a week in puerto rico

Hola. So, Puerto Rico saved my life. This spring I had become overwhelmed with taking on too much work with not enough boundaries (freelancer life lessons), and I was starting to feel like a zombie in the endless New York winter. Lucky me, there were cheap flights to Puerto Rico and my boyfriend used to live that island life there for a few years, so I enlisted the perfect local guide. This was the first time I felt that "I need a vacation from work soooo badly" desire like most adults do. To be honest, there's so much traveling I've put off over the past 10 years. I've been so deeply involved in the trenches of the dance community in NYC, I just didn't want to make plans to leave or miss anything. I'm feeling some freedom from that in this season of life, so hello spring break! We loved PR, and we'll be going back as often as possible. Rest assured: you'll be so annoyed at me pressuring all of you to go to Puerto Rico by the end of the year. 

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Needless to say, we woke up our first morning in San Juan to this John Oliver video breaking down the issues of the economic crisis (worth informing yourself if you're ignorant to it...you will be rewarded with a rap from Lin-Manual Miranda at the end). As the week progressed, we had lunches, and dinners, and drinks with local friends and as I peeked into their lives, I really got a taste for how complicated (and frustrating) the issues are. There are more Puerto Ricans living in NYC than in Puerto Rico, and each year a devastating number of citizens move to the continental US, because there are more work opportunities. I feel honored to have met several artists who are proud to be Puerto Rican and are fighting to shape a reality on their island that others can be proud of too. There is so much beauty to be found; it is an island and a people that deserve to be treasured, respected, and empowered. 

We spent our first few days in Old San Juan. A lot of tourists stay in San Juan, but they're really staying in Isla Verde or Condado...not necessarily our style. I loved the character of staying in the old town with colorful buildings full of hundreds of years of life and stories in their walls and cobblestone streets. Staying on a strip of hotels doesn't seem as interesting to me. But, hey, I won't judge people for wanting to stay at a large comfortable hotel on the beach. I think it's just a different experience. Even if you do stay in the more touristy spots, take a day in the old city to wander up and down the streets, eat the delicious food, and check out El Morro. (There are even some secret beautiful nooks in the old fort you can sneak into in the wee hours of the night and hear the waves crashing below you and think about what life was like pulling into these ports hundreds of years ago...)

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Though I may have had the intentions of sitting my butt on the beach and letting the ocean do its soul-searching work it seems to do so well, we got caught in the rain a lot. And I don't know what's more liberating than walking around in a warm island storm without a care in the world with your love. You can't control the weather, so just accept it and let it pour down on you. La Perla became even more colorful in the rain, though I wouldn't necessarily say you should go wandering around that neighborhood in the first place (unless with a local).  

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On Monday nights there's a local spot in Santurce where musicians gather to play traditional music. Well I guess it started up with just about 10 people months ago, but now it's a weekly celebration of people overflowing and dancing in the streets. These are the moments and experiences I like the most - it feels like an authentic slice of life. And there was dancing and live music, so I was sold. I'd choose a $3 beer out of a plastic cup at an event like this than a fancy meal in a hotel surrounded by tourists any day. We went from Bonanza to La Repuesta, where a friend DJs for the Monday night party. There was a line around the block to get in! The crowd was more of a mix of locals and travelers that were ready to partyyyy and had heard of the scene. Inside was a full dance floor, drinks galore, and music into the wee wee hours. Yes, this was Monday night. Quite the way to start off the week of relaxation.

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We stayed in Santurce a few days as well, which feels like the LES. A little rough around the edges, keeping out the bougie folks, but full of graffiti and beautiful street art around every corner. Also delicious food. You MUST go to La Casita Blanca for a real Puerto Rican meal. It's one of my boyfriend's favorite places, and we tried to go three days in a row (I suggest double-checking what the hours are during the week). Worth it though, and it has a true local vibe. I also may have had shrimp and mofongo for at least one meal per day. 

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There were so many different things to experience in Puerto Rico, but we weren't in a rush. The glory is: the beach is everywhere. All you have to do is pull over on the side of the road. You can even pull over on the side of the road AND have a whole beach to yourself for the sunset (ideal). 

