Do you ever get into a funk and not realize you’re in one? Michigan is a beautiful place to live—and I expect I’ll die here someday—but we have some long ass winters. It didn’t occur to me how much of a toll the 20 and 30-degree weather we’ve been having for MONTHS now was getting me down. Cue my hubby calling and suggesting I fly down to see him in Saint Thomas for a couple of days. This would be my second visit in 6 years.
If ever a good time existed to head south before summer hits full swing, this is it. I landed wearing long pants and a sweatshirt. Hey, the plane was chilly. I ditched the shirt, he picked me up, and I enjoyed 3 days of island life on island time. That means everything progresses at a crawl. The temperature was a mild 80 degrees, we slept with a fan on, and a mosquito net over us. The mosquitoes aren’t like the ones in Michigan. You can’t see these little bastards unless you REALLY look for them, or you feel them bite you. I got bit.
We enjoyed martinis and seafood with his co-worker and longtime friend, Miss Kim, who also accompanied us to Brewer’s Beach one day. First, though, the seafood? Oh, my. Snow crab legs, lionfish, lobster bisque, and shrimp. I’ll say it again; oh, my. Now, the beach trips? I can count on one hand the number of times the hubby and I have spent time at the beach together. We did 2 days there this trip.
He bought some new underwater masks for us to try, which allow us to float just below the surface of the water and still breathe regularly through our mouth and nose. This allowed us to stay under for as long as we wanted and just float around. His cousin saw turtles swimming in the area a week and a half earlier, so we went looking for them. Between the fish, the turtles, and the stingrays, there were plenty of things to watch below. And it was all very, very relaxing.
Those were the first three days. The hubs also suggested a week earlier we take a side trip. He asked Wednesday night “Are you packed for Puerto Rico?” To which I informed him “I’m not sure who booked your flight, but I’m going to San Juan.” Now, I know what you’re thinking, but I didn’t realize until he told me “You realize San Juan is IN Puerto Rico?” No. No, I didn’t. Geography was never my thing.
So off we went to Puerto Rico by noisy seaplane and then a cab ride to Old San Juan. I picked up pretty quickly that Puerto Rico is mostly Spanish-speaking. Yes, I’m quick that way, much like I learned San Juan is IN Puerto Rico. Friendly people—they have no love for Trump and aren’t afraid to express their view of him, which we heard several times—the buildings are gorgeous, everything is well-maintained, and the food… Oh, the food.
There’s a reason I have a gut.
Between the waffles at Waffle-era, the Signature Orzo Paella at Aguaviva, or the Grilled Cheese con Chocolate at Casa Cortes, you have no idea how much walking we had to do after to burn it all off. But the food is so worth it! The weather too. And even the company.
We aren’t in the habit of taking relaxing trips together. When we go somewhere, we GO. We head out each and every day, it’s like a race, and it’s just not relaxing. This was. We didn’t have anywhere we needed to be, we kind of just wandered, poked around a bit, and made spur-of-the-moment decisions where we’d go next. It was downright pleasant.
I boarded the plane home Friday morning, doldrums gone, just as his mother was getting off her plane in San Juan to spend 5 days with him. 10 days with family. How did he luck out?
Have any of you taken a trip like this? And please tell me I’m not the only one who didn’t realize San Juan is IN Puerto Rico.