Sunrise, Sunset

During the four days we spent with Eric before he left Chase would get up early to learn the ropes before the heat of the day set in.

One of the most important things at this time, with the drought thoroughly entrenched, was watering the orchard and garden, and thankfully, Chase took primary control over that one while I got to sleep in.

So at the crack of dawn Chase would go down to the orchard and spend an hour or so watering the trees. It's a painstaking procedure, as each tree needs to be watered by hand,  enough so as to break through the bone-dry surface (heard of an irrigations system?), and at a rough estimate there's about forty trees to get through. Working for just an hour a morning he can't possibly get through the whole orchard in a day so instead he does a row each day until the whole orchard is watered and then the cycle starts again. Fun. Soon enough, he figured to take a book with him down there to curb his boredom.

Chase would eat breakfast somewhere during the sun's arrival with Eric who also got up persistently early. One morning they ate in town at the local bakery, which Chase informed me was pretty good (and, of course, I look forward to trying it), and another morning they left me some of their mornings tidbits, including some freshly sliced guanábana. Remember this spindly fruit, the soursop, that I mentioned grew on the property in the last post? This is what it's flesh looks like, which looks somewhat like coconut don't you think?

The flesh is soft and juicy, but stringy. According to Wikipedia, it "consists of an edible, white pulp and a core of indigestible, black seeds..." and  "...its flavor has been described as a combination of strawberry and pineapple with sour citrus flavor notes contrasting with an underlying creamy flavor reminiscent of coconut or banana"; sounds a lot like a product label, doesn't it? But it did have an interesting taste, it wasn't quite the flavour explosion that wikipedia promised but it's subtle flavour was creamy with a hint of banana.

It was way to stringy for me to eat so I just sucked the juice out of it, which, when I looked it up it said it was best juiced than eaten raw anyway because its pockets of soft flesh bounded by fibrous membranes make it difficult to eat [1]. Once juiced it's also supposed to be great in candies, sorbets, and ice cream (I found an interesting recipe for ice-cream here). It also seems it's a bit of a Wonder Fruit too, having all kinds of medicinal properties from: antibacterial, antiparasitic, antispasmodic, astringent, hypotensive, insecticide, sedative, and cytotoxic[2]."

By mid-morning, another pattern started to emerge: with all his chores done for the day Chase would take his book to relax in the hammock. After a couple of hours, having not seen him for a while, I'd go out to see what he was doing and find him sound asleep, the book abandoned across his chest.

But I don't blame him, if there was a good spot to fall asleep, this was it; underneath the shade of the vines growing over the pergola the temperature was instantly 10⁰F cooler, whilst a hint of a light breeze would waft in through the branches, making it almost pleasant. And when you're not sleeping you can gaze lazily out between the gap in the luminiscent foilage and be beguiled by the dream-like view.

From this vantage point, it really could be paradise.

If you weren't layered up to your ears in Deet.

And eventually the heat of the day will push its way through till it's no longer comfortable even here.

Yes, it's not just warm here, it's hot; and it's hard to believe the hottest part of the year is yet to come. By mid-morning, although my day is only just beginning, the enveloping heat starts to invade the apartment and I will begin to feel so lethargic that I can't bring myself to do much at all. I know I should get up early, but hey, I was sort of on "holiday". Besides, there really wasn't any work for me to do here and it was hard to get motivated to do much else.

Meanwhile, I didn't see too much of Eric during the day unless we went into town. I'd usually hear him and Chase discussing something early in the morning while I was still snoozing in bed, but otherwise he'd be upstairs, almost non-existent. Chase said he was up there playing sodoku on his Kindle or trawling the internet. Not really the deeds of a man that was leaving this huge handful of a property to house-sitters for 6 months, but we shrugged and assumed he knew what he was doing.

So we went into town with Eric a couple of times so he could show us a few other things we needed to be able to find. Apart from the dump and the Vet he also took us to the Tuesday farmer's market. That's where we encountered that strange but familiar Aussie accent for the first time since leaving the home-country at the beginning of April.

First of all I smiled from that warm feeling that floods you on hearing that familiar sound in a world so unfamiliar. Then I laughed, because hearing it in this isolated context I could really grasp the absurd, nasal stretch of every word with that comical up swing at the end of each sentence. It really is a funny accent.

But lastly, I cringed, as did Chase; fellow Aussie's abroad, in general experience, weren't usually people you wanted to run into. Furthermore, they were encroaching on our own frontier experience. It seems you can never be the only Aussie in a place; after meeting that one in Luquillo I thought at least Vieques would be free of them! I mean, it should have be an oddity that even we would find ourselves here on this little-known island, let alone more of us. It's definitely not a place that's on the Aussie radar.

We tried to ignore them but we ran into them again at the supermarket, and it was now inevitable that we should meet. But as it turns out they were quite nice and friendly. They are a semi-retired couple from the south coast of New South Wales, and what's more, they are also house-sitting here for 6 months. While I was surprised at first I began to realise it would only be natural to meet other house-sitters in a place like this, with many foreigners migrating back and forth between the States, and soon I was feeling less reluctance to know them and more relief that these people were going to be here, in the same boat we were, hopefully feeling as anxious about the place as we were, for the next 6 months. As they didn't have a mobile phone or know their home number we gave them ours and would anxiously await to hear from them in the coming weeks.

