Buckley's Blog

San Juan Socks

Link: //monomoyick.com

Read the previous installment here.

We woke up back in the United States.  Asleep at sea -- then,  daylight, we were docked in the heart of San Juan, Puerto Rico.  After a liesurely breakfast, we headed out for the day and, having come last from Grand Turk, we had to pass through U.S. Customs and Immigration.

Once out of the terminal, the air of Old San Juan was humid and smoggy, and reminded me of summer in any American city.  Chandra and I managed to avoid the first phalanx of tour bus drivers as we ambled along the harborfront.  But one older gentleman convinced her with a price of only $10.  So we piled in, meeting several of our fellow Zuiderdam passengers -- who apparently had been waiting for the driver to completely fill his minbus before he'd leave.

For the money, it was worth it.  The driver kept up a good banter about life in Puerto Rico, the rising price of gas (although it was much cheaper than the mainland), and the public welfare system.  We headed out of Old San Juan and into San Juan, which was not old, or new, but simply there.

Our bus driver noticed a few small groups of young American adults around, and said he'd noticed around recently.  More than a few people on board told him they must be on Spring Break from college.  He'd never heard of it.  We told him that it was very likely he would become very familiar with it in the next couple years.

When in a new place, I consider it a gift to find a local to give you a glimpse of regular life there. So when we stopped at a beachside park near Condado Plaza Hotel & Casino, Chandra and I went to get a cup of coffee with the driver while the other Zuiderdammmers milled about the seaside scenery.   The coffee and the air were about the same thickness, with the former being far more bracing.  I took about five sugars in my four-ounce cup.

 I should now acknowledge that I failed to mention in my last installment that the previous evening was Chandra's second night of the Zuiderdam Superstars competition.  Instead of being in the Northern Lights Disco, they held it in the Queen's Lounge, which has a real stage and seating and everything.  Julie Andrews (not her real name, but close enough) sang I Could Have Danced All Night (again), and nailed it (again).  Chandra chose Mustang Sally, which every loved. The field was winnowed down to a manageable number.  We still weren't told what the rpize of this three-night competition was, but the crew and crowd were so enthusiastic, it didn't really matter.  So when we had gotten back on board the minibus, our fellow travelers had come to realize who Chandra was, with many asking what she was going to sing tomorrow night.  And whether Julie Andrews would sing Julie Andrews again.

Back on the road again, the driver took us next to the Parliament building.  Not unlike many other state houses, it has its share of distinctive regional art.  In this case, of course, Puerto Rico is not a state (yet). We obviously weren't the only people who had a visit here in in mind, as the place was crawling with tourists and over-lipsticked local tv reporters. 

 Departing, our bus wound its way through the narrow streets of the center of Old San Juan, to a small center plaza surrounded by various department stores.  At this point, we had a choice to continue along on the tour to the El Morro Fort at the entrance to the Port fo San Juan, or get off and check out things downtown for ourselves.  Seeing a Marshall's out the back, we took our cue and got off.  I needed some socks. 

There is no good explanation why I only packed one pair of socks (except for dress socks) for the whole weeklong trip.  Sure, I could wash them every day and hope they'd dry in the air conditioning overnight ( I had.  They hadn't.)  And I was wearing sandals for the most part onboard.  The real answer was, I had left my other pairs neatly rolled on my bed at home, and now needed to find size 14 socks.

But apparently the men of Puerto Rico also have big feet.  Or at least those who buy white gym socks.  No problem, and they were something like 6 for 10 bucks.  But it is not a stretch to say that this was the high point of the trip.  There were some tourist traps around the square, too, and Chandra checked out some of the jewelry.  A fan of amber, she saw some pieces that really excited her, until she saw the prices.  No bargains here.

It was time to start sightseeing on our own, and headed towards the closer of the two ancient forts in the old city.  Along the way, a young man took a few pieces of palm leaf to weave a grasshopper for Chandra.   He did quite a good job, and it conveniently fit into her straw cowboy hat.  And her tip amounted to her most satisfied purchase in town.

Up at Castillo de San Cristobal, we paid the $3.00 entrance fee to the National Park Service and had a look around (click on the photo or here to watch a video of a panorama).  High above the rest of the city, we had a commanding view of the coast and ocean to the north, as well as the port to the south, including our own Zuiderdam.  But the air quality and heat were really starting to get to us after that climb, and we descended into the bowels of the old fort, which had also served as a prison.  Archaelogical work has revealed prisoner's artwork on the walls of the oldest cells.  But the cool, damp cell was a welcome respite this day -- and the view was better than the inside cabins on Zuiderdam.

Heading back down into town, we stopped at a local eatery that seemed to have just missed the lunch crowd.  Following my normal rule, I ordered something I never heard of, which turned out to be akin to a BLT.  Chandra ordered fried plantains and some soup.  The plantains were a big mistake.  Or maybe they like them that way there -- tasting like nothing.

Sad to say, we were pretty much done with the place by the middle of the afternoon, so we headed back to the ship.  It gave us some time to relax, get some better food and try to look over the songbook for the next competition with Zuiderdam Superstars.  No matter how many times we did, the selection didn't improve.

Emerging from the ship after dinner, we took encouragement from the daily letter from the cruise director, Trevor Millar, and checked out San Juan's nightlife.  The ship wasn't leaving until 11 PM or somaking it a long day in San Juan.

Turned out to be too long.  I'm not sure what place in Old San Juan was supposed to have the nightlife, but we never found it. Instead, we walked and walked and walked... and saw a few bars, and stopped into one that had a few Spring Breakers... and walked and walked... and finally gave up.  Waiting on our bed was our room steward's latest towel creation:  a purebred terricloth puppy.

Maybe Old San Juan is interesting to people who come from Sunbelt cities where the distances between malls are marked by vast stretches of parking spaces.  There is a kind of European and Latin feeling to the place, but the run-down nature of the place is distinctly American.

It reminded me a bit of Macao, actually.  But like Macao, the place can be seen in a day or two.  I'm guessing it is actually a more interesting place to live for a while than to visit.

I can understand that logistics require Holland America to put Zuiderdam into port somewhere between Grand Turk and the next stop at St. Thomas.   But San Juan just doesn't cut it.  Not for a whole day.  Upon reflection, I would have rather had another day at sea, even if it meant going around in circles.

Next installment:  Amber and the Iguana