Last April, my husband Jack proposed going to Puerto Rico for three days for our 10th anniversary. I nearly fainted. He never suggests going anywhere. Whatever travel we undertake as a couple is typically my doing. Of course, I enthusiastically agreed to go.

 

Fly-Fishing

Jack’s main interest in Puerto Rico was the chance to cast a fly line for tarpon, permit, and other inshore gamefish around the island’s extensive mangroves and grass flats. After we checked into the San Juan Marriott and Resort in the touristy Condado section of the city, he immediately booked a guide for the next morning.

Up before the sun, we Uber-ed to the address the guide had given us on a finger of water off San Juan Bay about 40 minutes from the hotel. The driver left us outside a small marina’s locked gate, then drove away, triggering tingles of anxiety. It was not a nice part of the island. Trash speckled the roadside and hung from the intertwined, untrimmed shrubs. I huddled closer to Jack, who seemed unconcerned.

After a few nervous minutes, a pickup’s headlights pierced the gloom, towing a flats boat. “Are you the Ballards?” asked the driver. “I’m Tommy, your guide.” Moments later, we were on his boat, happily watching the sun rise in swirls of peaches and pinks above the glassy water.

Tommy poled us along the edge of the first large lagoon as we took turns casting toward the leggy mangrove roots. Nothing. We targeted the underwater grass flats watching for telltale “nervous water.” Nothing. We moved down one mangrove corridor after another, hoping to see a tailing fish. Nothing. The sun got higher and hotter. I retired my rod, but Jack kept casting. Lunchtime came and went. By midafternoon, we finally gave up. “Try Culebra or Vieques,” suggested Tommy, referring to the two islands off the east coast of Puerto Rico, as we waited for another Uber to take us back to our hotel.

 

 

Snorkeling

Since Jack had chosen the first day’s activity, it was my turn to plan the next day. I opted for snorkeling. “We didn’t see big fish yesterday, but maybe we’ll see little ones today,” I joked, booking a snorkeling tour near Punta Escambron Beach. The beach was 2.5 miles from the hotel along swanky Ashford Avenue and the ocean. We welcomed the walk and immersion into the area.

The snorkeling concession was based at a kiosk on the beach. Our guide, Elsa, outfitted us with fins, masks, and snorkels and then led us to a small strand at the edge of a sheltered lagoon. As we backed into the water, Elsa handed Jack something spiky and black, a small sea urchin. “Don’t step on these,” she warned, bubbling over with instructions and stories about the lagoon and the once grand but now abandoned Normandie Hotel on the far shore. The dilapidated hotel looked like a shipwrecked cruise ship. Indeed, the hotel was built in the 1940s to look like the elegant transatlantic passenger ship, SS Normandie.

After a few minutes, Elsa motioned for us to follow her toward the middle of the lagoon. About 12 feet below us, a concrete square with four-foot walls rested on the sandy bottom. Part of it was obscured by a grate, but I could see a patio chair inside the square with something on it.

Elsa motioned for me to dive toward the chair with her. I took a breath and followed, feeling my snorkel immediately fill with water. I cleared my ears as I went deeper, then I almost gagged. Sitting on the chair was a human skeleton from the waist down. It had been there a while. Tropical fish darted around the bones, which were covered with fuzzy barnacles, seaweed, and baby corals. Torn between curiosity and convulsion, I headed back to the surface.

“What did you see?” asked Jack, when I burst from below. Elsa surfaced next to me. “The bottom half of a skeleton!” I exclaimed, horrified. “Who was it? What happened?”

“It’s a fake,” said Elsa, chuckling next to us. “Hey, look!” We put our snorkels back in our mouths and ducked our heads underwater to see what excited her. A green sea turtle, an endangered species endemic to Puerto Rico, poked around the aquatic weeds below us. I quickly forgot about the skeleton as we followed the turtle. Though this young one’s shell was only about 18 inches across, green sea turtles are the largest hard-shelled species of sea turtle. Full grown, they can weigh up to 350 pounds with a shell that’s four feet long. They are unique among sea turtles because they are herbivores. Their diet of seagrass and algae turns their internal fat green, hence their name. (Their shells and skin are primarily shades of brown and cream.) We followed the sea turtle until time was up. Seeing it was the highlight of our snorkeling tour.

