Trip Trans America — Part Two

Hello from Victor Idaho! At the end of Part One, I mentioned this part would cover cities such as Austin and Vegas. Turns out the Mississippi and Texas sections ran longer than I’d thought, so we’ll reach Vegas in Part Three. Hope you enjoy!

In the first decade of the 19th century, my ancestors migrated west into the Mississippi Territory by wagon along the Natchez Trace. Over 200 years later, I followed the same path in an electric car into the State of Mississippi.

I chose Greenville as a destination because my great-grandmother used to live there. In 1927, during the Great Flood that displaced hundreds of thousands, she fled north to Memphis. I’d been to Mississippi many times to see my family in West Point, but never to the Delta Region, and so wanted to get a feel for where my great-grandmother grew up. Well,

The Mississippi Delta

found me before I found it, as all of a sudden I caught a gleam of light out of the corner of my eye, and looked to see water on the side of the road. If it were a foot higher, I’d have had to find another route. At one point I saw, standing in the midst of floodwater, a ‘Road Closed’ sign. As if there could be a road there! At one point I encountered wild turkeys in the middle of the road scavenging roadkill. They flew away as I drove past. I didn’t know turkeys could fly!

A few sights made me feel wan: a house that appeared to float on water, and grass grown over long-unused train tracks. Both could have come right out of Spirited Away or Ponyo.

As I turned down a dirt road towards my airbnb, I saw a white colonial standing alone amidst the field. Couldn’t help but think it looked just like Leonardo DiCaprio’s house in Django Unchained. But oh no no no no, don’t think I was living like Calvin Candie. My host’s directions took me further along the dirt round and around the white house to my stay for the night: the Shotgun Shack.

As I got out of my car the hosts’ puppy, Little Bear, extended a welcome greeting. Inside, the shack sure did look the part, complete with stuffed game, mississippi blues trail paraphernalia, a rug hanging over my bedroom window in place of shades, and some cute art.

Now the town I’d driven through to get here, Benoit, had nothing resembling dining options. No wonder, given it registered a population of 477 at the 2010 census. Intent on seeing Greenville, I drove half an hour to a sports bar in its downtown. There were a lot of restaurants in that area on google maps so it shouldn’t be too hard to find a good one.

Parked right outside the sports bar and the place looked dead, so I started walking around. Immediately felt the creeps, as if I’m walking through a ghost town. Absolutely no one around, block after block of abandoned storefronts, the smell of mold in the air. While I didn’t see many people, I did see a family of raccoons crossing the street. Many of the restaurants on my map weren’t just out of business — the buildings themselves were gone. Most ominous of all, in the windows of the Greenville History Museum was a black-and-white picture of the town in 1963 — it was packed!

Finally I saw a little bit of life right outside the church; service must just have ended. Not long after found a decent-looking place to eat, and inside you’d never know you’re eating in a ghost town. Upon reflection, that too feels like Spirited Away, when the parents chow down hard at the beginning. I sat at the bar, drank IPA, ate some crawfish cakes. Then the guy next to me got a ribeye, and it just looked so good, so I got one with broccolini. 

Afterwards beelined it for the Shotgun Shack. Driving back I passed many fields; they smelled of beets at one moment, soil the next, and like a zoo habitat after that. The sunset felt haunting.

Pulled into the dirt road to find both dogs there. Rocco jumped on me before I even got out of the car. At that very moment, my host pulled in and stepped out of his truck. As he greeted me, Little Bear jumped around my legs, and at one point I think he even playfully bit me. Fast friends, I suppose.

Host asked where I’m going next and I told him Vicksburg. “Yeah Vicksburg’s nice but I’d really recommend Natchez. They surrendered immediately during the war and so nothing ever got burned.” “Actually had planned to go to Natchez, since I have some ancestors from there, but decided on Vicksburg to cut down a bit on the driving time.” “Ah makes sense, yea we try to send everyone down to Natchez cause my wife’s from there.” 

We discussed the shack. “Tried to keep it nice and cool for ya” “Yeah it a was great temp when I walked in” “We’re in such a great location. Benoit, right in the middle of everything… What kind of car is this?” “.....” “Whoa! This is a Tesla!? I might be able to help you charge it tonight actually!” 

