Puerto Rico, Day One

We arrived in Puerto Rico, dragging our two cats along with us. We had made arrangements at a pet-friendly hotel so we hurried through the car-rental paperwork and headed straight to the Vanderbilt Condado to let them out of their carriers. Unfortunately, we arrived at 1:30 and check-in wasn’t until 4:00, so we drove around and eventually found a park that we thought they might like. We parked and dodged through traffic to cross the street, jostling poor Calvin and Seamus along the way. Of course, we had only brought one harness and leash, so we were forced to keep Seamus confined while we sat on a bench, unzipped Calvin’s miniature prison cell and strapped him into the harness. We clipped the leash on and set him down. He was completely freaked out and cowered. We said soothingly, “Look, Calvin!  It’s a park! You’re in the fresh air! The ground isn’t moving! And bonus – there are chickens roaming about!” (This is actually true. There were indeed feral chickens roaming about the park in the middle of San Juan.) Calvin, however, was not impressed. Nor would he be moved – he just laid there, glancing anxiously about. We tried the same routine with Seamus who, if possible, showed even less enthusiasm than his brother. What could we do? We sat there a few more minutes feeling sorry for the felines and finally decided that we’d go back to the hotel and beg for mercy from the check-in staff. By that time it was nearly 3:00, so we figured luck might be on our side. The staff took one look at our grumpy expressions, took one whiff of the fear pheromones being exuded by the cats, and took pity on us. Our room was suddenly miraculously ready, and we hurried up to the 12th floor. R and I let the cats out of their carriers and immediately went out on to the balcony to look at the city view.

Calvin and Seamus immediately hid under the bed.

The Vanderbilt has a really nice piano bar that reminded me of 1940s movies – very elegantly appointed with leather and brass and tropical vegetation. Before dinner we enjoyed a drink there (R had an amazing rum from Guatemala, and I had the best mojito on the planet) while sitting by the window and gazing at the beautiful ocean view.

We had dinner in the hotel and then wandered outside into the evening. A Spanish children’s program was being projected onto a huge screen in a park-like setting right next to the hotel, and there were vendors selling food and ice cream, and lots of families enjoying the festive atmosphere. Spanish was floating in the air and drifting all around me, leaving contrails that I could almost see. I caught phrases here and there and snatches of conversation.

And suddenly the combination of the dark, deep ocean, the warmth of the sea breeze, the explosion of color in the flowers and buildings and clothing, together with the lyrical language around me made me catch my breath. I contrasted that moment to where I was a year ago, to where I was 10 years ago, 30 years ago. Life moves a fraction of an inch at a time and suddenly a year has gone by and you’re miles from where you were, both figuratively and literally. You don’t feel the change from one minute to the next. It doesn’t seem possible that it’s really you, little you from a small town in Wyoming, standing in a park in Puerto Rico on a summer evening listening to Spanish swirl around you.

But it is. It really is.

Now if only the cats would come out from under the bed.