Stories from Puerto Rico: That Time We Almost Died

It was with sadness that we closed up the breezy beach house that had been our home for three days and packed our suitcases into the back of our ground-hugging rental car. We would miss the roaming beach dogs and the morning treasure hunts and even the underwater crunches we maladroitly performed for the saintly goal of "better fitting jeans."

But another adventure awaited us and we turned away from the coast and headed into the mountains towards Las Marias. From the coast you can see the rolling, gentle mountains of the interior of Puerto Rico, lush and green and almost doughy looking. Half an hour from the coast we started to climb. The road snaked and curled like smoke pouring off boiling coffee and we dutifully performed each switchback, Mom gradually falling into a pattern of pulling the wheel back and forth to accommodate the turns.

As we climbed higher the road rose up, leaving the earth ever further below us. Each side of the road dropped off into sliding green cliffs. We passed a vista and I pointed to what looked like giant green fingers. A curious tree had sprouted out branches in colossal clumps and it looked like many fingered hands dripping down over the jungle. "That's bamboo," Mom said, "looks like it's taken over a lot of the island."

No sooner had she spoken then she let out a gasp and slammed on the breaks as a lumbering dump truck came barreling around the corner we had just approached, sliding by us without so much as a wave or beep. "Oh my god," she said finally, eyes wide. We gingerly swung around the turn and were relieved to see an open stretch before the next turn.

But several turns later, with us still nervous and hanging more to the right than before, another dump truck popped out from the corner of the blind mountain road and scared us half to death. And so the journey continued, back and forth and back and forth and then a strained, white knuckled turn squeezing by another truck. But the mind and body are adaptable and even deathly fear can become predictable and rhythmic. As we climbed more and more we began to relax again, tensing with every precarious passing of a truck but then falling back into conversation.

And then my heart stopped.

There was nowhere to go, no shoulder to inch onto and it was barreling right for us. In my mind, in the flash of the moment, it felt like we had gotten to the end of the level. King Koopa, 5 times bigger than the minion trucks we had faced before, was staring us down and he was angry, and then the inevitable charge. But like I said, there was nowhere to go. Mom, already in the self-preserving habit of hugging the edge of the road, had done all she could do to protect us from the flattening and so we sat there. In the span of seconds since we had first spotted our fast rolling fate it was over. The monster, mere inches away, swept past us, rocking our tiny car and leaving us gasping.

"What happened?" Sydney asked, looking up from her book.

Somehow we had beaten the boss and as we regained composure and set off again we rolled into Las Marias. Like all the other tiny towns in Puerto Rico we drove through, Las Marias had a bar or two, a corner store and a school - which was always ringed with cars and women standing around in loose groups. Eventually we came to a driveway marked with a wooden sign on which was painted a bright infinity swirl. Relieved was an understatement for our emotions.

Mom stopped the car. "I can't see the driveway," she wined. It was true. The road below us dropped off so steeply that from the top where we sat there was no road to see. As she inched forward the car tilted down and to our relief the road was there to receive us. We shifted into a low gear and slowly rolled down the mountain towards a tiny concrete bridge. "I hope our little car can make it back up this driveway in a few days," I laughed nervously.

On the other side of the bridge we could see the road climb steeply again and disappear around a bend. Moving equally as slowly down that road was a large white pickup truck. Inching down the road that was little bigger than the car, when Mom spotted the truck headed to the same concrete bridge as us she let out an exasperated "Oh no...there is no way I'm backing up this driveway. They have to backup! This is crazy!"

Luckily the truck got to the bridge before us and pulled into a tucked away spot of land at the bottom and waited. As we approached Mark got out of the truck. "You made it!" he beamed at us, waving as we rolled down the window. Mom launched into her story about the evil truck drivers and the crazy curves of the mountain road and Mark smiled, nodding his head patiently. "Well you have another half mile of adventure ahead of you but you've almost made it."

