Our Map Was Not to Scale

Morning! Daylight! Breakfast! Errand-running!

Around 10:00, we catapulted out into the world, eager to nimbly swing aboard the trusty A5 and zoom out to the end of the line, where the bus company map seemed to indicate it should end, hop off and stroll in a leisurely fashion over to the best beach on the north shore, where there would be public showers and bathrooms, and widely available food options. All of this as set forth in the slim travel guide I purchased a few episodes ago.

Catching the A5 was simple enough. We even got seats relatively quickly. And the route followed along the shore line, a block or two away, for a good long while, just as we thought it should. But when we were getting out to the airport, around the time the line should end, it sort of didn't. We kept expecting to roll into a big bus garage like the one at the Old San Juan end of the line, but there were more and more stops, angling out into directions that were farther and farther from the beach. We finally asked the driver, who said that, yes, that stop back there where he had announced "Airport!" was the last stop, but the line continued on after that.

"Aha," we said, understanding perfectly.

So he flagged down a bus going in the opposite direction and told him we would be going back to the stop where he'd cried "Airport", and that he shouldn't charge us. Nice of him, as usual. We rode back to the stop, asked the new driver where to get to the "balneario", and he told us it was a 10-minute walk thataway.

Thataway we went, for probably 15 minutes, and arrived at a beach, a public beach, but one that appeared to be geared pretty much exclsively to a camping, cook-out crowd. We walked along it for a loooong time, looking for the many food options that were supposed to be there, but found none. Just picnic shelter after empty picnic shelter, happy families who own cars and had brought along hundreds of pounds of food, none of it for us. We parked our own starving little family in the shade and sent me ahead on foot, jogging to see how far it would be. And it was far. That damn thing stretched on for miles, it seemed, and no one was selling anything. It was noon by now, and we were famished, but there was nothing to be done. A policeman told us that there was indeed a place, like the one we described, with lots of food to be sold, and a glorious white beach, and magic flying ponies that sang you to sleep while they rubbed your sore feet under the shade of the Yum-Yum Palm. But it was another hour's walk thataway.

"F__k thataway," we all four said in unison.

We trudged the 15 minutes back to the bus stop where we'd gotten off and, desperate for affordable vittles, collapsed into the air-conditioned booth of an American-style diner. We were really hoping for comida criolla, or Puerto Rican food, but we just couldn't walk any more. Any other options were going to be around the corner, and the thought of that was unbearable. Besides, all we'd noticed going out from there had been a Denny's. So we had grilled cheese and pitas, and listened to two unbelievably self-centered American princesses on vacation gripe to eachother loudly about how their old friends had done them wrong at varying times in their lives, mostly through less-than-sincere hugs and suspicious tones of voice. Thank God they found each other, I guess.

Flipping them the bird, we collected our refreshed but still footsore selves and trudged out into the heat again to head for the beach. We walked around the corner we couldn't bear to think about, and of course, right there was a place that does cheap comida criolla. Open 24 hours, no less, just to taunt us.

After some frustrated groping about in the street for the right place to take a right toward the beach, we asked a gardner - who was the most consistent person I've heard yet in substituting "l" for "r" - how to get there. As they often do here, he repeated the question back to us after we'd asked it so he could collect his thoughts. Question: "Hay por aqui algun acceso publico hacia el maR?" ("Is there some public access to the sea around here?") Repetition: "Acceso publico al maL?" ("Public access to evil?" And, you know, at that point, he'd hit it right on the nose.) He told us to go back a block and head north. From there it was only another 4 blocks or so to the beach, where we all slumped into the water, grateful for its healing power. It was around 2:40.

The beach was fun, but it was harder to enjoy than our other beach days have been. We had traveled so far to go a relatively short distance, for a beach that really doesn't measure up to the one we were at yesterday. We will be better-informed travelers next time (tomorrow), and will head to the much easier to reach waveless beach without dreaming of something better. There is nothing better, not on this side of the island. We're resigned to that now.

Walking back to the bus stop, Janneke popped her head into the diner where we had eaten to see if those two princesses were there, so she could stab them. But they weren't, so she just got change from the waitress for the bus, and then we headed home.

(Quinn, by the way, is a real worrywart. He kept asking about possible hitches in the transportation - "What if we can't find a bus stop?" -We find the bus stop. "What if our bus doesn't stop here?" - We read the sign that says it does. "What if the last one has already gone?" -We assure him they run until 9:30. "What if the driver forgets to stop?" On another day, it would have been adorable, but we were having a hard time appreciating it today.)

On the bus, two somewhat hapless, but adorable, Americans from Saint Louis sat next to me, and out of desperation, asked me a question about the type of change they use here in English. They'd been unable to pay the fare, it seemed, and felt bad, even though the driver had insisted they ride anyway. They seemed overjoyed that I understood, and they then started in with all kinds of questions. They were in town for two days, today and tomorrow, before their cruise left - What should they do?

"Don't rent a car and drive around - stick to Old San Juan. You can see so much of Old San Juan if you have a leisurely day to walk it, and every block is a new adventure. The bus line goes straight there from where you got on, and straight back - the terminal will leave you right at the edge of the Old Town. Walk up the hill to the fort, then along the city wall until you're halfway to the other fort, then cut across the city down to Fortaleza, then follow Fortaleza back to the bus station. Should take you 2 hours, assuming you stop and look at stuff. Be on the watch for a spot to eat that does comida criolla, and have mofongo. Keep an eye open for doors going into courtyards, and go in! Take a picture. If it's someone's house, they'll ask you to leave, but if it were, they probably wouldn't leave the door open like that. Tomorrow, walk the whole length of Calle de Cristo, from the gate at the southern end to the wall at the northern. It's the world's prettiest street. If you get lost, ask the first person you see - I guarantee you they'll spend five minutes, at least, explaining, and if you don't get it, they'll orobably just walk you there..."

I went at them like that until we got off the bus. They were very happy and appreciative, and it was great to realize that our toughest day yet was pretty darned easy, really, and that the worst we'd had to deal with was a blister on my right foot from too much time walking in beach sandals. I repeat: Too much time walking in beach sandals. If that's all I have to complain about, I'm doing pretty darn well.

And the kids, I need to say, were utter troopers throughout. What a great couple of privates we have in our little army. So little squabbling, and essentially no complaining all day. We got it pretty good around here.

Hasta manana!



The tired family at the end of a long day,
back at the ranch (that's our building), still
in a good enough mood to make tired faces for
the camera.



"Daddy, what was that word we all said to that man?"
"It was 'f--k', my darlings. 'F--k'."