Paradise Spoilt - Part 1: Disorientation

If Puerto Rico is La Isla del Encanto (Island of Enchantment) and Vieques is La Isla Nena (the Little Girl/Sister Island), what would one presume but that it was a smaller version of the former; especially when the banner heralding your arrival says "welcome to paradise".

But we had been in Vieques for three days now and I was honestly in a state of shock. While I had tried to suppress all my fantasies about what this house-sit might entail, they had leaked into my subconscious none-the-less, like a slow spreading cancer, unwittingly taking hold of my logic, and ultimately transforming me into a state of great expectation.

All delusions came crashing down on me the minute we stepped off the ferry in Isabel Segunda, and to my dismay, I realised, we weren't in Kansas (or Old San Juan) anymore.

As far as grand entrances go, this wasn't it; there was no dazzling port of a burgeoning tourist destination. From afar it wasn't too disconcerting, a little primitive maybe, but quaint. Yet as the boat pulled closer to the pier the scene developed more severely, and it was apparent their was something strangely wrong about this picture. The buildings smattered across the shoreline look jaded, their cement facades discoloured and wanting. The rusted up remains of a vessel abandoned in the shallows make for a disenchanting focal point. But there were some promising points of interest further away; an old lighthouse on a promenade jutting into the sea to the left, a miniture fort on the hill straight ahead overlooking the bay, and to the far right, a ripple of hazy mountains tumbled into the sea.

I was getting mixed reviews.

The ferry ride itself was pleasant except for the refrigerated air-conditioning that had me frozen solid by the time we disembarked; it was large, modern and had comfortable seating. Yet the ferry system itself has a long way to go. You can't book or pay for tickets on the internet so you must arrive at least an hour early to obtain your tickets and secure your place in line to board the ferry - because there's no reservation system either. We heard the ferry terminal can get very crowded, and it's a first in, first served system. It was the off season, Easter had just finished and it was early on a Sunday, so we hoped that would give us a break, but just in case we arrived an hour and a half early.


The ferry docked at Fajardo

At first it was all quite relaxed in the Fajardo ferry terminal as we found a place to wait, but not long after a line started to form and that's when we began to sense the chaos. There was still about forty-five minutes till we boarded the ferry, what were they thinking? I was tired having gotten up so early, and wanted to stay in the nap position I had made for myself, but not knowing the protocol we picked up all our baggage and followed suit. It was then we started to feel like animals instead of humans. With personal space becoming a nonentity we pushed closer and closer, crowding each other out like sheep to the slaugterhouse; though we with our overstuffed backpacks hanging from us both front and back were feeling more like a couple of pack-mules.

When the ferry eventually arrived we watched through the gates like prisoners as people disembarked and filed past us to their freedom. Then they opened the gate for the disabled, elderly and pregnant and we eagerly watched them go through to board. And then finally they opened our doors and away we went!

Once we disembarked at the ferry terminal at Isabel Segunda in Vieques I was secretly panicking, wondering what was to become of our fate. Cars slithered by us up and down the unwelcoming ferry road, stopping midway to load and unload passengers, and people buzzed around us. This place already felt small and as we waited for Eric I felt blatantly like a fish out of water and wished I didn't look so, well, Gringo.

This area looked as disengaging as it did from aboard the ferry; there wasn't much happening down here, that is no business, not even a giftshop. Everything looked old and accidental. Westward was a two-story building covered in bars, and this scene filtered out up the hill in that direction. In front of us was a blue non-descript building, the only thing that looked newly painted, it had some wierd pipes reaching off of it, containing small black letters which vertically spelt "bienvenidos Vieques" (welcome to Vieques) in what I thought was a rather subdued introduction to the island. The paradise banner had started things off with a bang, but it seemed this is where the merriment ends. I began to lose hope for what town might be like, but I still held high hopes for the island's geography.

