The morning after I realise the night before had been bigger than it felt at the time; and I wake up for my first trans atlantic hangover. Up late and not totally alert its nearer lunch time than breakfast when we eventually head downtown. An early lunch gives as good a reason as any to try the comfort calories of an authentic american McDonalds complete with its near bucket sized soft drinks. Another wander round the mall, and a futile search for an internet cafe later (the seventh day straight I've tried and failed to locate one) and we are back out in the heat, in front of the Alamo attacking snow cones.
All too soon it is time for Maria and Chris to head to their Cheer Camp leaving me on my own again. As their taxi pulls away from the hotel I am left alone to write postcards home, take in the World Cup final in Spanish (Gol Gol Gol Gol Gol Gol Gol Gol Gol Gol Gol Gol Goooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllll!!!) and brace myself for a worryingly early flight to Seattle the next day. Within hours I'm missing the company of the last couple of days; I'm warming to the US as I go, but I doubt its going to get any better than it has been experiencing it with someone else.
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