El Morro Falls

That's the biggest fort that used to protect San Juan. We saw it down the city wall a couple of nights ago, and today, largely because there's a children's museum nearby and the day was shaping up to be rainy, we headed out there to check it out. But once we got to Old San Juan, it turned sunny, and we decided to save the museum for when we might need it. (The street the museum is on is one of the most gorgeous I've ever seen - ancient tropical trees arc across the lane and shade it completely, as it tumbles away down a steep hill, cobbled and narrow, with colonial-era, thick-walled adobe buildings down either side, all colored like Easter eggs. Didn't get a picture, though. Still: We'll be back.)

Our morning bus ride into town was pretty uneventful - it was crowded, and we stood most of the way, but once the crowd thinned out it was pleasant. Went right past Marshall's, where I got the suit yesterday. In Old San Juan we decided to take the free tourism trolley out to the fort, but we nearly bailed on that idea since it's only about 8 blocks to walk, and it was a long time coming. But during the wait we were all but accosted by a Puerto Rican family, in from NYC to do some tourism, who wanted to chat us up. People here are so friendly - we are in love with Puerto Ricans. So polite, but familiar at the same time; so eager to help out. And no one has tried to cheat us or steer us wrong in any way since we got here. They knew right away Janneke was Argentine, and they said that their best guess on me was that I was Spanish. I think that's offensive, both to me and to Spanish people. But I must have a pretty mixed-up accent by now, and my glaring whiteness probably steers people in a distinct direction when they're taking a guess.

Anyhoo, the trolley was so slow once we got on it that we decided to get out and walk, which resulted in some more jaw-dropping views of colonial San Juan. It is to die for. You can't really do a walking architecture tour with children who are seven and three, and it's a shame, because every block had gems on it. What we don't understand is how they find anywhere to park. I don't think I saw an open spot the whole time we were there, and there really wasn't all that much traffic. Just row upon row of parked cars. Maybe they're just the fake cars they inflate to keep their spot for them while they're at work, and then deflate when they get home. Though in all seriousness, we did see one spot that was saved for its "owner" by a steel sawhorse-shaped contraption, chained and padlocked to two steel rings embedded in the concrete. Should've taken a picture.

Speaking of parking, I'm coming to the conclusion that the billions of PR policemen you see every day are proud graduates of a training program that consisted mostly of learning how to preen. They stand or strut or motor past in their pristine uniforms, but I have yet to see any of them do anything related to law enforcement. Well, that isn't true - we saw an arrest of a compliant, rotund woman of 50 from the bus window, and Janneke says she saw two of them issuing a parking citation. But we also saw this morning, waiting for the bus, someone pull across traffic to park in a no-parking zone, pointing the opposite way of the oncoming cars, so his wife could get out and go to the bank. And while he was parked that way, two policemen, one on a motorcycle and one in a car, drove past, and neither seemed to see. The guy must have had a Klingon cloaking device. (Octavio, ask Stefan and Adrian. They'll know what that is.)

The castillo was fantastic. Gorgeous, thrilling old outpost, last bombarded (before we arrived, that is) in 1898 by the US. Attacked numerous times, by the English, by pirates, etc., over the course of 300 years, with a mixed record of success. Thousands of school kids in summer programs and other tourists were milling about the expansive, windy, immaculately-kept grounds, many of them flying kites. We noticed that a majority of the tourists taking pictures and seeing the sights seem to be Puerto Ricans. Not sure if they're second-generation folks from the US, or from another part of the island, but it's kind of neat to see. Falling all over each other to help out-of-towners find their way, and then those out-of-towners come walking back half a block to tell us about the gem they were just told about. Love these people.

We found a lunch spot at a little hole-in-the-wall cafe, on a one-lane, one-way street, where a guy in a pickup truck stopped and parked and locked his truck and walked off for ten minutes without causing anyone any difficulty. Somehow, magically, no one came down the street while he was parked there. Bizarre. There must be more to it than we saw.

Back home after lunch, to the beach, where all wore shirts, except me, because my little torso was kind of tender after a few hours of shirt-and-surf yesterday. But we didn't even get out there until after 3:00, so I think I'll be fine.

Supper at home, followed by a discussion of how lizards are less efficient runners than mammals and impromptu storytelling by Tessie, and then the kids went to bed. There was one bit of drama at the end, though - I was out in the living room for a while, and noticed that I'd not heard anything of Janneke. (I also needed something from our bedroom.) I walked to the door and tried to open it, and found it - jammed! I knew immediately what had happened - Janneke, eager to conserve the air conditioning in our room, had fully closed the door, forgetting momentarily that the top of the door sticks so tight that it completely prevents opening from the inside. Seizing the doorknob in my right hand, I collected myself and hurled my curled left shoulder into the door just above the knob, and with a crash, I spilled into the room.

Where I found Janneke, who said - this is a quote, people - "Thanks for rescuing me!"

The only question now is: What COLOR should the cape be...?




This place serves a mean taco. Mean as in "cheap, small".



So many buildings, such short attention spans!



It took them an hour to stack these. Tess kept dropping hers.



I thought they'd have put up more resistance, but we just walked in.



Turn it sideways to see the secret message! Answer below!



Kids, pigeons, cracked corn for $1 a bag. Where's Norman Rockwell when you need him?

The secret message from picture 5: "Blogger won't let me turn these pictures right-side-up!"