Eric arrived and we offloaded our bags. He didn't look at all like the fat, tormented artist I had imagined, he was slim, sprightly and flamboyant in his floral-print shirt and bright yellow sandals. He had ethnic skin and a dark mustache, betraying his Ecuadorian roots, but otherwise spoke with a clearly American accent. He seemed jovial and nice. I relaxed a little.

I have no pictures from this day, as soon as we got picked up the weather turned completely sour, a steady stream of rain accompanied us the whole day. But I have added a few related pictures from later to give you a feel for the place.

Before arriving at the property we were to care for Eric took us on a whirlwind tour of the island. Heading away from the terminal area, we came to the centre of town. I don't know what I had expected but after being in San Juan I guess I had hoped for something a little more architecturally pleasing, atleast something a little more congenial - but, I'm sorry, not this.

It was surreal. It looked like the wild west meets the caribbean. Buildings were mashed together awkwardly with no design, jutting out at us from the sides of the road, and only every second or third seemed to  be actually functioning. Paint peeled, cement facades cracked, signs faded, boards blocked abandoned windows and bars others. And what were in them? I saw Blackbeards, the outdoor store I'd noticed on google maps, there was the bank, the post office, a dodgey looking "Williams Pizza". I caught a glimpse of a sign saying "pretty woman" in an otherwise blank whitewashed storefront - must be a clothing shop, but didn't look overly enticing. Advertisement posters for beer and snacks showed that a few others were some kind of convenience store. The rest looked rather dismal. Every single window on every house and shop front had bars on the windows. Litter still rolled around like tumbleweed in the breeze. So many buildings with so little action; I was dismayed. People were going somewhere, the place was buzzing, but it didn't look like there'd be any retail therapy for me to bring me out of my wild west woes.

Soon we were headed out of town, the buildings became sparser and the road progressively got smaller and less sophisticated. Eventually, Eric started to veer and swerve to miss potholes, some so big all you could do was come to almost a halt and take them slowly. He explained that care of the roads have pretty much been abandoned since the army left. Many were in great disrepair and would most probably never be fixed.

What else became alarmingly apparent was the state of dryness the country was in. Eric wasn't kidding when they said they were in drought. It looked like the jungle had been re-positioned in Broken Hill and this was the result. I came to the Caribbean for a green and lush environment not brown and lifeless. This landscape was decaying like the buildings in town! Though the rain was dampening our day, nobody else was complaining, and soon neither was I.

Our tour included a few interesting highlights, some places we'll have to come back and explore. Passed the airport (yes, they've got an airport!) we turned onto a very, very long pier that jutted into the Atlantic. This is called Mosquito Pier. It's a crazy breakwater road that leads fair out into the ocean which was built by the army. At the end is a real pier that was gated off. A 300 year old Ceiba tree and Green Beach were others, the latter is at the very west end of the island, in the western portion of the Wildlife Refuge. It's a very secluded beach which might be a testament to the treacherous journey you have to take to get there. As soon as we entered the gates of the Wildlife Refuge the road turned to gravel which had become slick in the rain. Flooded pot holes jumped out at us along the way. Then the road was nothing but mud and potholes veering through scraggy jungle, barely discernable amongst sheets of rain, to which I was a little disconcerted but Eric seemed unfazed by.

This is where we learnt a little more about navigating the petty crime at the beach - and petty it is. We asked about the advice we'd heard about leaving the cars unlocked etc. He said that was no good, then they'd steal your battery and you'd be left stranded! Instead, Eric illustrated as we pulled up to Green Beach (which, although I couldn't see passed the mound to the actual beach, didn't seem to me worth the drive, infact), we should pull the car right up on the bank of the beach so we could see it, or give the appearance that the we could see it, to ward off would-be thieves, and then lock it and hope for the best. Didn't sound all to promising to me but Chase was already formulating ideas on how he could padlock the bonnet of the car.

We drove round and around that day amidst the withering jungle. I had no sense of orientation to know exactly where we went. We did pass the area that contains the old bunkers and pulled up to another area of the western wildlife refuge which Eric was going to show us but that was unexpectedly closed.

