RV adventure travel

Camping and adventures at Galveston Beach.

After our brief visit to San Antonio Texas for a friends wedding, we buzzed out of there on I-10 making our way to Galveston Beach for our evening stop over.

After about 2 hours out of Houston I-10 came to a crawl. After finding that it was not going to open up anytime soon we got off the expressway into the Texas nowhere lands.

Now I’m an RVer I tend to prefer the non-interstate routes, but then again I’m usually not in a hurry like I was on this trip, and Fred seems to be the Interstate type these days (at least somewhat). But the frustration even got to him and we began navigating through wee state and county roads to get an alternate way to Galveston Beach. My little handheld GPS unit (a Garmin etrex legend) is a cheap one and nothing to write home about when it comes to finding roads and routes, but it does have the basic state roads on it, and tells ya where ya are, and how far to whatever waypoint, and which way (its a very “kiss-rule” kind of unit). This wee gadget was coming in handy and we managed to navigate around the traffic mess, and around Houston to Galveston Beach. The Beatles No Where Man played on the radio for a bit to really set an appropriate mood.

But alas about an hour before Dark (as we were loosing sun this time) we pulled into Galveston Beach State Park and set up our tents.

Now the State Park along with everything else that is Galveston Beach had been torn up with the hurricanes a few years back so it had taken some research to find out that it was even open.

We arrive and find a pay station and campsites with these little concrete bunkers for the picnic tables. The campsites had water and power and there was a dump station for your RV on the way out. But alas, unfortunately I didn’t have my Oyster Can (RV) this trip and it was this night while tent camping at the State Park that I would really miss it.

But heck, we had just rode through lots of nowhere so we go cruising up the beach for food.

We came across Nates Seafood Bar, and order-up beers and seafood. I had this seafood combo thing with Oysters, Shrimp and the like, while Fred had a dish with assorted kinds of shrimp. We both enjoyed the heck out of our meals..

So we stop and get a 12 pack on the way out and enjoy some of the night time beach. We chatted and wandered a bit, messed about on my portable laptop and just relaxed. Ya see there wasn’t much to do that evening at the park or in Galveston Beach. Eventually we zonked out in our tents.

Now being that this campground was on the beach, we had staked everything down well and battened down the hatches. It was a good thing too, as about 3 in the morning I was awaken by the sound of whooosssshhhhh whoossshhhhh whooosssshhhh. It was a storm a blowing in. The wind beat the tar out of the tents, and it rained. My tent held up fine and I just wrapped my head in a sheet to shut out the sounds of sleeping in a wind tunnel. But alas Fred didn’t get any sleep and said that his night was like trying to sleep in a kite (not to mention his air mattresses had died on him). I thought of my Oyster can RV and how nice it would have been to have had it that night, but alas no.

We were up early in the rainy am about sun-up with Freddy grumbling “Galveston owes me a doughnut”. So we got the closest thing to a doughnut we could find and some coffee and headed out to catch the Fiery at the end of the island.We pulled the little Kia rental onto the free fiery and crossed over to the Bolivar Peninsula. A lot of salt spray later we exited the fairy and began our drive down the peninsula.

We found that much of it was just not there anymore. We could see the shells and remains of alot of houses, stores, and more. There were lots of make-shift RV areas/parks that seemed to have just sprung up like rouge weeds taking over a garden. You could tell that there was little attempt to make or re-make these RV areas into decent RV parks.

Along with the RVs you would see brand new, freshly tacky houses being re-built. and we laughed at the sign for Sand castle Construction (we found it a fitting name).

Now there was at one time a road down the entire peninsula apparently, on the Texas State map is has the road in dots, with the words “temporally closed” on it. We had thought, hey , with all the repairs I wonder if its opened up yet? What the map should read is completely gone, and the rough remains of the Peninsula road led to bits of the Peninsula that were once there but now were beach and ocean. That little place really took a beating in the hurricanes and it still shows it. But hey, it has oil, and lots of it. We saw a little oil well and pump on almost every other acre of the place.

We zoomed onward off the Bolivar Penninsualla toward New Orleans (and after a phone call for news to the Guest house, we decided that we would repeat our fun in New Orleans approach with a visit on the way back.

A Galveston Beach Slide Show

There is no main center of magic in Roma, though it is a land of many centers and much magic. Was magic echoed through the cobble-stone streets long trodden by people both great and simple? Yes!
Was it in the people, going out a their way to bridge the communication barriers with a smile, a guess, a friendly look of puzzlement or by taking a good shot at English in response to our really bad Italian.Yes!
Was the magic there with the sight of a beautiful woman at the base of a work of wonderment complimenting the beauty of a great Bernini fountain. Yes! The symbolic songs and soul-spent work of an army of great humans intertwined well with the city’s life and defiantly seemed to out-stand time, patiently waiting to send that un-witting traveling innocent’s soul through metamorphosis.

La Basilica di San Pietro (St Peters Basilica) and Vatican City are another great heart of Roma.

The spiritual winds in these places will knock you down. The images, photographs and books I have seen, being a product of the media age (and a student of the arts), now seem impotent nothings aside the amazing personal experience of these places. I know it will take some time for me to realize how much of an effect they really had on me.

Amid a hundred and one moments of bumbling through Roma’s alleys, gobbling up the grand city like a culture-starved hermit, a few grander discoveries stand-out within the pleasant experience. One miracle was there tucked away near the Piazza del Popolo it was The Church of Santa Maria del Popolo. It did not have the grandest outside facade.
It did not feature the loudest or most imposing imagery, but our bumbling brought us within this beautiful secret. Upon entrance the The Church of Santa Maria del Popolo showed you her unusual beauty, like the grand Vatican, walking within the church was a walk among the history of art. The Caravaggio canvases Conversion of St. Paul and The Crucifixion of St. Peter were prominently displayed, but in this church also was a kinder intimacy, a symbolic and spiritual welcome that I did not find in the even grander Churches of Roma.

