“You know, travel does broaden the mind!” Elisabeth Sladen exclaimed, holding back tears, as she played Sarah alongside Tom Baker’s Dr. Who. It was one of the last things her character said to her best friend, the Doctor, as she was leaving the TARDIS for a final time as a regular companion during the concluding moments of her swansong television serial, The Hand of Fear. Sarah is one of the most celebrated, fan-favorite characters to ever appear in Doctor Who, and her parting moments in the series are some of the most understatedly touching scenes, two best friends saying goodbye to each other while acknowledging a cliched truth, but a truth nonetheless.

And you know what? Travel does broaden the mind! And as triste as it is when unas vacaciones están finitas, I would never, ever stop traveling even though I know I will always feel such debilitating sadness whenever the next trip is over.

Our last morning in Jayuya was misty and slightly damp, just as it was on our first morning. Nuestra casa pequeña en las montañas se llama Monte Niebla, after all, and it was a fitting description of an impossibly gorgeous area of the island. We engorged ourselves on the exquisitely glorious views from our gazebo down the hill, coffees in hand, tiny lizards scurrying into the brush as we passed by.

But soon it was time to bid adiós to our little house in the mountains, to make our way back to San Juan through those hilariously ridiculous mountain roads, winding and twisting and turning through steep grades and lushessly green forests, to eventually an area to the east of San Juan and just north of el aeropuerto called Piñones, upon the recommendation of Ricardo, our food guide tour, who explained that we can find some of the best comidas fritas on the street there.

We decided to visit Mi Casita Seafood, a lovely little outdoor restaurant/bar with a pavilion, to enjoy some piña coladas, beers, carnes fritas con arroz y frijoles, trifongo, and rice pudding. While it was splendid to enjoy one, last, authentic Puerto Rican meal, I wouldn’t say that the food at Mi Casita was the absolute best but also not the absolute worst. Just middlingly average but satisfying nonetheless.

Mi Casita is also located right near the ocean, so we allowed ourselves one, final, lengthy, indulgent view of the hopelessly brilliant sea, wind in our hair, the sea breeze refreshingly exhilarating against the skin, the roaringly elegant crashes and clashes of the ocean’s neverending undulations, the shoreline constantly and invisibly shaping and re-shaping, footprints in the sand as ephemeral as lifetimes, the waves washing impressions away from a fickle memory. It took incredible energy to turn our backs to the sea and return to the car, moving away yet also onwards, away from magic, back towards reality, not knowing when we’ll see this breathtakingly beautiful island once again, its people, its food, its cocktails, its sites, its churches, its castles, its museums, its cities, its towns, its cats, its mountains, its roads, its streets, its heart of gold, its hardship of the ages, and its resilience of steel.

Travel does broaden the mind, and the more I do it, the more I know that I’ll never fall out of love with it, the memories it creates, the perceptions it shapes, the connections it forges, and the lives it enriches. I’m already looking forward to the next adventure, wherever and whenever that may be.

Until then, take care, Puerto Rico. We will meet again, and it can’t be a moment too soon…

Alas, our last full day in Puerto Rico arrived, and it seemed a moment too soon. We wanted one last day in San Juan proper, but we took a little detour on our way there from Jayuya to visit El Museo del Café de Puerto Rico, a little museum located in a little town called Ciales.

Ciales is a charmingly quaint town of less than 20,000 people, and a colorful mural honoring poet, journalist, and pro-independence activist Juan Antonio Corretjer welcomed us after we parked our car. The mural was painted by artist Cristian Roldán who grew up in Puerto Rico but has since moved to Chicago. The artwork not only celebrates Corretjer but also highlights the culture of Puerto Rico with images of its mountains and its towns while also acknowledging the despair that many Puerto Ricans feel, choosing to leave the island behind often for good, which is depicted by images of U.S. cityscapes, including an image of the Willis Tower in Chicago. The mural again served as a reminder to me that I don’t believe there are any easy answers for how to solve Puerto Rico’s question of becoming independent, becoming a state, or remaining a commonwealth. There is much passion and emotion surrounding this problem, and it will be difficult to find any sort of solution that satisfies some without leaving others behind.

We continued to walk down the main drag of Ciales to eventually enjoy our visit to the coffee museum. Like Ciales, the museum is also small but quite a delight and it doesn’t take long to view the entire place, appreciating old artifacts like antique coffee mills and giant mortars and pestles as well as old documents and ledgers.

Next door to the museum is the Don Pello Coffee Shop, where we discovered we were quite famished. The menu featured plates that wouldn’t look out of place at any diner in the states (waffles, omelets, pancakes, fried eggs with ham, and so on), except the view as we sat outside under a pavilion was characteristically and uniquely Puerto Rican—those lush, green, rolling mountains; those vibrant flamboyan trees with their blazing orange flowers just beginning to appear in time for spring; all accompanied by that impossibly comfortable Puerto Rican air that persistently invited us to enjoy its warming presence. The cafe also had a petting zoo where we could express our love to small bunnies, baby goats, and a particularly vocal donkey.

Soon we were on the road again towards San Juan, making our way to a district in the city called Santurce, known for its street art. When we arrived, we parked in a ramp near the Museum of Contemporary Art of Puerto Rico and then walked down a main drag, Avenida Juan Ponce de León, on a mission to find unos artes de las calles. In the process of looking, we walked past the Miramar Food Truck Park, which we had visited earlier in the week (and I still advise that you make a trip to enjoy some incredible food there) and then proceeded to walk south down Calle Cerra. It was on this street that we started to find some of the best graffiti art we had yet seen in the city.

But before we could enjoy all the art on this street, we naturally found ourselves a little thirsty and decided to visit a lovely place called El Axolote, a self-proclaimed restaurante mexicano. Our camarero was at once helpfully instructive, dashingly charming, and—how do I say this—overtly devious, which I’ll get to in a moment.

As it was a mexican restaurant, mezcal was on the menu, so we ordered paloma mezcals. Normally, of course, palomas are made with tequila, but the smoky overtones of the mezcal added an earthy shade of flavor to the citrusy, summertime drink. When our waiter returned to ask how the drinks were, I remarked, “¡Muy delicioso!” and he laughed a bit and said, “No, don’t say that about a drink. Say, ‘Está bueno’. Or you could say, ‘Está cabrón’.”

We, of course, were too quick for him as we had already learned that cabrón is a word not to use with your boss (recall that it translates to many things, including bastard and bitch), as we had learned on día tres from a group of ladies we met while Aaron and I were ziplining. That said, it was helpful to learn that the ladies at Toro Verde were not pulling our legs, as our waiter’s naughty Spanish lesson helped validate theirs.

I then asked him if you ever would say, “Muy delicioso,” about something you’re eating or drinking, and he said that he might say that while he would be, er, enjoying a rather adult sampling of a specific, private body part of a certain gender, if you understand my meaning. The shameless gall of our camarero joven started to reveal itself, but these more adult-themed conversaciones are what help you to really get to know una lengua.

After enjoying a second round of drinks, we felt it was time to carry on with our street art tour. Before we left our table, I had asked our waiter, “¿Dónde está el mejor arte en la calle?” and he recommended we go to the nearby Museum of Contemporary Art of Puerto Rico where we had parked our car, commenting that he doesn’t really have suggestions for arte bueno en la calle, as he sees it all the time and doesn’t really pay attention to it.

As we were exiting, our waiter made one last overture, indicating that he was getting off work in a half hour and that we should join him for more drinks at a bar called El Nie, buttering us up even more by complimenting our clothes, particularly my very own geeky look. We asked what El Nie meant, and he struggled to translate the word for us, and instead asked (brace yourself for some more uncensored language), “What’s the name for that body part in a man’s butt?”

“A taint?” I asked.

He agreed that was the word he was looking for and then explained that el nie means the taint, and the bar was named so because it’s located in the middle of a short block and isn’t really next to either street that surrounds it. Whether or not this translation of the word is true, I cannot substantiate, as none of the dictionaries I’ve been using seem to have an entry for the word.

Before we finally did leave El Axolote, our waiter additionally explained that he’s banned from El Nie but that if he brought the three of us that they would let him in. (We decided not to take him up on that.) As the afternoon was fading fast, we bid farewell to our mischievous friend so we could continue our tour of art while the light was still out.

There were many glorious murals to see on this street as we walked farther south down Calle Cerra, and many of these murals dominated entire building facades standing three or four stories high: a bold, close-up image of a blonde-haired woman wearing sunglasses reflecting an olive; a giant jackrabbit standing on its hind legs and painted in strikingly cool colors of blues and greys; a haunting image of a woman floating in a forest wearing a box on her head, an image of a skull appearing on the box exactly where her head would be; a young girl sitting on a tree branch cradling a little seedling in the palms of her hands. There was so much to see, and it was gratifying to see artists investing their time and energy in beautifying this part of town with their love of bold colors and striking images.

We eventually made our way to the intersection of Calle Cerra and Avenida las Palmas where we decided to head east and then north back towards the car, as we wanted to enjoy one, last excursion into Viejo San Juan, accidentally walking past El Nie in the process, making sure our naughty waiter didn’t hijack the rest of our day. This part of town, sadly, was clearly still recovering from Maria even though the disaster happened four-and-a-half years ago: sidewalks and curbs were dirty, oily, and crumbing; boulevards were dusty and sandy and devoid of vibrant grasses; shuttered storefronts were overrun with sad, feral cats, the scent of piss and shit permeating the air; a giant, concrete, inhabited apartment complex that looked like something out of 28 Days Later rather than something belonging in a commonwealth that apparently belongs to one of the richest countries in the world. I couldn’t help but feel that we were intrusively encroaching on neighborhoods with a fetishistic desire to view urban decay, so while I’m grateful to have seen this part of San Juan, it felt appropriate to move on.

