Estuvimos en Puerto Rico! (Day 4)

Okay, I admit it, I took a sabbatical from blogging.  Bad case of the "I don't want to's".  I did learn something about trip blogging, though: if you want to document your journey, do it in the moment.  If you wait until you come home, it starts to feel unpleasantly similar to homework, and I am unapologetically in the middle of a no-homework semester, so....

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.

Estamos en Puerto Rico! (Day 3)

After dozing and half-listening to the chickens socializing a few feet from my head as the sun came up, I opened my eyes and unzipped the tent flap to this:

I know.  Life is hard, sometimes.  We did our morning chores (I feel bad for Bill, next time he tries to unload and set up that tent...we're girls, what can I say) and walked over to visit Mari, who served us up a mess of eggs and toast and cafe con leche and coconut bread and the most mouthwateringly delicious guava and cheese empanadilla (turnover).  

Time to rendezvous, so we walked along this:

until we arrived here:

Welcome to Gilligan's Island!  Let's just say that one of my first contacts upon returning to the mainland was the guy that is building my house, letting him know that my houseplan needed to be modified to include a deep front porch, big enough for a hammock and a couple of fans and chairs.  And probably something along the lines of those shells.

Today was our chill day; we took plenty of time to discuss what we wanted to do. Hey, that hammock needed some utilization, what can I say?  We finally bestirred ourselves to call Aramis, who picked us up in his trusty Pathfinder and deposited Bill and all of our gear at the local coffee shop and Anna and me at Carlos' Jeep Rentals, where we picked up a golf cart and took off to explore the island.  

Side note, in my opinion, Culebra would be an awesome place for a family vacation.  The villas (as demonstrated above) are adorable, the beaches are fantastic and offer plenty of opportunities for whatever floats the boat, whether relaxing or activities, and yet, the vibe is laid back and the island is very small, and thus pretty safe and manageable.  Load up the kids in a golf cart or two, go swimming at Zoni or snorkeling at Tamarindo, have lunch at the kioskos, go shopping and have dinner in Dewey, and round out the day listening to the coquis on your front porch... Not bad, I'd say.  Makes me want to hit my folks and siblings up for a long weekend this winter...

Anyway, I was driving the golf cart, so my co-pilot and navigator grabbed a couple "side-of-the-road" pictures:

Poor golf cart.  We conveniently ignored the little paragraph that said golf carts weren't recommended at Zoni Beach and headed for...Zoni Beach.  (I love how mellow Puerto Rican waivers are.  No teeth whatsoever.  I also love how chill the attendants were about watching this first-time golf-cart driver go lurching out of their parking lot and down the road.)

Once a personal trainer, always a personal trainer...

After a nice, refreshing swim (I tried, but I couldn't keep up with her), we headed back to town, hauling a couple of beachgoers back with us.  It was getting to be time to start thinking about the ferry again (remember the saga from yesterday?), but now, we were hungry and hot, it was 3 o'clock in the afternoon, meaning most restaurants were closed, we had a golf cart to return, and mountains of stuff to haul to the ferry terminal and keep track of.  No worries!  A vacationing family overheard our dilemma and jumped in to add their two cents... The matron of the family proposed a solution: hija would stand guard over our luggage while mama drove Bill and Kim in the family mini-van to the closest restaurant, after which she would pick Anna and me up at the jeep rental place, drop us off at the restaurant, run hermana to Flamenco Beach, come back to the restaurant, pick us plus our food up and deposit us back at the terminal, all while keeping up a running stream of commentary full of such choice tidbits as how to cure everything from diabetes to earache with nothing but houseplants and various teas.  Out of curiosity, when was the last time you ran errands for random strangers you met on the side of the road, and when was the last time random strangers ran errands for you?  (I find myself gently convicted - maybe I could stand to give just a little bit more of myself to the people I meet?)

