(Note: continued from Part Two)
At first graffiti on buildings, some perhaps gang-related, is the only obvious sign that we’ve left suburbia. When the buildings begin towering above us, whether we’re atop an overpass or not, we know we have reached the city proper.
High-rises jut skyward from the concrete jungle, reflecting one another in their shimmering glass coats. I spot the buildings — Comerica Bank Tower, JPMorgan Chase Tower, Fountain Place, Reunion Tower — that give Dallas its signature skyline.
We pass by an old building called, “Dallas High School.” Boards cover its windows, dark stains streak the exterior brick, and a few cracks run through the cement. The columns still stand proudly.
I think of how many high schools have been added since that building’s heyday, and how buildings in the suburbs are so generic that they will be razed rather than added to the National Register of Historic Places.
For this man with a rural upbringing, a visit to the heart of the city brings excitement, intrigue, and just enough fear to keep alert.
Off the train now, Shannon and I consult Mapquest’s directions from the West End Station to the Dallas World Aquarium, printed on a pink sheet of paper because we were out of white. We’re only a few blocks away. Benjamin does his best Godzilla impression on a metal sculpture of downtown Dallas.
I grab Benjamin’s hand as we make our way on foot. “Why are you holding my hand, Daddy, so nobody will take me?” Benjamin says.
“Yes, son, so nobody will take you.” I try to remember where he first got that idea.
The most direct walk leads us down what looks more like an alley than a street. “Let’s not go there. Let’s walk on down to the next intersection and then turn,” I say.
We stop at a building that must be the aquarium, but it is hard to tell. Large sheets of transparent plastic extend down from the walls to cover various tropical plants and small trees growing in soil along the southwest side.
So far it looks more like a terrarium.
A spur off the sidewalk leads us through an opening in the protective cover. Now inside the plastic-wrapped jungle with a roof over our heads, we follow the zig-zag walkway toward the ticket window.
Large, colorful carp swim lazily in a stream that runs under the walkway. I call out, “Hey, come back, Benjamin, you didn’t look at these fish.”
He runs back down the walkway, fingers tapping the handrail’s metal tubing. He looks over the edge. “Cool, Daddy. Come on.” He runs up to the ticket window, apparently confident that there are bigger and better things to be seen after we have paid admission.
The ticket lady tells us to take the elevator to the third floor to begin our tour.
Waiting for the elevator, we get our first look at the… rainforest? I thought we were coming to an aquarium.
Within arm’s reach, a small group of penguins mill about in a watery habitat with low walls. They seem ebullient. Perky, even.
Behind and below them is a vast room with a four-storey ceiling. The green of the tropics dominates the scene. A waterfall as tall as the trees cascades straight down an artificial cliff face into a small body of crystal clear water. The overcast weather allows only a muted glow through the skylights.
Notice the manatee in the water, to the right of the falls.
(to be concluded, with many photos)