All of this said, it was inexplicable to us that this is just how it is in Puerto Rico, not only in San Juan, but all throughout the entire island, once warmly inviting homes now entirely dilapidated and abandoned. I honestly just don’t know how this is allowed to be or what the solution is, and I was reminded of what our bartender at Skryer said the previous day, “It’s not a matter of if we leave the island but when.”

We eventually arrived in Viejo San Juan, and we wanted to have drinks at El Convento Hotel, upon the recommendation of our food tour guide, Ricardo, but the hotel restaurant was closed for a private party, so we instead made our way to Marilyn’s Place, where we were delighted to once again encounter Ricardo who was in the middle of the Rum Runners cocktail tour with another group, and he recognized us and seemed delighted that we were enjoying cocktails at Marilyn’s Place. On their sidewalk tables underneath umbrellas, we enjoyed a Brazilian classic, caipirinha, except flavored with a Puerto Rican twist, parcha (passion fruit).

Learning from our difficulties yesterday trying to find a restaurant that had availability, we made reservations at Princesa Cocina Cultura, a restaurant located right on Paseo de la Princesa, a beautiful pedestrian street near the waterfront we had visited previously. We made our way there, taking a somewhat scenic route through La Puerta de San Juan and then along Paseo del Morro, to marvel at one, final, enchanting Puerto Rican sunset.

Princesa Cocina Cultura had ample outdoor seating, and we got to enjoy one last evening meal under a giant gazebo next to an ancient tree adorned with sparkling fairy lights that magically lit up the area as the evening turned to night. We enjoyed canastas de yuca y ropa vieja and molletes criollos to start. Canastas are essentially mashed plantains shaped into a cup, fried in oil, and then filled with whatever you want, in this case yuca and ropa vieja, which is a kind of beef stew. Molletes criollos are thickly sliced pieces of bread, toasted, and topped with pork and tomatoes with melted brie.

For our mains Aaron enjoyed a red snapper, Amy a mahi mahi, and I a lamb piñon. Aaron and I absolutely loved our dishes, but poor Amy was less than impressed with hers. I tried a bit, and the best I can describe it is that it tasted like hot fish water, bland and devoid of flavor. It was really too bad, as everything else was so, so good.

We also enjoyed a hefty sampling of cocktails and sparkling wine, and as the evening progressed, a somewhat substantial rainfall joined us, but the gazebo provided ample covering. It actually was quite enchanting, enjoying a meal that was (mostly) transcendent, fairy lights glimmering in an aged tree, rain falling all around us. One of San Juan’s resident cats also joined us under the gazebo, and he, too, looked as if he was enjoying his time at the restaurant, his healthy weight a sign that he knew where to find the best food.

Eventually the rain subsided and it was time to head back to Jayuya for one last jaunt into the mountains. It was challenging to not allow feelings of melancholy to overcome ourselves as we bid farewell to Viejo San Juan, walking past all of the city’s colorful building facades and iconic blue cobblestone streets. But it wasn’t quite goodbye to Puerto Rico just yet, as we had one final sight to check off our list on our very last day on this gorgeous, yet troubled, little island…

Spanish lesson for the day:

1. We generally were pretty careful about what kind of water we were drinking in Puerto Rico—nothing from the taps, for example. And when we were in restaurants we frequently asked for bubbly water so we’d receive water out of a bottle. “Agua con gas,” is how you’d order that, and our camarero at El Axolote seemed impressed that we knew how to say that.
2. If you want to know what sparkling wines are available at a restaurant and not just champagne, you can ask, “¿Qué vinos espumosos tiene?” or “What sparkling wines do you have?”
3. Usar is a handy verb which means to use. At El Axolote, Amy asked, “Qué mezcal usas?” which is, “What mezcal do you use?” The waiter responded, “Uso…” which is, “I use…” and then proceeded to list off the mezcals they have.

Travel tips, day eleven:

1. Today was the first day where we encountered a local who grew frustrated that we were unable to to speak Spanish very well. It happened while we were trying to buy coffee beans from the coffee museum. “Quiero comprar,” Aaron said while holding up a bag of coffee beans, to which the clerk spoke something rapidly in response. Amy added, “Lo siento, no entiendo.” Exasperated, the clerk got a coworker—who seemed embarrassed by what had just happened—who then explained that her colleague was trying to figure out what kind of roast we wanted. Again, this was the first time we had a difficult exchange like this, but the best you can do is just continue to speak calmly (speaking more loudly never solves anything) and try the best you can as you conjugate the wrong verb or use a mismatched article to its noun.
2. As you can imagine, Puerto Rico has many palm trees, but my favorite has to be a fluffier variety called the royal palm. They look as if they’ve come out of a Dr. Seuss book, especially when the wind buffets their feathery leaves about.
3. It’s clear that they dump more money into Viejo San Juan as that’s where the cruise ships dock and where most of the tourists spend their time. But I highly recommend you try to visit areas of San Juan that are outside of Viejo San Juan, as the other parts of town allow you to really see the real San Juan, so step outside the box if you can.

*These photos by Amy Danielson. All others by me.

I think this day, our tenth day in Puerto Rico, was probably my favorite day of all the days we spent there. While I do love visiting old cemeteries, grand castles, educational museums, expansive parks, and so on and so on, there’s nothing that quite satisfies my desire to experience and learn about the local culture than through a food tour. And on this day we treated ourselves to not one food tour but two!

The only regret I have about the food tours is that I wish we would’ve done them sooner in our stay rather than later, as you’ll always pick up little tidbits of information that might inspire you to add something to your list of things to do. And the Flavors Food Tours definitely did not disappoint. We signed up for the Classic Old San Juan Food Tour and the Rum Runners Craft Cocktail Tour, and both were quite delightful.

Our tour guide for the food tour was Ricardo, un hombre guapo y inteligente. Él estudia historia en una universidad en San Juan se llama Centro de Estudios Avanzados de Puerto Rico y El Caribe. (Huh! Apart from the name of the school, I was able type all that out without using a dictionary!) It was clear that not only was Ricardo distractingly handsome as he studied for a masters degree in history (“What have I gotten myself into?” he bantered), but he also had a genuine passion for the people of Puerto Rico, especially the history of their food!

Our first stop on the tour was to Cuatro Sombras, a coffee and sandwich cafe. Sombras seems to translate to several things, but the likeliest would probably be shades, as their website indicates their beans are grown in the shade to “allow the beans to mature more slowly and have more contact with the sugars.” We got to enjoy a cup of espresso prepared cortado style (half espresso, half milk) with a sinfully buttery croissant (but a flatter style of croissant) with ham, provolone, and guava butter. The espresso was so absolutely delicious, bold and vibrant, the milk tempering the acidity of the espresso in a delicate harmony of flavors, while the ham, provolone, and guava butter complimented each other in an uncomplicated choreography of the passions, the melted provolone coaxing the saltiness of the ham to embrace the sweetness of the guava in a symphony of delightful sensations. As we enjoyed the espresso and the croissant, Ricardo provided us with a brief history of coffee, how—like ales—it was safer to drink than regular water because it was made using boiled water, how it was exported from the Middle East, and so on.

Our next stop was to El Patio de Sam, and unfortunately this place was probably my least favorite stop. While the ambiance of the restaurant was inviting—colorful tables with blue and yellow tiles, bold yellow walls adorned with colorful art, an elegant wooden bar with a mesmerizing selection of spirits—the food left much to be desired, as if apologizing for its very existence. We were served carne frita con tostones—a Puerto Rican staple—but the meat was quite dry and tough and perhaps a bit too salty, and I don’t even remember eating the tostones. However, while my mouth was treated to sensations best left untold, my mind was treated to Ricardo’s stories best oft repeated: how pork and plantains aren’t native to Puerto Rico but have become such mainstays of the local cuisine and how fried meats are a specialty during Christmastime as frivoleters jaunt from place to place enjoying endless varieties of carnes fritas. Let’s just hope that during Christmastime that other establishments prepare the plato in a better fashion than El Patio de Sam.

We next made our way past Catedral Basilica Menor de San Juan Bautista (which we had visited on día cinco, and which I still think you should go visit) and the nearby Hotel El Convento (an old nunnery turned four-star hotel), to a small square called Bastión de las Palmas (once a major defensive section of the Viejo San Juan city walls) outside of a little shop called Señor Paleta, to enjoy a frozen treat on a day just hot enough that you might find yourself perspiring, even with the ocean breeze. Paleta translates to a few words (including blade and trowel), but in the context of food it refers to a popsicle (which has a trowel-like shape, come to think of it). We got to enjoy paletas parchas (passion fruit popsicles), that were welcomingly and slightly mouth-puckeringly citrusy, activating salivary glands to overdrive, as the flavors consumed every sensation imaginable. It was the perfect food to have midway through our tour, especially as we were right by the historic Bastión de las Palmas that allowed us enchanting views of San Juan Harbor.

