Friend Merging in Puerto Rico

I always go on trips and then say to myself, “when I blog about this, I will not include anything about the airline that took me over there.” And I must say, so far, so good on this trip to PR. My only source of anxiety is the fact that I’m on a completely full flight over a deep and presumably freezing ocean and it has occurred to me at this moment in time as I look down into the sea for circles of Great White Sharks, that no one weighs carry on bags and that can’t be safe. What if we all packed fifty pounds in our carry on to avoid a baggage fee?
My carry on was brought into question on this trip

1. By Me: because it is a sinking hole where all things important like passports and iPhone chargers go to die
2. By the TSA: because in a surprising turn of events, it turns out five pound white coral rocks from the ocean can be mistaken for bags of drugs in a X-ray. Not to worry though, for the first time in my life I was early to the airport and had time for this minor setback and questioning by the TSA, in which I thought of myself as a suspect much like Piper from ‘Orange is the New Black’ (my fave).

Let it be known that the only reason I made it to the airport on time AND was actually able to leisurely travel for the past five days is because I was traveling with a man. I have GOT to get one of my own. My friends husband came along and actually enjoys doing things like driving (not a skill of mine), directions (hate them), getting up early and seeking out cheap breakfast, and “keeping an eye on the bags” while we all use the restroom. Okay, he probably doesn’t enjoy the last thing but I think it gave him time to troll Facebook in private with out three girls saying, “who is that, how do you know them?”
Thank God for him. He’s killed the Mosquitos in our room and alongside him we escaped any and all harassment that you typically endure when you’re walking anywhere in a foreign country with a vagina. He also arranged dog sitting for me and only asked that I pay in the form of a Puerto Rico magnet from the airport gift store (and $100, but the safety of my dog child is worth every penny).
We decided to go to Puerto Rico after approximately six months of saying we would go on a ‘girls trip’ and then subsequently doing nothing to plan it. This is how Stacy and I operate. We seek nice hotels with infinity pools and poolside service and then we rotate activities/ excursions, which for us consist of: napping, drinking, eating, swimming, showering, tanning, dinner and wine, and reading 3-5 books. The biggest work out I typically get on our trips together is maintaining a squat position in the airport bathroom to keep any inch of my body from touching any inch of the airport.
On this vacation we chose to bring two tag-alongs: her husband, Eleodoro, (who as I mentioned before proved to be extremely helpful) and our friend who we will call Dora as an alias. As in Dora the Explorer. Just kidding she doesn’t need an alias, her name is Andrea and we have worked together for about five years. But safe to say her mother missed an opportunity in naming her Dora. Because it would have been pretty fitting.

We on a boat.

Andrea must have been able to sense that Stacy and I share travel anxiety and, see previous blog entries on instances when this anxiety has materialized into truly tragic travel horror stories. She sent us many an email prior to our departure, and even signed it, “your anxiety traveler solutions agent,” or “sincerely, anxiety travel international.” She’s great at planning.

She had our trip booked out to include adventures in a rain forest, night time kayaking, “local culture,” and even suggested an Air B&b (which if you know Stacy you know that last suggestion is laughable).

      We arrived and checked into the El Convento Hotel in San Juan and I could tell that Andrea was elated by the idea of “culture” in San Juan. So much so that she was taking pictures of stray cats and she was genuinely upset with me when I didn’t share her excitement upon seeing a chicken on the side of the road. “Lindsey! That’s so cool! It’s a chicken!!” “Yes,” I said. “But we’re from Texas. You can see chickens in my parents neighborhood. Seen one chicken, seem em all.”

     I have spent years being excited by small things on trips. I credit this to my huge catholic family (as I credit most things). When you grow up in a catholic family and are related to no less than 1000 people (more recently discovered this is not an exaggeration- see my family’s Facebook page for those related to me in some way), you don’t “vacation.” I stayed in a hotel for the first time when I was in college, and if I remember correctly the hotel was in Del Rio, Texas and I slept on the floor.  Anyways, you don’t “vacation.” You go see your family. And your family lives everywhere- so you never stay in a hotel, DUH. Also when you grow up in middle America- you don’t leisurely travel with kids- you visit your grandparents. And traveling with kids sounds god- aweful anyways (see: this airplane that I am currently on with three of them simultaneously crying. Also see: the most tragic of it all, for some reason this iPhone only has two Jimmy Buffet songs on it and nothing else- WHY AM I SO UNPREPARED FOR THIS SIX HOUR FLIGHT).

