Port Antonio

[Kyle]Once we were given the all-clear by the last of the Jamaican government officials on arrival, we left the marina for a quick orientation walk of Port Antonio's streets, with a side goal of possibly organizing some sort of tour the following day.

After leaving the gorgeously maintained and manicured Errol Flynn Marina, it was a bit of a shock to find that exactly zero percent of the town is up to any sort of building code whatsoever. The larger buildings are primarily made of poorly-mixed, and thus crumbling, concrete, some with poorly mixed, and thus crumbling, patches. The rest of the town is built of a combination of plywood or corrugated iron panels that are overlapped in such a helter-skelter way as to ensure that not a one of them is either straight or plumb. Between these are hung lots of ubiquitous blue plastic tarps as sun covers and rain awnings, as Jamaica has an abundance of both. The streets and walkways are pocked with holes full of muddy water of indeterminate depth. In some places, such as the outdoor market, several have been spanned with undersized bits of spare lumber to give a slightly less wet route through. This causes backups in both road and pedestrian traffic as people wait to go through the 'good' spots.

Despite the rather bleak environment, we were warmly greeted with "Good Afternoon!" by polite people everywhere we went, whose second question was almost universally, "How are you liking Jamaica?"

We would respond by saying we love the lush, green jungle and the beautiful flowers that grow on the steep hills above, dodging any question about Port Antonio itself. The people seem nice as well. That is except for the woman at the marina office. When confronted with normal requests like, 'Where should we deposit our trash?' her response would always come with a five-second delay, during which she would look at us as if what we had really said was, "Excuse me, I have a cup of my own spit here and I can't tell if it's gone off. Will you taste it and tell me what you think?"

Anyway, after determining that all the tour operators with shop fronts were non-existant or closed for the day, and pretty sure more walking wasn't going to find us the pretty part of town, we had a good, but very slowly cooked meal out, and then headed back towards the marina.

Along the way, after dodging many people who were trying to sell us cab rides or ganja, or both (it seems everybody in Jamaica sells ganja, which is legal in personal amounts), we met John.

After taking it in good stride that we were not looking for any rides or ganja this evening, we chatted a bit about our respective travels. At some point, Maryanne mentioned that we were hoping to do a raft trip sometime in our next two or three stops. John said that if we decided to stay in Port Antonio one more night (Maryanne had previously told him we weren't sure if the weather was best to go tomorrow or the next day), he would be happy to organize a trip for us in the morning. He said the raft trip would cost $85 for the two of us. We would also need a taxi to and from each end. He told us he would be happy to do it for $40. He said he would even show us a couple of the other sights in Portland (the local district) on the way back, so we could see even more. Great! We agreed to meet him at the marina gate at ten the next morning.

Port Antonio is very different inside and outside of the Errol Flynn Marina complex

We thought that was it, and turned to head for home. John had a different idea, and motioned for us to follow him. We then got an impromptu, and very swift, walking tour of Port Antonio, which included some of the areas Maryanne and I had been too timid to enter alone. John seemed to know everybody. Also in Jamaica all the males seem to go by some nickname; John's was "Black Boy", so we just referred to him as John.

In his company, we were no longer clueless, lost tourists. We were just some other people he knew, which added an air of legitimacy to our presence.

He then marched us under mild protest to what he swore was the best bar in town, on the opposite side of the city center from the marina.

It was actually pretty nice, with the various plywood panels either painted bright colors or varnished. There was also some really nice crafts/artwork for sale, mostly carvings, for those who have more space than we do for such things. We chatted with the artists for a while, none of whom seemed bothered by not making a sale, and then relaxed at the bar, where we got three Red Stripes (local beer) for what the marina bar charges for one. Well done on that local tip, John! He then accompanied us back to the marina and bid us a good evening, promising again to see us at ten the next morning.

We arrived early, just in case, to find John already waiting with a smile and a late-model car. Well, that's encouraging. Maryanne took one of the back seats, insisting I take the front. When I went to get in, I found I was on the wrong side of the car. Jamaica drives on the left. Also, there was already someone sitting there. John introduced him as Macka, our driver.

Huh?! When asked about this, John insisted that he could drive, and allowed that he had a car, but seemed to dismiss as ridiculous the idea that he would be expected to organize the ride and also do the driving.

