I sometimes choose to think, no doubt perversely, that man is a dream, thought an illusion, and only rock is real. Rock and Sun.
~Edward Abbey
Back in the Airplane Saddle Again
Sometimes, I live a dream. Sometimes, that dream is a nightmare. In either rendition, all is ephemeral from breaths taken to thoughts pretending existence is any more than an illusion, perhaps a delusion. It feels surreal to be flying after two years grounded due to the rampant virus made worse by the Covidiots refusing masks or vaccines. Our last flight was pre-Covid taken to beautiful Jordan where we combined travel modes, flight and drive, to visit a few of the country’s many wonders. This year, with a slight downtick in Covid cases, we decided to risk a plane trip. With the logistics of testing and the potential for country shutdowns trapping us in situ, we opted to visit a US territory with an exotic flair, one with the added safety net of being the highest vaccinated of any US Territory or State. Hawaii was a consideration but the thought of confinement in an aluminum tube for eight virus hours aimed us toward Puerto Rico. It is best to err on the side of caution when having multiple comorbidity factors. Our plan was to half relax on the beach and half experience the island’s offerings. It turned out to be a decent balance addressing both our needs. Shortly after returning home, the Omicron variant wave started to rise. Thankfully, we caught the trough between surges.
Beaches & Rainbows
Our hotel, a Marriott, was as near to the ocean’s edge without violating access to the public beach. I generally prefer public to private beaches. Private beaches are infested by the hoity-toity, a class frequently looking down upon local color and treating the staff with indifference. On a public beach, the locals interact with the guests, supporting themselves with items for sale including endemic foodstuffs. There are also entertaining oddities as the older, scraggly white dude walking around with a handwritten sign offering ten minutes of foot or shoulder massage for $10. He was also offering ‘Cuban’ cigars for the same price. Cuban cigars are illegal in the US and her territories so I doubted their authenticity. Plus, I’m not a smoker. Cancer already took my parents. We saw the old buy, two evenings later, not too far from our hotel sitting on a street counter outside a liquor store downing cans of beer.
If I needed privacy or shelter from the regular rains, strong but short, and occasional longer storms, there was always our room balcony from which I could see parts city, parts ocean. We were on the leeward side of the weather fronts thus able to observe from a dry balcony during the fiercest of downpours. On the ocean side, I watched the movement of distant storms. Most slid past. More than a few veered toward the hotel striking with a short-lived lashing before moving on and vacating space for the sun to return. I watched a few of the storms slip-sliding, marveled at their energy, intrigued by the macro view allowing me to watch the movie unfold. Where I’m from, extensive buildings obscure the bigger picture.
With annoying rain comes joyful rainbows. I saw at least one rainbow each day, sometimes two or three. Most were fleeting, some lasting long enough for a picture. One showed the entire rainbow bridge, end to end. Does that mean there were two pots of gold? I felt rich just by being immersed in the view.
Me pregunto (I wonder), how many days could I sit on the beach admiring the seashore before going stir crazy? The duration would be partly predicated on the number of sea birds floating on the ocean breezes. Here, that number is so low as to asymptote toward zero. I saw a few pelicans and way too many pigeons, the ubiquitous winged rats plaguing cities worldwide. The former reminds me of wilderness, the latter of garbage-strewn citify streets. Another influencing factor is how many good books I had at my disposal to wile away the hours. Read a bit. Contemplate what I read within context of the vast ocean. Understand. Repeat.
A first clue of restlessness would be popping in earphones and isolating to human music instead of the ocean singing sea songs. The entire trip, I had absolutely no desire to supplant the sounds of the sea with anything other than the sounds of the sea. I might could have spent the entire week in a comfy chair watching the sun arc, the storms swell, the sea dance. This trip was a good mixture mollifying both our travel preferences. Half the days on the beach with the other half touring.
The Poet’s Soul
A poet’s soul feels more than regular people’s souls.
And that’s what makes him write poetry.
~Esmeralda Santiago
Prior to or during a trip abroad, I like to read a book written by an author from my destination as a way of gently immersing myself into an unfamiliar culture, a tippy toe into the shallows before the body engulfing plunge of full blown culture. In these books, I try to focus on subtleties that will help me move in and about with a measure of invisibility. I like to experience culture in the raw not one dressed to appease visitors. For me, it is an act of respect. For this trip, I read When I Was Puerto Rican by Esmeralda Santiago where I found the resonating quote about poets’ souls while relaxing on the beach to the roaring waves, a relaxing ambiance until infiltrated by the nail’s on the chalkboard grating of people’s voices. My reaction begs the question, why does my species annoy me with increasing frequency?
