PR4 Day 3 - Vieques

Today's the big day! The day when we do all the things!

There's a prank called a "Duck Bomb"  where you boobytrap a dozen fake chickens to produce a continuous cacophony. In Vieques, our day started at 6:13 am to the biological analogue. In cartoons, the sun rises, the rooster crows, and life moves on.  In practice, the sun comes up, the rooster crows, and then every other rooster on the island spends the next five minutes trying to prove he can be louder.

Two hours later, we woke again and set out to find a bio-luminescent bay tour.  None of the shops had opened, but we found breakfast at a restaurant where we could keep an eye on everything. We were shortly joined by other couples with similar ideas.  Eventually, shops started opening, and we learned that everything truly was booked solid this week. Looking back, I blame spring break - my brother had no problems a few weeks previously. Live and learn.

Instead of renting a kayak, we rented mountain bikes, hoping that we could stealth our way into mosquito bay that evening. In the mean time, we figured we'd hit our other two Vieques goals: the black sand beach and the sugar plantation ruins.

This is about when I learned I was not slightly sick. It's easy to shrug off a  ̶c̶o̶l̶d̶  sinus infection when you're drinking painkillers* at a bar. When you're hustling a mountain bike and a gallon of water up some tropical hills in the midday sun.... then it catches up with you.
 *Equal parts Pineapple juice, Orange juice, and (light/dark) rum. Garnish with nutmeg. Not an oxycodone milkshake.

Only two miles later (it felt like 5), we arrived at the parking lot for the black sand beach. Sucking down air and water, we chained the bikes and set off down an abandoned lot towards the beach!  We of course closed the unlocked gate behind us, frustrating the old white mare eyeballing all the wild grass.

Around a curve in the path we found out this wasn't an abandoned lot after all. A woman very politely yelled at us to turn around, get out of her yard, and to take the path under the rail bridge. Squinting through sweat into the sun, I noted she had a large, blurry, black and brown object resting on her hip, approximately the size and shape of a shotgun. I resisted my urge to dare her to put me out of my misery, and thanked her for her guidance.

My Tree! And Lis in the distance.

We found the bridge (with a guard rail) a stone's-throw from her gate. And it even had signs for "Playa Negra" that we had completely missed in our initial hypoxic approach. After a mile hike down a dry streambed (it felt like 5) we arrived at the black sand beach.  It was beautiful. I sat down under a palm tree to drink some water and wait for death.

For the next half hour all I did was discover that the black sand is magnetic, so I'll let Lis tell this part:

Brice and his tree in the distance. -Lis

Playa Negra gave you the thrill of being marooned.  It felt forgotten, bedraggled, left in peace.  Not a beach they put on tourism commercials.  The ground is not gentle beneath your feet. There are splintered palm leaves in the sand, crabs scuffling in and out of holes in the woods behind you, dried seaweed collecting in unnerving clumps, ants bubbling in and out of the black sand.  It's the perfect place to be left alone.

Leaving Brice under a tree to rest, I wandered ankle-deep in the surf, making sure to watch my step for urchins.  However, with all the seaweed and rocks, it was hard to see where I was stepping.  So I made sure to not wander too far.  Only far enough to reach an interesting porous rock that I would have climbed if I hadn't been so insistent on leaving my shoes behind.

Slightly reinvigorated, we set off back up the streambed and on towards the Sugar Mill, passing the actually abandoned lot a quarter mile past our misadventure. Setting a slower pace this leg and exploring just how low the gear ratio on the bike would go, we set off for the sugar mill ruins. Our choice was two miles off road skirting the Over-The-Horizon Radar base, or 7 miles on road climbing over the island. Two miles later (it felt like five), we arrived!

(Lis)

After locking the bikes we climbed into the woods. Making it to the ruins, I sat down under a tree to die for a bit.  I didn't see much except for the Lizard who jumped on me, so I'll let Lis cover this part.

