-order-before-your-eyes omelet. No Do-It-Yourself waffle, but pretty fancy.

Before long, we had worked through what all of our flights had been like and what was going on with dad (still at home) and our animals (also still at home). Mel and Karen appeared, and much to the dismay of the hostess and our waiter (who wasn't sure what to make of us anyways), we rearranged our table, stole another chair and squeezed in for an intimate Guamanian breakfast (in spirit, since most definitely not in flavour). My family has always left a strange impression on the employees of food service establishments. We're outgoing and courteous, but also disarmingly chatty (even in the AM hours) with people serving us coffee and food. The nicer the restaurant (which I believe provokes a certain level of pretension), the more confused the staff is by our down home lack of status-consciousness.

We casually noticed that it was raining outside, and went back to gorging on the all-you-could-eat-ness of it all, catching up on the politics of Guam, the politics of the school they work at and I graduated from, and the goings-on with my brothers (who mom would be visiting with after the convention).

*The San Antonio Riverwalk
*Andean Cover Bands, and the Mall
*Monty's Guide to the Alamo
*Lyle Lovett
*More Andean Cover Bands, La Cucaracha at your First Communion and Santa Coming through the Roof
*Dolores Del Rio Ristorante - Italian Food, Mexican Decor, beatnik vibe, Chicago blues band and a bellydancer
*Joe's Crab Shack - Got Crabs? Hope not!
*Goodwill towards Blind Men, Cold tourists, and parking restrictions on the Governor's Palace. If this is a regular candy bar: "Mommy, mommy, can Ricky come out to play?" Then this is an O'Henry: "Hi, Rick. Busy tonight?"
*The Triple Threat: Davey (I mean, David) Crockett, Casket makers and the Museum of Texan History and Taxidermy.
*So Long, San Anton.

And then!

*Port Aransas, the "last undeveloped stretch of coastal real estate in the United States."
*The Sand Castle
*Talcum Powder, Black Goo and Salt
*Giant Sharks Eat Tourists, Maybe Santa
*The Ferry, don't feed the non-existent dolphins your vomit.
*The Prophetess
*What Are Mexicans Doing at a Mexican Restaurant!?

And finally!

*This Hitchhikers Guide to Ontario California

I Survived the Alamo? (prologue)

"Well, the weatherman has been saying we were supposed to get thunderstorms for the last two weeks. Figures. It's been beautiful, but it looks like they are finally arriving." So said the man checking us out of the Avis Rent-a-Car lot at the San Antonio airport as we arrived at sunset on Friday evening. The giant Texas sky was, well, massive (Everything IS bigger in Texas, or so the T-shirt said), and the sun setting was leaving a broad smear of purples, pinks and oranges across the sky. The rains came, all two hours worth, and left us a wonderful time in Texas.

Fred and I were going on a vacation. Normally, trips anywhere involve going with some specific agenda and staying with "someone" who "knows where to go" and "what to do." While this trip did have an agenda, it was to be fairly neutral territory.

My mother lives overseas (in Guam, if precision is of any interest to you, Latte Heights if you want more specifics...Street addresses are meaningless there, so I can't go that far). She also a member of the IRA. That one gets people. No, it is not the Irish Republican Army. God, I could see our Danish and Croatian ancestors rolling if we thought it would be a good idea to be members of the nationalist army of a completely different country. Especially since the most notable of historic figures our family has produced was a lieutenant in the Austro-Hungarian military that helped squash the Boxer Rebellion...Big on migratory freedom fighters us.

Actually, my mother one year, co-taught (she's a teacher, by the way) with a woman from Ireland. In order to be polite, she asked the new teacher if she would like to go with her to an IRA meeting. The vibe of the introduction changed immediately. Mom, realizing what she had just said, quickly added that she was a member of the International Reading Association. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, gurl, I thought ya were asking me to join the army." They hit it off quite well after that.

Anyways, mom was coming to the States for the 50th International Reading Association's conference. She doesn't get to the States that often (I think this is the second time in like ten years), so it was a big deal. We had already lobbied hard for her to take personal days (in contract time, that's not easy) to go after the convention to see my brothers in Chicago. Therefore, it behooved Fred and me, with our flexibility and whatnot, to go see her while she was conventioning and conferencing in San Antonio. To boot, Fred's parents have a condo on the Gulf Coast in the "last undeveloped stretch of coast land in the United States," so we would also see them on this trip.

It was about time to finally meet his parents. We've only been together for 4 or 5 years, now. I think an appropriate courtship period has passed to finally ask his parents for his hand in marriage, or at least try to turn over the first impression made with my ever preceding reputation.

So...We go.

We planned on spending 4 nights in San Antonio hanging out with my mom. Then we'd drive down to the coast and spend 4 nights with Fred's folks.

The San Antonio airport is quite lovely. They have a whole bunch of tile murals on the walls of cowboys, Mexican dancing girls and limes.

We get to the Avis rent-a-car desk (Avis was the cheapest rental of our search, so we went with Avis. Yes, I get a commission for every time I say "Avis" in this text. If I had the skills, every "Avis" would also be a link to their website. Alas... Avis.

This lovely girl behind the counter was so much fun. She wanted to know all about the reason for our trip and what we were planning to do and such. According to the name tag, her name was "Trainee." I don't know if that was her name or her title. With some people's names these days, you never can tell.

Title or given name, Trainee was lovely. She had a smile and an opinion for everything. Included in these bits of opinion was the profluence of confusing one-way streets in San Antonio that changed names after a few blocks ("I hab lived here for 15 years, and Ah steel don't know mah way from one place to anuder."), her husband's attempts to provide her with Jamaican food in Texas to stave off homesickness (Boy, dat's not how chicken is made in dah islands. What's wit da soupiness? He tries, but jus doesn't know.") and the Gulf Coast (Well, dat place is not like dah beach. You want sand? Or gravel?" With this she would hold up both hands as if weighing the possibilities). We were having a marvelous first five minutes in San Antonio laughing it up with Trainee.

