Puerto Rico (Part III)
Turns out the public beach in front of our condo building was a popular favorite with the locals. And why not? It’s absolutely gorgeous. If I lived here, I’d have to consider getting a car with a subwoofer and coming out to this beach to party under the palm trees, too.
The noise from the car stereos started in the mornings and got progressively worse throughout the day. Around lunch time, the locals would drive by slowly, car stereos thumping away. They rarely stayed for more than a few minutes. It is as if they were on a break from work or school and needed a fix of salt air and crashing waves. Or maybe it was a fix of thong bikinis on the beach. Who can say? By 3 or 4 p.m., work and school behind them, the street came alive with partying teen-agers. This was when the noise became unbearable.
We tried to ignore it. We pretended it wasn’t there. What a beautiful day here in Puerto Rico, wouldn’t you say, dear? I think I’ll sit down and read my book. You’re going to take a little nap. I think that’s an excellent idea. And look at our son over there quietly assembling that jigsaw puzzle. Aren’t we just the luckiest family, living harmoniously in this tropical paradise? What’s that, dear? No, I don’t believe that we are becoming pod people. Why do you ask?
One morning we met an elderly woman on the elevator as we were heading down to the beach. We asked her if the street noise was always this bad? She told us she lived here six months out of the year and it was like this most nights. She said, weekends were the worst and that she has gotten into the habit of wearing earplugs around the apartment. There is no legal noise ordinance here. Nothing you can do about it. She smiled wanly. The elevator doors opened and she stepped off, carrying her pod out into the lobby.
We tried staying away from the condo as much as possible by keeping busy. We went to the beach for as long as we could stand it. But the sun was intense and we didn’t want to burn up. The local news reported the UV index in an unusual format: number of minutes you can be out in the sun before you burn. Today’s value: zero. We thought this must be a mistake, and maybe it was, but not by much. Within an hour, it seemed, we had burn marks in those funny places that you always forget to apply SPF lotion, like the backs of your knees and the tips of your ears. By the end of our first morning on the beach I felt fried.
We spent our mornings on the beach and filled our afternoons with whatever we could find to do. We went food shopping and made fun of the strange fruits and vegetables. Plantains. A banana that can’t be eaten raw. Why bother? A banana is something you grab on your way out the door when you don’t have time for breakfast. If I’m going to take the time to fry something up, it’s probably going to be a cheeseburger not a plantain. We took long lunches at a cheap but delicious taco restaurant nearby called, appropriately, The Taco Maker. We played pool in a local pool hall. We even went to Wal-Mart. In the same shopping center there was a Walgreens. Two “Wal” stores side-by-side. What a treat. And I forgot my camera!
One of the most spectacular places on the island of Puerto Rico is the El Yunque rainforest. We spent a day there enjoying the natural beauty. We went to the park’s nature center called El Portal, which is perched high up at the canopy level of the forest. We hiked to a waterfall and waded into its plunge pool. El Yunque. I love that name. It means “forest of the clouds.” I have been searching for a good nickname. Perhaps, El Yunque would work for me. Hemingway got away with being called “Papa.” Why can’t I be El Yunque: blogger with his head in the clouds?
Of course, staying out all day, on the beach, in the rainforest, was tiring. And at the end of each day we still had to come home to our condo and face the music. Literally. Thump, wump diddy dump, thump, thump, thump. Imagine, eating your dinner to that racket every evening.
Finally, we had had enough. On day five we packed up and moved out. We reserved a room at a nice hotel back in San Juan. It was Easter weekend and we were lucky to get anything. The town was booked. Some friends, whose holiday in Puerto Rico overlapped with ours, had planned to come out and visit us in Luquillo. I called and said, “don’t bother, we’re coming in to see you!”
The Ramada, in the trendy Condado district of San Juan, has a casino on the first floor, like so many other hotels here. The place was bustling with people eager to win the money that would change their lives. As we walked past the casino to the hotel elevators, I started thinking about the history of this island, how it has been conquered and colonized by whoever happened to be sailing by – most recently the United States; before that it was the Spaniards; before that, who knows, the Swiss navy? Now the Puerto Rican people have casinos. Today’s marauders arrive by Carnival cruise ships and leave their money in the belly of a slot machine. Who’s laughing last?
We wheeled our luggage down the long hallway to our hotel room. We were so ready for this transition. Before I even slipped the keycard into the door, I was already dreaming about taking a nap. We had a few hours before we were scheduled to meet with our friends for dinner. A nice quiet siesta. But wait. What was this? A note on the desk from the hotel management: “Please excuse our dust. We are remodeling. You may experience some noise. Our apologies.” Just then, I heard the rumbling of a power tool. A belt sander, I imagined, from the sound of it. Coming from the room above us. Our walls began to vibrate. The drinking glasses on the sink started clattering.
Nooooooooooooooooooo!
5:12:04 PM  Stories
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