Part Three

Our arrival in Roatán, Honduras was our first venture into South America. There is apparently a distinction between Belize in Central America and its southern counterparts. I thought anything above the Panama Canal was Central America. Oh, well.

Roatán is an island district of mainland Honduras. It’s about 37 miles long and only 5 miles wide. Of course, the slave traders and stupid white folks couldn’t pronounce it correctly and called it either Ratan or Rutan. There is a pretty good road system, which you can take all around the island with a look and feel of Hawaii. We entered, for all intense and purposes, a small cove along with the Royal Caribbean “Glory of the Seas”. We had a parking space just behind the RC behemoth, which was at least a third bigger than our ship. All the newer ships now have “thrusters” on each side of the ship and are not dependent on rudders or tugboats to move them around in a harbor. You can turn these bad boys on a dime and park them like you parallel park a car (there’s a lost science).

It’s a neat little place without a “town” per se but a built from scratch outdoor mall. It led to a very picturesque beach resort where you can drink and fry to your heart’s content. Remember the tropical sun is just a little different from our northern climes. Even as the winter solstice pulls the sun a little more south, it’s still packs a punch and we tourists forget the sun screen and Pow! as the first mist of that first shower reminds us.

No excursions this time. We did walk through the market place and get down to the beach resort. We must have looked like good co-conspirators for an older couple who approached us as we entered the queue for the chairlift ride to the beach. You could walk or pay 12 bucks a head to fly over. Dianna wanted to fly and take more pictures with her phone (of course).  They came up to us and in low voices, said they would give us their wristbands to take the lift. It seems the wife had convinced her husband to use the lift, problem was he’s afraid of heights (go figure). So, in broad daylight, with our backs to the ticket booth, they slipped off their bands and passed them off  like a hand-to-hand dope deal (I didn’t say we were very good co-conspirators).

Flying to Mahogony Bay

The Harley Store in Roatán 

With our newly acquired wristbands on we made the trek to the beach. More people eating, drinking and frying but having a great time. We had the nachos (damn, Velveeta), a couple of soft drinks at Fat Tuesdays and made our way back via the lift. On our return to the ship we had just enough time to pick up some Jamaican honey (apparently honey was on the fridge shopping list) and made it back through security with only three bags of stuff. Each day we return to the ship with the corresponding number of bags.

At the appointed hour, we slacked the lines and heaved to. Well, just getting into the spirit of things, Roatán, like most of our stops on this trip, were home to many pirates and seaborne explorers. These cruise people don’t mess around. At once, there was the ships horn, somebody dropped that baby in drive, and off we went. As we whisked by the beach we had attended that morning, it occurred to me that these resort islands really are dependent on the tourist trade and especially the cruise ships. The beach and the surrounding shopping center were closed up, void of people like the last scene of “On the Beach” (1959). Roatan’s a pretty cool place and we might consider returning for a full-blown vacation. It has all the makings of a tropical paradise. Onward to our next destination, Cozumel.

I need to mention the “road trip duck”. I believe the only people who may wax poetic about the “Duck” may be Al, Curt, Dana and Sharon. They will recall a tradition we had at my old Sheriff’s Child Abuse Detective job where all Investigative Travel (i.e. Road Trips) had to be accompanied by a little fuzzy Duck we "liberated" from the Center for Child Protection at Children’s Hospital in San Diego. Photos had to be taken with the Duck in significant locations to be preserved for future generations.

Coincidentally, since we’ve started our weekend road trips here in Texas, Dianna has instituted a similar tradition with her digital documentation of everything she does. Thus we have hundreds of shots which are quickly filling up her iPhone (and the basis of the AT&T shutdown mentioned earlier) of a little plastic duck (much easier to stuff in a purse) in various locales including our cruise. Perhaps, if you remain on her “nice” list, you too can be the recipient of a shot of the duck.

On our arrival to Cozumel we had scheduled an excursion to a Tequila Tasting class given at the  theme park Discover Mexico . Whenever we’re in Mexico, we try to go to a Tequila tasting. It’s one of the few places you can try and buy various Tequilas and our favorites, flavored Tequila Liqueurs. There are many flavored Tequilas out there but few are sold outside of Mexico. So we attended one at the park and our Tequilier was Javier. Turns out, of all the ships that had docked that day (6), we were the only ones who had signed up for the class. More for us, right? Oh, except that we were on the last day of our medication and couldn’t drink. Did I mention how much fun I was having?

All was not lost, in that although Tequila is generally between 35% to 90% alcohol, Tequila Liqueurs are usually 12% to 19%, thus, by law, they cannot be called “Tequila”. So we were able to sip a little just to get the taste. Obviously we survived. Thanks Doc.

The real cool part turned out to be the personal tour of the Discover Mexico Park we got as part of the package. Javier handed us off to our own personal tour guide who took us on a very informative tour of the park. The great thing about this park is that all the exhibits are to-scale models of the Mayan Temples, historic buildings and portions of Mexico City depicted among the many Pre-Hispanic, Colonial and Modern Mexican wonders along their beautiful outdoors walk with indigenous natural and exotic flora and fauna along the way.

I have to say that it kind of blew me away. It is a little hidden secret of the Cozumel experience and I was surprised it wasn’t better advertised to the tourists. There was an art museum and an impressive video viewing which took you to all the major points of interest and cultural zones of Mexico. And of course a park store to buy locally made gifts and jewelry and…. our Tequila. All of the exhibits were very well done and really should be a “must see” for any first time visitor to that part of Mexico. Yes, that's us at Senor Frogs at the foot of the pier in Cozumel. Just in case you're wondering, I had a Sprite and Dianna has a Diet Coke. The chicken nachos had real cheddar on them.

We got back to the ship with our booty but had to give up all the alcohol to Security. They x-ray your stuff as you come back aboard so they’ll catch you if you try to smuggle it aboard. Of course the ship would rather have you buying their overpriced drinks so you can’t get it back until the last morning so you can pack it to leave. We had one last full day at sea and then back to New Orleans on Sunday morning.

Cruise Part Deux

Food on a cruise can be summed up as pretty bland food and lots of it. We have concluded that, because of all the different folks they attract on these cruises, they pretty much hit the culinary center with some pretty generic food stuffs. I think they just figure you’re going to spice it the way you want it and hope for the best. Not to say the food is bad but it wasn’t Iron Chef material. Breakfast lunch and dinner at the famous buffets will satisfy and fill you up but the real deal is at the formal dining room or the specialty restaurants you can make reservations and pay extra for.

