September 16, 2017 – San Antonio, Texas, USA
“No, not the boat ride again. I’ve already been on the boat five times,” Sergio Lamas said to his wife, Vickie.
“So what’s wrong with the boat ride?” asked Vickie.
“Nothing’s wrong with it, but after five times I know exactly what the guy’s gonna say about every building on the river. I’m not gonna pay to hear it again.”
“It’s nice and relaxing,” said Vickie.
“I’d feel more relaxed at home. I don’t even know why I had to come,” replied Sergio.
“It’s nice to be around family. I mean, we haven’t seen Jan since we moved here.” Vickie gestured toward her sister, Jan, who looked like a wider, older version of herself.
“I’m here, aren’t I? I just don’t want to go on the boat again. You and Jan can do it without me if you really want.” Sergio sneered at the line of colorful, flat-bottom boats used for slow-moving, navigated tours.
Sergio and Vickie had several similar conversations before they had ever driven out to San Antonio’s Riverwalk district. Ever since they had moved to the city, whenever a friend or family member came to visit, Sergio was obligated to another trip to the Alamo and the adjacent Riverwalk. He did not mind so much when he was first showing his adult children around, but now that the guest list had reached down to the level of sister-in-laws, he had lost interest.
The Riverwalk on a September weekend was hot, crowded and overrun by obnoxious tourists. Sergio had told his wife there was absolutely no reason she could not have taken her sister down there earlier in the week while he was at work.
“You’re no fun,” Vickie said to Sergio. “Maybe we’ll take the boat without you.”
“Fine by me,” said Sergio. “I’ll find a spot in the shade. Or maybe I’ll drive home and come get you when you’re done.”
Vickie smiled at her sister as if Sergio was kidding, but he clearly was not. The three of them walked past the boats and reached an arched bridge that crossed from one side of the waterway to the other. The bridge appeared to be made from brick and plaster and was only wide enough to walk across. The water underneath was practically still and not very deep. Calling it a river was a Texas-sized exaggeration. It was more like a canal and both sides of the bank were surrounded by shops, hotels, and restaurants. Brick and cement walkways ran parallel to the water and were covered by thick shade trees.
Beyond the footbridge, an outdoor concert was taking place. On one side of the river, sat a small performance stage and on the other, a stone amphitheater. Sergio stood in the hot sun on the edge of the amphitheater, watching a mariachi band and trying to decide if it would be rude to cross in front of the audience. When the bright sunlight finally grew too much for him, he hurried across with his head down. His wife and sister-in-law followed. When his wife tried to argue that they should have waited until the musicians were done with their song, Sergio ignored her.
The trio kept walking around a large bend in the river, where more tour boats were parked. Some of them were decorated with lights and Sergio’s wife thought the lights might make the ride more fun.
“The lights don’t matter,” replied Sergio. “It’s the same old tour with or without the lights.”
Vickie realized it was time to drop the subject of the boat tour. Instead, she mentioned how hungry she was and how they needed to pick a restaurant for lunch.
“All the places around here are good,” she assured her sister.
“Then we should pick a spot with the best view,” replied Jan.
Sergio mostly ignored them as they chatted about the many restaurants and whether it was better to get a table inside or outside. As they continued to walk, they came to the busiest section of the Riverwalk, which was close to the Alamo.
Jan pointed excitedly to a collection of multi-colored umbrellas covering dining tables set close to the water. “How about that place?” she asked. “We’ll be able to see everything while we eat.”
Getting to the umbrella restaurant required crossing over a bridge and Sergio grumbled the whole way. Tables were already filling up for lunch and there was a long line of people waiting to be seated. Giddy tourists were taking selfies and group photos that included the picturesque umbrellas.
“This place is going to be a zoo,” complained Sergio. “And look at all the people taking pictures. You know how much I hate being in other people’s pictures.”
“You’ll never even see their pictures,” replied Vickie.
