By Roz
We awoke to the sound of an alarm – a noise that has become pleasantly unfamiliar on this trip – to get up in time for our trip to the rainforest, El Yunque. It’s the only rainforest in the US national park system and is spoken of with much excitement. We’d wanted to go by ourselves, since our research had established it isn’t the kind of rainforest that requires you to hack your way through the undergrowth, and it sounded as though there was little risk of disappearing forever through taking a wrong turning. Frustratingly, however, we had to take a tour because the only way to get there otherwise was an exorbitantly priced taxi, which neither of us could reconcile ourselves to when a tour was about a quarter of the price of a one-way taxi ride.
The guide, Louis, proved to be a jovial chap. He had a somewhat unfortunate interest in housing prices and spent a certain amount of the journey to the rainforest pointing to random properties and letting us know what they were worth. I admit that I was, on occasion, just as nerdy about house prices in Camberwell…but at least I tried to keep this enthusiasm to myself. The others on the tour were pleasant enough (and at least managed to make appropriately interested noises when informed about house prices). Two of them, from Brooklyn, had glamorous outfits and flip-flops on, which contrasted interestingly with our hardcore hiking garb…
Arriving at the rainforest, our first stop was the visitor centre. This proved to be a much more comprehensive affair that the ramshackle places we’ve come across on previous trips to rainforests. Having acquired smoothies and some “emergency” crisps, our first stop was a film about El Yunque. The film brought out the worst in Layla and me, and I’m (slightly) ashamed to admit that we sat in the back row and giggling at the oh-so-worthy voiceover which sought to inspire and educate.
From there, it was off to hike, after we’d seen the odd waterfall and gazed seemingly endlessly at various plants, as instructed by Louis. (I should say that we did muster some genuine enthusiasm for the “painted gum” tree – which has multi-coloured vertical stripes all the way down the bark. We’d seen it the day before, in Santurce, and assumed that the tree had actually been painted by locals and was an expression of the arty nature of the area. Finding that these trees naturally appear looking as though they’ve been painted was surprisingly exciting.) The hike itself was lovely (particularly after we managed to lose the others on our tour). It rather reminded us of hiking in South Korea – the trails had pretty much been boarded over with a concrete path – but this was no bad thing. We took lots of pictures (having spectacularly failed to take any for the previous three days) and felt very jolly. We also felt rather pleased with ourselves, since we were the only ones of the 8 on the tour to emerge from the hike not looking completely exhausted. I rather doubt that this is really the ringing endorsement of our fitness that it sounds…
Post-hike it was time for a late lunch at a roadside café. The folded over pizzas were surprisingly tasty, though Layla didn’t look excited at her corn stick. And then back to San Juan where we showered, changed and went out for a drink in a beach café with our books. Occasionally we remembered that we’d be returning to DC shortly, but sought to banish such a terrible thought as quickly as possible. We then headed to the lagoon, close to our hotel, to join the locals for an outdoor film screening. It was a lovely setting for a film, and we were the only tourists there. This may or may not have something to do with the fact that the film was Horton Hears a Who, but we certainly felt local and (though I shall only say it quietly) did very much enjoy the film. We then headed to dinner (Italian again) and finished up the night at a outdoor bar with reasonably pleasant live music. A very pleasing last night.
We were again woken by an alarm – this time for the excitement of paddle-boarding. It’s a very popular water sport here and early on in the holiday I’d persuaded Layla that we should definitely give it a go. I think both of us had some qualms (not least because we both ended up having long complicated dreams – me about paddle-boarding and Layla about having won a competition to go on a commercial space flight). These qualms did not ease when we looked out the window, saw it had been raining and gazed up at the grey sky. However, we persisted, and walked round to the lagoon (where we’d watched the film the night before) to meet the very pleasant Tanya with paddleboards, together with a cheery girl (who turned out to live in DC and who we may try and make a friend). It began to rain relatively hard just as we began, and I could see Layla wanted to back out. However, I’m a beast and persuaded her to stick with it. And we were both so glad we did.
Paddleboarding entails standing on a board that looks a bit like a surfboard and then (as one might guess) paddling around. A recipe for falling in the water. Which I did twice. But it was really fun to make our way round the lagoon, learning how to do it (sort of). The wind whipped up after a while (fortunately the rain had ceased) which made it more fun / quite hard (which depends on your perspective!). It would of course be boastful to point out that Layla had to be towed by the instructor at one point, whilst I did not… We went under a bridge and saw the ocean (and then made a hasty retreat). All of this excitement did of course mean we were entirely justified in having pancakes and smoothies for breakfast in a nice looking café that we’d spotted the day before (after we’d checked out). In fact we lurked in the café, with our books, for a while (so long that we were then able to justify having lunch) before heading down to the shore for a final walk along the beach, soaking up the sun and paddling a little. On the beach we played our usual game for the last day of a holiday – where shall we go next. And so, typing this on the plane on the way home, I’m dreaming of our next adventure in Mexico. Or Suriname. Or Guyana.