And there is always the presence of alcohol. They have staff walking through every venue of the ship trying to get you to purchase one of the many signature drinks being hawked about. Of course, the ticket you bought is all-inclusive. You could make it through a cruise and never pay for anything but that’s where they get creative. Once you leave the banality of drinking ice tea, coffee, milk and juice you enter the world of “pay as you go” cruising. Every alcoholic drink, soft drink, spa service and shopping service you participate in costs you extra. There are some bargains to be had (mostly from Duty Free shops) but a lot of people get some big surprises when they see that last days invoice slipped under your door. Some folks have been known to spend more than the cost of the cruise in alcohol alone. We’re not on dry land, it takes an act of God to get a bartender to cut you off here.

Here is where the cruise took a bad turn. We are pretty much tea totalers but our time to shine is on our cruises. As we wander the ship or take in a show, we like to get our fruity nectar of the gods with a prominent umbrella well ensconced in it’s frozen surface. Hey, somebody else is driving. Around day two, Dianna was feeling a little puny and I convinced her to take it to the Ship’s Doctor to get an opinion. Cruise ships have had some bad press recently about epidemics running through the passengers and crew ending up with quarantines coupled with refunds and law suits.

So you can imagine the concern a Ship’s physician has when you show up with symptoms which may remotely look like a pandemic disease (really remote). The good doctor loaded her up with anti-biotics and, believing by osmosis I might also be a carrier, loaded me up too. Problem was, because of the type of anti-biotics they had on hand, we were warned by the good doctor, would become toxic in the liver when combined with alcohol and we might die a horrible slow death. So, with that happy prospect in mind, for the duration of the cruise, we could not drink. I must say, this cruise was getting better by the minute.

The cruise lines always have some kind of song and dance troupe on board doing two shows a night. It’s hard for them to attract the best performers. I don’t think anybody thinks of this as a real résumé builder but they do get some energetic performers and some have some real talent. We caught the 7 o’clock show because we’re old and wouldn't stay awake for the 9 o’clock show. Of course, with our malady in check, we could only order “virgin” drinks drawing a distinct look of disdain from our tip hungry servers.

The next day we were awakened by bright sun and much warmer temperatures as we slipped into the harbor at Costa Maya, Mexico. Costa Maya is a small village situated on the Yucatan Peninsula just a stones throw from Cuba. It is our second time in Costa Maya. Costa Maya has had it’s share of bad luck.  Hurricane Dean  in 2007 struck and really tore up the place. It has taken these past three years to make a comeback. When we first came here they had not quite recovered from the hurricane and the port was just beginning to rebuild.  Things have improved since then with an expanded port and a redeveloped downtown. But still rather sparse in activities. If you don’t fish, snorkel or drink, there is little to do. We took a quick trip to the outdoor port shopping center and with new Tee shirts in hand, quickly returned to the ship.

Our next stop was Belize, Central America. Belize is a grand place still steeped in its Spanish and British Colonial past. It should be noted that a long coral reef runs along the coast of Belize making the water too shallow for deep draft vessels like our ship to cross. It is part of the 560 mile long Mesoamerican Barrier Reef System, which is continuous from Cancún on the northeast tip of the Yucatán Peninsula down to Honduras making it the second largest coral reef system in the world after the Great Barrier Reef in Australia.  This requires cruise ships to anchor off shore and requires the use of boat tenders to move people from the ship to the shore and vice-versa. Sometimes the cruise ship uses their own lifeboats. It gives the crew a chance to keep up their skills with the rescue craft but sometimes the cruise lines contract with local water taxi services to do the heavy lifting. This was one of those times.

We stopped at  Belize City , the former capitol of Belize. It took the destruction of Cat 5 hurricane Dean to convince the government to move the capitol further inland to the town of  Belmopan . Belize City, like New Orleans, is below sea level and even an unusually high tide can flood the city.

Belize has traded hands a couple of times and most recently as a British possession. Most of it’s past revolves around the lumber industry. For many years, it was prized for it’s rich supply of mahogany. When the Europeans saw the extent of the wood supply, they imported many African slaves to help them develop the industry and the region. Brutal times they were with the British slave masters getting their slaves to harvest the wood in the tropics with little or no support. Although the British gave the workers some provisions they weren’t all that good at keeping them supplied. So the slaves began foraging for themselves to survive. They watched the local indigenous folks and noted they fed themselves from various fruit trees like papaya and something they referred to as a “provision tree”. It had a large hanging fruit which can be boiled and eaten. It is thought that making a tea from its bark helps to build the blood. The flower is really beautiful.

We took an excursion which took us up the Belize River and over to a Mayan Temple complex called Altun Ha. The weather had followed us and the area was experiencing unseasonably cold temperatures and we needed to go up-river in an open outboard motor boat which looked a lot like the ride at Pirates of the Caribbean. With Mike as our driver, Sam (think Denzel Washington in “X”) and Hilberto as our guides, we launched up-river into a biting cold wind. Our first stop was a  Manatee breeding area at the mouth of the river. Manatees are endangered and the Belizians protect them well. They fall victim to boat propellers as they remain just below the surface and only expose their noses to take a breath. As our guides pointed out surfacing Manatees, Dianna, sitting at the gunwale (pronounced: gun'al the top edge of the side of a boat), was pointing out what she thought was a silhouette of a Manatee to members of our group. Sam looked over and deadpan says,”It could be a Manatee….or a croc.” I never saw Dianna pull her hand back so fast. Belize has Crocodiles not Alligators. They are little guys and although Sam insisted they were not aggressive, who’s going to make that gamble.

They also have the biggest Iguanas I have ever seen. The Belizian’s call them “Bamboo Chicken” because they are harvested for food and can usually be found in a local “Spiny” bamboo which grows along the rivers. Now they too are protected but the locals can take up to three at a time if they need too. Of course, Sam said they taste “just like chicken” when cooked.

We also saw several local tropical birds but the best thing was the Howler Monkeys we saw hanging in the trees. They vary in size with the males being the biggest. They are jet black and kind of hard to spot except they occupy a tree as a family and you lock on when you catch one jumping through the tree branches. There are two monkeys indiginous to Belize. The  Spider Monkey  and the  Howler. The spider monkey is found in the rainforest and mountainous regions.

Just before arriving at the landing for our lunch and transfer to a bus for the run to Altun Ha, we rode under a bridge and Sam pointed out another cool local animal, the “Insect Bat”. The locals don’t intervene in their living arrangements. It is this cute little bat that lives under bridges and along rivers. They are a natural insecticide because they eat just bugs and mosquitoes so they help keep disease under control.