From the passenger side of the truck a young man stepped out. With one hand he waved and with the other he clutched an ice pack to the soft fleshy skin under his eye. "This is Levi, we just have to run into town and get his eye looked at. Little scrape, just better to be safe than sorry." He waved us on and they got back into their truck, headed out towards town as we crossed the bridge and started climbing the last leg of our trip. We rounded the bend to see the great expanse of a banana farm down in the valley that belonged to a neighbor of Margo and Mark's.

We were so close that I was fidgeting with anticipation of being able to stretch out and walk around. But Puerto Rico has a thing for surprises around the bend. The car stopped again. This time Mom collapsed onto the wheel in pretended sobs and hysterics and wined "I don't wana! I don't wana!"

Ahead of us was a drainage ditch. The road plummeted down a foot or two into a crease that channeled rainwater off the roads and into the jungle and then rose back up to meet the road again. For a truck like Mark's it was little more than a pothole. For a tiny car sitting less than a foot off the ground it was a giant chasm to be perilously crossed. When Mom was finished with her theatrics I got out of the car and with much skepticism and secret cursing of Margo and Mark for not warning us, we managed to ease the car, one wheel at a time, through the ditch and onto the other side of the road with minimal scraping.

At this point in the story it should be obvious that the surprises come in multiples. No sooner had we bested the ditch and rolled off patting ourselves on the backs then we rolled up to the next one. And then another. And then another. Drainage on a mountain prone to mudslides is important you see.

Wearily we rolled up to the gatehouse and were greeted by an assortment of happy dogs and another workshare intern. We had finally reached The Farm as Margo called it and I for one was ready to embrace whatever situation was presented as long as it wasn't a car ride.

Our breezy beach house had been replaced with a breezy cabin and very quickly we were to learn what it meant to be "unplugged."

What to Do in Puerto Rico: Gozalandia Waterfall

This 50 foot beauty was worth the trek but not easy to find. Sometimes called the "secret waterfall" it's been featured in several films (like The Perfect Getaway) so it stands to reason that the secret is out and you should be able to find this natural pool with a little persistence and patience.

From Maravilla in Las Marias we wound our way down the mountain to San Sebastian. From Route 446 you turn right on a bridge in town until you get to a long locked gate on your left. Sound vague? Well it is. With only those directions we came into town only to find the bridge we were supposed to turn onto was blocked off for construction. But wait..was that even the bridge? Is there another bridge?

We stopped by a man sweeping his driveway and rolled down the window. I greeted the man and then asked if he spoke English. He said no and asked if I spoke Spanish. In my paltry, broken Spanish I told him "We look for Gozalandia Waterfall" and then smiled. A woman from the porch came closer and spoke with him, both of them glancing over at the defunct bridge.

"Ok follow him," she said to us, as our spontaneous guide hopped in his car and pulled out in front of us. We wound around past the bridge and up a hill into a neighborhood for some time until the car in front of us stopped and our guide got out of his car to talk to a man in his yard. We sat for several minutes, listening to the exchange with no comprehension, smiling wide tourist grins every time they looked over at us in between words. Finally the man whose grass we were half parked on motioned us to move our car into his yard and pointed down behind the house.

Our guide, ever accommodating, explained in Spanish that we would have to cross this man's property to get to the falls and he would show us. At least I think that's what he said. In any case we followed him down the fence to a broken section and crawled through to an overgrown path that lead down the hill. Our giude chattered on in Spanish, throwing a "No habla espanol? Nunca?" over his shoulder every so often to which I would reply "Nunca, lo siento."

After a turn in the wrong direction, to the sighs and agitated arm gestures of our guide, we finally got to a place where we could hear running water. A pavilion had been built at the bottom of the hill with a lagoon and just below that was a path that lead to steep wooden steps down to the pool of the waterfall. Our guide bid us well at this point, still shaking his head at our touristy gumption and trekked back up the mountain.

Relieved to have found it and ready to rest from the humid hike we gratefully sank into the cool waters of the pool. Within minutes the swelling in Mom's feet went down and we all felt lighter.

