Family never has to ask
Thursday
It’s a dusty outcropping overlooking the sea, at the top of the road that drops down on either side in both directions—a sandy parking lot with beer bottle caps long stamped into the dirt. A good sign.
We walk into Richie’s Restaurant, unsure of mask protocol. The air has that slightly heavy feeling of humidity in it and the ceiling fans are whirling to lighten the load. We ask for a table outside. Matthias points out some giant photos on the entryway wall behind me of who can only be Richie. We are shown to a table outside and wipe down the afternoon’s rain from our seats before sitting.
We’re on vacation in Puerto Rico with Matthias’s best friend Monique and one of her best friends (and a dear friend of ours) Haniya, and we’re at Richie’s because it’s a place where Monique and her family come for celebration. When in Rome, as they say, and I order the House Drink from the menu. For dinner I order the vegetarian mofongo: mashed green plantains served with salad, mixed steamed vegetables, and upon our waiter’s recommendation I choose the garlicky cream sauce. I am not disappointed and it’s the best mofongo I’ll have all trip.
We’re staying at an apartment within a complex within seven estate clusters within the Wyndham Grand Rio Mar resort, which if you re-read that sentence is about what you’d expect it to be, with more driving. To get to our unit, we drive ~10 minutes around the entirety of the resort, past the hotel and the beach and the golf course and all the other six estates, (over speed bumps too countless when you’re sitting in the back), through a gate, over a few more speed bumps. You can see and hear the whisper of the sea in the distance from the balcony, however, and we do often, especially from the back porch, with the porch ceiling fan on for circulation.
That night we go swimming at the beach by the hotel. It’s the night before a full moon and our eyes gradually transition from seeing during dusk to seeing under the light of the moon. We wade into the water and start to reprogram our bodies (or at least Matthias and I do) to expect warm water in the sea rather than the short sting of saltwater before it starts to numb you. The waves are high but consistent and we stand for a while jumping over wave after wave before I go grab my camera to take pictures.
Friday
The next morning we pack for a beach day at Liquillo Beach (confusingly located in Luquillo), a long and sandy beach on the opposite end of the bay from the one at our resort. Before we go, however, we need to make breakfast plans so people can eat (and I can find coffee) since we don’t have any groceries in the apartment. We make our way to Ralph’s Food Warehouse, a supermarket-cum-cafeteria next to a church so big it’s called a Stadium. I forget something in the car and jog through the parking lot in a sunshiney drizzle, and when I return we’ve settled on eating first, the better to combat the hangriness with. So much the better.
Ralph’s has breakfast sandwiches on water bread and strong coffee in dainty styrofoam cups. After some confusion with the order to keep it halal and vegetarian without using as many words (Yes, two no ham; No, two; Yes, one with ham; No, only three, yes there are four of us; Did you get the iced tea? And three coffees; no, black) we settle at a table and wait. When the food comes Monique wants to make sure I get a beauty shot of some ugly dead pig, and I do.
Despite being in the same bay as our hotel beach from the night before, Liquillo is tranquil with lake-sized waves and lake-like buoys. We swim out to them and I tag them like I used to do at the Hampstead public beach and Jeannette’s beach when I was growing up, and we tread in the water that’s just over our heads before I mistake some kind of fish for the kick of my legs. The fish brushes up against my legs again to avoid any confusion, then brushes Monique and we decide it’s time to go sit in the shallows. There are sand dollars (some other tourists helpfully remind us), easterly winds, and showers in the distance over the resort.
After a little while we pack it in to head back to the beach by the hotel where Haniya and I get into deep conversation while Matthias and Monique’s heads bob continually over each successive wave.
Saturday
Saturday we drive 20 minutes or so southwest up into the rainforest towards Monique’s grandparents’. Her family has a cluster of houses on a small side road, and her grandfather prefers the jungle of his backyard here to that of his backyard in Framingham. The way the side street and house are positioned—a side road, a jungle hill up to your left as you approach, houses with productive fruit trees behind them to your right—reminds me of Matthias’s great-grandmother’s land in Anse La Raye.