Although Belize (formerly British Honduras) looks like a poster child for third world countries, it is actually regarded as one of the wealthiest countries in Central America. Once seceding from the British September 21, 1981, wood and sugar are still major exports but they are moving their country forward with the recent discovery of oil. They export primarily to the US and we have reciprocated with providing free health services to the population as part of our foreign aid program to Belize. Your tax dollars at work.

Hilberto told an interesting factoid. In the late 1800’s many Mennonites (hard core Amish) moved to Belize for their religious freedom and their penchant for living without modern amenities. They lived simply and made their living using their skills as master furniture makers and still have a significant presence in Belize. Well things have changed. Hilberto reported they can now be seen driving around in cars and talking on their cell phones. And that oil that was found? Apparently most of it was found under land owned by the Mennonites. Hilberto said the locals now refer to them as the “Moneyites”.

We arrived at the Mayan Temple  Altun Ha to a beautiful open national park run by the government of Belize. It was well cared for and had park rangers all over the place. The Temple complex is very large and is the only part that was uncovered by Canadian archaeologists back in the 60’s. Hilberto said the complex is only a small part of a large city built around 200 A.D. that occupied the area and was inhabited by more than 10,000 people. He pointed out several mounds throughout the park and said there were probably a thousand more in the forest we couldn’t see. It was weird seeing these dirt mounds all around with full grown trees sprouting out of the sides and tops of what were peoples homes. It forced a visual of what will probably occur when our time ends and the earth takes back what we’ve built. It’s still a mystery as to what happened to the Mayans. Their very advanced culture grew throughout much of Mexico, Central and South America (there’s evidence they even made it well into North America) up to about the 9^th century then decentralized up to the Spanish Conquest of Yucatán in 1697. Although there are still many Mayan descendents still around, they pretty much walked away from their creations and have never been heard from as a society again.

Driving back through downtown Belize is like driving through most Mexican border towns along the US border. Lots of poor housing and poverty is a little overwhelming but the Belizians make due. Sam told us the minimum wage in Belize is around 35 dollars a week and it takes two Belizian dollars to equal one US dollar. Gas is 10 Belizian dollars a US gallon. Hilberto pointed out they never took on the Metric system and use the US system of measure and drive on the right. Our guides said you could buy land and build a “mansion” in Belize for about $40,000 US dollars and one of the largest cultural groups who have migrated to Belize are Taiwanese. After the big hurricane, Taiwan (Republic of China) was one of the largest contributors to their recovery and are still big investors in the country. Belize is very scenic and probably worth a full time vacation.

A moment about Dianna and her cell phone. In my pre-cruise preparations, I made contact with all our credit card folks and cell phone provider to keep everything running when we start making our purchases overseas. That was fine as long as Dianna wasn’t using her phone. We got two days into our travels and I noticed Dianna seemed to be using her phone a lot. Seems she was taking photos, texting and emailing everybody in the free world. AT&T, concerned about usage, cut her off and silenced her phone. This drew her ire and initiated a call to the phone company. AT&T was somewhat apologetic but after Dianna got a stern talking to about her single handed reduction of worldwide bandwidth, they re-established her service. Our next stop, Roatán, Honduras, promises to have calm seas and warmer weather.

Our Cruise Part 1

It is that time of year when the wife and I take our yearly vacation. Well….it only occurs when all the stars are in alignment and there’s spare change in the bank account. And there was that unbelievable email offer from the cruise line that came in as Summer waned and thoughts of time away from work, kids, dogs and house chores and the fast approaching holiday season (Bah, Humbug) encroached into our consciousness.

Traditionally, we do cruises. They provide a one-stop shop for travel and comfort to exotic lands normally not available to us (ever try to drive to Central America?). Actually, they provide a relatively inexhaustible supply of adult beverages and somebody else (hopefully not imbibing either) doing the driving.

But, of course, you can’t get to a cruise ship from Dallas so there is the matter of getting to the dock. Although there are cruises leaving from our own Galveston, the other is New Orleans a mere 9 hour drive away. Don't forget to stop at the halfway point at the Relay Stop on  I-49 in  Frierson, Louisiana . It has the best sandwiches and a deceivingly vast array of seafood and every fried finger food you can imagine.

We chose the latter because the people watching in the French Quarter is without equal and there are the clubs and shops along Canal Street. This new cruise was not our first rodeo and we had actually been on this same cruise line at the same port two years earlier.

It is normally my job to organize and arrange the cruises. Dianna fancies herself as an airline travel guru and arranges those herself. This goes back to her traveling days with Bank of America. She arranged travel and hotels like an agent. She got lots of points and received upgrades to all the cool hotels because of her patronage. Well, there was that unfortunate incident when she booked our infant daughter, she and I into a trip to Hawaii. When we arrived in Oahu, we were supposed to connect to a shuttle flight to Kaui and our condo.

Problem was, she neglected to take into consideration that the Kaui airport closed overnight and without a hotel, we sat outside the Hawaiian Air terminal in Oahu until dawn so we could hop on our flight and begin our glorious vacation. It really was a great vacation. It was in October, we had met another family from California and we have pictures of our little girl with their daughter Trick or Treating in Hawaii. Ah, the memories.

Here is where I know Dianna gets concerned. I really like doing old historic hotels and try to avoid the mainstream hotels. I did try to book a “big name” place but it was a NFL game weekend (Go Saints!) and everybody was booked. I located a small “boutique” (translated: really old) hotel just off Canal Street and was rewarded by both availability and price (Dianna refers to my rigorous selection process as being “cheap”, guilty as charged).

The  Pelham  is on Common Street one block south of Canal by Harrah’s Casino. The building hearkens from the 1880s and is in the “Warehouse District”.  It is a well appointed hotel and really had a great room. We successfully checked in but the room wasn’t ready until 4 pm. We decided to get an early dinner at a place a co-worker, Tameka, a Katrina alumnus, told me was just down the street,  “Mother’s Restaurant” .

Mother’s was just what the doctor ordered. We had the red beans and rice combo which had some greens and a side of their signature sliced ham. We did enjoy the food but was a little disappointed at the blandness of the rice and beans. It didn’t have the intense flavor we experienced the last time we were in town during Marti Gras at a little hole-in-the-wall place called “Dixie Gyro” on  Carondelet Street off Canal. Tameka warned me that the food in and around Canal was mostly “tourist” food. If I wanted the real deal, I needed to frequent some neighborhoods which might require me to carry a firearm. But it was worth the trip.

Mother’s was one of those places the locals go to and there was a line to the register stretching back into the restaurant. Two things of note. In laid back New Orleans, it was kind of a high pressure place. The ordering line was an assembly line affair and you’d better be prepared and get your order out or you got a snappy, “Lets go, what do you want!” The other was the lack of tipping. There were signs all over the place instructing patrons NOT to tip the employees. I never did get that figured out.

