The Proposal

The mariachi music floated out over the water, the heady syncopated rhythm of the guitarron reverberating in my spine. The violin danced a musical frenzy above the other instruments as the song came to a finish with the singer lowering his sombrero to his chest with a flourish. Diners applauded the musicians as we floated past in our colorful riverboat on the San Antonio River.

Soft twinkle lights entwined through the branches gently illuminated the ancient cypress trees lining both banks, and nestled in between were small restaurants crowded with dreamy eyed diners.

The smells were just as exotic, with scents from nearby honeysuckle and other blooming vines mingled with the aroma of sizzling meat and steaming rice and beans.

The music and romantic ambiance of the Riverwalk made me wistful for my husband. I thought of the two full days left of my conference and wished I were home or he was here. A flock of seven little ducklings glided after their regal mom while they swam near our boat. The guide/ driver intoned more historical facts about the Spanish colonial buildings we were passing while the dark river water delicately lapped against the sides of the boat.

"I'm not doing it again, " my friend said, startling me from my reverie.

"Ummm, I'm sorry, what won't you do again?" I asked. I was glad we'd decided to come on the river boat tour with several other friends, although I was really wanting to be home.

"Marry again! I see you're all starry eyed there, and I know you're thinking about your husband, but this romantic stuff all around us just makes me realize I have given up on marriage; closed the door forever," she said as she shook her head.

"Oh, come on. If the right man came along, don't you think you'd want to try it again?" I prodded her. She'd had two very bad marriages to the wrong men. She was a former model and still attracted much male attention, although she rebuffed it all.

"Nope. I've been through too much to risk my heart again," she said emphatically. "I'll just live out my days single. Nothing could ever make me want to get married again."

Our boat slowed and the driver maneuvered it near a semi circle jetty of land surrounded by several large cypress trees that seemed to stretch all the way to the vibrant stars. "This is called Marriage Island, " he informed us. "They call it that because so many weddings take place here." My friend turned her head away and rolled her eyes.

I noticed a young couple just a few few feet away from the river bank on the patio between the trees adjacent to where we were idling. They talked face to face while our guide gave more information about the historical building behind us. The driver had just started to rev the engine to move along when the man dropped to one knee in front of the woman and clasped both her hands. He looked deeply in her eyes, a nervous smile rounding out the corners of his mouth.

All on the boat gasped as we realized what was happening right in front of us. The driver silenced his engine.

We couldn't hear the words he spoke, but we saw the tears come to her eyes and heard her squeal. She knelt beside him and hugged him so hard they almost toppled over. He rose to his feet and pulled her after him. She jumped in glee and shouted, "Yes! Yes! A million times, Yes!" They embraced and he wiped tears from his eyes.


All 42 people on our boat stood and applauded, whistled and cheered. The driver's pleas for everyone to please be seated were drowned out for a few minutes by the excited ruckus on board. Eventually we made our way down the river, canopied by those lovely trees and firefly- like lights, the proposal driving away anything else the driver tried to say.

My friend nudged me. 'Well, maybe I shouldn't say never..."


This is a not a good picture with the phone, but if you enlarge it, you can see the couple behind the blonde woman on the other side of the boat.

Long Live San Antonio, the Riverwalk, and the Alamo

Now that I've gotten the farting horses of San Antonio story from yesterday's post out of my system, I'll move on to some more pleasant things about that fair city.

We stayed at a hotel I've grown to love more and more, the St. Anthony's. It is 102 years old and is beautifully renovated, although it still retains its yesteryear feel. It's been the place to stay for decades of Hollywood royalty, real life royalty, and military heroes.

The entryway

John Wayne was a frequent guest.

As were Princess Grace and Prince Ranier.

Audie Murphy had extended stays here.

Even the Governator and Maria were here, in happier times.

The interior is lush and elegant. I like to pretend I am one of those old time glamorous stars when I walk through these halls.

This is not me pretending to be glamorous, but it is a regal statue near the lobby.

 

Just across the street is a park with several cannons from the Civil War. I thought about firing one off, but didn't want to cause too big of a commotion. It was already HOTTTTTT at 9 AM.

Just a couple of blocks over is the Riverwalk, which used to be an ugly, muddy river through the center of San Antonio and has now been reborn into a lovely, romantic attraction, complete with gently floating riverboats, soft nighttime lighting, and mariachis.

You can rent a riverboat for your own private meal.