 

 

Castillo San Cristobal

After drying off, we decided to walk farther along the shoreline. We could see the ruins of an old fort about 1.5 miles away, and we were in the mood to explore. En route, we passed a government enclave that included El Capitolio, the Puerto Rican capitol, a white neoclassical marble building dating back to 1929, with a broad marble dome and tall pillars across its stately front. We paused to admire the capitol from San Juan Bautista Plaza, an enlarged part of the sidewalk that pushed outward toward the ocean like a semicircular landing. A statue of John the Baptist, patron saint of the city of San Juan, stood at the apex of the landing, facing the capitol with a raised hand, as if preaching to us. Colorful mosaic crests representing the townships on the island were embedded in the semicircular railing to either side of the statue.

About a half mile farther we came to the entrance to Castillo San Cristobal. Though castillo is Spanish for “castle,” it was not a regal residence but a massive fortress. I’ve visited many historic forts in the United States, but none as impressive as this one, the largest built by the Spanish in the Americas.

When the English and Dutch vied with the Spanish for control of the New World and pirates pillaged the Caribbean islands and coastal mainland, Puerto Rico was one of Spain’s strategic strongholds, guarding an important maritime gateway to the Caribbean. It took the Spanish 150 years to build and fortify Castillo San Cristobal. The United States took over the fortress after the Spanish-American War when it acquired Puerto Rico. It later served as an American observation post for enemy aircraft and submarines during World War II. Today, it is a National Historic Site and UNESCO World Heritage Site managed by the National Park Service.

Castillo San Cristobal felt impermeable, with its 20-foot thick walls, and that was the idea. The main plaza was similar to the central mall inside many colonial forts, but the rest was eye-opening, especially the network of tunnels. Some were designed to be stuffed with explosives that could be blown up to block an enemy’s advance, but most gave protected access to the vaulted casemates, where the Spanish positioned their cannons, stored gunpowder and cannonballs, cooked, and slept, safe from exploding artillery.

After exploring the casemates and tunnels, we walked along the impressive ramparts, peeking past cannons guarding the ocean, imagining the dire fate of an enemy ship that dared approach San Juan. We took turns standing in the garitas (sentry boxes) perched on key points on the outer walls, and learned about the sizeable cisterns that could hold 800,000 gallons of rainwater. The cisterns still provide water for the fortress’s needs today.

Touring the fort was a lesson in military history, including its darker side, the dungeon. The first thing we noticed in the dungeon were the eerie drawings made by prisoners of the masted ships that they likely sailed before they were captured. We also learned about a friar, charged with murder, who spent 20 years chained to the dungeon’s wall enduring darkness, rats, insects, and oppressive heat. It was a sobering place but another real part of life during the castillo’s heyday.

When we reemerged into the sunshine, we left the fortress to return to our hotel, glad to see the sun again, but it was short-lived. As is common in the Caribbean, an afternoon rainstorm quickly moved in and drenched us, but the rain was warm and washed off the salt from snorkeling earlier in the day. By the time we arrived back the hotel, the skies were blue again, and we were dry. Walking into the lobby, we were surprised to find the 80-piece Puerto Rico Philharmonic Orchestra (PRPO) tuning up for an evening concert elsewhere in the city. We ordered pina coladas and found a couple of seats at the lobby bar to listen to the practice session. The music was world class. The PRPO is a professional orchestra with two Grammy nominations among its distinguished accolades. As we sipped our drinks and listened to Latin classical music, we looked forward to our last day on the island, mainly relaxing at the hotel and poking around Condado’s beachy boutiques.

“Happy anniversary!” said Jack, as we toasted ourselves. “I want to come back to fish on Culebra or Vieques.” No surprise. However, for me, there seemed an endless list of things to do in Puerto Rico. Like any place, going there revealed more opportunities to experience the outdoors, historical sites, and the island’s rich culture. Three days was way too short. y

 

For More Info

Discover Puerto Rico,

www.discoverpuertorico.com