After a more than adequate and actually
pretty delicious and plentiful breakfast at “our” place, we were
collected by Bob and Karen (Thank you, Bob, for doing the driving.
And thank you, too, Karen, for being you. Always gracious. Always
fabulous). We loaded up the snorkel gear “just in case” and
headed eastward on PR-3. [Eastward, ho!... Never mind.]
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Bromeliads. Lots of them.
Photo by Chris. All rights reserved. |
Our first stop was
El Yunque, the rain
forest. What a tropical treat! Birds. Waterfalls. Vines Tarzan could
use for locomoting. Bromeliads galore. Rain. Well, of course there
was rain. They don't call it a rain forest for nothing.
The weather was surprisingly cool and
comfortable. By cool, I don't mean as in San Francisco. I mean cool
for the tropics, which is an entirely different thing. You won't need
a sweatshirt. And the humidity felt okay, too. But perhaps I was
comparing it to Dominica and Grenada [see previous posts].
Naturally, it's generally cooler at El
Yunque, but it was also cooler than I expected in
Fajardo, where we
used to live when my husband was stationed at Roosevelt Roads. We
drove up one street and down the other looking for our former abode.
We did find the subdivision (Baralt), and we found the right street.
The exact house (there were actually two of them), we can't be sure
of, but it'll do The streets weren't signed very well, and the houses
weren't necessarily numbered. So, we went by feel. Man! The homes
were so close together, they must have built houses between the
houses or something. And the neighborhood was a little sketchy.
Perhaps it wasn't the greatest back then, either, but I guess we
didn't notice. Memory is a funny thing. Strange how “off” it can
be. It was a bittersweet experience.
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A couple of the pools at the El Con.
Photo by Chris. All rights reserved. |
Next, we drove up to the
El Conquistador. It was considered luxurious when I worked there many
years ago, but that was nothing compared to what I saw today. Wow!
Huge. Spread out. The tennis courts, golf courses, and swimming pools
had multiplied. If you stayed at the El Con on your vacation, you
would not have to venture off the grounds. But you really should.
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Oh, the swankness.
Photo by Chris.
All rights reserved. |
I took a deep breath and made my way to
the reception desk, where I was greeted very cordially by a
businesslike yet friendly young lady. That gave me the courage to
explain our situation. That is, I was a former employee, many years
ago. My husband and I had come from California to revisit our old
haunts, and would they give us a tour? Well, why not? You can't blame
a girl for trying. I held my breath. Almost instantly, a young man
appeared. Our private tour guide was accommodating and solicitous and
proud to show us around. What a treat! I felt like a Very Important
Person.
[Back in the day, when a VIP arrived at the hotel, we
would deliver flowers, a fruit basket, and/or a bottle of Piper-Heidsieck to the room. Unlike the bell boys, the “girls” from the
Activity Desk who delivered those never seemed to get tips, even
though we made the same minimum wage as the guys. Yes, it was
irritating. But we did get to go to the welcome party, the coconut
bash, and the farewell party. So, all was not lost.]
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The view from the restaurant.
Photo by Chris. All rights reserved. |
We rode the
funicular to the bottom level (from the top of the cliff to the
water's edge, by the marina, water park, and classy condos), where we
had lunch at the dockside restaurant/bar. Delicious, and not
outrageous at all. We were pleasantly surprised. The weather was
beautiful, and we relaxed and enjoyed the gorgeous, restful
environment.
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Old haunts.
Photo by Chris. All rights reserved. |
After lunch, we
made our way back up to the main hotel parking lot, found our car,
and drove out to
Ceiba in search of
NAS Roosevelt Roads. It wasn't
hard to find. We'd been told the base was closed down and privatized,
but that is apparently not entirely so. The guard would not let us
pass through, because neither Harry nor Bob had identification
indicating they were retired military (That is to say, retired from a
life in military service, rather than having simply served in the
military for four years). I couldn't believe it, and Harry was so
disappointed. I may have cried. Harry may have seemed despondent. We
explained how far we had come, how many years it had been, and how we
had driven all the way to this part of the island for the express
purpose of showing my husband's brother the areas where he had worked
when stationed here during the Vietnam War. It was our anniversary
trip. Please? And the guard did relent, but only barely. He looked at
his watch and told us it would take exactly ½ hour to get to the
marina and back if we didn't veer off the main road. He told us we
had better be back in exactly ½ hour, or the military police would
come looking for us. Military police? On a closed base?
We drove through
the “downtown” area where the buildings showed signs of having
seen activity long, long ago. It was kind of sad, really, and I
remembered the hustle and bustle of the old days, when we were young
and came on base to go to the movies (25 cents) or get a Denver
Omelette at the diner. We were not allowed near the airfield, so we
couldn't see the building where Harry had worked. Perhaps it is in
the process of being converted to private use. That would explain the
concrete roadblocks, right?
We were very, very
good and didn't stray from permissible areas. Not even for a moment.
We were grateful to have been allowed through the gate, and we
weren't taking any chances. So, there were no misadventures to
report. Yet.
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Luquillo Beach
Photo by Chris.
All rights reserved. |
It was close to 6
p.m. as we headed back towards San Juan, but we decided to stop at
Luquillo Beach anyway. It's one of those coconut-tree-lined affairs
with a long, long stretch of sandy beach. We remembered it fondly
from our Navy days, when we had friends who lived in the town. On
days off, we often went to Luquillo Beach to hang out and swim.
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Luquillo Beach (a small part of it)
after yesterday's storm.
Photo by Chris. All rights reserved. |
On this particular
day, the beach wasn't nearly as pristine as we remembered. Then
again, it had been raining quite a bit, so there was lots of run-off,
and the surf was stronger than usual, stirring things up. The little
food kiosks were still there, lining the entrance to the beach area,
selling food and drinks and souvenirs, looking somewhat less enticing
than they had in days gone by. And then there was the mangy-mutt, wet
dog that hounded us up and down the beach, biting at my white gauze
skirt and made a fabulous impression on all of us, especially Karen.
Ah, the memories we were making!
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Sunset at Luquillo Beach.
Photo by Chris. All rights reserved. |
Though it wasn't
late, we were all very tired by the time we got back to “our”
place, so Bob and Karen dropped us off and went back to the Conrad to
get some rest. Once again, I regretted that we hadn't had an
opportunity to snorkel. It is what they enjoy most, and I was
grateful for their sacrifice of their own desires in order to please
Harry and me. And I was determined to make sure some snorkeling got
done, one way or another!
The
El San Juan is across the street from the Hampton Inn, so Harry and I
walked on over to see what it looked like. Back in the day, it was a
beautiful “sister” hotel to the El Con. Again, wow! It has grown
up, too, and I felt out of place among the city ladies who were all
dressed up for the evening. So, we enjoyed a gourmet meal at Wendy's.
And then we went back to the Hampton Inn and went to bed.