“They’ll put them up on Facebook and Instagram and the whole world will see. They’ll think I’m a tourist too. It’s an invasion of privacy!”
“So you don’t want to be here and you don’t want to be on the boats. Why don’t you find somewhere without any cameras and Jan and I will stay right here?”
“Fine by me. I’ve been saying the same thing since we got here.”
Sergio walked off in a huff before Vickie shouted, “I’ll call you after our lunch and boat ride.”
Sergio did not answer as he quickly crossed over to what looked like the quieter side of the waterway. He put his hands in his pockets and moved slowly under the shade trees. He was in the mood for a cool drink that would help him forget he was trapped on a sightseeing visit. He walked past two noisy bars crammed with laughing customers. He was definitely not in the mood for that kind of stimulation.
Up ahead, Sergio spotted a low balcony overhanging what looked like the entrance to a house. The balcony sat in plenty of leafy shade. Sergio was drawn toward the building’s open door for further investigation. When he walked inside, he found small tables crammed against three of the walls. Each table held a lamp with a green shade. A bar ran the length of the fourth wall, and behind it, stood a friendly looking bartender with sideburns.
Sergio shuffled toward the bartender and then gestured to the staircase which sat in the middle of the room. “Does that lead to your balcony?”
“Sure does. Are ya interested in taking a look?” asked the bartender with some kind of Irish-sounding accent.
“Can I take a drink up there?” asked Sergio.
“Most definitely. What’ll ya have?”
“I’m not particular, as long as it’s cold,” replied Sergio.
“Then let me surprise ya,” said the bartender. He grabbed a large glass and began pouring in liquid from one of the taps mounted to the bar. Sergio’s eyes wandered from the bartender to the huge collection of black and white photos on the wall behind him.
“Here ya go,” said the bartender, handing Sergio the glass filled with amber liquid. “See what ya think.”
Sergio took the cold glass and sipped. He was not an avid beer drinker, but he liked whatever it was he was tasting. The bartender studied his every move, waiting for a reaction.
“Very good,” said Sergio. “I think I’ll drink the rest upstairs. What do I owe you?”
“Oh, we can settle up when you’re done and come back down,” replied the bartender.
Sergio liked the easygoing sound of the bartender’s voice. He also liked being trusted. He nodded and headed up the creaking stairs to the balcony. When he got outside, he found another person sitting in a wrought-iron chair in one corner. Sergio sat in a similar chair in the other corner. He had a good view of the water and walkway below. The temperature felt at least ten degrees cooler than when he was squeezing through the busy crowds. Sitting brought instant relief to his feet. He took another sip from his drink. It tasted even better than it had downstairs.
Sergio continued to sip and he grew even more relaxed. He felt a breeze rustle the leaves over his head. He looked down at the people walking below him and felt like he had discovered a secret he did not want them to know.
Sergio reached the end of his drink but he did not want to move. He did not care how long his wife and sister-in-law took. Then he realized someone was moving behind him. It was the bartender carrying another one of the same drinks he had previously offered Sergio.
“I thought ya might like another one,” the bartender said graciously to Sergio.
“You read my mind,” replied Sergio, accepting the glass handed to him. He took a long sip of the liquid.
The bartender stared at Sergio with satisfaction. “Has anyone ever told ya that you’ve got an interesting face? It’s very expressive. It tells me all about all the years you’ve lived.”
At first, Sergio felt uncomfortable with the way the bartender was studying him like he was a painting. Then he heard the bartender mention his well-lived life and Sergio took it as a compliment. “I have been through a lot,” said Sergio. “All of the ups and downs.”
“This might sound strange to ya, but would ya mind if I took your picture?” asked the bartender. “I like to hang up pictures of all the interesting people who come through here.”
“I don’t know. I hate being in pictures,” said Sergio.
“If I can take your picture, your drinks will be on the house,” said the bartender.