Anyway, Macka was good-natured. John, who seemed to be teaching Macka the way to get where we were going (Jamaica's road signage is not the best), barked directions and ribbed Macka when he made a mistake. Macka took it in stride and seemed to be genuinely pleased to get out of the house for the day. Between occasional narration by John, he and Macka spoke in such a thick patois that, even though it is ostensibly based on English, the language with which we are most familiar, their conversations were as incomprehensible to us as if they had been in Estonian. Fortunately, like the Scots, the Jamaicans can tone down their accent to a tourist version that can be understood by the larger Anglophone community. It also has a nice lilt to it, Mon.

Macka also introduced us to the other language of Jamaica, the horn. His car was equipped with an aftermarket modification that would activate the horn with a pull chain hanging from the ceiling by where the driver's hand naturally falls when driving with an arm on the doorsill. Jamaicans use their car horns for everything: blind corners, blind driveways, pothole warnings for those approaching, "Thanks!", "No Problem, Mon!", seeing anybody you know (which is everybody), telling people about to step into the road that there is a car coming, letting the pretty girls know that you like their outfits, and any other time it seems like it has been a little too quiet for too long. Now imagine what it must sound like in a town with bad roads, where everybody knows each other, and some of them are pretty girls in nice outfits who inadvertently wandered from the crumbling sidewalk onto the drivable part of the road.

The drive up into the mountains was windy and scenic

After thirty minutes or so climbing narrow switchbacks, Macka pulled off to the side and John announced that we were there. Coming down the road from the other direction was a tall, wiry man with a cushion under his arm. John introduced him as Josh, our raft Captain, which we already suspected because he was wearing a bright yellow polo shirt with the word 'Captain' on the front, and a big '019' on the back, which Josh later explained was his official government Captain number.

Walking down the road, as John and Josh were talking in their thick local dialect, one little bit of the conversation that we did get was that, effective for the new year, the government has raised the mandated price of raft trips to $55 per person. When asked about this, John said that, due to some family issues, he had not yet organized a tour in the current year, so was unaware of the change. Unfortunately, we would have to suck up the new rate. We had no signal, and thus no way to independently verify this, but the way the problem was presented, we had the sneaking suspicion the price bait and switch might have been a well-used ruse.

We then all climbed a short set of stairs to the top of a levee, where we got a view of the Rio Grande River and our conveyance for the next few hours, a fifty foot long, six foot wide bamboo raft with a two-person seat at the back. After a bit of setup, Maryanne and I took our seat, Josh pushed us into the shin-deep water, and we waved goodbye to John and Macka for the time being.

After purchasing a couple of Red Stripes from a convenient floating bar, which was really just another raft with a cool box full of beers, Josh punted us around the corner and in no time at all, it was just the three of us floating on crystal-clear water through dense jungle with no sign of human habitation whatsoever.

A beautiful relaxed ride down the Rio Grande river

Jamaican river rafting is a sedate affair, much closer to inner tubing than adrenaline-pumping whitewater adventure rafting. On average, we were probably averaging two or three knots as Josh punted us through water barely deep enough to float our raft. Occasionally, we would encounter a small rapid, where our speed might shoot up to five knots for a few seconds before ending in a bump as we grazed the final boulder. Along the way, we would occasionally encounter one of the trainee Captains, whose primary job is to tow the empty rafts back upstream while walking on the riverbed where too shallow. Josh says it takes them about five hours to make the trip.

After a while, we rounded a bend into a smooth spot. Josh pulled over and beached the raft. He then explained that the fun thing for us to do was to swim across the current to the other side of the river, climb out onto a specific boulder, and then jump back into the river at a nearby deep spot.

Along the way we stopped off to jump from the rocks into the deeper water, and to enjoy a lunch break with food cooked over wood burning stove

It turned out to be plenty of fun, and was a refreshing way to cool off during the hottest part of the day. When we had our fill, we returned to the opposite bank to join Josh as he rested under a tree. After a few minutes, Maryanne and I were getting restless. That's when we realized that while we were waiting for Josh to say it was time to move on, he was waiting for us to do the same.

An hour so of scenery later, we pulled off again, this time to a makeshift picnic area. It looked like it was set up for the high season, or possibly the crowds of Cruise Ship Day. As the only ones there, we felt quite conspicuous as the cook waited for our lunch order.

Maryanne and I weren't really hungry, but we also knew it would be a while before dinner, so we decided to get something to tide us over until then. The menu was heavy on the meat. We were trying to be good and wanted something lighter. Also, the prices were Cruise Ship-steep, so we agreed to share a large order of rice, beans and vegetables.

