Mélange Travel & Lifestyle Magazine October 2016 | Page 320
Puerto Rico
I will remember . . .
“You will remember me” the old man said, handing me my cup. For a moment I questioned if his unhesitating tone and brooding expression were foreboding signs of what was to come – if I was living out a scene in a movie where an unassuming traveler drinks from a chalice of black magic, falls under a terrible curse, and is forced to break a spell. Alas, this “chalice” was a flimsy plastic cup with more puree of locally-grown papayas than dark magic. I had just completed a surf lesson on the glimmering beaches of Western Puerto Rico. I was still coated in seawater, but the sun was reaching its peak and the heat was quickly pulling the droplets off of my skin.
Madeline List
There was a transient rush every time I managed to ride a wave before the crests melted back into the Caribbean. This was always followed by a hustled swim back out to sea and some big breaths of mist as I attempted to paddle away from the shallow coral. After hours of being tossed around the ocean came the liberating exhaustion of hauling to shore and collapsing on the longboard. 316
The rhythm of this routine was becoming addicting. If a spell had been cast, it was causing an irresistible urge to stay on the island. I once considered myself far too adventurous to explore a place that was so close to home. I bought my ticket to Puerto Rico on good faith on the endorsement of a well-traveled friend, but I was careful not to raise my expectations too high. Surely I would spend a good chunk of my solo excursion dodging honeymooners and tuning out young children begging their parents for souvenirs, as I searched tirelessly for a more “authentic” experience. Now I was shamelessly eating those old, doubt-ridden words. I was falling into the calm intensity of the surrounding surfers and the understated sense of humor the locals all seemed to carry. It was low season in the area, and the serene seaside vibes were spreading as if they were contagious. When I drove out to the town of Aguada, I didn’t realize that I would be around for the Festival del Descubrimiento, commemorating the day and place where Christopher Columbus supposedly made landfall in Puerto Rico. Now I hoped that the inexplicably somber smoothie man hadn’t really bewitched any of his pineapples, because the festival was a big part of my agenda for the day.