Thirty-one miles from Utopia

Remember the Alamo?

I didn't. The Mexican Army laid siege here in 1836 and everyone died, among them Davy Crockett - the king of the wild frontier. Now surrounded by San Antonio's skyscrapers, the fort, which resembles the end of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, looks a little out of place. Houston was fun. Wondering round on the first day, I picked up a baseball ticket for a dollar and almost interrupted "the Texans" pre-season training at the American football stadium. The Houston Astros - after whom the artificial grass is named - play at Minute Maid Park, hastily renamed after an orange juice when the name Enron Park lost its appeal. For a game that is little more than rounders, it drew a huge crowd and three of us from the hostel were among them.
In San Antonio, Andy and I have been in search of cowboys and Rodeo in the scrubby hill country - full of bikers, trucks and Stetsons - the buckle in the Bible belt. Our Greyhound leaves for Mexico City in an hour.