We went into the shack nextdoor mine, and in a room featuring a JFK poster he unplugged the stove as I handed him my charger. “Nahh, it’s too bad, yours has one extra spoke. Well, if you have time tomorrow, I can give you a tour of the house. It’s called the Baby Doll house; the movie was filmed there. Now I own the house and all the land around us. We just use the Baby Doll house for showing, but live in that other house next door. I do farm the land though, Pecans, though my land is tiny compared to most of the other farms ‘round here.”

That night I did a little writing and as I typed a big huge flying bug crawled across my screen. Shack life, I suppose. Front door probably had a lock, but I couldn’t find it and besides, it kinda feels wrong to lock a shack. My bedroom door didn’t even fully close, the wood floor being warped, but again, that’s a shack for ya. 

The next morning I woke up, made some shack Folgers, and read In Search of Lost Time. Prepared to book it for Jackson to pick up my dad, I opened the door just as my host prepared to knock. “Hey I got some of our home-grown Pecans for ya! Wanna see the house?”

He took me through. At one point Little Bear got inside; it seems I hadn’t fully closed the door behind me. He told me about Baby Doll, how they used locals as extras, then showed me some artifacts upstairs — actual mastodon & mammoth teeth that they found washed up in a nearby river. 

Nearly at Jackson to pick up my dad at the airport, I all of a sudden saw an icon for the Petrified Forest on the right of my map, and pulled right over to take a brisk walk through. Had to ask the attendant what a petrified forest even was; essentially they are dead trees that have fossilized into stone.

After charging, I pulled into the Jackson-Medgar Wiley Evers International Airport to my dad standing at the curb. “I’d wanted to surprise you with some champagne, aperol, and wine, so while connecting in Houston I went to duty free and was checking out when they asked for my ticket and said I couldn’t buy because I’m not flying international! Makes sense but what a bummer!” He did not come empty-handed however, bringing a few items I’d forgotten in New York, such as my computer charger, shipped to Chicago by my roommate.

We were starving upon arrival to Vicksburg. The first place we tried, Rusty’s Riverfront Grill, was closed on Sundays, so we audibled to Anchucha. Inside an old historic house, it was really cute — had some strange art though. We both got shrimp & grits alongside a bloody mary. 

After checking into the airbnb, we desired a walk down to the river. Going off google maps, I lead us past a cargo train and through some brush to a viewpoint. At that point I felt a pinching on my feet and looked down to ankles covered by fire ants. Quickly disposed of them and the itch went away fairly soon. Welp we made it to the viewpoint but it was still a ways down to the river — what a massive bluff! So we returned to the car so as to make the Vicksburg National Military Park before closing. 

There we watched a Civil War video (made in Boston) and learned the significance of the bluffs — they’re the very reason the Confederates chose Vicksburg as a base, as they were tough to scale and gave a clear shot to ships below. Indeed the Union laid siege for over a month, eventually starving out the southerners and clearing the way for total victory. After the video we drove around the park. It was massive! We saw some cool monuments, but coolest of all was the sunken battleship. 

Now for the reeeeaaal reason I chose Vicksburg. Well, ok, I wasn’t kidding when I told my Shotgun Shack host I wanted to minimize driving time. But also I knew Vicksburg also had a casino with a poker room, the Vicksburg Ameristar. When I arrived there was only one table going, so I had to wait a while until they opened up a second.

You could tell many at the table knew each other — no wonder given there’s barely one table in town. Featured some real characters though. I’ll describe them by their hats — white sox new era, tweed flat cap, backwards superman flatbrim, forward curved hat reading ‘mind your busine$$’, and a ‘tractor supply co’ trucker hat. 

As i’m in the middle of a hand, a good hand like AK or QQ, this guy across from me goes, “don’t think that I was just randomly staring at you, you look just like my cousin who lives in California, I thought you might be him.” I replied with the verbal equivalent of a shrug. Ended up winning the hand.

An hour or so later, that same guy gets in a 1v1 against the guy in the white sox hat. My ex-interlocutor bets the final betting round, and White Sox counters by going all-in for a massive raise, saying “I hit it on the river.” The conversationalist takes forever to think, but ultimately talks himself into a call, his three-of-a-kind losing to a straight that did, in fact, get there on the river. After he’d gone bust and left the table, others exclaimed “he knows how to play his bad hands better than his good hands.” 