After doing some walking about and our mandatory stop at the Hustler Hollywood Store (the products, displays and instructional talks given by the staff are amazing), we made our way back to the hotel. Our room was ready and we unloaded our stuff. The room was well appointed and had a really neat four-poster king-size bed. This thing actually had a little step stool so you could climb in. But that’s when the trouble started.

I went into the bathroom to wash up and noted a distinct lack of hot water flowing out of the sink. We had been to old hotels before and a lack of water pressure is sort of a given in some situations.

We decided to make a CVS pharmacy run on Canal Street for some last minute toiletries and hit   PJ’s Coffee on  Canal and people watch from the sidewalk tables in the glow of the Christmas lighted palm trees lining the street. It had been quite warm all day and I had left my jacket in the room. It had been threatening to rain all day with a 20% chance by nightfall. Well that 20% became 100% as it began to pour. Thinking it was a passing shower, we picked up our coffees and stood in the overhang of the Sheraton and kept watching. Realizing it wasn’t going to quit, we made our way back to our hotel now much damper than we left.

Wanting to wash up before bed, I tried the hot water again and no-go. It still didn’t bother me, I’m sure it was temporary but I sensed it might be a problem come morning. I chalked it up to that and, after some TV, the long drive caught up to us and we fell asleep in anticipation of our march through the cruise terminal the following day.

Sure enough, when we arose, no hot water. I called down to the desk. They seemed concerned and were sending somebody up. Soon after a maintenance guy came up and by then water was running out of the tap but it wasn’t even warm. I might add that overnight a cold front moved through the area and the tepid temperatures of yesterday had plummeted to freezing with a solid and blustery wind blowing out of the north. Our guy told us they were having problems with the boiler and were working on it. So, of course, here we were faced with quick, cold sponge baths before our departure.

The only bright light that morning was breakfast. On the corner of the hotel was a neat restaurant called the  “Red Slipper” . It had a short but colorful breakfast menu. Dianna had the Eggs Cachon with Hollandaise Sauce. I had the Migas. The pork under her eggs and sauce were laid over two of the tenderest homemade biscuits. My Migas (chunks of ham, scrambled eggs, onions, potatoes and salsa) were ladled over tortilla chips. The coffee was hot and the food plentiful. We stumbled out of there and took the opportunity to go back to the CVS for stuff we had not gotten the night before.

On our return, we saw a line forming in the lobby for checkouts. Believing this would not bode well for our checkout, we finished packing keeping in mind the death march we have to perform at the cruise terminal (all loose metal in the bags, belts and necessary small stuff in carry-on until the bags arrive at the room). Still having some time before we had to get there (can’t get on the boat until noon) and still unseasonably cold (the wind was whipping up the narrow streets gusting to about 40 mph) we decided to return to PJ’s for a cup of Joe and waste some time.

Unable to stave off the inevitable, we returned to the hotel and ordered up our car (valet parking only at this place). On the way back to the room to collect our things, we were joined in the elevator by a harried looking housekeeper. I made a comment about the hot water and she informed us that things had been tough because the hot water had been down since yesterday morning. It was clear the clerk had failed to mention this when we checked in at 3 pm.

Still remarkably calm over this new revelation, we got our stuff and headed to the lobby which had now filled up with overnight revelers (some still reeking of alcohol at 10 a.m. and not of sound mind) demanding retribution for the lack of hot water. There was brief conspiratorial talk of utilizing a nearby guillotine (well it was a French territory once) in exchange for their demands. I was unceremoniously cut off by a partier who, in his loudest inside voice, demanded an immediate refund as well as his valet fees and I think he wanted the owners to pay his next years taxes as well.

Now, the wife and I have passed the half century mark in our lives (please don’t tell Dianna you read that) and, in time, have somewhat mellowed in our views about the machinations of things clearly out of our control. This was one of those. There was talk of comping our rooms for the nights we all stayed and if anybody felt the need for reimbursement from the lot they contracted with (for me, it was hard to catch the correlation between the lack of hot water and parking), they could take it up with the valet service. I, for one, was content with that and armed with my American Express receipt, I knew I could challenge the room rate if it showed up on my bill, thus my calm demeanor when I handed over my key card and said adieu. Travel can be such an adventure.

Now to the ship. I had the foresight to arrange our accommodations both close to the action on Canal Street as well as spitting distance to the  Terminal  a mere 10 blocks away. Dianna would still tell you it was because I was “cheap” and not deserving of recognition. Ok, guilty. But a quick turn down Poydras onto Calliope and we were at the long term parking lot. Now the dance began.

Let me say that cruising is not the same as jumping onto an airliner. It is a trip intended for several days not a few hours in a big fragile metal tube which could plunge to earth it seems with the lighting off of someones underwear. Though the security is rigid, that’s where the similarities end. Folks have brought a weeks worth of clothes for both climates and lots of liquids which would cause a member of the TSA to breakdown and cry. Not to mention a lack of concern for nail clippers and pocket knives. Its also conducted by private security who know where their bread is buttered and really don’t put up much of a fuss when the metal detector buzzes. The room took on the air of a Las Vegas Casino with bells ringing and buzzers buzzing.

There were no pat-downs or disrobing going on. Just the sheer number of wheelchair bound travelers would put a serious strain on the system if everybody had to go through a major review of their stuff. And there is the, “Let’s get goingitis” of the cruise lines. They’ve gotten very good about getting large numbers of people on board and to their destinations on a well oiled schedule. I am not disparaging the security, there were lots of folks checking IDs and Passports, but it wasn’t DFW either. Though I am confident we avoided a Sandra Bullock take over moment ala Speed 2.

Once passed registration we quickly walked the plank to the spacious innards of the ship. The Norwegian Spirit is a fairly new and very modern cruise ship. Built in Germany in 1998 at 75,338 metric tonnes (84,378 US but who’s counting) is 882 feet long, 105 feet wide and about 13 stories tall. Word was there were about 2,000 passengers with a crew of 980. The crew were from about 58 different countries.

Once on-board, everyone is forewarned about the need for the dreaded Boat Drill. Prior to leaving, it requires all the passengers to muster at their assigned rescue boat stations and get a demonstration on how to use a life vest. It’s a requirement for all ships at sea to have a Boat Drill prior to departure. At the appointed hour, we got ourselves to our rescue station and had to stand in the cold while interrogated by a couple of 20 somethings asking our names and cabin numbers.