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divine sunsets call for divine frolicking 🙌 #puertorico #wanderlust #sunsetporn #lovepink #dancerproblems

A video posted by grace freeman (@graceefree) on

We tried to go to El Yunque one day, which is a massive rainforest, and hike to some waterfalls. However, it was closed that day as they were doing a large-scale search for a missing person who got swept up in a flash flood a few days before. Good to remember: check out the conditions before you head that way AND worth being careful as the conditions in the rainforest can change really quickly. We'll try again next time and will probably be a little more careful. 

We finished the week out with friends at La Placita in Santurce, which is a plaza surrounded by bars, restaurants, and markets. On Sunday afternoons, the bands come out to play and the streets become alive. We left PR with some sun on our face, full bellies, and a buzz from too many pina coladas. We'll be back for more of it alllll. 

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ALSO, we spent a few days on a small island off of Puerto Rico called Culebra, which was an absolute dream. A dream deserving of its own post. So, more on that shortly...

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boston beach, jamaica

It took a while for me to get this down.  To give you an idea of how long, I’ve been back from Jamaica for three weeks now.   My procrastination game is strong these days.  As I type this, dirt has currently taken up semi-permanent residence under my nails after an afternoon spent creating a container garden for my parents.  They’re out of town this weekend and have yet to hint at wanting such a thing for their home (surprise! and you’re welcome).  I also may have created a few different concoctions in the kitchen, insisted that the dog get fresh air despite his objections, and drafted up quite the to do list.  I’m super productive at doing what I am not supposed to be doing.

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You see, I’m about to delve into the issues of gender, sex, and equality and those can be quite the tricky trifecta - at least for me.  I second-guess my experiences, I doubt my ability to articulate what I feel, and in a lot of ways it is just plain uncomfortable.  There are moments that I would rather not think about and frankly I am so very much over it. No one wants to sound like a broken record.  And while these situations eventually even become humorous– I am not above a good laugh over the backpacking dude – at the heart of it, it’s downright depressing.  Despite all the gains we ladies have made, it can seem like the more things stay the same.  I know, at this point you may be wondering :: I came here to read about Boston Beach in Jamaica why in the world is this chick going all feminist on me? ::  Don’t worry, we’ll get there – (or maybe now is the time to worry?) - unfortunately, it’s relevant. 

For most of my life, I attempted to reject my inner feminist self.  I would say things like “I believe in equality but I’m not a feminist” or “that’s not relevant to my generation.”   I actively avoided university topics like women’s studies and due to a quality high school history education that never passed WWII – it was easy to pretend that women’s rights was limited to women’s suffrage culminating with the passing of the nineteenth amendment in 1920.  Can we pause for a moment to fully digest that?  It’s been less than 100 years since women had the right to vote in the United States.  When my grandmother was born, the women in her family had no influence over who was elected to govern this country.  All of this is to say, I made the interesting choice to bring Gloria Steinem’s latest book with me to Jamaica.  I have a tendency to travel with a hardcover despite my light-packing ways and I foolishly thought I would have so much spare time.  Perhaps it was fate that led me to tuck My Life on the Road into my carry-on.  It may have been terrible timing as well.  Let’s just call this foreshadowing.

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While my first weekend in Jamaica took me into the mountains, all that I wanted for my last few days was to spend some time at the beach.  And not just any beach – I wanted to go to Portland.  Because of its location on the northeast coast of Jamaica, it has some of the best of what the Caribbean has to offer – sandy beaches, the greenest of forests, hidden waterfalls (and the not so hidden variety as well), mountains that drop off as cliffs into the sea, and even some sweet surf.  With only five days left to my Caribbean adventure, my friend and I rented a car and set our sights on Boston Beach.