So yes, that's what we did, ran hither and thither and devoured chuletas (fried pork chops) and rice and beans and grouper bites and Fanta grape soda along the way, and then came back and repeated the whole ferry process, which was much easier this time.  Oh, and we got some incredibly refreshing coconut ice cream from the elderly gentleman ringing his bell and hawking his wares up and down the line.

I was hot and tired and didn't entirely trust my stomach to behave during the rocky ferry ride back to Fajardo, so I dozed, all the while listening to what sounded like some sort of festive family reunion going on around me (cackling grandmas; music and singing, fits of good-natured shouting and uproarious laughter), the combination of which (dozing and eavesdropping) wrapped me in a cocoon of warmth.

We disembarked as twilight descended, negotiated the loading of our gear, the paying of our two-day parking bill ($11.25) to our friend from the Bronx, and headed back towards San Juan, fueled by a coffee and water stop at Church's Fried Chicken.  (Here is where Anna and I discovered our real kinship - to all outward appearances, we are bound by a shared love of adventure and fun, when the reality is, it is our shared desire for order, direction and cleanliness, also known as mild OCD, that makes us ideal traveling buddies.)

Our home base for the next two days was a very comfortable condo on the fifth floor of the Ashford Imperial, located in the heart of Candado, just around the corner from Bill and Kim's adorable ground-floor apartment.  (I am wretchedly sorry - I get to enjoying myself and I forget to take pictures.)  

Another side note, I found this condo on AirBnB - my first time using the site.  Such an awesome concept - free-market capitalism at its finest, and it worked beautifully for me - AirBnB will definitely be part of my future travel plans.

Anyway, an hour and a heavenly shower later, we reconvened and headed off towards Old San Juan and dinner at Carli's.  For starters, Bill drove, which, aside from being a lovely respite from the stress of negotiating heavy traffic in an unknown land, afforded ample opportunity to enjoy the passing scenery, which in this case was the wonders of the streets of downtown San Juan.  He deposited us a few blocks from our destination, so we got to walk for a bit, what would end up being my only exposure to Old San Juan.  The architecture was fascinating - such history held inside those walls!  Besides, it was 10:00 on a Saturday night and the people were out in force (some more sober than others).  The noise ceased and the mood changed as soon as we entered the temple of jazz that is Carli's, though.  

Picture soft lighting, muted colors, delicious smells, an elderly Dominican waiter oozing old-school charm, and a full-on jazz trio playing terrific live music.  That would be the jewel box that is Carli's.  We sank back in our chairs and savored the whole experience, a parade of entrees and desserts and double-shots of espresso with lime and brown sugar (that were really a coffee event more than anything) and then lipsmackingly delicious little glasses of papaya and coconut and guava, whipped up specially for us by our waiter (Faustio?), who, of course, goes way back with Bill and Kim, all accompanied by the music made by the guy who used to play with the Beach Boys (you never would guess it looking at or listening to him).

Risotto with Pumpkin and Shrimp

And then, it was back to the condo, where I positively staggered to bed and promptly collapsed.

Estamos en Puerto Rico! (Day 2)

I believe I shall illustrate over the course of the next few posts why I neglected to update the blog regularly...  (In other words, wimp that I am, I caved to human frailty and devoted the precious few hours that we weren't tearing around the island to...sleep.)

Sooooo, we last parted company on the rooftop of the Moonlight Bay Hostel.  Detractors may turn up their noses at the overly sociable living arrangements, the puppy roaming the halls, the gentle but ever-present olor de orina, but my bed was clean and comfortable, and I slept tolerably well, considering I haven't slept on a top bunk, tucked up under the ceiling, since I was, maybe, eight?  I have no regrets.  It was a new experience, unlike anything I've done before, and one of those things that make a person feel just a leetle bit more alive.  (I chuckle as I write this... I do realize that there is a huge slice of society for whom sleeping in a hostel is no big deal.  I, however, come from solid Midwestern stock, and for us corn-fed middle Americans, sleeping in a hostel is downright shocking.)