Several other families and couples were there sitting on the rocks or swimming in the pool and one daring dude was using a rope to climb up part of the falls to slide down what looked like a painful though smoother portion of rocks.

To the right of the falls is a section of rocks that are smooth and bulbous like hardened lava. If you're brave enough there is a little cave in the rocks. A 3 second breath hold is all you need to get into it and then you pop up into a cave big enough for 3 people to precariously chat and make echoes.

The moral of our Gozalandia Waterfall adventure, as with so much of Puerto Rico, is that the locals are the key to your success. Their generosity and good spirits were revealed to us again and again on this trip. Maybe it's just how Puerto Ricans are. Or maybe you can learn to be that way living on such a gorgeous island.

Where to Eat and Stay Vegan: Maravilla B&B - the Farm

Outside the mountain town of Las Marias is Maravilla's other property which Margo refers to as "the farm." Part organic farm, part horse farm, part vegan and vegetarian kitchen, this was a tropical mountain oasis.

We stayed in the "cabin" for two nights. Staying in the cabin is basically cushy camping in a rain forest. You are absolutely surrounded by lush green leaves, neon colored flowers, drooping fruit trees and the ubiquitous sound of the Coqui - Puerto Rico's tiny singing frog.

The cabin is the less luxurious of the two accommodation options at the farm, but for us frugal gals it fit just perfectly into our budget. And, to be fair, it was gorgeous. Open air kitchen, fold out wood walls and screened doors made sleeping here feel like you were perched in a treehouse. What makes it a little less luxurious than the bedrooms up in the main house? The cabin is "unplugged" as Margo put it. In other words - no electricity. You won't be slumming it though. There's a gas stove, a fire pit, hot running water and a flushing toilet and even a huge tub out under the canopy that can be filled with hot water if you request it.

Mom took the larger bedroom with the floor to ceiling screened windows while Sydney and I nestled into the room next door. During our stay we got the unexpected surprise of sleeping through (or rather trying to sleep though) the passing of Hurricane Sandy. While the hurricane was gaining strength down in the islands we got dumped on with one of its bands in what was one of the scariest storms I've tried to sleep through. We slept with the windows and doors open every night to catch some of the breeze and alleviate the humidity but on this particular night even I had to push the door closed because the thunder was so loud and the rain, wind and lighting was so intense I was afraid that even the concrete structured cabin would be blown away.

While lack of electricity made it tricky for keeping cell phones charged and reading at night, we kinda had fun with our flashlights and gas lamps. The first night after we fell asleep I woke in the middle of the night to a strange glow. Outside our screen door hundreds of glowing bugs had gathered on the ceiling of the open kitchen putting on a dancing, flashing show for the few minutes I was able to stay awake to watch it.

One of the more interesting aspects of the cabin was the "sun-room" which Sydney took the most advantage of. No more than what appeared to be the burned out remains of the concrete upper floor of the building - we assumed that this sun-room was still a work in progress.

As at the beach house, all of our meals were provided for us as part of the fee. Up the steep driveway, a short 5 minute climb (during which we practiced the mantra "better fitting jeans, better fitting jeans") was the Galley Kitchen where we often found Pony, the sleepy aging dog, sunning himself. All of our food was packaged and labeled and we could microwave our food or take it back to our gas stove for meals.

During our stay we feasted on:

Herb Bread
Scrambled Tofu
Banana Bread
Fruit Salad
Hummus and Veggies
Herb Potato Empanadas
Tofu Stirfry
Coconut Papaya Cake
Sweet Curry Cookies

Our last night staying at Maravilla we had a special 4 course meal. We were invited to come up to the main house to be served a traditional Puerto Rican meal in the dining room by Margo. Our first course was Guineo Tostones: flattened and lightly breaded slices of plantains dipped in a creamy sauce. Then came the Sancocho. Sancocho is traditionally made with an animal broth and may have fish in it but for our veggie fare it was loaded with plantains, taro root, cassava and potatoes. Sancocho is what you would want to eat when you're sick, warming and filling and starchy.
Needless to say, we were already filling up by the time the main event came out. Our entree was Pastelon, an amazingly flavorful plantain lasagna. Slices of sweet plantain were layered with savory faux meat crumbles and melted soy cheese. Served with this was a generous helping of Gandules (pigeon peas)and Rice as well as a raw cabbage salad.
At this point we were ready to throw in the towel and roll back down the hill to our cabin but there was simply no way we could pass up the Tembleque Coconut Pudding that Margo prepared as our dessert.