Monday 27 February 2012
In which Layla and Roz learn to boogie board and explore the gritty side of San Juan
By Layla
Having slightly glammed up a little, we returned by taxi into the little town and, shamefacedly, settled ourselves down for a second delicious night at Mamacita’s restaurant. Which was far busier than last time – by the time we got a table, I was drunk on mohitos… but managed to force down some tasty wraps and was disappointed to be too full for dessert! Especially after a long stroll home afterwards.
The next day our host drove us into town in her golf buggy, made even more precarious by my hugging a ‘boogie board’ (sort of a short version of a surfboard) as we bumped along the road. We had brunch at the Dinghy Dock – quesadillas and burritos – looking out over the water, and then found a taxi to take us back to the lovely Flamenco Beach. We were frustrated to find we couldn’t rent loungers and umbrellas – the man who usually rents them explained that it was too windy. We gazed sceptically at him, but having put our bags on the sand and ventured into the water, we realised the weather had indeed changed… and what had been a beautifully still, perfect sea only two days before now featured crashing waves, complete with a lifeguard blowing his whistle every 15 minutes, to make all the swimmers move to a less choppy part of the sea. Clutching our boogieboard, the waves were what we wanted though, and we proceeded to both rather ineptly teach ourselves how to use it. Having been half-drowned under wave after wave, the excitement of catching the waves and being smoothly conveyed atop the board to the beach was one of endless fascination, and a repeating call of ‘my turn now!’ Maybe four near-drownings to one successful ‘surf’, but when we finally decided the waves were too big and our sunburn too sore, we exited and returned home by taxi, feeling exceptionally proud of ourselves and dreaming of being surfers…
That night we returned to town by taxi, this time to sample the tacos of Zako’s Tako’s, an unsalubrious little café which had rather nice food… and such strong mohitos that we were obliged to shame ourselves by asking for a more dilute version! Our long walk home afterwards was very much cheered up by a visit to a little ice cream shop where they made their own waffle cones right in front of my eyes, on a little waffle iron! This was extremely cool. I wished I’d bought more!
The next day, anticipating our 1pm ferry back to the ‘big island’, we spent the morning on our balcony, reading our books, playing with the local cat, and swinging in the hammock. But the hour of departure came all too soon, and we were driven to the dock where we had some pancakes and sandwiches before boarding the ferry and cruising scenically back to Fajardo. Where we hopped in an extortionate cab, and were rapidly conveyed to our next and final hotel, The Canario by the Lagoon in Condado, a beachy area of San Juan.
While in the same city, Condado couldn’t have been more different from Old San Juan. The streets buzzed with tourists, people in beach gear, fancy hotels (of which ours was not one), and nightlife – bars, restaurants, and casinos. We had a reservation at the coolest restaurant there, Rum Bar, but their pathetic attempt to cope with us being vegetarians led to our huffy departure in favour of Rao’s, a very cool little Italian restaurant with exposed brickwork and an industrial vibe and some excellent food. Nice.
The next day the rather dismal hotel breakfast had us seeking sanctuary in Starbucks where Roz – having been oddly deprived for days – finally got some decent coffee. After consulting the guidebooks, we decided to venture to another area of the city, directly south of Condado – Santurce. The books described it as urban, gritty and arty. We were ready for some real life, and so we ventured forth. It was not the most beautiful neighbourhood, but it had an excellent museum of Puerto Rican modern art. We strolled around the beautiful building, looking at the various artists’ work which we were interested to see really focussed on trying to change the world through art (emphasising the importance of community and challenging excessive commercialisation). More idealistic artists in Puerto Rico than in Europe, we speculated? We also saw a children’s art display (one child’s work was excellent, the rest not so much), and an interesting room of political posters once published in a free journal distributed in San Juan. Really thought provoking – we were very glad we’d ventured in.
Next we strolled up the street, past a market billed as rather more interesting than it was, past some cool statues at the Fine Arts centre, and then to another, bigger museum of art, which we entered and were about to buy tickets for when a sea of shrieking children swamped us, horrified us, and led to our fleeing instead to a café across the road for water and carrot cake… Our good intentions to return were foiled by realising we could go to the cinema – both of us love going to cinemas in holiday locations. And so we guiltily skipped the art and walked a couple of kilometres down the road to a fancier area called Miramar, home to a cool arty cinema. But first – of course – lunch, which we ate at a very cool little deli with a leafy patio bustling with cheery locals. Full of pasta, we then settled down to watch The Descendants (set in Hawaii), which was excellent.
