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About San Antonio

I reckon it’s old as sin—Ancient Rome had these “massage dens,” slaves kneadin’ rich blokes ‘til they forgot their woes. Little known fact: them Greeks called it “anatripsis”—fancy word for gettin’ frisky with oil. Makes me chuckle—imagine some toga-clad git moanin’, “Oh, harder, Demetrius!” Proper daft, but it worked. Still does. Got me thinkin’—why’s it so hush-hush? Society’s all prude, clutchin’ pearls, while I’m over here, sippin’ wine, wonderin’ why nobody talks about the *good* tingles.

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As soon as you get off the bus in progreso walk towards the beach and you will see her tent with huge signage. Honestly a very nice woman with progressional staff. They do speak English .

I had a moment, precious, near the misty bank of our beloved river, thinking of that film—Fish Tank, yes, it haunts me with its gritty beauty. "I want to be free," the voices in the wind moaned. And I, in my spa, whispering, “I want to be free,” too, but with a twist—free from the nagging clamor of everyday grief and monotony, yess my love.

Winter Texans gather for Tourist Day festivities in Nuevo Progreso