Ricardo made sure to point out La Casa Estrecha (San Juan’s narrowest house, painted brightly in yellow, standing two stories tall but only five feet wide, squished between wider, taller buildings on either side) and Polo Norte Fabrica de Soda (“North Pole Soda Factory,” a characteristically colorful building of yellows and blues, a soft drink factory established in 1902 by Angel Rivero Méndez) before we moved on to Vaca Brava, which probably translates to Brave Cow or Spicy Beef, if my reading of Collins Dictionary is to be believed. Perhaps it’s actually a dark pun on the fact that a cow must be brave in order to be turned into spicy beef, the poor dears.

Before we enjoyed the main course at Vaca Brava, we got to make our own mojitos. The key to making an authentic Puerto Rican mojito is to place the mint leaves in the palm of one hand and then strike both hands together as if clapping loudly only one time to help release the oils of the plant. Mint began to permeate the air as we mixed the rum, lime, soda water, and simple syrup into a classically delightful concoction. Soon, a hefty serving of chicken mofongo arrived at our tables, the mashed plantains and chicken arriving in a tall wooden cup with the usual sides of frijoles y arroz. And it was so, so tasty and so, so filling I only just barely managed to finish my plate. Ricardo regaled us of the history of mofongo and the origin or the word, which all helped to verify my own research on the dish when I wrote about este plato delicioso for día tres.

It seemed much too soon as we began heading to our last stop, La Picadera, which seems to translate to snacks. The restaurant started in 2014 with a selection of fried finger foods and coffee, but eventually the menu grew to include more sophisticated fare unworthy of the title snacks, as we got to consume the most enchantingly delicious flan I ever got to enjoy. It was unapologetically light and creamy and the perfect level of sweetness, a caramel glaze more consistent with honey on top of a splendidly shaped circle of chilled custard prepared to superior excellence, a flan to which all other flans will now be compared for the rest of my life.

Our first tour concluded, we had a bit of time to pass before our Rum Runners tour began, so we made our way to Scryer Rum and Barrelhouse, where we continued to indulge in our appreciation for well-crafted rum that can be used in drinks generally meant for fine whiskeys. Skryer had a version of that New Orleans classic, the sazerac, prepared with rum instead of rye, and I might’ve had a difficult time telling the difference between the genuine article and this Puerto Rican rendition. With still more time to pass, I had a second drink, a so-called classy lassy, a slightly sweeter—but not too sweet—concoction of rum, lemon juice, honey, and port.

It was during our visit to Scryer that we got to hear more about the locals’ perspectives on Puerto Rican statehood. I had written about this a little bit on día seis when we visited the coffee plantation museum in Jayuya, and our conversation with the bartender did little to help me decide on the best solution, as independence, statehood, and commonwealth each have their benefits but also each are fraught with complications. Our bartender was unapologetically anti-statehood, explaining that his generation (he couldn’t have been much older than I am), tends to be anti-statehood because the pro-statehood party that they grew up knowing was rife with corruption, which has colored their perception of the issue. He also explained that one day he will have to leave the island—something he’d prefer not to do—as lucrative career opportunities on the island are few and far between, remarking that he’s seen many others leave the island for the states and who have yet to return.

After listening to his story, I left feeling that I still didn’t know the answer, but that I can nonetheless be persuaded for any of the three options for Puerto Rico’s future. It will take people smarter than me to figure this all out, however, but sadly the wheels of government can turn so slowly, and I don’t foresee a change in the status quo any time soon.

We quickly were off to our next tour, the Rum Runners Craft Cocktail Tour, this time with young Yoli—standing barely above five feet—who was our guide imparting her own knowledge as we made our way through three bars to enjoy, naturally, more rum. Our first stop was, coincidentally, Scryer, which we had just frequented. But this time, we got to go in the back of the bar to learn about the distillation process from the owner, Derek Schwarz, a precocious young lad who studied Scotch whiskey distillation processes in, as you would expect, Scotland, and who brought what he learned to Puerto Rico with dreams to craft not his own Scotch but his own rum with his business partner, Garrett Robinson. Skryer, as it happens, is Scottish for one who predicts the future, a dreamer, you might say.

We got to try three varieties of their rum, poured neat, directly from the barrels: one aged in an old port barrel, another in a sherry, and a third in a barrel whose details are escaping me, and they were all potently strong and hypnotically profound in their layers of aromas and flavors. After the two cocktails earlier and the three pours during the tour, I sensed a giddy delight within me begin to reveal itself, as you can no doubt imagine.

Our next stop was El Batay. While Skryer was a classy place with a tall, smart, wooden bar with walls dimly lit in elegant red lights, El Batay was a kind of bombed out punk dive bar frequented by hipsters, dirty red and white square tiles on the floor, walls and tables purposely marred with messy scribbles and chaotic graffiti, as if a Jackson Pollock painting was created with the names and words of the generations who visited this place. Indeed, the Rolling Stones are known to frequent El Batay, and one of their tunes happened to have been playing on the jukebox when we were there.

At El Batay, instead of sipping rum, we got to enjoy a mixed cocktail called the vaccine, a mixture of rum, grapefruit, and lime. And I’m so sorry, but I’m forgetting much of the details beyond that as I was so entranced by the unashamedly grimy ambiance of El Batay that I could’ve been served some sort of magical cocktail mixed with the most expensive rum and my eyes still couldn’t have been distracted by the beguilingly entrancing scratchings and scrawlings that embellished the walls in a schizophrenic deluge of bold, chaotic, disordered colors.

Our third and final stop was La Cubanita, a slightly less divey establishment compared to El Batay, but still divey nonetheless—tall ceilings adorned with thick wooden beams, white walls cracking with age and exposing timeless brick underneath, a young mustached bartender wearing a vintage patterned shirt who wouldn’t look out of place in a Terry Gilliam film featuring Benicio Del Toro. La Cubanita is a part of a series of bars—one of them called La Factoría—that is connected by secret passageways. La Cubanita itself used to be a convenience store and is now a world heritage site turned bar, meaning that any repairs to the building need to be completed in the style and practices of when the building was built, something that is prohibitively expensive. And so La Cubanita remains in a state of disrepair (this isn’t meant pejoratively) that lends itself to its uniquely worn charms, rough around the edges.

Our final drink for the night was a concoction of ginger, hibiscus, lime, and rum and named after tourist Mike Billions who wanted the bartender to make him something gingery. (It was, indeed, a gingery drink.) It wasn’t before long that the Rum Runners tour was complete, and Amy, Aaron, and I decided to have another round of drinks at La Cubanita. I got a drink called Fuego 23, a mixture of mezcal, vermouth, and soursop, a fruit with flavors like strawberry, apple and sour citrus.

We wanted to visit a restaurant called Barrachina, a tip from Ricardo earlier who explained they have the best frozen piña coladas. Sadly, the night was waning fast and there were no more reservations available for the evening, so instead we went to a restaurant called Bacaro, un restaurante italiano. We enjoyed a bruschetta platter, more mezcal, various platos de pasta, and a cheesecake flan. Bacaro provided a great way to find out how Italian food is prepared in Puerto Rico (“Pretty good!” I’d say), and it was a fine way to end a day that celebrated food and drink.

The night felt mildly sultry, moisture heavy in the air, but the ocean breeze made everything feel comfortable and pleasant. On our way back to the car and then onwards back to Jayuya, we took in some final sights of Puerto Rico lit up a night, stopping by Plaza de Armas, an elegant square with an exquisite fountain, pink and purple lights shining off the nearby San Juan City Hall causing the water to glow a calming violet. What a delight it was to become familiar with such an enchanting city through its people, its food, and its drink. Absolutely an impeccably perfect way to spend a day!

We still felt we made the correct decision, canceling our trip to El Yunque National Forest, so we could have another day to explore San Juan, except this time outside of the historic hub of Veijo San Juan and onwards to the more artistic neighborhood, Santurce…

Spanish lesson for the day:

1. DuoLingo will teach you that pastel (plural: pasteles) means cake. But Ricardo told us that in Puerto Rico it means something else entirely, a beloved Christmastime treat: “Christmas pastel consists of some combination of mashed viandas (root vegetables and plantains), a mixture of yautía (malanga) and guineo verde (green banana), olives, garbanzo beans, manteca de achiote (annatto-infused lard), and minced pork, all wrapped in banana leaves and parchment paper. The whole package is boiled in salty water for an hour.”
2. If you want to pay your bill in cash, you can say, “Quiero pagar en efectivo,” or, “I want to pay in cash.” If you want to pay in credit you can say, “Quiero pagar con tarjeta de crédito.”
3. If you’ve come to a restaurant and only want to enjoy some drinks and no food, you can say, “Solo queremos bebidas, por favor,” or, “We only want drinks, please.”
4. If you want to say you’re familiar with a city or country or person, you can use the verb conocer. “Conozco San Juan,” means, “I’m familiar with San Juan,” while “Conocemos Puerto Rico,” means, “We’re familiar with Puerto Rico.” If you are talking about people, you’ll add an extra word: “Conozco a tu amigo,” which means, “I’m familiar with your friend,” or, “I know your friend.”

