San Antonio, TX
A good seven hour sleep means Sunday starts with a clear head and smile. I text Dom to suggest breakfast but there's no response. Presuming he must have stayed out later than me I head down to Las Canerias alone. Turns out the hotel only serves Sunday brunch today at $40 a head, which seems remarkably excessive. However they suggest their sister restaurant across the little bridge on the river called La Pesca which does a regular breakfast menu.
Without Dom to lead me astray I manage to avoid some of the more evil temptations and head for the fruits and cereals, feeling virtuous in my abstemiousness.
A few hours working away sees me clear that ever-growing inbox and a quick visit from the tour manager confirms we finally have the schedule of interviews sorted for tomorrow in Denver before the show. They were all due to happen here in San Antonio today but as ever, the plans have changed. To make up for lack of band action today, and because it's always fun, I've arranged to take most of them out to dinner tonight along with a few others so get the concierge to make a booking at a nearby restaurant - Palms.
Dom finally surfaces around 1pm, having crashed not long after me but slept the sleep of the dead. It's his first time away from his kids in forever, and without them as a natural alarm clock he caught up on hours of missing sleep. Envious that I hadn't been able to do the same but feeling good that I've accomplished quite a bit, I suggest a bit of lunch to Dom and we head off down the riverwalk venturing further than before.
It's a gorgeous walk full of pretty restaurants, bars and cafes in amongst the trees and flowers and bridges. Pleasure boats trundle along, jazz and mariachi bands play and it's idyllic, except for the heat. It's like a furnace out here.
We grab a spot of shade in a restaurant called Zuni Grill. A light crab and avocado salad for me, a hefty turkey club sandwich for Dom, and after a very chilled hour of pure relaxation we continue meandering around the waterway, which is far more a canal than river.
We detour into La Villeta, which our Mexican friends had last night told us was the historic old quarter. What they meant was obviously that it was a reconstructed tourist attraction masquerading as history, comprising about five shops and a couple of monuments. We walk down its deserted street back to the river in time to hear one of the boat guides point out to his passengers the five bells in a little white-washed wall. He says that they're there to commemorate the first five Taco Bells that were all based in San Antonio. So a monument to the birth of an American fast food chain. I suppose in the US, a nation still less than 300 years old, that counts as authentic history...
We sluggishly beat our way back through the thick, moist, super-heated air to the hotel. Rod has arranged for a visit to an airfield this afternoon to check out fighter planes, but seeing as Bruce is off doing his own thing and none of the rest of the band are interested in going, we opt out too, and I seize the chance to grab a book, my iPod, some suntan lotion and a pair of shorts and head to the pool to spend a few hours lounging out and having some 'me' time. It's bliss! A dip in the water, a cold beer, and a couple of hours of peace and quiet. Cor, it's almost like being on holiday!!
Except that within 90 minutes the heat has become so unbearable and I'm so slippery with re-applications of Factor 30 that I call it quits, have a quick shower and decide to have a siesta.
A couple of hours later, and suitably dressed for dinner, we all meet in the hotel bar. With the various band members, management, myself and Dom we comprise twelve people, and strangely seem to be the only customers in the entire restaurant. Palms is a seafood and steak house and the food is very good indeed, complemented by fine wines which keep flowing. Talk starts with football and music but meanders through a myriad of topics including the state of the music industry, the benefits of organic food, cookery, wine, theatre, and even west end musicals. It's an entertaining evening – well, until the bill comes and it’s eye-poppingly huge!! I gulp and sign the check.
Back at the hotel a few people head for the bar but John, the photographer, and I decide to wander across the river and sit outside in the balmy night air and chat. Janick wanders past a short while later and joins us, and we put the world to rights. A young fan who works at the bar, but seems to have consumed most of the stock, slurs his way over and insists on providing drinks for the three of us, on the house. It’s very nice of him but he keeps bringing more and more booze and soon our table is completely laden with over-full glasses of wine and bottles of beer that none of us want. God knows what his bosses will think in the morning.
The only thing to do is make a discreet departure before he bankrupts the place, so I hand my glasses of shiraz to a couple of very appreciative girls who’ve just sat down. Our drunk young bar-tender is by now nowhere to be seen, probably slumped under a table, so I disappear into the night, over the bridge and to my bed just as midnight strikes.