But back to the farmer's market. It wasn't quite your traditional farmer's market with local farmers selling their wares directly to the people, but it was kind of neat. The one produce stall was a big U-shaped set-up of fruit and veg which wasn't locally grown, not even from the mainland of Puerto Rico but seemed to come, like everything else, from the United States. There were two other stalls beside that one, one was a lady selling plants, and the other was a friendly couple with a bread which they did make themselves. In fact, the star-fruit Chase had spent the morning picking was traded for a nice loaf of home made bread to go with dinner.

Speaking of dinner, Eric prepared or provided all our dinners while he was there, which was very nice of him, and not only that, he turns out to be a pretty good cook. One night he made something particularly Puerto Rican-esque for us, which at first startled me - Goat Stew.

But I tackled it like a champ and it was actually really tasty and not only that, the Caribbean version supplements green bananas for the starch in the meal. You cook it down like the rest of the vegetables in the pot, and you know what? It holds it's shape and tastes just like potato!

Sitting upstairs at Eric's dining table at the end of the day with a glass of wine in our hands was extremely relaxing. I might get used to this yet. Persistently, our eyes would draw to the open sky in front of us, and it was right now at this time of day in particular when I could understand best why Eric wanted to bring the view into his house: it provided a spectacular sunset show. While most of the time the clouds would encroach on what would otherwise be the blazing orange of the sun being swallowed up by the Sierra de Luquillo mountains, it didn't matter, the pattern and intense colour spattered across the sky was mesmerising.

Chase and I on our last night with Eric

The House on the Hill - Our New Home

My earlier posts talked about the correspondence we'd had with Eric, the home-owner, before we came to Vieques. You might recall in that post that I said we'd be staying in a guest apartment to which I had thought something like, wow, a whole apartment to ourselves, must be quite a nice place. Normally, if anything, we stay in a guest room when we house-sit, so for the place to have a completely separate living quarters, my imagination ignited.

I had also included in that post a panoramic photo that Eric sent to us which contained two houses planted in the middle of a hilly green landscape (re-posted above), of which beneath he had written, "the one in the middle is where you'll be staying."

What did that mean? He didn't say "that's where we are" or something like that. I focused in on that 'you'.

Chase was dismissive of the comment, but for me it fueled the fire, proving the assumptions that I had formed that the guesthouse was completely separate from the main house. Not only that, it also meant that the grand mansion, or hacienda, to the left was HIS house, and that the other one, not as fancy but still prominent, would be ours! I also assumed that we'd be able to come and go from that big hacienda of theirs and enjoy whatever extra comfort it had to offer.

View to our neighbour's hacienda from the orchard - much further
away than I thought

So, I thought I was set, because no matter how primitive the rest of the island was going to be, it wouldn't matter, because I was going to be in house-sitter heaven.

Well, that big hacienda? Of course, that's the neighbour's house, as Chase and any sensible person would've realised from the beginning.

The house in the middle is Eric's house plus the guesthouse. The whole thing is built into a hill and the guest house is tucked underneath the main house.

And while it's all quite nice and comfortable, it's no mansion. But it wasn't built to be one (vis-à-vis the house next door); it was just built to be this guy's refuge from the world at large, and obviously for him it suits perfectly.

The owner, Eric, is quite eccentric, as artists are known to be, and in this manner he has built for himself and his wife (who is already back in New York) a strangely befitting island house. He was quite boastful about how he built a lot of things himself and how he watched over the whole process because the Viequense aren't really reliable. It sounds like a real nightmare to get something built out here and to get it built well. Most materials have to be shipped out here because there's not much choice here and things can get mucked up in the process. It's pretty cool but I do think he made it out to sound grander than it was; though I guess to every man the saying is true, a house is his castle, and when you've had major input it really does becomes your baby.

In the upstairs main living quarters, in his uncanny design, roller doors replace any windows - and walls for that matter - on the three sides pointing towards the view. When the doors are up the living area completely opens out to the elements - no screens or balconies, and the view melds into the furnishings. In the back is the kitchen, bathroom, laundry and a bedroom. There's also a loft containing another bed and Eric's work area. It's quite an interesting design, who would've thought roller doors on a house? Not only that, it's a pretty good alternative to bars on the windows - nobody's going to be breaking into that one.

In keeping with the tropical vibe, the floors are tiled and the walls are whitewashed concrete with dark wood doors, frames and rafters. His 3-D art adorns most walls, but my favourite is a huge painting as you walk in the door with a brilliant splash of burning red popping out of it. He also has a lot of antique furniture and bit's and pieces that fill out the space and make it quirky.