Travel tips, day ten:

1. If you make it to La Picadera, as you enter make sure to watch out for these giant, colorful masks representing key historical figures, generally used for the San Sebastián Festival, one of Puerto Rico’s largest street festivals celebrating the saint.
2. Be on the lookout for Banco Popular, a bank chain in Puerto Rico, whose branch in Viejo San Juan is a tall, gorgeous, art deco building—the style having since been banned in order to maintain the more historical architecture.
3. On our food tour, Ricardo told us of how San Juan—like Minneapolis—used to have an impressive streetcar system and how he would love to see it return and lamented the fact that it was dismantled in the first place. It was just another reminder that the easiest way to get around town is by car, as even the existing bus system is woefully inadequate.
4. While Puerto Rico has made some progress on restoring and repairing the damage from Hurricane Maria, Ricardo told us of how San Juan seemed like an episode of The Walking Dead during the weeks and months following the catastrophe. You’ll notice that the more touristy parts of Puerto Rico have been more quickly re-built, but there are many areas in the more rural parts where, sadly, houses are still abandoned and in disrepair.

*These photos by Amy Danielson. All others by me.

Always during any vacation, Amy, Aaron, and I suffer from premature grief that the vacation will eventually come to an end. We were feeling it this morning in particular even though we had three and half days of Puerto Rico ahead of us. I tried to remind myself that the vacation wasn’t over yet, we were still in Puerto Rico waking up to the dense foliage blanketing the beautiful mountains, and while it will be sad when we leave there was nothing to be sad about now in that particular moment.

Amy then told me about this German buddhist she used to listen to who put together a bunch of tapes that were all about being mindful of the moment. And he would calmly say things like, “Now is now,” and so forth. It was all very hippy-dippy, but even the Mayo clinic concludes that these meditative practices may reduce anxiety and depression. And if it seems to work for some people and it’s not doing harm to others, then what’s the matter with trying it out?

So, with mindfulness of the moment in hand, Amy and I had our usual swim in the pool, then later all three of us enjoyed mimosas on our little gazebo down the hill, and then we had a nourishing breakfast of fried egg sandwiches. And it was all just so lovely!

Ahead of us was another day in San Juan, that city that surprised us how much we enjoyed it. In fact, we enjoyed San Juan so much, we decided to skip El Yunque National Forest on día diez, so we could have a total of four-and-a-half days in this glorious, glorious city. While I’m a little sad we didn’t get to see a rainforest, I’m really happy that we got to have all that time in San Juan. I always feel more at home in cities anyway.

Our first stop in San Juan was to Casa Bacardí, the distilería for Bacardi rum. I must admit that rum always seemed like the bastard stepchild of all the distilled spirits, and Bacardi in particular was that one booze that frat boys drank to excess with Coke. However, our visit to the distilería totally changed my opinions of the spirit, as there is more to Bacardi rum (and rum in general) than that gross, clear, liquid monstrosity that mars shelves of liquor stores everywhere.

Before you visit Casa Bacardí, make sure you book a rum tasting tour ahead of time, which is what we did. You can also sign up for a mixology class or just visit the bar, but make sure to buy tickets ahead of time.

Before the tour started, we got to enjoy drinks that were included with our $75 tickets right outside in a large, open, covered pavilion. You can choose between a daiquiri, a mojito, or a specialty drink for the season. I think we got mojitos, but I honestly can’t remember. Whatever it was, it was refreshingly zesty in the comfortably warm Puerto Rican breeze. There also was a little food stand nearby where we enjoyed some sweet plantain empañadas.

Once the tour starts, you and your group board a trolley that takes you to a museum. The museum is one, giant, open room with a mural on one wall adorned with flags, images of previous owners, and a giant family tree. You’ll learn that Barcardí was founded in 1862 by Don Facundo Bacardí Massó and that the trademark bat logo was due to Facundo’s wife, Doña Amalia, who recognized that bats were a Taíno symbol of good health, family unity, and good fortune. You also get to have your first sip of Bacardí rum at the museum—and it wasn’t that hideously grotesque excuse for a distilled spirit, but rather a finely crafted, multi-layered, complexly created, carefully distilled libation fit for the most fancy and fussy deity.

Our trolley then took us to the tasting room where we got to admire four carefully poured glasses of rum, all shades of elegantly light hues of chestnut, hazel, and amber. We first went around the room introducing ourselves and where we were from, and our guide, Edwin, remarked that he once lived in Baltimore (where one of our group was from), but that he didn’t do very well in a winter climate, singing, “I am an island boy,” to great amusement.

Before we proceeded to drink the enticing rums, we first learned how to sniff the aroma (place your nose at 12:00 relative to the glass), how to describe what we smelled (butter, caramel, butterscotch, etc.), then how to sip (take one sip, let the sensations dissipate, then sip again to more fully appreciate the mosaic of flavors).

We worked our way through the four drinks (a four-year, eight-year, ten-year, and special reserve), while Edwin enthusiastically told us about how you can make ice cubes out of coconut water to add to a generous pour of rum or how you can fry bacon in a nice eight-year rum to dress up your breakfast a bit. My opinions of rum totally changed during this tasting, as rum—when crafted correctly—is just as alluringly exquisite as any well-crafted bourbon or Scotch or rye.

Soon our tasting was over, but before we left we enjoyed one more mixed drink on the pavilion (I think we had a rum old fashioned), taking in the delicately warm breezes of Puerto Rico once again.

Our next stop was the Miramar Food Truck Park, located outside of Old San Juan and in San Juan proper, right on Avenida de la Constitución in between Calles Ernesto Cerra and Monserrate. The park is open 12-10pm Wednesday to Sunday, so plan ahead so you don’t arrive at a closed park.

I neglected to take good notes on the food truck we decided to eat from, but it was a food truck that had really authentic Puerto Rico fare, stuffed avocados with shrimp and salmon. If there’s one food thing you must eat while you are here, it is a stuffed avocado from a food truck. As I remarked on día cinco when we dined at La Casita Blanca, the avocados here are so, so big and so, so tasty, and the way they stew their meats and seafoods to stuff the giant avocados yields a meal that is not only satisfyingly filling but also a celebration of the senses for your eyes and nose and mouth, una fiesta de las sabores exquisitos.

We next needed to make our way to Fajardo on the northeast coast to enjoy an excursion into a bioluminescent bay. Somehow we missed in our planning that the drive from San Juan to Fajardo was an hour, so we were a little bummed about how far away it was, but we carried on regardless. We had purchased tickets from Kayaking Puerto Rico to coincide with an evening with a new moon to limit how much light would interfere with our ability to see the tiny organisms light up the waters of the bay at night. However, they had called us ahead of time to tell us that the tiny dinoflagellates were lately being a little shy, and that we should lower our expectations about how ebullient they were going to be. In fact, they offered us a full refund. But we didn’t take them up on that offer, electing to carry on regardless.

Arriving in Fajardo at night, it would have been difficult to tell the difference between Fajardo and any boring old suburb of Minneapolis and Saint Paul like the lifelessly and monochromatically named cities of Blaine or Shoreview. (Isn’t Blaine the most suburby name of all suburbs to end the contest for the title of King of All Suburby Suburbs That Ever Did Burp, er, Burb?) Like Blaine and Shoreview, Fajardo itself didn’t have all that much to do, as we wanted to have a caffeinated pick me up, but there was no open coffee shop in sight.

Before long, however, we were all lining up to listen to the instructions from our kayaking master who had the most romantically charming accent that I couldn’t quite place: “Police be KARE-ffful off thee COO-rents off zee WAH-tors ass we maaaake our waaaaay to thee bye-oh-LOOM-een-eh-scent bay-ee.”

He explained that our route was a manageable few miles through a somewhat unmanageable río pequeño—but not too unmanageable—generously populated by salt-tolerant mangroves. It was really fascinating making our way through a narrow steam at night, flashlights of our guides casting shadows of jagged branches.

After a good half hour of kayaking, making sure to avoid the sharp branches and kayakers from other tour groups (“Wwwh-atch out fffor thee EN-emiesss!” our guide would sarcastically warn), we arrived at Laguna Grande, the one of three bio-bays of Puerto Rico (there are only five in the whole world). And, as we were warned, catching a glimpse of the little critters that light up the waters was somewhat a game of hide and seek. The only way we could see them was by covering our entire kayak in a tarp to block out the starlight and swirling our hands in the water in order to cause the dinoflagellates to light up instinctively, rather like willing tiny, sparkling, blue fireflies into existence in dark waters. While viewing the tiny creatures suffering from stage fright was still nonetheless informative, don’t go on a bioluminescent bay tour expecting to see sights like the images you can view here, whole areas of the bay alight with brilliant blue fairies.

We also got to take some time to view the night sky aglow in more stars than I ever recall seeing, our guide pointing out various constellations and other cosmic objects. All in all, I did enjoy our little kayaking adventure, but I love kayaking in general, so I was inclined to enjoy myself. That said, if you want your main highlight to be viewing mysteriously alight waters in the dark without much work on your part, you may want to take up your guide’s offer of a refund if they warn you that the bay has been less than glowing.

Soon, we found ourselves making our way back to shore and thenceforth all the way back to Jayuya. And we went to bed so excited because we still had two and half days to explore as many nooks and crannies of San Juan that we possibly could…

Spanish lesson for the day:

1. The proper way to pronounce Bacardí is bah-cah-REE.
2. The word for bay in Spanish is bahía. And a bioluminescent bay is bahía bioluminiscente.
3. If you want to practice mindfulness in Spanish, you can chant to yourself, “Ahora es ahora,” or “Now is now.”
4. And if you find a drive boring (no matter how much you chant, “Ahora es ahora,” to yourself), you can use the adjective aburrido. “Esta carretera es aburrida,” means, “This road is boring.” If the drive happens to be fun, however, you can say, “Esta carretera es divertida.” Likewise, if you find your kayaking master fun or funny, you can say, “Ese hombre es divertido,” or “That man is funny.”

