Travel Journal, 99
Abduckted
It’s not been all fun and games for Roary. One would think that the life of an international traveling dinosaur of mystery would be one of luxury and ease, but alas, no. Yes, Roary travels comfortably in the side pouch of my backpack with his little head poking through the top. And yes, he’s as snug as a dino in a rug. I would bet my passport on the security of Roary. During transit days, he travels safely and securely. However, problems tend to arise when he leaves the stable and secure confines of the bag. One of the main points of traveling with a toy dinosaur is to take hilarious, ironic, and perfectly timed photos. To do that, I remove him from the bag, carefully set up the pose, cock his little head to catch his “good side,” back away, and snap the pic. Sometimes, I simply hold him up by the tail and take the picture without my hand in the frame. All in all, Roary and I have a system. He poses; I take the pic; we go on our merry.
I have a horrible confession. Some may read this next paragraph and disown me forever. But it is how I feel.
I don’t like Texas.
There, I’ve said it. I hear it from friends and family fairly often how they love Texas. Everything is bigger in Texas. Texas is real America. Texas is the home of freedom. God bless Texas.
But I can’t stand it.
As far as you can see—dirt. Sure, some parts have wetland, farming, and hills. But how can that redeem the utter void that is the mass of Texas? I hitchhiked one time near Abilene and counted numerous bars, strip joints, and abandoned cars. If class and civilization live in Texas, let’s just say that it isn’t thriving in a place like Abilene. Sorry, Abilene, I’m sure you have a great personality.
But don’t hate me yet. The only reason I ever want to go to Texas, is the shining star of San Antonio.
Ah, San Antonio. You almost redeem your state.
And one of the best parts of San Antonio is the out-of-place River Walk. In the heart of the city lies a sweet cocktail mix of Amsterdam, Venice, and Spanish colonialism that creates a bright spot in this American Southwest. Here, the San Antonio River carves though the skyscrapers and streets. Pedestrian walkways line the river, shops and restaurants and parks lie scattered throughout the picturesque area. Willows and other colonial-looking trees swing low, almost touching the water. River taxis zip by, ferrying the hungry to cool drinks and the promise of tacos.
If you would tell me, “hey, I’m going to Texas,” I would probably wince. But if you said, “hey I’m going to San Antonio,” my ears would perk up like a deer listening for hunters.
I you have a chance, go to San Antonio.
We did.
And so did Roary.
Where there is water, there is ducks. I though it would be great to have a picture of Roary near a few ducks on the River.
As I lowered the little dinosaur to the water, an angry mallard hurled forth and snatched Roary from my grasp. He fell violently into the water as the foul fowl tried again, snapping at him. Not only did I almost fall in the water, but Roary was almost duck food. Fortunately, I was quick enough to snatch him back from the clutches of sure death.
It was harrowing, especially for Roary.
Nobody likes to be abduckted.
anthony forrest
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