{Author's warning: This is not a traditional blog posting in that the events in this thread are not occurring, well, currently. Please put on your imagination.}
By the time I got back to my room later that day, after completing my day's exploratory mission, I was drained of energy, and I must say even enthusiasm. My plan to get dressed up and go to dinner at some eclectic, downtown Austin restaurant diminished with every minute I lay in bed recuperating, T.V. remote in hand and laptop within arm's reach, from the heat and the walking. The limbic part of my brain that controls physical activity could not reconcile with the frontal lobe which dictates planning, nor even with the pleasure center which was holding out for more novelty and excitement. Somewhat of an overload was occuring which was keeping me supine and not letting me out of its grip.
The final resolution was dinner close to the hotel, with minimal preparation and travel time. But where?
I ended up at Pappadeaux during main dinner rush, in one of the last seats toward the end of the bar. It was crowded and noisy enough to make it difficult to talk with the waiter, much less order my food and wine, putting a quick end to any easy social outlet. If I can't talk to the waiter, what would I do? I remembered my solo trip to New Orleans when I sat at the oyster bar at my hotel in the same set of circumstances. But then, the din of the crowd around wasn't so loud as to render inaudible any chatting with the guys shucking my oysters, nor the people that sat next to me.
Not this time, apparently.
Luckily, I had come prepared with the day's newspaper. I ordered a dozen oysters on the half shell, a Greek salad (I love P.'s Greek salad), and a glass of the house Syrah. Halfway through my oysters, a man sat next to me. He ordered a glass of wine. I continued to read my paper. At some point, as is customary with me for some reason, I made a comment out loud about something I had just read. Or was it about the World Cup game that was on the T.V.?
It doesn't matter because even over the echo of the crowd and the maitre'd calling names over the intercom, he responded back instead of ignoring me. Before I knew it, maybe even before he knew it, we were chatting about politics, and enjoying it. Toward the end of my Greek salad and well into my 3rd glass of wine (not sure how many glasses of wine he was up to. Not as many as me, I don't think) we moved to sharing ideas about teenagers and driving. By the time our checks came and we had paid our bills, it felt like I had been sitting with a good friend whom I hadn't seen in awhile.
I know what you must be saying: something about not talking to strangers in big cities, particularly when you are a female traveling alone. But, I'm a big girl; I've been around enough to have developed a stranger danger radar. My radar did not go off that night, not to his words, his appearance, or to his approach to life.
We walked out to the parking lot together. He didn't have a business card, so I gave him one of mine. And then we went our separate ways: he was headed to Houston the next day and I would continue my adventure in Austin. I wondered whether he would end up like so many other people I had met in my travels. Would he be a faceless business card stuck in my agenda or a character study for one of my ethereal stories?
Either way, I was glad for the time spent with him. His good company saved me from my solo pursuit at the end of my day.
That night, back at my hotel, I received an email from him. I guess he felt the same way.
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