Travel tips, day nine:

1. As we were waiting to board the kayaks, there was some sort of tiny organism in the water that bit our legs, and I managed to brush them away, feeling a bit of matter accumulate in my hand as I hopefully squashed the whatever-it-was. So just watch out.
2. Much of our driving today was on the more major highways (“carreteras”) that traced the shoreline and allowed for swifter traffic. So not all driving in Puerto Rico is an hour-long trek over 20 miles through hairpin turns and sharp switchbacks.
3. I highly encourage you to spend at least three or four days in San Juan alone. It is an enchanting city with so much to do and see, and even four days doesn’t sound like enough.

*These photos by Amy Danielson. All other by me.

Our eighth day continued on with enjoying more of the ocean, except this time with a snorkeling adventure, something I have long wanted to do. We had decided to book tickets with Paradise Scuba & Snorkeling, an outfit located in La Parguera on the southwestern coast, a small town in the Lajas municipality.

We opted for their local reef snorkeling trip, and they have excursions at 9am and 1pm. Naturally, we signed up for the 1pm slot on account of the two hour drive to get there. I’ve commented on this before, but we severely underestimated how much time we were going to spend driving. And while the landscape continued to dazzle, the amount of time in the car was starting to wear a bit thin. That said, I’m so absolutely grateful we got to see as much of the island as we did while staying in such a remote area, and I would be sad if both things were taken away from me. So I’ll stop complaining about all the driving.

When we arrived, we were immediately greeted by friendly staff who helped us get our gear. I had also called ahead of time to see if they had prescription goggles since I’m severely near-sighted, and I was delighted to hear that they did have some pairs to try out. I put on their strongest pair and it was a pretty good match. It also helped that objects look bigger underwater because of the refraction.

Soon we were off under the captaincy of handsome Angel, traveling by boat out to the reef, a group of ten in total. On our way out, we got to view colorful rental houses for tourists right on the waterfront, followed by amazing views of the cerulean hues of the Atlantic ocean. The waters were so immediately inviting, I couldn’t wait to dive in.

We also go to catch a glimpse of Cayo los Blanco (the White Key), a shallow part of the ocean with a nearby islet where boats anchor and visitors are able to party while enjoying their drinks in shallow water, wading through the sea boat to boat if they so desire. Our tour guide, Jonathan, remarked that we were seeing it on a slow day, and that on weekends hundreds of boats may be clustered together for una fiesta grande.

It wasn’t before too long that we eventually reached our destination. Jonathan provided us with ground rules for how we’d communicate and a preview of the things we’ll see. He stressed that we will look at lots of things that appear to be plants but that are in fact not plants and that we are only to touch things that he handed to us. They also had floatation devices upon request, and if you have even the smallest inkling of worry that you may tire in the waters, I highly recommend you take one. I opted not to and was fine, but if you’re not a strong swimmer, do take one, as one lady in our party had to retire back to the boat earlier than the rest of us.

Not only did the waters look inviting they also immediately felt inviting and were comfortably warm but not too warm. We swam out at a comfortable pace but quickly found ourselves amongst the reef. I was struck by how physically close we were to the delicate formations, so much so that I felt I needed to position myself as flat as possible on the very top of the water so as to not accidentally strike and damage some coral. We eventually got to deeper parts (30 feet, I believe Jonathan told us) where this wasn’t as much of a concern.

While I was really enjoying the experience paddling along in the water, I did find myself thinking that the coral seemed especially pale in color, a mixture of grey greens and dusty blues, nothing like the images I fondly recall while watching Nova on public television. Amy would later remark that my observation was valid, as she previously enjoyed more colorful reefs in Utila.

That said, I still really did enjoy myself as I watched colorful fish fluttering by in tiny schools as bright sunbeams brightened the crystal waters. Jonathan also found some critters for us to hold: a small, spiky sea urchin; a spider-like sea star; and a few other creatures that I’m forgetting the names of. Swimming in the ocean also continued to reaffirm that I’ll never again swim in any Minnesota lake with drab and dreary and slimy waters with fish more like prehistoric monsters rather than the cute and colorful cartoonish sea life of the ocean.

As our tour continued on, however, the wind really started to pick up and I became keenly aware of how much the water was moving up and down and up and down to the point that I started to experience some mildly severe sea-sickness. I really didn’t want to miss out on the adventure, however, so I was able to power through. But it eventually got to a point where there was no stopping the churning unrest in my stomach. Fortunately our excursion was at an end and the boat was nearby, so I quietly vomited in the ocean while we were still swimming in the water. This seemed the better option, rather than subjecting my fellow snorkelers with a messy fountain of vomit portside. I don’t think anyone noticed, but anyone reading this will, of course, now know. So, if you are at all prone to sea-sickness, you may want to take a non-drowsy Dramamine or something to prevent any interference in your enjoyment of a snorkeling excursion.

We soon were back on land (I grabbed a complimentary beer on the boat in hopes of relaxing my smooth muscles), and I told Amy and Aaron that I needed to take a moment to get my stomach and head back on straight. I soon was right as rain, and we were all quite famished, so we went to a nearby burger joint called Isla Cueva (Cave Island). I enjoyed a caracoles burger (caracoles seems to translate to snail or snail shell or spiral), which was a beef burger with a bacon and sweet plantain topping, caramelized onions, and pepper jack cheese. My blood must’ve really been craving some fresh injections of iron, as the burger was so, so tasty. We also enjoyed some piña coladas and a variation of the drink called a Miami Vice. Live chickens were also amongst us enjoying a meal as they scoped out the outdoor tables for scraps of food as if they were pigeons in London.

And before we knew it, our day was already coming to a close, so we headed back to our little hideaway in the mountains of Jayuya. Our next day’s adventures would continue on for a third day of enjoying the ocean, except this time in a kayak to view a bioluminescent bay…

Spanish lesson for the day:

1. Toilets in Puerto Rico have pretty commonly been marked as caballeros (gentleman) and damas (ladies). Sometimes you might see them marked hombres (men) and mujeres (women). I don’t think I ever saw them marked señores and señoras but I could be mistaken.
2. At grocery stores, you’ll need to pay for any bags you use, so the cashier will ask, “¿Cuántas balsas?” or “How many bags?”
3. The verb for to swim is nadar. “Nado,” means, “I swim,” or “I’m swimming,” while “Nadamos,” is “We swim,” or “We’re swimming.” Can you figure out what, “Nadamos en el mar,” means?

Travel tips, day eight:

1. Drivers in Puerto Rico tend to use the car horn for the reason it was originally intended: to make your presence known rather than to yell at each other. It isn’t uncommon to approach a hairpin turn in the mountain only to hear a large truck honking its horn to give you proper warning of oncoming traffic in the middle of the road.
2. Be on the lookout for snake plants growing not in pots as you might see inside any house or office building in Minnesota but just right on the road or in people’s yards as if they were hostas or ferns.
3. Also look out for a common tree in Puerto Rico, the flamboyan tree, that grows quite tall and decorates itself with flaming orange flowers, which were just starting to bloom as spring approached in Puerto Rico.

*All photos in this post by me.

When we had done some initial planning for our trip, one of the cities that seemed alluring was Arecibo, mainly because we wanted to visit the Arecibo Observatory. Sadly, the telescope collapsed in December 2020, and the grounds were closed to the public while we were there. However, the observatory recently reopened in March 2022 after we had left Puerto Rico, and while scientists are exploring a replacement telescope, there don’t seem to be any firm commitments for a new one any time soon.

So we instead explored possibly visiting the city of Arecibo itself, but—in all honesty—it just didn’t seem very interesting. Our Foder’s book only had two pages written about the town. However, we still wanted to explore the northern coast and spend some time lazily lounging on a beach, so we decided to visit Cueva del Indio, the Siete Arcos, and a beach called Mar Chiquita.

Our drive to the north continued to provide us with the stunning views of the Puerto Rican mountainscape we had by this point become accustomed to. Our route also took us past Dos Bocas Lake—Two Mouths Lake—and we got to drive over the dam that created the lake when the dam was built from 1937 to 1942, a New Deal project. The dam allows a single lane of vehicles, but we didn’t have troubles passing through on account of the nonexistent traffic.

We did take a moment to get out of the car when we reached the western end of the dam to enjoy gorgeous views of the lake and to get a better glimpse of the dam itself. There was also a parked car with three men in it who—if I’m remembering correctly—were associated with the power plant. They seemed a little pleased (if not surprised) that three gringos were exploring this part of the island, as they asked us with a smile in flawless English, “Enjoying the view?” Indeed we were, not only the views of the lake and the dam, but also some nearby graffiti art inspired by Taíno petroglyphs and signed with the handle, @arteenlibertadpr.

Eventually we reached Cueva del Indio—Cave of the Indians—so named for the Taíno petroglyphs carved into the cave walls (maybe they should change the name to Cueva del Taíno), and the petroglyphs were similar to the ones we saw in the graffiti art nearby Dos Bocas and also on día seis at Piedra Escrita. However, reaching the petroglyphs involved shimmying through a tiny opening in the rockface, and we elected not to do that on account of how busy it was. Regardless, you can still view the cave from above (just not the petroglyphs very clearly), admiring the somewhat substantial drop to the cave floor from the rocky surface above.