The food was delicious. I particularly liked the homemade hot sauce I drowned mine in. Maryanne and I got about two bites in when we both noticed Josh over there by himself, looking at his phone, looking particularly skinny and a little pathetic. We both looked at each other and had the same thought, 'We're jerks."

For some reason, we had assumed the River Captains would have some kind of deal with the cook, but now that didn't seem to be the case. Maryanne motioned to me with her eyes to go and talk to Josh.

I asked him if he was going to eat, to which he replied, "Yeah, Yeah. I will." He did it in a way that made me think maybe he was just busy booking a new client first, before eating. He then called out to the cook, ordering the most expensive item on the menu.

As we were eating and Josh picked at his food, two more rafts showed up. Their passengers seconded that their food was also delicious. We also noticed that their Captains had brought their own lunches. When Maryanne went to settle our bill, she learned that two-thirds of it had been for Josh's plate.

We then continued down the Rio Grande, enjoying our last hour or so of peaceful jungle, complete with exotic animal soundtrack, before spotting the bridge marking the end of the river, where it joins the sea.

This is where Josh asked us to pay up before we got too close, saying something about not wanting to upset any other Captains present with what we paid.

But I thought the government set a standard fare for everyone...

John and Macka were there waiting for us. As we were walking back to the car, Maryanne was pretty sure she saw Josh slip John some of our fee.

We were now only a couple of miles from Port Antonio. We drove into town and then straight through another couple miles to the Blue Lagoon, the place where the Brooke Shields movie of the same name was filmed in the 1970s. It's nice, although there was almost no one there. That's because, like a lot of the nicer places in Jamaica, it's walled off and there is a fee to enter. We, of course, were not made aware of this until we had all walked a long way from the car to the entry point. Then our choice was to fork over the money, or look unnecessarily cheap and walk upstream through the line the way we had come.

We had a couple more of these at other beauty spots, before Maryanne protested to John that we were running out of cash and insisted on no more. John agreed, but said there was one more place we just had to see: Boston, Jamaica, home and originator of Jerk cuisine. Fine.

The drive back from the raft trip was extended to a few additional sights - including the Blue Lagoon (of movie fame), and a Jerk Chicken joint so we could feed John.

You can't come to Jamaica and not have Jerk something! I am, of course, a fan of the spicy foods, so I was keen to give it a try. John picked the place most favored by locals and we ordered a small portion of Jerk chicken.

It was okay. It wasn't great. It wasn't amazing. The sauce was not what I would even consider a strong mild. It tasted like regular barbecued chicken. John ate most of it. At the end, John asked Maryanne to give him $6 so he could bring back two beers. We weren't really up for beer, but we were thirsty, so why not?

When he returned, he handed me mine, and then started drinking the other. Cheeky.

By then, sunset was only an hour or so away, so it really was a relief for us that there was only enough time for us to be getting straight back.

At the marina, we said our goodbyes and I handed John our agreed $40. He looked at it as if it wasn't even real money and said, "What is this?!"

Maryanne answered, "That's the $40 we agreed. Thanks so much. It was a lovely day."

He then gave her a long, cold, hard glare. "You owe me more than that!"

"How much do you think we owe you?" she asked.

"At least $100." He then went on to insist that the $40 was for the ride to the beginning of the raft trip only, not the ride back, and not any of the extras he threw in for us.

"John, that is NOT what you said to us yesterday."

Macka started to chime in that Maryanne was right. John told him to keep quiet. This was between him and Maryanne.

He glared at her some more. She glared back.

Maryanne then explained that, based on our prior agreement, she had brought along enough to pay, plus some extra for incidentals, but with the extra for the raft fare, Josh's lunch, and all the unplanned beach fees, we simply didn't have the money.

He said she was lying.

At this, she opened up her wallet (I was not carrying mine for the day) to show him the contents. Then she pulled it all out and counted out twenty-one dollars.

"This is all I have. Take it." She thrust it towards him.

Knowing that taking the money would constitute an agreement on the price, he opted instead to glower at her some more.

"I want more money!"

"I don't HAVE any more money!"

More angry staring followed.

John tried a different tack. "If I take that, I have to give it all to Macka, with nothing left over for me for a whole day of work."

Yeah, about that. Why is Macka even here? No offense Macka. I don't remember ever agreeing to hire a second guy to come along for the day just because, extra.

