I don't remember why we carried a tent to Puerto Rico - we certainly didn't need it to sleep on the beach. I'm also not sure why we chose to set it up on Condado Beach, in the main tourist areas in San Juan - put it down to youth and inexperience. But I do remember exactly what I did when I saw a dark figure leaning over the entrance of the tent in the middle of the night: I jumped out and grabbed him. I'm usually rather cautious but our packs were out there and I was worried about loosing them. I also woke up Jon, my traveling companion, and we held the guy until our heads cleared. The guy was painfully thin and at least a head shorter than Jon and I - more that that I couldn't see. I don't know who was more surprised: all three of us stood there shaking. He kept repeating, "Me sleep here, me sleep here." I was still concerned about my possessions and insisted he empty his pocket. When it was clear that he hadn't taken anything, we let him go. He scurried off to the other end of the beach where there was a lone street light. Jon and I tried to calm down and make sense of what had just happened. We could see him talking to someone under the light, probably doing the same. By now it was clear he was just curious about the tent and I was beginning to feel embarrassed - a feeling I have to this day. We must have scared the shit out of the poor guy. Next day we decided beach camping just wasn't going to work. We had come on a whim: a Puerto Rican friend was heading home for the holidays and offered us a place to stay. When his father saw our patch jeans, long hair and scruffy beards the offer was rescinded. So we pooled our meager resources and found a cheap hotel in Old San Juan. The place had long hallways and small rooms. There was a shared kitchen filled with large-eyed cats that disappeared whenever we got to close, only to reappear behind us like feline ghosts. The suspicious landlord also kept his eye on us: he opened his door every time we came in to make sure we didn't have any guest. Between the two our every move was watched. We spent our time wandering the narrow streets of Old San Juan. It was still a lower middle-class neighborhood and there were few tourists about. The streets were lined with small apartments: kids played noisily on the sidewalks and old American sedans lined the curbs. From every window could be heard the sound of Latin music. All and all it was a lively, enjoyable place to be. Around the corner from our hotel there was a little open-fronted restaurant where we often ate. One day an old gentleman walked in followed by his pet - a rust-red rooster. As the bird strutted around the restaurant, I stared in wonder - I had never seen a chicken in a restaurant except on a plate. The gentleman was delighted by my surprise and came over and introduced us to his pet. I thought to myself, "What a great place." An Unplanned Stop
Then my name was finally called I found it difficulty to describe my problem. The nurse spoke no English and my Spanish was better suited to ordering food that explaining the infection I had. It was also immediately clear that she didn't like me - maybe it was my long hair or maybe she just thought I should be more humble and keep my eyes down cast too. With a dismissive wave she passed me on to the stately old doctor in the next room. He spoke fair English and was very courteous. He nodded gravely a few times as I explained my problem and then yelled something in Spanish to the nurse. She came in with a syringe in her hand - did I see a gleam in her eye? She indicated that I should pull my pants down - not all the way mind you, but just far enough a show a little cheek. As I stood there waiting more instructions, she jabbed me without warning - the muscles in my buttock rippled in protest. Now I was sure she was smiling. Well, that cleared up my infection and offered me my only view of free medicine in Puerto Rico. New Year's Eve
As time passed we became more accustomed to our state and started to notice the celebrating that going. The sound of laughter came for brightly-lit windows along with the smell of delicious food. The Puerto Ricans, it seemed, were also celebrating. What we failed to notice was that as midnight approached the number of people started to thin out. Soon we were completely alone in the streets, but only vaguely aware of it. Exactly at midnight there was a simultaneous cheer from the homes lining the narrow street, something along the lines of "Happy New Year," except in Spanish. At the same moment, water was thrown into the street - and on to us. We were electrified! We jumped back into a doorway to avoid a further dousing. We cowered there vibrating with anticipation. "What's going on?" we urgently asked. Next, the smell of incense wafted into the street. We waited, but no more water came. Soon we grew restless and ventured cautiously back into the street. Later we met someone who explained what had happened. This was the traditional Puerto Rican New Years Eve celebration: the water was symbolic of getting rid of the old year and the incense was to purify the house for the new. It was just our bad luck - or stupidity - to be in the streets at that precise moment. Luckily it was a warm night and our clothes quickly dried but it was a moment I'll never forget. Later we found a wooden pier to relax on. It was near the entrance to San Juan harbor and lit by a single bulb at the land end. We walked out carefully - there weren't any guard rails - and lay down at the end. Looking up I saw the most star-filled sky I had ever seen: I was used to murky city skies. Here the brilliant dots were literally beyond count. Lying there we could also feel the surf tugging at the pier. The stars above and the sea below: it was a perfect place to relax and one of my most pleasant Puerto Rico memories. Doug Burnett
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The clinic was in an unpainted wood building in a poorer section of San Juan. Inside, the waiting room was full of people sitting on hard chairs. When we entered everyone took a quick glance at us and then resumed staring at the floor - there would be no more eye contact. Everyone, it seemed, was ashamed to be using this free clinic.
We decided to celebrate by getting high on some dope we had brought along. As the drug started to take affect, we were dazzled and distracted by what had become familiar sights and sounds. At first we wandered around aimlessly in a state of confusion and awe: had we really walked these same magnificent streets before? How could we have missed how brilliant, how magical they were?
Ann Arbor, Michigan
January 1998
