When our kids learned that we would be going to Vieques for our vacation week, and staying in a little cottage with only two beds, there was a bit of fussing. The older son, in particular, was like, “But we’re around each other ALL THE TIME. I want to get away! Being stuck with you guys for a week won’t be a vacation!”

Buck up, Buttercup, we said.

On my last post, Karren commented, “Your family sure does know how to have fun, no matter where you are!” which made me chuckle. Yes, we do have fun … but only sometimes. What you don’t see in the photos is the grumpy, stressed husband (and the wife giving him long, drawn-out lectures), the sulky child who is on a weird beach strike (and the mother giving her long, drawn-out lectures), the sibling bickering (and the mother and father giving long, ANGRY, drawn-out lectures), the boredom, etc. It takes an awful lot of energy to motivate six people to have fun together for days on end. In other words, vacation is work, and it wasn’t all roses. Maybe not even mostly roses.

HOWEVER, I’m pleased to announce that we did make a pretty valient stab at the whole vacationing thing, all things considered. We rested and explored, played and slept. The time away, in a different space, while in many ways draining (as always, we were all happy to be back home afterward), was also energizing. We did something different, and that right there is worth a hip-hip and hooray.

The trip to Vieques was fairly hellish.

Easy-peasy plan: drive to Fajardo and then ferry the van across to Vieques.
Problem: you can’t make reservations ahead of time (unless you’re there in person).

This meant that we had to get there early to put our name on the standby list and then wait for hours in the car, anxiously gnawing on our fingernails all the while. If we didn’t make it on the one o’clock ferry, then we’d hopefully make it on the 4 pm ferry, but there was no guarantee of that. Our other option was to ditch the van (and the food I’d prepared, sob) in Fajardo and just travel across with our backpacks. But that meant we’d have to spend a lot more money (car rental, eating out). Plus, since we were on standby, we’d have to wait to the very last minute to learn we didn’t make it and then park the car in an official lot, do the bag shuffle, buy tickets, and hot-foot it to the ferry.

It was a toss-up. The not knowing was beyond stressful. My well-laid plans once again up in the air, the disappointment of our last attempted vacation came rushing back. I felt almost sick to my stomach.

And then, at the very last minute, the ferry already packed with dozens of people and a tractor trailer and several delivery trucks and a whole line of cars, the supervisor called our name. There was a mad dash to buy tickets, to get the loading guy to radio the police woman to let our van in the entry gate, and then, when she didn’t (grr), a race to the gate to hand-deliver the tickets. My husband backed the van onto the ferry, and the kids and I walked aboard as the final whistle blew.

We stayed in Casa Esperanza, a little cottage set back from the road and surrounded by lush gardens.

There was an outdoor pavilion where I spent hours drinking coffee and reading. I plowed through this book in just two days, and I finished off this one, both a solid five stars.

We watched movies every evening, and, since there was air conditioning in the bedrooms, got to sleep under actual blankets.

We ate countless bowls of cereal and grilled burgers and roasted broccoli and made giant salads and fixed icy pina coladas. 

Having our own van gave us so much freedom. We tooled around the curvy narrow roads, slowing for the horses, stopping to photograph whatever caught our eye, and hopping out whenever we spied a beach to explore.

For Playa Negra, we hiked fifteen minutes down a narrow jungly path, most of the time which was a sandy-bottomed, freshwater creek. The waves were a little intimidating (I’m always worried about riptides), but as we got more comfortable, we got braver, and, in the end, had a nice swim. The black sand made for some good body paint.

Playa Caracas (red beach) was one of the most idyllic, with calm water on one half and pleasant waves on the other.

The kids kept trying to find coral, but even though locals told us where to go, they didn’t have much luck. Finally, when asked directly, a woman at one of the little shops told us that Maria wiped out all of the coral. The base was still there, she said, but all the pretty stuff on top, and lots of the fish, were gone.

With expectations adjusted, we went back to Mosquito Pier (the best spot, everyone said), and the kids swam out under the pier (so freaky!).