As soon as we got to the ruins, I felt like a cat discovering a new maze. It appeared at first like just a single large, broken-down room.  "This is your Great Valley?" (Apparently this is a land before time quote?) But as we got deeper into the woods, we also got deeper into the ruins. Once we found a spot where Brice could relax it was time for me to start exploring properly.

The trees have grown so much into the ruins that they look like hair.  It's times like this where I feel how wrong it is to talk about our buildings as if they are a separate entity from "the environment."  Whether it's a bird's nest, a beaver damn, or a city, everything eventually gets abandoned and taken over by the elements.  At the plantation we saw this thought-provoking  process in action.
 

(Lis)

The walls crumbled like egg shells over the last hundred years.  It was unnerving to climb on them or crawl beneath an arch. But of course that didn't stop me. My favorite feature was the colossal gear, six feet across. And yes...I crawled under and above it.  Ill-advised.  Brice might be wondering where I am...  *Checks phone*  Oh, I have no service.  Hm.  I basically remember where he is.

Oh, I forgot I have zero sense of direction.

"MARCO?!"

...

"POLO!"






After Lis finished exploring, we had to reverse our progress with a 4 mile marathon back (which somehow also felt like 5 miles). Trading off the lead, greedily swerving for any shade available, we set off on the slowest bike race of my life, making it back to the house around 2pm.  After drinking some water and doing nothing for a while, we finally ate the lunch we'd packed.  Afterwards, I crashed out for a nap while Lis went down to the beach.

(Lis)

While Brice attempted to sleep off his fever, I cleaned up and decided to head down to the beach, armed with my camera and poetry books.  I told him I'd be back for dinner, and sent him my location in case he felt good enough to join.  This was one of my favorite times in Puerto Rico.  There was barely anyone on the beach, but unlike the dilapidated nature of black sands beach, this beach was as vibrant as you could get without a snorkel.  The water lapped over large rocks covered in shells and seaweed, and urchins quietly looked up with their single red eye...which I have just been informed is a mouth.  I carefully made my way to one of the exposed rocks to listen to the water lightly drag itself back and forth.  I don't know how much research has been conducted about the meditative affects of cyclical water sounds, but... damn.

Then it got even better because Brice joined me! We moved to an area with more shade so we could relax, waiting until the sunset was ideal for pictures.  In the meantime, we talked about whether or not either of us could live on an island long-term.  Brice explained that he could easily live on an island, that the slow pace and the calm, relaxing atmosphere is an ideal habitat. Something about let tomorrow worry about tomorrow, and can anyone by worrying add a single hour to their life?  Some important person said that once.  I wanted to agree, though I prefer to vacation slow and live fast(ish). Deadlines and large populations make me feel important/needed.  Though, I don't know...looking back at these pictures, it's hard to say that again.

After our mandatory existential musings, my inner child was ready to examine rocks and shells, and see if I could skip any. (Well?) (Yes!)

With the beach fully in shadows we went across the street for dinner. It was stunningly peaceful. Having a glass of wine and watching the world darken I finally understood how easy it could be to meet Death with a smile when he eventually comes.

The stillness set into our bones as the cadence of night fluttered around--the tink of plates being washed, murmured conversations rising and falling, the wind brushing through the sea.  Sometimes time disappears and you momentarily step into eternity.

It was a gorgeous night for seeing the bio-bay. Cloudless, no moon, and no light pollution.  ̶U̶n̶ Fortunately, I was too  ̶e̶x̶h̶a̶u̶s̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶  smart to bike into the swamp, but those conditions also made it ideal for skywatching.

 

After dinner we walked across the pitch black beach and out a pier to see if we could spot any dinoflagellates.  We couldn't, but the stars were clear enough that I saw the Milky Way for the first time.  When fishermen (and their flashlights) came to the dock,  we strolled to a quiet spot on the shore and laid down just in time to catch a shooting star.  We discussed star age, constellations, and life for hours.  I didn't want to go back, but we needed our sleep for an early day tomorrow.