The whole table, myself included, kept glancing over at the Suns-Nuggets playoff game. Given the Suns were up 3-0 in the series and 10 points in the game, it became evident those most interested had money on it. We are in a casino, after all; the sportsbook is not far from the poker room. Surprisingly though, those betting included the dealer, who at one point offered to make a side bet with White Sox on whether the over/under would hit.

Otherwise, I played a pretty conservative game, but did win most of the hands I engaged in. Made a couple semi-bluffs but probably could’ve bluffed more, since no one ever took me to showdown. Felt happy to net positive winnings for the night.

Woke up and got coffee & oatmeal at a cute place downtown, styled after an old record store. I sat outside sipping my coffee while my dad finished eating and enjoyed a nice view of the bluff & river from a park bench. 

Driving through Louisiana, after a charging stop, my dad goes “oh are we going through Shreveport? My cousin’s in Shreveport!” Indeed we were. He texted her and she was around, so we pulled up to her house. She gave us a quick tour, featuring some nice paintings by our shared ancestor and an homage or two to her time living in New Orleans. We spoke of our shared ancestors, who lived in an area of “Nawlins” that didn’t even bother to speak English. 

For lunch we ate at a restaurant nearby, Superior’s Steakhouse. Liked the vibes, but wasn’t about to get a ribeye & wine for lunch given the marathon that is this seven weeks, so I got iced tea with a meatloaf served with sweet potatoes and one huge carrot. We discussed our family, and I especially loved talking about my grandparents, each of our backgrounds, and her time living in Chicago.

Soaked in some words of wisdom in the bathroom, then we hit the road. Within minutes of getting back on the highway, we passed the official marker for: 

The Lone Star State

First we stopped to charge at Nacogdoches. Given our destination for that night was College Station, we had to take more one-lane highways than we would going to Dallas or directly to Austin. Or rather, Texas Farm Roads (not to be confused with Texas Ranch Roads). Passed through a couple one-horse towns, some cows in the pasture. 

I chose College Station solely to see the George HW Bush Library. But the federal government hadn’t yet reopened such sites, so College Station became a waystation. Driving in, all I could see was strip malls. Perfect place to finally have a Whataburger though, which I’d been wanting to try since we visited Dallas the summer before my junior year of high school. So we did.

The next morning I opened my bedroom door to find three cats lazing on the other side. My dad picked me up and we drove to get food near the A&M campus, settling on Sweet Paris Crêperie. As the server tables our food, my dad simply couldn’t resist saying “merci.”

Next we drove through campus and parked outside the (massive!) football stadium to be greeted with a Howdy. Saw some players lifting within the glass-walled weight room.

While we couldn’t go inside the Bush Library we did walk around the grounds. I immediately gravitated to a statue of charging horses. “That must be the Berlin Wall” my dad says, and indeed you could see it trampled underfoot. “Foreign policy was his thing. Not so great at connecting with the average person though. Never forget the famous checkout counter incident.” We visited his, Barbara’s, and their daughter Robin’s gravesite, adorned with globes. I remember when they died in 2018; a few years earlier and their graves wouldn’t be here. 

Didn’t take too long to get to Austin, where my dad deposited me at the Driskill. Took one elevator up to the mezzanine and walked across the ballroom, whereupon I found the tower elevator. Room 1111. Promptly went to Tacodeli to give my empty stomach some relief. Gave them my name with the order and thought wow, just like in Mississippi and Alabama, they actually know how to spell Lyle.

Sat with a view of their wall art and eventually received my tacos. They got progressively better as I went on, from the Mexico City Chicken, to the Mojo Salmon, to the Delibelly (i.e. pork belly). Rice & beans also hit the spot, especially the rice. Imagine having such a chain within arm’s distance.

Walked off the meal a bit nearby. Under Congress Bridge I noticed a huge bat mural. Cool, some nice street art, always good to see. Then I heard the squeaking and realized no, this bat mural isn’t so random. If bats were like bees I suppose that’d be Queen Bat.

Walking under a canopy of trees I heard the birds, and maybe it’s my imagination but they sounded more tropical than in Alabama or Virginia. Then I saw a big green one. Ok yep that’s legit. 

