Wednesday, May 9th, 1990
After an uneventful overnight bus ride, I arrived in San Antonio, Texas. Apart from waking up for a while as we drove through Houston’s bright city lights, I had entered this famous state rather dazed but was eager to see it first hand. So many TV shows I had grown up with were set here – Remember Dallas anyone? So maybe I would find out, who shot JR
San Antonio’s Charm
This city was beautiful. Even the youth hostel was a charming white building. Despite the hot weather, I spent 2 days walking down the river, around the historic Alamo, the market square stalls, and looking around the La Villita arts village. My journal says,
“The River Walk through the heart of town was so lovely. Part of it meanders around a section of the city. You can walk for miles. There are high-sided buildings with huge trees that make it hard to believe you are downtown San Antonio. Texans are the friendliest folk I ever met, they are so genuine.”
“Everywhere is so fabulously old and eerie. However, one funny thing is the number of these ‘drive-through places’. There is even a drive-through mailbox at the Post Office! Today I bought some amazing apple pastries and walked by the river again. Also, met some great Aussies back at the hostel who advised me about jobs in Sydney. Talked to 2 English guys who were so arrogant!”
May 10th, 1990 . I jumped on the 8:30 pm bus bound for El Paso”.
El Paso and Mexico
May 11th, 1990. Arriving, in El Paso at 5:40 am, I walked the 7 blocks to the hostel. I was not planning on staying the night, but many youth hostels allow you to store your backpacks for the day and freshen up for a small fee. This is a lifesaver after you have spent the night on a Greyhound bus. The youth hostel in El Paso, is part of the historic Gardener Hotel. It became famous by their guest, the notorious gangster, John Dillinger.
“The Mexican border is only 1 mile away, so I took the trolley and spent 3 hours to explore but I was just mostly being stared at by the locals! I was trying to get some candid photos of Mexican life. My blonde hair did not help!”
” They were selling pieces of cactus for sale – wonder what they do with it? The people in town were friendly enough, but the stark contrast of poverty here verses the US is shocking.”
“Back here at the hostel, I am waiting to take the midnight bus to Santa Fe, New Mexico. I hear it is full of Art galleries.”
Meeting the Sheriff
May 11th, 1990. An overnight Greyhound from El Paso, Texas, to Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Catching a bus at midnight from El Paso probably wasn’t my smartest decision. But there I was, rolling through the Texas night when flashing lights brought us to an abrupt stop. A Texas Sheriff and his K9 unit had boarded our bus, searching for drugs. Given how close we were to the border, I figured this might be routine.
Then, things took a turn.
The dog started barking. Two towering sheriffs—both at least six feet tall—stepped onto the bus, scanning the rows of passengers. One of them, with the deepest voice, commanded, “Luggage tickets, everyone, then added, “anyone here called Karen?”
My stomach lurched. My heart pounded. That was my legal name—the name on my luggage tags! I must have looked like a deer in headlights. I felt guilty even though I had no reason to be. My journal says it all:
“I nearly dropped dead when he said my name. He told me to step off the bus. My mind raced—who could have put something in my bag? Which hostel? Was I about to spend the rest of my life in a Texas prison? Total. Freak-out. Mode.”
Outside, under the harsh beam of the sheriff’s headlights, I was ordered to unlock my case and empty it—right there on the pavement. The K9 then sniffed through my belongings while the sheriff asked if I had any narcotics or food. I answered,“Uh… Raisin Bran.”
The dog gave my bag one last sniff. Nothing. Not even a tail wag.
“Alright, ma’am. You can put it all back now,” the sheriff said.
Have you ever tried repacking a suitcase on a long trip? Now imagine doing it on the side of a Texas highway, in the dark, at 1 AM, with an entire busload of people watching you like you’re a wanted criminal. It was impossible—but somehow, I shoved everything back in and climbed aboard.
The bus rumbled back to life, and we traveled once again toward Santa Fe. No more trouble—for now, at least.
