The Poor Man’s Key West

By Lloyd, Jay

But the folks who flock to South Padre Island, off the southern tip of Texas, are anything but poor Reasonable prices The lure South of the border If you go …

There’s a long, slim spit of land on the Gulf of Mexico at the very tip of southern Texas. If it weren’t for the sun gleaming off the white-sand beaches, 16th-century Spanish explorers easily could have passed right by.

But a keen-eyed lookout sailing with Alonso Alvarez de Pineda spotted what became known as Isla Blanca, the White Island.

It’s morphed over the centuries from a lucrative cruising ground for buccaneers intent on plundering Spanish treasure galleons to a pulsating resort for a flock of “winter Texans” looking for sun and sand, music, fresh seafood and bargain-basement “happy hours” that never seem to end.

It’s been renamed South Padre Island.

It doesn’t take long after landing at nearby Brownsville, Texas, to realize that you haven’t seen prices like these posted in America since the 1940s.

Well-maintained hotel rooms in high- and low-rise resorts run as low as $20 a night if you stay the season, $40 if you stay a week.

La Quinta, our upper-middle-scale resort with a private beach and swimming pool overlooking the Gulf clocked in at $70 a night, including tax. They even throw in free high-speed Internet service in every room, the lobby and pool. And every room has a water view and patio.

By day, free-roaming dolphins entertain the lunch crowds at waterside restaurants. Music ranges from pure country to classic rock with a scattering of jazz. Party fishing and dolphin-watch boats cruise the gulf and laguna, while rental dune buggies and horseback-mounted sun seekers ride the miles of shell-strewn beaches.

It’s as close as you’ll get to a poor man’s Key West. But the folks who flock here are anything but poor. Many are retired and arrive from icebound states and Canadian provinces.

They tend to stay the winter. Others arrive for a week or a month to take advantage of the weather and a low-cost winter sojourn. And in March, college students cram the island to rock away their spring break.

I was lured here by the promise of the “world’s plumpest and sweetest oysters” at $3 a dozen and $2 margaritas.

Both are here in abundance.

The call to visit South Padre Island came from an old Canadian friend who spends the entire season here to escape the Quebec winters. We were joined by a friend from Florida who, along with his wife, is an avid birder.

They are folks who revel in the thought of seeing new and exotic creatures of the avian world and possibly snapping a digital image for an amazing scrapbook of colorful birds.

This part of Texas boasts 370 different species. Three nature preserves on the island, with several more nearby on the mainland, create a bird-watchers’ Utopia. Pelicans put on a constant show, soaring and dipping over the water and roosting on marina- restaurant pilings.

Those marina restaurants lure more than pelicans.

Flavors of the gulf, including seafood that goes straight from boat to grill, and accents of nearby Mexico, left us torn between the idea of repeat visits to a favorite or trying something new each day.

Eateries such as Amberjacks, Sea Ranch and Fish Bones do double duty as home to charter fishing fleets and as intriguing restaurants with indoor and outdoor waterside tables, nautical and Mexican- themed decor. So it becomes an “eat-around.” Stop at one spot for fresh oysters and shrimp, another for a bit of red snapper, and then have dessert with some musical icing.

Jumping on a fishing charter costs as little as $25 for half a day, including rod and bait. Returning to the marina, simply haul that fresh catch right up to the nearest restaurant, where they’ll dress it, cook it and throw in fries and coleslaw for about $5.

If you haven’t figured it out, a week or more here becomes an exercise in overindulgence, as one meal has a way of blending into the next and transitions through “happy hours” that seem to begin right after lunch and include live music at a country-western venue called Texas Moon. (A between-meal snack here is a heaping barbecued brisket sandwich). And everyone stops by to say “howdy” to a stranger in town.

There was a point at which our group became known as “The Three Amigos.” Along with our wives, we wound up with a little wanderlust, and so wandered across the border into Mexico.

It was as easy as it sounds. Drive 30 minutes to Brownsville, park free at the University of Texas campus just a block from the Rio Grande, put 60 cents into a turnstile, and simply walk across the bridge to Matamoros.

As you stroll into this town that played a pivotal role in the first Mexican-American war, no one wants to see a passport, know your name or even your business. Just come on in. Mexican border guards seem to have little interest in anything other than directing visitors to restaurants, sights and shops. There’s even a free shuttle.

Mi Pueblito was the luncheon spot where the richest chicken soup on this side of the Atlantic comes garnished in the colors of Mexico – gold of the soup in the center, diced red tomatoes on the right and finely chopped green onions to the left. As for the salsa, it’s mild enough for Yankee palates.

But this town has a cross-border cultural significance that unfolded at the Two Republics Cantina in the heart of the marketplace.

As Tito the Troubadour was strumming his guitar and singing a Spanish version of a 1940s tune, “I Am a Rancho Grande,” Raoul Melguiza, the grandson of the cantina’s founder, spelled out a tale of love that left an imprint on cocktail hours for three generations from here to Singapore.

The year was 1934. A flaming redhead from Texas walked into the Two Republics and captured the heart of the bartender. His name has been long forgotten. But not hers. It was Maggie.

The only way the smitten mixologist could impress her was to do what he did best – create a new drink just for her. It has since become an international tradition and a social symbol of Mexico.

The venerable margarita was born here in Matamoros.

Or so the story goes.

U.S. Airways flies from Philadelphia International Airport to Houston. Connect to Continental Express to Brownsville, Texas. It’s a 30-minute drive to South Padre Island.

Major car-rental companies have fleets at the Brownsville International Airport, and there’s frequent service on a $2 shuttle to and from South Padre Island.

(Copyright 2007 Lancaster Newspapers)

(c) 2007 Sunday News; Lancaster, Pa.. Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning. All rights Reserved.