One bird sounded like a twisty spring, “burrrrr-eeeep” another like an alarm “beep beep beep beep beep beep beep” later by the water I heard one go “Chiiip” “cheep” “cherrp” in the sculpture garden one sounded “boo-eep boo-eep boo-eep boo-eep boo-eep” and then outside the art museum a “ch-check check-check” 

In my time before dinner I decided to walk towards the Capitol & UT. The capitol holds your eye the whole way up Congress Ave, and the closer you get the more you can appreciate its pink granite. Right up close it peeked out the trees like a monument to liberty rising out of the wilderness.

It does also have a Confederate Soldiers monument out front. My first thought was that this one’s for soldiers not commanders, and in any war, no matter what side they fight for, the plight of the common soldier is a tragic. Then I got closer and read: “Died for state rights under the constitution. The people of the south, animated by the spirit of 1776, to preserve their rights, withdrew from the federal compact in 1861. The north resorted to coercion. The south, against overwhelming numbers and resources, fought until exhausted.” After seeing Monument Avenue in Richmond, I’m surprised this one’s still standing.

From down San Jacinto boulevard it seemed as if a roman colosseum rose above the buildings in the distance. Hello Longhorn Football. After wandering around campus and seeing the clocktower, it was about time to head over to my dad’s friend John Trevey’s, where my dad was staying. As I call the uber I realize I’d forgot my mask, which I hadn’t needed since Delaware, but the driver was like “dude I don’t care” and proceeded to listen to Matthew McConaughey read from his autobiographical audiobook.

Ring the Treveys’ doorbell and was greeted by John, his wife Kim, his son Jack, their dog Maisie, and their cat Zep. Then my dad came down. Jack in fact races cars around a dirt track, but had never driven a Tesla before, so my dad & I let him take us for a spin. Then my cousin William arrived with his girlfriend Danielle and the whiskey tasting began. 

Trevey wheeled out two glasses for each person, one for bourbon and one for rye. We started off with Russell’s Reserve Single Barrel (both boubon & rye), then Mitcher’s 10 Year (both B&R), followed by Blanton’s (first the milder US version, then the “straight from the barrel” exported version, the 130.6-proof fogcutter). 

Danielle was sticking with bourbon and when Trevey asked her why, she asked “doesn’t rye make you hot?” to which the Kentucky-native Trevey replied “oh yeah, they call that the Kentucky hug” grabbing his neck and making a choking noise. We talked about the whiskey I had in Florence “A.H. Hirsch! That stuff’s legendary! You can’t find it just anywhere” and about land in the Hill Country which according to Kim came with 7 guineas and 3 peacocks, inspiring their whiskey shelf decor.

We broke off the tasting for the meal, cooked by Trevey on his Big Green Egg. Steaks & Caesar Salad. For dessert we had… more whiskey. Buffalo Trace Antique Collection, Thomas Handy Rye, Sazerac 18 Rye, Wild Turkey Rare Breed (JA bottling), Pappy Van Winkle. And I can’t neglect to mention our tasting’s special guest.

I remember especially enjoying the Michter’s Rye. Or was it the bourbon? In any case I definitely remember my two favorites: the Blanton’s Fogcutter and the Wild Turkey Rare Breed. As Trevey says, even if you can’t put your finger on why one’s good, at the end of the night some of the bottles end up more empty than others. And those ended up pretty empty.

The next morning I nursed my hangover over to Veracruz where breakfast tacos & coffee did their magic. After reading in my loveseat and then writing for a bit my dad picked me up and we drove over to Terry Black’s. There was a line out the door, but fortunately you could order beer out a to-go window, and at the first sip of Hopadillo I felt waaaay better. 

We got inside and giddied up in line. But this wasn’t a normal type of line where you order at the register and then they get your food. No no no. This line wound as if through a mess hall; you picked up a tray, asked for the sides you wanted, then as you paid they cut the meat right in front of you. I got brisket, green beans, and rice, picking off a bit of my dad’s cornbread & beans, and we enjoyed our meals in a community setting under a budweiser sign. We sure did not forget to smile & be happy that we’re in Texas eating BBQ. 

