B's: Brazos, San Bernard, beaches

My last free day here was about things I had on my list that I hadn’t done. San Bernard refuge was my main destination. I think I’m between seasons at the refuges – the snow geese must have headed north, and the songbird migration hasn’t begun. But it was lovely to be alone in a vast, silent wetland in the warm sun.

 

I saw some fun birds. The red-beaked moorhen I know; the others I don't. There was an alligator, too, but I didn’t know it until I got home and looked at my photos. They’re less obvious than I thought when they aren’t hauled out on a bank.

  

 

And there were some unexpected treats. One was sheer scenery: Actual trees! Green grass! An absence of scrub! Pretty little farms! The trees were mostly live oaks, which are evergreen. There were lots at the refuge, and lots of Spanish moss, too – quite a difference from the wetlands and scrub I’ve gotten used to seeing everywhere. The Brazos and San Bernard Rivers created a floodplain with better soil and moisture conditions for trees to thrive.

 

The other, huge treat was happening upon a large flock of sandhill cranes, right in the middle of a small town, feeding in somebody’s field. There must have been a hundred.

 

 

 

The trip also yielded some of my favorite Texas road signs. I liked this one (the first of three snake warnings I saw today):

But the trophy goes to this championship set of mixed messages, on a country highway. The first one said,“SLOW.” Immediately after that came “Speed limit 55 mph,” followed in turn by a stop light. Right after that came “Hitchhikers may be escaped prisoners.”

I decided to come home by a new inland route, since there was a town called Lake Jackson. I envisioned a quaint hamlet with a couple of bait shops and a good BBQ joint. I’m so naïve. I forgot that the next town over was full of petrochemical plants, and of course all those workers have to live and shop somewhere, so my quaint village turned out to be endless shopping malls and every upstanding Texas town’s favorite amenity, a morass of overpasses and cloverleafs.

Oh well. I drove through the urban splendor and got back to the beaches, just as the afternoon sun was making it the perfect time for a long beach walk. And when I finally got home, what was right outside my window?  Surprises all around. Love it!

Spoonbills and Sociability

Earlier I said I was on the hunt for my favorite large, impressive, unmistakable bird: the roseate spoonbill. Like a flamingo, but with this big, spatulate schnozz. Finally I came upon some, exactly where they were two years ago. They, unlike me, are very social, so there was quite a cluster of them.

 

 

 

My brother Alan was the photographer this time, and he’s very good at it. He and Patti were here for a wonderful few days’ visit. We did lots of beach walking, touring, and talking.

One of our junkets was to Brazoria National Wildlife Refuge, where Beth and Steve and I had been the week before. Not many birds, really, though Alan got a wonderful shot of a great egret in flight.
 

Now, about that sociability. All of these wise visitors pointed out to me that Rule #7 for the single traveler, or any traveler, really, is “Ask questions.” And the corollary, “Be open to chatting with strangers.” If we hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t have known that there were alligator babies hidden in plain sight at the very first stop in the refuge.

 

At one point, Mama Alli decided to break her motionless nap by checking us out pretty closely.

 

 

Another encounter with a stranger pointed us toward something we never expected: a couple of dozen wild pigs. We didn’t get a very good look, but were pretty impressed with what we did see.

 

The man also solved the mystery of all the big chunks of dug-up dirt we’d seen by the side of the road: the pigs again. We think they were probably digging for truffles.

Odds and ends, mostly odds

Random observations:

Cars are different here than in Maine. It seems like about half of them are ginormous pickups, many with extra-wide beds and double wheels in back. I keep losing my rental car between them in parking lots. And there are lots more sports cars than at home, owing, I suppose, partly to climate and partly to lots of money, especially around Houston. We're not talking Mustangs and Corvettes, either, but all sorts of exotic-looking things.

Cowboy boots, hats, and belts are everywhere. Galveston constables wear cowboy hats, and you can pick up a straw one at any supermarket.

Bling: If you don't do cowboy, maybe bling is your style.

Land: Much of the land I've seen in a big triangle from Galveston and Houston north to Dallas and west to San Antonio seens to be what I would call scrub. It doesn't look useful for farming, though you see cattle ranches. I still can't figure out how the state got settled. Parts are so devoid of elevation, rivers, or development that there are 70 mph speed limits on the farm roads.