After the cinema, we emerged, blinking, into the sun, and decided to catch a bus into Old San Juan. We were still delighted by the prettiness of the city. We bought ice cream and walked along by the waterfront as we had done on our first day, settling down in an outdoor café for some excellent mohitos and a little reading. Until 6:15 when we leapt up and dashed to Marmalade. As you may recall, this was the fabulous restaurant we went to at the start of our holiday. Roz had made a reservation for tonight prior to our first visit, and we’d been disinclined to cancel it. I was quite delighted with this choice. Not only was the food still wonderful, Roz had randomly said when booking that it was my birthday treat, and they sat us on what can only be described as a throne, with yellow rose petals adorning the table. Hilarious. We had a lovely meal, and then we walked round the corner in search of the salsa club Roz had been fancying. Despite what we thought was a late hour, it was a) empty, and b) terrifying. We fled to the cool bar we’d visited on our very first night and had a happy evening toasting our holiday with mohitos and Medalla Light, before braving the bus home. It dropped us off in Santurce, which we’d been told was rather dangerous by night. We made a plan to look purposeful and zoom through it as soon as possible. This was foiled when Roz immediately tripped over a post sticking up through the pavement and tumbled bleeding to the ground, whereupon everyone in sight, including those in cars, stopped to check she was okay (which she was). Nobody made any attempt to rob us. We felt cheated… our walk back to the hotel (via a beer shop) proceeded without further incident…
Having slightly glammed up a little, we returned by taxi into the little town and, shamefacedly, settled ourselves down for a second delicious night at Mamacita’s restaurant. Which was far busier than last time – by the time we got a table, I was drunk on mohitos… but managed to force down some tasty wraps and was disappointed to be too full for dessert! Especially after a long stroll home afterwards.
The next day our host drove us into town in her golf buggy, made even more precarious by my hugging a ‘boogie board’ (sort of a short version of a surfboard) as we bumped along the road. We had brunch at the Dinghy Dock – quesadillas and burritos – looking out over the water, and then found a taxi to take us back to the lovely Flamenco Beach. We were frustrated to find we couldn’t rent loungers and umbrellas – the man who usually rents them explained that it was too windy. We gazed sceptically at him, but having put our bags on the sand and ventured into the water, we realised the weather had indeed changed… and what had been a beautifully still, perfect sea only two days before now featured crashing waves, complete with a lifeguard blowing his whistle every 15 minutes, to make all the swimmers move to a less choppy part of the sea. Clutching our boogieboard, the waves were what we wanted though, and we proceeded to both rather ineptly teach ourselves how to use it. Having been half-drowned under wave after wave, the excitement of catching the waves and being smoothly conveyed atop the board to the beach was one of endless fascination, and a repeating call of ‘my turn now!’ Maybe four near-drownings to one successful ‘surf’, but when we finally decided the waves were too big and our sunburn too sore, we exited and returned home by taxi, feeling exceptionally proud of ourselves and dreaming of being surfers…
That night we returned to town by taxi, this time to sample the tacos of Zako’s Tako’s, an unsalubrious little café which had rather nice food… and such strong mohitos that we were obliged to shame ourselves by asking for a more dilute version! Our long walk home afterwards was very much cheered up by a visit to a little ice cream shop where they made their own waffle cones right in front of my eyes, on a little waffle iron! This was extremely cool. I wished I’d bought more!
The next day, anticipating our 1pm ferry back to the ‘big island’, we spent the morning on our balcony, reading our books, playing with the local cat, and swinging in the hammock. But the hour of departure came all too soon, and we were driven to the dock where we had some pancakes and sandwiches before boarding the ferry and cruising scenically back to Fajardo. Where we hopped in an extortionate cab, and were rapidly conveyed to our next and final hotel, The Canario by the Lagoon in Condado, a beachy area of San Juan.
While in the same city, Condado couldn’t have been more different from Old San Juan. The streets buzzed with tourists, people in beach gear, fancy hotels (of which ours was not one), and nightlife – bars, restaurants, and casinos. We had a reservation at the coolest restaurant there, Rum Bar, but their pathetic attempt to cope with us being vegetarians led to our huffy departure in favour of Rao’s, a very cool little Italian restaurant with exposed brickwork and an industrial vibe and some excellent food. Nice.