More and more, I crave solitude, particularly when communing with nature. Perhaps, it is because people are increasingly incompatible with nature seeking to manipulate or abuse it rather than experience it in situ. Or is it because my poet’s soul is flowering and is incompatible with the souls of those not inclined to poetry? Now, there are poets that love and lament the human condition. I’m not one of those preferring nature poems or poetry featuring an intermingling of people and nature.
I do find myself more and more drawn to artists…creators of original works…more than that…I’m also drawn to those skilled enough to copy the masters with exquisite technique. It is not just visual artists. I include craftsmen, writers, along with poets. I do not necessarily want to talk with them as I prefer to bask in the aura of their creations but, if talk is a must, to understand their inspirations, their techniques, and their processes to incorporate what works into my personal creations.
Is it odd that I, educated in logical, linear Engineering am drawn to those I once classified as flighty, lacking the ability to grasp real reality? Maybe it is a natural progression as Engineering is about the creation of solutions to problems (i.e. questions) where artistry has a tendency to ask questions exposing problems. It could also be that I am one of life’s problems needing creative answers. The shift in my thinking could imply my artistic renderings are an attempt to solve the David Dilemma (DD). Is it my poet’s soul that is the source of the Dilemma or have I developed a poet’s soul to address the DD?
So many questions. So few concrete answers. If the answers were encoded in the female butt, then the beaches of Puerto Rico would have more answers than questions, some answers more revealing than others. But the DD cannot be resolved by butts though they are a source of entertainment especially when butt cheeks are feasting on a thong bikini.
The awakening of my poet’s soul is sourced in nature, the more serene the nature, the more isolated I am in nature, the deeper the inspiration. This partly explains my renewed vigor for camping, for hiking, for recording the mysteries of the David-verse inspired by natural surroundings…especially surroundings displaying the exposed bones of Mother Earth for they are foundational support for all life on the planet including the planet-worlds fighting for dominance inside my noggin. And with this revelation I am off to walk in the raging surf hoping to catch an answer tossed by the vast sea before it is snatched away by one of those nasty pigeons. And who knows, maybe some of those mysteries will be answered in the beauty of a thong slung booty.
Success? I think?
The surf washed up a new thought, a potentially cathartic insight, on the dry, sandy shores of my island soul. My desire for solitude may be rooted in extreme selfishness. I wanna do what I wanna do when I wanna do it. No one admonishing me to hurry the fuck up or slow the hell down. No one dictating where I go, when I go, who I go with, or how long I linger staring into the soul of an apparently dead tree. It isn’t like selfishness is just now manifesting in my character like a cancer infiltrating the heart. No. It is a resurgence of the David of yore, the David before I had children and experienced a seismic shift in perception. As did grandkids when we lived together. Now that they are no longer a constant presence in my life, my selfish tendencies are possibly becoming more evident. This similar to tRump normalizing the racism society pretended did not exist unbinding the wings of hatred to shit on the populace. This evidence manifests as me craving increasing solitude.
However, circling back to being a container for a poet’s soul, my quest for solitude may be a protective reaction to feeling deeply and an avoidance from inflicted pain, especially the deeply felt betrayal agony. Then, I can rationalize my desire for solitude as an appropriate boundary designed to protect my tenderized poet’s soul.
These are two plausible explanations for my proclivities. Which holds greater sway? Both? Neither? Other reasons I’ve yet to fathom? I would like to think it is the universe desiring to speak powerfully through my creations. Then, I am prone to pondering unlikely scenarios.
Old San Juan
Puerto Rico is sadly neither Uber nor Lyft friendly. One must walk, bike, or negotiate a price with taxi drivers because the taxis don’t use meters. Most of our rides, including tip, came in around $20. Negotiating a ride price was not a new experience. I perfected the practice in India after one event when I didn’t properly negotiate and the driver tried to extort for a very high price. Live and learn and apply. Getting to Old San Juan was straightforward. Taxis waited outside the hotel. Trying to get back was a different story.