Bayous in Texas aren't mangrove swamps full of Cajuns playing zydeco. They're inlets or streams. Some look like canals and some like bays. There doesn't seem to be any size or shape requirement for calling it a bayou. You have to get over them, and every so often you're driving along and suddenly a bridge seems to rise straight up. This one is actually over the intracoastal waterway, so it's really big, but a lot of the little bridges look like this, too.

There's pie in Texas. Lots of pie. Also pecans and smokehouses; I saw a drive-through smokehouse. And hand-cut doughnuts. No town is too small for a Family Dollar and a donut shop. On a related note, fried catfish with Creole-style okra makes a terrific meal.

Texans, like everyone, can be rude, and weird. Me to the woman who stepped right in front of me, blocking my view, at the Mardi Gras parade: "Uh, you just stepped in front of me and I can't see." Woman: "I'm pregnant. I have to be in front."

Mardi Gras

It seems that Mardi Gras takes at least two forms, more or less simultaneously.  One, I'm told, is the beer-drenched, perhaps bawdy celebration favored by the party crowd. I haven't partaken, though it's certainly available. The other is a family affair. Galveston's includes, for example, kids' parades and a Ball for Special People. While there are two whole weekends worth of activities, the centerpiece is parades and beads. Just why it's so much fun to beg fantastically dressed people to throw you beads from an equally fanciful float I'm not sure, but that's what happens, and it is fun! 

It reminds me of Saturnalia, in a way, and Halloween. Adults get permission to wear funny things and decorate their houses and themselves, if they like. Some of the folks below were in the parade; some were just bystanders who knew how to get into the spirit of things.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everyone, and I mean everyone, wears beads, some just at the parade and some all weekend. Even me. I wasn't very good at begging beads, but I did snag a couple on the fly, and kindly people handed me their extras. Neighborliness seems to be part of the spirit.

I learned from the man standing next to me that the Krewes that organize the parades and create and staff the floats are really social clubs, hosting balls (balls! imagine!) and other events year-around, and he pointed out that most of the members are of an older persuasion (and pretty white, I noticed). He assured me that I'd like it if I joined one. I also learned that Galveston's Mardi Gras is the third largest in the country. Nawluns of course is first, and Mobile second. And in case you want to know, Mobile is pronounced Mo-BEEL. 

But I think my favorite part of the parade was the high school bands. Some were well equipped and uniformed, and some were a little sad in that regard, but either way, those kids know how to strut! And there seemed to be a place for everyone, regardless of appearance (and maybe skill). There was one group of flag girls that must have averaged well over 200 pounds, and there they were in their halter tops and mini shorts, laying down some serious moves. No worries about body image for those young women.

And that, say I, is the Mardi Gras spirit: do your thing, and do it with gusto. Laissez le bontemps roulez!

Have a look:

https://vimeo.com/87401905

 

 

The road warrior

Thanks to Helen Casey for inspiring this blog entry and dignifying it with that martial title, which makes me sound lots braver than I am. Traveling alone is an adventure, no question about it. I have a good role model, Jean Ann Walsh, a college roomie, who travels the world alone without batting an eyelash. So I try to follow her example, and along the way I've developed a few rules for myself:

1. Try to be fearless, or at least as fearless as you can manage. My mother used to say of western Oregon's overly rainy winters, "If you don't go and do things in the rain, you won't go and do much." Same thing for traveling. Try stuff. They say the best way to ward off senility is to stretch your comfort zone. At the same time,

2. Have a brain. Don't go walking on the most isolated beach you can find with an expensive camera around your neck when you notice that the only other occupant of the beach is a guy in a hoodie staring at you. I felt awful about stereotyping the poor guy, who was probably only going fishing, but still. People say cruises and tours are good ways for the single person to travel safely.

3. Carry a book. You won't feel foolish eating alone or sitting in an audience, because you're not alone; your old friend Jane Austen, or whoever, is with you. A camera works, too, or you can play with your phone. Actually, a camera works the opposite way as well; it may start a conversation.

4. The GPS is essential for a driving trip. Don't second-guess it. Set your destination ahead of time, not when you're already lost. Make sure it's secure on the seat or its mount. If there's something more nervous-making than having the GPS stop talking to you because you knocked it sideways in six-lane traffic (each way) in the middle of Houston, I'm not sure what it is.

5. People are nice to old ladies, especially if they seem confused. Don't hesitate to look a little pathetic.

6. Be willing to spend money. My kids had to teach me this one, miser that I used to be. But if the prospect of driving five hours alone in strange territory makes you nervous, why not drive halfway and treat yourself to a decent hotel and dinner before continuing? That's how I had one of the best meals of the trip.