Sergio chuckled to himself and gestured toward the colorful umbrella restaurant in the distance. “Down there are a hundred people taking my picture without asking and they aren’t giving me anything. At least you’re offering me some drinks. If you really want to, I guess you can go ahead.”
From beneath his apron, the bartender pulled out a thin, silver camera. “Here’s what I use for my photos,” he said to Sergio. “It’s just a little thing. I like to shoot in black and white.”
Sergio grinned like he was posing for a birthday photo and asked, “Are you going to say cheese or something?”
“Oh no, I don’t want some smiley pose. I want ya looking natural. Thoughtful and intelligent. How about looking out toward the river?”
Sergio turned around and faced the railing of the balcony. “Thoughtful, huh?” He put on a serious face. “Like this?”
“Yes, that’s very good. Now hold up your glass a little. Like you’re enjoying yourself. Like you’re thinking about the best things in life.”
Sergio lifted his glass as if he were about to offer a toast. He looked out toward the city beyond the Riverwalk. The bartender snapped one picture from behind him and one from the side.
“Oh, those are going to be excellent. I could tell the moment ya walked in that you were photogenic,” said the bartender.
Sergio chuckled to himself again.
“Now I’m hoping ya won’t mind signing something saying I have permission to hang up your picture,” said the bartender. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his apron. “I want to be on the up and up with ya.”
“It’s not a big deal,” said Sergio. “You’re just hanging my picture up.”
“Exactly,” said the bartender. He smoothed out the piece of paper in front of Sergio and held out a pen. “If you could just print your name here and sign below it. And please write down your address.”
Sergio was still feeling mellow and complimented. Signing the paper did not seem very important but he did it anyway.
“Ah, thank ya kindly sir. I hope you enjoy your drink and relaxation,” said the bartender before disappearing with his camera and signed paper.
Sergio did enjoy his drink. By the time he was finished, he had forgotten about the boat ride and his sister-in-law. He fell into a kind of happy trance as he admired the rest of the world crawling around beneath him. He was finally awakened by his wife’s telephone call.
“Where were you?” she asked when they met up.
“Someplace quiet and peaceful,” said Sergio. “I hope I can find it again the next time you drag me down here.”
In that moment, Sergio imagined seeing his black and white picture on the wall behind the friendly bartender. After a few days, the image faded away and it did not return because the Riverwalk did not cross his mind. He and his wife had no out-of-town visitors and no reason to return to the tourist magnet. But his memory of the Riverwalk came rushing back on the day that Vickie brought home a local magazine she read during a hair coloring appointment.
“You have to see this picture!” she cried out to Sergio. “I swear it’s you!”
Sergio picked up the open magazine and instantly recognized the balcony. It was definitely him in the picture, lifting his glass and peering out over the Riverwalk. The image was the centerpiece of an advertising campaign for the city of San Antonio. The text next to Sergio’s picture read, “Life’s Bigger in San Antonio.”
“That is me!” Sergio said in angry amazement. “I was just sitting there and the bartender wanted to take my picture. He said he liked the way my face looked. I was very expressive.” Sergio’s words were fast, like he was reciting an alibi.
“You said he could put you in a magazine?” asked Vickie.
“No, only on his wall. I signed this piece of paper, but it wasn’t for a magazine.” Sergio groaned as he looked at the picture. “I look like a stupid tourist posing.”
“I think you look very distinguished,” replied Vickie. “And now you’re famous.”
“I don’t want to be famous. I hope no one reads that magazine,” said Sergio. “I’m calling them up to find out how they got my picture.”
When Sergio finally reached someone who could tell him about the ad, he learned that the bartender he had met was a semi-professional photographer. And the permission sheet Sergio had signed was a general photo release allowing the bartender-photographer to sell the picture however he liked.
To Sergio’s great irritation, the ad he saw was not confined to the local area. It was part of a national campaign to attract tourists to the city. For the next year, whenever he was away on business, Sergio found his face in travel magazines. He had become the personification of a San Antonio tourist. All for two relaxing drinks.
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