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Published: March 6th 2008
The man whose proper job it is to assist us in finding our lost luggage is attempting to book us into a hotel. I’ve never lost any luggage at an airport before, never had somebody else find me a hotel and I’ve never travelled to a place where the cheapest room you‘ll be lucky to find starts at $100+tax. It’s nearly midnight and most places are fully booked, yet our broker remains jovial. He’s almost apologetic when he lists the reasons Puerto Rico is so damned expensive nowadays… I admire his honesty; he’s a genuinely nice guy in a job where people must test his patience incessantly; good intro, good casting.
Unfortunately I missed Dirty Dancing 2 and the only Puerto Rican I know is Tito Kayak. So there had to be an ulterior motive for me to visit Puerto Rico. As it were, we needed to be here anyway, so we thought we’d stay a while…
Jennifer and I are about to embark on a 14 day Luxury Transatlantic Cruise... I already know what you’re thinking. I once held that very same belief, and to validate this, in preparedness I’ve embarked on an unethical tactic of covert participant
observation whilst staying at hostels recently. Lulling my backpacking peers into a sense of easy calm, building a sense of rapport and empathy (usually with the help of alcohol) and then tentatively breaching this very subject with them. Reactions haven’t been promising I can tell you.
Jen’s University buddy Kat, has been forced to stand outside the luggage terminal and wait patiently for over an hour for us to organize the hotel/luggage conundrum. Fortunately we could wave at her through the glass and our fixer finally found us a nice place near the airport, with beach access.
Now starving and in need of a well earned drink we hop in a cab, toss our bags, neck some Caribbeanesque holiday cocktails and as most eateries within range are closed, we head out to eat at the local Denny’s (we are still - kind of- on American territory).
Early next day we hop on the bus in the pouring tropical rain to Old San Juan. Now if you’re American you’ll probably notice the subtle differences between this place and the motherland. But your average brit could be forgiven for thinking you essentially still are in America judging by the
Old San Juan
life can be tough.commercial trappings en route. However, when we reach the historic core of San Juan, the sun breaks through the clouds and we’re confronted with the commercial legacies of a bygone era that doesn’t feel quite as Yankee.
Founded back in 1509, San Juan was Spain’s major center of commerce and military power in the West Indies for nearly four centuries, as the first port of call for galleons entering the West Indies and the last safe harbor for ships, laden with treasures, making the return trip to Spain.
Despite this being older, the cobblestone streets and often bold pastel-colored, tile-roofed buildings reminded me of a new and improved Cartagena, Colombia. The freshly painted facades were almost too well maintained to give a sense of the history - the vividness belied a faded grandeur. Five million tourists visit Puerto Rico every year, most of them Americans, a third of those day trippers from cruise ships. That’s a lot of tourist dollars, and add to that Puerto Rico’s two surrogate parents (Spain and The US) vying to invest money to protect ‘their’ cultural heritage, you suddenly have a whole lot of brightly colored paint.
Unpainted and virtually indestructible, the
massive walls, watchtowers and forts surrounding the city - most notably El Morro and the Castle of San Cristóbal - are the prize legacy. The open grassy esplanade leading up to the Fort by land really sets it apart on an impregnable pedestal. Restored in 1992 to commemorate the 500th anniversary of Columbus’s voyages, the palm trees and parking lots built by the Americans were torn up and restored to this vast "field-of-fire" area El Morro's cannons would have commanded during colonial Spanish times.
Next day, on the advice of a guy working in Hard Rock Café no less (this was a holiday of firsts for me), we hired a car and headed over to the southwestern coast and Gilligan’s island. Situated a short boat ride off the south coast the tiny mangrove-covered cay’s size meant just a dozen or so visitors created a healthy holiday atmosphere. The clear shallow water, white sand and mangrove lined channels weaving around the island made for a great sunning and snorkeling spot.
Having no packed-lunch and a cultural mission to complete whilst we were down here, we left in the early afternoon and hot-footed it to Ponce, an historical town, once
the hub of the island's rum, sugar cane and shipping industries known as the "Pearl of the South."
After navigating all the one-way streets that lead haphazardly to the central plaza we had about half an hour to explore before nightfall. To be honest this was more than enough time as we spent fifteen of those stuffing our faces with tacos to appease our ravenous bellies before jumping back in the car and heading south to hit some of the island’s best seafood restaurants which line the coast outside Ponce.
The island’s size and excellent roads meant we were back in San Juan that evening in time for some decent sleep, before our early morning trip over to the eastern side to catch the ferry to Culebra and the Spanish Virgin Islands.
Whilst waiting for the ferry I noticed that The Homeland Security Advisory System threat level had gone down from Red (HIGH risk of terrorist attacks) to Orange (ELEVATED risk of terrorist attacks). I breathed a sigh of relief and told one of the cops in attendance just how fortunate I felt to be travelling in such safe times. He gave me a stern look and
told me that even though the level had gone down, we should still all be vigilant…What worries me is not the way the US administration shamelessly manipulates these levels when Bush’s approval rating is flailing but the fact that men with loaded guns believe it!
Despite the reduced elevated threat, with vigilance (well, at least on my part; the girls fell asleep) we survived the ferry trip to Dewey, Culebra, where the pace of life felt a lot more, what I’d consider to be, Caribbean. Our destination, Flamenco Beach, was sublime, and the fact that you could camp just off the beach for $25 a night was awesome...I know you might be thinking $25 for a spot to pitch your tent is a bit rich, but this is Puerto Rico, and if there were a strip of hotels along this beach they’d easily be charging ten times that… did I forget to mention there isn’t a strip of hotels along this beach?