San Felipe del Moro Castle
Half our time in Old San Juan was invested in touring the San Felipe del Moro Castle. The other half outside the castle and in the main town. On the way in, our driver warned us not to go into a certain neighborhood because it was peligroso (dangerous). We photographed that picturesque area from the safety of the fort but did not venture in on foot. No use risking our safety.
There was an entry fee of $10 per head. Little did we realize, the castle is a US National Historic Site. As such, our National Parks pass would gain us free entry…had we not left it at home. That said, $10 is a small price to pay to visit the relic of a bygone era.
The castle was built in 1539 and spent the next 250 years undergoing renovation and repairs. It has 6 levels which were designed to facilitate firing ordinance at incoming ships. There are few, if any, creature comforts in the castle aside from modern toilets on the main entry level, a relatively recent addition for tourism. It is all rocks mounted upon rocks and wood. Much of the wood, especially the doors made of multiple, vertical slats was gorgeously weathered. It was in prime condition for building beautiful rustic wood stuffs. I used to make wood stuffs until I moved from my single family home into a condo at which time I donated it all to my carpenter son who is following in his grandfather’s craftsman footsteps
Built on a cliff side, the Castle was much bigger on the inside than it appeared from the outside entry point. We walked every level marveling at the construction and the ancient armaments rusted beyond use. On the upper most level, we encountered our first iguana. It was a large male with orange legs and an array of dorsal crests sticking straight up resembling punji sticks. We moved in a bit closer to which it extended the dewlap and bobbed it’s head in agitation. We backed off and it resumed sunbathing while keeping one eye on us intruders.
Iguanas are an introduced species. Pets were released into the island and have become pests. They have no natural predators in Puerto Rico. Being herbivores, they wreak havoc on crops where they can be found in densities of 100 per acre. That is a lot of mouths to feed. With broods of up to 70 eggs per clutch laid twice a year hatch, the food frenzy can by crazy. Being a lizard fan, I was intrigued by the modern day dinosaurs. I can only imagine how intimidating a full sized dinosaur would be.
We walked the castle top to bottom taking in as many rooms as possible before exiting at the lower levels into an overgrown, overrun garden to the ocean where we stumbled upon the Paseo del Morro.
Paseo del Morro
Getting to the Paseo del Morro we had to walk a dirt trail surrounded by thick vegetation. We got turned around and found ourselves walking over very sharp, possibly volcanic rock threatening to poke through the soles of my shoes before finally stumbling onto the walkway. We saw it from the castle ramparts and thought it would a nice place to sit an watch the waves while catching the ocean breezes.
We started walking not knowing where we were going, letting ourselves be pulled along by our curiosity. What’s around he next bend? All we knew was that we were becoming peckish and would need to find a restaurant relatively soon before the hangries started. We hoped for some succulent fish. Being that we were on an island bridging the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean, we expected the selection to be varied.
The Paseo del Morro is a 0.9 mile walk. At the time, we had no idea about the distance so started our walk on a hope and a prayer. Exploration into the unknown (albeit a paved unknown) where we would emerge we thought would be the other side of the castle. It actually ended at the massive and famous Gate of San Juan that granted us access to the cities inside quite a bit aways from the castle.
We meandered on the Paseo, the 40 foot Castle walls lush green grass on our left. The lush grass came as a surprise. I expected the salt spray from the wavy sea on our right would kill the grass despite being buffered by large shore boulders half in and half submerged. I guess the frequent rains, which we had not yet encountered on this excursion, provided enough fresh water to weaken the salt effect.
The heat we experienced in the Castle dissipated by the consistent breeze picking up coolness blowing across the churning waters and depositing said coolness on our welcoming bodies. We started seeing iguanas, lots and lots of iguanas, young and old, plain and bold. They were in the grass where the young green ones would blend perfectly if the green of the iguana was slightly less yellow. There were some brilliantly colored ones high on the castle walls making me wonder if this was a preferred territory dominated by the mature males. They sunned on the rocks. A couple crossed our path on the walkway. It was becoming increasingly evident they are a population of of control. Still, I was enthralled by their presence shooting countless photographs.