Using our guide books as a vaguely considered map, It was really in the free-style bumbling, alley hoping spirit that we discovered the fabolous Fontana di Trevi (Trevi Fountain) . It jumped out at us as we turned that corner leaving us awe struck for a time. The low relief carvings that make up the huge fountain are a story-telling wonderment and the characters are active and powerful. Yes, Even the tourist have a symbolic culture in Roma, among these traditions is the 3 coins in the Trevi fountain tradition. Yes we had heard of this one… 3 coins in the fountain and we are guaranteed to return to Roma right? So we chuck our 3 coins in for the promise of return. Well, Its just like 3 North Georgia mountain guys not to read the directions. No you silly guys! (says our guide books we decided to read later), Its 1 coin in the fountain to return to Roma, 2 coins to return and fall in love and 3 coins to return, fall in love and GET MARRIED eeek!. Oh well we’ve done it now. The Trevi Fountain became a hang-out for us on several occasions. See it at night, with shared bottles of Tuscanwine, beautiful companions (or hostel hotties), and fine gelato or chocolates. WOW!

Many a poet have walked and loved in Roma, and our great place to stay , The Pensione Ottaviano seems to lend itself greatly to meeting beautiful and amazing people. The tales of romance manifest themselves along with the symbols of spirituality, love , passion and power (Ahhhh).

A whole lot of walking at some ghastly hour of the morning brought us to one of those famous hills of Roma rumored to have the grandest view over- St Peters and Roma.

A nice wooded area and trail below the main road on the hill-side lends itself to that beautiful privacy hand and hand roaming lovers adore. So let’s just say that “a loving touch” as the sun rises over Roma and St Peters Basilica is just the right thing to get a day going well. It is said that Nero’s Violin rang from one of these hills as Rome burned many a century ago and ya know it must have been the spot for the burning passion of many lovers dwelling in the great city.

Travel companions or the 3 idiots.

Paths to wisdom often begin with the “fools journey”. Well that was it, as we 3 bounding back-packers made our way through the alleys and streets of Roma. A few nights of sharing a fine glass of wine with international friends in places that have been bars longer than our home country has been a nation, seeing the symbolic product of imposing religions, beautiful inspirations, grand battles with history, technique and ideology, seeing the dead people of the past not set apart in some lost grave yard but instead being folks who remain a very real companion in daily life either symbolically or physically. The Vatican Grottos house the papal tombs, and bodies of the dead. The Capuchin friars have collected the bones of their monks to make an enlightening display that joins art and death. A sight to concretely verify that (YEE HAA!) we fools are a long way from home.

The “3 idiots marching song” is furnished as we arrive.

Yes, 2 musicians are playing a catchy little diddy on the train that we idiots quickly distort into the song “One Ton Tomato”. A great marching song to go along with heavy back-packs.

One Ton Tomato The Wanderlusters Back-Packer’s Marching Song)

• One Ton Tomato
• We gotta a one ton tomato
• One ton Tomato
• a One Ton Tomato.
• Ya can make lots of ketchup
• With a One ton Tomato
• and lots of good pasta
• with a one ton tomato.

(to get the full effect just add Italy, lots of Tuscan wine, a few blistered feet, and an over-loaded back-pack and of course make up more words as you go.)

Well what did the fools learn from the “fools journey”? This fool has discovered that he does not belong in America. So I have to work on becoming a good expatriated slacker and a member in good standing of The Expatriated Slackers Guild. I’ll just need to get the funds to hang out a while to find bits of work etc.
The Night Life
After arriving in Roma The night owls in us wanderlusters merged with the temporaly screwed-up biological clock of the three Georgia boys off the plane. So the first few nights were filled with all night partying, flirting, the cave wine barwalking, and wandering. We had met a friendly expatriated fellow named Derrick at the Pensione. Now Derrick was a fellow who had familiarized himself with the local flavors of night life; So, we 3 idiots found ourselves following Derrick’s directions and more so “mis-directions” to various night spots de geur. English Pubs? Yep! that was much of what we discovered with the drinkers world in Roma. Unlike the pubs in the States, the international flavors and the company of all of the traveling/expatriated slackers we had discovered made the evenings exciting and fun. We also found ourselves getting our peroni or vino and then partying in various piazzas. The Cave was a wine bar. Every night we seem to hear a different story about the spot. Yeah, Nero, Caesar and the lot supposedly all had some kind of connection to the place. Sort of like the 6 degrees of Roman wine bars (all bs of course, just added to the flavor of the spot). The vino was cheap and fine. Ahhh and like true night creatures we sipped this “blood of the city” with all of its fine Tuscan flavors. It was there we met Robi (the waiter at the cave), one of the finest examples of friendly Italian folk. I’m afraid Robi found us and “the expatriated slackers guild” (all of our friends) frequenting the joint for several nights.

Now how does one become a member of “ The Expatriated Slackers Guild “? We 3 idiots put our minds together and figured out the formula.

Steps to becoming a Expatriated Slacker Guild member:

1. QUIT! (yes complete with all the emotional flavor and finality of true bridge burning)
2. Burn bridges and ignore emotional connections
3. Get the hell out (get on the plane)

Yes, you could just go around the table interviewing the friends we had met at the Pensione.

1. I quit and came to Italy
2. I’m ‘between jobs.
3. I don’t have a job.
4. I quit my job, Dumped my boy-friend, and got on the plane“… etc.

Now being that the slacker culture is so alive in Roma (a major center of world-wide culture), that of course puts legitimacy into “slackerdom” and places us slackers among the cultural elite.

By Dale Norris

Article source: travelfables.com (all rights reserved)