Wealth

In the Old San Juan, there exists a plaque commemorating the town's 500-year anniversary.  Part of the inscription reads, "...the oldest city flying under a U.S. flag."  Accurately phrased, it does not read "the oldest U.S. city".  When I read this, I was nearing the end of a three-week experience in the commonwealth of Puerto Rico and had witnessed enough to convince me that while a U.S. flag may fly here, it is not part of the country.  The Spanish gave it the name 'Port of Riches' because of its strategic location in the Caribbean.  Acting as the gateway to the Greater Antilles, Puerto Rico was the port of departure for plundered treasures from the Americas as well as the front line of defense against invading enemies.  It is no longer a staging point for gold shipments, yet it is no less rich.  Its 30 by 90 mile (45 by 145km) area contains plenty of wealth for any modern-day treasure hunter.

My journey began in the Spanish Virgin Islands to the east of the mainland.  Since I was still aboard the Bella Vita catamaran, I had the good fortune to visit this less-traveled part of Puerto Rico.  Once controlled by the U.S. Navy, the island of Culebra is now home to three national wildlife refuges, several sea turtle nesting grounds, a lagoon, and a large, C-shaped beach bearing the same name as one of the island's many birds - Flamenco.  On its sandy shore sits the rusted out remnants of two army tanks the navy once used for target practice.  Based on what remains, I do hope the Navy's aim has significantly improved.

Swimming was like taking a trip through hyperspace.

The larger island to Culebra's south, Vieques, opened to tourism less than ten years ago and is still partially used for Naval activity.  This long-lived restriction has preserved the same beauty that stunned Columbus and led him to initially name the island in honor of his mother's best friend.  Like Culebra, it has an impressive lagoon, a handful of protected bays, and several pristine beaches, including one consisting of black sand.  Its most unique and notable bay, however, has nothing to do with sand and only a little to do with bugs, despite its name being 'Mosquito'.  Fed by a narrow inlet and no more than 2m deep, Mosquito Bay is home to one of the highest concentrations of dinoflagellates in the world.  Ranking as one of Lonely Planet's 'Top Ten Water Experiences', a nighttime swim, kayak, or splashfest disturbs the tiny bioluminescent organisms, thereby causing them to glow a light blue.  Each animal is no larger than a splinter, but multiplied by millions and there is enough light to silhouette just about anything.  Because of our serendipitous overlap with the new moon, the crew visited the magical waters on two consecutive nights.  We created glowing snow angels and whipped up iridescent whirlpools.  We'd rocket our arms out of the water to watch the blue squigglies squirm down our skin.  Swimming with a mask and snorkel looked like a trip through hyperspace, and even peeing became a source of entertainment.  My only wish is that it does not fade from memory, because capturing the environment on film was an impossibility.

Our first stop on Puerto Rico's mainland was Puerto del Rey, the Caribbean's largest marina, just a short ride from Fajardo, the largest town on the east coast.  The marina comes with all the typical amenities of security, power, and fresh water, as well as few luxurious ones such as cable TV and a golf cart shuttle service.  More importantly, like any marina, it gave us easy access to the land, which was something we hadn't had for some time.  The Crossleys, their niece/cousin, Sarah, and I rented a pair of cars for a couple of days to explore the nearby temptations.  The first day was spent entirely in the confines of the only rain forest in the U.S., El Yunque National Forest.  On the second day, we split between those who had schoolwork and those who didn't.  Sarah and I left the Crossleys to their own dealings and ambitiously attempted a four-site day spread along the island's northern coast.  We missed our goal by one, the caves of Camuy, but were too pleased with the other three to care.  Mainstream movie fans may remember our first site from 'Goldeneye' or 'Contact' - the world's largest radio telescope dish at the Arecibo Observatory.  After that we indulged in a pair of complimentary drinks and free tour at the 400,000 liter-a-day producing Bacardi Rum Distillery in Cataño.  And with just a few fingers of light on the horizon, we squeezed in a brief tour of Viejo San Juan before relinquishing our wheels and freedom.

On the Crossley's first trip through Puerto Rico, they sailed around the island's north coast, which meant the south was in order this time.  There were many intriguing sounding places and activities sailing in this direction, half of which we had no time for, but two are the most blog-worthy.  The first was Monkey Island.  When I first read its name on a chart, I assumed the shape of the island resembled its namesake animal.  I did not expect it to be a sanctuary and research center for over 1000 Rhesus macaques.  Off limits to visitors, we avoided setting foot on land by motoring the dinghy just shy of shore and swapped stares with the primates as we drifted past.