All the meals we had at Maravilla were expertly prepared. When I asked if Margo would share some of her recipes she claimed the right of all great chefs by holding her secrets but offering more food.

In addition to all the food we had to eat there was food all around us at the cabin on the farm. Margo grows an impressive variety of food and has even had some success with crops that would not traditionally grow well in tropical regions - like broccoli. This kale really surprised me - I have never seen kale grow such a substantial stalk! She said she just never pulled it out, she let it continue to grow.

While we were there we peaked in on the other accommodations. This is what the luxury sweet looks like.

On our last night as we painfully walked back to our beds after our giant feast, we passed a low leafed plant and heard the tiny "meep meep" of the Coqui right next to us. Now the whole time we had stayed there we were constantly being serenaded by the little frogs but this frog sounded like it could have been singing on our shoulder. We grabbed our lamps and started gently moving the leaves and shining our light and after a few minutes of searching we were rewarded with this tiny frog.

At the end of our two days Mom and Sydney were ready to get back to civilization and we left Maravilla with promises to return. For those of you adventurous type I would highly recommend staying with Margo and in addition she also does a work trade. If you stay for 6 week or more and work for the farm and the bed and breakfast you'll receive room and board - something I plan to take advantage of in the future!

What to do in Isabela, Puerto Rico

Isabella is not a tourist town. People don't fly down from their cold, damp houses in the north to lounge about in Isabella on Jobos beach...but maybe they should. It was in Isabella, where we stopped on our way to Maravilla B&B that we had the warmest reception of our trip (of which everyone was incredibly friendly) and saw some things we really hadn't even expected to find.

The main plaza, that displays the Rodin-esque sculpture pictured above, is a tiny blip in the sprawling town of closely packed orange and pink houses The narrow streets seem to wind on forever past porched houses with tropical bloom gardens and then suddenly you are dumped out into the main square. We backed our tiny rental car into a questionable spot on the corner of a street musing about whether or not Puerto Rico tickets as heavily as back home but decided to chance it and find some lunch.

We hustled into the first sandwich shop that looked like it could accommodate a vegan. Orange booths lined the restaurant and the boards hanging above the grill displayed a confusing mixture of English and Spanish words. We stood in front of the counter and stared at the menu, poorly translating among ourselves until the woman next to me kindly stepped in. She was a Puerto Rican woman who had lived in New York for over 20 years until she decided to come back to her home town. After she helped us order our lunch she asked, "So what do you plan to do in Isabela?"

If the stares and looks of surprise as we drove into town hadn't been enough to give away the fact that tourists were not a common occurrence (at least not in October anyhow)her question pretty much said it all. "What is there to do?" Was the question I replied with. Luckily, in a town as small as Isabela, everyone knows everyone.

"Go a few doors down to the tourism office and ask for Miguel. He can take you wherever you want to go." So we did. And we were showered with gifts, like a tiny pin of Isabela's shield which features the cactus, their town symbol and and charming if amusing photograph of the mayor with his grandchildren. He introduced us to everyone in the office and took us on a little office tour to see the photographs of Isabela's most beautiful sites.

Miguel, who insisted we call him Mike, had lived in New Jersey for a large chunk of his life, but he too had chosen to come back to his home town. Bright and boisterous and ever so excited to have tourists to entertain,

he gave us his phone number to call him the next day so that he could take us to see the Blowhole on Jobos Beach.

The next day we made plan to meet up with Mike but first we wanted to see the old train tunnel outside of town. Tunel de Guajataca used to connect the towns of Isabela and Quebradillas in the early 1900s but recently it has been named a historic site and leads to Guajataca beach. Guajataca means water ladle in Taino, the native language, and this beach is praised for its white sands but is also a dangerous beach with sharp rocks and high waves.