Or you can join a random group of other folks for a leisurely tour through the heart of downtown.

Many little ducks call the river their home and seem to be fine sharing it with the rest of us.

Sometimes Turkish men who play the Scottish bagpipes also call the Riverwalk home.

And then, just two blocks from the hotel, the piese de resistance of San Antonio, the cradle of Texas liberty, the Alamo. It's actual size seems tiny in comparison to its history and to the size of the buildings around it.

This is the Long Barraks of the Alamo, dwarfed by a nearby building.

This is a tranquil walkway inside the Alamo compound. It's present peacefulness belies the bloodshed and violence it was once home to.

It's been 175 years since that storied battle was fought.

And  military men and women still travel there to commemorate special occaisions, such as the change of command ceremony the Army hosted.

I like to think that hopefully, in that 175 years, we've learned a little something about peace in that place where most of the defenders died in battle or were executed. Bowie, Travis, Crockett and all the others who gave up their lives so many years ago would want nothing less, I think.

The Saga of the Three Gassy Horses

My husband and I just returned from San Antonio for a little getaway. This is one of my favorite cities on the planet and muy romantico.

I have pics and info on this beautiful place that I will post tomorrow, but I have to get something off my chest, and thus this sad saga.

San Antonio is a great place to get out and walk downtown near the riverwalk. At night, the river that runs through the heart of downtown just a stone's throw from the Alamo comes alive with serene river boats, mariachis, and soft lights high and low all along the river's edge. Couples stroll through the streets and up and down the river, basking in love's sweet aroma.

Around the Alamo, evening has fully arrived when the horse drawn carriages, illuminated with their own creative lights, start clip clopping through the streets with their starry eyed passengers.

Mr. Tejano and I are not touristy enough to do the horse drawn carriages, but we do thoroughly enjoy walking together through the streets of the historic district and the riverwalk.

We had just begun our evening stroll, the fiery sun had settled for the night, and the lovely night lighting ushered in all the perfect elements for romance. It was so refreshing just getting to walk slowly, without a destination in mind, enjoying each other away from the hustle of our regular lives.

The horse drawn carriages circled slowly past us and provided a gorgeous backdrop. A particularly stately bay horse high stepped past us with his white carriage when a most unromantic sound and smell emanated from his powerful behind. Struggling to remain ladylike and not wanting to break the mood, I delicately put my hand in front of my nose and mouth and coughed a little to try to expel the stench. I knew if I looked at Mr. Tejano, all would be lost and we would both crack up. I did not want the focus of our conversation that night to be a farting horse, so we made no mention of it and continued on to near the front of the Alamo.

Standing there, to our great surprise, was a couple we had known well until they moved. We had not seen them in years. In fact, when they left, they had two children, and now they had seven, ranging in age from thirteen down to five months. Obviously they had been busy since we had last seen them, so we caught up on each others' news while the seven kids carried on their own little activities all around us.

The parade of the horse drawn carriages continued. One stopped near us to let out two passengers. I do not know what they feed these horses but perhaps it is something fibrous. At any rate, the mare hitched to the halted carriage let one loose that put to shame the first one of the evening and sounded as if her insides may have shot out of her body. The kids began gasping and gagging and running in frenetic circles as if they had been poisoned. We all worked to maintain our composure and continue our conversation, but we soon parted ways.

Mr. Tejano and I resumed our leisurely walk, taking a path a little farther away from the horses. At this point, a group of Japanese tourists disembarked from a bus and walked behind us. Another horse drawn carriage drew abreast of us, the horse walking at a fast clip. His tail raised, and I braced myself for another one, but I heard nothing. Milliseconds later, though, the odor slammed into my face with such a vigor that I momentarily stopped, eyes wide at the shock. Mr. Tejano could no longer hold it in and guffawed loudly and heartily, now that we were three- time victims of drive by gassings.

The Japanese tourists, however, only saw me, stock-still and mouth agape, with my husband laughing like a hyena, and then smelled the disgusting fumes left by the long gone horse. They put two and two together and came up with seven. They stood for a moment, silent, then pointed at ME and laughed uproariously.

I would not know how to defend myself from such an assumption with English speaking people, but with folks who speak a totally different language, I had no chance. I grabbed Mr. Tejano's arm and pulled him away, the chortles trailing us.

So look, if you are one of the Japanese tourists by chance reading this, it was not me. It was the horse!