The next day the rather dismal hotel breakfast had us seeking sanctuary in Starbucks where Roz – having been oddly deprived for days – finally got some decent coffee. After consulting the guidebooks, we decided to venture to another area of the city, directly south of Condado – Santurce. The books described it as urban, gritty and arty. We were ready for some real life, and so we ventured forth. It was not the most beautiful neighbourhood, but it had an excellent museum of Puerto Rican modern art. We strolled around the beautiful building, looking at the various artists’ work which we were interested to see really focussed on trying to change the world through art (emphasising the importance of community and challenging excessive commercialisation). More idealistic artists in Puerto Rico than in Europe, we speculated? We also saw a children’s art display (one child’s work was excellent, the rest not so much), and an interesting room of political posters once published in a free journal distributed in San Juan. Really thought provoking – we were very glad we’d ventured in.
Next we strolled up the street, past a market billed as rather more interesting than it was, past some cool statues at the Fine Arts centre, and then to another, bigger museum of art, which we entered and were about to buy tickets for when a sea of shrieking children swamped us, horrified us, and led to our fleeing instead to a café across the road for water and carrot cake… Our good intentions to return were foiled by realising we could go to the cinema – both of us love going to cinemas in holiday locations. And so we guiltily skipped the art and walked a couple of kilometres down the road to a fancier area called Miramar, home to a cool arty cinema. But first – of course – lunch, which we ate at a very cool little deli with a leafy patio bustling with cheery locals. Full of pasta, we then settled down to watch The Descendants (set in Hawaii), which was excellent.
After the cinema, we emerged, blinking, into the sun, and decided to catch a bus into Old San Juan. We were still delighted by the prettiness of the city. We bought ice cream and walked along by the waterfront as we had done on our first day, settling down in an outdoor café for some excellent mohitos and a little reading. Until 6:15 when we leapt up and dashed to Marmalade. As you may recall, this was the fabulous restaurant we went to at the start of our holiday. Roz had made a reservation for tonight prior to our first visit, and we’d been disinclined to cancel it. I was quite delighted with this choice. Not only was the food still wonderful, Roz had randomly said when booking that it was my birthday treat, and they sat us on what can only be described as a throne, with yellow rose petals adorning the table. Hilarious. We had a lovely meal, and then we walked round the corner in search of the salsa club Roz had been fancying. Despite what we thought was a late hour, it was a) empty, and b) terrifying. We fled to the cool bar we’d visited on our very first night and had a happy evening toasting our holiday with mohitos and Medalla Light, before braving the bus home. It dropped us off in Santurce, which we’d been told was rather dangerous by night. We made a plan to look purposeful and zoom through it as soon as possible. This was foiled when Roz immediately tripped over a post sticking up through the pavement and tumbled bleeding to the ground, whereupon everyone in sight, including those in cars, stopped to check she was okay (which she was). Nobody made any attempt to rob us. We felt cheated… our walk back to the hotel (via a beer shop) proceeded without further incident…
Thursday 23 February 2012
In which Layla and Roz have a beach holiday (and Roz is attacked by a jellyfish)
By Layla
Only Roz would spent a part of an hour and a half cruising across the Caribbean sea to a tropical island on her laptop, writing her blog, but upon arrival, both of us were hit with a slower pace of life, and we have relaxed into it. Met by the guesthouse owner on a golf buggy, we were conveyed out of town to our guesthouse which turned out, delightfully, to be an entire little house with living room, huge kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms. Not to mention a front porch complete with hammock! Nice.
No sooner had we arrived and had a quick read in the comfort of our luxurious living space, our lovely guesthouse owners had offered to drive us to Flamenco beach, widely considered one of the best beaches in the world. We arrived, had quesadillas and Medalla light (local beer) for lunch at a beach kiosk, and then we hit the beach. No expense spared: we even paid for sun loungers and a parasol (it was ridiculously sunny; despite said extravagance, I was still ridiculously sunburned!) The beach was a horseshoe of everything a Caribbean island beach should be: brilliant blue/green, clear water, soft white sand, and backed by palm trees and greenery, all below a bright blue sky. What a delight. We leapt in, and spent a really lovely afternoon alternating jumping in the waves and reading our books (the latter with a pina colada in hand…).
In the evening we headed into Dewey, the ‘capital’ of Culebra, which comprises a few restaurants. We went to Mamacita’s, where we had passion fruit mohitos (amazing) and vegetarian pasta, sitting next to the water, amid twinkling lights and romance.
Despite our extremely early bedtime (we’d had to quit beer and dominoes in our living room due to exhaustion), we still struggled to get up at 7:30 today, but we hauled ourselves up: we were off on an all-day snorkelling trip! Alas, I like snorkelling rather more than Roz, who doesn’t enjoy the effort of coordinating her breathing with the snorkel, but I distracted her with breakfast burritos at the ‘Dinghy Dock’, Culebra’s drinking (and breakfast) hotspot. And also, conveniently, where our trip was to leave.
