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Boqueron, Puerto Rico May 4-5, 2006

Sailboat | Voyages | Log

Boqueron - Not very different from another party beach Dinghy dock in Boqueron Repaired just enough to be functional Classic Latin American food If it is fired or covered in sugar It isn't Latin food Unwinding in Boqueron Speculating whether or not Mike's bag will arrive Hauling groceries back While everyone is partying down around us Closing the Chapter on Puerto Rico In spite of the dense population, the south coast of Puerto Rico has miles of unspoiled shoreline, bioluminescent bays, tiny islands, great snorkeling reefs. One could spend months meandering in and out of inlets, coves, and bays. The people in the small villages are always ready with a friendly hola, buenos dias, or buenas tardes. The landscape is rugged and mostly mountainous. From offshore, the peaks and valleys create a majestic outline against the sky. There is much to explore by both land and sea. Puerto Rico is a territory of the US. Though it is not a state, it is steeped in American capitalism. In fact most Puerto Ricans have lived in the US at one time or another, and I don’t think there is a person in Puerto Rico who does not have a close relative living in the US. For example, Raul, our driver in Boqueron, is a retired auto mechanic from General Motors in Manhattan, New York. He still has two children living in NY. All signs are in Spanish, and the preferred language is Spanish, though nearly everyone speaks English. The culture is clearly Latin, with gringo overtones. One of the reasons Puerto Ricans resist statehood is the fear of loosing their language. Their language and their culture are inseparable. Even strangers will great you as amigo, caballero, or hermano. The men are full of machismo with frail egos ; they love flashy dress, souped up cars, loud music, and full bodied women. Boqueron We are now in Boqueron on the east coast of Puerto Rico. It is beach town full of young people drinking, singing, and dancing. Salsa is king. It is the preferred last stop for cruisers coming to or departing from Puerto Rico. With the light winds we have been experiencing, the anchorage is full of boats waiting for wind before heading off shore to cross the Mona Passage between Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic. Today is Friday; the consensus is that tomorrow, Saturday May 6, is the day to leave. That is a bit rushed for us since we are to pickup Mike, our third crew member, at the airport tonight at 1930. Our plan was to rent a car, but there were no rental agencies in the village. We settled on a driver, Raul, actually it was Raul’s brother, Juan. Raul was in NY attending his grand daughter’s birth. Juan showed up as promised in gigantic Buick Roadster. It was a 1992, but he figured that with his mechanical skills he could keep it running for another ten years. He was a non-stop talking machine, a classic Puerto Rican, open friendly, and highly opinionated: all the politicos are crooks; Puerto Rico taxes are the highest in the states; and Ford automobiles are nothing but booby traps. On the way to the aeropuerto we stopped at the supermercado, Pueblo, for groceries. Our most important food has become: apples, yogurt, cheese, eggs, ham slices, vegetables, and tortillas. Tonight I splurged on a rotisserie chicken. Ray won’t eat it but I will enjoy every slice of its flesh. I figure we have to eat all the chicken I can since, once the bird flu hits, there won’t be anymore. Mike was flying into Mayaguez, via San Juan, from Chicago. He arrived right on schedule. Unfortunately his military issue duffle bag did not. The nine seat plane was over weight and the baggage handlers arbitrarily decided which bags to leave behind. One can only speculate as to why Mike’s was chosen. The bottom line is, Mike was here but his bag was not. We wanted to catch the wind at sunrise and be well off shore by mid morning. We pleaded our case to the Cape Air, the airline, and they agreed to have the bag driven to Boqueron that night. How crazy, Mike flies from San Juan to Mayaguez. We drive from Mayaguez to pick him up. But his bag is to be driven by taxi from San Juan to the dock at Boqueron, a two and half hour drive, amazing. We were doubtful, but what choice did we have. Fortunately, both mine and Ray’s cell phones worked so we could give them our numbers. Juan drove us forty-five minutes back to Boqueron. To our surprise, the streets were blocked off and filled with tables from the bars. The place was on fire with music, dancing, and reverie. All we wanted was some dinner, some sleep, and some luggage. We were supposed to sail tomorrow. We had dinner, drank some Medallia beer with the locals, and headed back to Full Circle to get some sleep, skeptical about our morning departure. Surprise. Surprise. At 2330 the phone rings, “This is Cape Air. We have a large duffle bag for Senor Ellison, but the street is blocked. Where are you.” “We are on a boat in the harbor. Tell us where you are and we will meet you three.” Mike and I slip on some shorts on, fire up the dinghy, and head for shore. The problem is, it is dark and the shore is sparkling with lights from bars and restaurants. We can’t tell one spot from another and certainly can’t see the dinghy dock. We tuck in close, fumble around until we see something familiar, and tie up the dinghy. We wind our way through too many people who have too many Medallia’s and Cublalibre’s. Our way is blocked by an oversized Hispanic senorita, poured into an outfit three sizes to small with flesh oozing from all edges. Her dancing partner is a skinny hombre dreaming of what might happen after the lights go down. Mike and I are too tired to care. We retrieve his bag and head back to Full Circle in an attempt to salvage the night and get some sleep, saving party time for another night. Saturday morning arrives early, but we are up at dawn preparing to head off shore. The motor needs to be mounted on the stern pulpit, the dinghy hauled on deck and turned over and jack lines strung. We make short work of our tasks. Mike as no time to acclimate. The anchor is up, and we are headed into the Mona Passage by 0730. Another chapter has ended and we have turned the first page in the next. The trip from Boqueron to Luperon is 240 miles. Depending upon weather, we may stop before we get to Luperon. As always, the wind and sea will be our guide. Previous | Next