As we walked, cats started popping up. We saw quite a few cats, mostly in tip top condition. Sleek fur. Not too skinny. Not too fat. Shining eyes. Most had eyes more almond shaped than round. And we saw a few camouflaged litter boxes only because we saw cats disappear into the same covered space. The cats are managed by the Save a Gato (SAG) foundation. SAG is the only non-profit organization that has an agreement with the National Park Service to manage a colony of cats on national park land. The foundation traps, neuters and returns them to the wild. This process reduced the size of the cat colony around El Morro by 50% since it’s 2004 inception. The litter boxes are a welcome addition. When we visited Chefchaouen, the famous blue city, in Morocco there were also many cats. Those cats pooped and pissed in the public square leaving a lingering stench. That unpleasant aroma was thankfully not a nuisance here.
The iguanas and the cats existed in close proximity yet I saw no evidence it was an acrimonious relationship. I still wonder why the predatory cats were not plumped with iguana flesh. Perhaps, the lizards are too fierce fighters for the cats to risk injury so they only harvest the smallest of the small. Perhaps, the cats palette is not fond of the chicken tasting iguana meat. Perhaps, they are working in concert covertly making plans to reclaim the island from the human types.
Near the end of our Paseo tour, a brief storm hit. There was nothing we could do to shelter ourselves as this section of the walk was only the tall wall and the ocean. No trees. What could we do but grin and bear it…until we found the Gate of San Juan and were able to take cover beneath the structure…along with a few others. The walk was a gem discovery we had not expected. I wouldn’t mind making it a daily ritual including performing yoga timing the sun salutation pose to the sun cresting the horizon.
The Town
When the rain abated, we emerged from the sheltering gate walking back towards the castle and town. We found an outdoor restaurant for a late lunch where we stuffed ourselves on seafood appetizers and seafood main courses. All was delicious leaving us bloated and in dire need of a long walk. And so we walked the hilly, cobblestone streets. The buildings were colorful. The sidewalks were narrow barely fitting two shoulder to shoulder. Parked cars lined the narrow streets. We entered a few shops which seemed to be in equal number to the bars/restaurant establishments. There was one art store in which I would like to have bought some of the unique offerings. But, we had no means of getting them home intact so purchased nothing. I considered a Panama Hat but opted to forego the purchase for the same reasons (and because they were way overpriced). How to get it home without damage?
Getting late, we sought out a taxi. We went to the place the waiter recommended. Nothing. We called the number he provided. No answer. We wandered the streets looking without luck. We asked people and were pointed this way and that way. We asked repeatedly with similar responses. We found a police officer who gave us the best and correct directions. His directions required us to pass a store called, The Pōét’s Pasśāge. We had to check it out. It was a gem boasting many unique items for sale. One room was reserved for poetry readings, had passages on the walls. If I were to open a store, this would be a model with the addition of space for books, new and used, to trade and sell. There was no poetry readings on this day or I would have stayed to hear the Puerto Rican souls speak. Even if they were in Spanish, I would have enjoyed the rhythmic flow of the readings despite only having a minor comprehension of the language or, as my Colombian colleague termed it, ‘Survival Spanish’.
We left the store, turned left twice, walked a few more blocks and finally came to a taxi stand where we negotiated $17 for the three mile ride back to the hotel. We probably could have walked but we were already tired from miles of exploration. We did rationalize the ride as a way to avoid another of the frequent rains.
Night Kayaking
On the far East side of the island exists a bay hosting bioluminescent life. Bioluminescence is when a living organism produces and emits light. Think firefly. The critters in the bay emitted blue light. The only downside of the adventure was not having a camera for photos. It was much too dark and wet from splashing to safely bring one along.
The trip into the bio bay is via a mile-long river channel twisting and turning through a mangrove swamp. Access is by kayak at night. Starting off, we, a large group, underwent quick kayak training on land discussing how to maneuver the vessel and how to function within a group with emphasis on nighttime etiquette. Many in the group were new to kayaking causing me quite the frustration when they floundered as we traveled in the required, single file navigation. I had to keep slowing us down so we wouldn’t collide with the strugglers. Our group, as I guess with most groups, suffered at the hands of the least experienced forcing us to focus on the pokey people instead of viewing the surroundings in the quickly fading daylight.
