The Alamo and San Antonio River Walk: San Antonio River Walk

(SEE "THE ALAMO AND SAN ANTONIO RIVER WALK: THE ALAMO" BEFORE READING THIS PART.)

I don't know where to start, but I guess I'll start none the less. Hard to start the beginning, actually, but once you get this down it all smooths like jelly on wheat toast. Part two's are especially hard to start, but let me try it. Anyway, we had to go across the double street, book in bag, bag in hand, hand connected to shoulder-well you got the idea. Also, Rebecca had in her bag, amidst postcards, four little toy horses, as we walked across and came to a glass modern door, of a building. We walked through this, and came into a mall, of which was very beautiful and had many murals. Mom kept telling us she remembered this when she was 13, and that it was her favorite part of visiting San Antonio, she thought. So there was a small waterfall coming down, crystal clear water, and I looked up in disbelief as I saw the ceiling was very high, with balconies, and an elevator coming down. I thought it was crazy there was a hotel inside of this, seeing all these plants around us and the little stream of water coming down, in torrents, across small bridges, with even more plants and flowers. We walked down nice marble steps, and I just took in this luxurious environment, and I thought the same things that Mom did when she first laid eyes upon it. We went through some other doors, and then entered a longer and more river place, with it going down into a waterfall. I hope Mom got some pictures of all the architecture of color and the lush plants that surrounded the crystal clear little water coming down with small statues on either side. There was a frog. A cute frog.

Then we somehow came out of this little mall, now into the real part. We had seen the stream cut off, and then an area where it came back into a large river. It was crazy; there were restaurants with balconies, and people walking on sidewalks, it looked like any other city, but the road, was made of water. People eating as speedboats passed by. Gum on the concrete, employees taking up chairs at a restaurant, even a hostess at a podium, it was all so unreal. The river was fairly big, and was called the San Antonio River. You see, it's kind of like Venice, except it's only one river and a lot of land, so it's like a mini Venice. The water flows through and boats can go on it, but there are at the same time geese and ducks. I think personally that that is crazy. Having never been to Venice before, this was amazing to have the shops and restaurants along the river, and high up overlooking it. It was a lot more modern then Venice though, with Life is Good's store up a winding staircase, and a few shops facing each other over a small space. All the buildings were of brick or metal or whatever, and most had an artsy look to them. We walked on, trying to find a restaurant. On our right was a British pub, with a bull dog at the podium with a lady there too. We looked at it, but did not eat at that place.

There was a weird-named Mexican restaurant that you reached by stairs, above a BBQ place. We actually went up cobblestone streets, away from the River Walk, and went through an exit on the big road, passing by a bridge. We then turned a corner and came up to the restaurants not cool entrance, on a side walk, by a curb, on a real road. We walked in, and saw a counter in the back, and pots and pans, and guys with black shirts. They said they liked my hat, and all were nice. I had to fake a country accent for them, actually. They laughed, and a guy led us past a bar and up some stair lifts, to a platformed other part of the restaurant. He asked us "in, or, out." We picked out, to see all the passing boats and pedestrians. The man sat us at a small round table, and I had Mom on my right, Dad racing me with his back to all the action, and Rebecca on my left. The menu was rather small, and Mom and Dad wanted to try some local beer. There was only like different tacos and other things. But a man came out and he was bald, with a kind of square head, and had little bits of black on the head, and was also young and kind of tall. I would later know the man as Tim. Rebecca took out the horses as I asked Mom to tell me about her stay.

It was very interesting and she said that they only stayed a few days on their way back from her grandparents, and that she really liked it a lot. We watched some boats pass by, and the first few ones we saw were not filled with many people, and we wondered if the business was failing. Rebecca tried to name her horses, and throughout the whole meal, in interruptions with Mom's narrative, we pitched many different names, among them Black Beauty, (for the black one) Chestnut (for the yellow and brown one) Milky (for the brown and white one) and Snow (for the white one. ) The yellow/brown one and the white were larger than the others. Rebecca rejected these names and more. She finally picked Angel (white), Antonio (yellow/brown) Crystal (brown and white) and Autumn (black). Okay, so Angel I get, and Antonio because Texas is so dirty and Antonio is a good mysterious name, but Crystal and Autumn? I had actually suggested Crystal, for the white horse. But I guess not. I just don't get why those were the names. Sure Autumn means dark and colder than summer, but for a black horse? It didn't seem quite sense for me. I guess Rebecca chose them because they sounded good, but still. Oh well. I'll never understand girls.