"Don't you have more money on the boat?"

"Yes, a little, for our groceries." Maryanne replied, "But since you lied to us and changed the price without asking and never asked us if we would want to do anything else for this price or that, I'm not going to get it for you. Take the $21."

John did not like that. Macka tried again to say that Maryanne had a good point, to which John shot him a very threatening look.

He seethed at Maryanne. "Get my money!"

She responded with her own glare. "Call the Police!"

"Get my money!"

"Call the Police! We can wait all night, John."

Macka squirmed. John looked at me as if I would somehow take his side. I was trying my hardest to suppress my urge to go over to his side of the car, drag him out, and go full barroom brawl on this asshole, which I understand is a really, really bad idea in someone else's country, particularly since Jamaica probably does not have the highest quality jail cells.

Perhaps John could see he was losing the crowd. Perhaps he had his own reasons for not wanting the police to come. In a more measured tone, he said, "Bring me forty dollars so I can pay Macka and we're even."

"Fine."

As we were getting out of the car, John looked at me and said, "I'm not getting paid anything today. I know you're a good man. Bring me a little extra so a man can at least have a drink."

Despite the fact that I was beet red with anger, I realized Macka had been stuck in the middle of all this, so when we got back to the boat, I threw on an extra $10, even though I really didn't want to.

Back outside, John stood at the chain link fence and motioned for me to pass the money through.

"Half those drinks are for Macka," I said. John snatched the money so fast I initially thought he might be throwing a punch, then turned and stomped away without making eye contact or saying anything. I expected him to then flip me the bird, but it never came. Mine was at the ready in my pocket, just in case, but the safety was on, and I never ended up needing it.

Whew! That was over! I took a deep breath and tried to remember the peaceful, green river and the friendly people with big smiles on their faces that we encountered throughout the day, including Josh and Macka. John does not get to ruin Jamaica for us.

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The Errol Flynn Marina in Port Antonio - location >> On google maps

I Took Maryanne to the West Indies…

[Kyle]While we were trying to sleep during our last night at Salinas, Puerto Rico, two boats passed what must have been very near to us with music thumping so loud that it vibrated the walls in our berth. When I bolted out of bed to try to identify the second perpetrator, I was surprised to find that it hadn't been boats at all. The music was coming from shore on the other side of the bay, about half a mile away. The super loud/slightly less super loud nature of the music was because of the wind and occasional blockage by intervening boats as they swung on their moorings. I looked at my watch. It was 3:45am.

The music was so loud that I'm sure everyone in the entire city could hear it. In our particular quarter, it was pretty impossible to hear anything else. I once had a neighbor in an apartment building who got stoned, turned his stereo up to eleven, and then passed out. It didn't take long before half the building were outside pounding on his door and threatening to break it down if he didn't kill the stereo. The cops eventually did. He was unharmed, apart from the brain cells, but when they yanked the stereo's cord out of the wall, all that was left was a peaceful and slowly decreasing ringing in our ears.

Based upon that, I was expecting our current din to be abruptly ended within ten or fifteen minutes, but it continued until after sunrise, three hours later. I can see how it is an effective strategy for those trying to lay siege. My alarm had been set for 4:00 anyway, so I guess we're getting up.

Departing Salinas with a double rainbow over the anchorage

We had no wind whatsoever as we motored slowly out of the harbor (to protect the manatees). Out in the open Caribbean, we unfurled the spinnaker, the wind filled in, and we slowly began accelerating.

Not five minutes later, we were pulling the sail back down again as the wind was now reaching the limit for it. Well, that was a lot of work…

We switched to our genoa, which also quickly needed reducing. Eventually, the wind rose to about thirty knots, before deciding that's where it wanted to be. The waves built in tandem, and pretty soon we were getting thrown around in confused, lumpy seas.

The worse-than-forecast conditions continued for the next four days as we passed south of Hispaniola. It wasn't until we finally left the Haitian coast behind that things improved to where we could fly the spinnaker again for the ninety-mile sail across the Jamaica Channel.

Meals on a passage are (nearly) always looked forward to

I then went from wishing we could get this miserable sail finished with, to wishing it wouldn't be over quite yet now that it's pleasant again. Then the mountains of Jamaica formed out of the haze ahead and I knew the fun was going to end whether I wanted it to or not.

Jamaica comes into view

We turned into Port Antonio, on the northeast part of the island. Within minutes, the big following sea that had been pitching and rolling us around all week was left behind, along with the wind. The harbor inside was perfectly flat calm.

