Echoes of faith and fortitude in the San Antonio Missions

We uncover San Antonio’s faith and fortitude, with a side of mariachi and margaritas, in The San Antonio Missions National Historical Park.
The midday sun casts long shadows across the dusty courtyard of Mission San José. The air here, thick and soupy with humidity, carries the weight of almost 300 years of Texan history. I stroll reverentially along its buttressed granary walls and soak in the sight of the famous Rose window on the exterior of San José’s church sacristy.

By the time I reach the stone arches of what remains of the historic convent, I can almost hear the echoes of centuries-old footsteps and what sounds suspiciously like… a mariachi band! Wait, what?
Lured by a different kind of sunshine, this time radiating from inside its walls, I edge closer to the carved wooden entrance  door s of the church. Inside, a gathering of the faithful congregates amongst its whitewashed walls. A girl, adorned in a dress that cascades prettily around intricately patterned cowboy boots, finds her seat in the pews, followed by a couple of tourists, easy to pick in their shorts and sneakers.

I’m stunned out of my reverie as a mariachi ensemble springs to life, and voices rise collectively, their soaring vocals in Spanish, but the soulful sounds of their Faith transcending language barriers.
I’ve stumbled, with typical lack of grace, into the mission’s famous Mariachi mass, a cherished tradition that infuses the Catholic ceremony with the rich musical heritage of Mexico.

On a mission


Founded in the early 1700s, The Franciscan mission originally known as Mission San José y San Miguel de Aguayo and frequently described as the “Queen of the Missions,” is the largest of the frontier missions dotted between old neighbourhoods and cactus studded farmlands along the San Antonio River.
The relationship between Spanish missionaries and the Coahuiltecan people is filled with profound complexities and contradictions. The Franciscans sought to spread Christianity and integrate the Coahuiltecans into Spanish colonial society, but their methods were deeply problematic and undeniably harmful. Conversion efforts often involved coercion, eroding the Coahuiltecans’ cultural identity, and exposing them to devastating European diseases. The Franciscan mission system also relied on forced Indigenous labor, stripping the Coahuiltecans of autonomy and suppressing their traditional practices, despite some missionaries advocating for better treatment.

But the Franciscans would soon face a harsh reality. Famine, disease, and conflict with other tribes took a toll, leading to the secularisation of each mission by 1824. Control of the missions then transferred from religious authorities to secular or civilian authorities. Today the missions continue to serve as active places of worship, some even welcoming descendants of the original mission communities.
While it’s tempting to view the history that occurred in the weathered walls of these Missions through a romantic haze, visitors should instead observe each through a critical lens, acknowledging that while the early missionaries undoubtedly intended to bring about positive change, based on their own ideologies, their methods had a devastating impact on the Coahuiltecan people, leaving them culturally vulnerable and disconnected from their heritage.

The San Antonio Missions National Historical Park


My mind overflowing with history and stories, I’m mentally donning cowboy boots and a poncho, ready to commandeer a horse to ferry me to the other five Missions of the San Antonio Missions National Historical Park which, along with Mission San Jose, encompasses Mission Concepción, San Juan Capistrano, San Francisco de la Espada, and, of course, the Alamo.
People with time on their side might consider the less dramatic option of exploring by bike along The Mission Hike and Bike Trail , a 22-kilometre loop trail that meanders along the river through old neighbourhoods and cactus studded farmlands, connecting the five frontier missions. But you’ll need at least half a day, which I don’t have.
Given my haste and the scarcity of equestrian transport, I instead summon an Uber which, while lacking a certain flair, does the trick.

Hidden among the trees, Mission Concepción holds the title of the oldest unrestored stone church in America. This handsome stone church took about 15 years to build, its dramatic twin bell towers, arched doorways, and geometric designs showcasing the artistic skills of its builders. Vibrant frescoes once adorned both the exterior and interior, and traces still linger in several rooms of its time-weathered interiors. Between the trees there’s also a delightful grotto adorned with ethereal statues and smattered with offerings.

With the clock ticking, we skip through Mission San Juan Capistrano, recently restored to its original lime-washed eggshell white state. Smaller than the previous two missions, its chapel and its surroundings speak of simplicity and resilience, and I make a mental note to come back to pay my respects before my stay in San Antonio comes to its close.
It is just past closing time by the time we reach pretty Mission Espada, protected by ramparts and a bastion with cannon holes at the base and musket holes.