Then we finally came into the town of Esperanza of which Vieques was mildly redeemed. Any charm of a caribbean island town was centred down here. This was the tourist town of Vieques, and that's all it was; there was no "business" here, the post office, the bank, the supermarket, they were only in Isabel Segunda. It seemed Isabel Segunda was all work while Esperanza was all play. Still, it wasn't all beautiful, there were some areas that looked ghetto, but atleast an attempt at presentation had been made here: running along the edge of the bay was a promenade with a dreamy pastel yellow balustrade, it was a shame half of it was covered in orange workers tape - but it will look lovely when it's finished. Across the road away from the bay was a strip of mostly open-air restaurants and bars with a great island vibe about them adorned with vibrant colours, tropical plants and palm fringed patios. Our house was located closer to Isabel Segunda unfortunately, because this is where I wanted to be. I began to get excited and then I realised we couldn't be going to these places, we weren't working! My spirits dipped again.

On our way out of Esperanza Eric pointed out the remnants of some buildings being eaten up by the jungle on the side of the road. Nothing but a few skeletons remain of what was once a big resort before Hurricane Hugo ripped through in 1989 and took it out. "And see that" he said, pointing to a large bare area where the jungle was now encroaching, "we used to play tennis there". But I just couldn't imagine it the way it looked now.

Before heading up to the house we had lunch at a Puerto Rican diner, which at the time I thought was in the middle of nowhere and closer to Esperanza than Isabel Segunda, but turns out it wasn't even that far from the house. It's called El Resuelve and serves typical Puerto Rican fare. Like most places of this kind, it was on the owner's property, although this was a little more sophisticated. The restaurant was detached and had a covered area outback for dining, and out front was a small patio with bar stools at a counter window. I thought it was amusing that you drove into the property, between the guys house and the restaurant, and parked at the back - like going to the neighbour's for dinner. We had the usual rice and beans, and also tried a conch pastelillo.

We drove back into Isabel Segunda to go to the grocery store. The larger supermarket on the way out of town was closed by this time on a Sunday so we went to the smaller one in town. An unlikely place for a supermarket, down a small side street smooshed in amongst dilipated buildings; no carpark, just along the street out front, though this place is not exactly crowded. I was relieved by the contents of the supermarket. Disregarding the layout, it seemed to contain all the usual things and a bit more. The prices were compararble to the US, maybe a tiny bit more expensive, but that was understandable. At least I could eat!

Our house is the one furthest right near the top, you can make out the shiny tin roof

Finally we were on our way to Casa de Eric, and the drive to the property was the most confusing of all. There are about six ways to get to the place, but Eric said he'd take us back the most direct route this time - if you could call it that. Which ever way, it seems to be quite the expedition. He had a car for us to use during our stay thank goodness, we were definitely going to need it. There was no way you could do anything here without one, let alone get to his house.

It was a drive that went on and on and up and around. We entered the 'suburbs', but these were no harmonious tree-lined avenues. These were narrow precarious one-lane pot-holed roads, edged by dodgey fences with all kinds of shacks and houses dumped behind them; more garbage strewn from end to end, paint jobs half finished - houses half finished, and hacked attempts at gardens. For many, the road was the front yard but it seemed the residents had more to worry about then 'curb appeal'. Bars on all these windows too gave away the underlying problem. We continued along snaking passageways that dipped and bumped, the little houses popped up less frequently, there yards more expansive but just with more room to lay their junk, and we kept on driving until all of a sudden, the sealed road turned to dirt and we continued into the thick of the jungle. I'm sure Chase was feeling as stunned as I was, particularly when the road turned into ruts the size of the grand canyon. They weren't ruts so much as channels, with each wheel of the car precariously straddling the banks on either side. Then we finally came to the gate, but we hadn't finished there.

The ruts, rocks and dirt known as the driveway continued up a steep hill, bumpier than a plane in turbulence, and as it curved we came to the top and there stood the house, peering down the hillface. We continued around the house back down the hill a little till we came out at the front of the house on a clearing with a wide expanse of the best view you could imagine.

And this was to be home.