Our Boat Drill leaders introduced themselves as two of the musical group dancers Felix and Alan. Most of the contract players and musicians also have other duties as greeters, Bingo assistants and the like. Every instruction begins with, “In the unlikely event of an emergency…..” you put this thing on, you get in the boat and kiss your butt goodbye. I always get a mental image of Rose cutting DiCaprio loose from the raft she’s on. Most of those Titanic people were told they wouldn’t sink either. Mind you, we’re all trying to be good sports about it but I need to remind you it had “warmed up” to about 50 degrees with a wind chill around 40 and the sun was going down quickly. Our leaders could see the mood getting uglier as we were forced to stand in ranks in the blustery wind as the Captain, from the comfort of his heated cabin,  assured us that Norwegian Cruise Lines considered our health and safety of the utmost importance. There was talk of mutiny in our group and discussions as to just how we would dispose of our dancer leaders and return to the bar without anyone being the wiser.

Once underway, we left the pier and made our way down stream along the mighty (and muddy) Mississippi toward the Gulf. Once through the New Orleans part of the channel, we continued south at a leisurely pace through the Mississippi delta. But soon, the delta was left behind and is overtaken by a grim reminder of our dependence on the petroleum industry. Deep water drilling aside, there is a vast infrastructure of oil platforms and support facilities permeating the delta and mouth of the river.

As we plied our way through the darkness, suddenly a huge complex of tanks, buildings and docking facilities would appear out of the blackness. Their night lights blazing and the ubiquitous torches of by-product gases burning brightly in the night. As quickly as they appeared, they would slip by and shrink away into the inky blackness they came from. You could clearly see that oil production was a 7/24 operation where men and women worked year round to make sure we can power our cities, warm our homes and feed our cars.

Late that night we left the protection of the delta and were suddenly thrust into the deep water of the Gulf. The ship was now speeding up for it’s nighttime run and digging into the deeper troughs awaiting us in the choppy seas ahead. We got up to quite a rolling motion that lulled us to sleep like babies in a cradle. The later it got the less noise was heard from the Welcome Aboard parties and the now liquored up passengers made there way back to their cabins.

The rest of the day didn’t see a let up on the rolling motion of the ship. We were still in a turbulent sea state our Captain credited to the cold front which followed us from New Orleans and rolled overhead. The skies clouded up and threatened rain but the crew assured us things would change when we got to our first destination, Costa Maya, Mexico on Tuesday.

Dianna and I spent the day catching up on our reading while the rest of the passengers spent most of their day catching up on on their drinking. It’s pure theatre watching drunk people attempting to make there way down the main decks and corridors. There were some green colored people wandering around and the crew had layed out plenty of seasick bags (amazingly similar to airsickness bags) in the stairwells and elevators. Tomorrow is our first full day at sea.

The time spent at sea is really relaxing. The ship is alive with activity until the wee hours of the morning but then it quiets to almost a dull roar of ventilation and cleaning equipment like any hotel with the added constant vibration of engines and machinery beneath your feet. But if you wake up in the middle of the night like I do, it's kind of cool to walk around inside and head out on deck.

There you can look down and watch the black water turn frothy white as the prow brakes open the sea and sends it along and behind the ship back into the darkness. It's a little unnerving and a little surreal to look out from the railing and not see a horizon. It has a Hollywood quality to the whole thing as though you were just an actor in front of a green screen and we could actually just be on a sound stage at Universal Studios. Oh yeah, and there is the 24 hour cafe to order and suck down a cheeseburger and fries.

Daylight brings early risers jogging and walking about, some with children (what were they thinking) some older couples making their way to breakfast or Bingo. Everybody getting their "sea legs" in this choppy (we're talking white caps) winter Gulf sea lane. It is a great feeling to look in all directions and not see land but only the vast blue waters around you. It can be, at once, liberating and frightening.

Dianna and I spend the day reading and I writing (for the Blog). The day goes quickly as we look forward to a good nights sleep being rocked by the ship and our first port-of-call, Costa Maya, Mexico. 

Paris, Texas

It was your typical Saturday and Dianna was itching to go on a road trip. Really, she was. Lately she has given me indications she actually looks forward to some of our trips...well except the ones when I make fun of her in this Blog.

iPhone 4 Self Portrait

This was one of those moments. I had completed my meager chores and she was all packed up and ready to go. My daughter asked us where we were going and Dianna chimed in that we didn’t require a destination. Having it be a surprise was part of the fun and added, "That’s how we roll”. My daughter was stunned into silence and her only response was for us to have a good time. At moments like that, I firmly believe she’s doing a mental countdown to the day she has to put us into assisted living.

But away we went to Paris, Texas  the County Seat of Lamar County nestled in the northeast corner of Texas, the north eastern edge of the Piney Woods and  a buttress of the Red River holding back Oklahoma. Paris is also the official Crepe Myrtle Capital of Texas.

This is my favorite color

Local residents like the slogan "Second Largest Paris in the World." Following a tradition of American cities named "Paris", a 65-foot replica of the Eiffel Tower was constructed in 1993 on the site of their Performance Arts Center and adjacent to Paris Junior College, a sprawling campus on the southeast end of town. Paris Junior College (Go Dragons) was established in 1924. It is one of the oldest junior colleges in Texas.

In 1998, presumably as a response to the construction of a 70-foot tower in Paris, Tennessee, to set it apart from the Tennessee tower (like they needed to), the city placed a giant red cowboy hat atop the tower. The current tower is the second Eiffel Tower replica built in Paris; the first was constructed of wood and later destroyed by a tornado. Well, it is, after all, Texas. Both Paris' were forced to surrender in 1999 to a 540-foot copy on the Strip in Las Vegas.

Downtown has seen many makeovers since the town was established in 1826. Like many towns in Texas, because of the heavy use of wood construction and poor fire fighting ability, in 1877, 1896 and 1916, major fires forced the city to rebuild. Historically compared to the Chicago Fire, the 1916 fire was so extensive that it destroyed almost half the town, ruining most of the central business district and sweeping through a residential area before it was finally controlled, resulting in huge property damages estimated at $11 million (in 1916 dollars, that was a bunch).

Burned structures included the Federal Building and Post Office, Lamar County Courthouse and Jail, City Hall, most commercial buildings, and several churches. The 1916 fire started around 5 p.m. on March 21, 1916. The exact cause of the fire is unknown. Winds estimated at 50 miles per hour fanned the flames that were visible for up to forty miles away. The fire was brought under control on the morning on March 22 by local firefighters and those from surrounding cities and even the little town of Hugo 30 miles away across the river in Oklahoma. So today, it’s hard to find a building built before 1916. The beautiful Culbertson Fountain in the Plaza square was given to commemorate the rebirth of Paris.