The most remote of the San Antonio missions, despite its diminutive size it survived decades of relentless raids by Apache and, later, Comanche tribes.
As we enter the eerily deserted grounds, my companion, the Uber driver and a spotty duck who seems to have taken a wrong turn at the Espada Aqueduct, are the only signs of life. But I feel eyes on me. Maybe it’s the duck. He looks a little suss.
Perhaps it is the spirit of a larger-than-life Spanish conquistador said to roam the grounds in full regalia (no way he’d settle for an Uber). Maybe it is the ghostly Spanish soldiers who have been seen galloping on haunted horseback across the courtyard, or even the lost soul of a convert Native American who has been seen at prayer at the altar.

With my hair on end and every image on my camera distorted by orbs, I decide not to hang around to find out, and leap into my trusty Uber to gallop back into town like the coward I am.
Of course, there’s still one last mission to meet, but I must wait until dawn for that privilege.

Remember the Alamo


We arrive at the Alamo, originally known as San Antonio de Valero, before the first blush of dawn, two rangers standing silent guard. A soft lavender bleeds into the inky blackness, sharpening the silhouette of the mission church and long barracks. The colours deepen, streaks of pink turning the clouds to cotton candy as they chase the night away. Here, at the heart of a legend, these first rays of sunlight takes on a deeper meaning. It’s a new day breaking over a place where history was forever etched.
Standing in the very place where torrents of blood was shed, my mind is full of the shouts of soldiers, the thunder of cannons and the cries of the fallen. The sound of my growling stomach interrupts the imagined chaos, so with the Alamo’s gates still firmly closed, I park my wagon at the Alamo Plaza Coffee Shop & Bar at the Crockett Hotel, easing the rumblings with brekky burritos and coffee, until opening time.
It’s worth the wait. Originally established in 1718 as a mission like its siblings in the San Antonio Missions National Historical Park, The Alamo began as a peaceful haven where Spanish missionaries hoped to convert the area’s Indigenous peoples to Catholicism, with daily life centred around religious services and learning. Fast forward to the early 1800s. Texas was a simmering pot, tensions bubbling between Mexico, which controlled the territory, and American settlers eager for independence. The mission, now a military outpost, found itself smack dab in the middle of the brewing conflict.
In 1836 as the Texas Revolution erupted a small band of Texan rebels, including James Bowie, William B. Travis, and legendary frontiersman Davy Crockett, sought refuge within the Alamo’s walls. Facing a much larger Mexican force under General Santa Anna, they knew they were outmatched. But they were determined to make a stand.
The ensuing 13-day siege was a pivotal moment in Texas history. Despite facing overwhelming odds, the defenders held firm, defending the mission until the early morning of March 6, when Santa Anna’s forces breached the walls and overran the compound.
The Alamo may have fallen, but its legacy soared. The battle became a rallying cry for the Texan fight for freedom. “Remember the Alamo!” echoed through the land, a potent reminder of the sacrifices made in the pursuit of independence.

Within these weathered walls is a visceral experience that slams you in the chest. I take a self-guided audio tour through the Alamo Church and the pecan oak–shaded Alamo Gardens, the Long Barrack and Cavalry Courtyards, before stopping at the Alamo Exhibit at the Ralston Family Collections Center.
This stunning new museum takes a more diverse approach to its history than Hollywood’s romanticised tale of the Alamo’s American-born Anglo defenders. Among the hundreds of artefacts on display are Spanish colonial and Goliad ceramics, Bowie knives that gleam with cold ferocity, and parchments that plea for reinforcements that never came. Then there’s the astonishing Phil Collins Collection – yes, that Phil Collins – which includes a rifle and leather shot pouch once owned by Crockett and a sword used by Mexican General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna.
With the Alamo often depicted as a battleground between Mexican-Americans and American settlers, the Alamo Exhibit diversifies the narrative, shedding light on the Tejanos (Mexican Americans), free Blacks and slaves, who stood alongside the defenders, as well as the historical injustices suffered by the Native American populations in the broader context of the mission system and its aftermath.

Mission accomplished

After completing my Missions mission, I’ve acquired a thirst, so stroll across the street to the Menger Hotel Bar, all brooding dark wood, bevelled mirrors, brass spittoons and giant stuffed moose heads.

The oldest continuously operated hotel west of the Mississippi, the Menger once served as the makeshift headquarters for Teddy Roosevelt to recruit his volunteer cavalry, the Rough Riders, for the Spanish-American War. Teddy, in a display of cavalier charisma, is even said to have ridden his horse directly into the bar on at least one occasion.
Sightings of the many sprits reported to still reside in the Menger Bar, including Teddy himself, have earned it a reputation as one of the most haunted spots in San Antonio. No offense to Teddy, but I’m not keen on bumping into him… or his horse. I’m barely coping with the moose that seems to be peering down its sizeable nose at me as I order a drink at the bar. Happily, the only spirit I encounter is the tequila in my Menger Margarita, which I raise to the extraordinary people and history of San Antonio.

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