Ghost Town
South Padre Island has changed since part of the Queen Isabella Causeway collapsed. The beach is deserted, hotels have shut down, and commuting is a pain.
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It's Friday at last! I am excited about not having to ride the ferry for two days. My big plan for Sunday is to go to church and then sleep the rest of the day. A client who is going on a two-week vacation is going to loan me her car. This means I will have wheels of my own once I get to Port Isabel. Los Fresnos CISD is still providing bus service for us but will discontinue it sometime next week. The car ferry is now in operation for vehicles to move off the island, but I do not plan to move my car over to Port Isabel unless necessary.
This afternoon I park my borrowed car among the hundreds parked in Port Isabel. I meet my afternoon nail client Carolyn, who lives in Port Isabel and is taking the ferry trip for the first time. I have had quite a few cancellations from clients who don't live on the island. We hurry to the shuttle bus for the one-mile ride to Southpoint Marina, where we catch the ferry. On the trip I sit up close to the bow of the ship, put on my sun visor to protect my face and hair, and advise Carolyn to do the same. As we pass another ferryboat going in the opposite direction, Steven Murphy, our captain, whistles a greeting to them and we all wave.
There is a huge crowd waiting to board the ferry back to Port Isabel as we approach the dock at Sea Ranch. They all are huddled under a big tent for shade. I think that it is probably hotter being crammed next to one another under the tent than it would be to stand out in the sun. The folks under the tent all have numbers written on their hands. Someone says that the crowds returning to Port Isabel are now so large in the late afternoons that folks have to write numbers on their hands to prevent people from rushing the boat when it docks. The ferry boats can hold only a certain number of passengers depending on the size of the boat. I silently thank God that I am returning home and don't have to be a part of the huge crowd I see in front of me.
September 25, 2001
I take a water taxi home from school this afternoon. Yesterday, I was venting my frustration to Jane, a client and friend, because I never know when to tell my afternoon nail clients to arrive at my salon. I get home from the ferry at different times each day. One day I arrive at six, the next at five-thirty, and so on because the parking shuttles are different each day and the ferry boats leave at slightly different times each day. It all seems to depend upon how many people are getting on the boats. My whole schedule is confused, as well as theirs. Jane suggested that I hire a private boat to bring me back and forth some days. Her husband does this. The downside is that it is not free and the ride is a bit rougher than the big boats. I zip across the bay with George, the captain, and find myself at Jim's Pier ten minutes after our departure from Port Isabel.
September 28, 2001
I must be crazy! After my normal morning and evening commute, Alex and I accompany my client on the ferry back to Port Isabel after her late appointment. She wanted company, and we thought it would be fun to go to the mainland for an evening out although I was already tired. I use that word, "mainland," so automatically now. It was never part of my vocabulary, but now, as if by magic, I use the word when referring to any place other than South Padre Island.
We leave on the ferry at 7:40 p.m. and arrive at Alma's car, which was parked at Wal-Mart, at 8:18 p.m.—a distance of not more than five miles. She takes us to our borrowed car and we're off to dinner. We go to Pirate's Landing, located at the base of the causeway in Port Isabel. From our table, I peer out the window at what used to be our busy connection to the rest of the world. Now, the causeway is dark, gray, and deserted. A trailer and two port-a-cans are situated at the base of the bridge, where cars and trucks used to speed by on their way to and from the island.
The ride back to the island is beautiful. The moon is out and wisps of clouds float across the bay as we cross.
September 30, 2001
I didn't have to cross today but spoke to a friend who said that she and a companion were number 125 in line to get on the ferry to return to the island. They had to wait about an hour to get on a boat. She said that she is going to avoid crossing on Saturdays from now on.
October 2, 2001
I wake up at five and hurry, feeling the pressure of having to get to the marina on time for the early ferry. The ferry today leaves right at six, so I am encouraged that the boat scheduling may be getting more organized. Once on board, I find Betty, whom I haven't seen for more than a week. She looks tired like me and says that she is.
When we dock at Southpoint, there is the normal early morning line of sixty to seventy people waiting to come across. Betty and I hurry to one of the vans waiting to take us to the resident parking to pick up our cars. The van is full, but someone moves over to make room for Betty and me. We feel like sardines in a can. It is still pitch black outside. I am not sure if I am sitting on the seat or on someone's leg. I say aloud, "Is that your leg? Am I sitting on your leg?" One of the guys in the back cracks, "Well, it's either his leg or he's happy to see you!" Everyone laughs, including me. I shift my position slightly and realize that I was not sitting on any part of anyone else. The whole episode was hilarious. I still smile when I remember it.
I take George's water taxi home in the evening, which saves about an hour of my time. I have clients waiting for me at the salon.
October 4, 2001
I cross this morning with George in his boat. I was able to sleep until six! The bay is beautiful this morning; a flock of pelicans fly over us just as we are taking off. We make it across in less than ten minutes.
October 8, 2001
A boat pulls out this morning just as Alex drops me at the dock at 6:15 a.m. I resign myself to waiting thirty minutes for the next one to take off. I am learning much about patience during this whole experience. Soon, I won't even remember what it was like when a trip to Port Isabel only took 10 minutes and my daily commute to Los Fresnos only took 35 minutes.
We leave at 6:50 a.m. On the trip across I visit with my friend Debra. One of the nice things about the ferry is that it brings us all closer together. I meet new people all the time and renew friendships with people I haven't seen in a while. Debra and I become philosophical this morning about our situation. We both conclude that we just have to let go and breathe deeply these days. We realize that there are many things we can't control now, including how fast we get to the mainland.
Thirty minutes later, we dock at Southpoint. A van whisks us off to resident parking, where I pick up a different borrowed car. This one is a truck that another client has offered to let me use. The truck runs but not very fast. I arrive at school about 25 minutes late—again. My 25-mile commute this morning took close to two hours.
I receive an e-mail today from my girlfriend in Oklahoma City. I had planned a trip up there to visit family and friends for this weekend. She asks what time I am arriving. For me to get to the airport in time for my 6 a.m. flight, I would either have to spend the night in Harlingen, or get up at two-thirty in the morning to allow enough time for the ferry-crossing and then get a taxi or take the Surf Tran to the airport. I e-mail her back saying that I'm not up for the trip. I invite her to come down for the weekend. I tell her about the gorgeous weather, the deserted beaches, the cheap hotel rates, the sales at the stores, and the great service at the restaurants. I explain that the ferry ride across the bay is free and fun if you do not have to do it every day. Maybe she and her husband will come.
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