But anyway, I'm back, and I'm going to do my best to finish the Puerto Rico trip out because a) I want to remember as much as I can, and b) hey, it was a complete gas, and I would be selfish to keep all of the fun to myself!
So, on to Sunday. Off in the distance, I heard the sound of Anna's alarm, and then Anna leaving the condo for a run; I opted to continue sleeping. No matter, though; about the time she returned, breathing hard and dripping sweat, I was comfortably emerging from my slumber, well-rested and far more coherent and sociable than I had been a few hours earlier. (It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who wins the discipline award on this trip.)
Our original plan had been to head to San Cristobal Canyon and do some exploring, but, after talking it over, we decided to adjust the schedule a bit, and turn Sunday into a little bit more of a chill day. (Funny how kicking back and swaying in a hammock for awhile will do that to a person...)
First things, first, we loaded up in Bill and Kim's minivan and headed towards breakfast, singing as we went. We stopped at a little bakery/coffee shop in Fajardo and ordered our first course - eggs, toast, coffee, you know, that sort of thing. It was Sunday morning and the place was hopping, so we ended up sitting in this little alcove off of the main dining room. It was kind of an empty room with tiled floors and nothing but a few chairs and tables, and the acoustics were awesome, so... Let me pause and mention that I absolutely ADORED traveling with the sort of people who sing as they go. It's really hard to put into words the deep soul-satisfaction I find when I get to lift my voice in harmony with my companions, whether it's cruising down the road or waiting for breakfast to be served in a crowded restaurant. I don't quite know how to explain it, but mere conversation just can't match this connection that happens through music. Without a doubt, the world would be a better place if that sort of thing happened more often.
Breakfast? Check. Next stop? Panaderia. (No, I'm not kidding.) I didn't get a picture, which is really sad, because we walked out of that place with a box full of sugar coma-inducing pastries, which we proceeded to devour immediately. One flaky, buttery, dulce de leche-filled concoction later, and my body was cheerfully informing me that I had apparently lost my mind.
We headed towards Naguabo, a little town on the east coast of the island, maybe an hour or so from San Juan. Bill and Kim had recently discovered the place, a little diamond-in-the-rough of a village. It's a fishing community - we saw more than one pescaderia, promising fish as fresh as the ocean just a few feet from the door. Farm-to-table is no avant-garde concept here, just a way of life as old as the hills, although frying everything in sight is still the sadly predominant food preparation of choice.
The town's in a unique situation. Its economy was supported in years past by a United States military base, which recently closed, leaving the town struggling to survive. What you're left with are some really nice homes, situated on hillsides looking out over some of the most beautiful views on the island, co-existing alongside a lot of poverty and disrepair. The upside to all of this is some serious opportunity for those in the market for real estate bargains. We engaged in a lot of stimulating discussion about what could happen if this little town, with its breathtaking vistas and depressed property values, were discovered. It would be the creative set, we agreed, that could make it happen; imagine writers and programmers and artists looking for somewhere to escape and chill out. Like attracts like, and next thing you know, you have a thriving community congregating around beautiful surroundings, cool architecture, peace and quiet, and affordable prices. Makes for heady conversation, anyway. That, and the sorry state of the island's culture, education and economy at large, which we found ourselves discussing in depth with the animated, bicycle-riding gentleman we stopped to ask directions of on the side of the road. I love how a quick question at an intersection can turn into a sweeping, passionate discourse on the Puerto Rican psyche itself, complete with websites, email swaps, and promises of future interactions.
Seriously! Check out that architecture!
In any case, it was a lot of fun to poke around; we stopped and visited with one of Bill and Kim's new acquaintances, who invited us to his back porch so we could see his spectacular view and then loaded us up with avocados from the tree in his yard, we stopped at an almost-deserted sports bar for fruit smoothies, and we walked around the drowsy main street for a bit, browsing the makeshift market tables set up along the waterfront, selling everything from jewelry to bootleg CD's and movies (it broke my heart that we couldn't communicate with the little girl who came up to us and repeatedly tried to tell us...something...in rapid-fire Spanish).
It was mid-afternoon and we had church tonight, so we headed back towards San Juan, with a quick stop at a nice little gift shop in Fajardo for souvenirs. We parted company in Condado - Bill & Kim headed home for a bit and Anna and I went out in search of something to eat. (This is starting to get embarrassing.) We ended up at Pinky's for smoothies and wraps - after a few days of nothing but fried food and sweets, fruit, raw tuna and veggies felt pretty virtuous. Plus, it was just really cool to sit outside on the sidewalk, just outside the reach of the rain, leisurely observing the hustle and bustle of downtown San Juan. This was one of those moments when I told myself that I could get used to living in a big city, at least part-time. Walk out the front door and around the block to pop in on the folks and grab some weird tea and song practice, back out and around the corner for lunch and then coffee, and then stroll back home to clean up and dress up before heading out to church. All easy-breezy, and no car needed. Nice.
Church was heavenly, just heavenly. I haven't worshipped with many believers outside of my own congregation, so, for me, to sit in a room filled with people who I'd never met before, who barely speak my language, and yet who are my next of kin in that they love and serve the same Lord that I do was so incredibly special. We had the opportunity to participate in the service - Bill preached and we all sang, and to look out over those precious faces and see them worshipping my Jesus, gosh, it was amazing. I've never been hugged and kissed so much in my life, never felt such an immediate sense of welcome - I walked away that night with a whole new family to call my own. Anna and I ended up in the alley next to the church, singing with Ryan and Keila and Aby and Mia, accompanied by Anna on the guitar, and as we pulled ourselves away, their dad called out to me that now I had to come back to Puerto Rico; that his babies had stolen a piece of my heart. He was right. I'll be back to see Aby and taste her cooking and hear about Keila's big dreams for when she grows up.
Aby.
Keila.
I think we were on a little bit of a high, coming away from that wonderful experience. We stopped at Seaweed, just around the corner from Bill and Kim's place, for some late-night sushi and edamame and a chance to hash over the evening's events, and then it was off to a good night's sleep again.
Sorry Kim, awkward angle. But pretty amuse-bouche, no?
Nice presentation! (It was late. My already shaky photography skills were going to pot.)
My dear friends. You share these experiences, with folks; it starts to create a real bond.
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