Five minutes before departure time, the sky darkened and the heavens opened. We looked at each other, aghast, and frantically sipped our orange juices as the giant raindrops splashed on the tables. And then, oh joy, the sky cleared, we boarded a little motorboat along with a family of two pensioners, their daughter, and her husband, and we were off!
Said companions were old hands at snorkelling (‘we grew up on the water’ said they), and we compared rather poorly to their snorkelling finesse. As soon as we jumped from the boat at the first of five snorkelling locations, in picture perfect coves off the coast of Culebra, Roz remembered that she didn’t enjoy breathing into a snorkel. After a little light panic and water inhalation, and a quick glance at some fish, we rapidly retreated to the boat and requested our next stop be by the shore to enable us to practice with our feet safely in the sand. Newly confident, we motored out to another choice snorkelling spot. Roz mustered all her courage and was soon snorkelling like a pro, looking at the fish and the undulating coral below… only to be punished five minutes later with a rather impressive jellyfish sting across her entire chest and down her legs. Alas, our tour guide was unmoved, and of little help, but she mustered her courage and got in again at the next stop, despite the pain and emerging blisters… We stopped at a few more places and then, finally, in an attempt to placate me in my quest to see a turtle, stopped at a bay frequented by them. Assuming that this, as with so many animal viewing attempts, was a doomed enterprise, I was both surprised and charmed to see two turtles swimming around and munching grass from the bottom of the sea.
Finally, when we reached dry land, we decided to medicate Roz’s stings with a Baileys Colada (me) and mohito (her)… and then, after much hunting and exhausted wringing of hands, we spotted a taxi and were conveyed home in style.
Only Roz would spent a part of an hour and a half cruising across the Caribbean sea to a tropical island on her laptop, writing her blog, but upon arrival, both of us were hit with a slower pace of life, and we have relaxed into it. Met by the guesthouse owner on a golf buggy, we were conveyed out of town to our guesthouse which turned out, delightfully, to be an entire little house with living room, huge kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms. Not to mention a front porch complete with hammock! Nice.
No sooner had we arrived and had a quick read in the comfort of our luxurious living space, our lovely guesthouse owners had offered to drive us to Flamenco beach, widely considered one of the best beaches in the world. We arrived, had quesadillas and Medalla light (local beer) for lunch at a beach kiosk, and then we hit the beach. No expense spared: we even paid for sun loungers and a parasol (it was ridiculously sunny; despite said extravagance, I was still ridiculously sunburned!) The beach was a horseshoe of everything a Caribbean island beach should be: brilliant blue/green, clear water, soft white sand, and backed by palm trees and greenery, all below a bright blue sky. What a delight. We leapt in, and spent a really lovely afternoon alternating jumping in the waves and reading our books (the latter with a pina colada in hand…).
In the evening we headed into Dewey, the ‘capital’ of Culebra, which comprises a few restaurants. We went to Mamacita’s, where we had passion fruit mohitos (amazing) and vegetarian pasta, sitting next to the water, amid twinkling lights and romance.
Despite our extremely early bedtime (we’d had to quit beer and dominoes in our living room due to exhaustion), we still struggled to get up at 7:30 today, but we hauled ourselves up: we were off on an all-day snorkelling trip! Alas, I like snorkelling rather more than Roz, who doesn’t enjoy the effort of coordinating her breathing with the snorkel, but I distracted her with breakfast burritos at the ‘Dinghy Dock’, Culebra’s drinking (and breakfast) hotspot. And also, conveniently, where our trip was to leave.
Five minutes before departure time, the sky darkened and the heavens opened. We looked at each other, aghast, and frantically sipped our orange juices as the giant raindrops splashed on the tables. And then, oh joy, the sky cleared, we boarded a little motorboat along with a family of two pensioners, their daughter, and her husband, and we were off!
Said companions were old hands at snorkelling (‘we grew up on the water’ said they), and we compared rather poorly to their snorkelling finesse. As soon as we jumped from the boat at the first of five snorkelling locations, in picture perfect coves off the coast of Culebra, Roz remembered that she didn’t enjoy breathing into a snorkel. After a little light panic and water inhalation, and a quick glance at some fish, we rapidly retreated to the boat and requested our next stop be by the shore to enable us to practice with our feet safely in the sand. Newly confident, we motored out to another choice snorkelling spot. Roz mustered all her courage and was soon snorkelling like a pro, looking at the fish and the undulating coral below… only to be punished five minutes later with a rather impressive jellyfish sting across her entire chest and down her legs. Alas, our tour guide was unmoved, and of little help, but she mustered her courage and got in again at the next stop, despite the pain and emerging blisters… We stopped at a few more places and then, finally, in an attempt to placate me in my quest to see a turtle, stopped at a bay frequented by them. Assuming that this, as with so many animal viewing attempts, was a doomed enterprise, I was both surprised and charmed to see two turtles swimming around and munching grass from the bottom of the sea.
