This means that everyone, from servers to bartenders to cashiers, are friendly and open. This also means that cab drivers are chatty and can be an endless source of information.
We were given the name and number of a reliable driver to take us out to the wedding on Friday night, and were impressed that he showed up at 5:30 on the dot in a gleaming white Denali with cream leather interior. He then proceeded to give us a condensed history of the San Antonio area, from the original Spanish settlement in the 1600s to the influx of German immigrants who settled along the river because it reminded them of the Rhine. The SUV eased up the ramp onto clean, flat highways four lanes across with bright white stone fixtures.
San Antonio does suffer from the suburban sprawl that accompanies so many cities outside of the north east. Tampa and Jacksonville are horrific examples of how inadequate highway systems fail to support the ever-growing populations that keep building strip malls and gated housing communities. While the central part of downtown San Antonio is exquisitely beautiful, a few miles out of town there are broad expanses of parking lots and strip malls framed by dirt fields and scrubby grasses.
We were on the highway for about ten minutes when the driver pulled off onto a narrow two-lane road. The dips and valleys in the primarily flat landscape were punctuated by flood gauges: although San Ant is in the midst of a terrible drought, when it does rain it floods.
And we turned onto a one-lane dirt road, marked only by a row of spindly mailboxes with tall grasses poking upwards out of the dust. Low, flat houses with metal roofs surrounded by cinderblock fences with spikes sticking out of the top huddled ominously tucked back from the road. Old Broncoes with rusted fenders were parked haphazardly in lawns made of dirt and rock. Clusters of cacti lay in between scrubby bushes, and there wasn't a single tree taller than ten feet or so. And everything, everything was covered with dust, including the metal "DO NOT DISTURB" and "KEEP OUT" signs nailed to trees and fence posts.
"You be careful up here," our driver warned. "Lotta drugs and chop shops. There's not too fond of white people either."
And then, suddenly, greenery. Fairy lights around fence posts, and stately black street lamps. Granberry Hills, the wedding facility, was at the top of the hill overlooking the spread of San Antonio below.
He gave us his card. "Call me if you need a ride home."
The pavilion with the long, flat roof had fans lazily pushing around the 102 degree heat. Behind, a stretch of perfectly manicured grass led up to a long, low cattle fence surrounding the farm behind. Three-sided cattle sheds rested on the hills beyond. Yep, we're in Texas.
The wedding was breathtaking. D wore his black suit with a crimson red tie that matched the perfect red rose in his wife's dark curls. The whole wedding was black and white with red accents. The food was tamales, guacamole, quesadillas made fresh on a griddle right at the table, a chocolate fountain, and an open bar with cases of Metropolitan's best wine (a gift from The Owner). The bartender took a liking to me and served me vodka sodas in Solo cups, eschewing the terribly small plastic cups.
The music selection was eclectic. The bride and groom chose an acoustic Avenged Sevenfold song as their first dance, and then there was Michael Jackson, country, Mexican, and pop music interspersed.
After the reception, a stretch monstrosity was waiting to pick us up. We all got a last round of drinks from the open bar and piled into the limo. Champagne was uncorked. A CD was put in. Congratulations were abounding, we were speeding down the dirt roads back towards the city singing along to pop music and drinking straight from the bottle.
And then, a scream. The boyfriend of one of the bridesmaids was rolling down the window and attempting to climb out, saying he didn't want to live anymore. He was beyond plastered. All of the Baltimore contingent just stared at this lunatic dangling out of a limo window on a highway going 80 miles an hour. His friends managed to pull him back in. Someone cut the music and we all sat in stunned silence.
Mercifully, we pulled up at our destination a few minutes later. Thumping bass and flashing lights, crowds of people. Somewhere on the outskirts of town. The Saint Show Bar. Our wedding party had arrived at a gay club.
Signs at the entrance reminded us to leave our firearms outside of the club, so I asked the limo driver to keep an eye on my sawed-off Smith and Wesson while we paid our four dollar cover charges. Lee and I ambled up to the bar and ordered two gin and tonics.
"Five fifty," the bartender said.
"Each?" we asked.
"No, for both."
FIVE FIFTY FOR TWO GIN AND TONICS?!?! This was officially our new favorite place in San Antonio.
A drag show was in full swing. Men dressed as women with beautiful, perfect make-up and deceptively slim legs lip synched to Madonna. Of course I held up dollar bills. Of course I went on stage to dance when one of the performers pulled me up. She kissed my cheek, sweaty and slightly prickly. She had better legs than I did.
The bride and groom were pulled up on stage as well. We got more five dollar rounds of drinks.
The rest got hazy. The limo returned to take the lot of us staying downtown, and the ride home was long and quiet. I pried off my shoes and closed my eyes, exhausted. I barely remember brushing my teeth and crawling into bed.
I got up at some point in the night to go to the bathroom. I squinted as I pushed on the bathroom light, briefly remembering that this was supposed to be a haunted hotel. I sat there and it took me a moment to register that the shower curtain was lying on the ground. Bent to a ninety-degree angle. My brain could not process this. Had I done this at some point? What was going on? My hangover was already kicking in and I simply couldn't deal with the barrage of questions pounding around in my head.
The next morning, I hauled myself out of the bed to brush my teeth. I was greeted by the sight of the horribly mangled shower curtain, bent to such an angle that it was actually broken. Screws were hanging out of the wall where the entire thing had been ripped out.
"What the hell happened in the bathroom?" I yelled.
"Me," I heard Lee say weekly from where he was lying facedown in the room.
"What did you do?!"
"I don't remember!"
"WHAT?!"
"I don't remember how I got it off the wall, but I remember I bent it because I got frustrated because I couldn't get it back up."
Lee had vandalized the hotel room.
At least one of us had to, I suppose.
We all checked out and went for pizza. We were sick of Tex Mex and in need of some serious hangover food and it was too late anywhere for breakfast. I wore my sunglasses until after my first cup of coffee. We recounted happenings from the night before. The lot of us were a mess.
We caught a cab to the airport and checked our bags.
"Oh, did you two want to sit together?" the clerk behind the counter asked.
"Nope!" Lee and I said in unison.
"But you're...travelling together?" she said, confused.
"Yep!" we both said.
"We both want window seats," Lee explained.
"Um, ok. I see," the clerk said, clearly not understanding our friendship which elevates flight window seats to a point far above our co-dependency.
On the first leg of the flight home, I nursed the kind of hangover where anxiety fills you and you realize that everyone you love will die. I listened to German pop music and kept my sunglasses on. After a beer and a sandwich during our layover in Atlanta, however, I was fine. Anxious to get home. It was late, and it was Independence Day, and I needed to go to bed. All along the ground on the way up, I watched fireworks displays from all the little towns. Tiny poofs of light exploding. They were much smaller than I'd thought they would be. I celebrated our nation's Independence with a chocolate chip cookie and Snow Patrol on my iPod.
Home again, home again. More stories to tell. Pictures to show. A very memorable couple of days, a beautiful wedding, an amazing experience. But home sweet home for now, and my own bed, and my cats, and at some point I'll give Ghil the presents I got for him.
Remember the Alamo.
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