At the river’s source, we emerged into the bay and were greeted by a refreshing, gentle breeze. We were already wet from the paddle splashing in the low riding kayaks so the breeze added just enough cooling to be very comfortable. The group piled up, side by side, near the bay middle. The ambient light was minimal. The sky was filled with stars and, quite frankly, I would have loved to just lay back in the kayak and star gaze all night such was the beauty and clarity. The one guide with stargazing expertise pointed out various constellations using a nifty laser pointer that allowed us to see and track the laser’s beam as he shared his vast star heaven knowledge.
The pictures enticing one to visit these bays exaggerate the intensity of the bio light. They are more clickbait than factual. Still, it is fascinating. To see the luminescence, we held a tarp over our heads to block out the little ambient light from the moon then agitated the water with our hands. The luminescence manifests as blue-white sparkles that quickly fade. After a couple of minutes, I removed the tarp from over my head to spend more time marveling at the plethora of stars imagining myself an astronaut exploring the final frontier and boldly going where no earth human has gone before.
Heading back, the minimal light we had on the way in was completely gone. It was pitch black forcing us to navigate by the red light at the tail end of each kayak. The kayak front was demarcated by a green light. Entering the river mouth, the paddle strokes provided sufficient turbulence to see more luminescence. There were also quite a few loud splashes which we were told were tarpon breaking the surface as they hunted shrimp. Tarpon are big and fiesty. It is a rarely eaten fish due to the many, tiny hard to clean bones. Still, I wish I brought a fishing pole for the challenge of landing one before releasing back into the wild.
There was a mystical feel as I looked toward the heavens seeing the night sky with a clarity I’ve not experienced in many a year. Those vast heavens touched me more deeply than the bioluminescent beings impressed me intellectually. I wish we could have sat in the silent oasis longer allowing the heavens to speak more deeply exposing mysteries of the universe, innerverse, outerverse, Davidverse. Alas, we were on a guided tour with other tours awaiting their opportunity.
El Yunque
Late in the week, we rented a car for a trip to El Yunque, the only tropical rainforest under the auspices of the US National Forest Service. And guess what? It rained intermittently on the way there, while we were there, and on the way back to our hotel. Most of the rains were short-lived hitting from nowhere with intensity before disappearing just as quickly with a short sunburst. For the most part, El Yunque was overcast. The rain felt ever-present though, I think, it was off more than on. But, I hate rain so any felt oppressive. The dense canopy acted as a slightly leaky umbrella protecting us, for the most part. There were shelters on some of the hikes we made use of when available. Otherwise, we found a particularly dense tree or a plant with massive leaves and stood beneath it until it slowed to an irritating drizzle.
The narrow road wound up the hill ending in a large loop. We stopped to admire the waterfalls and took one hike, a mile-ish each way, up near the top. The path was single file with rocks to walk on keeping our feet out of the muck and it was heavily traveled. At the top, we climbed up a stone lookout tower with a spiral staircase. The fog rolled in during the walk obscuring any field of view. So, we stayed a few minutes then turned around and walked back down.
I had expected to see quite the variety of wildlife hoping beyond hope to see some of the monkeys that call the rain forest home. They are escapees from research labs and, we were told, can be aggressive. Perhaps it was good we didn’t see them. We heard a few birds, saw one snail, and a small lizard in the shadow of a leaf beneath the snail.
The trees varieties were mindblowing. I had never seen so many species in a small area, a curse of being raised in a temperate climate with forests typically of oak, maple, and pine with a smattering of elm. I was fascinated by the shapes and sizes of the leaves. So many shades of green. The flowers, primarily shades of red, were a lovely contrast against the verdant sea.
Mamá e Hijo
The car rental agency was about a mile walk from our hotel. After dropping off the car, we opted to walk back to the hotel via the sand route. Half the way was not walkable beachfront. Large rocks and heavy waves rendered it a no-go zone unless one was in the mood to be smashed stupid against sharp rocks then sucked out to sea by the under toad never to be seen again…except by the undersea critters tasked with removing waste materials.
A joy of traveling with my wife is that we see different things and see things differently. Together, we experience lands and societies more holistically than either of us would alone. It is a case of the whole being greater than the sum of the parts. The Big Mama statue grabbed both or our attention. By my recollections, fading as the are, statues dedicated to women are few and far between…as is to be expected. Western societies give short shrift to women and mothers. And when they are displayed prominently it is in typical slim, sexualized fashion or perched on an unrealistic or unattainable pedestal. We were both captivated by this homage to motherhood designed by Fernando Botero. The woman was plump, not emaciated. He created statues and paintings in a similar vein. It was wonderful to see motherhood portrayed so prominently and a bit more realistically.
