A Connecticut Yankee in Texas
Updated: May 2, 2022
We Yankees tend to view Texas with a bit of confusion. It’s as big as a country, for one. There’s the whole “Texas and Proud” and “Things are Bigger in Texas” thing. In New England, we don’t brag about our states. We just quietly believe it’s the best place to live in the world. We also like winter. I’m not lying about this. So I wasn’t really sure what to expect.
But I loved my time in San Antonio. First of all, the people are so friendly and nice! My heart was blessed many times when people saw my crutches. I appreciated that. San Antonians were very eager for me to love their city and often told me where the best guacamole was (Boudro’s), the best time to visit the Alamo.
The coffee is excellent. It had a different flavor. Maybe it’s the water, because I think the hotel coffee was Starbuck’s, which I generally don’t like.
Distances are different in Texas. “It was only an 8-hour drive,” one woman told me (she’d come from a tiny town on the other side of the state to meet authors). “It was nothing.” If I drove for 8 hours, I’d be in Canada. I’d be having coffee with Santa.
Cabbies have no idea where anything is. We’d get into a cab, say, “We’re going to Boudro’s (which is an institution in SA),” and the cabbie would have to Google the address. One cabbie dropped us off four blocks from our destination, so I DID get to walk the River Walk after all. Or hobble, as the case may be. In New York, cabbies know where everything is. In New York, I could say, “I’m going to my aunt’s house,” and he’d know where that was.
“It’s hot” in San Antonio has a completely different meaning than “It’s hot” in New England. Good God. It was 97 degrees the day I flew in, and one person said to me, “I’m so glad we have nice weather to welcome you!” In Connecticut, people tend to hurl themselves off cliffs when it’s 97 degrees.
Cowboys love a woman on crutches. I highly advise my single friends to keep this in mind. I met three cowboys. I wanted to keep them, but then I thought about McIrish and figured I’d stick with my firefighter.
The food…oh, man, the food! Was! So! Good! Even as I write this, my lips are tingling from the green chile sauce on my breakfast burrito.
Much of where we stayed is considered haunted, because of the slaughter at the Alamo.
I love being called ma’am.
I was sorry that I didn’t get to see more of the city, as I’d planned before taking my tumble in the parking lot, but what I did see was lush and beautiful. Tropical flowers and old, twisting trees, some truly awesome cloud formations.
So if you ever get the chance to go to San Antonio, I’d highly recommend it. Just maybe not in July. ; )