by Donna of Rock the Silver
I read that your brain hates staycations and needs new venues and new experiences to prevent atrophy, especially as you age. That’s why I insisted on a trip to the Texas coast. It was all about saving my brain. I had a four-day weekend, it was a six-hour drive and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Three nights in The Pink Palace at the Beach.
My husband isn’t much of a planner, but he printed out the TripTik from AAA. Have you used one of these things? Civilized people use a GPS system. This little series of instructions and maps makes absolutely no sense to me. We were within 50 miles when we realized the last two pages, the pages that tell you exactly how to get there, were missing. I said, I’ll bet they’re still on the printer. He said no way, but we got back this afternoon, and well … way.
We found our destination nonetheless. It has been more than 100 degrees in Fort Worth practically since spring. As we got closer, the little gauge in the car that reads the outside temperature started dropping. 96, 95, 94. It bottomed out at 91, and we are giggling.
He’s like, I’ll need a coat!
I’m all, There’s a hint of fall in the air!
We crossed on a ferry to the barrier island town of Port Aransas. Once we got to the other side, I was expecting, oh, I don’t know, a groovy strip along the beach with bars and restaurants you could walk to from your hotel? But as we started driving away from the ferry, the beach sort of disappeared. We could see restaurants and bars but no beach. We find the pink palace, which was apparently blue until quite recently, and we step out of the car.
Our glasses fogged up, and all I can say is holy crap, it’s hot. OK, it’s in the low 90s, but it’s like a sauna. Thank goodness our room is pleasant and clean, and the air conditioner is set at 69 degrees. We cool off for awhile and then walk around to see how close we are to the beach. We’re immediately at SWEAT CON Level 4, and we don’t see the beach. Which way do you suppose it is? My husband replies, Um, it’s an island … I think it’s like all around us …
It’s an island! Of course! No shortage of beach, but the condos, hotels, restaurants and bars are kind of in the middle. Which is fine. Really. Makes for nice beaches uncluttered by development. Just wasn’t my vision. I pictured me having a cocktail by the water. The waves lapping up. A breeze. I bought a halter top and everything.
Instead, we dine at a little seafood shack with cold beer, soft shell crabs and oysters, and it was absolutely delicious. After dinner, we walk out of the shack into the heat, and I think of my co-worker, who is vacationing in Martha’s Vineyard this week. Of course, there’s no point in making a comparison.
But of course, that’s what I do. My problem seems to be managing expectations. My husband is quite content so far because he expected nothing. He figured beach, beer, back in three days. It’s easy being him.
The next day we decide to explore the area. We stumbled onto Padre Island National Seashore, where you can camp right on the beach. I’ve never heard of a place where you can actually camp on the beach, and I am grateful our government has preserved this beautiful place because we would like to do that someday when our government does something about global warming and the heat index is not 108 degrees.
It’s not even lunchtime, and we’re back in our room — the great refrigerated place — and we can’t think of anything else we want to do. We had a hearty breakfast, so we’re not hungry. We don’t want to get too much of the mid-day sun, so we aren’t ready for the beach. Then I hatch a scathingly brilliant idea.
We could leave tomorrow.
Really?
Yes, just one day early.
Are you sure? This is about relaxing.
I’m relaxed, damn it. One more good meal and we’re out of here.
Bingo.
All of the sudden, we’re kind of silly and happy. We drive around some more and find a restaurant actually overlooking the bay — not the beach — but good enough for us. Four Tecates later, we decide this is a pretty nice place after all. Fun now has an expiration, which somehow makes it more fun.
We browse shops until the beer wears off, and then we decide it’s beach time. The beach was lovely. We played in the waves for about an hour and then sat in the sun to dry off. The rituals became pleasant, because we knew they were numbered. Our little vacation was coming to an end.
In a final salute, we go to the same restaurant and order the same thing — cold beer, soft shell crabs and oysters. It was really, really good. We almost stopped at a brew pup afterward but agreed no good could come of that. That made us laugh. We went back to the great refrigerated place to read. Asleep by 8:30.
Once we made our decision, we move like synchronized swimmers. We both got up early, packed everything in 10 minutes and took another five to load the car. Dropped the key in the slot and bolted.
Dale’s driving. I’m in the passenger seat checking messages on my electronic devices, thinking about the trip. It was only two nights, but I certainly felt as though my brain had a vacation. It wasn’t quite what I expected, but we went to a new place, ate great food, swam in the ocean and saw a pristine island where you can camp on the beach. All in all, it was a pretty good time. Maybe we would want to go back in the fall, when it’s cooler. I start talking.
Holy crap, it was hot.
Guess what? This week, so was Martha’s Vineyard.
And we both crack up.
Photo credit: http://traveltips.usatoday.com
Popularity: 3% [?]
All Top Stories 