Bottom line, it didn't matter a whole lot, because we were up at 5:30 the next morning.  Puerto Rican culture is awesome and full of quirks.  One illustration of this awesomeness is the ferry system.  If one wishes to travel to Culebra or Vieques via the 9:00 AM ferry, one must begin standing in line at approximately 6:00 AM.  Then, possession of a ticket does not guarantee one admission to the ferry itself; apparently there is no need to correlate the number of tickets sold to the number of spaces available on the ferry - buy a ticket and best of luck to you is the general mantra.  Nor are the rules concerning baggage set in stone - you may think you bought enough tickets for your tents and bags and camping gear, but if the guy standing watch at the terminal doesn't think so, back to the ticket counter you go.  (I speak with the authority of experience on this topic in particular.)

It was all OK, though,because, this being Puerto Rico, we had a new friend to keep us company.  Edgar had passed me in the shadowy, early-morning half-light of the hostel stairwell as I waited for Anna, which, of course, made us old pals by the time we got to the ferry line.  A few hours later, after navigating the ticketing and boarding process together, grabbing coffee and then hanging out during the hour-long boat ride, we were swapping contact information and making plans to meet up later.  We never saw the guy again, but he certainly enlivened the whole process, and provided an introduction to what I came to realize was the normal way of life on this little territory.  Apparently, friends are easy to make here.  

The ferry.

By now, it was after 10 AM, and it was time to address our first order of business, and an introduction to another of the joys of traveling with the Becker family.  Food and coffee happen regularly and are matters of great importance.  First stop:

Directly across the street from the ferry terminal.  (I can think of worse places to get a little work done?)

Bill and Kim ordered coffee and Anna went for a full-on breakfast of oatmeal, eggs and sausage.  I was famished but wanted to leave room to explore the kioskos I kept hearing about, so I opted for the lighter route - a cream-filled pastry and cafe con leche.  Another indicator of things to come - in all of our time on the islands, we ate at not a single fast-food or even chain restaurant.  Being hungry is never a problem in Puerto Rico - no matter where you roam, no matter how isolated or out-of-the-way the road you find yourself on, there is bound to be a panaderia (bakery) or coffee shop or lechoneria (for barbecue) or pescaderia (for fish) nearby, or at the very least, some enterprising soul set up along the side of the road selling pollo asada (roasted chicken) or fruit or frappes (smoothies).

We loaded our gear into a publico (bus) and rode to the Flamenco Beach campgrounds, where we met Henri, who sang "One More Night" as he logged us in and demonstrated quite the sleight of hand in slipping us our campsite for free.  Then it was off to the kioskos (food stands), where we ordered pinchos (kebabs) and tostones (plantain fritters) and frappes and met Bill's amiga Mari, who serves her food piping hot and calls her customers "mi corazon" (my heart).  My love affair deepened...

After we'd eaten, we hauled all of THAT gear to our campsite. (Camping is an unwieldy business, let me tell you. The romance of traveling light, living off the land and the contents of a single, featherweight backpack gives way to the reality of the mountains of stuff needed for even the loosest definition of comfort).

One of the scenic attractions along the path to our campsite.

Our campsite.

The view from our campsite.  Yeah.  Kim apologized for the seaweed.  My heart somehow remained unbroken...

Then, at long last, we hit the trails (braving the clouds of mosquitoes the size of small Volkswagens) to Tamarindo Beach, where it was time to break in our brand-new snorkel gear.  (As a side note, I cannot tell you how elated I am to have become the sort of person whose luggage contains sleeping bags and swim fins.  Just saying.)

The following few photos are of the beaches we snorkeled from.  I did not have an underwater camera, so I was unable to record the sights we saw through our goggles.  I will say this.  If you've ever hiked in the mountains, you know that feeling you get, sometimes, where you think, "My God, your majesty and power and the wonder of your creation is utterly and breathtakingly amazing"?  I had the exact same sensation as I swam above the reefs - it was nearly silent; all I could hear was the sound of my own breathing.  I was surrounded by a splendid array of life forms in all sorts of shapes and sizes and in the most gloriously vibrant of colors; I watched the coral as it swayed with the tides and I was overcome once again with a love and admiration for my Heavenly Creator; He who would spread such glory there, beneath the surface where few ever see.  I've said it before and I'll say it again - I love Him with all of my heart.