Folly lighthouse stands at the entrance to Port Antonio, and cruising friends from Maia are there to greet us at the dock

Our cruising friends Dick and Laura from Maia, who we had last seen very briefly over two years ago as we arrived in Mayotte and they departed, delayed their departure out of the country long enough so they could catch our lines and welcome us to the Errol Flynn Marina. By the time the Health Inspector arrived (the first of the officials), they were pulling out of their slip and turning for sea. We hope to be able to catch up properly with Maia in Panama.

The Health Inspector left, telling us we could now replace our "Q" flag with our Jamaican courtesy flag. Customs, Immigration, and possibly even the Port Police all came aboard afterwards. They were all very friendly and welcoming and seemed to take the endless form filling-out in good stride, even when we missed out a page or inadvertently ticked the wrong box, requiring a do-over.

Officialdom was soon completed - despite the HUGE amount of form filling

Marina Security then came by to welcome us and say that if there's anything we need, don't hesitate to ask. They all seemed especially surprised that we already owned a Jamaica courtesy flag (they normally get to sell them to arriving boaters).

So far, Jamaica is even more lush, green, and flowery than we had expected. The grounds of the Errol Flynn Marina are some of the best-kept we have ever seen, especially considering that their rates are less than a third of what it would cost to have stayed in Marina de Salinas. Oh, yes, we are very exited to get off the boat and have a look around.

Maryanne:Cruious about the title Kyle has given this blog? There is an old Joke that goes something like this.

A:"I took my wife to the West Indies for a holiday"
B:"Jamica?"
A:"No - She wanted to go".

I certainly did want to go to Jamaica and we finally made it (note that Puerto Rico is also within the West Indies, but the joke doesn't work there).

---

Errol Flynn Marina location >> On google maps

The Entire Rest of our time on the Main Island of Puerto Rico

[Kyle]We concidered alternative titles:

Or...Cats and Castles

Or... Felines and Fortresses

Or... Lizards and Limestone

I could go on...

After our first day In Patillas, we decided a lazy, "feet-up day" beckoned more than a repeat of the town's limited offerings. Then it was time to pull up the anchor and head to Salinas.

Our sail was brisk, with a surprisingly big following sea. It was a relief to finally turn and enter the protection of a chain of mangrove islands just off the coast, leaving us with plenty of wind, but flat seas. There didn't seem to be any other boats along this whole section of coast.

We left Patillas with rain (and rainbows), and arrived at Salinas in typical Caribbean sunshine

Then we pulled into Salinas Bay, and it was like pulling into Newport or Annapolis. There were hundreds of boats on moorings and at anchor in the big bay. We threaded our way in and found a spot as close as we could to the dinghy dock at Salinas Bay Marina. After two tries, our anchor set well and we were sufficiently far from each nearby boat to be assured of not swinging into them in shifting winds. We rowed ashore and immediately learned that we were near the wrong dinghy dock. Ours was actually much further. Oh, well, the anchor's holding. We're not moving now.

The staff at Marina de Salinas were very helpful. We dropped off our laundry for them to do (what are we, Rockefellers?) and had two cold showers, which made us feel much refreshed. Maryanne then contacted a local guy, who agreed to rent us a car for the next three days. Here we go!

For Day One, what I really wanted to see what was once the world's biggest single-dish radio telescope at Arecibo. Unfortunately, that has been decommissioned and is being dismantled. It is no longer open to the public. I was a few years too late for that excitement. Okay, next on the list is El Yunque National Forest (Yunque is pronounced something like "Jun-kay"). The nation's only tropical rain forest and the site of some of the longest-running tropical biological studies on Earth.

To get there, we took a series of dodgy, rural roads to the main entrance (luckily, we got 'upgraded' to a high-clearance pickup). The forest was pretty, but surprisingly small. We managed to stop at the Visitor Center and all of the major attractions in just a few hours. We were done much earlier than we expected, and were able to head for accommodation that Maryanne had booked for us in Old San Juan ahead of schedule.

First we drove along road 186 through El Junque - the less touristy part. There are afew places where its possible to pull over and grab a view, but overall felt it was poorly marked and poorly maintained (even the park map was peculiar and confusing); we were underwhelmed

Then we entered El Junque park proper and spent more money and much longer than we expected at the visitor center when we managed to lock the keys in the car - Oops!

