Unpleasantly Surprised

We recently ventured down to South Padre Island for a getaway. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to expect. When I was in high school, it was a popular destination with my peers. In Michigan, that made it seem like the island must be something special — why choose it over anywhere else if it wasn’t spectacular?

It is not an easy place to travel to, especially if you are flying. The closest larger airports are hours away, with only small regional options nearby. From our house in Houston, it was a six-hour drive, punctuated by pit stops at gas stations of varying cleanliness. But it was a straight shot. We had a podcast playing, and my son was settled in with his Nintendo Switch and a tablet full of shows.

At first glance, all was well. It seemed like a normal vacation spot: sea views, hotels, plenty of junky souvenir shops. We rolled into our hotel and everything looked promising — water features in the lobby, marble floors, well-dressed staff.

And then… the cracks began to show.

The waivers we were given to sign were concerning. Lots of “the hotel is not responsible for…” and “we do not respond to complaints during Spring Break.” It seemed as if Spring Break was lawless, no rules enforced. Most people checking in were families, though, so I thought, how bad could it really be?

At first glance, all was well. It seemed like a normal vacation spot: sea views, hotels, plenty of junky souvenir shops.

It could be pretty bad.

That became apparent after exiting the lobby and driving around to the hotel buildings. I had booked a beach bungalow, right on the water. Instead, it was more like a tired motel — peeling paint, rusty hinges, general disrepair. The balcony chairs looked ready for the curb.

Still, the bed was large, the room was clean, and it was a place to sleep. I shook off the disappointment and changed for the pool. This is where the place almost redeemed itself: two large pools, hot tubs, and nearby bars. The sun was warm, the water cool — for a moment, it felt like vacation.

Except…the details kept creeping in. The lounge chairs were faded. The umbrellas flipped uselessly in the wind. I had to stop reading constantly to reapply sunscreen on my husband and son. And then, around 2 p.m., the music started.

This wasn’t relaxing poolside music. It was a rave — loud, relentless, with a DJ shouting commentary. It was a lot. But I tried to stay positive. It was Spring Break, and I had a glass of Pinot Grigio and a good book.

That optimism didn’t last long.

When we returned to our room, it hadn’t been cleaned. There were no pool towels either — they “don’t do that during Spring Break.” “Light cleaning” turned out to mean emptying the trash and nothing more. It was starting to feel less like a vacation and more like extra work with a pool nearby.

By day four, my husband and son were badly sunburned. The pool had lost its appeal. The beach was windy. The novelty had worn off. So, we packed up early.

When we told the front desk we were leaving early — due to noise, lack of upkeep, and the sunburn situation — the girl behind the desk just laughed and said, “That’s Spring Break!”

And maybe for some, that’s true.

But next year, I’m looking for calm days, cool water, turn-down service, and cocktails served on a tray.

Alexandria Nolan-Miller is a misplaced Michigander navigating the vibrant chaos of Houston’s urban jungle. She travels with her husband and young son, contributing her insights and experiences to various print and digital publications. As the author of historical books rooted in Michigan, Alexandria brings the past to life through her writing. When not on the road, she can be found immersed in books, teaching, sharing stories, and chasing new adventures to inspire her next piece.