I'm sure that's not all there is to know about travel and the single oldster. I'm new to this, and would love to hear others' advice, experience, mistakes, etc.

TEDs

Your may think of a TED as a conference where geeks gather to get excited about innovations. But on the Gulf coast, a TED is a Turtle Exclusion Device. You put it in your shrimp net and it gives sea turtles an escape hatch. Otherwise they get tangled up and drown.

 

I spent an entire terrific morning listening to experts explain pretty much everything there is to know about sea turtles and exploring NOAA’s turtle-raising facility. There aren’t that many sea turtles in Texas waters, but Kemp's ridley sea turtles sometimes lay eggs on Padre Island, near the Mexican border. There’s an awful lot I don’t know, but here are a few random bits to pursue at leisure if you’re so inclined:

 

There are five kinds of Gulf turtles, ranging from the little, endangered Kemp’s, about two feet long, to the loggerheads that can be more like six feet. The loggerheads, in particular, have an awe-inspiring life story: their life story takes them up the East Coast, across the Atlantic to Europe, and down to the Azores. Eventually they come back to their home beach to breed.

 

 

If sea turtle eggs are laid on a warm beach, females will result; if it’s cooler, they’ll be males. Doesn’t that give rise to all kinds of interesting questions and speculations??

The beaches in Galveston have signs reminding people to leave turtles alone, not to litter, and to dispose of any fishing line in the receptacles that are places on all the beaches. Turtles eat pretty much anything, and plastic supermarket bags can look a lot like jellyfish. And they have to breathe air, so if they get tangled up in fishing line, or get it wrapped around their throats, their lives are in grave danger.

But commercial fishing is probably the biggest threat; hence the TEDs. The NOAA people raise hundreds of turtles at their research facility here in Galveston, to use as guinea pigs in testing new TED designs.

 

They’re incredibly careful in how they raise them and do the testing, and release the turtles equally carefully when they’re finished. These bright and thoughtful people also get schools involved in awareness campaigns and hold these annual orientation sessions for the public, just before breeding season.

 

But no one could tell me how the Kemp’s ridley got its name. Kemp was the fisherman who discovered it, but what's a ridley turtle? The phrase puts me in mind of a semi-palmated sandpiper, or a runcible spoon. But nobody seems to know.

San Antonio

When you say you’re going to San Antonio, people automatically say, “Oh, yes. The Riverwalk.” They’re right, but we found the city so much more than that.  We were enchanted, from start to finish.

  

The walk itself is hard to describe, and none of us took an adequate photo. A narrow bit of the San Antonio River meanders through downtown, lined on both sides with restaurants and shops in the bottom floors of handsome buildings that tower above. Son Steve treated his sister and me to a gorgeous hotel that actually had a little bit of the river running through it.

 

The sidewalks curve in and out, and a dozen picturesque bridges let you wander at will, while tour boats sail up and down. It sounds tacky-touristy, but isn’t; it’s so attractive that you just want to spend hours there—especially in 75-degree weather, even late in the evening (sorry, Northerners!).

 

 

Then, of course, there's the Alamo. I was very surprised that, despite being surrounded by a wax museum, 3-D adventure movies, carriage rides, and slushie vendors, it had a dignity and quiet about it. Regardless of whether or not you buy its advertised significance—as a monument to heroes who sacrificed their lives for the ideal of freedom—it's powerful; I was drawn back three or four times for its impressive presence, especially at night.



 

The two major missions we visited had a similar, sublimely serene feeling. We learned a lot about the 300-year Spanish rule and the exigencies that forced Native peoples into mission life, and marveled at the skill of the artisans who created magnificence in what was then wilderness.

 

 





We also loved Market Square, where we seemed to be the only ones speaking English, and music and color abounded. We mostly resisted the folk art, but indulged on mangos on a stick, roasted corn, and the best gorditas ever.

 

 

La Villita, a former Mexican village converted to artists’ shops, was another favorite. Again, it had a spacious, serene feel that we found enchanting. If you were of an imaginative turn of mind, or read too many novels, you could almost picture the senoritas primping for the evening promenade through the  broad courtyard, or selecting the best roses for the family shrine.

 

 

On our last morning we got an informal tour of the ornate San Fernando cathedral.

 

 

Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie were interred in the entryway—after they’d been dug up from somewhere else and put on display for a year. Words fail me.