July 1, 2011
After a hard hour-long walk and shower this morning, I rode a few blocks to Nena's restaurant, which I had spotted on my walk. As I was dismounting from my Yamaha stalion (hey, I'm in Texas now so gotta have a horse:) an hispanic looking man left the restaurant, admired the bike and then told me in English as good as my own that Nena's was a fine place. I entered and saw that most everyone there was also of Mexican heritage. Then I came to the conclusion that almost everyone in Texas was hispanic, quite a change from my experience in George, northern Florida and Alabama. I still have to bite my tongue to avoid greeting everyone with a buenos dias as, unlike in the other states, these people are likely to have been born here, in the ol' US of A, and might take offense at that salutation.
Regardless of their origins, the people in Nena's were surely of south-of- the-border extraction. And the decorations were some different from Mac'n Judy's place in Alabama. No deer heads for these folks, but football was still the theme. Oh sure, there were a few dark colored prints of Madonnas and mission churches, but two huge posters dominated two walls. I took pictures and apparently left my mental image of the graphics of one back inside the camera – but I do recall that the message was clear and it said in Spanish in large letters: DON'T SCREW AROUND WITH THE COWBOYS!
The other poster featured three foot high pictures of the three Cowboy's quarterbacks that have carried the team to victorious seasons in recent years: Roger Staubach, Troy Aikman, and Tony Romo. The logo, in Spanish, was “Carrying on the Cowboy Tradition”.
While I waited for my flapjacks to be flipped, I went back toward the entrance and met Nena's daughter Naomi, another daughter who was feeding her infant his bottle, and son Ed. He and I started chatting away like old friends. He was about 50, stocky (I'm being kind) with a graying mustache that continued down the sides of his mouth. He was very brown.
In a flash I was hit with an image of Eduardo plopped on a low bench outside an adobe ranch house. He had his arms folded across his chest, ankles crossed, chin on his chest and a large sombrero tipped down to shade his face as he caught some “z's”. But contrary to this image, the English that Ed spoke was pure “American”.
Naomi, her sister and brother Ed are the managers and chief employees of the restaurant, as their mother Nena is apparenly retired. It's a true family affair. Naomi's sister and Ed were sitting there eating and jawing because, as Naomi was quick to tell me, they were Off today. Their replacement server was a cheerful (possibly anglo) gal in her early twenties who had social graces but few server skills. I had to go up front for milk for my coffee, and then returned to look for a knife to butter my cakes. I saw a container of plastic forks and spoons, but no knives. Naomi solved the problem by pulling a metal one out of a cupboard, wiping it off with a cloth, and handing it to me with a smile.
And smile is what I did a lot this morning as I watched a corner table of six and high-chaired infant having a good time at one table. They spoke mostly Spanish. Next to me an Anglo 50-ish grandmother with daughter and her two girls (the mother fessed up her infant was spoiled as she picked her up from her high chair for the umpteenth time). Two Anglo workers sat near, and then two late teen males of most likely Mexican heritage. And in came more customers. The place was now hopping.
However, out front near the cashiering counter, sister and brother sat at leisure. I sat down with Ed and two younger brown men to discuss the Cowboy's outlook this coming season. It was fun. This was important for me. I am at home traveling, meeting good people. Like later in the day, at the Angelton Museum, the tourist information lady went out of her way to tell me the best way to San Antonio. And near the end of the day 25 year old Christopher deferred his shopping at Home Depot in order to learn precisely what type of motel I sought and then sketch a map of the best route to follow to find same.
Last night I pondered why these folks were so friendly and helpful. Was it my non-threatening demeanor, my white hair, my glasses? Maybe these and maybe also the two nickel size brown scabs on both sides of my forehead (plus the scars in the center from last Fall's surgery:) Or maybe it's the whole package.
I think it may also be the fact I look at, and into, a person's eyes. Somehow they know I am looking past the color of their skin or their southern drawl or their accented English, to meet them on equal footing, where the rubber hits the road.
Before I left Clute, the neighboring town to overly “refined” Freeport, I had wanted to take a picture of Mama Teresa's where I ate last night. I almost passed it by then because it was difficult to ascertain that it actually was a restaurant. But it surely was. And a fine one at that. It was a one story stand-alone building on a street corner. Some two dozen ceramic planters embracing scrawny green plants outlined a parking area in front. A large rusty empty bird cage watched over the planters. If you stood within a few feet of the building you could read the faded letters on a sign that declared Mama Teresa's produced fine food. I drew up to the building to decipher the sign and would have turned away were it not for a young man performing some chore outside. I asked if the establishment were open and doing business. I was answered in the affirmative so parked the bike and entered.