Our apartment is much smaller, but still roomy and it's quite cute really, but a little dull compared to upstairs. The rooms flow into one another through cased openings making it feel much larger and the living room and kitchen at the front contain large french doors (screened and glass). The bedroom in the back is open to the living room and to a small closet area which leads to the bathroom - the only room with doors - and back to the kitchen. The first thing I noticed was the TV (but expectedly, no reception) and a DVD player. There was also a bookshelf bursting with books and we were also connected to the internet - my saviour! Surely there would be enough here to satisfy my boredom.

This was ultimately quite comfortable and very adequate for us; really, what more could one ask for? But I was a little disappointed (and I'm not talking about my earlier mix-up with the houses). The problem was, we were regulated to the guesthouse - just the guesthouse. Upstairs, and its contents, would be off-limits during our stay.

Part of the fun of house-sitting is getting to live in someone's nice house and pretend it's yours for a while, and while I shouldn't grumble, it's free, we are still working for our rent - looking after the property. And in that respect, I feel more like free labour than house-sitters.

But while I was urked at first I'm over it now, especially considering we found a few things about upstairs that wouldn't make it comfortable for us. For one, there's no air-conditioning, and there is actually an air-conditioning unit in the wall of our apartment (though it doesn't work very well, it's still available if we need it). And while with the roller doors up you can get an awesome breeze flowing through, with no screens, I wouldn't like all the bugs and mosquitos coming in, especially at night, and it still gets pretty hot up there in the afternoon with the sun blazing straight at it as it sets.

I do understand a little of where he's coming from, he has people do this every year and he's had a number of people that I guess have been a little less than trustworthy. And it could've been worse. There is a little dusty old tin casita on the property - that could've been our home!

But forget all that, the best part of this place, without a doubt, is the view. From up here you look down over the property and out over what seems is all of Vieques and to the sea beyond. On clear days, you can see the outline of the mountains of the Sierra de Luquillo range on the mainland, and it really is impressive.

The second - or equal - best part is the dogs.

Finally some dogs to take care of after a plethora of cats (the last being four at once!) to house-sit. But I was pretty apprehensive at first, it was three rottweilers. And it took me longer than the average person to realise what three rottweilers means: these weren't just pets - they were guard dogs...

But I hung on to the fact that Eric had said they were "loveable" in his ad, and turns out he was right. The best surprise was that they weren't all big, one had recently died and they had a new little dog - Jasper, a stray they found in Colorado (what a contrast). She is a wiry miniature doberman-type mutt and she is cute and full of mischief - just the way I like them. The other two dogs are huge, and scary looking, but luckily they took to us. Oprah is getting on and isn't as agile anymore, she usually hangs out by herself, but Auggie is strong and likes a lot of attention. The first thing he did when he came over to me was practically push me over as he sat his big hefty hind on my foot!

Auggie getting the love from Chase, Oprah lying down, and Jasper getting into everyone's business in the front

The property is quite large, 14 acres, but only about 7 are useable, and it would be really nice if it wasn't parched like the rest of the land on this island. I felt like I was out at my sister's husband's family farm in Cobar instead of on a tropical island orchard, except where that was flat, this was hilly, and in place of gum trees there were tangled vines and tropical fruit trees. But the orange and yellow that tinged the surroundings and the dust that kicked up at your heels as you walked, that was just the same.

The photo above is taken from the bottom of a small steep slope that drops off not far from the front of the house. At the far end in the photo the orchard curves down the hill to the left on a long steep section that ends at the bottom of the driveway by the gate. We took a wander down there on our first day and I had my first encounter with ant-hills on the island. Luckily they weren't fire ants - which I hear are so much worse, no, just regular old stinging ants, but it was enough to ensure my absense from the orchard from here on out.

The orchard consists mostly of lime trees, quite a few, along with a three or four starfruit trees and a couple of cashew and olive trees. The cashew trees were the most interesting - and most useless, things growing. I didn't know that a cashew grew at the bottom of a big red apple-like fruit, and just one per apple. It's also encased in a hard, poisonous shell. Eric was telling us there was a whole process of roasting the nut to get the shell off and remove the poison. No wonder they were so expensive to buy! Funnily enough Eric was trying to roast them himself. I think I'd leave it to the professionals, the same with the olives, but I guess he was enjoying the novelty of it. There was also a guanabana, sometimes called guyabano, tree which was a completely new fruit for me. In English it's called a soursop tree, which some people might be more familiar with.
The orchard would need to be mowed regularly and the trees watered when it didn't rain, which, considering the state of things, was going to be quite often at present. This wouldn't be a fun task as we had to water each tree by hand with the hose, and the mowing would be quite a precarious task. On such a steep hill you need to mow backwards, otherwise you could lose control.

L-R, T-B: guanabana, pineapple, chillies & cashews

Up by the house was also a small vegetable garden full of blooming cherry tomatoes and rows of basil. There was also rocket (arugula), chinese cabbage, eggplant and some fine looking red chillies (not that I'd be having anything to do with those). An attempt at a bean vine wasn't doing too well, Eric thinks the iguanas got into them, but the lettuce was still going strong near them. I just wished there was some coriander (cilantro), that's my favourite, and is a key ingredient to my guacamole.