Flamenco Beach is very low key; most people visiting were Puerto Rican families and friends over for the weekend with coolers, beers and BBQ s. We weren’t endowed with such luxuries so had to fend for
ourselves at rustic food stalls selling excellent grilled chicken, fish, rice and beans.
In 1493 Christopher Columbus ‘discovered’ Puerto Rico and Culebra, aka La Ultima Virgen (the Last Virgin). Unfortunately for the Taino (The good or noble people) who were living here at the time, they were also discovered. He infamously branded them Indians, and enslaved them. After just thirty years 90% of them had been worked to death or murdered and they were replaced by African slaves.
After the trip over I was itching to spread my legs, so as soon as we’d set up the tent I set off on a path into the hills to explore. Almost immediately I passed some barbed wire fences garnished with warnings to ‘stay out’ and further along I was warned the area was closed due to unexploded bombas and other nastiness left behind by the US military, which had used the area for ‘exercises’ between 1902 and 1975.
My naughty schoolboy mentality couldn’t resist but defy the signs, and after a protracted tussle with some vegetation - which had in Man’s absence clearly forgotten WHOSE planet this is - I found a nice spot I was certain hadn’t
seen a sunset watcher for a while, and watched.
Incidentally the US Navy also used the neighbouring island Vieques up until 2003. I later discovered, to my concern, the Spanish Virgin Islands were riddled with an array of contaminants which included mercury, lead, copper, magnesium, lithium, perchlorate, TNT, napalm, PCBs, solvents, pesticides, and depleted uranium -- though reassuringly, when the Navy left Culebra in the seventies I’m sure they hadn’t developed the use of depleted uranium yet. Otherwise they wouldn’t have needed to waste their time dropping that inferior napalm crap on the kids over in Vietnam.
During the week you’ll mostly have this fantastic place to yourself when it really does feel like the last virgin. If you do get cabin fever out here surrounded by all this white sand, you can hitch a ride back into Dewey for a gourmet meal, cocktails and some ice-cream; just make sure you arrange for someone to take you back!
So if you were still wondering why arguably the best beach in the world isn’t chockablock with totalitarian tourism, it’s probably for the same reason Chernobyl wasn’t chosen as the location for Euro Disney. However, I did read somewhere
recently, that Flamenco Beach is the second best beach in America, after one in Hawaii.
Premise one: Puerto Rico is in America. Premise two: Hawaii is in America. Premise three: A beach in Hawaii is better than this.
Puerto Rico is a colony of the United States. Since 1972, the U.N. Decolonization Committee has called for Puerto Rico's decolonization and for the U.S. to recognize the island's right to self-determination and independence. But in an age when colonialism is universally frowned upon and the right of self determination is something worth fighting for, there are some contrary opinions amongst Puerto Ricans.
In 1993 a plebiscite was held where 46.3 percent of the people voted in favor of statehood (to become the 51st state), 48.6 percent voted to continue commonwealth status, and only 4.4 percent voted for independence. Current polls suggest if congress were to formerly offer statehood, Puerto Ricans would overwhelmingly choose to become the 51st star on the flag.
Why? Well Puerto Ricans can travel freely in the United States with almost as many currently living in the states as in their own homeland. And Puerto Rico itself is classified by the World Bank as
a High income country - the only one in Latin America.
If the same offer of statehood was given to other Latin American nations, you’d have to ask yourself how many would choose their flags over a carte blanche green card. Of course, this is all hypothetical, since the US doesn’t want any more people singing the Star-Spangled Banner; it’s after resources, which free trade agreements and the spread of freedom and democracy are currently taking care of, thank you very much.
Back on the mainland we stopped at El Yunque, which is the only tropical rain forest in the United States National Forest System (sorry, I shouldn’t quote the guidebook). It has good roads, easily accessible hiking trails and FREE camping if you get a permit from the park office, which we just managed to do before It closed (of course, we would never camp without an official USFS permit).
The moral of the story is that you get what you pay for, particularly here in Puerto Rico, and the spot we were given to camp was essentially outside the park at the end of a road, over a gate, around the corner in some derelict
lot. Trying to get your pegs into a compacted gravel puddle in the darkness, and surprisingly cold tropical rain forest rain, is a departure from the yieldingly warm white sands of Flamenco Beach, I can tell you. But once inside the tent we drowned out the din of the overzealous coqui frogs (males can apparently be as loud as 100 dB at a distance of 0.5 mb) transporting ourselves to Guangxi, China, watching The Painted Veil on the laptop.
Next morning we completed our little adventure by travelling full circle, ending our trip at breakfast in our favorite Denny’s. We said our goodbyes, and as Jennifer escorted Kat back to the airport I aired out sleeping bags and sodden socks over the back of chairs as I supped coffee refills and checked email in anticipation of the next leg of our journey.
Exiting the taxi at port, it soon became apparent that most of the other guests had just flown in for the day, and saw the boarding as a great way to make a casual first impression decked out in their pant suits and pearls. This had the effect of accentuating our unshaven-unshowered-greasy-scruffy-sunburned and smelly feelings of
self-consciousness as we queued alongside the cultured classes to board the ship.
Having spent the previous four nights in a tent I was certain at some point security would be asked to escort us off the ship for health and safety reasons… that is until the Captain approached us with a hearty grin and thrust a glass of champagne into our hands “Welcome aboard!"
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Cassie
non-member comment
wow
these pictures are absolutly amazingly beautiful.