Then she asked, "Are you brudders?" No, was our reply. "Oh, are you spouses?" Wow! That was not the sort of question one expected to be asked while traveling with his boyfriend in Central Texas by the Jamaican woman at the rent-a-car counter. I love Trainee. I hope she changes her name to Manager sometime soon.

We got our rental car and headed for our Microtel, chosen for its free wireless broad band internet access and price as our lodging for the duration of our stay in San Antonio. It was located in one of those typical not-so nice areas, often downtown adjacent, in cities. After getting lost, ending up literally on the wrong side of the tracks, looping around the river which seems to also loop around us, and stumbling upon a building (I think it is the Guadalupe Cultural Arts Centre) whose facade was a giant replica of one of those Virgin Mary glass candles oft seen in supermarkets and dollar stores. Way cool, but for a moment if felt like I was back in the islands myself, with shanty structures and close-to-naked children playing in the semi-paved streets. Oh boy...Where the hell is our hotel?

Finally finding it, we check in, get to our room and collapse. I figure I should call mom to see if she made it in alright and if they wanted to do dinner or something. She had gotten in earlier in the day, and I figured she was probably wiped from the lengthy air travel and already asleep. I called and left a message in the hotel room's voicemail (fancy, that). Fred and I hadn't eaten, and did not feel like going out and getting lost some more, so we picked up the flier shoved under the door. It was from a "Chicago Pizza" place in downtown San Antonio. It also made a big deal of advertising that they use "Real" cheese (with that little swoopy logo you see everywhere making you think that yes, the real does belong in quotes) and if you order using your "cell" phone, you get a free Coca-cola. Well, how could I pass up a Chicago pizza (I do believe that it most certainly did not say "Chicago-style pizza" but only "Chicago pizza") with a free Coca-cola? So I ordered, and made damn certain that I let them know I was calling from a cell phone. I want my free coke!

It arrived quickly. My coke was a generic brand "cola" and I think the reason they say "Chicago pizza" is not that it is like pizzas made in Chicago, but was probably mailed down and reconstituted for delivery in Texas. Still, it served as dinner as we lay on the bed and watched the A&E Biography on Paula Abdul (what a trooper). Hey, we don't get any channels at home, so a definite part of staying in hotels is taking advantage of cable in all it's glorious reminders that I really don't want to pay to have it at home.

By the way, mom called. She wasn't out cold from travel. She was out, having dinner and seeing the city. Bugger.

We made plans to meet up in the morning for breakfast and assorted sundry mayhem, and in the meantime: "Good night. Sleep tight. Looking forward to seeing you in the morning. Love you. Bye."

That night, pizza gone, "Coke" drank, credits rolling on Paula Abdul's life story, George Orwell's Burmese Days started upon, I slept and I dreamed. I dreamed that firemen with axes were trying to breakdown my hotel room door and kill me. In a series of amazing action hero moves I could never pull off in real life (at least, I really hope I am never given the opportunity to prove that I cannot do it in real life), I dodged axes so that they plunged into each other, kicked some fireman ass (turning heroes in gyros), and ran for the fire escape (you don't use the elevators in such circumstances).

Waking with a start, I opened my eyes yto find there were flashing lights blinking around the corners of the warped and faded curtains of the Microtel. I got up, peered around the curtains, and there were fire trucks lined up in front of the hotel.

Oh hell!

It was 4:30, and I was not going back to sleep. I know that the Fire Department's presence was the reason for the dream, but I was not about to put myself in the way of any axes. I hid in the room, lights out, paranoically peering around the corner of the curtains, waiting for the fire trucks to go home. Fred was sound asleep.

As it turned out, it was prom weekend, and an after-prom party was underway on the third floor. Some kids thought it would be fun to spray the fire extinguishers. This set off the alarms (which Fred and I somehow slept through and therefore did not evacuate the building because of), summoning the Fire Department, invoking my action packed dream sequence, leading to about 4 hours of sleep for poor Matthew.

Matthew! Welcome to San Antonio!

Stay tuned for:

*Smiley Face Cigarette burns and CNN
*The Secret Knock, our first breakfast in San Antonio
*"Romantic, Historic, Newly Renovated" the Hotel Valencia Riverwalk
*The San Antonio Riverwalk
*Andean Cover Bands, and the Mall
*Monty's Guide to the Alamo
*Lyle Lovett
*More Andean Cover Bands, La Cucaracha at your First Communion and Santa Coming through the Roof
*Dolores Del Rio Ristorante - Italian Food, Mexican Decor, beatnik vibe, Chicago blues band and a bellydancer
*Joe's Crab Shack - Got Crabs? Hope not!
*Goodwill towards Blind Men, Cold tourists, and parking restrictions on the Governor's Palace. If this is a regular candy bar: "Mommy, mommy, can Ricky come out to play?" Then this is an O'Henry: "Hi, Rick. Busy tonight?"
*The Triple Threat: Davey (I mean, David) Crockett, Casket makers and the Museum of Texan History and Taxidermy.
*So Long, San Anton.

And then!

*Port Aransas, the "last undeveloped stretch of coastal real estate in the United States."
*The Sand Castle
*Talcum Powder, Black Goo and Salt
*Giant Sharks Eat Tourists, Maybe Santa
*The Ferry, don't feed the non-existent dolphins your vomit.
*The Prophetess
*What Are Mexicans Doing at a Mexican Restaurant!?

And finally!

*This Hitchhikers Guide to Ontario California