Mofongo, Mojito, Miguelito, y Pescado!
Wednesday, March 21: Hold on to your coconuts!
As had become our brief custom, we arose yesterday for breakfast at the pool bar. If you get there early enough, there are only a few souls there, the breezes are light and fresh, and you get first dibs at the buffet. I am enamored with the fresh fruit bar! And Dios Mio! these folks know how to make a fuerte cup of café! Right, so, we’re sitting there enjoying breakfast before the heat of the day, and notice a small crew going palm tree to palm tree. One guy has on climbing gear and goes scurrying up the palms. Once up there, he hacks with surgical skill at the lower lying palms and dead bits, and these drop to the ground. Waiting below are a couple of other fellows who load up the palms and debris into a dilapidated Chevy Astro. We both remarked at how amazing this whole ballet was. Then, as he climbed the next palm, wife remarked with approval that at least this time he was climbing up with a safety rope. She was almost right. The rope was to ensure that the coconuts he was whacking free from the palm could be lowered safely to his amigos on the ground! Safety rope? We don’t need no stinking safety ropes! I asked the waitress about this. She said he comes every other month, charges by the tree, and then sells the coconuts at a stand back in the village. This would explain the parallel track marks each palm sports!
And while I’m thinking about it, breakfast is also the best time to watch the local black birds. I’ve seen these same birds in Nicaragua, Grenada, St. Vincent, and St. Thomas. I’m guessing that they are just warm climate foul. They are solid black, have long thin beaks, make ear piercing shrieking calls, and fold their tail feathers like a rudder when they fly. The males have little feather puffing boxing matches to stake out the best tables and the most desirable females. And they all love to nab abandoned morsels from plates the service staff hasn’t cleared away quite yet. But the real shocker is their predilection for artificial sweeteners! On each table, there are little ceramic boxes with sugar, Splenda, and Equal. The sugar packets may as well contain the cure for cancer, the secrets of the Kennedy assassination, and the whereabouts of Osama bin Laden. The birds couldn’t care less about them. But each day, the careful observer can empty yellow and blue packets lying about the bar with beak-shaped gouges through them. Although the birds may gorge on sausage, egg, and butter, these flying reivers steer clear of sugar. I guess they’re all on the Adkins diet?
Right. The dive. Ok, this time we remembered both the diffuser and the memory card. The dives went well. One more trip to the wall, one more tour of Andreas Reef. Although we were shark-less this go round, we did get some good shots of trigger fish, a trumpet fish, schools of snapper, a queen angel, and some crustaceans! I’ve attached a couple of shots. More to come once we get back in the States.
After an impossibly tasty plantain encrusted mahi-mahi lunch back by the pool, we retired for our afternoon nap. After three days of daily diving, we were a bit worn out, and took dinner in the room. Sleeeep. Sleeeep.
Thursday, March 22: To the Bat Cave!
Despite the fact that we didn’t dive today, we nevertheless arose for our early breakfast. Sure, that means waking up early, but when it comes to buffets and communion chalices during flu season, I’d rather be first in line than last! Today is the local version of Labor Day, so there would be many people at the beach.
After breakfast, we went on a hike through Guanica’s “dry forest” up to a cave. The cave itself is made of igneous rock, home to many bats, and despite its cooler temperatures, it was still quite humid. Reminded me of Paris Hilton: picturesque, hollow, and creepy, all at the same time.
Afterward, we cleaned up and had lunch. I made a futile attempt at a nap, hence the occasion for this blog update. Dinner is at 8:pm. We leave the resort tomorrow to start our way back to San Juan. Already I feel that inescapable vacation dread, the one you feel when the time is almost but not quite done. When you know that soon you’ll be back to work, but not yet. How insanely hard it is just to be where one is, rather than preemptively being where one cannot yet truly be. Bleh. Fortunately, the bar received a fresh shipment of mint leaves. I believe we may be able to treat this with a carefully built mojito, born of mint leaves, a mortar and pestle, DonQ, and a squeeze of fresh lime.
Hasta Proximo!