The first picture is from Playa Tamarindo (Tamarindo Beach) and the second two are from Carlos Rosario Beach, where, as you can see, it was starting to get a little overcast.  (The weather was painfully familiar - hot and humid, with clear mornings steadily developing into rainy afternoons.)  Snorkeling at one beach was a completely different experience from snorkeling at the other - Tamarindo was more intimate; the reefs were located closer to the surface, and there was more color and variety.  On the other hand, the reef at Carlos Rosario was bigger and deeper and much more dramatic; one found oneself constantly looking over one's shoulder - who knows what lurks in those caves and drop-offs and grotesque forms?  I don't think much about those silent creatures of the deep with the big teeth and sharp vertical fins while I'm snorkeling; I suddenly remembered them while I was underwater at Carlos Rosario.  

After a couple of hours' worth of exploration, we trekked back to our campsite.  Bill and Anna grabbed a plate of shark pinchos, Anna and I cleaned up (outdoor showers for the win!), and Aramis, a friend of the guy who owned the condo next to Bill and Kim's picked us all up and hauled us into town. (I kid you not.  Random guy, friend of another random guy, picks us up in his Pathfinder, drives us where we need to go, and gives us his cell number in case we need his services again.)  We ate dinner at Mamacita's (ceviche, fried rice, fish and a decent chocolate creation - exhaustion was setting in and I was a little slow on the camera draw).  Coffee is a rare commodity on the island, especially after dinner, but our waiter pointed us to a little bar a couple of blocks down the street.  We waded through the boisterous families gathered around the entrance and the old guys yakking it up at the counter, ordered double shots, and were rewarded with some of the most delicious coffee I've drank in my life, made to order and served in little white cups and saucers, accompanied by tiny spoons.  I tried to hurry out of courtesy to my traveling companions, but I wanted to make mine last for a very long time.

Aramis picked us up and dropped us off at our respective sleeping quarters - Bill and Kim at the villas (which you shall see more of in the next post) and Anna and me at our campsite.  We made our way down the path, past the family reunion going strong in Section B and out to our quiet little corner in Section E, where, after some very rudimentary ablutions, we were lulled to sleep by the sounds of the wind passing through the branches above our heads and the waves lapping the shore a few feet from our sleeping bags.

Estamos en Puerto Rico! (Day 1)

Well, it's midnight and I'm sitting in a beach chair on the rooftop of a hostel, accompanied by somebody's black puppy, listening to the music from the venue next door wafting over on the breeze, smelling the salt air and watching the occasional passer-by.  It's been a long day, but somehow, I'm not quite sleepy yet.

My friend Anna's parents spend a lot of time in Puerto Rico and love the place like a second home; we've often talked about coming down and hanging out with them for awhile, and now, we've finally done it.  Starting today, it's time to make this little island's acquaintance.

If there's one refrain that repeats itself when Bill and Kim (Anna's parents) sing Puerto Rico's praises, it's the warm-hearted, fun-loving nature of the island's inhabitants.  That may or may not be the case; time will very soon tell.  I've had a couple of clues already, though - the guy who spontaneously danced a jig while waiting in line behind me to board the plane, and the entire back of the plane breaking into applause as we touched down... neither are occurrences I've observed elsewhere.  I like this.