This giant sculpted head sits down the road from the tunnel and is a representation of Mabodamaca. Cacique Mabodamaca was the chief of the Taino people and when the Spanish invaded Puerto Rico he defended his people and his land. There are several legends about how he died. The one that I find most romantic is that he fell off a cliff in battle and the golden pendent he wore, called a guani, that signified him as the chief, fell into the ocean with him, never to be seen again.

After visiting the beach and trying to photograph the crabs sunning themselves, who were all too wary of me and scuttled away as soon as I crouched down, we drove back to Isabela to meet Mike. Mom had called him the day before to make plans to meet in the square and get a tour of the town and a trip to the blowhole. "How much?" Mom asked on the phone to which Mike loudly replied "Oh no! no! It doesn't cost anything. This is my job, it's my pleasure." Definitely not a tourist town.

On the first day in Isabela we had noticed these Charlie signs on lots of houses and so we asked Mike about them. "They're election posters," he explained. "Charlie is a good friend of mine, and he's running for Mayor. A local artist made those signs and sells them around town." When we asked if he thought Charlie would win he just smiled and said one could never be sure.

He drove us all around Isabela, to the beach and to the little resort communityVilla Montana that had been built recently for tourists. He made us promise that if we came back to Puerto Rico we would stay in Isabela for part of our trip.

And then the grand finale, he took us to Jobos Beach and El Pozo de Jacinto. The story of the Blowhole of Jacinto is as follows: There was a little boy named Jacinto who lived in Isabela with his mother. Every day it was his job to take their cow out to feed on grass. One day there was a terrible storm with wind and rain and lightning and Jacinto said "I'm afraid to go outside today. I don't want to take the cow out in the storm." But his mother insisted and so Jacinto went. He was walking with the cow on the coast near the ocean when a sudden bolt of lightning and clap of thunder burst through the air and he and the cow were so scared that they jumped and fell into the hole and were swallowed up by the ocean.

Now, when you visit the blowhole you have to yell "Jacinto, give me the cow!" and Jacinto gets angry and water rushes into the blowhole and shoots out the top, splashing the person who dares ask for his cow.

We had a really great day with Mike and I could see myself spending more time in Isabela, hanging out at Jobos beach and eating some tostones with a cocoloco in my hand. Nothing says Puerto Rico like fresh fruit juice, coconut milk and rum right? Although I'd probably go for the virgin variety myself and not taint all that sweet sweet papaya and pineapple juice!

Where to Eat and Stay Vegan: Maravilla B&B

Maravilla, run by Margo - a former New Englander turned full time Puerto Rican, is a vegan's paradise. We started our stay at Maravilla at the beach location. Down a scary steep driveway the little yellow house sits perched on the edge of the beach. While the house can be split to accomodate two sets of guests at the same time we were fortunate to have the entire house to ourselves during our stay. All of the meals at Maravilla are prepared by Margo and then packaged, stored and labeled in the fridge, awaiting your leisurely hunger. Lest you think all that sunshine and ocean will let you forget your biological need to eat, Margo prepared the most appetizing meals for our stay:

Carrot Cake Waffels stuffed with chunks of Pineapple
Mango Muffins
Spicy Tempeh and Lentil Saucettes
Fruit Salad of Mango, Papya and Pineapple
Fresh Gaspacho with Cornbread
Roasted Eggplant Soup
Seitan Stroganoff
Black Bean Chili with Rice
Fresh Salad from her garden
Chocolate Cake and Sugarfree Oatmeal Cookies

YUM!

The three of us opted for the Rice and Bean Economy Meal Plan and were so impressed by the quality and quantity of food that we couldn't even have imagined getting one of the more extensive plans. Raw foodies delight too, Margo has a whole selection of delicious offerings for you as well!

Every morning Mom and I would walk the beach looking for treasure. I've never seen so much beach glass in my life. We walked by sprawling resorts that stood mostly empty and enjoyed the quiet breeze and incredibly flat ocean.

