POSTBLOG from San Antonio: Everything is Huge, Except for the Alamo

Here’s what I’ll remember about the Alamo: crowds and traffic. It’s true what they say, that there’s really nothing much to it. If Clyde hadn’t pointed it out, I would have missed it completely.

This is in contrast to the rest of San Antonio, which is huge. I was surprised to learn that it’s bigger than Dallas. So why does Dallas get all the attention?

But after Houston’s endless freeways and strip malls, San Antonio is charming, historic, and loaded with character. As we drove through Clyde’s old neighborhood, Alamo Heights, I thought of how this city reminds me in equal parts of Omaha and Pueblo: Omaha for the hills, lack of sidewalks, and thick tree lined streets; and Pueblo for the mixture of old and new, and pervasive historic Spanish influence.

Only I would make that comparison.

San Antonio is part of that often overlooked, rich southwest swath of the U.S. which includes Santa Fe and Albuquerque. You cannot be here without acknowledging that Americans come in all flavors, speak multiple languages, and thrive in diverse cultures.

But America it is: San Antonio is one of the more overweight of cities. Obesity is a huge deal here.

After the 24 crash course in San Antonio, it’s back to Houston to celebrate Clyde’s mother’s birthday.

It’s fun to be with Clyde’s family: sister, nieces, nephew, and mother. They are friendly, generous people. I’m already looking forward to the next Texas visit.

POSTBLOG from Houston: First Class All the Way

My fiancé knows how to travel. Not only did he get me bumped to first class on the flight from Denver, our room at the J.W. Marriott in downtown Houston was upgraded to a roomy suite consisting of a living room, bedroom, and HUGE bathroom.

The day started at 5:00 a.m. when we checked in at Denver International Airport. After I regaled the Uber guy with tales of how great Denver used to be (Stapleton Airport really was so much more convenient… the polite young driver claimed to have seen old pictures), we learned that because of some magic status as a frequent traveler, Clyde was reassigned to seat 1A – in first class. Although I had resigned myself to coach seating, my generous lover offered to trade with me so I could experience the luxury of breakfast at 40,000 feet.

I felt a little self-conscious sitting in first class with my Denver Public Library book and ancient iPod with the cheap ear buds that only work on one side, but I forgot all about it when I was handed a hot towel. I now dread the flight home where I’ll have to sit back in steerage. I can’t go back! I can’t!

Clyde has spoiled me. Gone are the days of nickel and dime road trips where I ate at road side McDonalds and stayed at the interstate Motel 6.

The room at the J.W. Marriott was so nice we decided we didn’t really need to see anything in Houston. We’d just hang out in the hotel suite trying to choose which TV to watch and whether to enjoy the roomy stone-tiled shower or the deep oval bathtub with a flat square faucet situated, get this, in the middle instead of at one end. Yep, it doesn’t take a lot to impress me.

With temperatures in the high 60s, we put on our shorts and sun glasses and headed out. We were the most casually dressed people in sight. Most Houstonites seem to favor long sleeves and jackets this time of year. I guess temps in the 60s is chilly for these folks. We also saw a group of guys wearing heavy down jackets – the kind we wear when it’s 20 degrees or colder. They were speaking Spanish so we figured they were visiting from South America or someplace really hot.

Somehow, we ended up in Galveston, an island community 50 miles to the south. We inhaled the salty breeze, dipped our toes in the Gulf of Mexico, and enjoyed the historic ambiance before heading back to the hotel where we put on complementary robes and settled in front of the bedroom TV.