8 days of grace.

Adventures start with a long gaze into an unknown future. In December our church presented us with a travel voucher, a presentation certificate, a diploma of sorts, showing we had graduated from the mundane, the everyday life and were now permitted to head out on an adventure. The paper only told us how much we had to spend. The 4 arrows on the compass beckoned to us, North to cool weather, deep green forests, East to the coast, the sophistication and distinction of our nation’s first colonies. The hipster and progressive West coast wooed us: “Hang in Seattle Kick Back in San Diego, be young again.” Perhaps we would go South, to the beaches of Galveston or the tropical tip of Florida. All of these possibilities called to us, “adventure awaits here…” Yet, part of me yearned for an adventure beyond the confines of the lower 48.

A gamble, a risk, a hope struck me, what if we went to Puerto Rico? How much more will that cost us? A quick internet search for airline tickets yielded an adventurers dream, the cost of traveling to this tiny Island stocked full of adventure and other-world charm was a tiny bit more than going to the farthest point we could reach here in the contiguous 48. A long gaze into the future had begun. A few meetings with a travel agent, a few tweaks of travel and lodging plans and we booked our flights and lodging. Then, the hardest part was waiting.

The most dangerous part of adventure is waiting.  The anticipation of adventure has a way of stealing your focus and leaving you dreaming. You find your thoughts wandering from the work at hand and gazing into a computer screen at the pictures from someone else’s adventure. Soon, they will be your pictures, they will be your stories, it will be your adventure. So these next 8 posts are intended to give you a moment to gaze into our adventure, and hopefully, give you pause to dream of your own adventure.

Day One: Wednesday April 29, we woke early; bags had been packed since last night. Lisa, a friend from church, was going to arrive at the house early to take us to the airport for our 7:20 flight. Anticipation was high, we were ready for a break, Terri had just finished a grueling tax season, and I had just not taken a break in way too long. The John Denver song, “Leav’in On A Jet Plane” was rolling in my head. We said goodbye to Esther, reluctant to leave our family for such a far destination. As it turned out, our church family adopted her for the week, keeping her busy, well fed, active and laughing. While we were sharing trip photos with our girls, she was sending photos of cookies and puppies back to us, we knew she was in good hands.

The flight was not bad, an hour and a half to Atlanta, then a 3 hour flight to Puerto Rico, a short travel day for what felt like another country. Funny how many people asked us if we had our passports ready, somewhere our history classes and our government classes forgot to teach us that Puerto Rico is a US Territory. We had all the ease of moving around just like in the states, driving, familiar laws, and a bunch of signs we could not read but figured out by their familiar shape. We had all the adventure of going to another land. Puerto Rico retains much of its culture, language, food and architecture.

We have the benefit of having friends who grew up in Puerto Rico. We went over to one of their houses for dinner before we left. Michelle’s parents who still live in a mountain town in Peurto Rico were there and together we planned out some of our adventures once we reached the island. Michelle cooked us a homemade Puerto Rican meal. So when we landed in San Juan, we did not head for the first Dominoes, Chinese (Plenty of these) or Mexican Restaurant we saw, we asked a local where the best local food was. We were told about two places and she began to give us directions. Between her accent and our complete disorientation we tried to navigate to one of the local eateries. We had confidence, we had Garmin, but this place was off-grid! We tried google maps, but lost signal at every turn, so we finally gave up and found the second place, an hour later.

On our first night we ate at Don PePe’s a little restaurant a mile from our hotel. We walked in, the lower portion seated about 30 and was full with people lingering over good smelling food and beverages listening to a three piece jazz band. We took a seat and began to look through the menu. It was in both Spanish and English, so ordering was easy. Terri was looking forward to sea food, since we happened to be so near the sea! I was just looking for something local. I ordered the fried pork, rice and beans, so similar to what Michelle had prepared for us, Terri ordered a lobster and rice dish. After a day of traveling, we had arrived, we were reclining in a local dive, dining on local flavor, and listening to a little local ensemble fill the night air with music.
Day one ends with us returning to the hotel, listening to the ocean beckon, but I am old, older than I like to admit so rest called louder than the breakers.