The nearby Siete Arcos—Seven Arches—is perhaps the reason to visit this area of the northern coast, as the giant, limestone arches that dominate the cliff face along with the stunning views of the Atlantic from the spectacular heights are sure to delight your senses. I’m certain when I say that this whole section of the shoreline provided us with some of the most memorable views of the ocean during our entire time in Puerto Rico—angry waves haphazardly and with reckless abandon crashing against the jagged shoreline, unbelievably gorgeous limestone arches extending several meters from sea level to the pinnacle of the cliff face, the cerulean and aquamarine hues of the exquisite Atlantic reaching endlessly towards the horizon.

As I’ve mentioned, the whole of this part of the coastline is rocky and craggy, sometimes not unlike a location for an alien world in Doctor Who, so make sure to wear proper hiking gear. Also make sure to watch where you step, as dotted throughout the landscape are holes just big enough for a human foot to fit (or even a small child) that lead nowhere else except to the turbulent ocean below, a drop of several meters that I wouldn’t recommend unless you have a death wish to plummet to a watery grave.

All things considered, I highly recommend a trip to Cueva del Indio y Siete Arcos, as the views are unforgettable and the oceanscape impossibly beautiful. It also only costs $5 per person to enter. “Quiero tres boletos adultos,” I said when we arrived, to which the man on staff responded, “Quince dólares,” and he quickly added in English, “Did you understand?” And I responded with a smile, “Of course I did!” There were some other gringos in line behind us, however, and he badgered them, “I bet these guys didn’t understand!” It was a friendly little exchange, and I felt a little proud of myself and thankful for all the work I did to learn some Spanish ahead of our trip here.

Our next step on our tour of the north was to a beach called Mar Chiquita, which translates to Little Sea, so named because the beach features a natural, half-moon shaped pool protected by two limestone outcroppings with a gap in the middle that allows the waters of the energetic Atlantic to rush in. There isn’t much in the way of shade, however, but you can rent chairs and umbrellas until 5pm.

It had been over two decades since I last swam in the ocean (and even then it wasn’t the ocean at all but the Gulf of Mexico), and it was such a delight enjoying the pleasingly warm and invitingly clear waters as they rose gently yet dramatically up and down with views through the water to the very bottom, unobscured by slimy muck that pagues yucky lakes in Minnesota. (It’s official: I’m never swimming in a lake ever again.) Amy and I had even foolheartedly pushed ourselves to swim all the way to the limestone outcroppings, but by the time we reached the craggy rocks, I soon realized how dangerous it was as the waves crashed through the gap in the rocks (I scraped my outer thigh pretty impressively), so we quickly swam back.

We also got to spend some time lounging on the beach, enjoying a picnic with pre-mixed bebidas de ron, watching other people as they, too, enjoyed the water and the sun. Nearby there was un grupo de tres hombres guapos en la playa who also lazily soaked up the sun, unapologetically exchanging lovely, gentle caresses of each other’s hands, and I couldn’t help but feel an intense desire to join them.

As 5pm rolled around, everyone started to pack up, I think partly because it also started to rain ever so gently. The three Minnesotan gringos, however, couldn’t have been bothered in the slightest, as the rain felt warm, it wasn’t snowing, the sun was still out, and the ocean was still there for us to enjoy. One person did tell us that we could stay, just not past dark.

Eventually it was time to pack up, and that moment came much too soon. We did enjoy one last lovely, lovely drive for the day along the coast, taking in the gorgeous Puerto Rican sunset, an oil painting of vibrant reds and oranges, the sky a blaze of fiery beauty, a moment that Van Gogh surely would have liked to have captured in thick, swirling brush strokes.

Although our time with the ocean concluded on this day, we had another ocean excursion planned for día ocho, a trip to the southwestern coast to snorkel above a reef…

Spanish lesson for the day:

1. The weather on Puerto Rico is positively magical and never uncomfortable, especially if you’re from Minnesota. If it does dip to an uncomfortable 60 degrees, however, you’d say, “Hace frio,” which literally translates as, “It makes cold.” If it’s hot, you’d say, “Hace calor.” If you are physically cold, you’d say, “Tengo frio,” which literally translates as, “I have cold.” If you’re hot, you’d say, “Tengo calor.” Lastly, if it does happen to rain, all you need to say is, “Llueve,” or “It’s raining.”
2. The word for ticket is boleto. “Quiero tres boletos adultos,” is, “I want three adult tickets.”
3. I always thought it was strange that English uses eleven and twelve instead of oneteen and twoteen. Spanish takes it a bit further all the way to fifteen: once, doce, trece, catorce, quince before finally settling on dieciseis, diecisiete, etc. 

Travel tips, day seven:

1. Fans of the Pirates of the Caribbean films may especially love a visit to Cueva del Indio y Siete Arcos, as they filmed on location there.
2. We mostly thus far had been shopping for groceries at a local chain called Econo, but we had discovered another chain called Pueblo, and it seemed ever so slightly more fancy.
3. Also along the northern coast, you might—as we did—catch a glimpse of La Estatua de Colón, an austere and forbidding 360 foot bronze statue marking the 500th anniversary of Columbus’s invasion of the Caribbean.

*These photos by Amy Danielson. All other by me.

As we had just finished a satisfyingly jam-packed day in San Juan, falling in love with the city many times over, we decided to spend our time for our sixth day taking it easy in the secluded Puerto Rican mountains. After all, that’s how we initially envisioned this little trip: a quiet time away, tucked quietly in more remote parts of the island, lounging by the pool, preparing meals on the grill, and drifting away into a world free of everyday worries. And so, a satisfyingly slow day it was.

Nuestra casita en las montañas had more than just incredible views of the Puerto Rican mountains and a refreshingly cool pool, it also had a lovely little gazebo just a few feet down the mountainside. So we started our day relaxingly by brewing and enjoying the tasty coffee that all the panaderías here have. We also had been marveling at some fruit trees that were growing just outside our side of the fence: something that looked like oranges and another that looked like papayas but more acorn-shaped. I tried identifying the later fruit in various searches but haven’t been able to come to a satisfactory conclusion, so if anyone knows what the fruit is, please let me know. (We will eventually open the fruit up on our twelfth and final day in Puerto Rico, so stay tuned for more information.)

We naughtily couldn’t resist trying to get a taste of the forbidden fruits, as it were (at least I couldn’t resist, Amy suggesting we should leave well enough alone), so I grabbed the net normally meant for cleaning the pool, extended it across the fence, and yanked one of the “oranges” and one of the “papayas” off the trees hopefully with no one noticing (not that we were surrounded by many people).

The “orange” seemed ripe enough so we threw it into a salad with una piña and an actual papaya we had purchased earlier and then left the other so-called “papaya” we just picked to ripen. If the orange was an orange, it tasted more like grapefruit, but the sweetness of the pineapple helped to offset the bitterness. We also decided to have some mimosas with our fruit salad but with a Puerto Rican flare: instead of cava or champagne we improved the recipe with ron (that’s rum, of course).

Amy and I were ready for a swim, as we usually were every morning—rum mimosas in tow, sitting safely at the pool’s edge for sips in between watery strokes—while Aaron opted to only submerge his feet (“I’m a big comfort guy,” he’d say, the water far too cool for his comfort). Following our swim, we prepared some rice, eggs, and toast, and as we were eating outside taking in the glorious mountain air, an alarmingly large, black insect flew past our table and landed on a purple flower on a nearby tree a few feet away.

Thus far, the insect life had been remarkably invisible, even though we had prepared ourselves to encounter countless mosquitos, giant tranchulas, and pesky flies. But this large flower-loving insect was the closest encounter we had so far with any neighbors who happened to be disquieting critters. We surmised it was a bee, so we used this field guide to help identify it. And it was, indeed, the xylocopa mordax—a carpenter bee—and while its appearance was alarming, it is generally docile unless you treat it unfavorably.

The afternoon was by this point well underway, so we decided to make our way to a nearby coffee plantation museum that we had driven past a few times, Hijos del Cafetal or Children of the Plantation. All the exhibits are entirely in Spanish, so unless you studied up a bit, you won’t be able to enjoy the history of coffee in Puerto Rico very well (indeed, I probably understood only about 10% of it), but you’ll at least be able to appreciate the various artifacts and artworks on display. I had remarked earlier to the docent who was on hand, “Hablamos un poco español, pero no muy bien,” and she laughed, and later I remarked, “Leer es más facíl.” But she was so helpful as she explained things in flawless English whenever we asked questions.

One particular placard caught our eyes, however: an image depicting imports arriving into Puerto Rico but no exports leaving it, with the caption: “El Gobierno americano permite la entrada de café de otros países. Se perdió el mercado Europeo,” which is, “The American government permitted coffee imports [to Puerto Rico] from other countries, but the European market was lost.”

We found this deeply alarming, so we asked the docent more information about this particular fact. She explained that the U.S. government does not allow Puerto Rico to export its coffee and other goods to other countries, only to the U.S. itself. After my own additional research, this was perhaps a bit of a misleading simplification of the facts. Regardless, a serious problem still exists; it’s just a little complicated to explain.

