South Padre Island

We finally made a trip to the south end of Padre Island.  We have visited Boca Chica beach, just outside of Brownsville, numerous times.  There are always lots of fishermen and piles of seashells to pick through.  We have also made quite a few trips to the north end of Padre Island.  Again, there are always people out fishing; there is horseback riding; and there are lots of people just out for a drive down the beach.  What the north end does not have are buildings:  No hotels, no businesses, no houses.  It has a very out-of-the-way secluded feeling.

The south end of the island is very commercial.  Seeing the towering hotels and businesses in the distance adds to the charm of the south end of the island.  It is quite beautiful.  In the time it takes to walk from your car in the parking lot out onto the boardwalk bordering the white sand beaches you are transported into the tropics.  Each of the beaches we've visited are very different from the others.  Here's a few pics of the south end of the island for you to enjoy.

Wind surfing

People feeding seagulls despite the signs that say, Don't feed the seagulls!

Nuevo Progreso, Tamaulipas, Mexico

Since being here in Brownsville, we have taken several trips to Nuevo Progreso, a border town in the state of Tamaulipas.  There is usually a group of about a  dozen or so from the 4 Seasons RV park who go together.  We shop and have lunch; some people get massages and manicures.  But the most common reason for crossing the border into Mexico is to purchase medication.  The prices for medicine, the exact same medicines sold in the US, are a fraction of the price they are sold for in the US.  Why is this?  Even the medications I give my dogs are sold at a reduced price.


 We will be leaving Brownsville at the end of this month and decided it was time to stock up on pet meds.  Here in the United States, the meds I needed for the three mangy mongrels would cost around $600, plus the cost of the visit to the vet.  In Mexico, I purchased those very same meds for $200.  I wish our politicians on both sides of the aisle would come up with a solution to our overpriced prescription medications and the widespread lack of insurance prevalent among US citizens.  And that's all I have to say about that.

On a happier note, I love this sign.  It is posted in the duty-free liquor store.

Happy Margarita Day!

Did you know today is National Margarita Day?  Every February 22nd, people all across our great nation come together to pay homage to our favorite cocktail, the margarita.  The margarita -- triple sec, tequila, and lime juice -- was created in 1938 in Mexico and is widely considered the official drink of having fun.  

 For quite a few years, my mother
and D have hosted a margarita party at their home here in Brownsville.  We were lucky enough to be here and experience the party for ourselves this year.  The weather was sunny and warm, perfect for an outside party.  No one did an official head count, but I would estimate there were around 60 people present.  This year D took the party to a whole new level when he hired a band, Two Bad Apples, to entertain us.  All the attendees brought snacks, and Mom and D provided the margaritas.  I believe I speak for everyone when I say we had a tremendously good time.  Consort and I are already making plans to be back for next year's party!

Matamoras, Mexico

Matamoras is the sister city of Brownsville.  It is within walking distance of downtown Brownsville.  In the past, the Winter Texans from here in the Park made weekly trips to Matamoras for lunch and shopping.  In recent years, the drug cartel has taken over the city. 

Consort and I were warned by my mother, and many others, not to go into Matamoras.  It isn't safe.  A group from the RV park toured the Custom and Border Patrol station just outside of Brownsville recently, and the CBP officers confirmed what everyone else said:  Stay away from Matamoras.  

If you know me at all, you'll know that when someone tells me not to do something I am much more likely to go and do just that.  It's a character defect, I know.  So, despite all the warnings, consort and I decided to make the trip across the border into Matamoras.  

The night before our planned trip, I was playing cards with a group of women.  I asked what they thought of walking over to Matamoras.  They generally agreed we would be safe as long as we didn't venture too far into the city.  The main reason I wanted to cross from Brownsville into Matamoras was to see for myself the "tent city," the location the immigrant Latinos are waiting to gain access to the USA.  I won't go into my thoughts or opinions regarding the situation at the border.  I'll just share with you through pictures what I saw.

Consort and I were fine and never felt we were in any danger.  We did not go far into the city.  The tent city is right on the edge of the Rio Grande as you enter Matamoras.  We carried nothing with us but our passports, iPhones, and a small amount of cash. 

Prior to leaving Matamoras, consort suggested we stop at a street vendor for gorditas.  Always up for adventure, I agreed.  It was interesting placing our order.  I speak a little broken Spanish, which has been helpful here in south Texas, and most of the Latinos I've spoken with speak some English.  With my Spanish and their English, and a lot of gesturing with hands, we've been able to communicate.  

Unfortunately, the lady selling gorditas did not speak any English.  Honestly, with the rapidity of her speech and her accent, I'm not entirely sure she was speaking Spanish.  I conveyed to her, in Spanish, what we wanted to order.  She then gave me a list of food options that would fill the gordita.  I couldn't understand anything.  I asked her to please speak more slowly, and she kindly repeated the list of choices.  I still didn't get it.  I asked her if she might repeat the list one more time.  I listened closely as she once again recited the available choices.  When she landed on a word that I recognized, chicharrones, I said, Yes! Chicharrones would be great.  She asked if I was sure, and I nodded enthusiastically.  