Original 1897 Courthouse

Rebuilt in 1917

Even the Courthouse (which, interestingly, is not located in the square) was a second build of the original 1897 Courthouse. It was rebuilt in 1917 after the fire in a Classical Revival with Romanesque detail refaced with the marble and pink granite recovered and cleaned from the burned out 1897 Courthouse. The pink granite is from the same quarry used for the State Capital in Austin.

After the drive, walking from the car and taking in the Plaza square, we (well….I) was hungry and headed over to JAXX Burger on Clarksville Street on the edge of the square. Dianna had the Cheeseburger and I had the JAXX Bacon Burger. I’m not sure what they do to their bacon, but they dip it in some kind of liquid brown sugar mix with black pepper. Wow. They had several Gourmet Custom Burgers on the board as well that sounded great too. A must try if you get to town.

There was some talk that Paris, Texas was the home of the French fry. Well, there is evidence that the modern Hamburger was created in Athen’s Texas . Not to be confused with the low-quality beef the Russian Tartars made from Asian cattle they ground up to make it more edible and introduced to Germany before the 14th century. The Germans flavored it with regional spices and either cooked it or ate it raw (gross!). It became a standard meal for poorer classes and in Hamburg acquired the name "Hamburg steak". Athens is a mere 100 miles south of Paris (Texas...yeah, I know, confusing).

The alledged creator of the hamburger, Fletcher Davis, took his creation to the St. Louis World's Fair in 1904. When Fletcher was interviewed by a New York Tribune reporter about the sandwich, Ol’ Fletcher told the reporter the sandwich was his idea, but said he learned to cook the fried potatoes he served from a friend in “Paris” (Texas). Apparently, the reporter thought Fletcher meant Paris, France (probably the accent threw him), and reported that the hamburger was served with wonderful "french-fried potatoes." The name stuck, and history has forever given the wrong Paris the credit for French fries.

The basic premise that the French fry did, in fact, originate in France, remains solid. In French cooking, frite specifically refers to deep fat frying as opposed to sauté, which is used for pan-frying. There's plentiful evidence that frying potatoes in oil was common in France before 1830.

Several pop historians credit Thomas Jefferson with having introduced French fries to America and is one that just may have some historical foundation. When he was stationed as America’s emissary in Paris (he and Ben were quite the wingmen), he had tasted the delicacy and wrote about it in his journals. Jefferson was also a chronic receipt keeper (I’m sure for tax and travel reimbursement purposes) and there is evidence he had recorded some meals including the little frites. In the French, they are “pommes de terre frites, à crû en petites tranches” (potatoes, fried in deep fat while raw, first having been cut into small slices). Sorry Jane, my French is a little rusty.

There is a fierce debate (if one can be that passionate about French fries, well there is a web site dedicated to the French fry) as to whether French fries were originally thinly sliced fried potato chips. Some early recipes called for cutting them in thin round slices. Some feel it may have been a deviation for the more ritzy restaurants to separate the wealthy patrons from the unwashed. Well, after all, it was around the second French Revolution (1848). When the French say frites, there is only one possible meaning: deep-fried in deep fat, Yum. Funny, I don’t recall Julia Child whipping up a batch on her show.

And there is the whole “Freedom Fry” movement at the beginning of the second Iraq War. As you recall, there was quite a bit of anti-French sentiment after the UN debates of 2003. So if you feel the need to believe the French fry had its origins in Paris, Texas, USA, there you go.

Now we’re going to have to get to Athens and check out the Hamburger myth. Well, that will, of course, require eating there too. It’s a dirty job, but somebody has to do it.

Garland Symphony

I’m not sure how we got roped into it but the wife and I spent a wonderful Friday evening in Garland, Texas at the Garland Symphony Orchestra . Well, let me state early on that we both really do love the symphony and most classical music. This was a trip initiated by young Justin, a co-worker of mine at the Frisco Police Department. Justin is back in college finishing his degree and needed a Music Appreciation class to get his Liberal Arts out of the way.

Justin came to me on the Thursday before the concert to relate to me a tale of woe of how his mean spirited instructor had made it a class requirement to go to a concert and report his impressions of the event. With a little impish, conspiratorial grin (yeah Justin, I have kids, I know when I’m being played) and suggested it wouldn’t be a bad idea if Dianna and I joined him and his lovely girlfriend Becca at the concert. Seems our presence would somehow reduce the pain and not make the evening a total loss. I so enjoy sincerity in youth today.

Trying to be supportive, I checked in with the wife and she readily agreed to join in, for the educational value, of course. Well and to watch Justin squirm under the relentless assault on his Country Music sensibilities.

For 26 years, the Garland Symphony Orchestra has been providing performances of great orchestral music to Garland and its surrounding communities. Since 1986, the symphony has been led by the current Music Director, Robert Carter Austin. Maestro Austin is quite the guy. He’s not only a classical musician; he holds a Bachelor of Science degree from MIT a Diploma in Computer Science from Cambridge and had time to get his Masters of Musical Arts from Stanford.

One of the best parts of the presentation (and I feel wholly needed in most classical venues) was that, prior to the beginning of the three selections, Mr. Austin took the opportunity to educate us, if you will, in the basics of the music and the composer. He brought forth the intricacies and the background of each movement and what it meant to the overall piece. Subtleties I hadn’t considered in the past like what animal a given instrument represented or what brought the composer to write the music. Even some of the politics as to how the agendas of the various patrons influenced the music.

Trouble was, like most teachers, he had to play "answer my arcane trivia question" about the composers. There were two particular music "know-it-alls" that were quick to shout out answers to his questions, even stumping the members of the Orchestra.  I got their names for my list of go-to people the next time I need a lifeline on "Millionaire".

If Mr. Austin was impressive, the soloists for that evening were even more impressive. The Violin Soloist was a young man named Andrew Wang, himself a bit of a genius in his own right. Mr. Wang is not only an accomplished chamber musician, orchestra leader and jazz violinist but took the time to get his Bachelor of Arts Degree and just completed his PhD in Immunology at University of Texas’ Southwestern Medical School where he’s finishing his MD degree. Holy Cow, I can’t get the time to pick up the dog poop in the back yard, this guy got a PhD while doing his MD. His parents must be very proud.

Like the other two Soloists, I couldn't help but wonder if, while they played the fancy stuff, their contemporaries in the Orchestra weren't looking over their sheet music a little envious thinking, "Big deal....I could do that too."

