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…