We sit down to the best meal of our entire trip: rice and black beans, fresh avocado from the tree out back, tostones, and cold beers. There is beef cheek for Monique and Matthias and so many cups put out you’d wonder who we were expecting. We talk with Emily, Monique’s aunt—who’s staying here with her husband and two kids—and arrange some plans for the week. At one point after I unsuccessfully offer to help with anything in the kitchen, Monique’s adorable grandmother Aida pulls me to her hip and says, ‘You’re so pretty,’ and then pauses, thinking to herself, before interrupting the conversation at the table to call to Matthias, ‘Matt, your girlfriend is so pretty!’ and I take the compliment while stifling internalised sexism. Love grandmothers at all costs.
Aida’s other grandchildren are the kittens that run around the yard. She has a setup just like Mary Beth’s, but in Puerto Rico instead of Plainfield. We get the garden tour and pet some cats. Not being a cat person but being an animal person, I take to one that’s gotten its little cheek bit off, presumably after picking (or defending in) a fight with something not its own size. Scathed but survived. Relatable. I keep petting carefully as long as the cat keeps sticking around.
That night Matthias lobbies to head into San Juan to go to a club that the DJ at the resort hotel pool recommended, Fifty Eight. It’s raining though and the inertia is strong. I’m down for anything, knowing that what Matthias enjoys most on vacation is checking out the local club and dancing scene, but unwilling to wade into the argument between the two camps. I’m enjoying watching from the balcony and occasionally chiming in while sipping some of the wine that I picked up at Ralph’s. We stay in and watch the rain, as well as a scary movie while I update my budget spreadsheets for the trip.
Sunday
Sunday we head up to El Yunque National Forest for some hiking and waterfall-watching with Emily and her family. We meet up outside a closed restaurant called El Yunque Treehouse (another Treehouse…) around 10, and drive together the half hour from there up to the National Park. The visitor centre is closed for construction, so we head farther up the mountain to pay at the gate at the trailhead. The visitor centre is closed for construction, and there is signage indicating such, but there is no signage indicating that the entire park itself is closed on account of rain, so there is chaos at the trailhead as dozens of cars continue climbing, causing traffic jams and confusion as everyone collectively tries to turn around. I understand mudslides and flash floods, but can’t help but smirk at the irony of a rainforest being closed due to rain.
With the rain first closed due to rain, we head to Old San Juan to get our fill of touristy ambulation. It’s getting onto mid-afternoon at this point, it’s the weekend, and it’s vacation so I convince everyone to walk to the birthplace of the piña colada, Barrachina, where I order the house red sangria because I don’t enjoy saccharine frozen cocktails. When in Rome. Monique joins me with sangria and Matthias tries a piña colada for the first time. Afterwards Monique wants to try Stuffed Avocado Shop where there is a disappointing dearth of vegetarian signature bowls for an avocado shop, and I annoy traffic by standing in the middle of the street for some pictures while everyone else finishes up because the stench of fish sauce in the place has got me stepping outside for some air. The sidewalks are packed and if people are wearing masks it’s over their chin instead of their nose and mouth. An hour later after a trip to a pharmacy, Haniya and I are explaining to Matthias why he really should read the directions on the nasal spray he bought for his stuffy nose.
We continue wandering around, past a protest condemning the recent private takeover of Puerto Rico’s energy grid, LUMA Energy, which local labor movements unsuccessfully campaigned against. Just to the left of the social unrest is an old gate, and some street vendors who sell pigeon feed which you can purchase if you fancy having your arms and hands covered in slimy bird scat. I offer to take pictures for some other tourists who are more apprehensive about the pigeons than we are.
In keeping with the theme—and after thoroughly both wiping down and washing our various extremities—we walk to Save-a-Gato, a cat sanctuary within the grounds of Castillo San Felipe del Morro, a 16th-century Spanish fort positioned strategically (I suppose as all forts are positioned…) at the mouth of San Juan Bay. As one might expect, there are many cats, and there is also a banyan tree with roots tied into swings, of which I avail myself. We stay long enough to see the sun start setting.