Rebecca ordered mac n cheese from the nice Tim, as I put down my hat and looked at the messy BBQ eaters of below, in little square tables, eating ribs and all the improper foods of Texas. It makes me shudder. Just kidding I love me some BBQ. Tim actually gave Rebecca a few suggestions, plus one for the black horse in which he said Chocolate. Rejections took place. Oh well. I got a chicken taco thing, and Mom and Dad followed in that style. After talking a lot and looking out at the river scenery, the plates were brought out. Small dishes actually, but still looking good. They were alright, very spicy really, and I didn't like them too much, but they were sloppy and filled me up all right. After the meal Tim showed me the restroom up big stairs, where there were also paintings of weirdness, and had that industrial feel. Some even movie posters. I didn't like the pictures of them in my head though as I turned down a dark corridor, with the marble floor. There were many tables to my left, in a private room for parties and such. I went to the restroom without any incident. Very steep and hard to walk, those concrete big steps. It was hard to jump back down. More compliments of my hat. I love that Indiana Jones hat.

Tim told us as we cleaned up, that he had a wife and kids, and has been living here really all his life. His wife is at another restaurant and has been there for over 20 years. Bored after leaving another job, he's been starting here since it opened only like months ago. Nice guy. So after eating, we went down the stairs, and to the left past the BBQ place, thinking to walk on the Riverfront and perhaps go on a tour in one of those boats. So, as we walked along, I thought about the few pages I had read in the good book, and that it was about an African American 14 year old who was born on the day that Lincoln freed the slaves, and was breaking in a horse, and was given a raffle ticket by two mean kids his age for his pay. He wins and they say he stole the ticket when he comes to get it, which is a lie. So he and his cousin Omer fly away on the horse thinking of going to Texas. We walked down, and we saw more of the pigeons that I had kicked away at the table. There were a lot that sprang up, the white and grey feathers going in the midst of people. There were that old couple we had seen at the Alamo, the guy who was called in the play-acting Jim Bowie. We said hello to our acquantances. They hadn't gone on the tour yet, and were thinking of it. But pigeons are weird animals. I can't explain how they poke their heads back and forth. It must hurt.

We walked down to a theater called Olympic Theatre or Titan Theater, either one, I can't really remember which. But anyway, this was where they would take the people to the boat, and then we would be then dropped off here also. Dad had to go inside, past nice doors and some statues on the side of the entrance, with a wall and then the water coming down. To our left, some stairs to a bridge that was high off the grou...I mean water. Dad went into the place to get the tickets and to go to the restroom, as us three got situated against the wall, sitting down on another one. I put my video camera on, also with the book. Then I traveled Dad inside, through a dark large hall, with different kind of shops and restaurants along this concrete floor and ceiling. People sitting by something, commented on my hat. Young with black shirts, probably some people who worked there. I thanked them, and they asked me where I got it. I said it was like Orlando, at MGM, at the Indiana Jones place where they do the shows. They said it was cool, as I let them take it in their arms and look at it, as I later then went away, toward Dad who was talking to the people in a ticket box, with a light on in there. I walked up, as a Swedish man gave the tickets. I heard his accent. There was a lady in that little office also. They were kind of cold people to us. Oh well. They told us three numbers to open the restroom in the back, and we walked toward it, typing in the code as we then went to the restroom and then came back out.

