Puerto Rico – Part Three

As dawn broke over the El Malecón waterfront, I stood on the balcony of our hotel room and watched the sleepy morning commuters arrive on the A.T.M Ferry from Hato Rey, on the south side of Bahia de San Juan, as a ginormous Holland America Cruise Ship glided into its docking station in front of the Sheraton like a blue and white apparition. Below me, limping beggars silently worked the garbage train with the rat pigeons, staring with hopeful anticipation into the gaping mouths of the green trash cans along the harbor wall, putting a slightly different spin on the concept of take out breakfast. No matter where you go on earth, the poor always bottom feed off of the tourist areas, but we all like to pretend they really aren’t there. And the poor oblige us for the most part. They feign invisibility, and in return, we share our scraps with them. But around the cruise ship area of San Juan, the street folk were on their best behavior. And even at this early hour, yellow taxi vans lined the streets, the drivers shuckin’ and jivin’ in packs as they awaited their next fare while the black-booted police patrolled the spotless street in pairs. From my lofty perch it looked like another day in Paradise.

We decided to eat breakfast before we left, and ended up on the Sheraton’s sunny veranda, watching the nasty pigeons mob the plates on the empty tables around us. It was better than TV in a sort of creepy way.

After our adventures on the west side of Puerto Rico the previous day, we decided to head east, to the world famous El Yunque Rain Forest.

By now, I had figured out the best way in and out of Old San Juan. Most folks take L Munoz Rivera Avenue on the way into town, and De La Constitucion Avenue on the way out. But the locals know better. Route 1 runs along the Canal San Antonio on the southern edge of the old city and avoids the confusing bends and endless lights of the main drags servicing the heart of Old San Juan. And the yin-yang contrasts caught the eye at every turn.

We began our drive in the newly-transformed waterfront with its wide promenades, abstract sculptures, and glitzy shops.

Next up: three sparkling, 200-feet-long, dark blue and white luxury cruise ships, resembling SPECTRE villain Emilio Largo’s yacht Disco Volante in the James Bond movie Thunderball. After asking around, we found out they were all owned by billionaire Russians. Russian oligarchs sure love their “I have the biggest” toys and they like to show them off in some of the world’s sunniest sandboxes.

Then came a pinky, vacant public housing apartment complex covered in spacey graffiti, looking like the ruins of the “Walking Dead”.

And then, on the left, was a bright white high rise where hometown hotty Jennifer “ J’LO” Lopez owns a $4 million penthouse on the top floor. Or so the story goes …

We took the bridge over the causeway separating the old city from the ocean front hotels and condos along the Condado ocean front. Which brings to mind something you should always remember about San Juan: Old San Juan is drop-dead gorgeous, like stepping back into 18^th Century Spain, but there is no place to swim. It’s all rocks and docks. If you want to swim – and who is going to come to Puerto Rico and not want to get into the ocean? – then you will need to either stay in Condado, or catch a cab over there to frolic in the warm Atlantic.

We took the 26 Freeway, a busy three lane highway that passes by the airport, until we came to the interchange by the sprawling regional hospital campus where we caught The 66, which turned out to be a really nice toll road running east through lush farm land interspersed with fancy gated communities and magnificent estates. And what a difference compared to the shanty towns on the west side of the island.

By now, we were totally comfortable running tolls and laughed when the lights and alarms went off. We followed the freeway for about twenty miles until we came to Route 3 which was like a tropical divided highway – lots of traffic lights and bang-bang shopping opportunities – with roadside vendors selling fresh fruit, vegetables, meat, and shiny stuff.

I should probably mention again that distances can be rather deceptive in Puerto Rico. A place that is twenty miles away can take an hour or more to get to because it is essentially a chaotic free-for-all on all of the roads. For instance, the left lane is not the fast lane. There is no fast lane. People just pick whatever lane feels right at that moment. And speed limits are at best a suggestion. Folks drive however fast or slow their little ol’ hearts desire. So, it’s not uncommon for you to be driving along at sixty miles-per-hour and then hit a long back up caused by some campesino in a hamster-powered farm truck laden with coconuts or all of their worldly possessions, puttering along in the left lane, going twenty miles-per-hour with smoke billowing out the back, the driver completely oblivious to the world around him. It’s all part of that “time is a relative concept” thing you have to get used to on the island.

After the tranquil village of Korea, we came to an unmarked little town with lots of rundown houses – more like shacks – and stores with wildly-painted windows. Like I said before, road signs are not Puerto Rico’s strong suit. One thing was certain, we had definitely left the rich confines of uptown east and had suddenly landed in rural Nicaragua.

We were looking for Route 191 and we knew we were close, but we still missed the cleverly hidden turn. We quickly realized the error of our way when we came to a busy intersection leading to Carmelita. So we did a Kojak U-turn – something I was really starting to get quite good at – and then took a quick left down an alley that had to be Route 191 (and was!) into the small rundown town of Palmer, where people of all ages dressed in their finest peasant garb stood or lounged by the side of the potholed road like sleepy statues. Mangy dogs and cats seemed to be the only animals in town capable of forward motion. Palmer was just three short blocks and then it was onward and steeply upward into the dripping rainforest, past zip line playgrounds, kayak outfitters, the Don Q rum tasting compound, roadside vendors, banana trucks, colorful shacks, and lush fields filled with happy cows.

We followed the twisting road that appeared to have been carved straight out of the jungle to the El Yunque Rain Forest. I had talked to a local guide a few days before and he had suggested that we get to the rainforest as early as we could. I figured he meant in order to beat the crowds. What he had really meant was the forest receives more than 240 inches of rain a year (100 billion gallons) and you want to get there early in order to beat the rain that usually rolls in in the late morning. Our leisurely breakfast back in San Juan had spoiled that plan, so as we came to the entrance station at the crack of noon and paid our $4 to get in, the sky opened up like it can only do in a rain forest – hence the name. We took the narrow winding road through the forest until we came to the El Portal Rainforest Center. The place was crowded but not overly so, and there wasn’t a tour bus in sight, which is always a good thing. We sat in the parking lot overlooking the futuristic metal and glass A-frame nature center as the rain drummed loudly against our rental car, watching the other tourons make mad dashes for the footbridge leading to the forest headquarters.