Once they knew what, where, and how to look, they began to find things: an octopus, lobsters, starfish, black spikey things, red coral, lots of little fish, and a number of big ones, too.

We visited countless other beaches, a lighthouse, and drove through miles of national forest.

Awestruck, we circled the giant Ceiba tree.

But one of our favorite adventures of the whole trip was the morning we set out to find Green Beach. It still hadn’t reopened, so we took off on a small side road where we discovered loads of abandoned bunkers.

Some were completely overgrown with vines, some eerily packed with gaudy party remains, the doors gaping, and others with mountains of old TVs, and still others completely vacant save for empty wooden boxes. The acoustics were great, the ambiance sinister and creepy.

And then, finally, we found what we were really looking for: the sugar mill ruins!

It didn’t look like much, but I hoped that the trail would lead us to one of the beaches we were hoping to find. The kids quickly disappeared into the woods and soon started shouting at us to come see.

The ruins were there all right (no beach, though)!

The more we explored, the more we found: narrow stairs, boilers, monster screws, troughs, towering walls, tunnels and arches.

The kids even found holes that led back to other cavities — they would’ve gone underground exploring if my husband and I hadn’t ordered them to get back up here right this minute. (Back in Ponce, I did research on the mill and found this fascinating video tour.)

Vieques is a fascinating, quirky, and beautiful little island…

… but I was taken aback by how much it seemed like a ghost town.

Abandoned houses were everywhere.
Shops were shuttered.
Beaches closed.

It was hard to know if this was due to the hurricane, to the economic recession, or to the fact that the US used its beaches for bombing practice for 60 years. The US Navy left at the start of this century, forced out at long last by advocates. Now, the islanders have astronomically high rates of poverty and cancer (we saw sick people both coming and going on the ferry, on their way to the mainland, presumably for treatments). In certain parts of the island, signs were posted every few yards reminding visitors not to stray from the path and to keep on the lookout for unexploded ordinances.

(A few weeks ago I met a gentleman, a political activist, who was one of the handful of protestors who camped out in an abandoned army tank on Vieques to prevent the bombings, for a full year (in 2000, I think). The area was highly radioactive. Nineteen of the other protestors have since died; he’s had cancer three times.) 

Whether or not (and when) we’d get a ride back to the mainland was once again a toss up, but we were much less stressed now that our few precious days of vacation weren’t hanging in the balance. And despite being number seven on the standby list, and the very last car to board — they had to shift our row back so we could fit — we made it on!

So in the end, everything went according to plan, whaddayaknow.

For a change of pace, we took the coastal roads back to Ponce (with a driver shake-up, to boot), and arrived home refreshed and tired, ready to plunge back into our work.

Two months down, two months to go!

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (7.3.17), the summer’s first trip, creamy cauliflower sauce, our 48-hour date, berry almond baked oatmeal.

Last week was our vacation. Monday through Friday we were scheduled to be in Vieques, but vacation actually started Saturday, once the cousins and volunteers had gone and my kids got back from camp. We blitzed the house, mopped the floors, and then sat around grinning, nowhere to go, nothing to do.

Sunday morning, I got up early and dressed to go running, and then I looked at myself in the mirror and said, “Self, you are on vacation. You are tired. You do not need to run. Go lay down.”

And so I obediently shuffled over to the sofa where I promptly fell asleep for another hour and a half. That moment — after two months of persistent sleep deprivation, the constant push to go-go-go,and the last three straight weeks of other people living in my house — that moment of complete and total relaxation was one of the highlights of my entire week.

Since work dominates our lives seven days a week, I insisted that we use Sunday for a day trip. If we want to do anything, we have to seize the moment, I lectured my husband. Let’s go. So off we went to the southwestern tippy-tip of the island: Cabo Rojo.

We peeked in the lighthouse and minced our way around the top of the cliffs — the Cliffs of Insanity, we called them — the ocean breeze whipping against our bodies threateningly. A few years back, a tourist, a Mennonite, accidentally backed off the cliffs while taking a photo and died, and that story, lodged firmly in my brain, cast a shadow over the spectacular view.

Once off the cliffs, and all of us still alive, whew, we walked down to the beach.