For a little while we waited, Facebooked, read, played on phone, and looked around at the people coming in. No boats actually came by. I was enjoying that book. It was narrated by the kid involved. It was a hardback, with a picture of an African American in a cowboy attire, with a small hat, on a horse that was bucking. It was a good book. Well, I saw a real cowboy, not the ones in books, as the old couple approached, followed by the young man with the cowboy hat. I later talked to him after the boat and he said he was there and wanted to say my hat was cool, that he was Travis in the play-acting. I already knew the latter statement, but I smiled and said that his was a lot better than mine, in my opinion. Large, cowboy style, with up humps and being white/beige. A truly nice hat, that was probably reasonably cheap to him. Well, those people who had asked the origin of my hat and had handled it waved to me as they went up the staircase by the bridge, and I was sad to see they were smoking. Oh well. Smokers can be good people also. After waiting and checking the clock, the boat came in, with many people on board, just as I was taking in the odd fumes of pony-tailed old men with jackets that stated they were Vietnam veterans smoking cigars. They are worse than cigarettes, actually. Don't I hate that odor. But anyhow the boat came, and in a blue shirt was a large African American who was standing up over the other people in the boat, with the benches that were facing each other. He stopped.

The man took all the tips that the people gave him as they all took up their valuables and got off, smiling and so. Well, at the same time that the man put all the cash away and took a few sips of water from his bottle, another man, white and middle aged with a mustache and grey hair, took his bag and came on, switching with the other man. I won't describe the long process of talking on the walkie-talkie to you. But anyway, we were some of the first in line, determined to get good seats across from each other, that way on those facing benches we could see the views and at the same time converse about all the things going on. We handed him our tickets as he said that strollers would go to our left in the corner of the boat, and that we virtually had nothing to worry about in the water-- it was two feet deep at the most. That brought laughs from the people sitting down. We got the left corner, and the front one. I was with my back to the river on my side, and Dad had his back to the connected part with his back to him, and Mom was sitting next to me, her back also up against the wall. Rebecca was also by Dad. Putting my book in a position by Dad's iPad, we started up the tour. I was tired, but excited for the upcoming event. He started the engine as we slowly glided down the river.

We went along, with him telling us the first restaurants and bridge mechanisms as we passed under them, and I listened to the happy go lucky man who wasn't that informative, kind of funny, but definitely a nice man. It was certainly a raise from the sarcastic young tour guides we had usually gotten. I thought it was pretty interesting. He showed us a front to a large brick building that looked freestanding ,and later told us about how they are going to add a lot more miles to this two mile things. We looked at statues and he told their origin, plus that the waterfalls we passed served a purpose, filtering out bad water, not just to be pretty. He told us good restaurants to go to, as we passed out of the whole tourism part on the river and now more to the park kind of lush plant jogging place, which was interesting to see. We passed around a circle where the water went down, and listened to a guy named Andy who was jamming out on a woodwind instrument on the side by a restaurant, and the tour guide also told us about a shop called Primarily Purple, and after taking his little girl in there, she said that, "not everything in there is purple." But it was on the sign, the shop sold, PRIMARILY Purple. Not all, but mostly.

He took us back there, and of course he advertised the theater where they pick up tours, for they sold tours there and were their host for pick-up and drop-offs. He told us to stay seated until he had fastened everything. Rebecca and I were talking about a goose that went in front of the boat, and amazingly it was faster and came out, not dead! Mom was also finishing up with a couple who was at the theater at the Alamo, and Mom and them about some things, plus they told us some things to do in one place. The man was a pastor. Well, done with the ride, we tipped the guide, because we liked the guide (a rhythm, I must admit I did not make it up though, it was from an air boat in New Orleans area) alright enough to give him one. Taking our books, we went to the restroom and stared at some exercise machines that you could see through a glass opening, as we then walked the way back up through the mall, and then on that large street where Fudpucker's and the Ripley Believe it or Not Auditorium was. We actually turned the corner on the Wax Museum, with Barack Obama and some others in the glass display. I saw a red and black monster. The lady who was outside, an employee, was surprised at me not being surprised and raised some eyebrows. "Huh." I said. "I've seen worse."

