Paris in Texas?
I think my preconceptions about Texas were fueled by childhood Westerns watched on TV. Heading out on the 10 from El Paso did nothing to shatter my illusions. There was lots of empty space and endless horizons. Lots of sand and dry ground, scrubby shrubs, cacti, and hills that promised canyons in shadowed depths. There were even a few cows on a ranch. But El Paso isn't San Antonio, and San Antonio is like a touch of Paris (and London and Blackpool and Italy and Spain), and already I miss it. Friends had mentioned the "River Walk" before we left, and I tried not to look too foolishly surprised that there might be a river there. But their descriptions really couldn't do it justice. (Likewise neither can mine.) The river, sunken down beneath bridges and streets, reminded me of Cambridge and punting on the Cam: or of Paris, strolling by the Seine; or even of pictures of Venice though I've never been there. Shadows dapple the banks, bright colors splash like paint refl...