On our drive to South Padre Island, we were so excited about starting the third edition of my dear wife Karen’s family reunion that we hardly noticed the near side of the big bridge.
After we’d stopped at the supermarket sister-in-law Lynn told all about beforehand and stocked up with bottled water, other beverages and assorted snacks to hold us over for a day or so, that is.
But after our excitement on the island wound down just a tad, the whole gang was searching for a bit of excitement.
A trip to Port Isabel was in order.
That last city before the bridge had some stuff.
We pulled up, a full Tahoe and cab truck, outside of the museum the younger members of our party had found on the Google.
Hover over a gallery photo for a description. Click on an image for an enlarged slide show.
We discovered that the big deal was to buy tickets to three attractions. That gave us a discounted price for the side-by-side Port Isabel museums and the lighthouse across the road.
Sure thing. We were ready to learn about the city and Laguna Madre.
First some of us had to wait in the lobby. The ticket desk gadgetry was down. Cash only, please. In this day and age, some of our traveling party had to find an ATM.
I had some cash, being Old Man Mark, but decided a walk around the block was what I do anyway. I spotted the joint where I thought we should all have lunch.
I also took the chance to use my iPhone 8 to mark the garden between the two museums.
Inside all and ready to ramble, the ticket-taker/host told us “no photography.”
I asked my dear wife Karen to break the law to get an image of me with Chris Columbus and Queen Isabel. The urge was simply too great to ignore.
Anyway, I looked a many photographs and wondered why I had not learned my lesson from The Alamo and again had left my glasses behind as I strained at the smaller descriptions.
Yup. Porky’s Pit it was for lunch.
George and I wondered why the joint featured a huge photo of Yankee Stadium.
The gang liked what we saw, and ordered brisket, pulled pork, sausage …
I truly savored my pulled pork and slaw. So much so that I did not photograph the food.
Owner Porky – no, that’s not really his name! – noticed our enthusiasm (and large number) and came over to chat, asking us where we were from. Alaska. California. Arkansas. Syracuse. Ah, he said. He moved to Texas from Watertown, just a bit north of our home area. That explains the Yankee Stadium photo, George and I said to each other in a glance.
Anyway, Bob asked if he could take a group photo of us outside to put on his joint’s Facebook page. We did. He did.
Friendly lunch, indeed.
Then we crossed the main road to enter the lighthouse. See that tomorrow.