Maravilla on the beach is the perfect way to relax and enjoy the sunshine. We left our windows open at night, air-dryed on the sunroof after snorkeling and ate dinner listening to the waves with glasses big of wine.

The house is on the coast of Rincon, about an hour from Isabella which makes for a great day trip. If you fly into San Juan, like we did, I recommend renting a car for the week to get over to Maravilla and explore the real Puerto Rico and feast on tropical fruit.

You can't beat a view like this! All of us would recommend this beach house to travelers - veg and nonveg alike. It's been a few months now since our trip but every so often we all feel a bit nostalgic for our little dream house with the carrot cake waffles.

Where to Eat Vegan: Mercado Agricola Natural - San Juan, Puerto Rico

Sometimes while exploring a new city you just get lucky. You've done your homework, you've looked up all the vegan hot-spots, and then you stumble upon this amazing gem that no one ever mentioned. That's how I came upon the Mercado Agricola Natural. Within the walls of the San Juan Museum, every Saturday there is an organic market. While this market is still new, starting only in 2010, this square has a long historical past as a marketplace.

As I stopped at each little booth I was more and more pleased. I walked up to a table laden with thick banana breads, yucca bread, brownies and cakes and the vendor, who happened to be a transplant to the island from New York greeted me by saying "all our breads and desserts on this table are vegan." Yay!! Jams, fresh fruit and herbs, bread from Peace n Loaf as well as veggie soup and cookies from the Hare Krishna run Veggie Garden.

Fifi was my favorite person I met in San Juan. Fifi Bernard, originally from Brazil, lives in San Juan and serves up tasty plates of quinoa and vegetables and this delicious stevia sweetened ginger juice. We took pictures of each other to remember this day :)

If you happen to see this pie during your visit do not pass it up. Vegan and Raw this Avocado based Key Lime Pie was delicious!

Location:

Museo de Arte e Historia de San Juan
150 Bulevar del Valle
San Juan, 00901

Hours:

8am - 1 pm every Saturday

The Bioluminescent Lagoon of Fajardo - Journals of Puerto Rico

We went to bed at 9:30 every night. Every night except one. By the time we stumbled into bed at 12 am we were like transfixed zombies. Or maybe more like seasoned drug users just coming down from a trip, exhausted and still mumbling something about sparkles.

This night was Sunday night and we had just returned from a late night trip to Fajardo. There is a lagoon in Fajardo that is fed from a tiny stream bordered densely by mangrove trees.

Hector was our guide's name. Following him in our open kayaks we wound our way down the stream to the lagoon. Now a moonlit paddle through the mangroves is a fine way to spend the evening but we had come to Fajardo for more than just a paddle.

Just below the surface of the water live tiny microorganisms called Dinoflagellates. When the creatures are agitated they give off light and it was our desire to agitate them into a sparkling frenzy that brought us to Fajardo.

A van will drive you out to Fajardo past the suburbs and small towns on the coast. Rocky, our driver had that particular habit that I encounter so often in my Spanish speaking students of calling everyone "friend" and calling them "friend" often. "Ok friends," he would say at the beginning and end of every sentence - winning an amused chuckle from all the English speaking passengers.

After an hour or more of driving, we pulled up to a circular field of grass ringed by a dirt road and dotted with cars and motorbikes, all of which was hugged to the edge of the gently lapping waves of the ocean. Loud salsa music played from open air bars and the smell of greasy food beat out from the dozens of food carts and stands. Rocky told us this area is the neighborhood hangout for families. Indeed, along the shore many families were set up in the dark on blankets and chairs watching the faint glow of the Dinoflagellate as they tumbled on the tiny waves.

"Ok friends, the bathrooms are that way," Rocky said pointing to some squat buildings lit by harsh yellow bulbs in the middle of the grassy ring. Us girls scurried over to where he was pointing. As we approached a group of women were scurrying past us in the other direction, faces scrunched. "Bad?" we asked. "Terrible," they yelled over their shoulders.