After a short stint at Frenchman’s Cove, we settled into our hut right next to Boston Beach and began to explore the grounds.  Within two minutes of walking along the coast of the property that faces Boston Beach, we suddenly had two new faces eager to chat us up.  Now mama did not raise no fool but what followed was a series of interesting life choices.  I may have decided to jump from a 20-30 foot ledge into the ocean below (I waited to see one of them do it first and YOLO 4 lyfe).  I may have left my personal belongings including phone, what measly money I had left, rental car key, passport, etc. at our accommodation’s beach to swim on over to Boston Beach proper (I was fairly certain there was a security person present).  I may have allowed one of them to provide what he described as bush medicine to my friend’s bloodied ankle (it was mere flesh wound… and I figured it couldn’t hurt? sorry, friend). 

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Even though we were pretty sure of the intentions of these dudes from the get go, we perhaps naively thought that hey, at least they make for interesting conversation, seem like nice people, and if we continue to emphasize the fact that we’re not interested in them other than strictly friends it could all work out.  Apparently they had more of the Kenny Rogers definition of friends in mind.  You live and learn. In hindsight, had I realized what responding in any sort of positive way was about to lead to, I never would have spoken with them.  And that is the first lesson : no one wants to be just friends, at least not at the beach.  We went our separate ways with the vague comment of we don’t know what we’re doing tonight – second lesson : be clear about your intentions, it may or may not be helpful in discouraging unwanted advances.  I could regale you in the play-by-play of the rest of the weekend but it pretty much went went something like this : go to the beach, see the same dudes at beach, said dudes making some inappropriate comments, reiterating to dudes that neither one of us is interested or pleased with the advances, dudes acting hurt and utterly confused for all of 5 minutes, and repeat.  

On the one hand I understand their game – I am sure they are fairly successful most of the time.  But the dynamics of foreign ladies showing up for a good time with some local men (and the reverse dynamic as well) aside, it is downright frustrating having to tell someone no all the freaking time when all you want is some vacation time at the beach.  Comments and actions directed my way were not limited to stating young I look, complementing my ‘nice’ and ‘tight’ skin, admiring my cleanliness, jumping on the back of my surf board when a wave comes and whispering in my ear that my skin is so soft, poking my calf and letting me know he was going to make my muscles work, telling me that he never shares his feelings like this, that I am special and beautiful and so he just can’t help himself (sure way to creep out a lady – tell them you can’t physically control yourself), and that he has never met someone like me and never will again.  At one point, I looked him squarely in the face and asked him how many foreign women he has had sexual relations with after meeting them at Boston Beach.  He of course denied ever having any sort of previous relationships but then simultaneously told me that he almost never has sex while also taking the opportunity to let me know how good he is in bed. Despite removing ourselves from the public beach and hiding out back at the huts, the gentlemen callers showed up looking for us.  I responded the way any mature adult would and grabbed my friend as I ran out a backdoor that literally led into the woods… pretty much looking just like this.  A conversation with the guesthouse manager (who took no time in telling us casually that oh the ladies usually have them stay over) and our persistent callers were no longer able to harass us

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I write all of this not as an indictment of all Jamaican men nor to dissuade anyone from Boston Beach.  Despite the harassment and unwanted advances, I absolutely loved Portland and I am already plotting my next trip there. I write this because enough is enough.  I wish I could say that I was surprised but what we encountered - and maybe I was to the extent that our explicit NO was not respected - but ultimately it’s what I have come to expect when I am out and about on my own or with only other ladies.  And that is not only disheartening but incredibly infuriating as well.  My gender should not dictate where, when, and how I travel.  I’ve written before about how whenever I share these stories the initial response is usually something along the lines of you shouldn’t be traveling alone/without a man/in “those” areas.  And I get their good intentions, I truly do but when do we stop telling women to modify their behaviors and hold men accountable for their actions?  When do we collectively say as a global community that women are not objects? 