Speaking of, where was the avocado tree he'd told us about? There were a bunch of fruit trees speckled across the property. I saw two large mango trees. They already had mangoes dripping off of the branches and I was salivating just looking at them, but they were too small and hard to eat just yet. The banana trees and papaya trees were accounted for, we were looking forward to those; and then there was the pomegranates down by the gate and a passionfruit vine climbing the pergola in the courtyard, which weren't much use to us, we're not really a fan of either, but it was nice to have them. There was even a pineapple sitting plump in the middle of a clump of fronds like it didn't really belong there, for some reason I thought they grew like coconuts.

Then we saw the avocado tree - a little bitty thing, still an infant, almost inconspicuous. That wasn't even worth mentioning! There wasn't going to be any fruit from that for a couple of years. No guacamole. Oh well, we had tonnes of other fruit to fill us up with.


Bananas; mangoes and basil; mangoes with a view; and papaya trees

The courtyard, just outside our door, is a really nice little area and a great place for entertaining or just relaxing. The pergola as I mentioned above is covered a passionfruit vine on one end and the other with a Puerto Rican climber that blooms with lovely purple flowers in two tones. Underneath is a picnic table and hammock which catches a wonderful breeze. There's also a BBQ area with a home-made brick grill. This is all fringed by a tropical garden and punctuated by three big palm trees.

 So our only pertinent duties will be to keep the main areas mowed up, and if we didn't do it regularly it'd get away on us. Eric seemed jaded by his last lot of sitters not keeping up with things. If only we could've made him see that we would be his best house-sitters ever things could've started out a lot easier. The other tasks would be maintaining the garden and caring for the dogs. Oprah has a bunch of medicine she needs to take but the other two will be easy to look after.

Of course, for most of this when I say "we" I mean "Chase". Chase of course would be doing the mowing and the trimming and fixing anything that needed fixing. I could help with feeding the dogs and the vegetable garden, but the rest was him. My job wasn't much more than hanging out - and writing, hopefully.

 With that in mind I was a little anxious. I was already balking at writing and things were stirring deep within me, even though I tried to suppress them. It was different here, really different, like a completely foreign world, and it was awfully primitive.

Chase was set though, he thrives in the wilderness. He had plenty of work to keep him busy it seeemed - in between naps in the hammock.

Driving to Luquillo: A Lesson in Puerto Rican Road Food

So have you gotten the idea I like Old San Juan yet?

Well, it was finally time to leave this beautiful city, after all, we were over here for a certain engagement; ah yes, the house-sit. We had to get to Fajardo (pronounced Fa-har-doe), on the east side of the island to catch the ferry to Vieques. We had allowed ourselves a whole day to get there and had arranged to couchsurf overnight in Luquillo, a surf town near Fajardo, before catching the ferry the next morning. Once you leave the major cities, couchsurfers are few and far between in Puerto Rico. We were lucky to find someone nearby.

We could've spent a truckload of money and flew straight to Vieques but of course that was out of the question. Instead, there was a ferry that left from Fajardo for Vieques that cost only $2 one-way. But how to get there? Our options were taxi, car rental or public transport. Taxi or rental car were cheaper than a flight, but still more expensive than we wanted to pay. We decided to keep them as a back-up plan. There are no buses or trains in Puerto Rico outside the major cities, instead, to get around the island cheaply but slowly, we'd have to take the público - a shared taxi.

This was a new concept to me. I was confused about exactly what it was, let alone how much it cost and or if we'd have to take more than one. Information was fairly vague: "private vehicles that transport groups of people between city centres. It is possible, albeit difficult, to travel to many cities using publicos alone" said "Let's Go" Travel Guide. They also warned to be prepared to spend several hours waiting' publicos will only leave when there are enough passengers and will also stop to pick up passengers along a semi-flexible route. Prices ranged from $5 - $60 depending on which information you believed, but all sources agreed you must allow four hours - for a typically one hour drive. These formidable fragments of information were disconcerting; I had visions of  Kathleen Turner on that ratty old bus in Romancing the Stone when she realises she's on the wrong bus. I was nervous, but I was willing.

As luck would have it, our hero Ali came to the rescue and offered to drive us! He was adamant that we not take the público and to that I was truly thankful and very much relieved. He'd only just gotten his car back from the mechanic after months without it too. Even more generously, he was going to take us sightseeing along the way, and little did we know, we were in for a Puerto Rican Taste Extravaganza. Of course, his gorgeous little dog Ozi would also come along for the ride. So the four of us set out early in the morning on this last Saturday in April headed east.

Driving out of the city walls I was reminded again that the greater area of San Juan was nothing much to look at; a grittier version of a typical American city. Large billboards, flashy chain restaurants, and storefronts brandishing garish bars screamed at me from all directions. Bars on windows, doors, balconies - any opening, would be a common fixture from here on out. Litter would also be a huge concern. 

Soon enough we left the modern world behind (but not the trash) and entered backwoods (or backjungle)-country along Road 187, which weaves along the coastline. As we followed the road we soon entered into a thick black haze. Though there was no need to be alarmed, it was smoke burning from outdoor grills.

