Waowawao

  

The worst part is putting on shoes. Put it off until after the short dinghy ride from the boat to the dock, and the five minute público to the Culebra airport, and the fabulous 30 minute Cape Air puddle jump flight from Culebra to San Juán Airport, but once we got to SJU sandals just don't work anymore. We're back to the Tuna Blimpie in the Food Court, loud speaker announcements no one can understand, the security line, and shoes.  

Lots of people in uniform here. Pilots, TSA, airport security, local police. There is a uniform on Culebra and Vieques too: shorts, t-shirt and sandals. Female toes: painted. Male toes: raunchy. Metrosexuals: some other island, maybe.

I love Puerto Rico. It's the USA and also Latinoamerica. It's not the USA, and it's not a US Territory, like the US Virgins, it is part of the United States Commonwealth. Nobody has any idea what that means. People from The Virgins speak English like Jamaica, Jamaica. People from Puerto Rico speak English like Jamaica, Queens. Their Spanish sounds like Cuba, no vowels. Old men with fewer teeth have w, a and o. A nice old guy at the dock on Culebra helped me find the público (cheap taxi) this morning. I understood one word: "waowawao."

Twelve nights in two hotels and eight bays (two nights in each of two of the bays), no long pants, no shoes. Two restaurants that we motored up to in the dinghy, still no shoes. Took 'em off twelve nights ago in the Hotel FallAparto in San Juán, and didn't put 'em back on until half an hour ago.