As had become our brief custom, we arose yesterday for breakfast at the pool bar. If you get there early enough, there are only a few souls there, the breezes are light and fresh, and you get first dibs at the buffet. I am enamored with the fresh fruit bar! And Dios Mio! these folks know how to make a fuerte cup of café! Right, so, we’re sitting there enjoying breakfast before the heat of the day, and notice a small crew going palm tree to palm tree. One guy has on climbing gear and goes scurrying up the palms. Once up there, he hacks with surgical skill at the lower lying palms and dead bits, and these drop to the ground. Waiting below are a couple of other fellows who load up the palms and debris into a dilapidated Chevy Astro. We both remarked at how amazing this whole ballet was. Then, as he climbed the next palm, wife remarked with approval that at least this time he was climbing up with a safety rope. She was almost right. The rope was to ensure that the coconuts he was whacking free from the palm could be lowered safely to his amigos on the ground! Safety rope? We don’t need no stinking safety ropes! I asked the waitress about this. She said he comes every other month, charges by the tree, and then sells the coconuts at a stand back in the village. This would explain the parallel track marks each palm sports!
And while I’m thinking about it, breakfast is also the best time to watch the local black birds. I’ve seen these same birds in Nicaragua, Grenada, St. Vincent, and St. Thomas. I’m guessing that they are just warm climate foul. They are solid black, have long thin beaks, make ear piercing shrieking calls, and fold their tail feathers like a rudder when they fly. The males have little feather puffing boxing matches to stake out the best tables and the most desirable females. And they all love to nab abandoned morsels from plates the service staff hasn’t cleared away quite yet. But the real shocker is their predilection for artificial sweeteners! On each table, there are little ceramic boxes with sugar, Splenda, and Equal. The sugar packets may as well contain the cure for cancer, the secrets of the Kennedy assassination, and the whereabouts of Osama bin Laden. The birds couldn’t care less about them. But each day, the careful observer can empty yellow and blue packets lying about the bar with beak-shaped gouges through them. Although the birds may gorge on sausage, egg, and butter, these flying reivers steer clear of sugar. I guess they’re all on the Adkins diet?
Right. The dive. Ok, this time we remembered both the diffuser and the memory card. The dives went well. One more trip to the wall, one more tour of Andreas Reef. Although we were shark-less this go round, we did get some good shots of trigger fish, a trumpet fish, schools of snapper, a queen angel, and some crustaceans! I’ve attached a couple of shots. More to come once we get back in the States.
After an impossibly tasty plantain encrusted mahi-mahi lunch back by the pool, we retired for our afternoon nap. After three days of daily diving, we were a bit worn out, and took dinner in the room. Sleeeep. Sleeeep.
Thursday, March 22: To the Bat Cave!
Despite the fact that we didn’t dive today, we nevertheless arose for our early breakfast. Sure, that means waking up early, but when it comes to buffets and communion chalices during flu season, I’d rather be first in line than last! Today is the local version of Labor Day, so there would be many people at the beach.
After breakfast, we went on a hike through Guanica’s “dry forest” up to a cave. The cave itself is made of igneous rock, home to many bats, and despite its cooler temperatures, it was still quite humid. Reminded me of Paris Hilton: picturesque, hollow, and creepy, all at the same time.
Afterward, we cleaned up and had lunch. I made a futile attempt at a nap, hence the occasion for this blog update. Dinner is at 8:pm. We leave the resort tomorrow to start our way back to San Juan. Already I feel that inescapable vacation dread, the one you feel when the time is almost but not quite done. When you know that soon you’ll be back to work, but not yet. How insanely hard it is just to be where one is, rather than preemptively being where one cannot yet truly be. Bleh. Fortunately, the bar received a fresh shipment of mint leaves. I believe we may be able to treat this with a carefully built mojito, born of mint leaves, a mortar and pestle, DonQ, and a squeeze of fresh lime.
Hasta Proximo!
posted by graysandpeas | 3:09 PM
1 Comments:
You misspelled dessert as "desert." C'mon mike.
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