Next step of hangover recovery: spend some time outdoors. We rented paddleboards at Barton Springs. As we’re changing into bathing suits, I spy a lady sitting on her board with a parakeet on her shoulder. As we started paddling we saw a guy floating in a tube, his face buried in a sheaf of papers, an open beer at his side. Passed a family of turtles, kids swinging into the water from a rope swing, a woman curled up in a hammock overhanging the water, teenagers jumping off the bridge and into the springs. 

We emerged into the lake to a cornucopia of people, not unlike the Sheep’s Meadow in Central Park, or the Lake Michigan Playpen, or Wrigley Field on a sunny day. Another way of thinking about it is a forty-car pileup. We turned left, paddling away from the city, then took a moment to rest. 

We laid down, and my dad suggested we meditate, so I closed my eyes and cleared my mind. I’ve done yoga for a couple years, but I’d never consciously meditated until training for the business school exam, as a tactic to help clear my mind for focus. My version may be more of a semi-meditation than the full deal, but I start by focusing on my breath, and construct a mental image of a dome around my brain. Nothing from the outside can come inside. I still have thoughts of course, but imagine them flying across the dome like shooting stars, not to be created nor influenced by me. You could say this state of mind lacks active cogitation, and rather is about finding peace with whatever thoughts come to mind and then being ok with letting them go. As my mom used to say, sometimes you have to let your feelings flood into you, even the bad ones, and only then they will pass in peace.

I opened my eyes to a dragonfly resting on my foot. Looked to my left and watched the shore float by. Like in my life, I set the course but don’t control it. The current does. 

To paddle back upriver my dad and I made a convoy, I holding our boards together with my legs, as he paddled one side and I the other for double the power. 

After stopping at a sculpture garden, we went to the Driskill for drinks at their bar. But first I showed him around the place.

In the lobby I scanned a QR code under a picture of LBJ. Turns out he’d hung out at the Driskill on Election Night 1964, amidst his landslide victory over Goldwater in which he captured 61% of the popular vote and 486 of the 538 electoral. So the opposite of 2020. 

In the middle of the bar lounge room sits a large statue of horses. We took a closer look and saw two riders, one falling off his horse and the other pointing his rifle. The description named this statue as the Widowmaker, for riders who fell off but caught their foot in the stirrup, as their partner attempted to end the horse’s life before the rider’s.

I ordered a martini, my dad a margarita, and we relaxed on the cowhide couch. On the way out we looked at a list of Driskill donors. “I see a Mrs. Lyndon B. Johnson but it says her name is ‘Claudia’” “That’s Lady Bird. Given name was Claudia Alta Taylor.”

We drove to dinner, passing a millennial on an electric scooter and many paddleboards still out on the river. Fortunately we arrived at Loro early enough to not wait, and as we sat down outside my dad decided between the Singapore Sling and the Vietnamese Coffee. I couldn’t resist the sound of boozy slushies, so started with the Mango Sake Slushee, and followed it up with the Frozen Gin & Tonic. The latter was exactly what you’d picture a boozy slushee to be, and I had another, scooping out bites with the lime. 

For food I ordered for the both of us. Sweet Corn Fritters, Coconut Scented Rice, Sesame Rice Noodles, Snap Peas, Malaysian Chicken Bo Ssam, Char Siew Pork Belly, Smoked Prime Bavette, Oak Smoked Salmon. For dessert my dad got a Lone Star and I got a hazay ipay babay. 

They did have an odd ordering system, I must remark. Regardless of where you sit, you must order at the bar, meaning one person has to get up and wait in line. I get that it reinforces the uber-no-frills kind of vibe, the anti-frills so to speak, not to mention cuts down on server costs, but it’s kinda a conversation killer (in a party of two) if that’s something you’re worried about. Didn’t feel like it was good or bad per se, just odd. Great peoplewatching though. And birdwatching as a matter of fact. 

We drove near Rustic Tap and walked over. On the way I asked my dad to pose for a picture under a doorway, and, well, see if you can guess why I chose this doorway. Unbeknownst to him, which made it all the funnier. Keep Austin Weird, I suppose. 

At Rustic Tap we just sat right on down outside to the music playing. I’d just been through Alabama and Mississippi, but don’t think I’ve ever felt more southern than sitting there, a Jack Daniels barrel our table, LSU and Lone Star flags on the walls, listening to a country band from Virginia. The bathroom was called the outhouse. 