Here's a little piece of advice from me to you:  Don't order the chicharrones.  Chicharrones are large chunks of boiled pork fat.  If it hadn't been for the green chili sauce, I don't think I could have gotten it down.

Old City Cemetery

 Cemeteries have always aroused my interest and curiosity.  If you take the time to read epitaphs on monuments, you can learn a lot about the local history.

Consort and I visited Old City Cemetery in downtown Brownsville this week.  The cemetery was established about 1848.  I had no idea Brownsville had been around so long.  I was completely ignorant of its history and the important role this southernmost city played in the development of the USA.

Brownsville started out as Fort Texas on the Rio Grande River.  The settlement around the fort was called Brownsville.  The city incorporated in 1853 and was named the county seat.  I could write pages on its history, but instead will give you a link to the history of Brownsville.  I think you'll be surprised by the important events that occurred here.  I know I was.

Some of the inscriptions
on the tombstones tell how the person died.  Some epitaphs are in English, some are in Spanish, and there are quite a few in both French and German.  I found the headstone for George M. Dennett interesting.  He served in the 9th Regiment of the Union Army during the American Civil War.  Note the abbreviation, "Cld Trps."  The 9th regiment was comprised solely of free Blacks.

We noticed several orange trees as we were driving to the cemetery.  Oranges are in season here and the trees were loaded.  

As we were walking through the cemetery, we found an orange tree growing next to one of the fenced family plots.  I couldn't resist.  I picked up some of the oranges that had fallen to the ground and brought them home.  Does this make me a grave robber?

The day in pictures

The dogs must have had a meeting last night that consort and I were not privy to.  First thing this morning, they let consort and I know they were B.O.R.E.D. walking around the same loop in the RV park and asked if we might go somewhere with new smells, something new to roll in, someplace with no scary views of the dog pound.  Bella was elected to deliver the manifesto, and she dispatched their proclamation with gusto.  She stood on her hind legs and pawed the air, begging; she grinned -- a rarity for Bella -- and wagged her tail.  Who can resist?  We went to downtown Brownsville and walked up one street and down the next covering the entire business section.  The West Highland Terrier in Bella came out and it was nose to the ground throughout the walk.  Her diligent efforts were rewarded when she located, and happily scarfed down, a few tasty treats she found stuck to the sidewalk.  D.O.G. was petted, admired, and fawned over by most of the humans he encountered.  Annie wasn't thrilled with all the exercise, but kept up.  It seems that her contribution to the coup des chiens was simply "more and longer truck rides," which didn't really happen.

Here are a few visuals from our excursion.

The border crossing between USA and Mexico

People washing clothes in the Rio Grande River on the Mexico side

Most of the buildings in downtown Brownsville date back to the late 1800s.

The house, now a museum, belonged to Catherine B. Stillman.  The street scene is Church on the Street on a Sunday afternoon.

And, obviously, this is the store where Cinderella's fairy godmother found her a dress for the ball

Dog Park...

...and what happens when we're not home.

We only have one option for a dog park here in Brownsville.  It is the Catherine B. Stillman Dog Park about ten miles from where we're currently parked.  It is a good-sized park, has an area for both large and small dogs, and it does have some agility equipment.  There are grassy areas in the park, a really nice and clean restroom for humans, and there are no thorns to stick in soft dog paws.  I would give the park a great review if it weren't for the chilling fact it is adjacent to a community dog pound.  An animal control center that sports a sign reading, High Kill Shelter.  It's hard to enjoy yourself when you're looking directly at a rescue facility where dogs are being destroyed. What was the city thinking when they decided to install a park next to a high kill shelter?  It is disturbing.

Moving on to a happier tail...

Consort and I decided when we moved into the fifth wheel that the dogs would not be allowed on the furniture.  We are utterly unyielding in our attitude about this despite the big brown eyes urging us to change our minds.

The other day I was in the shower.  Our shower is residential sized and built in a hallway.  When one uses the shower, the vent above the shower stall must be opened and the doors on either end of the hallway must be closed.  Opening the vent allows the steam to escape; water and moisture in the air are a fifth wheel's worst enemy, according to everything I've read.  Now you know the setting.  Sometime during my steam-filled reverie, the dogs go crazy barking.  I'm guessing someone was knocking at the door.  I decided yelling at the dogs from the shower was futile, so I let them bark to their hearts' content.  When I finally finished up, I opened the hallway door that leads into the kitchen and living room.  Apparently, when I did not bellow for the dogs to stop barking, D.O.G. and Bella assumed I had left the premises and that they were home alone.  This is how I found them.

I saw this sign at Market Days on South Padre Island.  I think I need to purchase one to hang on the front door.