April 2nd is a blur....Austin, Texas to the Bolivar Peninsula. The hills gave way to the sprawl of Houston. Here you see Mt. Rush Hour as we go through Houston on I10. I thought I was seeing things when I spied the presidents outside the car window, but no it is an actual sculpture by David Adickes. Chris did most of Thursday's driving and for that I was grateful. We used the Katy tollway and zipped along compared with the rest of traffic.
A petroleum plant somewhere on the intracoastal waterway.
The land gets flatter and we start seeing rice fields every now and then.
At last we arrive at Crystal Beach at the corner of Holiday and Center and there is Connie, waiting on the deck of her beautiful beach house, the welcome mat out for us. It was an emotionally overwhelming reunion; we had not seen each other in close to 25 years. What joy, big hugs, and endless conversation!
It's a lovely and very restful place she and her husband Sid have built. They call it Constance Haveli. Hurricane Ike in 2008 completely leveled buildings on the Bolivar Peninsula. Connie and Sid have rebuilt their beach house to strict guidelines for wind and flood insurance.
It's an idyllic place, and we are so happy to have been their guests.
The beach house has Connie's design savvy infused in every room. It is gorgeous, comfortable and has every convenience imaginable !
Did you know that Texas has over 600 miles of shoreline and beaches like this?
Chris was like a kid driving the beach in this golf cart!
The moon on the water, a glass or two of wine, and dinner at Stingaree Restaurant (I recommend the Honey Jalapeno Shrimp)
all followed by a restful sleep in the room that Connie named 'The Nantucket'. (and I did not take time to write a post for the first time on our trip)
This morning after coffee on the deck, we strolled the beach, collected shells, had a pancake breakfast prepared by Sid and headed on our way to New Orleans.
The trees are taller, lots of oaks and long needled pines, bridges to cross rivers, lakes and swamps. This is an amazingly different terrain. When I got my gas receipt at a Louisiana station, the young clerk says, "There ya are bebe." and I know I have arrived in the deep south.