There were three selections on this night. Concerto in F Major for Violin and Orchestra, Opus 8 No. 3 RV (Ryom-Verzeichnis is the catalog the music was documented in) 293 “Autumn” from The Four Seasons (the concerto, not the hotel) by Vivaldi, Symphony No. 36 in C Major, KV 425 “Linz” (the city it was first performed in Austria) by Mozart and concerto in C Major for Violin, Cello, Piano and Orchestra, Opus 56 by Beethoven.

The first Concerto was done by a small segment of the entire symphony. Vivaldi wrote this series of Concertos as musical stories or sonnets. He even interjects descriptive comments within the bars such as "The barking dog" or "the drunkards have fallen asleep" in the second movement. That was a challenge. In most music the musicians finish a number, pause, get applause and move on to the next number. In classical, there is a pause between the pieces (movements) and you don’t applaud. You have to hold off until the end of the whole piece.

For the Mozart piece, they brought all the big guns of the entire Orchestra. The stage was laden with every string instrument they could get with just a smattering of winds like the Oboe to bring the base tones to light. There was one percussionist in the back who, I swear, had the hardest job. The Orchestra would go for many minutes just so this guy could follow page after page of Concerto to hit the big drum once.

We had a real intermission and then the Beethoven piece played. Mr. Austin cautioned us it may start out pretty soft and might lull us into thinking we were going to be bored to tears but it would get its momentum about half way through the second movement and beat us senseless as the Piano Soloist Alex McDonald swept his fingers in a blur across the keys at break-neck speed ending in a crashing crescendo which left us all rising to cheer their efforts. Dianna swears it was the same music they play at Bank of America while they wait to enter a conference call.

The evening ended with Wang, McDonald and the Cello Soloist Oliver Schlaffler became a trio doing a brief example of a Jazz number which had us rising again to reward the Soloists and the entire Orchestra on a great night of music. Yes, Justin did nod off briefly but Becca caught him before he snored. It was worth the experience.

Saint Jo, Texas

It was a beautiful and windy Saturday for our trek north to the lands which border the muddy, and yes, red adobe colored waters of the Red River. Along were our friends Debbie and Torrey. I had suggested the trip because Debbie and Torrey are working hard on their “project home” in Tom Bean, Texas and are antiquers and buyers of unique furniture and stuff Torrey can fix. Another friend, Glynda, had told me of her visit to an interesting combination general store and warehouse named Freight Outlet Plus, in a place called Saint Jo, Texas.

She assured me it wasn’t just any store but a curious combination of dry goods, grocery and wacky kind of museum and curio shop. All I needed to hear was the word “museum”; I was on Google to figure how to get there. I brought Debbie and Torrey because I knew we would end up eating somewhere different. I wasn’t disappointed.

We began our mission by joining up with Debbie and Torrey at their home in Little Elm, Texas right next to Frisco. Torrey and Debbie usually don’t take the direct route (this has many benefits) and we wended our way north on U.S. Highway 377 instead of the larger, faster Interstate 35 which parallels it.

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before we found ourselves just outside Pilot Point, Texas pulling up to a little-known family run Mexican fast-food place called “The Taco Shack” right alongside the road requiring a quick turn onto the shoulder to the grassy knoll of the “Shack”. As the wives ordered, Torrey told me they watched as the “Shack” grew from birth. As they were house shopping for their second home, they often drove the 377 looking at listings.

On each pass, they would see another piece added to the Shack. It started as a manufactured, for want of a better description, back-yard storage barn. A picnic table showed up, then they added the patio cover. Then some benches appeared. As we talked, I snapped a couple of pictures. When the wives returned, Dianna said the daughter of the owner got real suspicious and asked why we were taking pictures. Maybe they thought we were undercover building inspectors. My wife assured them we were tourists and only interested in their food. The true test is the food they produce. We had their chorizo breakfast burritos. Wow.

North again, and we found ourselves in little Tioga . It was founded in 1881 when the Texas and Pacific Railway reached the site. The crew used water from the local well and named the site Tioga, a New York Indian word said to mean "swift current" or "fair and beautiful”. Tioga is a town in Grayson County, Texas.

It is the disputed birthplace of Gene Autry; one of the main streets through the town is named in his memory. Dr. Eugene Ledbetter, the doctor and namesake (Autry was named for the good doctor Eu-Gene) that delivered Gene Autry said he was not born in Tioga but a few miles away in Cook County. Though there was this disagreement between he and the Autrys because of unpaid doctor bills. Gene Autry did spend some time growing up in Tioga, but not more than a few years.

In 1884, medicinal qualities in the local water were discovered. As a result in the 1880s several companies-Tioga Mineral Wells Company, Radium Mineral Water, Tioga Mineral Water Company, Atlas Water, and Star Well-marketed the mineral water and attracted health seekers to Tioga. It was said that ten trainloads of visitors came to Tioga each day. The resort business, however, declined. Depending on peanuts and cotton had the same result. There was an attempt to revive the town and bottle its water in the 1970’s. Neither the water business nor the town ever took off. There are some small antique shops and restaurants springing up in their town square but the town only has about 900 people calling Tioga home. 

Further north found us in Whitesboro, Texas. Originally “Whitesborough” in 1860, its namesake was Ambrose B. White who moved into the area (then named Wolfpath) in the late 1840s. The White family ran White's Westview Inn which was a stop on the Butterfield Overland Mail route. It was later reincorporated in 1887 as “Whitesboro”.

Whitesboro is a neat little town which holds a big Peanut Festival  every year. Like the cotton, peanuts aren’t as prevalent a crop as they used to be (the peanuts for the last festival were trucked in from Oklahoma). In the center of town is one of the main attractions in those early years. Still seen on Main Street there is the watering well. Folks gathered around the well to water themselves and their horses. In addition to supplying water for the local residents, the well was also used to water stock and for the convenience of travelers.

Torrey wanted me to see a unique antique shop on Main Street. It was a place called “Past and Blast”. As the name implies, there are antique items in the front of the store and antique firearms in the back.

Right next door is “Lovejoy’s on Main Street” owned by Hank and Rita Lovejoy. I, of course, let the women do their shopping, I zoned in on the turn-of-the-century soda fountain in the back. Rita saw me hovering and told me a cool story about the soda fountain. Rita explained that her husband had built it from scratch from his memories of the soda fountain he worked at across the street back in 1954 in what is now a bakery.

Seems Rita was a fetching young girl at the time and frequented the shop with her baby sister. Hank was the soda jerk and they struck up a casual relationship. Rita always felt Hank was a little standoffish and didn’t seem able to ask her out. It was because her sister always referred to her as “Mother” and Rita figured Hank thought she was either taken or an unwed mother. She set him straight and the rest is history. They both grew up in Whitesboro, wed, raised their kids and grand kids there. All three generations have graduated from the same high school.