It was too seaweedy to swim, but there were snails.

On our way out of Cabo Rojo, we stopped by the salt mines. We climbed the lookout tower, took a look-see in the museum, bought a bag of salt, and noted the dump trucks with their wooden hoods (ha) parked out back by the drifts of salt.

Then, in search of a place to swim and eat, we zipped up to Combate Beach. We ate a bunch of overpriced street food in a hopping restaurant, and my older son tried the local soda that they said tastes like root beer but absolutely does not — more like liquid bubble gum, yuck.

The gorgeous beach was packed, so we hiked down to the far end.

Changing back into clothes afterwards was quite the production, and highly entertaining, too.

Tired but satisfied, we headed back home.

Bit by bit, we’re getting to know this beautiful little island!

This same time, years previous: weekending, smash hit, when the wind blew, the big apple.

My husband’s nieces arrived on Saturday. Within a day, one of the girls had slapped a sign on the kitchen cupboard:

The next day, after pouring the concrete floor, this photo popped up in my phone:

Tee-hee-hee! Looks like “Puerto Rico takes teen club” would be more accurate!

For three of the four girls, this was their first time off the mainland, but they were so mellow and laid back, you’d never know it. From trying (and failing) to watch a movie two nights in a row to running out of toilet paper (my bad) to getting eaten alive by mosquitos, they took everything in stride, never even batting an eye. Quick to help out, appreciative, and open to new experiences, they were excellent houseguests.

Even though they weren’t here with MDS, they worked at the jobsite whenever their help was needed which, unfortunately, wasn’t as much as we’d hoped: the process of laying block isn’t very conducive to unskilled labor, plus, they were such quick workers that my husband kept running out of things for them to do! Even so, they managed to work enough — shoveling gravel, hauling cement blocks, cleaning up — to still get sore.

While it sometimes bothered me that I wasn’t doing more Puerto Rican-y stuff with them (with all our guests/volunteers, I’m torn between my all-consuming work and exhaustion on the one hand, and my desire to host and facilitate a meaningful cross-cultural experience on the other), the girls seemed perfectly content to read books, play games, and talk. Whenever opportunities arose, they were quick to create their own adventure.

For example:
*At a street food place close to the jobsite, they bought a sample of everything they were selling.
*When a huge rainstorm hit (the first big one since we’ve arrived), they all took off to go play basketball, never mind the fact that they’d just showered and gotten ready for bed.
*They escorted my younger son the four blocks to the barber shop for a much-needed haircut.
*They spent an afternoon at the fancy local mall trying on clothes just for the heck of it.
*They worked for a good three hours — all of their own volition, too — to clean up the basketball court next to our house.

Three of my kids left on Thursday to go to a youth retreat up in the mountains so then we were down to just five girls in the house. Friday afternoon, after a morning of work at the jobsite and a special lunch — Nilda’s visiting relatives prepared sancocho, a Puerto Rican stew of meat and root vegetables — we headed to the beach for a little downtime.

Nilda’s daughter warned us that the seaweed rises to the surface when it’s cloudy, and she wasn’t joking!

There aren’t many good swimming beaches around Ponce. The main beach in Ponce is kind of ruggedly wild, and people don’t seem to swim there much, but we’ve discovered a nice little spot about a 20 minute walk from the parking area. The water is not super deep, but it’s private (and with shade!) and the waves are big enough to toss you around a bit. It’s fast becoming our favorite hang-out spot.

All of us went swimming, and the girls spent hours playing in the water, hurling fistfulls of seaweed at each other (the Caribbean version of a snowball fight?) and trying to ride the waves. On shore, there was some ballet dancing, seaglass gathering, and a bit of sword (plant) fighting.

Back home we scurried around getting showers and heating up leftovers before zipping downtown for a bedtime snack of pinchos (Puerto Rico’s famed chicken/beef-on-a-stick) and ice cream.

What a treat it was, having those girls here!

This same time, years previous: cherry picking, buttermilk brownies, Korean beef, the quotidian (6.22.15), magic custard cake, walking through water, cilantro beet salad.