Magic Carpet Mini Golf in Galveston is a popular attraction among both locals and tourists. This miniature golf course offers a fun and unique experience for people of all ages. The highlight of Magic Carpet Mini Golf is its magical and vibrant atmosphere. The course is beautifully designed with colorful murals and enchanting decorations that transport visitors to a mystical world. The carpet-themed layout adds to the charm, making players feel like they are truly stepping onto a magic carpet ride. One of the standout features of this mini golf course is its challenging holes.
The Falcon was the same car in which my dad had taught my mom to drive, the station wagon, three-speed manual transmission. This was the car she used to drive her two boys to swimming lessons, and church, and to my appointments with a string of different doctors; and to the beach; surf mats and Styrofoam surfies and whining Freddy, maybe an annoying friend of his. The factory installed (optional upgrade) roof racks were now pretty much rusted in place.
This was the car she used to drive her two boys to swimming lessons, and church, and to my appointments with a string of different doctors; and to the beach; surf mats and Styrofoam surfies and whining Freddy, maybe an annoying friend of his. A predicted swell, this gleaned from other surfers and pressure charts in the Marine Weather section of the newspaper, hadn t materialized, and a south wind was blowing.
One of the standout features of this mini golf course is its challenging holes. Each hole is carefully crafted with different obstacles and designs, requiring players to use their skills and precision to navigate the ball. From slopes and curves to ramps and tunnels, every hole offers a new and exciting challenge.
Is Seaweed Actually Magical? And…
…and another “SWAMIS” cutback. FIRST, here on the Olympic Peninsula, buoys, designed to help ships not sink or crash, somewhat helpful for surfers trying to determine if some portion of some swell might find its way into the Strait, have been ripped from their anchors, set adrift, lost, found, or, we don’t really know, put out of service. Putin? One theory. None of the downed or drowned bouys have been put back into service.
SO, surfers in, say, Seattle, have been relying on surf forecast sites before making a decision as to whether to invest the increasing amount of gas money, wait in line at ferries, face traffic slowdowns if ‘driving around.’ NOW, it must be mentioned that there are always waves of some sort or shape or size on the actual PACIFIC COAST. Almost always. AND the most characteristic condition on the Strait is flat. Flat with east wind, flat with north wind, flat with south wind, flat and somehow blown out with west wind.
STILL, surfers get desperate. So, trying my best to glean something positive from whatever sources I could, I went up Surf Route 101, looking. I wasn’t alone. More to not get skunked than to satisfy my surf lust, I ventured into calf-high curlers, my fin popping across rocks. PERHAPS BECAUSE I had paddled out, three more adventurers joined me. PERHAPS BECAUSE they had believed some forecast site, I passed many surf rigs on my way back down Surf Route 101. NOT ONLY THAT, but a friend of mine texted me, asking if I had scored bombs. AFTER ALL, Magic Seaweed was saying…
NOW, maybe it got awesome. Somewhere, for some brief period. MAYBE. YES, I did look at various forecasts. Not looking good for the Strait. Depressing. I must now upgrade my most recent session to “Pretty good. Didn’t break a fin.” Again, there are always waves on the actual ocean.
The rocks at Swamis, someone dropping in on someone. Taken from some hotel brochure.
MEANWHILE, I am trying to find some time to continue cutting my manuscript for “Swamis” down to a reasonable and, hopefully, saleable length. Tightening it up. I am up to the days after Chulo is beaten and set alight next to the wall of the SRF compound. This is a (copyrighted) version from the second completed draft. I might mention that, if you have any experience surfing on the west coast, you know (a snippet of a quote from Miki Dora about Malibu) “The south wind blows no good.”
CHAPTER 14- SATURDAY, MARCH 22, 1969
Three full days after Chulo’s murder, the burn-scarred section of the wall was back to white, visibly white even in the minimal pre-dawn light. I wasn’t sure if I had actually slept. I got out of bed at four, got to Swamis early enough to park the Falcon in the choicest location; front row, ten spots from the stairs; the optimal view of the lineup.
The Falcon was the same car in which my dad had taught my mom to drive, the station wagon, three-speed manual transmission. This was the car she used to drive her two boys to swimming lessons, and church, and to my appointments with a string of different doctors; and to the beach; surf mats and Styrofoam surfies and whining Freddy, maybe an annoying friend of his. The factory installed (optional upgrade) roof racks were now pretty much rusted in place.
The difference was the Falcon was now my car. A surfer’s surf wagon. Hawaiian print curtains hung on wires, a “Surfer Magazine” decal on the back driver’s side window, a persistent smell of mildew. Beach smell. With my boards now shorter, I usually kept them inside, non-hodad-like, but, for several of the reasons a hodad would do it, I kept the nine-six pintail on the roof for a while longer. “Just in case the waves are really small,” might have been one excuse.
A predicted swell, this gleaned from other surfers and pressure charts in the Marine Weather section of the newspaper, hadn’t materialized, and a south wind was blowing. Cars with surfboards were passing each other up and down 101. Surfers were hanging out in parking lots and on bluffs and beaches, talking surf, watching the few surfers out at any spot bobbing in the side chop. Maybe it would clean up, maybe it would actually get bigger. And better.