But in reality it was really creepy and disgusting, with mouth watering and blood pouring. They shouldn't even put that in windows!

We passed by the dinosaurs and lady's hanging by a swing over the building of Ripley's, and crossed the street, on some park benches, with some oak trees. Rebecca and I watched in pure enjoyment at a squirell that was gnawing on an acorn and then burying it, and as Mom and Dad sat down on the bench some bikers who glanced at it also joined us. A lady from Illinois commented on Dad's camera, and she said she photographed schools and how everything had changed. We talked to her about the trip and a lot of other things, plus past stories from the film and flash world that which is named School Photography. Mom had a trick she did when they had that stupid smile on their face she would take the picture and then say she wouldn't take another, and then all others who weren't gonna smile smiled thereafter in fear of having that picture. I texted Lauren a little, and made a picture of a puddle right beneath my shoes that looked exactly like the state of Texas, or very similar anyway. We walked with the lady back, as she was telling us about some places where Indians had battles in Minnesota when we came in front of the Alamo. She said goodbye to it as we frantically went to the restroom in the property, as it was about to close. Ushered on by security guards and employees, we left in a frenzy out the back entrance, where our jeep was parked across the street. We walked over.

The great day of seeing the Alamo, learning about History and all the info, and going on the beautiful River Walk, the only bad part being the dropping of Mom's camera, was about to be shattered before our eyes. A completely unexpected thing would happen. We came up to the black jeep, the soft roof flapping against the wind. The bike rack, such a useful tool in the past, was now sad and forsaken. Rebecca's small pink bike was up against the jeep's back right tire, and mine, a dark blue great bike I had loved with street racing, that in Maine replaced my bulky small Mountain bike, was missing. Gone. The bike had been ripped off after the pink one was down, stolen out of our presence. It felt as if I was at a carnival and the hammer at the one game had hit the metal part at the bottom, and I was that metal part. My happy smile at one of Dad's joke earlier turned into a sheer frown. Tears rolled off my cheeks. The nice tall bike I had loved so much that I had gotten the day before my birthday, my b-day present from my parents, was gone. And there was nothing I could do about. Never had the phrase rung so true: You never love something so much as you do when it is gone (or something of the sort). I took in the truth: my beloved bike was gone.

As everyone tried to comfort me and say stuff to me as we got into the car, having put already Rebecca's bike on the rack, I frowned. Mom deduced the thief was on foot and wasn't thinking of stealing that particular afternoon, saw the opportunity and stole the bike. We drove around a little, and I was told that we couldn't call the police; the odds of finding it in a city like this was not very large. I just couldn't believe it. None of our bikes were stolen in the most crime ridden of cities, New York City, Washington D.C., Detroit, Chicago, and New Orleans. It had been stolen here, in San Antonio. We drove around into some neighborhoods, hoping against hope to spot the stolen bounty. No such luck. I remembered old times I had had, from the man who shared my name, Andrew, pushing me off down the uneven gravel street to the last time I had used it around in the South East. Mom and Dad kept telling me I would get a new one in California or something, but I didn't want them to pay for the money when we only had three months left, when I was just now getting taller. Besides, it might get stolen once more, in a place with more crime on the West Coast. I just hope that won't happen. I also hoped that the person who stole it needed it sometime in his life.

Maybe all the bad luck we had that day and the time that the Jordan's went before is because Daniel Bourne, of England, died there and was haunting us for the rest of our days! MUHAHAHAHA!

Oh quit it Dr. Von Handson! I hate that guy accessing my blogs; I have had to change my phone numbers to avoid that scary man. But anyway, he does have a point, doesn't he? At Mom's first stay, the R.V. was flagged down by people saying it was there's, Andy got sick, and it was ultra hot. This time Mom dropped her camera and I lost my bike. But I don't believe in bad luck. But anyway, goodbye for now. I hope you don't get your bike stolen. Now, I don't like ending the blog on a sad and bad note, but in this instance I have no choice. Goodbye for now.

If you go to San Antonio avoid taking your bike,

Andrew.

The Bike :( Gone....