Finally, when we reached dry land, we decided to medicate Roz’s stings with a Baileys Colada (me) and mohito (her)… and then, after much hunting and exhausted wringing of hands, we spotted a taxi and were conveyed home in style.
Tuesday 21 February 2012
In which Roz and Layla reach the Caribbean and celebrate by having a terrifying adventure.
By Roz
The next morning we went downstairs in some trepidation, prepared for battle. But whatever one prepares for doesn’t happen. Instead, after breakfast, we told the guy at the desk that we were checking-out. He didn’t enquire why (alas all the reasons I had rehearsed!) and said that he’d phone if there was going to be a charge for leaving early (no call yet). We then got a cab to Fajardo, which took about 45 minutes. We gazed at the mountain of El Yunque, which we plan to climb later on in the trip, with interest and a touch of fear…
Our new hotel took some finding and the bedroom hardly glamorous. But the people were super-nice and we felt very jolly. The owner drove us down to the beach (though it wasn’t a long walk, she clearly felt that our request for very detailed directions was a cloak for laziness). We drank beer and ate some very delicious cheese cubes (put like that it doesn’t sound so delicious!), some corn sticks and some fries (I didn’t claim this was a nutritious meal!) by the water, surrounded by palm trees, and felt jolly. We then set off for a mini-hike through a sort of forest, to a distant beach. We almost felt intrepid and contemplated that it really had quite a few similarities to our hike in Borneo (other than there being no pouring rain, and us not being miserable this time). As we walked, we contemplated whether this might substitute for El Yunque, later on, but concluded that it would be a bit of a stretch… We spent an hour or so frolicking in the water. We gazed with some awe at the man about 100 meters further out than we were who appeared to be walking on water (until we realised he must be on some kind of snorkel ledge).
We walked back, and stopped off for another beer (and some of the cheese cubes) before retreating up the hill to our hotel to change. But we weren’t changing for a glamorous evening of wining and dining. Instead, we were off to try and get on a night time kayak. It seems that there are a few places in the world with bioluminescent micro-organisms and Laguna Grande, here, is one of them. The idea was that we’d kayak over to the lagoon and then we would see “fireworks” in the water. This proved to be true – more or less – but in our excitement at the thought of seeing the bioluminescence, we had forgotten that we’d be kayaking in the dark – something which proved to be quite scary, if exceptionally memorable. We set off through (what felt like) quite choppy waters, and headed to dark bushes. This was the mangrove swamps, through which we kayaked, only knowing which way to go through sound and the faint glow of a luminescent stick that had been tied to the back of each boat. This proved not to be an entirely infallible method of kayaking, and Layla and I found ourselves bashing into the mangroves on a regular basis. But it was – in retrospect anyway – fun and we then found ourselves out of the mangroves and in the lagoon. The luminescence was less brilliant than we’d anticipated, but still quite exciting (we later heard that it glows more brilliantly on some nights and our night was one of the less good ones). There’s something nevertheless very alluring about scooping up a handful of water and letting it trickle through your fingers and seeing the falling water sparkle like diamonds. We headed back into the pitch black swamp with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm and felt both intrepid and relieved when we found ourselves through the other side and back in the choppy waters.
On dry land there was a hiatus where we had to find someone to drive us to an ATM to pay (and then back to our hotel). However, once this was over and we were again dry we headed out, despite the late hour, to La Estacion restaurant (having been given a lift by the very sweet hotel boy). It was a converted gas station, with a jeep dashboard bar and was generally very cool. The vegetarian platter was very tasty, and Layla indulged in an apple turnover type thing for dessert. All very satisfactory (as was the lift home by the same sweet hotel boy).
This morning we were up unpleasantly early for breakfast to get to the ferry terminal for a boat to Culebra, the island on which we will be spending the next three nights. Alas there had been some confusion about our vegetarianism, and we therefore found ourselves faced with the intriguing breakfast combination of French toast and steamed vegetables (cauliflower, broccoli and carrots) and had to resort to smuggling out the steamed vegetables to dispose of in a bin later, to avoid offending. The French toast was good though. We arrived at the ferry only to learn that our boat was sold out. Gloom ensued. Layla insisted we stayed in the queue to at least buy tickets for the next boat (3pm). And hurrah that she did, since a few more tickets were magically found and we are now on the 9am boat, looking forward to the next part of our Puerto Rican adventure.