I would wait. Waiting is as important a part of surfing as trying to be the first one out or paddling out before the best conditions hit. Just before. My shift at my weekend-only, for-now, job didn’t start until ten-thirty; about the time the onshores typically get going. Different with a south wind. Sometimes it would clean up as some weak front moved inland or simply fizzled. Sometimes.
If I went out at nine, I could get a good forty-five minutes of surfing; maybe ten waves or more. I had my notebook, college-ruled; I had the four and eight track tape player under the passenger’s side of the seat; a collection of bargain tapes purchased at the Fallbrook Buy and Save; and I could do what I always did, study. My father’s billy clubs sized flashlight, four new d batteries, provided the lighting.
Read, recite, memorize, reread. That was my system. Less important details fall off with each attempt to memorize. The facts and details best remembered, by my logic, would most likely be the ones on the tests. Any quirky anecdotes, something that amused me; yes, I remembered those, too. I had another system for multiple choice tests and standardized tests. Two of the four choices were obviously incorrect, fifty-fifty chance on the others. Best guest. The system worked surprisingly well, well enough that California’s supposed Ivy League university accepted me.
My father hadn’t understood why I couldn’t go there.
I was a faker, kid with a system; it never would have worked; not in that bigger pond, every student top of some class somewhere.
No studying on this morning. I had to sneak over to the crime scene, the wall that surrounds the Self-Realization Fellowship compound. There was (and is) a wrought-iron gate in the higher, arched (former) entrance, around the corner, facing 101. As with the other breakpoints in the wall, that section is topped with the huge gold sculptures, each one representing a blooming flower. Lotus blossom. They could as easily represent a flame, not dissimilar to the one on the statue of liberty, not dissimilar to the burn marks on the wall my friends had described.
The SRF compound is a place where people, on their own, go seeking enlightenment, a realization of the true self. Seekers, seeking.
At about seven-fifteen I did walk over. Had to. I expected more. I expected some instant and obvious explanation. There was a man by the wall, wheel-barrowing soil from a pile near the highway to the wall, raking it in. I had seen him before. Dark skinned. East Indian, I presumed. He was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, white, with faded blue workman’s pants, rubber boots, and heavy leather gloves. Most of his face (and I knew he had a beard) was covered in what appeared to be an overlarge (plain cloth) bandana, a standard bandana (red) around his nose and mouth, and a tropical straw hat (quite different from the cowboy style Mexican farmers and landscape workers preferred). He dropped the new soil around newly planted but full-sized plants.
There was no evidence that something horrific had occurred. The new paint blended perfectly. The plants looked… it all looked exactly the same as it always had; as it did even in the late 1950s, before I surfed, when my father took us there just so my mother could see the gardens.
If I blinked, I thought, it might be like taking a picture. I might remember details. I might remember better. Image. Catalog. File.
I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being. Your soul and my soul once sat together in the Beloved's womb playing footsie. Your heart and my heart are very, very old friends.
Magic Carpet Mini Golf also offers various themes throughout the course. Players can find themselves playing through ancient Egyptian ruins or venturing into a pirate's hideout. The attention to detail in these themed sections creates an immersive experience, adding an element of adventure to the game. Additionally, the course is well-maintained and kept in excellent condition. The staff ensures that the greens are well-groomed and obstacles are fully functional. This attention to detail enhances the overall experience and allows players to fully enjoy their game. Magic Carpet Mini Golf is a family-friendly attraction that provides hours of entertainment. The course is suitable for players of all skill levels, whether they are beginners or experienced golfers. Visitors can enjoy a friendly competition with family and friends or simply have a relaxing round of mini golf. Overall, Magic Carpet Mini Golf in Galveston is an exciting and enjoyable destination for people looking to have a memorable time. With its magical atmosphere, challenging holes, and diverse themes, it offers a unique and fun-filled experience for everyone. Whether you're a resident of Galveston or just visiting the area, a visit to Magic Carpet Mini Golf is a must..
Reviews for "Step into a World of Magic and Mystery at Galveston's Magic Carpet Mini Golf"
- John Doe - 1 out of 5 stars - This mini golf place was a huge disappointment. The course itself was in terrible condition, with cracked tiles and uneven lanes. It definitely needs some major maintenance. The staff was not friendly or helpful at all. They barely acknowledged our presence and seemed more interested in chatting among themselves. I would not recommend this place to anyone looking for a fun and enjoyable mini golf experience.
- Jane Smith - 2 out of 5 stars - My family and I were excited to try out this mini golf place, but we were left unimpressed. The course was not well-designed and lacked creativity. Each hole felt repetitive and uninteresting. The overall atmosphere was also lacking, with no music or decorations to enhance the experience. The pricing was quite high for the mediocre quality of the course. We won't be returning to Magic Carpet Mini Golf in Galveston.
- David Johnson - 1 out of 5 stars - Magic Carpet Mini Golf Galveston was a complete waste of time and money. The course was poorly maintained, with broken obstacles and dirty carpets. The lighting was dim, making it difficult to see the holes and obstacles clearly. The staff was unfriendly and didn't seem to care about providing good customer service. Overall, it was a disappointing experience and I would not recommend this place to anyone looking for a fun mini golf outing.