So this time, I was in San Juan. I never see anything other than San Juan. My third time to the island, and I only saw the Caribe Hilton. I would have seen more if I didn't pop over to St. Croix between workshops and the business meeting.
A side note here, and a VERY prejudiced one at that. Puerto Rico is, well, Puerto Rico. And Puerto Ricans are very proud. I never ever expect anything to go as planned in Puerto Rico. Except the dirty martinis. Best dirties of my life in that place. But I digress. Just a few examples before I get to my most recent experience: in Puerto Rico, a conference room with electricity and a projection screen ACTUALLY means a pop-up canopy tent and 12 plastic chairs on a brick patio. With no electricity. 8 AM actually means 9:30 AM. Driving actually means whatever the hell you want it to mean. No directionals, no speed limit, no passing lane, no rules -- WWF, No Holds Barred. And flying to St. Croix at 3:30 PM actually means flying to St. Croix at 5 PM on a completely different airline than the one you booked.
On Saturday afternoon, after the morning workshop and a lovely lunch of plantain-battered fried chicken, beans, and rice with a hefty rum drink, I went back to the San Juan airport to fly to St. Croix, where my friends Cindy and Ross live. Cape Air already called to let me know I was bumped to the 4:30 PM flight, so when I arrived at the airport at 3 PM, I felt I was good to go for whatever trouble might arise (as to be expected in Puerto Rico). The nice woman at the Cape Air counter told me, once I wheeled up there, that the Cape Air flight had been cancelled, however, I was booked on the American Eagle flight at 5 PM. All I had to do was check in at the American Eagle counter...on the other end of the terminal.
OK. Wheel, wheel, wheel...all the way over to AE. I can't be issued my AE ticket, says the effeminate check-in staff member. What? Cape Air told me I was all set. Nay nay. No piece of paper from Cape Air, no ticket from AE. I am sent back to the Cape Air counter. Wheel, wheel, wheel...Cape Air says I should be all set. OH BLAH BLAH BLAH!! Use the phone, lady!! After one hour, much ado, and only one more trip back to the opposite end of the terminal, I am finally issued a ticket. I enter the world's longest security line, in San Juan airport, with only 30 minutes before my mini-craft starts boarding. Oh how I tried to not looked pissed or tap my toes...1 out of 2 is good, right?
I make it over to St. Croix without more trouble. And my bag even makes it, which was questionable after the Cape Air ground crew hacked the system to get my bag on to the AE flight for free. Oh the trust I put in that groundscrewman...[If it's not a word, it is to me now.] Ross picked me up, then we picked up Cindy, and then we headed to their apartment that overlooks the bay at Salt River. Freaking gorgeous!! This was Halloween night, and the moon was mostly full, reflecting off the sea, and illuminating all below, leaving shadows. The big party, however, was the next night, with better music at Norma's, in the rainforest. So this night, the three of us chilled out on rum and cokes, leftovers, and catching up.
On Sunday, we lazed about in the morning, then finally motivated to head down to the dive shop where Ross works as a dive master. We picked up some dive gear and tanks, and made our way to Cane Bay for a shore dive. As we made our way along the coast, we could tell there was a decent swell working, but we weren't sure how it would affect a dive. Fortunately (unfortunately?), we ran into a fellow diver, who told us it wasn't worth our time -- no visibility, a complete sandstorm. Boo, hiss. And back to the dive shop we went to drop off the gear and tanks.
Plan B: hike to the tide pools at Annaly Bay via the Trumbull Trail , which starts at Carambola Resort, just west of Cane Bay. The hike is amazing -- through the treeline and tall grasses, down to a rocky beach. Because of the swell, the waves were crashing into the bay and it was beautiful.
After the trail, we hit the grocery store for dinner supplies. We made burgers before getting ready to whoop it up at Norma's. Norma's feels like it is deep in the jungle. Mostly because no roads on St. Croix go in a straight line, and it was dark out. Except for the full moon. Spooky!! I was dressed as a cat with a cat mask, fishnets, and black tank top. I went for simple because a) it had to fit in my luggage, and b) it was pretty warm at the cluuub. Cindy and Ross were dressed as a mermaid, complete with tail, and an evil Neptune/Poseidon. I feel I did one helluva job on Ross's make up. Stellar, even.
There was dancing and half-naked (and one fully-naked) people. Ridiculous costumes, interesting costumes, half-assed get-ups, and many standers-by. In the end, Cindy and Ross ended up winning best costume for a couple! Fifty bucks, baby! After sweating off our costumes and downing enough beers to be tired, we headed home for the night with memories of good music, good people, and interesting characters...
Monday was pretty laid back. I was happy to just be with friends, and we didn't really get very far with our day. We hit the beach at Cane Bay for a little bit before I got packed up and ready to go. We had dinner at the Brew Pub in Christiansted before Cindy dropped me at the airport. I got there early, just in case there were any ticketing issues similar to the one I experienced on my way down from San Juan. Fortunately, there were none. Because apparently, I was the only passenger. I sat alone in the terminal. As the departure time loomed, I asked the TSA dude whether the flight was still happening. Just then, the ground crew popped in the terminal and said "Private charter?" Bewildering enough, I was indeed the ONLY passenger on the 10-person puddle jumper prop plane back to San Juan. Holy cajoli!! And what a beautiful night to fly. Full moonlight -- I could see the ripples on the sea, the cruise ships moving between ports with their deck lights all aglow, and the receeding lights of the homes on each of the small islands. It was an enjoyable 40 minutes in the air, and I had no worries about my bag. Once I got through the first customs desk, my bag was the only one waiting for me at the deserted baggage claim in the international arrivals terminal. Yes, my international flight from U.S. territory to U.S. territory. Whatever. It's Puerto Rico!!
Annnnd back to the Caribe Hilton for the rest of the task force meeting. If you want more info on what went down there, you can check it all out here.
I left for the Caribbean on a hectic Friday afternoon, and after the final morning session of the meeting the following Thursday, I was ready to return home. I have more than enough work at the office to keep me realing, and I have a Fall Food Fest to prepare for. Stay tuned for that entry...In the meantime, know this: Puerto Rico never runs on time or as planned. St. Croix is the better of the U.S. Virgin Islands (St. John is allegedly the best). A handle of Cruzan rum is worth every cent (and then some) of its $9 cost. The Caribe Hilton makes a mean dirty martini (with blue cheese-stuffed olives!!), but they WILL charge an arm and a leg (and you can't blame it on the exchange rate). They only charge an arm, however, during happy hour at Morton's. Fifty-five people registered for a workshop will be reported as the number that actually attended, even if only 20 people did attend said workshop in this little place we call reality. There's got to be more to Puerto Rico than dirty San Juan.
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