The next morning we went downstairs in some trepidation, prepared for battle. But whatever one prepares for doesn’t happen. Instead, after breakfast, we told the guy at the desk that we were checking-out. He didn’t enquire why (alas all the reasons I had rehearsed!) and said that he’d phone if there was going to be a charge for leaving early (no call yet). We then got a cab to Fajardo, which took about 45 minutes. We gazed at the mountain of El Yunque, which we plan to climb later on in the trip, with interest and a touch of fear…
Our new hotel took some finding and the bedroom hardly glamorous. But the people were super-nice and we felt very jolly. The owner drove us down to the beach (though it wasn’t a long walk, she clearly felt that our request for very detailed directions was a cloak for laziness). We drank beer and ate some very delicious cheese cubes (put like that it doesn’t sound so delicious!), some corn sticks and some fries (I didn’t claim this was a nutritious meal!) by the water, surrounded by palm trees, and felt jolly. We then set off for a mini-hike through a sort of forest, to a distant beach. We almost felt intrepid and contemplated that it really had quite a few similarities to our hike in Borneo (other than there being no pouring rain, and us not being miserable this time). As we walked, we contemplated whether this might substitute for El Yunque, later on, but concluded that it would be a bit of a stretch… We spent an hour or so frolicking in the water. We gazed with some awe at the man about 100 meters further out than we were who appeared to be walking on water (until we realised he must be on some kind of snorkel ledge).
We walked back, and stopped off for another beer (and some of the cheese cubes) before retreating up the hill to our hotel to change. But we weren’t changing for a glamorous evening of wining and dining. Instead, we were off to try and get on a night time kayak. It seems that there are a few places in the world with bioluminescent micro-organisms and Laguna Grande, here, is one of them. The idea was that we’d kayak over to the lagoon and then we would see “fireworks” in the water. This proved to be true – more or less – but in our excitement at the thought of seeing the bioluminescence, we had forgotten that we’d be kayaking in the dark – something which proved to be quite scary, if exceptionally memorable. We set off through (what felt like) quite choppy waters, and headed to dark bushes. This was the mangrove swamps, through which we kayaked, only knowing which way to go through sound and the faint glow of a luminescent stick that had been tied to the back of each boat. This proved not to be an entirely infallible method of kayaking, and Layla and I found ourselves bashing into the mangroves on a regular basis. But it was – in retrospect anyway – fun and we then found ourselves out of the mangroves and in the lagoon. The luminescence was less brilliant than we’d anticipated, but still quite exciting (we later heard that it glows more brilliantly on some nights and our night was one of the less good ones). There’s something nevertheless very alluring about scooping up a handful of water and letting it trickle through your fingers and seeing the falling water sparkle like diamonds. We headed back into the pitch black swamp with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm and felt both intrepid and relieved when we found ourselves through the other side and back in the choppy waters.
On dry land there was a hiatus where we had to find someone to drive us to an ATM to pay (and then back to our hotel). However, once this was over and we were again dry we headed out, despite the late hour, to La Estacion restaurant (having been given a lift by the very sweet hotel boy). It was a converted gas station, with a jeep dashboard bar and was generally very cool. The vegetarian platter was very tasty, and Layla indulged in an apple turnover type thing for dessert. All very satisfactory (as was the lift home by the same sweet hotel boy).
This morning we were up unpleasantly early for breakfast to get to the ferry terminal for a boat to Culebra, the island on which we will be spending the next three nights. Alas there had been some confusion about our vegetarianism, and we therefore found ourselves faced with the intriguing breakfast combination of French toast and steamed vegetables (cauliflower, broccoli and carrots) and had to resort to smuggling out the steamed vegetables to dispose of in a bin later, to avoid offending. The French toast was good though. We arrived at the ferry only to learn that our boat was sold out. Gloom ensued. Layla insisted we stayed in the queue to at least buy tickets for the next boat (3pm). And hurrah that she did, since a few more tickets were magically found and we are now on the 9am boat, looking forward to the next part of our Puerto Rican adventure.
Sunday 19 February 2012
In which Roz and Layla head to Carribean pleasures.
By Layla
It was with much delight that we stepped off the plane in San Juan, Puerto Rico, on Friday night. Roz had had a long week at work, and I’d been churning out job applications. It was chilly and wintery in Washington DC and neither of us could remember what it felt like to be a) warm, or b) on holiday. But the first breath of warm, tropical air and we were ready.
We checked in at the Hotel Casablanca, a disappointment compared to the reviews and money, and headed out, despite the late hour, to a very cool little beer bar on our street. It was bustling with locals, and we squeezed in to the bar and ordered the local beer, and a number of mohitos and a very large plate of cheese. Nothing says holiday like a large plate of cheese. We had a very jolly evening, despite the fact that a principal part of our discussion entailed Roz explaining to me why the Vatican really is a state. Nothing says holiday like a nerdy discussion. By the time we went to bed, we were already in the holiday mood.