Mom, ever brave and small of bladder, decided to be the judge but no sooner had she dissapeared around the corner, leaving Sydney and I standing outside, hips swayed to the side and arms folded, then she immediately swung back around the corner with the same pinched face as the ladies we had passed moments before. "That bad?" I said. Mom, already skirting her way back to the van nodded and said "Paint buckets. Overflowing paint buckets."

Luckily we had no more time to think about buckets and bladders because it was time to suit up and get into kayaks. The three of us were the only odd numbered group, all destined for two seater kayaks, standing around in the loose circle surrounding our guide. "You two ride together" Mom said, offering herself up to the unknown. After a quick paddling demo which looked very much like someone desperately trying to dance to a beat while crippled by cement laden hips, we all hopped into kayaks. Mom was partnered with Hector, our guide and was directed to the front of his kayak.

Tentatively we took our first tandem strokes and paddled over to Mom's kayak at the front of the line. Eyes wide and hands folded in her lap, Mom sat in Hector's kayak without a paddle. "Hey, why don't you have to paddle?" Sydney snapped. "Miss Pam is the princess tonight" Hector replied in what we would come to expect as his usual matter-of-fact zen responses.

"I'm the princess," Mom said, flashing a taunting full toothed grin at Sydney and I. With much grumbling from Sydney and much silent gloating from Mom we fell into the body of the snaking chain of boats starting off in the direction of the dark, wooded inlet.

The mangrove trees grow out of the water like hundred legged octopi, leaving their roots below to snatch feet and paddles alike while stretching their branches across the inlet to block out the moonlight. We entered the mangroves slowly, letting our eyes adjust to the dark and keeping one eye slightly above our heads to guard against rouge branches.

As Sydney and I struggled to weave the curving inlet and also watch for the glow below the surface of the water, Mom was getting her princess treatment at the head of the line.

"Miss Pam," Hector would say, "Do you see those fish over there? Watch." With that he would smack the side of the kayak with his paddle and the startled fish would shoot off in different directions agitating the Dinos in the process. "It was like a glowing star underwater," Mom told us later. "They would take off, zoom zoom zoom, and then leave glowing trails in different directions." Each zoom was punctuated by a crisp vertical slice in the air.

"Do it again!" Mom would say to Hector, playing the delighted but slightly impatient and sulky child character she has perfected and passed down to her daughters. "Be patient Miss Pam. We must wait for the fish," Hector would say in his practiced and perfected Buddha character. Every now and then we would hear Mom's ringing laughter from the front of the line and every now and then she would hear a curse or a "What the heck?" from her daughters a few boats back, twisted into the mangroves again. When Mom asked Hector how long he had been running this tour he smiled and said "It's my first day."

The closer the mangroves grew over the sky, the darker it got, the more the Dinos would glow. Each paddle was an explosion of light under the water. Sometimes they seemed green, sometimes blue or white. We dipped our hands in the water and wiggled our fingers. We splashed and smacked the water with our paddles and all the while the Dinos glowed.

Eventually the inlet opened to a wide lagoon and we all gathered our boats around Hector and Mom to listen to him explain the source of our glowing delight. "Look over there," he said "do you see that flashing red light atop the white light?" Our heads swiveled to the other end of the lagoon. Hector was revealing the source of the Dino's glow - we all waited silently. "That's a nuclear plant," he said.

Mom's laughter ran out and a few others joined in. Hector waited for the rest of the group to catch on and let out a delayed laugh before telling us about Dinoflagellates and their similarity to lightning bugs. The same chemical reaction occurs in their tiny bodies, but unlike fireflies they have no control of their glow.

He let us all paddle around and watch the glow. Sticking our hands into the water we picked up palmfuls of dark water and blew softly to watch it light up. As each Dino was agitated it would tumble in the cupped water revealing itself.

"Sparkles" Mom kept saying, running her fingers through the water and beaming into the dark.