They lined the road in succession, their operators huddled under what could only be described as swelteringly hot marquees, churning out Pinchos (kebabs) on open flames. Further along, the same thing was happening but the haze was wafting out of open-air shacks on dusty streets; the insides charred permanently black. No fire laws here I guess. And you wouldn't want to be predisposed of a lung condition.

We were driving through the town of Loiza, the self-proclaimed Traditional Heart of Puerto Rico.

The place looked, I hate to say, terrible; like a war-zone. Apart from the soot, litter seemed to tumble out of the shop-fronts and could be seen strewn as far as the eye could see. Buildings were dilapidated; scorched. It was actually welcoming to see advertising banners, the only colour and zeal to liven up the place. It was sad really, because there was much potential to be had and it was definitely a cultural experience. Puerto Rican street food is a insitution unto itself, and the people have turned it into an enterprise, establishing carts, tents, shacks or anything on a road, path or beach accompanied by any kind of invention of a grill or deep-fryer. We'd soon find they are ubiquitous all over Puerto Rico, and cheap. But thankfully we didn't stop here; we'd stop somewhere a little less asthma-inducing.
(* See end of post for update)

Next we went off road, hitting the sand dunes; well, sand roads really. Bumping along faster than I was comfortable with over sandy tracks carved through palm and seagrape trees.  Ozi was going nuts wanting to get out and run around; he was actually crying, it was pitiful! So we stopped at one of these secluded beaches and Ali and Ozi went for a run. The beach would've been really nice had trash not been customarily sprinkled about. You wonder what one thinks when they do this to their own piece of paradise. While Ali gave a bit of an explanation when he said that there was a large problem with stray dogs and that they tear people's garbage apart, sitting on the beach, observing beer cans and the like clustered about, I couldn't help but think it was mostly a human problem.

There are plenty of blind turn-offs on this stretch of road to pull into the sand dunes and take a swim. Just don't pull in too far and get stuck like some people we saw on the way out! Back on the sealed road we were about to turn inland when Ali started getting thirsty; he was craving Mavi. We looked at him perplexed. And his explanation left us no more satisfied. The roadside shop we stopped at was part fruit and veg shop, part deli, general store and seafood market (live blue-swimmer crabs were on display in a cage out front) all in one. Amongst that they also sold fresh puerto rican juices. Mavi (Mauby in other parts of the Caribbean) is the juice extracted from the bark of the Mavi or Colubrina tree mixed with sugar and spices. Doesn't sound so great, does it? Chase and I sampled Ali's before deciding to reject it completely. It was kind of interesting, a little like root beer (originally from the root of the sassafras tree, a common carbonated drink in the States), but it was a bit strong and funky for our liking. Chase got a fresh coconut water instead - straight from the coconut itself; all they do is pop the top off, jab in a straw and away you go, coconut and all. It's called Coco Frio, the water from a cold, green coconut. He liked it, but I thought it a bit weak. It was definitely just like water with only a hint of coconut. Though while drinking it he remarked that he couldn't tell how much was left because the coconut itself was so heavy. 



  Chase with his Coco Frio and Ali with his Mavi juice

Just before we stopped in the tourist mecca of Luquillo we stopped in the Luquillo for Puerto Ricans. A long row of restaurants and takeway shacks, known as The Kiosks, line a street just off of Route 3 and sit just back from the beach. As soon as we pulled in I could tell it was very much a locals place, a place where I probably wouldn't have stopped on our own, but travelling with Ali I wasn't worried at all. We started off at the east end and a endless row of back-to-back shops unfurled before us. Of course, they didn't have the best curb appeal but they looked nicer than anything else we'd seen so far this day, much nicer. It was a feast for the senses and the palate. We refrained from stuffing our stomachs and our arteries, mostly we just admired all kinds of fried food and traditional Puerto Rican stews and rices behind glass windows - like perusing a living museum of Puerto Rican culture.

Walking along a rainbow of coloured buildings it seemed the further along we went down the line the nicer and more elaborate they got; starting with nothing more than a takeaway counter and culminating in a full blown restuarant. Most were something in-between and most of them sold the exact same thing. It had a really casual, beachy vibe about it, some even had stools up at window counters for customers. Most shops had openings on either side, from the road/car park side through to the beach side, usually with patio seating on the latter.

Puerto Rican fried food is a variant on many Caribbean and Spanish concoctions and it is a fried cuisine completely unlike anything I've seen. Called Frituras, they have long things, round things, cone things, pancake things...the list goes on. I'll give you a quick run-down of these and some other Cocina Criolla, traditional PR foods, we discovered during our tour.

Bacalaitos or Bacalao: are the large flat round things which look like potato scallops. They are a deep-fried mixture of shredded salt-cod fish and batter.

Relleno de papa: is a deep fried ball of mashed potato with a ground meat filling.

Taquitos: these are tortillas rolled tightly and deep fried till they are crisp, usually with some kind of filling.

Pastelillos/Pastellos: Somewhat like an empanada or pasty, but with a more thin and flaky dough. They contain all kinds of fillings; ground beef, pork, chicken, seafood etc. 

