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I just got back from a much needed vacation to South Padre Island, Texas. I had made these plans back in March and had thought that one week wouldn't be enough so I booked a condo for two weeks. It's a nice condo (now pretty dated which is right up my alley) that me and my folks used to stay at in the late 70's / early 80's. I haven't had a vacation in years so I had saved up and I blew a significant sum just to be able to stay at this condo. Thing is, even as I was making these plans and writing the check I knew I was deluding myself into thinking that it would be a fine time at the beach, but back in March when my job and my personal life were about to do me in I was willing to ignore this.
Before I get into this last trip let's go back to the late 60's / early 70's when each summer mom and dad and me and my two older brothers would load up the '65 Caprice and drive the 8 hours it took us to get to S.P.I. Back then the island had a gas station, a tiny grocery, a small store that sold shells, and about 30 weathered beach houses which actually looked past these great, wild sand dunes onto a pristine beach. We'd stay a week, usually with another family we were great friends with and I remember it being really magical. We'd go down to the beach and have it basically all to ourselves. There was not one bit of garbage on the beach, and back then it was littered with a beautiful assortment of sea shells, sand dollars, big pieces of coral, even a few shark egg cases, many jelly fish and Portuguese man-of-wars which were gorgeous to look at on the beach though they would sting the shit out of you in the water so you had to be on the look-out each time you swam. There were thousands of sand crabs scuttling about all day and it was great fun to run after them at age 6 and try to catch them before they made it down the hole- Hard to catch! At least once during the trip dad would go down to the gas station and rent the same red Toyota Land Cruiser each year and we'd drive Highway 100 north on the island until after 20 miles it dead ended, then we'd drive it on the beach another 20 miles or so north and we'd take in the island as it had looked since it's formation.
Fast-forward to 1979, mom has been dead for 5 years and dad is remarried to a woman I had a very difficult time with (and she with me) though that's beside the point. We went to S.P.I. and stayed at the condo I mentioned earlier. Most of the old beach houses were still there, though some had been scraped and replaced by condos, newer homes, and at least one high-rise. There were several large gas stations, maybe 3 restaurants, a larger shell outfit / tacky gift shop. The beach hadn't changed too much. There were more people but not enough to feel crowded, the beach combing was still good, still plenty of crabs, jelly fish and sand dollars. I don't remember seeing litter on the beach, nor any motorized activity. We went back again in '81 and then in '82 we went at spring break and it was pretty crowded, Hilton had moved in down the beach a ways, along with a couple of other larger hotels, some pot smoke on the beach (bought some really great stuff from a couple of hippy dudes on the beach) and there were lots of college babes running around so at 17 me and my buddy Kurt enjoyed the good, mellow vibe of that time, plus a free Fabulous Thunderbirds concert down by the jetty one day that was a smashing great time. The vibe was good, and even though the beach was changing there was still that element of everyone treating S.P.I. as the special place it was. Well, I almost died on that trip in '82 after taking a Quaalude and swimming in pretty cold water. I started getting very heavy-limbed, perhaps a bit hypothermic and was beginning to lose consciousness but Kurt dragged me onto the sand and helped me back to the condo where the explanation to the folks was I had hypothermia. If Kurt hadn't been invited along on that trip I'm sure I would've drowned. I digress.
The circus atmosphere of this 2008 trip actually began when I encountered a big box shell store 10 miles before I even got to the causeway to get over to the island. The entrance to the store was a tacky looking giant shark mouth, and the huge sign by the road had a bible verse on it. I would encounter 2 more of these big box shell outfits on the island proper, each with a shark mouth entrance and a huge sign with a bible verse on it. I followed a line of traffic to the top-most part of the cause-way where you can see the island and it looked like Miami Beach, with sky-scrapers all up and down. I managed to find the old condo which is now sandwiched between two huge hotels, one of which looked like a very expensive pink cake. I unpacked my things at the condo and went down to the beach. Trash was everywhere: cigarette butts, plastic shit, a hypodermic needle. There was nothing interesting for a beach comber- nondescript shells and very few of them, no jelly fish, way fewer crabs that didn't come out during the day any more it seemed. There were thousands of people as far as the eye could see. Two guys on jet skis were bombing through the waves. Babies in diapers were sitting in these pools of water the parents had carved into the beach. During the 10 days I stayed there the only peaceful time was on the deck in the morning, but by 11:00 the banana boat guys would start up their business right in front of the condo: They had jet skis that were hooked up to large banana shaped rafts that about 6 people sat on and had their asses hauled up and down the shore which really fouled the air with that gross jet-ski engine noise and with exhaust. I really started to dislike those guys, and the people they pulled around reminded me of those stupid nondescript sardine characters on Sponge Bob. Then there were the ultra-lights taking off and buzzing down the coast, and the para-gliders (which actually looked like fun but, come on, this is supposed to be a serene place, not Disney Land). Police in SUVs were driving up and down the beach, and sirens were a daily occurrence. Crime, especially during spring break, I understand is now a problem. I managed to find our old beach house, though it now has a several million dollar mansion parked in front of it blocking any view of the beach. The beach houses that used to be around it had all been scraped and replaced by very expensive homes. I finally abandoned the beach in front of the condo where I was staying and instead took to driving down to the end of Highway 100 and hiking out to that beach. It still had a fair amount of garbage on it, but the beach combing was better, though very marginal. Nothing really of interest, no shark egg cases, no sand dollars, no jelly fish or man-of-war. I found a couple of tiny nibs of coral. Mom would have liked that, coral being one of her favorite beach treasures I remember.
Even though my vacation had a few high points, it was pretty much a wash. I ended up leaving three days early. What a waste. I felt a little guilty knowing some would give their left nut to have been able to stay those three nights on S.P.I. I was very glad to be back home, though it has been a few days now and I can't shake the sadness of S.P.I. getting trashed like that. I called my dad and related the trip to him and he was saddened as well. I guess, in a way, we were the pioneers 40 years ago that eventually helped, unwittingly, bring about the island's demise. Why is it, though, that humans can't seem to maintain many of the jewels that we used to have available to us?
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