I may have spent the beginning of my life trying to distance myself from the F-word and eventually becoming a so-called reluctant feminist.  But get ready folks.  I’m full-fledged now.   There are about to be a whole lot of Gloria Steinem quotes up in these parts. 

notes

go -- i mean what i said – go to boston beach and explore the other areas in portland.  it’s absolutely beautiful and not on the tourist circuit so you don’t have the crowds and vendors that you have on the other side of the island.  also, apparently the best jerk pork in the country is right there, if that’s your kind of thing.

see -- we almost didn’t visit reach falls while we were in portland and that would have been a huge mistake.  for maybe a 10 usd entrance fee you get a guided tour of the falls which includes literally hiking up, through, and under them.  i highly recommend bringing water shoes and some quick drying clothing so you don’t end up like me and hike in a bikini and trail runners. 

do -- surf! it depends on the season and conditions but if you have the opportunity, definitely partake in some surfing at boston beach.  our first day was barely a 1-2 ft swell but the following day was at times 4-5 ft. there are plenty of boards to rent and locals willing to teach albeit for a fee.  depending on your haggling skills, lessons can cost anywhere from 1500 jmd to whatever you will agree to pay. 

stay -- we ended up staying at great huts for maybe 80 usd a night which included a delicious and filling breakfast.  the huts are a bit rustic but clean and comfortable.  i absolutely loved it but don’t go expecting a five star hotel.  also, don’t be misled by the post - the staff at great huts were wonderful and made sure we felt safe during our stay.  (i.e., my belongings were kept safe when i carelessly abandoned them to swim over to boston beach and the manager took our concerns seriously).

eat -- the best meal i had in portland was at the errol flynn marina in port antonio. be prepared to wait but the fish is ridiculously good and well worth it.  also, be prepared to pay as a meal + drink will probably cost you about 20-25 usd.

skip -- if you are short on time, you may want to considering skipping out on frenchman’s cove and blue lagoon.  sure they’re pretty but in my humble opinion not worth the fees, especially when you have such beautiful beaches and falls nearby.  (you can drive up to the blue lagoon for free but if you want to actually see it, a boat ride is probably in order).

blue mountains, jamaica

It’s a weird place to be in when you choose to make yourself a sleep-deprived, stressed-out human being. I don't think I am alone in this; it's an easy spot to find yourself in.  You want to do all the things whether it's being successful at work, having the grandest adventures, or even just managing to keep the 4,938 parts of your life together.  The thing is it's not sustainable - or at least it is not for me.  

Throughout this past winter, I took my hibernation seriously and by the time spring arrived I was ready to bust out of survival mode.  My program offers a 6 week study abroad so my new year's goal became to have my life organized enough to take advantage of that opportunity.  Also, did I mention one of the options was to go to Jamaica?  Who doesn't want to spend spring soaking up the sun and enjoying all things island life?

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I arrived in Jamaica with some big goals in mind, especially coming off the high of choosing to leave a job and move out of my apartment of almost 4 years.  Go big or go home? Much of the past 12 months has been spent constantly playing catch-up at work and/or school and to be honest I was wholeheartedly exhausted.  I wanted nothing more than to create some stability in my life, reorganize my priorities, and take some time to breathe.  

Perhaps then it is no surprise that upon arriving in Kingston, all I wanted was to escape my new urban environment, stretch my legs, and get some mountain air in my lungs. (Side note: you may have thought being that I was in the Caribbean my first order of business would be to get my bum to the beach, especially given my love of salt water.  I know.  I am just as surprised as you are. Judge away.)  Interesting life choices aside, my first weekend in Jamaica and I found myself packing my bag for a 24 hour getaway to the Blue Mountains.  Three hours of rain-filled, nausea inducing twisty roads later, including a very necessary pit stop to switch out a glorified hatchback for a Land Rover, I arrived at a guesthouse run by some Rastafarians. 

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As the rains began to let up, the surrounding property glistened in the intermittent late afternoon sun.  Not to be all sappy (but to be sappy), it was magical.  I wandered about the property, investigating the various fruits and vegetables growing and stumbling into some hooved garden thieves.  The only sounds to be heard were the crunching of earth under my feet, the reawakening of evening birds and bugs, and an occasional goat bleating presumably in protest to being identified as an interloper.  As I stretched my legs out scampering up and over the garden’s sloped paths, I was tempted to just scurry up the trail to the peak.  I would have to wait though until the early morning hours of the following day.  Mostly because I was not traveling alone but also because everyone I had spoken to about the Blue Mountains either thought I was a ridiculous person for wanting to ascend them or insisted that I arrive at the peak for sunrise.  Watching the sunset over the range, I was able to catch a glimpse of the hillside down to the sea giving me hope for what the following day’s hike had to offer.