The next morning I got coffee, read & wrote for a bit, and let the housekeeper know I didn’t need service (to which she said “hasta luego”). Today on the BBQ schedule came la Barbecue, which Juddy had recommended to me while in Alabama. Fairly long line, but we did go at prime time, and it was still worth it. Brisket absolutely melted in your mouth. Spicy sausage also top notch. I tried a Michelada for the first time, and it was… kinda weird. Maybe I’ll develop a taste for it. Went to wash my hands and ended up at a disco party. 

Went to the Blanton Art Museum. I liked some of the paintings without people and also some of the portraits. Got to lay down a couple times, indoors & outdoors. It was hot outside. Since we were in the area and had a couple minutes, we stopped by the LBJ Library just to see it, since we still couldn’t go in. Hung out with the lifesize statue. 

Next I went to hang out with my friend Taylor, who lives in Austin. We walked from her apartment to a store called Room Service Vintage, where I couldn’t resist buying a buncha trinkets. Then we got drinks at the Tigress, a couple of her friends came by, and I learned the tonal meaning of when Austin millennials say “yeehaw.” 

Hanging out had me a little late for dinner with my dad & William, so I ubered on over, but this time the guy insisted I wear a mask. Well, I again didn’t have one, I am vaccinated after all, so we opened the window and I put my shirt over my face for the duration of the fifteen-minute ride. Our table still wasn’t ready, as they’d just gone and put our name on the list, so I met them at Grackle. Kicked off with a $10 shot & beer deal (Jack & St. Elmo), then spied a dart board, and that required a Guiness. My dad kept on the Lone Star grind, soaking it in next to their cool sign. 

Then our table at Suerte was ready. We sat on the patio, where they pumped in the mist. William & my dad collab’d on the ordering. We got a bunch of stuff, but what I most remember were the Suadero Tacos (fairly hyped by William as the best he’s ever had) and the Aguachile (scallops that aren’t even rubbery, seem to be melting before they even reach your mouth). After dinner I noticed a bottle display I liked and the bartender obliged.

I wanted to go hear more live music, and my dad wanted to go to bed, so he dropped me off, but not before we listened to Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts, singing & bopping along. And then I bopped right in to the Continental Club, music already playing, and I was grooving from my first step in the door. Danced a bit, talked to a couple people. After the show ended I decided to walk home across the Congress Bridge. And sure enough, bats flitted under me as fast as the eye could see. 

The next morning my stomach was BBQ’d out. So I got a smoothie, a coffee, and a sparkling water, and felt all the better for it. My dad picked me up to head out of Austin, but not before being caringly sent on his way. I’d shipped some of my books direct to LA, but others I’d planned to donate. Only thing is I didn’t have time before leaving New York. So we’d put them in a backpack and into my car. Well my dad had taken everything out of the car for a cleaning in Austin. And John & Kim took the initiative of going through the books, taking out the ones they wanted to keep for themselves, and then taking them for me to donation. That’s the kind of care on such a long trip that you can’t plan, or ask for, or even hope for, but that warms your heart and reminds you that you’re not alone in the world. 

We looked ahead to Johnson City en route to San Antonio. LBJ is from Johnson City, and while his family did not lend the place its name, he played off people’s assumptions by introducing himself “I’m Lyndon Johnson from Johnson City Texas.”

Well what’s the first thing I see in Johnson City? A massive sign proudly proclaiming itself the hometown of LBJ. The boy wanted to be named after the city, and now the city wants to be named after the president. Crossed the Pedernales into the ranch and the first thing you see is the one-room schoolhouse that Johnson grew up attending. I felt emotional standing in there and reading about his teaching past.

We continued driving and, sure enough, met with a cow crossing. Winding around the farm, past goats and deer and lots of grass, we learned how Johnson shaped his western rancher image to his political advantage. We saw the Show Barn, many Herefords, Air Force One-Half, some cool cars, and the Texas White House, the ranch house out in the middle of Texas that because of one man became the center of the political universe. We drove out through the main town, under a sign that read “Stonewall Peach Jamboree and Rodeo”

Right outside San Antonio we stopped for a charge. Keeping on my post-BBQ diet I got a meatless salad. Walking out of the restaurant, as I’m opening my sparking water this woman walks by me and says “I thought you were drinking a beer” “I wish” “Same!”