Alcapurrias: made from a doughy mixture of mashed up tropical tubers and root vegetables, usually yautía (like a taro) but can contain ground squash, plantains and green banana. It is filled with ground meat or seafood and deep fried in oil (photo right). 

Surullitos: are the golden fried finger-shaped things. They are made from cornmeal, almost like a corndog without the sausage.

Canoas de Platanos - sweet plantain "canoes" stuffed with ground meat and covered with melted cheese. These looked delicious and creative - the things they do with a plantain around here! (Picture right).   

Tostones: These are those flattened and fried green plantains, usually served as a side, that I was telling you about in an earlier post.

 

Arroz con habichuelas: rice and red beans - the Puerto Rican staple. It is simmered with ham hock and Puerto Rican spices. Traditionally stewed with vegetables for a hearty meal.

Piononos: two sweet plantains sandwiched around a savory filling, usually a ground meat mixture called picadillo. The whole sandwich is then deep-fried in batter. Whoa! We had to try this one, it sounded and looked so good! (Pic right).

Carne Guisada - Puerto Rican beef stew

Chase getting into his pionono, (top), and below, more dishes including sliced green bananas with onion!

Out on the beach groups of Puerto Rican families were gathered enjoying each others company and their surroundings. One group even had a boom-box hanging from a tree - ingenious. However, the weather was starting to turn. The clouds were rolling in dark and sinister-looking, turning the sea a dull blue fringed with frothy foam when it broke. Then small spats of rain began to drop. Gently at first, then suddenly it became a torrent. We were quite far from the car, having walked the length of the kiosks and then cross to the beach. We took shelter under the nearest tree but that was pointless. We made a mad dash to an abandoned patio of one of the kiosks. We were drenched head to toe. I rung out my dress. We waited. The rain didn't dissipate, if anything, it got harder.

Then we saw the saddest thing. A little black dog, maybe two years old, shivering forlornly in the corner. Shrunken and manged. I've never, in my life, seen a dog's expression look so sad. I couldn't look. There was nothing I could do, so I couldn't look. But I'll never forget the look in his eyes.

Finally, Ali took one for the team and ran back to get the car. We drove the last small stretch to our destination, passing the entrance to El Yunque National Forest, which has the only toprical rainforest in the US national rainforest system and is supposed to have a magnificent waterfall to swim at. It's a green wonderland with an expanse of feathered emerald flowing and ebbing over trees, bushes and jagged misty peaks. It's a place we'll definitely have to visit during our stay.

Luquillo lies on the north east coast of the mainland of Puerto Rico and is pronounced Lu-KEE-yo. We didn't know anything other than that it was close to Fajardo when we set out. Turns out, it's a a bit of a resort area with a number of lovely beaches, including one of the finest in the territory, and has been labelled the Puerto Rican Riviera. And to Chase's delight, it was also a surfing hot spot. But we didn't have any time to spend sightseeing or lapping up the sand and surf, it was strictly an overnighter; we had to be on the ferry the next day to meet Eric, the home-owner of our hous-sit.



Boardrider's Rum Shack Bar and Grill

We were too early to meet Coden, our couchsurfing host, so we decided to find a cafe or bar to hang out in and wait. We actually found a great place called Boardrider's Rum Shack Bar and Grill. It's across the road from Playa La Pared, the surf beach. Surfing might not be the best here but it exists and apparently it's consistent. We met the owner, Juan, a young surfer dude who walked around the restaurant bare-foot and shirtless - what a life! We asked him how long he'd been here, he said "all my life". This space we were sitting in used to be his garage that he turned into a bar! The house is upstairs, he inherited from his parents.

And I guess, where there's surf, there's an Aussie, which didn't really excite us. Of course he was half drunk and boasting about his gig working on a yacht docked at fajardo and how he was best mates with Juan and the other local surfers. But the locals were all very friendly and it was a really cosy, relaxed place, definitely the best spot to kill an hour or so. There was a small patio area out front with a few tables and a pull-up window-bar seating. I had a quesadilla and Chase had his favourite - wings. It wasn't that agreat but it didn't matter. We even came back here for dinner with Coden because the place he wanted to go - some fantastic pasta place - was closed.

Speaking of Coden, he had a great apartment overlooking the ocean with a big hammock stretching the length of his balcony. He even ordered us a taxi for the morning's ride to Fajardo!

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*There are actually some more tourist-friendly kiosks around Loiza at a place called Piñones by the beach. Pictures show cute little beach huts in a landscaped setting with more civilised cooking techniques. They've turned this into a great little area which re-instates my faith in the rejuvination of Puerto Rico. There's a wonderful boardwalk that runs along the coast conducive to cycling and across the street the Pinones State Forest reserve has some awesome trails. I haven't been there yet, but by the pictures it looks comparative to coastal trails I've been on in New Zealand (here's hoping so!). To take a tour click here.

Eat, Drink and Be Merry in Old San Juan!