We hit the highlights along the single road in El Junque Park, but skipped the 9 hour walk option (would have been nice, but no way we could fit that in!)

I was a bit worried about Maryanne's lodging choices, because she tends to weigh economy over comfort, but she did well this time. The place she booked was small, but adequate, and just far enough off the main drag to be quiet when all of the discos two blocks away were thumping.

I didn't have much in the way of expectations for Old San Juan, but I really liked it. I would put it on par with Quebec City or Casco Viejo in Panama. It is very romantic, and despite my general grumpiness, I love romantic. If we could afford it, and my Spanish was better (Mas mejor?) I could happily spend the rest of my days becoming part of the neighborhood in such a place. No wonder it's pictured on the license plates by the text "Island of Enchantment".

Despite being dead-dog-tired, Maryanne and I could not resist staying up way past our normal bedtime. We did two laps of the Old City on foot before finally giving up and returning to our rented studio apartment for a night's sleep.

We arrived late in the afternoon but took a quick walk-about to get a feel for Old San Juan

We finally got a proper dose of Christmas Lights, a little late, but beautiful

And a stroll through night-time San Juan before sharing our funds between dinner and cocktails

We couldn't bring ourselves to leave the next morning, so we wandered around a bit too far and lingered a bit too long over lunch. When we finally agreed it was time to leave. It was time to start the 'jobs'.

A morning walk to soak it all in

Our visit to Castillo San Felipe del Morro was unexpectedly free this day (in respect to President Carter)

And past the Santa María Magdalena de Pazzis Cemetery, and the open grounds once used for military drills and now famed for kite flying (not busy on this day)

And the Castillo San Cristóbal at the other end of old San Juan

There were SO MANY things we would have loved to explore in San Juan, but we'd spent our allocated time, so on to chores... First on our list was to refill our CO2 cylinder. After a LOT of research, Maryanne found a place. When we got there, things were not so straightforward. The place we wanted to use didn't handle our size tanks. After a couple more twenty-mile dead-ends, Maryanne eventually found a guy from a paintball shop who would fill our tank, but he wanted us to meet him an hour west of San Juan to do the fill. We were already half an hour south of San Juan and rush hour was about to start. We ended up meeting him almost at the northwest corner of the big island for a tank-to-tank fill. From there, he told us the fastest way back to Salinas (with the best roads) was to continue an the coast road toward Aguadilla, on the far northwestern corner of the island, then south to Mayaguez, then finally west towards Ponce.

At that point, the road was basically one long strip mall, but the hills in the distance were pretty. After about fifteen minutes, the strip mall stopped and the sun went down, leaving us as just another pickup truck following red taillights as they meander through a dark void.

We lost half the traffic in Aguadilla. By the time we had made it to Mayaguez, we were hungry, so we pulled into the world's most disappointing Pizza Hut (the only place we could find near the highway that was still open) for a dinner we both regretted immediately.

At Ponce, Puerto Rico's second largest city, we lost our last half dozen cars of traffic. Then it was just us for the last half hour back to Salinas. We managed to get the dinghy up in the davits and stowed by midnight, but just.

Afterwards, we would have both loved to sleep in, but we only had the pickup for one more day and so far, except for the CO2, we had done no actual provisioning.

Maryanne reasoned that Ponce, being more populated than Salinas, would likely have a better selection of stores to clean out. Since we were going anyway, we might as well stop and see a few tourist sites beforehand, so we should really try to get an early start.

Ponce is no San Juan, but it is a beautiful town, with a very nice central historic district. We decided to save that for lunch, after visiting Castillo Seralles and the adjacent Cruceta El Vigia and the Japanese gardens.

Castillo Serralles is not a castle, but instead a very nice villa built in the hills overlooking Ponce for Juan Eugenio Serralles, son of Juan Serralles. Juan senior was founder of Distilleria Serralles, maker of the 'Don Q' brand of rums.

Prior to our guided tour of the residential part of the house, which seems to occupy less than the space needed for all of those servants, our group was seated in a small theater and shown a short history. In a deep, sweet, dripping Spanish that evoked Ricardo Montalban, it was explained to us that Juan Serralles had, in the process of establishing his rum empire, basically invented culture, and also Western Civilization.

This was confusing for us, not just because it was in Spanish, but because we had previously been told, at the Bushmill's Whiskey Distillery in Northern Ireland, that John Bushmill had done the exact same thing when he established his distillery an ocean away.

