This weekend some of us took our first excursion as part of the RAS to Galveston, Tx for the annual Dickens on the Strand. The Strand is the historical street running the length of the port district of Galveston, and is lined with buildings over 100 years old. Thanks to Ms. Erika, we planned to take residence in a Victorian mansion less than a mile away. You can imagine our excitement as our carriages meandered the long stretch across east Texas, through Houston, and to our destination! Our arrival was also the point where our “adventure” began as we learned the landlady had not prepared us room and that we were locked out as night set in with a brisk chill. By the time I arrived, Erika had already been in town and dealing with the landlady for over two hours and I dare say she was at the point of losing her feminine composure. Having been witness to such a occurrence I had growing concern for the landlady's physical wellbeing, when suddenly the banknote that had been sent by post over a month prior was found misfiled, and we gained immediate entry.
After a short trip to the market for essentials and spirits, our party of five, being Erika and myself, Victoria, Flavio, and Tammy, settled in to rooms of the fabulous house. Soon delicious smells rose from boiling pots of potatoes and fresh shrimps, cocktails were poured, and our experience had definitely taken a turn for the better. Our dinner was enhanced by our being joined by the sixth member of our party, Scott, and the evening revelry continued into the evening.
Nearing 2am, Tammy and Scott retired and the four of us remaining well into our cups decided to walk the stone's throw to the seawall that held the thrashing sea back from the island. We walked along the sand and stared out into the murky blackness where the cresting waves appeared from nowhere. The strangeness of the sea at night always entrances me, sets me to fear and longing for more all at once. We walked out on an outcropping of cement many meters into the gloom until the night surrounded near completely, the crashing of the waves drowning out all else. It was intoxicating, and difficult to leave. Something about putting my back to the crashing inky darkness was especially unsettling.
The light of morning came too soon through the battenburg lace curtains and I stumbled downstairs to find Scott had already started a pot of dark coffee. The rest of our party came out soon after, and breakfast was drummed up. Bacon was already long gone from the night before but we'd gorged ourselves such that I don't think any had a keen interest in it. The morning had not come easily to our hostess, Erika, who found herself taken with aching behind her right eye, and regular bouts of nausea. As much as we hated to hear it, she was not able to go out and returned to her bed. I'd hoped she might be feeling stronger later in the day, but not if we stayed around to prod at her. We ventured out.
One story does come to mind. The first thing we came across was a falconer displaying his prized birds. As we approached he was showing a screech owl that was beautiful, but seemed confused and would not screech for all the gent's attempts. Then he brought out a black buzzard, an unsavory creature that I didn't care for, and then a sharp eyed hawk which he had swoop across the road and back for a treat. You can only imagine our surprise when the sleek predator took to the air and flew between the buildings and away. The falconer whistled and called, but the raptor was not seen again. As displeased as I'm sure the fellow was, I found it elevated my spirit to watch the bird take back its God given liberty.
By two in the afternoon Victoria, Flavio, and I agreed that our feet were ready to return to the house. As we were leaving, we caught up with Scott and Tammy who had quite the same idea. If that wasn't synchronous enough, as we strolled to the carriages I got a message that Erika had awoke and was feeling improved altogether, and soon we would all be together again! We spent some time in the parlor taking a rest, and then returned to the Strand with Erika to see how far we could get before supper. As the sun set and dusk fell across the street, an added atmosphere of mystery seemed to settle on the revelers. It really is amazing what the coming of night does to us. We enjoyed spending much of that time in the steampunk quarter, which we'd missed earlier. Folk there took full advantage of the dusk with special apparatus that glowed in the failing light, and a woman on stilts dressed as a Christmas tree, lights and all! We learned that there was to be a steampunk performance of Dickens' Christmas Carol, but sadly we would miss it. Dinner of lobsters and filet minion were back at the house and there was blessed little in this world that would keep us from them.
And it proved another culinary masterpiece too. Grilled garlic, broccoli florets, mashed blue potatoes (yes, blue), cheeses and bread kept us at the table until we could barely leave. Just recounting the table makes me hungry all over again. We ate plenty after the long excursion of the day. Then we relaxed in the parlor again recounting the day's events, and playing some cards until our weariness overtook us.
We awoke Sunday to find that rain had blown in overnight and the world was a proper English mess. However we would not be cut short by mere weather, and we ventured out for another day of exploring. In our wanderings the day previous we were passed a calling card from a mysterious little bald gentleman who quickly darted into the crowd without a second glance at us. Examining it, we found an invitation to visit “the Witchery”, and we decided to make it our first stop today.
With the rain few were on the streets and we soon found ourselves before a little occult shop of apparent good reputation. The scent of incense from the far east pulled one inside the door, and our party broke to shop and peruse the displays and sacred tools of the Craft. I don't hold a great interest in the occult myself, but was delighted to run across my friend, Jim Cook, whom I hadn't seen since my days in the war. We made our pleasantries and exchanged calling cards. I hope I'm able to speak with him again soon.