There is an old law on the books, the Jones Act from 1920, which states that any sea vessel can enter Puerto Rico, but any ship that travels between two U.S. ports must be built in the U.S. and staffed primarily by people from the U.S. It’s purely a protectionist law created following World War I. The law, in turn, drives up shipping costs, not only between any two U.S. states but especially to island ports in Hawaii and Puerto Rico. This law—along with a desire by the U.S. at the turn of the 20th century to prioritize sugar over coffee—seems to have severely and negatively impacted the coffee market between Puerto Rico and Europe. 

I’m not going to pretend that I fully understand this—and I also fear that I’m not explaining any of this very well—so I encourage you to do your own reading about this problem and compare what I’ve found to what you can find. I think we can all agree, however, that the question of Puerto Rico’s territorial status, statehood, or independence is extremely complicated and fraught with problems of all sorts, that it’ll take people smarter than I am to figure out what the best solution would be. Unfortunately, since Puerto Rico doesn’t have representation in Congress and can’t vote for president, enacting any meaningful change requires an uphill battle.

Following the museum—but not before we enjoyed some delicious coffee at the museum’s outdoor cafe—we made our way into the town of Jayuya to view some ancient Taíno petroglyphs, Piedra Escrita del Rio Saliente. Taíno petroglyphs are found throughout the island, and I encourage you to seek them out to appreciate the elegantly swirling shapes by artists from long, long ago. The petroglyphs at Piedra Escrita are especially satisfying to view as they are inscribed into a giant, giant boulder that sits in the gently flowing waters of the Rio Saliente, a sturdy wooden walkway leading visitors from the roadside down to the riverfront.

Time flies, it seems, even when moving more slowly, as our afternoon was already over. (We wanted a more relaxed day after all.) So before we returned home, we stopped by an ever reliable Econo—now our favorite supermercado chain here—to pick up some groceries to make our dinner. We wanted to try to make our own mofongos rellenos, but we didn’t quite have the tools necessary to smash the cooked plantains to shape into the bowl-shaped delight. So we instead enjoyed plantains cooked lightly in oil; beans with sofrito, onions, peppers, and potatoes; and chicken marinated in more sofrito and grilled. It was a great way to conclude a satisfyingly slow day.

Our following day would prove to be equally relaxing as we headed north to enjoy Puerto Rico’s incredible beaches…

Spanish lesson for the day:

1. Spanish for coffee is café, while milk is leche and sugar is azúcar.
2. Con means with and sin means without.
3. See where this is going? “Quiero un café con leche y sin azúcar, por favor.” Now—using lessons from previous posts—go ahead and figure out how to say, “We want two coffees with sugar and without milk, please.”
4. Spanish for tea is té but don’t ever order that in Puerto Rico. It’s gross. Just stick with café.

Travel tips, day six:

1. On Sundays in the more remote parts of the island, things will generally close at 5 or 6 in the evening. The Econo in Jayuya, for example, closed right at 5 (despite Google saying it would close at 6), so if you need something and it’s Sunday, make sure to plan ahead.
2. We had brought so much deet to protect us from all the mosquitos, but we never used it once, despite other travel sites telling us to prepare for the worst.
3. You’ll be able to find sofrito growing on trees here. Well, not really. But you’ll definitely be able to find it aplenty in any supermercado or panadería.

*These photos by Amy Danielson. All others by me.

We had a big day ahead of us on our fifth day, an excursion to San Juan, Puerto Rico’s largest city. In order to maximize our time there, we woke up in Jayuya at 7am to the cacophony of all the rooster songs, enjoyed our early morning swim in the pool (well, Amy and I did), had our coffees, and quickly we were off.

We decided to focus our attention for the day on Viejo San Juan (Old San Juan), which is a historic section of town located on a tiny island to the northwest of the main city, connected to the rest of the city by bridges. All around town you’ll notice banners marking 500 años de la ciudad, as from September 2021 to June 2022, the city is celebrating its quincentenary, the city christened San Juan Bautista de Puerto Rico in 1521. (European invaders began murdering the Taíno several decades before this, of course.)

As usual, the drive to a larger city involved navigating the comically narrow and hilariously steep mountainside roads that continued to provide stunning views of Puerto Rico’s densely forested mountains. And, as usual, as we approached San Juan, the roads became wider and wider and faster and faster while still providing those incredible vistas. In previous posts, I’ve gushed and gushed about how exciting it is to drive in Puerto Rico, and that sentiment still hasn’t changed. That said, those of us who are less adventurous (more sensible?) might find these roads quite terrifying, indeed.

Arriving in San Juan, we parked our car in un estacionamiento on a street called Paseo Covadonga for $5 and began nuestro caminar en la ciudad vieja. What’s immediately and strikingly apparent as you walk through the narrow streets of Viejo San Juan is that this clearly is a city built by Europeans, and it wouldn’t look out of place in any Spanish city, a mixture of Gothic, Baroque, Renaissance, and Neoclassical designs, complete with building facades painted in exuberant pastels and adorned with ornate wrought iron balconies and window trimmings along with tall, majestic, heavy, wooden doors. Indeed, I was reminded of the architecture of glorious New Orleans as we walked the narrow cobblestone streets flanked by buildings exploding with color and exuding charm from an era that will never go out of style.

We first were feeling a little thirsty, so we stumbled across a smart little place called La Mallorquina (“The Majorcan,” or a lady who comes from the island of Majorca in the Mediterranean). We didn’t know it at the time, but it’s possible that this restaurant is the first food establishment on this island, opened in 1848, and run by the same family, the Rojos, since 1900. It’s adorned with floors of classy, white-and-black square titles, walls of bold yellow and elegant white, terra cotta roofs, and grand archways. The service was equally posh, our camarera mixing up mojitos right in front of us, muddling the mint with sophisticated finesse.

Following our drinks, we made our way to lunch at a restaurant called La Casita de Rones (“Little House of Rums”), located right on the southern waterfront. The restaurant is painted brightly in pink, and it offers what could be stunning views of Vajo de Manglar (this seems to translate to Mangrove Swamp, but I’m not entirely sure), the small bay on the south side of Viejo San Juan. However, hideously tall cruise ships obscured the views as the monstrosities brought frustratingly loud tourists from the United States who only spoke English to mute the delicately light and enchantingly seductive lilts of all the Spanish speakers. 

Regardless, our dining experience at La Casita de Rones was delightful indeed! As I wrote about in my previous posts, in the larger cities the locals seem to default to English even when you speak in Spanish. But it’s still so much fun trying out whatever you’ve learned (and I continue to highly recommend that—at the very least—you learn the very basics I posted about in dia uno, but I’ll probably judge you if you don’t learn more). For example, there was one drink I wanted to try called a Rum Message (Bacardí superior, cocchi americano, pamplemousse liqueur, agave real, fresh citrus juices, grapefruit sour juice & Angostura bitters), and I ordered it as, “Quiero un mensaje de ron,” just to see what our camarero guapo (and, oh my goodness, was he handsome) would say. He had a really good laugh with me, and then proceeded to tell me I could order it by pronouncing it as, “Rone me-SAH-hay,” but he still understood what I meant. Amy and Aaron, meanwhile, tried a Sexy Colada and a Jail Monkey, both drinks essentially a variation on the traditional piña colada.

Following drinks, I enjoyed some delectably tasty tacos de pescado (with mahi-mahi) while Amy and Aaron enjoyed stuffed mamposteao (stewed local beans, sauteed vegetables, white rice, with your choice of protein) and something else that I’m forgetting. As we finished up lunch with another round of drinks, I flagged down nuestro camarero guapo and asked, “¿Tenemos la cuenta, por favor?” I messed up a little bit, as this translates to, “Do we have our check, please?” It would have been better to say, “¿Podemos tener la cuenta, por favor?” or, “Can we have our check, please?” However, the handsome, handsome hombre knew exactly what I meant, and I think he might’ve been impressed that I knew how to conjugate tener at all or knew what a cuenta was.

I made one final error as we were leaving La Casita de Rones, wishing our waiter, “¡Disfruta el dio!” which is, “Enjoy god!” (I’m so sorry) when I meant to say, “¡Disfruta el día!” which is, “Enjoy your day!” Regardless, I still think he understood what I meant, didn’t presume we were missionaries, and was impressed I knew the verb disfrutar at all. He seemed so appreciative of our visit he pressed his hands together at his chest, smiled, and wished us well. I honestly don’t think we would’ve received such a happy farewell had we spoken no Spanish at all.

Next we decided to make our way to Castillo San Felipe del Morro, a 16th century Spanish fortress built on the most northwestern tip of Viejo San Juan. The walk was a leisurely 30 minute promenade as we traced the waterfront using Paseo del Morro, a pedestrian walkway that provides incredible views not only of la Bahía de San Juan, but also the centuries-old Spanish walls that rise several meters from the rocky shoreline and are several feet wide as to protect the city from oncoming attacks.

We enjoyed several other sites as we made our way to the castle: a little outdoor market on Paseo de la Princesa (an elegant stone walkway embellished with tall, stately lamp posts and knobby, craggy trees that provided ample shade in the heat and humidity of Viejo San Juan); Fuente Raíces (“Fountain of Roots,” as it were; an elegant fountain of horses, dolphins, and gods and goddesses of Taíno, European, and African cultures to celebrate the people of Puerto Rico); and Puerta de San Juan (a centuries-old gate of two large, heavy, wooden doors standing several feet tall, the archway painted brightly in red, the last of six gates that survive to this day that allows foot traffic through the imposing Spanish walls).

