Civic pride and party

by Natalie Geare (United States of America)

A leap into the unknown Puerto Rico

We insisted after hurricane Maria we must return. What would the island look like, how would the people be, after seeing all that hurricane media coverage. We arrived and took a car to the ferry terminal in Ceiba, PR. It was 3:30am; the streets were markedly empty with downed power lines prominent but new ones erected. We stopped at a red light on highway 3 other cars race past. In a moment of perplexed recollection, I remember, red means caution to Puerto Ricans, there is no stopping them. We arrive at the smaller coastal town of Ceiba for the first ferry scheduled at 4:10am. The streets are so dark; the only light visible is my headlights barely illuminating the road ahead and the crystal clear stars above. Enchanted by the familiar, beckoning sound of the Coqui, the native frog. In a beautiful state of exhaustion we come across a pack of dogs, in good fortune or maybe delirium I realize we have some left over pernil from the 24-hour road stop we enjoyed on the way out of San Juan. Feeding them in the street, the dogs seem to benefit as much as we did, rejuvenation in this home food. Back at the ferry terminal, the sky before dawn is breaking and the beauty of the ocean is finally coming to illumination. After security we’re greeted with families, friends, children, racks of the local beer Medalla, coolers, beach chairs, and music. It’s like the party before the party. The beer in my backpack is getting warmer by the minute until finally I see another group waiting with us to board crack their own beer. 5am, cool beer and thick warm ocean air. It’s starting. We move about the ferry finding seating in the front of the boat outside, just under the captain’s deck. They head out of the harbor to open sea, the Atlantic Ocean all we can see ahead. While Veiques isn’t too far from mainland Puerto Rico the experience was simply majestic. The water lifted and dropped the boat up and down, with wind blowing heavily in our faces, the seawater misting us gracefully. We charge on, then as if to ease the hearts of the inexperienced ‘I wanna dance with somebody’ blasts over the speaker system and we are treated to one of the most eclectic and upbeat playlists as we moved through the thrashing ocean. The tiny island of Vieques shows itself; the sun has begun to rise through the low-lying clouds above the island. We approach the town of Isabel; it is colorful, busy and winding in organized chaos. There are coffee shops and panaderias with lines out every door. Its morning now and the sun is shining vibrantly. The town looks like the infrastructure took a massive hit from Maria but a fresh coat of paint and a busy market place hide the evidence. We approach a line of people with luggage, when in doubt follow the line to see where they go has been my travel motto. A genial gentleman with a large van had Esperanza written on cardboard on the front windshield. Good enough for me. I approach him and speak my timid Spanish. “Cuantos?” He says $5 and he loads our luggage. We wind through narrow mountain roads, our hostel to the south. A full van of patient locals and tourists each chooses their stop. Now they’re asking me, where exactly do we want to stop? Understanding their Spanish I attempt to reply with Esperanza and get puzzlement. The whole van is now trying to help us figure out where we need to go. We tell them we don’t mind walking but the hospitality and community of the van insists. We finally figure out that Lazy Jacks, the bar attached to the hostel is well known. Arriving Esperanza is like nothing I have experienced, it’s one strip of bars, shops and restaurants quite literally sitting across the ocean. We enjoy watching as this small town wakes, evidence of the party the night before is plentiful. Medalla cans, plastic cups, pizza boxes and the sight of hung-over humans rising for the day. It’s 7:45am. Nobody wastes the days here, hangover be damned.