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Because of our planned 2 am departure, we asked Everton, the guesthouse caretaker for the weekend, to lead the way.  After a quick cup of coffee, we were on our way into the dark and misty morning.  As we slowly began our climb, what had started as a mere misting turned to more of a drizzle.  To be honest, I welcomed the initial drops as even in the early hours of morning I was beginning to feel the heat.  Up and up my legs carried me and as the weather became more miserable and damp, my persistent attention on the seemingly large issues in my life faded out until all I could do was focus on the present.  We ascended as a group, ensuring that no man was left behind and creating a lighthearted atmosphere to counteract the nagging question of what in the world were we doing for hiking 16 miles in the cold, pouring rain. 

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Eventually, we made it to the peak which was completely surrounded in fog.  I couldn't see more than 30 feet in front of me let alone Cuba.  After the obligatory peanut butter sandwich eating and documentation of making it to the top, we began our descent, retracing our steps.  It didn’t take long for most of our group to make a literal run for it while my friend and I moseyed along accompanied by Everton.  If it wasn’t for a friend with hesitancy towards slippery, downhill slopes, I probably would have been part of the speedier pack.  

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I can have a tendency to rush through things.  Racing from one thing to the next, always scheming another adventure in my brain, at times to the detriment of the present.  Instead the way back down was filled with the sounds of rain hitting the forest canopy, a few birds braving the weather, and the intermittent songs and commentary from our mountain guide.  I have to admit I had begun to romanticize the Rastafarian life - I could live simply in the mountains, surviving off my vegan farm, trekking down to the sea for surf on the weekends.  But as Everton shared about his life, it became clear that his life was anything but simple.  Which yes, of course, because people are people and we all have these messy, sometimes beautiful, sometimes ugly, lives.  His family was scattered across the globe, the magical and organic farm I loved was under constant threat of being contaminated from the neighbor's pesticide use, and he too was wondering why he agreed to take us up the mountain this damp and drizzly Sunday. 

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The funny and glaringly obvious life lesson here is that even if you can change your location oftentimes the situation remains the same.  Don’t get me wrong; Jamaica was/is absolutely amazing.  I loved my mountain retreat (despite the cold/rain/fog/clothing soaked through to my skin), however my work, school, life responsibilities didn’t suddenly disappear when I stepped off the plane.  As much as I wanted all the loose ends to be tied off and neat tick marks next to every item on my to do list, it just didn’t happen despite my best efforts.  I’m slowly learning that’s ok, emphasis on slowly.  In the meantime, I'll be here just daydreaming of my vegan farmer/surfer lady lifestyle.

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notes:

if you’re down with [nice] hostel accomodations and cold showers, stay at Jah B’s Guesthouse. and please, buy the coffee.  it is delicious and far better than the more expensive varieties i was able to find in kingston. 

bring snacks with you, especially if you plan to hike before sunrise.  while coffee was provided, about thirty minutes into the hike you’ll be wishing you had some food in your belly.  if you are hiking with a guide, bring extra snacks to share - they will be much appreciated.

ch-ch-ch-changes

​Remember that time when I moved out of Brooklyn, put in my notice at work, and hopped on a plane to Jamaica? Because that just happened.  

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To some this may have seemed like a hasty life decision, a bit of an adult temper tantrum to not liking the way things were.  But to many of my nearest and dearest, this came as no surprise.  I am strong believer that if I’m not happy with the way my life is going, then I should take a risk and mix it up.  So I did just that.  For the next six weeks, I’ll be embracing the college life at University of West Indies, learning all about the health system in Jamaica while attempting to gain some nursing skills, and soaking up some sun responsibly with heavily sunscreened skin.

Life here is considerably slower than its NYC counterpart so expect to see some more activity in these parts of the interwebs with hard-hitting topics such as:

-       how to be freezing cold for hours on end in a tropical country

-       where to find vegetarian food options when staying with Rastafarians

-       dorm room decorating for the post-graduate

How have you all been?  Anyone else spend the change of seasons humming some David Bowie while packing bags for a new locale?