Snorkeling
Our final excursion took us back to Fajardo on the Northeast edge of the island. We stopped at a bodega for a quick, very inexpensive, our cheapest meal the entire trip, and delicious breakfast before entering the marina and being dropped off by our catamaran, the “Spread Eagle II“. We were hoping for a light tourist crowd. That was quickly put to rest when we learned it was a full boat. Que sera, sera.
We disembarked around 9 am. At least 3/4 of the passengers were from a wedding party and started day drinking as soon as the bar opened after pushing off. Half my life ago, I was young so understand they wanted to party. Again, que sera, sera. To each his own. The first leg took about 45 minutes bringing us to a pristine island who’s bay already hosted a few catamarans. We put on our snorkeling gear, dropped into the sea water that was over our heads and made our way to the sandy shores. Being a pale skin, easily burned ginger, I wore a light hoody which I wore the entire time I was exposed to the sun. It was oversized to prevent the sunburn I suffered while snorkeling in the Philippines when the bottom of the swimming shirt crept up exposing a band of flesh between my swimsuit and the shirt that was cooked salmon pink and very painful.
We moseyed away from our group trying to carve out personal space on the island. It was difficult with other boats disgorging passengers who quickly spread across the pristine beach. The only place to self isolate was in the water. We used up our 45 minutes mainly snorkeling. There were virtually no fish so the snorkeling was less than spectacular. We reboarded and ate our packaged lunch during the short trip to the second stop, a coral reef.
Coral Reefs tend to have amazing snorkeling, at least, the two we previously visited did. We had amazing experiences at the barrier reef in Belize and at Siete Pecados in the Philippines. The snorkeling here, while enjoyable, fell short of the other two if measured by sealife variety. Still, it was enjoyable. We wandered near and far from the catamaran scouring every reef structure we could find. However, we saw the greatest quantity of fish beneath the catamaran itself. I spent a goodly amount of time beneath marveling at the colorful fish. I wish I had packed by GoPro.
Yoga
Two mornings, Saturday and Tuesday, the hotel offered outdoor yoga, yoga in paradise. Both mornings I went in a bit nervous. I had not done yoga much since the pandemic when gym yoga was replaced by guided video yoga. Since our move to a new home in April, my yoga mat and blocks stayed packed away. The sessions were geared to beginners like me. As all good yoga instructors do, she modified the positions to address the needs of both beginners and the more experienced.
In the first session, there were just two of us. The second session the number jumped to 6. My body was definitely tight and in desperate need of the improved flexibility coming from regular practice. Regular practice should also allow me to age with fewer aches and pains or at least slow the pace into my twilight years. At the end of both sessions, I experienced calmness and overwhelming tranquility much different than either the indoor classes or at home, video-guided sessions. I don’t know when I last felt so light and airy and peaceful. Aum and Namaste.
Closing
The snorkeling tour, despite the paucity of sea life, was definitely a highlight of the trip. I found it more enjoyable than either El Yunque or Old San Juan with the kayaking tour coming in a close third to beaching. By that I mean, chillin’ at the beach in the warmth with interesting books. Even though I was in the shade the entire beach time, I sunburned. The yoga added a dash of the serenity I cherish. I only wish it was offered more than just the two days.
Puerto Rico lives up to the moniker, Isla del Encanto, Island of Enchantment. I would definitely return but to other locales to soak up more of the local ambience. I want to understand the real Puerto Rico outside the glitz and glam of tourist hotspots. Probably, spending time at one of the smaller islands like Culebra which is off the beaten path. There I would be able to practice more of my survival Spanish perhaps moving beyond survival to speak at the level of an infant or toddler. I would still visit during the Winter months for respite from Chicago in deep freeze when Puerto Rico is less humid that the Summer months.
I never did grow bored but…was surprisingly ready to leave after our week visiting the Island of Enchantment. The trip temporarily satiated our needs to decompress and explore new lands. Yet, on the flight home, we pondered where we would go next. The wanders heart is never appeased.
Adventures of an American Traveler 