HOUSTON
Paddling slowly west into the blazing bayou sunset, it doesn’t feel like I’m anywhere near the concrete heart of a US city. Indeed, it doesn’t feel like I’m anywhere near the US at all.
“I like to pretend I’m on the Amazon when I’m down here,” says canoeing guide Matt Sandel, who’s expertly navigating our twoman vessel. “The wildlife down here, from the turtles to the baby alligators, is insane. As soon as you get onto the bayou, you feel like you’re a thousand miles away from the real world.”
The real world in this case is Houston, Texas — and we’re a lot less than a thousand miles from its oil-powered skyscrapers. In fact, the glass gave way to grass just a few yards behind us, around the last river bend.
On a late spring afternoon, we’re exploring Buffalo Bayou Park — a sinuous green arm with a watery main artery, reaching west from Downtown as it grasps for the suburbs. The bayou twists and curls in on itself like a Texas rat snake, but Matt, president of the local Hokulele