Still full of avocados, Matthias takes the lead and we wander down sidewalks and cobblestone streets until a menu catches his eye, La Madre. Behind the restaurant is their mezcal bar and we sip some spicy cocktails and mocktails and hold an impromptu photo shoot. I spend more than a few photos pretending to take a picture of a gecko on the wall but actually taking a picture of this woman’s grievous shirt.
Over La Madre, Matthias leads us through the streets of Old San Juan once again until another place catches his eye, La O. We stay for a round of fancy drinks before wandering once more, this time following the sound of live music. We finish the night dancing around broken glass in one of the many dance floors within the lovely labyrinthine La Factoría complex before making our way back home.
Monday
The next morning starts very early, at 5:25, with Monique knocking on our door to ensure our alarms hadn’t failed us. Mine was set for 5:45 since we aren’t leaving until 6:30 anyway, and all I have to do is shower, throw on the clothes I’ve already laid out last night, and grab the bag we’ve already packed as well. At 5:44 Matthias gets out of the shower to see why there’s knocking again and tells me that apparently we’re leaving in 5 minutes, not 45. A minute later there is more knocking and an update that we should reschedule or cancel. Cave tubing cancelled due to rain.
Matthias, who is still getting over a cold, goes back to bed, but I’m awake and annoyed at the space-time continuum. I try to watch the early morning clouds and colours over the ocean, but it isn’t enough; I need to burn some energy. I get Monique and Haniya’s coffee orders and drive down to the little shop that Haniya and I had stopped at a couple days before when we had wanted coffee but Monique and Matthias had wanted to head back to the apartment. The morning is dewy and pretty, super saturated from the rain. The storm from the night before has downed some branches, and I pull over at one point to pick up a coconut in the middle of the road and take it with me. It perks me up, along with the small adventures that come with travel, when the most routine things (driving, getting coffee) come with a sense of jamais vu.
The coffee shop is busier first thing in the morning than it had been the other afternoon, but the barista remembers me and we exchange pleasantries, and cash for coffee. The shop, helpfully enough, is called simply Puertorrican Bakery, and I get the most sprinkle-covered chocolate-glazed sugary-looking thing for Matthias to have later for breakfast.
When I get back to the apartment I am locked out, but gratefully I’m able to call softly through the locked gate and wake Monique from her nap to drop off things for people before snuggling back into bed to sip my coffee. Too much action before 7:30 AM.
Life can’t be all that bad when you can go to the beach, however, and a bad day at the beach beats a good day anywhere else. After our morning naps, we pack for a beach day and head down to the beach by the resort hotel. It’s Haniya’s last day with us, and there’s no sense in stressing.
Later in the evening we are stressing a little, however, as we desperately futilely attempt to get the attention of our server—or anyone, really—at Istanbul Restaurant. Haniya has a flight to catch, and while she’s checked in and has pre-check, she isn’t on Mediterranean time. We ended up here after our beach day when Monique wanted to make sure Haniya got dinner before her flight. We drove to the same parking garage in Old San Juan as we’ve been accustomed to, and walked to Puerto Crillo, a restaurant that Monique had been to with her family that she wanted Haniya to experience before leaving. It was closed, however (Mondays in the industry), along with the restaurant next door to it in the same cute square. Being a Meaghan, I already had a short list of restaurants that I wanted to try, and this Turkish one was just around the corner—and halal to boot. After exploring several other available options we settle on the Turkish place, and all was going well until we waited and waited for our bill.
All’s well that ends well, however, and we are seeing Haniya off at the airport with time to spare for her to make it to her gate. Minutes, but time nonetheless.
After dropping her off we determine that it is still a little too early to head home for our own packing, so we drive to the Luquillo Kiosks to see what we can see. The kiosks are a collection of 60 or so different shops—mostly food fare—in concrete storefronts along both the Luquillo beach, on the north side of Route 3. We had been here for dinner another night, at a place that had some lovely live music, and we park near there and walk along before finding somewhere to order mojitos, settling on a place called Terruño. Life can’t be all that bad when you’re ending the day with mojitos, either.
