Broomstick across the handlebars

Making it back to San Juan turned out to be its own adventure. After spending the better part of the morning suppressing vomit while riding the ferry from Vieques to the Main Island, I was desperate to get some food in my stomach. A glowing vending machine beckoned to me and I knew Gardettos would have to cut it.

I’d be lucky to make it to my hostel by dusk. A line of vans with open doors were waiting to take ferry riders back to San Juan. I met up with some fellow gringos and we split the fare. The ferry ride was $7. The shuttle was $30. The hostel I booked was $20 per night. I’d spend two nights there and then back to Minneapolis. The flight was $150. All in all, my big decision, or rather the reversal of a different big decision, would cost less than $300.

My stomach was queasy from the ferry and the thought of spending four hours in a hot van was almost unbearable. No one ever wants the front seat in ride share situations, so I snagged it and promised myself I wouldn’t stare at the screen of my iPhone during the ride. I’d just gotten my first iPhone.I turned my attention toward willing the motion sickness away while the van twisted around the periphery of the El Yunque rain forest.

Puerto Rico was a bit of a graduation gift to myself. It was 2013 and after taking 10 years to finish undergrad, I wanted to do something whimsical. So, I saved some money but not nearly enough, quit my restaurant job, and moved to Vieques, Puerto Rico. That was the big decision.

I’d only been to one island before and it was Jamaica for Bob Marley’s birthday celebration and I was smitten with island life. The only reason I picked Vieques is because the previous summer I couchsurfed with a coolgirl in Portland who told me she lived there once. Imitation = flattery and all that. She had also given herself a new name and identity. I wasn’t quite that committed but I found her enchanting and still think about her sometimes. I like to imagine she’s had two more identities since then and is now a doula social media influencer in rural Oregon.

I had no real plan for what I’d do in Puerto Rico and no return flight when I got there. I figured I’d stay until I didn’t want to stay any longer. Within 48 hours of arriving, I acquired an apartment, a bike, a gay bestie, and a job booking kayak tours on the bioluminescent bays. Cue the foamy waves, ratty old hammocks, free roaming horses, tiki-lit night clubs, and midnight swims. It was a fucking righteous life for a minute.

But the dark underbelly showed itself fast. My picturesque outdoor shower was host to a terrifyingly hairy tarantula. My fellow expats regularly reminded me that I lived on an “island of broken toys” as they peered over their shoulders making sure no one heard them warning me about the predatory men and rampant passing of STDs. I learned about the history of the island and how it was the home to violent pillaging from the US Govt when Vieques was used as a target for military missile practice. Sidenote: Viequense is its own Spanish dialect and the Viequense people carry a culture that is at risk of erasure due to colonization. Oh. And I had to ride my bike with a broomstick across the handlebars to beat away feral dogs that chased me home from the grocery store.

Within a few weeks, it was dawning on me that I couldn’t hack island life. Getting stuck in a traffic jam of wild horses on my way to work one day should have been the most whimsical thing in the world, but instead it pushed me to an edge. And I jumped. I packed my suitcase and tossed out all the remaining food in my fridge. I left next month's rent, a thank you note, and some pantry items on the table for my unsuspecting landlady. She was probably wise to these things given the whole “island of broken toys” syndrome which is why she only had me sign a month to month lease. In the end, I was there for 28 days. I like to think of it as another round of rehab for ya girl.

The next day, I was on the next ferry back to San Juan.

The van dropped me in San Juan where I hung out there for two days wandering around and wishing I’d just stayed in San Juan instead of roughing it in Vieques. The hostel was cool. I shared a room with a British Muslim dude. We stayed up all night talking and flirting. He had self-proclaimed existential restlessness and we were kindred. We stayed in touch for almost 8 years. When I took a trip to London, he picked me up from the airport and gave me a tour of the city and it felt like a scene from Before Sunrise.

Before leaving for the airport, I stopped at a hipster coffee shop for a latte. The barista had a special talent for making latte art [see below]. Kinda defining of my experience.