San Juan: Even Tuesdays Are Memorable

Tuesday dawned ominously in Condado, San Juan, Puerto Rico. The laws of nature and physics, it appears, have been suspended; everything is topsy-turvey, nothing makes sense. For I, Joe Johnson, husband of Janneke van de Stadt, was the first to get out of bed.

Took the dog for a walk, received confirmation from the renter that all internet issues have been resolved, and set out to do some morning chores, sans kids, on my own. Namely:

Find a bookstore called "La librería mágica", where I would purchase a copy of our old graduate school friend DiNora's novel, which I had learned about when I bumped into her in Cincinnati. Both of us do the ETS correcting gig, it turns out. I had the address - 013 Ponce De León, Río Piedras, Puerto Rico. I know Ponce de León well, you may recall from the last time we were here - this would be a cinch.

Then: On to Best Buy, across the street from Plaza Las Américas, to get some electronic gear.

Piece of cake. An hour and a half, tops.

Drove the rental car with zest and vigor over to Ponce de León, in Santurce, just a few hundred meters from Condado, and looked for "013" - an odd address, but whatcha gonna do. Joined Ponce in the 1500 block, and whistled at how far down "013" would be. Drove and drove and drove, and the street ended long before getting sub-600's. Huh. Circled around to where I started (can't go east on Ponce; buses only), parked, and squinted at the address.

DiNora had written "#1013" - and the "1" looked like part of the "". Aaaaah. Off to find 1013.

Drove to the appropriate block, parked, walked. Found 1001; found 1051; found the vacant lot between them. Huh! What the hey?

Walked into a head shop where the smell of marijuana fouled up any drug test I'll be taking in the next few weeks. No idea, they said; she must have written it wrong. Could it be "1310"?

Good idea, I said. Not that far. Let's check it out.

Back in the car, circle arond, park, get out, look. No such address. Enter a little store; buy diet Pepsi and yucca chips; ask the woman at the counter. "No clue," she says. Huh. The guy behind me doesn't know, either, and they don't have a phone book. "Gracias," I say to both as I leave. "Que tengan un buen día." And the man says to me, "Que esté bien y seguro." Nice, that; poetic. Never heard that one before. "May you be well and safe."

Walked into a cosmetology institute, largely because it was so gorgeously air-conditioned, and managed to make eye contact with the two men who met me at the door despite their intimidating hairstyles. Asked them; one went to look for a phone book, the other began to fiddle with his iPhone. "Se llama 'Librería Mágica'," I said. He looked up at me. "Eso está en Río Piedras," he said.

My heart sank. Of course it is. She wrote it right there on the damn little card she gave me. I'm in Santurce. I read "Río Piedras", and my mind said "Santurce". Because I know Ponce de León as a street in Santurce. But Ponce de León goes for miles, and has a whoooole different set of building numbers in Río Piedras, the neighborhood where the Universidad de Puerto Rico is. Jeepers. I, ladies and gentlemen, am an idiot. He told me generally how to get to Río Piedras, but by that time I was sick of driving and decided to just go to Best Buy.

Bam - Five minutes later I was there, having driven quickly and competently and only three-quarters legally, in the Puerto Rican fashion, through many an exit and treacherous turn. I looked smugly and self-satisfied-ly about for admirers, a la Mr Bean. Found none, also a la Señor Purutu. Wait - I'm in Puerto Rico - Señor Gandul.

Bought a camera. Canon Power Shot SX130 IS. Let the second guessing....Begin!

Also bought some other stuff, including a second AT&T track phone-style pay-as-you-go. Prices pretty much identical as at home.

Asked the woman at the counter how to get to 1013 Ponce de León in Río frickin' Piedras, and she pointed me toward a bike cop who, with his partner, was hanging out in Best Buy, probably because biking around the city, you get really hot. Best just to stay where it's air conditioned. Anyway, this guy gave me the best, most thorough, most infallible directions, complete with landmarks, street names, possible missteps to avoid, and a hand-drawn map. It was as if he'd been waiting years for someone to ask him how to get to just that specific librería. When he sent me off with a handshake, I wanted to hug him. Glad I didn't. Dude was jacked.

The directions led me straight there, where I found DiNora's book in a matter of seconds and then sniffed my way back to Condado. All errands accomplished. Only took me two and a half hours.

Met up with the fam at the beach, swam for half an hour or so, then home for lunch. 'Round 3:00, the kids, Clarabelle and I headed back to the beach so Janneke could work - she's got an article due in the coming days. The beach was nice, but I am limited when I've got Clarabelle - she would probably stay within 100 yards of us, but in the meantime she would lick every person in that radius, tromp over sunbathers, etc., and we had gone to a slightly more populated portion of the beach in the hopes the kids would make friends. Which they did, for a while, with one kid, a Puerto Rican twelve-year-old who had spoken to me in English at first (doesn't happen much here), but whose English apparently peters out not long after "What race is she?" (He was asking about my dog, not my daughter.)

A lot of people ask that. She's a unique-looking dog, so I get it, and I always give the same answer: "Her mother looked mostly like a basset hound." "And the father?", they always ask. I shake my head. "No one knows," I say. One guy laughed and said, "That tends to happen." (It's funnier in Spanish.)

Janneke came and met up with us again 'round 5:30, and then took off down the beach on a power walk. By 6:20 we were headed home; Janneke prepared supper, and I took off on a beach run. I like beach running, thought the slight slope that's always to your right on the way out, and always to the left on the way back, gets tiring. Nothing beats that ocean dip at the end, though. And I like running without a shirt. Don't feel comfortable doing that on the street, but on the beach? Dude. It's the beach. You're lucky I have pants on.

Or perhaps I misunderstand the nature of beaches.

Closed out the evening just now with two episodes of Mr Bean. Man, you put it all together like that, and it feels like we didn't do that much. This needs some dressing up with photographs, I think. Here are a few:



Me in the new guayabera. Taken by T. Long pants are kind of the way to go with those. Always wanted one, not sold on the look now that I own it. Story of my life.



There - Proof that Skittles is still alive. Leave the ransom under the bridge at midnight. If I smell cop, the kitty gets it.



And proof that Q is alive. Well, as alive as one can be while playing video games.



Clarabelle's been getting thinner. It might be that this food we got her here just isn't as nutritious. Upping the dosage. We'll keep you posted.



T at her work station, where she does drawings by request and writes letters and postcards to friends she made in the campground playground the weekend before last. Genius, I know.

Want proof that Janneke's still alive? Get it yourself. That lady scares me.