We spent the morning strolling on the beach:
Yes, I was in socks and shoes. No, I don’t know why. Especially since, when Clyde walked out into the surf, I walked right out there with him!
On the way home, we pretended briefly to be the kind of American tourists who refuse to eat at anything other than familiar chain restaurants, posing outside the Chili’s like it was our home town’s embassy:
Around noon, our friend (and Puerto Rico’s greatest tour guide), Carlos, picked the family up for a trip up to the weekly roast port festival in Guavata. We snagged a sweet table in one of the several tiny family “houses” out back of our chosen eatery, then stood in line for more than an hour to snag some of the spit-roasted pork. Everything there was drenched in local color, from the band to the heaping plates of food.
While in town, a friend of Carlos’ — a local artist specializing in stone cutting, whom the locals call “Fred Flintstone” — invited us up to his house for a visit. There, after being offered samples of everything from cafe con leche to home-brewed moonshine, we settled in for naps in hammocks and a friendly game of dominoes:
After saying our goodbyes, we drove up twisty, winding roads to the top of to hike the trail back to a swimming hole popular with locals. The trail was level and easy for everyone, from our sixteen year-old nephew to Clyde’s eight-four year-old father. After spending a half-hour or so under the canopy of giant ferns and towering bamboo, it was gratifying to hear Joe say it was his favorite part of the trip so far.
We ended the day with another huge portion of meat — dining out at Che’s Steakhouse in Isla Verde. Now it’s time for some quick sleep … before leaving in the morning for more adventures!