After checking into our airbnbs we walked downtown to the Menger Hotel. Trevey had told us it’s the spot from which Theodore Roosevelt recruited his Rough Riders, the army regiment that fought in Cuba in the Spanish-American War, and indeed right outside there’s a big statue of good ole TR. Inside, we looked for the bar, and leading the way were Teddy memorabilia, including an excerpt from his post-presidency speech, The Man in the Arena. I first heard it back while playing football in college, and it’s inspired countless athletes including LeBron James. 

Bar felt like it hadn’t aged all that much since the late 19th century. There was a large bull moose posted to a pillar. The characters in the bar were certainly modern-day though. A drunk dude in a Texas Longhorns hat and swim trunks that got angry when he struggled to navigate around us to reach the bathroom, a bro who I thought for a split second was the actor for Game of Thrones’s Daario Naharis, a guy with a Longhorns tattoo on his shoulder who stared out at the Alamo with his girlfriend. All three wore swimtrunks, the bar allowing patrons to ferry drinks to the nearby pool.

I had old fashioneds, my dad a Lone Star. After snacking for a bit, I took a look at the remaining items on the table and said “I’ve always wanted to try this combination. Sweet potato fries and Italian dressing.” It was actually pretty good. 

For dinner, rather than spinning our wheels to find a place, we decide to try one we’d walked past and liked the look of. As we reach its block, I spy a cute pig logo in a liquor store and drift in to investigate. Inside I noticed some cute medals at the counter. The lady behind said “they’re for Fiesta” “what’s Fiesta?” and so we learned: it’s kinda the Mardi Gras of San Antonio, trafficking in medals instead of beads. So we got a couple of Pig Liquors medals. Mine had a lanyard attached for some reason so I decided to wear it out.

Walked into Maverick, the restaurant, and had a short wait but in the meantime got to look at a funky mirror. Once we sit down my dad goes to the bathroom, and a lady comes to pour us water. “Anything else to drink?” “Which cocktail’s your favorite?” “Well I must say I really like the Greenhouse 151… but if you’re looking for something more bourbon-based, we do have one that’s not on the menu: the Fade to Cab, mixed with cabernet & lemon juice.” Easy decision. 

Our waiter had a lot of nervous energy. Confused that I’d already put in my drink order, he immediately sent for his manager, Francisco, who it turned out was a beauty. Cocktail queue was long so we got champagne to hold us over.

My dad so enjoyed talking with Francisco that he maneuvered that he take all our orders, rendering our waiter superfluous. Why did my dad like Francisco so much? He was affable and knowledgeable, teaching us how climate impacts wine & cognac, to wit that it takes a shorter time for it to age in warm weather because there are no cold winters.

In a reverse of Toro, my dad ordered for us both. Beef tartare, gnocchi, arugula salad, seasonal gulf coast fish filet. We joked with Francisco how he calls it “gulf fish,” which people often mistake for “goldfish.” The beef tartare came with salad leaves to eat out of, so I combined them with the gnocchi. Further adding in some of the herbal bread, I remarked it brought a “woodland taste.” I exclaimed to my dad, “you know, this life ain’t bad — is this what it feels like to be a professional bon vivant?”

We had a cognac nightcap at their bar in order to get change to tip Francisco, but I ended up staying to chat with the bartenders and some of the other patrons. One was also from Illinois but has lived in San Antonio for seven years. Upon returning to my airbnb I realized I’d forgotten my toiletries are in the car, so I used the app to find where my dad had parked it, hopped a fence, and retrieved them.

The next morning I got coffee & breakfast tacos in a cute little art village, and met my dad at the Alamo. We had timed entry for 10am, but were probably out of the building by 10:10. It’s really just this little old church, though the grounds are cool to walk around, and there’s lots of history if you’re in the mood for learning. Did find it interesting how the vast majority of those who died defending the Alamo were from states other than Texas.

We got the car and drove to the McNay art museum. Here I was more in the mood to learn. The McNay was founded by a woman and generally tries to promote female artists. For instance they had a modern installation featuring five, and upon seeing the first blue exhibit, I felt my heart drop. 

Main event certainly was the Yayoi Kusama installation, an endless mirror room full of pumpkins. Enjoyed some other works as well. My dad immensely preferred the McNay to the Blanton (which in fairness had one of its floors closed), and I concurred.