Perhaps this was a case like Charles Darwin and Alfred Russel Wallace, where each independently changed the world without any real knowledge of the parallel path of the other. Or, perhaps, maybe theses distillers are a little full of themselves. I mean, is it all that surprising that when being surrounded by a field of sugarcane or barley, respectively, that the second or third thought through someone's mind might be, "Hey, I wonder if we can make alcohol out of this and sell it to people? People like alcohol. Then we will be so rich that we can literally build houses up in the hills where we can look down on everyone."

Just sayin'

Castillo Serralles, built as one of the homes for the Don Q Rum Family, was worth a tour

And included access to the viewing tower within the Cross (Panorama 180), and a Japanese Garden

Anyway, the house is very beautiful, with lots of refreshing natural airflow. It wouldn't be a bad place to lounge on one of the many balconies with a good book, while servants bring an endless supply of mojitos or whatever.

From Juan's "Castle", we descended into the beautiful and brightly painted historic center for some more exploring. After being distracted by one cool thing after another, it wasn't until the sun was just above the horizon that we began our mission of visiting several stores and slowly filling the passenger space of our four seat pickup to the ceiling.

And a walkabout in Ponce Town itself - highlights were the distinctive red and black striped old firestation (now a museum):Parque De Bombas, and the lovely arcade of the Fox Hotel (with the flamingo ornaments). But even the bus station has beautiful grounds to lounge in while waiting on your bus. Here again there were options for additional museums but our time was limited so we mostly ambled.

We departed Ponce long before we'd have liked, and hit the stores to provision Begonia. After another solitary drive back to Salinas on the dark, empty highway, we were practically the only people around when we got back to the marina.

I say practically, because it was Friday, so at least the bar by the dinghy dock was still open. After unloading our haul and lining it up neatly on the path to the dock, it was clear there was no way we were going to make it to Begonia in one trip. Maryanne volunteered to stay behind and babysit the second load while I took the first to the boat. While she sorted which items would go on which trip, I bought her a Don Q and Coke to keep her company while she waited for my return. The poor thing does suffer...

We were back aboard and secure a couple hours before the previous night, but we were still pretty wiped out from it all. Neither of us could face the mountain of food that needed storing, so we just pushed it to one side, stepped over it, and went to bed, leaving the task to our future selves. They're always getting screwed.

We had to return the pickup in the morning, so there was no sleeping in then, either. Maryanne offered to take the keys back herself, but since we also needed several trips with the water jugs to fill our tanks, I decided to accompany her so we could get that process started.

What luck that was. As we were nearing the dock, I turned to avoid what looked like a shallow spot in the water, when it surfaced and took a big breath. Manatee! It wasn't quite close enough to pet, but if either of us had fallen in, it would have had to get out of our way. It seemed relatively unbothered by us and paralleled us for a while. Cool!

On our return, we spotted two more as they moseyed between the moored boats. It didn't happen to us, but we heard of a few boaters who, worried that they had dragged and run aground in the night, came on deck to find a manatee having a scratch on their hull.

We needed to make three more water runs. Maryanne let me get away with that job while she did her disappearing trick with the provisions. I also needed to go up the mast for a five-minute job that ended up taking an hour and a half. By the time I was finished and back on deck, Begonia's interior looked more or less normal again. She even did a little extra tidying, so it actually looked better than that. I gave her puppy dog eyes and she offered that our list for the rest of the day could be 'nothing' if I wanted. Great, but how do you cross off 'nothing'?

She even went further and said that, as long as we didn't encounter any itchy manatees, we could turn off our alarms and sleep until the first boat with a stereo goes by in the morning.

The remainder of our time in Salinas was pretty basic. We went for walks, had a couple of lunches out, did a last load of pre-passage laundry. On our second-to-last run, our Torqeedo battery promptly died, even though the readout had just said it was at 75%. Then I really wished we had re-anchored closer the first day. In the tropical heat, I had to ride the fine line between getting us back to the boat sometime today, please, and not ruining the shower that I had just taken. The only tasks we had had left after that were to put the dinghy in lifeboat mode and get a good night's sleep for tomorrow's passage.

Inbetween tours and chores, we were able to relax and see a bit of Salinas too. More so when our expected mail was delayed, and delayed some more, and we eventually abandoned and departed Puerto Rico without it. One of the local bars entertained us well with its dispenser of fish food which we could use to lure in the large tarpon fish

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Anchorage location >> On google maps