"Girls, watch what I'm going to do," Hector said as he dipped the paddle deep into the water and then with one swift movement the paddle shot forward in an arc underwater - leaving a blue-green rainbow behind it. We all clapped and gasped."I could stay here all night," Mom confided in Hector, "I want to come back tomorrow!"

"Next time you come, Miss Pam, come during a rainstorm. You can't believe how beautiful it is when it rains." Floating in the lagoon, wide eyed and feet dipped over the edge to leave a trail of sparkles behind her, Mom really would have been happy to stay all night.

Hector, who paddled calmly, told Mom that the nine years of working this route, guiding tourists to this protected lagoon, had not changed or dulled his sense of awe and delight at seeing the Dinos glow. They chatted about their night jobs and their kids until we pulled back up on the shore, all tired and sore, save the princess.

"Hello friends," we heard from behind us signaling the end of our kayak adventure. As we shed our lifejackets and abandoned our kayaks, Mom, still glowing, went to thank Hector and surprised him with a hug before we piled into the van to drive back to San Juan. "Goodbye Miss Pam," Hector said to the princess.

Somewhere New: Puerto Rico - Part 1 - San Juan

For the month of October I went on a very special trip. From the age of 15 travel has been an indispensable part of my life. My grandmother, Nonny, took me on my first international trip to her birthplace in France. It is an understatement to say this trip changed my life. Unfortunately Nonny passed away while I was living in France, before she had the opportunity to take either of my little sisters on a trip somewhere. I credit her with my love of travel and the unknown and I wanted to give a little bit of that to my sisters in her memory.

The eldest of my younger siblings, Sydney, turned 18 this year and also graduated high school with a full year of college courses under her belt. It seemed that some celebration was in order - not only for her accomplishments but also for our newfound friendship. Until recently Sydney has always just been the little pipsqueak I remember babysitting years ago before I moved to West Virginia. Come to find out she's a smart (if sassy) motivated woman with a good sense of humor and a variety of interests. While we do one day plan to visit France together to see where her family is from we decided on something more tropical for our celebration. No sooner had we breathed the words Puerto Rico and Mom was packing every color of flip-flops she owns to come with us.

We started our trip in San Juan. Hotel Mirimar is a 10 minute bus ride from Old San Juan and sits right at the mouth of where the real San Juan begins. Away from the tourists and restaurants, if you walk the opposite direction from Old San Juan (which Sydney and I did one morning on a wild goose chase for some fresh juice which ended with much profanity on my part and some bloody blisters for Sydney and no juice for either) you find that the real San Juan isn't all pastel buildings and balconies dripping with flowers. The real San Juan is bustling and crowded and well...struggling.

We spent 3 days in the San Juan though, most of which was spent in Old San Juan. In Old San Juan, if you squint a little looking down the long alleyway sized roads, you can feel for a second that you might be in Barcelona. Every few blocks there's a plaza and every street is marked with a street sign painted onto a building or inlaid in terra cotta - very much like I remember in France. The pastel, though, and the beautiful balcony gardens is what sets San Juan apart from those familiar places.

On a morning alone (Sydney and Mom were at the Bacardi Rum Factory) I walked around and snapped pictures of the architecture, made friends with feral cats and ate treats at the Mercado Agricola Natural.

For the history buffs out there you can visit the fort that surrounds Old San Juan - some areas like where we went - was free.

If you walk the Paseo de la Princesa you'll come to this statue of Queen Isabella under a Banyan tree and the old gate to the city. Keep walking and you can go to El Morro - the fort all the way at the end of the island.

San Juan also has a good number of museums. I went to Casa Blanca, the house of Ponce de Leon, although technically he never lived there because he was too busy building empires and destroying indigenous cultures. Fun fact - chairs in this time were made for individuals. Meaning = a fatty would get a fat chair and a tall person would get a tall chair - which begs the question what if you get fat when you were skinny?

Next time I would really like to check out more museums like the Antique Book museum! While the city was fun and does hold some gems we came to Puerto Rico for the natural beauty, so we rented a car and headed to the other side of the island. Check back for the next post about that.