For lunch we hit up a nearby taco place, Chela’s, and I got one with bean & chorizo and another with potatoes that had some tomato & spice action going on. Then we headed to the botanical garden. 

I enjoyed the garden’s layout, the feeling of energy around each corner, the diversity of its exhibits. But most of all, I enjoyed their Frida Kahlo Oasis & Exhibition. It focused on how she and her husband filled their home with life and art, a reflection of their energy. Makes me want to visit Mexico City. 

“Being happy is a decision that must be made every day, which does not depend on the living conditions that one has, but on the attitude with which one faces problems. Happiness is that: Deciding to be happy.”

On the way out I heard someone say in passing “midnight in the garden.” I looked it up and sure enough, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil is a Fiesta event at that very botanical garden tonight. Makes me wanna come back for Fiesta some day. 

On our drive back into the city I thought wow, these buildings are tall. So out of curiosity I looked it up and learned that if you stacked the tallest building in San Antonio twice upon itself, it would still be shorter than One World Trade Center. 

Adjourned for a bit of writing and then met my dad at a speakeasy, Bar 1919. Wellll ok. Not gonna lie, speakeasy is a strong word. Of course alcohol is legal now, so speakeasies by definition can’t really exist. On top of that, while this one did have an unmarked entrance, its cover was blown by noise from the patrons enjoying outdoor seating. Hope they nix that post-covid.

They definitely cultivated speakeasy vibes though. For instance their house rules, such as “If you wouldn’t introduce them to your mom, then don’t bring them here.” I sent them to my friend Dan and he goes, “dude, those are cool though I think in NYC they’re automatically assumed lol” 

To drink I got Without a Trace, then Runaway Willard, and finally a sazerac (with the bartender’s preferred lemon twist). For my second drink my dad asks “what’s that little floaty thing in there?” “That’s a San Antonio cockroach” *laughs* “nah it’s probably a lavender”

We’d been talking all day about hitting a steakhouse for dinner. Only problem is there were very limited avails. So we thought whatever, let’s just go downtown and try the Saltgrass riverwalk location. It’s a classic Texas chain, plus the outdoor seating looks nice. Might be a little touristy given the location, but so what, it’ll at least give an idea of how outside people see Texas.

We get downtown and it’s an absolute madhouse due to the fiesta. We found parking at the Drury Building and took a nice walk along the river, where it wasn’t so crowded. Along the way we enjoy pretty sights such as the Tower Life Building and the White Deer of Autumn sculpture at the Briscoe.

As we walk, we notice that every single riverboat that passes us is packed, and all of a sudden it starts to get very crowded. Then we come upon come upon a massive line; must be for the riverboats.

At Saltgrass, unsurprisingly, there were no tables. Forty-seven parties ahead of us. But somehow we find seats at the bar. I drank a big IPA and we got some fried pickles & peppers. Fried peppers were really something else. Chatted with the guy next to us, a Cowboys fan and San Antonio native, who remarked “did you guys realize you were coming during Fiesta?” No. No we did not.

My dad wanted to really dine, so we held out on eating until he finessed us a dining room table. Smelled like cigarette smoke, which triggered a desire in me to play poker. Can you guess why? Anyways, steak was pretty good, especially along with IPA and broccoli.

We walked out to head to the car and now the Fiesta is full blown. Literally cinderella carriages passing us in the street. Like what? I spy some fun-looking roofdeck parties. If only I knew people here. 

The next morning I walk out of my airbnb to the owls hooting. Sound kinda like coyotes. Or what I’d imagine vultures sounding like. We drive to the San Antonio airport where I drop off my dad. Then it’s off to my first charging stop en route to El Paso, just under two hours away, at which I got coffee & an egg mcmuffin.

As I drove off into the west, I really started to feel the landscape of Texas and of America, and the isolation that goes with. Imagine being out on an empty road, the first to come across a car accident, before the ambulance has even been called. This drive prompted such thoughts. Imagine going across America for the first time, a settler charting a new world, wooded hills turning into desert, wondering when or if it will end.

Thank you for reading! In Part Three we will visit Santa Fe and Las Vegas. If you’d like to receive email updates when I make new posts, you can sign up at the bottom of the blog page.