We usually eat in at our host's place whenever we couchsurf but Ali lived in a small apartment with the tiniest kitchen and being a bachelor, never cooked. But it didn't matter because San Juan had an abundance of cheap, good, local fare for us to sample, all we needed to know was where to look.

There are a few local secrets that could easily have been missed without the help of Ali. We tried to give the tourist traps and the expensive crap a miss and for the most part we succeeded. But we did get sucked in a couple of times; once at a place we just went into for two coffees and came out with an empty pocket and another time, by our own accord, when we happened upon a Ben and Jerry's - and we just couldn't resist going in. The best places, of course, were the local hangouts, and by far the cheapest -unbelievably so. You won't get fine dining or five-star service at these establishments but you will get a cozy atmosphere, a friendly attitude and delicious home-style fare.

And then there's the liquor; alcoholism could become rife in these parts. The home of rum, it is the drink of choice, cheap as chips, and the crystal and brown liquids flow like a kid down a waterslide. 

Here are the places we patronised during our stay:

Fatties: 102 O'Donnel St (between Sol and Luna Streets)

Eating at Fatties is like eating at your Puerto Rican cousins mama's house - in her cozy little kitchen. This hole-in-the-wall restaurant is only big enough to hold four tightly squeezed-in tables. Only a small sign on the door acknowledges its presence; there's no reservations, and at lunch, no menues either. Come for lunch and pull up a plastic chair, if there's one left. There's no being shy here, sit anywhere there's a chair. Luckily though, on the day we visited we were able to snag a table to ourselves. It's quite hot inside, the only relief coming from a wall-mounted fan. The decor is minimal save for a Bob Marley picture, a Jamaican flag, and a few odd bits and pieces. We did notice a photocopy of a write-up by Fodor's Travel Guide stuck to the wall which assured us we were in good hands. Reggae music pulsed through a boom box, and a telenovela (Spanish soap opera) flashed across a small TV. There was a unpretentious energy about the place.
 

The two women running the show were plump Jamiacan-Puerto Rican ladies, and they advertised a fusion of Caribbean soul food. We had the choice between two dishes, pork or chicken, straight-up (this is not the city for vegetarians). I made the big mistake of coming not so hungry and instead watched Chase devour his dish of pork chops, beans and rice with a delicious thin (but presumably fatty) sauce. Chase was kind enough to give me a bite or two before it was all gone.

We came back for dinner the next night so I could get my fill of Fatties too. We came early and there was no one there and we were surprised to be received with a real menu this time. Spoilt for choice we didn't know what to have but the young Jamaican lady gave us some great tips. She introduced herself as Shona, after Chase made a faux pas by calling her 'Ma'am'. She obviously didn't like that, but she was refresingly sincere and straight-forward, and there were no hard feelings. Chase chose the jerk chicken while I went out on a limb with the fried snapper for around $12 each. All dishes were served with rice, beans, green salad, and fried plantains.

The realisation that we weren't in a traditional restaurant then came back when she said the jerk chicken would take about a half an hour to prepare and that we could go for a wander and come back if we liked. It was great to know it was fresh on the spot, and it also gave us an opportunit to try the bar El Farolito down the road (see below). We came back livelier than ever and tucked into another delicious meal. The picture of Chase, above, says it all. 

El Batey: 101 Calle de Cristo (near El Convento)

It really is Batty! Actually, 'batey' was a strange Spanish word to figure out. It means something along the lines of 'forecourt' or is a term used for where the sugar worker's lived during plantation days. So I just decided to defer to my English example above.

We walked passed this dive bar, dimly lit with bars on the windows, and of course Chase wanted to go in and have a drink, because, as he said, "it looked 'local'". Yes, it did look local, which was precisely the reason I didn't want to go in. In Australia, it can be unwise to walk into a local's haunt - particularly when it's surrounded by cheesy tourists. But it was a great, grungy spot and the locals weren't too scary, they were at least expats. There's writing and graffiti all over the walls from head to toe, no spot untouched, and business cards hang precariously from the dingy lamp shades lining the bar. There was even a pool table, but it was occupied, and we just wanted a drink anyway.

Medalla is the local beer of choice here, (ie. cheap), and for the ladies, cocktails, of course! Forget $12-15 on one of these bad-boys, they're cheap and free-flowing around here. I went for a standard margarita (yet to get into my rum phase), and it was tasty, strong, and in this tropical climate, extremely refreshing! Ater tip and tax we still came out with change from $10! Great location too, ironically, it's just down the road from the San Juan Cathedral and El Convento Hotel!

Cafe Mallorca: 300 Calle San Francisco (opp. Plaza de la Barandilla)

This photo of Cafe Mallorca is courtesy of TripAdvisor

Step into Cafe Mallorca and you've stepped back in time - to the 60s! And the guy that serves you has been there since the 60s too. Well, not quite that long, but since big hair and shoulder pads were in style. This place is an institution, a diner like you can only dream about now, and it's a great place to grab breakfast away from the tourist crowd. It's sister to La Bonbonera, the same but more famous diner, now tainted with tourists spilling out it's doors. 