The flight over was exceptionally nice.  Instead of having to overcome my personal space issues by being crammed into a six-inch space between two other human beings of varying sizes, I was so happy to get a window seat - a rare treat.  Too, this time, it meant I got to watch the island come into view - the sun had just set and I could see land, carpeted with twinkling lights, surrounded by the mysterious dark of the ocean.  It was beautiful.  I was an idiot and didn't take any pictures.  I'm determined to do better starting tomorrow.
We disembarked and I immediately felt like I'd entered a different country.  Well, the same, and different.  All of the signs in the airport were bilingual and it was reasonably easy to negotiate baggage claims and passenger pick-up, but once we left the premises, it became immediately clear that we weren't in Kansas anymore.  Thank goodness, Bill and Kim were there to take us under their wing, because yours truly was very rapidly shrinking into a timid little chickie.  Bill drove us over to the car rental agency and helped us navigate that whole thing, kicked our bumper to test for duct-tape-and-baling-wire contingencies, and then led us to a place of nourishment.  Also, thank goodness for those two semesters of college Spanish I took.  Thanks to them, I'm not having too much trouble navigating road signs and store displays, but there just isn't much English out and about.  On the bright side, my feminine confidence is soaring.  I haven't been this thoroughly checked out by this many males...ever?  At the moment, I'm somewhere on the spectrum between feeling flattered and like a piece of meat.

Anyway, Bill and Kim led us (via a tortuously complicated route through a maze of narrow roads populated by screeching traffic) to Sweet Anne Cakes.  We arrived just before closing time, so our waitress came over and told us what we could eat - pork? chicken? turkey? rice? yes, I can get you some vegetables... Anna ordered some chicken and vegetables and I ordered some pork and rice and beans, which were starchy and protein-y and thoroughly hit the spot.  Bill and Kim watched us eat for a bit, and then we raided the pastry cases and chased that down with delicious Puerto Rican coffee.

Anna needed her almonds and bananas and dried fruit (the girl is a machine), so Bill led us to Super Max (Puerto Rico's ubiquitous grocery chain) and she shopped while I trailed around, fascinated by everything I saw - plenty of familiar items, and plenty more that they don't stock in my neck of the woods.  Gets those curious juices flowing, it does...

Then it was goodbye to our protectors and Anna and I struck out for Fajardo, which is where we spend the night tonight.  By this time, I was pretty tightly wound, with the whole traffic and language thing - I won't deny I was a little nervous watching them disappear.  It was funny, though; once I successfully navigated San Juan traffic and got out on the open road, I got my groove back and things went from scary back to exciting.  We made it to Fajardo, although I was bummed that it was dark and I couldn't see anything...

And now, after a lengthy chat with the Puerto Rican-via-the-Bronx parking lot attendant (I start to see what Kim means about these island people), we are safely installed in our hostel for the night.  I'm sleeping in the top bunk for the first time in a very long time.  I expect to sleep pretty well.  And then we're up tomorrow morning at 5:30 to make the ferry to Culebra, where we'll spend a day or two snorkeling and spearfishing and exploring and...camping!  Good stuff in store...

On the Meaning of Friendship

There is this gentleman that I associate with through my work.  I am pretty positive that I have never in my born days met an individual more tirelessly self-promoting.  I've pretty much come to the conclusion that this dude is incapable of carrying on a conversation without drawing attention (multiple times) to who he knows, what he's done, where he's been, how awesome he is; you get the idea.  Now, where I come from, this is considered bad form.  Very bad form.  Needless to say, I've been...underwhelmed by his acquaintance.

Something interesting happened the other day, though.  As a bit of backstory, I am working with this man because of a rather large project we are mutually involved in - a project that is, shall we say, a bit of a personal renaissance for him.  In other words, it's a pretty big deal.  So, between the personality and the project, you can imagine my surprise when I received a terse email from him stating that an emergency had arisen and he would be unavailable for several days, possibly until further notice.  Under the circumstances, it was shocking, to say the least.  

Come to find out, an old friend had been diagnosed with terminal cancer and given just days to live.  Upon hearing the news, Mr. X dropped everything, cancelled meetings, extricated himself from the center of the action, and went straight to the bedside of his friend.  Not to drop by and pay his respects, but to stay by her side until the very end, simply because she wanted him to.

