I headed to the hotel to pick up the two girls who had arrived the night before. We headed out to meet another and her family. Her entire family.
The first old haunt we visited is still what I refer to as my favorite restaurant. Even after (mumble, whisper, mumble) years have passed since I first discovered it in college.
A chicken chalupa, tortilla soup and iced tea, please. So simple, yet so extraordinarily delicious. And yes, I dream about them. And yes, maybe I do need help.
Over the course of the next several hours others arrived by planes and automobiles. (The trains we'll save for the next trip).
We had quite the dinner group. Telling "remember when" tales over margaritas swirled with frozen sangria.
The humorous, nostalgic stories continued at one of the three bars we frequented back when. We sat on the patio, laughing about climbing over the wall to get in as we enjoyed more margaritas, this time black cherry.
The other two bars have changed and closed, but this will always be the same. At least I hope it will. A trip to the land of college nostalgia would not be the same without a margarita on their patio, or relaxing on one of the couches inside.
We gathered one last delayed friend at the airport, and headed back to the dorm, er, hotel. For a few more late night tales of the good old days before drifting off to sleep.