Inside it was wonderful. Soft warm lighting; browns and deep reds; an aria playing softly, and those wonderful rich Italian cooking aromas in the air. Mama was 75 and garrulous, with a heavy accent. The young man outside was Misha, the sole server. Bright and conscientious. He agreed the exterior aesthetics were pallid. He said they (probably mainly he) had placed a number of attractive ornaments, banners, etc. outside, but they were quickly stolen. He said his ideas were also often spurned by Mama, who was set in her ways. She had had a successful restaurant for many years in the next town, but was forced to move two years ago when the landlord jacked the rent. Now...(you can see where this is going).
With my departure delayed by my good time at Nena's, I forgot about taking a photo of Mama Teresa's. Perhaps it's just one more missed opportunity the restaurant seems destined for. It is very difficult for a stranger to navigate about Clute at this time as highway 183 is being widened with roads blocked and detours seemingly everywhere I wanted to go. It was tough on me and worse for my bewildered gps. I finally headed north and figured I'd pick up my planned route stored on the gps before long. Bue the gps and I weren't getting along; I felt it was taking me too far north so I hopped off the highway when I saw a Tourist Information Center sign at an exit. I ended up a few miles away at that museum in Angleton which I referred to above where that nice lady, I just remembered she was Rose “of Texas”, gave me the info I needed (anything but I-10 that would get me fairly directly to San Antone). Essentially I headed north to Alternate Rt. 90 which paralleled I-10 to SA. I could see a good number of fields were barren due to the extreme drought in this area. Soybeans looked green and healthy (but what do I know). The other most common crop appeared to be two foot high corn plants with brown tassels. I sure hope they weren't corn for, if they were, the farmers have serious problems.
At 4:30 I still 140 miles from San Antonio and my body began to tell me it would really prefer traveling in a soft-cushioned, air-conditioned car (average temp was 97 today). I stopped in Shriner, “The Cleanest City in Texas. Pop. 2069” to drink a bottle of water and study the map Rose of Texas had given me. I decided I had seen all there was south of I-10 so picked a road pointing north at a not-too-distant town coming up, and hopped on it soon as I could.
I was fresh out of water by now so ducked into a Wal-Mart for an infusion before making the route change. In 20 minutes I was soaring west on the super highway. But dang, these Texans are impatient drivers. I moved along in the left lane with the fastest vehicles, doing a steady 75 on this 70 mph highway. This seemed to create a problem for the impatient drivers with no tail-gating inhibitions. I, on the other hand, believe that the second greatest danger for me, after drivers like these, lies in the truck tire retread
carcasses you can frequently see, usually lying on the side of the road. I would not relish running into/over one of these crittes and consequently try to keep at least 5-6 car lengths behind the vehicle in front of me at highway speeds in order to have time to steer around such a danger. While I do not slow any drivers behind me as I keep my speed up with the flow, some drivers see that space ahead of me and are determined to fill it, “because it's there”. They pass me on the right and cut in front of me. They probably could care less about tread carcasses – they gotta push by me and the next, and next guy as well.
My new nuvi 1450 was not showing me Points of Interest so I could not search for Days Inns or anything else. (Carol and Buz and I like Days because often the price is ok and the quality not too bad.) Once inside the SA city limits, I asked a convenience store clerk where the motels were clustered. He gave me bad directions. I then accosted the afore-mentioned Christopher at Home Depot. He was very helpful. I hit the downtown Days Inn on the chance it wasn't too pricy (near the famous River Walk, Alamo, etc.) Clerk Lisa was wonderful. She agreed their $110 (with tax) price was a bit high, but asked if I should expect a bargain on a holiday weekend. She had a point. We hit it off (she's 42 and a (good-looking) grandmother, yet. I told her I was headed west for a grandson's wedding. She went to work for me calling the other Days Inns in the area to seek lower prices. Lisa found one a few miles away that quoted $180 for two nights and I hopped on it. (She gave me her card and told me to come back some other weekend and she would get me a good deal. She wasn't hitting on me – just being a friend.)
So many nice people!
It was now almost dark. I drove to the Days with the better rate, but the Scotch in me (I thought I was only English/Welsh:) caused me to turn in a block before at a place with a “Best Rates in Town” sign. The manager was having a dispute/discussion over rates with a group of four so I waited patiently. After 15 minutes things calmed down and the manager quoted me $165 for two nights, tax included. I was turned off by the tone of the prior discussion, and was giving some thought to the quality of my potential neighbors at the establishment. I said I'd think about it and ducked out while the manager scowled. I was relieved to finally register at this Days Inn. It is of lower than average quality, but it's clean and does have a Wifi that works (most of the time:)
Today, Saturday, I rode down to city center to see, and photo, the Alamo, River Walk, Needle, etc. I walked quite a bit to get in my aerobic duty, and picked up a “Foot Long” from Subway before leaving. I ate half when I returned to my room, and will eat the remainder NOW.
No comments:
Post a Comment