Pull up a stool at the counter and watch the old boys, dressed in smart little black waiter's jackets and matching cap, put together a meal you won't forget. Chase and Ali got the house speciality, the mallorca with ham and cheese. A mallorca is a semi-sweet, egg-based bun which originates from none other than Malloca, Spain. At this point it sounds delicious, especially with the mandatory thick layer of powdered sugar that covers the bun like snow on the top of Everest. But I'm not one for mixing sweet and savoury in such a blatant manner, and once you add the melted butter, cheese and ham, I have to opt out. I took to the front window instead, unable to make up my mind from the selection of delicious pastries that filled it's large frame. Powdered sugar flows like a blizzard within these walls, covering almost every dish, and anything that isn't can happily be righted. My pastry was good, but I should have gotten the sweet cheese one istead. Chase and Ali's sandwhich was slapped together with precise speed and presented to them open faced - with tonnes of sugar. The coffee comes "con leche" (with milk), which American's remark about because in the States it is usually black, but for me this was familiar and welcoming. Did I mention it was also dirt cheap?

El Farolito: 277 Calle de Sol, Old San Juan (across from El Jibarito)

This is by far the smallest bar I've ever seen and may just be the smallest bar in the world! Ali pointed this out one night when we were walking passed and if I didn't know what it was I would have surely missed it. It looked just like it was someone's door-step where people were hanging out, having some fun and listening to some music. We walked passed a number of times and vowed to go in but it was always packed (not hard) with people spilling out onto the street.

We finally got out our chance the night we were waiting for Auntie Fattie to cook our meal. It was quite early so it was a good time to go to get a seat. There was only one guy there besides the bartender. It looked like a great place you'd want to tend bar at, chatting one-on-one with your customers, mixing a few drinks, and there was even a chess board on the bar - maybe you could play the barman for a free drink! There was enough room for only 6 stools around the tiny bar, a tiny table squeezed in the front and a table in the dim back. A big bright mural on the wall lightened the place up and local artworks were on display. It was the coolest bar and how bars should be; quaint and intimate.

El Farolita means 'The Lantern' in Spanish.

La Fonda Del Jibarito: 280 calle de sol

Usually just called El Jibarito, this is another no-fuss, low-cost, traditional eatery along the lines of Fatties, but more of what you'd call a 'restaurant'. La Fonda means 'The Inn' and I believe El Jibarito means 'hillbilly' in Puerto Rican slang. They serve traditional "criolla" (Creole) food in a dining hall type atmosphere. Abundant chatter rises to the lofty ceilings surrounded by colourful decor drowned in Puerto Rican kitsch (though I liked the mock Old San Juan building facades lining the far wall). The staff were helpful explaining the menu to us. I went for the roast beef which was delicious, while chase got the very traditional pasteles (similar to a Tamale). We both got side orders of rice and beans, though I'd come to find out a popular choice is the Mofongo (a mound of mashed plaintains). In what was becoming true Puerto Rican fashion, the menu was presented hand-written and photocopied.

Ben & Jerry's: 61 Calle del Cristo (a block up from El Batey)

So not at all Puerto Rican but an eccentric American Ice-cream brand started in the late 70s. Built around an alternate style of living, their ice-cream flavours contain funky names like Chubby Hubby and Imagine Whirled Peace, and they are also actively involved in good causes.

After hanging out with our American friends Tom and Amy I'd been converted. Ben and Jerry's ice-cream is pretty darn tasty - and their marketing is very effective. I do remember a Ben and Jerry's store in Atlanta that we'd pass by often when we lived there, but at the time I was more of a Cold Stone ice-creamery kinda gal. This wasn't the most traditional place to try it, but I decided to hop over the threshold into the world of B&J's for my premier experience. We were also hungry and it was the closest thing we could see that we knew wouldn't cost a fortune (see the coffee episode below). The food was so-so (American-ish sandwiches of course), the decor exotic, but the ice-cream did not disappoint.

Al Dente: Calle Recinto Sur 309 (the expensive side of town)

Ok, I'm sure this restaurant is superb, extremely classy and the best Italian food in San Jaun. While there's nothing wrong with these type of places, they're not for our budget. Sporting a couple of chefs hats, that should've been our cue to run for the hills. But we wanted to have a coffee and didn't want to trudge the extra mile to our special place by the ferry terminal. I wanted to strive to get back there but Chase thought it'd be a good idea to venture out and try something new. Big Mistake.

It turned out to be the most expensive coffee EVER! Sure, it was huge, as big a a soup mug, and took as long as simmering a soup to make; it was an incredible piece of engineering. But it was NOT worth $6 a piece! Chase got the bill and kept a poker face in front of the waiter. I am always nervous at this point, I like to know my prices straight up before I order anything, but without a hint of revelation in Chase's expression I breathed a sigh of relief. However, as soon as the waiter left Chase let loose (I didn't know Chase's poker face was so good!).

We were stupefied. The blow was even more brutal now we were accustomed to Puerto Rican prices. And the coffee wasn't that good either. And, if I'd have known it was going to cost me as much as a decent Puerto Rican meal I would've finished the whole thing till I puked.