We also discovered a lovely, little, modest, pink building with a giant mural of a sphynx cat with striking blue eyes that housed Save a Gato, a non-profit organization created to address the cat overpopulation of Viejo San Juan. Their website states: “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.” Their work to trap, neuter, and return cats has helped to reduce the cat population in Viejo San Juan by 50% since 2004. They also help foster and adopt cats, and they stress that they are not a shelter. So please don’t just dump your cats off at their building or the nearby Parque de los Gatos.

Many of the cats you’ll encounter on your walk along the waterfront (indeed, around all of Viejo San Juan) are healthy and friendly. But there are many others who are very shy and wary of humans and more still who are visibly ill, malnourished, or injured. While it was heartwarming to encounter the organization to help all the cats of San Juan as best they can, it was also quite sad to encounter other cats who were having a tougher time than the others. Regardless, the work of Save a Gato is obviously so important, so I encourage you to follow them on Facebook and Instagram and—if you can—donate money to them as well.

After saying hello to, visiting with, and petting several cats, we at last made our final approach to Castillo San Felipe del Morro (named after King Phillip II of Spain and called El Morro for short), which sits atop a hill, a sprawling greenspace inviting us to continue the climb to the castle. Constructed from 1539 to 1790, the Discover Puerto Rico website writes: “[The] fortress has seen many battles over the centuries, from Sir Francis Drake’s attack in 1595 to the 1898 bombardment of San Juan by the US Navy, but it has never been defeated.” The fortress came under U.S. control following the conclusion of the Spanish-American War in 1898 and was used as a military installation in the two world wars before it was retired and passed to the National Park Service when it became a museum in 1961.

In contrast to castles like the Tower of London or Culzean Castle in Scotland, El Morro isn’t outfitted with opulent dining rooms or extravagant bed chambers. Rather, it is a mostly abandoned—yet intact—fortress standing imposingly tall, its limestone and sandstone walls stained shades of grey due to the ravages of time. Visitors walk through the wide open structure to learn about the history of the castillo (you can elect to do a self-guided audio tour, if you want), view artifacts like original canons in their batteries, and enjoy views of the sea from the fortress’s commanding outer wall, the sea breeze providing a refreshing respite from the relative heat and humidity.

Following our visit to the castillo, we made our way to the nearby Cementerio Santa Maria Magdelena de Pazzi. It’s a relatively new cemetery in the grand scheme of things, dating back to 1863, and it’s entrance is guarded by a grand, gated archway painted white and gold. The cemetery closes at 3pm every day, so we didn’t get to walk inside. However, through the gates and from atop the hill as we headed east towards our next destination, we were still able to view the extravagant above-ground tombs and grandiose memorials constructed in elegant marble.

Very near to the cemetery is a street called Calle Norzagaray, where we viewed some colorful street art: black and brown fists raised to the sky, one holding an LGBTQ pride flag and another a sign that declared in all caps, “NUESTRA TIERRA NO SE VENDE,” or “Our land is not for sale.” There were other parts of the street inscribed with the message, “Gringo leave or you will never know peace.” The emotions of the art were raw, and it highlighted the complex relationship between the U.S. and Puerto Rico. I’ll be writing more about this for my post for día seis when we went to a coffee plantation museum and día diez when we had an enlightening and spirited chat with a bartender, so if at the moment it feels like I’m short-changing the value of this topic, please come back for my later posts.

Our next destination was Museo Casa Blanca—originally built in 1521 as the main residence for San Juan’s first governor, Juan Ponce de León—but that, too, had closed by the time we arrived, so we were only able to view it from a distance through the locked, wrought iron gates. We instead happened to stumble across the nearby Catedral Basilica Menor de San Juan Bautista, the oldest cathedral on U.S. soil and the second oldest cathedral in the Americas (the oldest being Cathedral of Santa María la Menor in the Dominican Republic).

I do love viewing old churches even though I’ve long since stopped practicing any such religious activity over two decades ago. The cathedral is relatively modest in size when compared to, say, Westminster Abbey in London or Saint Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City, but that doesn’t distract from the age and history of this cathedral. Its facade is humble—a no-frills neoclassical design of unassuming arches and simple pillars painted in shades of creams and whites. On the inside, the neoclassic design continues with the same color palette except with additional golden ornamentations painted in the arches and domes, and the floor is tiled with large black and white squares angled like diamonds. There are also several chapels to view on the inside as well as the burial site of Juan Ponce de León himself.

Our walk through the streets of San Juan continued as we tried to find a hotel that has most likely long since disappeared, Old San Juan Hotel, on the suggestion of our friend Carol who had been to San Juan some years ago and who recommended we check it out. While we aren’t entirely positive we actually found the building that originally housed the establishment, we still got to enjoy more of San Juan’s beautiful old world architecture in addition to a tiny little stone chapel called Capilla del Santo Cristo de la Salud, built between 1753 and 1780. It’s a one-room chapel open to the air, protected only by wrought iron gates. It was built on the site of a miracle (apparently) where a man called Baltazar Montanez lost control of his horse, both plunging over the cliff face. Spanish Secretary of Government Don Mateo Pratts witnessed this and cried out, “Christ of Good Health, save him!” I’m not sure why he didn’t ask his god to save both lives, as the prayer was answered quite literally: the horse perished and the man didn’t.

The sun was beginning to set, so we decided to enjoy some cocktails before our dinner. Near the chapel we found a bar/restaurant called Tetuan Old San Juan (stylized as T•tuan), and while the drinks were enjoyably fruity, it was at this point where we started to notice that lots of cocktails in Puerto Rico tended towards the sugary side of the spectrum (which is fun), but also a tad bit much, even for this sweet tooth who’s known to eat three slices of cake in one sitting. That said, it’s still been incredibly enjoyable trying out rum cocktails made with guava and passion fruit, which is perfect for a long day walking around an old city baked in the tropical sun.

We last made our way outside of Viejo San Juan to a restaurant called La Casita Blanca, for a dinner of authentic Puerto Rican food. I highly recommend exploring San Jaun outside the touristy hub of Viejo San Juan, as the contrast in the neighborhoods couldn’t have been more apparent: the buildings were less manicured and less colorful (this isn’t a bad thing) and Spanish dominated as we passed by others on the streets.

The restaurant itself was invitingly friendly, relaxed, and casual. Menus were brought to us on large chalkboards propped up by our table. We had to get out our phones to translate some of the dishes, but that’s part of the fun. Also make sure to only order what you see on the menu, as I asked for a mojito (which wasn’t on the menu), and the waiter badgered me that I can have a mojito if I sing a song! So, we all opted for what was on the menu: sangrias. For our meals, we all enjoyed various stewed meats with beans and rice, but I was particularly envious of Aaron’s dish where the meat was stuffed in a lusciously giant avocado. Seriously, the avocados here are so, so huge—larger than most people’s fists.

As we ruminated over our day’s adventures, it became apparent that we loved San Juan more than we had initially envisioned we would. We had very deliberately chosen to stay in Jayuya, a remote part of the island tucked away in the mountains away from all the loud tourists, but San Juan captured our hearts so immediately and so thoroughly and so powerfully that we knew we had to come back again and again and again.

Before that was to happen, however, we had planned for our following day to be much more quiet as we decided to remain in the sleepy mountains of Jayuya…

Spanish lesson for the day:

1. The Duolingo app will teach you that the word for orange (the fruit) is una naranja. However, in Puerto Rico, they seem to call the fruit una china.
2. Continuing on the food theme, you’ll want to know that beer is cerveza and wine is vino. If you want white wine you’ll request, “Quiero un vino blanco,” while red wine would be, “Quiero un vino tinto.” Tinto can be translated as dyed or stained (in addition to red), but if you want to refer to the color red on its own, you’d say rojo. But you’d never refer to red wine as vino rojo.
3. To say you’re hungry, you’ll say, “Tengo hambre,” which translates literally as, “I have hunger.” If you are thirsty, you’ll say, “Tengo sed.” If you want to speak for the group to say, “We’re hungry,” you’ll say, “Tenemos hambre,” and “Tenemos sed.”
4. Lastly, the meals (breakfast, lunch, dinner) are desayuno, almuerzo, y ceda. It’s actually handy to know these words because some food establishments may only serve desayuno y almuerzo pero no ceda.

Travel tips, day five:

1. Dining out in Puerto Rico will progress at a slower pace than people who live in any U.S. state might be used to (Europeans, on the other hand, might feel like it’s still too fast). So, don’t feel like you’re inconveniencing the server (camarero/camarera) by flagging them down if you need something. Also don’t feel awkward when you have to ask for the check (“La cuenta, por favor”), as el camarero or la camarera is expecting that.
2. Puerto Ricans tend to prefer to back into parking spaces that are perpendicular to the flow of traffic. In fact, sometimes parking attendants will ask that you park this way as well, so you might as well just start getting into the habit of backing into your parking spot. I’ve noticed that at grocery stores parking lots, however, people tend to park with the front of the car entering first, however.
3. Lastly, while in general you’ll have one server during your dining experience, I’ve noticed that sometimes you may be in the hands of two or even three additional staff who will be able to help you as well as they bring your food or if you ask for the check.

*These photos by Amy Danielson. All others by me.