Up reasonably early the next day (despite not having jetlag), we ate our cereal and stepped out into the sun, which immediately turned our unaccustomed skin pink. We headed for the water, and followed Lonely Planet’s recommended walking tour of San Juan. It’s a beautiful city – romantic and filled with cobblestones, sea views, Moorish watchtowers, and lots of charm. We walked along a pretty sea path, then up through the town, with a pause for Mimosas and lemonade at the poshest hotel in town, El Convento. And then to lunch, at the bizarrely vegetarian-friendly Café Berlin. It was delightful.
After lunch, we mused upon our options, decided to go to a nearby beach, and headed back to the hotel to get our swimming costumes (and change room, as they’d messed up our booking). Cue an hour of hassle, broken keys, irate voices, and eventual throwing hands up, jumping into a taxi, and heading for the beach. Alas, in this tropical paradise of perfect beaches, I’d managed to identify probably the dodgiest one on the island. It was full of locals rather than tourists, which was nice, but the sand was a murky brown, the sea a less-than-transparent blue, and the pebbles were jaggy underfoot. Undeterred, we leapt in and had an extremely cheery hour or so bobbing and frolicking in the water, before retrieving our clothes, hopping in a taxi, and returning to the hotel to change for the evening (and to locate a plan B that took us away from our rubbish hotel…).
We started the evening in a nice little street of outdoor bars, round the corner from our hotel, where we indulged in a couple of superlative mohitos, and a little tapas action… and then we progressed to Marmalade a restaurant described as San Juan’s best. It was beautiful, and how could anyone resist a five course tasting menu? Perhaps incongruously, it was possibly one of the best I’ve ever had. Innovative, delicate, delicious. Ah, I’m still dreaming of it…
And after that, we rolled out of the restaurant and into our hotel (across the street) for an early bedtime - we are still exhausted! Today: extricating ourselves from this hotel, and heading east to Fajardo…
It was with much delight that we stepped off the plane in San Juan, Puerto Rico, on Friday night. Roz had had a long week at work, and I’d been churning out job applications. It was chilly and wintery in Washington DC and neither of us could remember what it felt like to be a) warm, or b) on holiday. But the first breath of warm, tropical air and we were ready.
We checked in at the Hotel Casablanca, a disappointment compared to the reviews and money, and headed out, despite the late hour, to a very cool little beer bar on our street. It was bustling with locals, and we squeezed in to the bar and ordered the local beer, and a number of mohitos and a very large plate of cheese. Nothing says holiday like a large plate of cheese. We had a very jolly evening, despite the fact that a principal part of our discussion entailed Roz explaining to me why the Vatican really is a state. Nothing says holiday like a nerdy discussion. By the time we went to bed, we were already in the holiday mood.
Up reasonably early the next day (despite not having jetlag), we ate our cereal and stepped out into the sun, which immediately turned our unaccustomed skin pink. We headed for the water, and followed Lonely Planet’s recommended walking tour of San Juan. It’s a beautiful city – romantic and filled with cobblestones, sea views, Moorish watchtowers, and lots of charm. We walked along a pretty sea path, then up through the town, with a pause for Mimosas and lemonade at the poshest hotel in town, El Convento. And then to lunch, at the bizarrely vegetarian-friendly Café Berlin. It was delightful.
After lunch, we mused upon our options, decided to go to a nearby beach, and headed back to the hotel to get our swimming costumes (and change room, as they’d messed up our booking). Cue an hour of hassle, broken keys, irate voices, and eventual throwing hands up, jumping into a taxi, and heading for the beach. Alas, in this tropical paradise of perfect beaches, I’d managed to identify probably the dodgiest one on the island. It was full of locals rather than tourists, which was nice, but the sand was a murky brown, the sea a less-than-transparent blue, and the pebbles were jaggy underfoot. Undeterred, we leapt in and had an extremely cheery hour or so bobbing and frolicking in the water, before retrieving our clothes, hopping in a taxi, and returning to the hotel to change for the evening (and to locate a plan B that took us away from our rubbish hotel…).
We started the evening in a nice little street of outdoor bars, round the corner from our hotel, where we indulged in a couple of superlative mohitos, and a little tapas action… and then we progressed to Marmalade a restaurant described as San Juan’s best. It was beautiful, and how could anyone resist a five course tasting menu? Perhaps incongruously, it was possibly one of the best I’ve ever had. Innovative, delicate, delicious. Ah, I’m still dreaming of it…
And after that, we rolled out of the restaurant and into our hotel (across the street) for an early bedtime - we are still exhausted! Today: extricating ourselves from this hotel, and heading east to Fajardo…
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