PR3b: Puerto Rico by Ricans

...and I used that Mustang to drive off into the other side of PR, where the locals live, work, and play.  We didn't schedule anything, so most of our days were spent just chatting, so I'm going to summarize while launching off on massive tangents.

We had to drive back from San Juan to Ponce, which is an excellent jumping off point for most of my tangents.

1) Mustangs: The 200hp flavor of mustang (now replaced) looks sexy, but is slightly lacking in power. And, as I've always believed, automatic mustangs are an abomination that should only be sold to paraplegics.  Not only did I reach for non-existent pedals and levers, but I found myself dropping the hammer to squirt through a yellow light only to downshift seconds later.  However, given proper advance notice, the Mustang (pronounced "El Mūs-tæng") is a capable beast.  On a dry highway, it will pull strongly from 75 to 120, and the brakes will calmly bring it back once you notice there is a curve ahead. In the wet, clicking off traction control will let it powerslide enough to scare passengers and tick that checkbox off the bucket list.

Which brings us to the next point: A muscle car is not a sports car. There's more body-roll, a sensation of riding above the road more than on the road, and there's a reason they are always parked like jerks: It's huge. Front seats are huge (I had to reach well back to grab the seatbelt).  The hood is huge. It does have nice black-plastic lower trim, which is good for finding curbs while parking.


2) PRican roads: The pavement alternates between sweet and terrible. You can be cruising the highway at 90 and then suddenly find yourself confronted by a bridge that thinks it's a jump. That, my friends, is a mistake you only make once. The next time it's on purpose!  Joking, joking... I didn't spring for the additional insurance.

Lane discipline, turn signals, and signage are basically non-existent. I was rudely surprised by one-way-streets that suddenly weren't and lanes that shifted into the shoulder for construction, only to have the shoulder disappear without warning.  When renting my car I thought the automatically enabled fee for using highspeed-toll-lanes was a scam. An hour later I learned that it is a blessing, and that the scam is highspeed-toll-lanes which split from the "throw your coins at this bucket" lanes well before any signs indicate which are which.

These would destroy drivers here in DC, but PRican drivers have learned to actually pay attention. Which is nice when every turn involves sticking a massive hood well into the intersection so you can see around buildings.

3)Directions (basically, me ranting): Giving wrong directions is worlds better than giving directions wrong.  Please warn me before the exit ramp you want me to take, "that tree" is not an appropriate landmark while in a forest, and for the love of God when I ask "left or right" at a high speed fork the answer is not - and never will be - "ummmm....."



We arrived at Delly's (a friend of my 'Rican cousin, and our host for the weekend) to find her working. She was back in her tattoo room, singing along to dubstep while emblazoning her friend's arm with the symbol for the Jedi Order. This makes her, officially, one of the coolest people I know.  In the year since I'd last seen her she'd found a new super-chill boyfriend, picked up two jobs, and moved from devouring books on the subject to putting together a professional grade studio and doing professional-grade tattoos. I even spent several hours myself upon the tattooing table.... because it was a comfortable place to sit. Aminta got inked though, while our friend Keke introduced me to the magic of using a zoom lens indoors:

We had a hurricane... which was 12 hours of heavy rain. We did go to the grocery store to prepare though - which offered us plenty of empty parkinglots (see "El Mustang," above).  There was no bread left on the shelves. Luckily, this was not a problem as we were buying steak, potatoes, and beer. It was a good hurricane.

I spoke before about the "other" Puerto Rico.  Trying to track down a birth certificate threw this disparity into sharp relief. We had to visit three buildings on different sides of the town, each of which had directions to where the necessary offices - which didn't answer phone calls - had moved. We eventually found it behind another building in a government complex, in a bland, non-air-conditioned room complete with a fenced-in-patio. And by fenced in, I don't mean the way a yard is fenced in, I mean the way a prison is fenced in.

I lived in a house with no AC, no hot water, and no glass in any of the windows. Which is entirely normal, enjoyable, and completely different from the tourist's Puerto Rico.

To switch topics entirely, Pets. Delly has two cute dogs who loved me (I almost titled this post "PR3: I slept with b*tches!" but figured that'd be tasteless) and a parrot. I fed the parrot a few times.... It would be all cute and coo (instead of screaming "MA! MAMI! MAAAAA!") and even asked for "lo mismo" - absolutely blowing my mind.  The parrot, in it's turn, would feed the pigeons, tossing some of his seeds on the ground so that guests would fly into the garage and keep him company. Again, blowing my mind. On a somewhat related note, we did a photoshoot (that's what girls do). I say somewhat related because, well, see below for my favorite shot.


All in all... It was fun, but I don't think my Spanish improved any. I can understand Americans y los viejos, but still have to ask "Como?" when talking to anyone under the age of 50, usually multiple times. For most conversations I would tune out until someone mentioned "gringo." To be fair, Ponce is known for fast, slurred speech... which was probably a contributing factor when I unintentionally picked up the accent... after a few drinks.