Our second notable stop, this one off the southwest coast, was Gilligan's Island.  That's right, Gilligan's.  Not resembling the environment shown on TV decades ago and nowhere near three hours from land (perhaps 10 minutes), this tiny island is a popular retreat among locals who wish to be lost for a weekend.  It has half a dozen picnic areas, a few short walking trails, and some patches of sand that one could argue were beaches, but it is the water that is remarkable.  Thanks in part to the mangrove forest, the water is as clear as anywhere I've seen in life or in photography.  Were it not salty, I would have gratefully lapped it up.  Two or three neck-deep canals slice through the island, making it popular with kayakers and anyone desiring an effortless swim in nearly still, transparent water shaded by an arch of mangrove limbs spanning bank to bank.

One of the most pleasant aspects of a private sailboat is the freedom to find uninhabited remote places of beauty.  However, at some point a trip into a city is necessary to resupply, repair, or reconnect with the non-sailing world.  The cities we chose for these necessities were Ponce, Boqueron, and Mayaguez.  Named for the famous seeker of eternal youth, Juan Ponce de Leon, Puerto Rico's second largest city doesn't receive its due credit.  Yes, the outskirts may appear rough around the edges, but in the immediate vicinity of the plaza is an abundance of museums, monuments, and historic theatres, banks, and government buildings.  At ground zero are the city's two most iconic structures:  the Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe Cathedral and Parque de Bombas (firehouse).  In just over an hour and for a mere $2, a trolley ride will take visitors on a route through the city highlighting other worthwhile places: Serralles Castle, El Vigia Cross, the National Pantheon, the Sports Hall of Fame (primarily a tribute to PR's greatest baseball player), and the beloved 600-year-old Ceiba tree.

Boqueron is home to excellent seafood, a small forest, and a bird sanctuary, but we came for none of these reasons.  We sought only two things when we anchored in its bay: protection from a gusty easterly and an internet connection.  We found both but with the added surprise of a college party town on the last weekend of Spring Break just prior to Easter Sunday.  Yikes.  Each morning, the town was a wreck from the previous night's debauchery, but we had to bear it to use the lone wi-fi signal being produced by a beachside bar.  Just before we left, the town did provide an entertaining night for me, Tom, and Sarah.  We attended a free rock concert, wandered through the streets-turned-block party, and ate lobster empanadas washed down by roadside refreshments.

Upon returning to the boat that night, we immediately began what was my second night sail and first in the Caribbean.  My very first night aboard Bella was spent at the helm, so it seemed fitting that one of my last was as well.  We were headed to Mona Island, the Galapagos of the Caribbean, a good 40 miles (65km) off shore and nearly halfway to the Dominican Republic.  Like the passage from Sardinia to Menorca, the night sail was peaceful and without incident, giving me plenty of time to reflect on what had passed and what was to come.  I relinquished control just as the sun crested upon our stern and Mona came into our immediate vicinity.  I quickly went to sleep, but hardly logged two hours when Sharon insisted I could no longer sleep through the environment outside.  I hesistate to tout its beauty here for fear of spoiling a well-kept secret, but Mona's scenery was nothing short of travel magazine quality.  Its remote location prevents excess tourism, which, in turn, keeps the curious indigenous four-foot lizards happy and creates a group of extremely friendly park rangers willing to explain anything and guide anywhere.

The sail into Mayaguez was my last with Bella.  From here, the crew cleared immigration and sailed to the Bahamas, while I stayed behind and began readjusting to solo travel.  Numerous times, I toyed with the idea of forgoing travel in South America to remain aboard and soak up more of this beautiful life with these beautiful people.  In the end, the desire to visit my sixth continent, see a few more world wonders, and immerse myself in Spanish-speaking cultures triumphed.  I returned to San Juan for a couple of days before flying to Colombia.  It was here in the old city where I read the plaque and understood why so many Puerto Ricans are fiercely proud of their identity and do not wish for statehood.  Their history is half a millenium old, directly traceable to Spain for many of them, and assimilation risks modifying or losing a preserved culture that is too valuable for either.