The Port A Beach Lodge
There is a portion of my own history mired in dive bars, seedy motels, trailer parks, and true Americana diners. There’s also backstory which includes lake front properties of similar ilk, along with bayside joints, and the occasional beach shack.
Walking past The Port A Beach Lodge one morning, there was the typical miasmic stench, either a portal to the underworld, broken dishwasher, or backed up septic. With a couple of dozen rooms, the place looked fully booked. For the Texas Riviera — June to August is peak season. First blush, a single harried yet calmly unperturbed staff person took our order, served us with a degree of alacrity yet total disdain for convention. Might be direct sun, sand, surf, or just location, but the food was amazing. I watched as each bottle of beer was dressed Mexican style regardless of county of origin. Don’t know, I had ice tea. Between ordering, listening to old 70’s music, I was noticing the inside of the building, wondering if it survived Hurricane Harvey’s almost direct hit maybe a half dozen miles north along the coastline.
Up in one corner was a half of a poster for Vote Kinky — an ill-fated gubernatorial bid by the singer/songwriter and novelist, Kinky Friedman. He ran in 2006, so it’s probably been there for 17 or 18 years. I’m guessing but visual clues support that hypothesis. So the structure, some artwork and artifacts survived.
An old Ft. Worth fishing buddy first proposed it as a variation on a theme, but his suggestion was that the Texas barrier islands, the bays and similar pieces of the coast were inhabited by a special kind of people. In an opposite form of evolution, these were the environments where marginal folks washed downstream until landing on the coast, short of growing gills, and walking into the water, this where we stay. Stuck on the line where the beach ends and the warm gulf waters start.
The Port A Beach Lodge
Early the next morning, walking past the motel’s rudimentary portico, headed towards the beach again, a pair of sun-baked beach rats were discussing a political issue, beers in hand. Two quick notes for that: island time, and it’s five o’clock somewhere.
The Port A Beach Lodge