Frankly, this little episode made an impression on me that has stayed with me ever since.  Here's this guy - busy, big, important, living a life full of things to do, places to go and people to see.  And yet, somehow, when the call came from someone who needed him, he dropped everything, and was there.  Obnoxious, no doubt, but there.  Not a flower-sender or a card-mailer, a sympathetic phone call-maker or even a cash-donater.  He picked himself up and placed himself by her side, right where she wanted and needed him to be.  

It got me thinking about friendship.  What is it, anyway?  Is it having someone to shop with?  Go fishing with?  Is it Friday night couples dinner dates?  Is it someone who laughs really hard at the YouTube clips you post on Facebook?  Somebody who admires your new truck?  Maybe, it's all of these things, and a whole lot more - whatever it is that makes each of us single out another person and call him or her a friend.

I know for myself, though, I want friendship to mean more than that.  I want it to mean that my friends can count on me, through thick and thin.  To laugh with them, to cry with them, to cheer them on, to believe in them, to stand by their side, to hang on, no matter what life brings.  All the way to the very end.  And if and when that "I need you" call ever comes, I want them to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I will be there.

Furthermore, I do believe that to have a friend or three like that would make one the richest human being on the planet.  

Side note: In the interests of full disclosure, I do not regard this individual with the scorn I once did.

In Support of Food Trucks

Well, rather than writing a post about discrimination, injustice and race relations in the world today (which I am extremely tempted to do, I'll have you know), I am instead going to write a post about food trucks.

I've been meaning to write this post ever since I attended a Food Truck Rally in Gainesville last month.  Now, let me go on the record as saying that I am a big fan of the whole food truck movement.  In a nutshell, you have folks who are passionate about good food, preparing and serving it in a very accessible way.  Instead of stuffy restaurants with white tablecloths and big prices, you have a couple of people jammed into a space about the size of your average laundry room, maximizing very limited resources to create stuff worth eating, all at a price that us normal people can swallow without much heartburn.  That's the way it's supposed to work anyway.

This being North Florida, we're behind the curve a bit, as usual.  Still too much emphasis on snow cones, standard-issue sweet potato fries, and food service nachos, and generally, if I am going to order grilled cheese, I want it to be AMAZING.  That being said, I applaud the fact that we're at least trying, and for that reason, I'll do my darndest to get out there and support.

So what did we eat?  Well, we COULD have had pizza... popsicles... fish tacos... barbecue... lobster rolls (I do struggle with this one; guys, local, or at least localish, is REALLY, REALLY cool, and lobster is pretty not local here)... Pad Thai... And so on and so on.  There was even some culinary options for the canine members of society - doggie treats, doggie popsicles and doggie beer!  (The one dog I saw given the opportunity to partake of this particular product turned up her nose and backed away in disgust.)

What we DID have:

A nice, greasy, very tasty burger, soused in a spicy mayo plus curried ketchup and sandwiched between upside-down buns.  I liked it.  A lot.

There you see some quesadillas (for the girlies), fish tacos, and hand-cut fries (probably a little too greasy, but that didn't stop us from some major consumption)

And, because when you're a kid, they sound better than about anything else, snow cones.  My bad attitude melts when I see my girlies that happy.

Not pictured, the Korean sweet potato noodles my sister-in-law tried.  Not a fave, but kudos to the proprietor for making something interesting.

There is a bonus to all of this, too.  When you're in downtown Gainesville, the natural progression of things is to cap off the night at Sarkara Sweets, with a flight of cupcakes and a round or two of Uno.

Final verdict?  Food Truck Rally makes for a fun, relaxed outing, great for kiddos and easy on the wallet.  Plus, if enough of us show up and offer our support, maybe more food truck vendors will be inspired to get out there and really up their game.  Which would be a great thing, if you ask me.

You can follow Original Gainesville Food Truck Rally on Facebook for updates and to find out where the next events will be.  Word on the street is that there will be another one in September.

Oh, and I intend to give Two Fat Guys Burgers and Fries (Lake City's very own food truck!) a try just as soon as I can eat fun stuff guilt-free again.  (I'm going as fast as I can!)