We then headed off to Saint Jo. Established in 1856, Saint Jo, Texas was originally known as Head of Elm, named for its location at the headwaters of the Elm Fork of the Trinity River. It was near the crossroads of two significant paths of commerce of that day. Those were the famous Chisholm Trail for cattle driving and the California Trail, the stagecoach and personal travel trail surveyed by the federal government, beginning at Saint Louis, Missouri, and going out through El Paso, on to California, where gold had been discovered.

The town was considered briefly as the county seat of Montague County, but lost out to the City of Montague (didn’t see that coming). There are two conflicting stories regarding how Head of Elm became Saint Jo, both of which involve Joe Howell, who originally laid out the town.

One theory involves a Tennessean named Irby Holt Boggess a Confederate Army Captain. In partnership with Joe Howell, in or around 1872, they developed the town to service the trail traffic. It is told that Joe was an abstainer from alcohol, a life style Captain Boggess did not share. When Captain Boggess wanted to name the new town after his partner, he thought it would sound appropriate to name the new town, "Saint Jo." The town he founded (which still does not permit alcohol sales) is still “dry”. But could also be due to the extension of prohibition “dry laws” which is still true for most of Texas since 1897.

A short drive through town gets you to our destination, Freight Outlet Plus . It is owned by Lois and Mel Gilbert. Mel is a retired Dallas Police officer. They bought the original store in Saint Jo’s central square from a Walter Collier in 1989. As time went by, they began their lifelong acquisition of “stuff”. I know some of you may have watched some of the “hoarding” reality shows. Those poor folks who can’t let go of anything of intrinsic value. Lois and Mel are those people.

Over time, they needed to expand. Mel had his eye on a group of industrial warehouses at the intersection of State Highway 59 and State Highway 82. He and Lois first bought the building at the roadside and subsequently three other warehouses behind it. They advertise that they have, “Merchandise may include virtually any type, with unclaimed or distressed goods, groceries and frozen products”. That doesn’t tell the whole story.

After picking up an amazing deal of Christmas wrap, we were directed back to the “Gilbert Collectables Museum” behind the store. We were met by Lois who gave us the 10 cent tour. Inside we were shown a large room with display cases along the walls and through the middle of the room. Lois reminded us that things on the entry side were for sale but things on the other side of the center cases were not. The whole thing reminded me of those little “roadside attractions” you chance by along those out-of-the-way places your parents took you to when you were young. We were in “roadside attraction” central. I was keeping a lookout for the bearded lady and the half-man half-dog tent.

There were some treasures but a lot of curiosities of little value. For instance, in the middle of the “not for sale” section was a running 1931 Ford Model “A” roadster complete with rumble seat. In one of the cases, I saw what appears to be an original (scalloped edged) photo of Clyde Barrow and his sister allegedly a week before he was killed in Louisiana. I’m no expert but I have seen that photo but never in what appears to be a period reproduction, it might be worth something. Marie Barrow Scoma wrote a book published at her death, “The Family Story of Bonnie and Clyde”. Her son Luke gave the photo to Lois and Mel.

Among the treasures were lots of …well….”stuff”. Cute ornaments, lamps, watches, clocks and finery mixed in with an 1840 Steinway piano in mint condition that only a true collector of the strange would collect and admire. But everything laid out with reverence for its “value”, cultural and historical importance. In short, this place is an altar, a place of worship.

As we moved around, Lois would follow, carefully explaining the various displays. She seemed to warm up to our inquisitiveness and as we approached a certain place she would open a non-descript door which would lead off to another wing of the museum. There was one entire room dedicated to the lifelong Fenton Glass collection of Carlie Gossage. The Gilberts are Fenton Glass aficionados and learned back in 1992 that Mr. Gossage’s family was auctioning off his collection.

Gossage had been collecting for 50 years before his passing and his family really didn’t know what to do with all the glass so they decided to sell it off. Lois told us Mr. Gossage originally had a two story home in Monticello, Kentucky which he filled with Fenton Glass sets. You see, Mr. Gossage lived about 5 hours from the Fenton Factory in Williamstown, WV. Whenever he heard of a new style or color, he zipped over and bought it.

This led him to bring in three open floor plan mobile homes onto his property (sound familiar?). He set them up in a “U” shape behind the house, ringed them with glass shelving and filled them floor to ceiling with Fenton Glass. When Doris and Mel went out to see the collection, they convinced the family to pack everything away and slowly purchased the whole collection piece by piece.

After winding our way deeper into the museum morass, Lois finally asked if would like to see the “furniture”. This peaked Debbie’s interest because she’s buying for the “project” home and was looking for something unusual. Lois led us to the back warehouse. Inside of this cavernous metal building were rows and rows of “stuff”. Conjure up the last scene of Indiana Jones when the government worker is driving the crated “arc of the covenant” into the great unknown.

There were rows of stacked and palletted things that have obviously, in some cases, been there for some time. Home furnishings, office equipment, vending machines the like of which I have never seen. Debbie’s eye did catch some chairs and a chest of drawers. Lois made a deal on the spot and after loading up Torrey’s pick up, we headed out of town, our heads still reeling for the experience. Dianna and Debbie said we’re going back soon.

On the way back we decided to do dinner before returning to Little Elm and home. We ended up at a steak place named Parker Brothers , originally named the Trail Dust in Aubrey (unincorporated Denton), Texas. The Parker family at one time owned restaurants in Denver, Colorado as well as Texas. They now own just the ones in Texas in Aubrey, Texas, Mesquite, and Arlington. If anybody has gone to Pinnacle Peak in Santee, California recalls the servers cutting off patron’s ties. The Traildust may have been the originator of the ritual. This place had rows of cut off cravats on the walls.

Parker Brother’s Traildust is designed to be family friendly. It is a restaurant with separate bar during the day and dance hall at night. They even installed a two story indoor slide (yes, slide) which terminates at the edge of the dance floor. We asked about this and our server (who stated she used to come here with her family as a kid) told us it was a Parker family staple in all their restaurants. I saw this mostly as a liability nightmare. Especially when the adults who have been drinking take their turn on the slide.

The steaks were good with healthy servings of beans, bread (Texas Toast) and vegetables. Debbie and Dianna shared the 32 oz. Margarita. They were pretty happy too. Thumbs down on the slide action. It was a bit annoying with all the ruckus of the kids yelling and slamming onto the slide from above. I really didn’t sit down for a $23 dollar steak to sit in Chucky Cheese.

Well, overall it was quite the day trip and we’ll be doing more soon.