Tonight is our last night in Galveston for a while. We went to Pho 20 (ha, ha) for dinner and we saw Margaret and Travis there. And so we ate first dinner with them. And then Lindsey and Sandra walked in, but we were about to leave, so we didn't have dinner with them. Ben and I know maybe fifteen people on this island. And four of them walked into the same restaurant tonight.
Then went to the Panaderia on Broadway across from the Vietnamese restaurant and got some really delicious pastries. The best part was that the lady running the cash register didn't speak English and for like the first time EVER (except with maybe Mama Anaya, my childhood friend Liz's Ecuadorian mother) Ben and I got to speak in Spanish with someone who actually wanted to talk to us in Spanish! This may sound like I am being a ridiculous gringa, because, well, I am. But to be able to have someone listen to you and be nice to you and speak slowly for your benefit is just SO GOOD. Like warm fuzzies. Because she was thrilled that we spoke Spanish (however badly) and pleased that we took the effort to talk to her even though someone was willing to translate for both sides. We were thrilled that she would take the time to listen to us and was so nice and understood that our toddler Spanish required us to speak stiltedly. Or maybe it was just because she was such a sweet lady and she smiled at us and you don't get people this nice on an everyday basis selling you these huge delicious pastries called "besos" (kisses), "concha blancas" (white shells), and "tortugas" (turtles). Then we went back to see Katie and have second dinner/dessert which was vegetable soup (oh so good on a cold night!) and delicious pumpkin bread with a million mini chocolate chips. I am still ill from over-eating two hours later.
We are going to be coming back here soon though, for the Galveston Song Off! on a Wednesday after the New Year. It is tentatively looking like it is going to be held at the Old Quarter Acoustic Club down by The Grand Opera House during Open Mic Night. In case you or someone you know would like to participate: you have to write a song about Galveston. I, being totally inept at "real" music, am making a song for tape. Similar to how some songs are made for a string quartet, this is a song that I am making on Audacity and that I am going to burn onto CD so that I can hit play and stand there awkwardly as everyone stares at me.
IT IS GOING TO BE THE BEST!!! I WILL POST IT HERE AFTER IT DEBUTS.
Anyways. We're off tomorrow for Conroe, Texas to spend the night at Katie's house (Katie is a Couchsurfer and our current "neighbor." John is her boyfriend and the Couchsurfer we're staying with who lives next door.) I heard there is going to be a bonfire and it is going to be cute and I imagine because everyone is musical (except me; except when I get to sing "The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow" while inebriated) there will be music, too.
More on that when it happens. In the meanwhile, I am skirting cleaning work while Ben cleans to "Hey Jude." I imagine his little black turtleneck sleeves are rolled up and his handsome, muscular arms are in soapy water. Ahem. :D
Also! A photograph of home from Jared, who I guess is in New Orleans right now?:
If you can't figure it out, it is the streetcar (I presume the St. Charles line) decked out for Christmas. It always has little garlands tacked to the forest green exterior, too and it rattles up and down the track. It is just adorable and makes me miss New Orleans and everyone I love in it.
One of my least favorite things about travel is missing the people and places you've visited, even if it was just for a short period of time, sometimes just a layover. Facebook photographs are even worse--all of your damned friends having fun without you; the photographs are almost taken close together enough that you can see the jerks dancing in their kimonos if you flash through the images quickly enough. On certain days when the wind hits you with just the right amount of chill and humidity I can be brought back to a midnight stop at a railroad station on the border of France and Spain or a particular day in Connecticut where I was working on the high school newspaper or a cold winter bike ride in New Orleans in glitter eye makeup and a ridiculous outfit (not necessarily Mardi Gras, probably just any old Friday night). And sometimes I am even transported to the lousy days that I'd rather not remember. Whatever and whenever they were, I am a sucker for nostalgia and I leave a little piece of myself everywhere I go and I just can't seem to collect them back up. I think Galveston is growing on me like that.