Stray cat #219384, there’s more photos where this came from.

     The point is, I didn’t start vacationing until I was an adult. And therefore, everything is exciting and photo worthy for me. I love snow and clear water and fish and zoos and unique bars and fancy hotels and the whole idea of packing a suitcase. And my friends always tell me they have to tune this portion of me out- and Andrea, “Dora,” is me times 10000.

One time I made my friends take a picture of me and “snow” in front of Subway. #excited

     Stacy was born in what I call the “latch key generation” and I think she is still suffering the lasting effects of “FRIENDS (the TV show) has failed me syndrome.” She is excited by nothing. Except dehumidified rooms and Diet Coke.  She is the most apathetic person I know (until recently, she has unearthed many opinions on Caitlyn Jenner and has recently been dropping marital advice). Those things will get her going. “Latch-Key’s” can be described as people that are plagued by a lack of emotion or reaction, feel disconnected from the world, and don’t see the point in “caring.” Examples of Latch-Key’s are: Daria on MTV and Alanis Morissette. Andrea and I are Generation Y and therefore quite the opposite.

     Andrea bought Tevas (aka Velcro- on, gender neutral sandals) for our adventures- and Stacy bought a Louis Vuitton as one of her few ways to cart things around (thank God her husband packed a back pack).

Real cute pedi tho, y’all.

      I am a shameless people pleaser and am most happy when everyone around me is having a good time. I found myself navigating two opposite personalities on this trip. And I found Stacy’s husband typically drinking, most likely to lessen the blow that is: spending five days with three women. One is in Tevas, one needs constant 65 degree temperature control ( on an island!) and the other (that’s me) is overwhelmed (per usual) by my internal struggle to do nothing or to do something at the same time. IE: to sleep in or get up for yoga, to nap or to read a book, to stay up late or to get eight hours, to wear a rash guards or risk looking lesbianish (?? But I have a sun burn?), to buy souvineers or to find them. I know, I know, my struggle is real.

Old San Juan, Puerto Rico

We started the trip in Old San Juan, where we opted for a snorkeling trip to a remote beach. The reefs were some of the most beautiful I had ever seen, and to my liking they served drinks on our boat. I tread lightly with the rum punch though- remembering the time in college where I got drunk on a catamaran and jumped into a pool of jelly fish while “snorkeling” and followed this by ordering $110 worth of shots at Carlos and Charlie’s with someone’s grandmother on I do not remember which island.

     This trip went over with out much struggle. No sea sickness, no shark bites. Andrea and I got severely sunburned, though- hence the rash gaurd struggle. Andrea walked around as if someone had just knocked the breath out of her lungs and inserted, “I am so sunburned” into our conversations as often as possible. Which God-Bless she really was, we’re talkin’ second degree burns here on day one, everyone.

      I also gave up on waiting for Stacy to “swim,” and employed my ten-year-old lifeguard techniques and swam her back and forth from our boat to the shore. I’ll count that as a work out. As a result our “guide” had to swim my margarita to shore (he really did). But hey, I think we all won here.

      Stacy consistently dispensed unprompted marriage advice through out the trip. As if Andrea and I were brought along as “observers” of TRUE LIFE: We’re Married. She modeled patience and flexibility but never shorted herself the opportunity to mention, “look how flexible I’m being right now.” “Noted,” Andrea and I thought. By the end of our trip, it was apparent that Andrea and I are not ready to be in a marriage yet, due to Stacy and Eleodoro’s narrative that we’ll call, “The Great Garza Compromise.”

     The next day, we slept in and decided to forge the only Rain Forest in the United States. If you’re looking to test your friendships- rent a car in a forgien country and travel sans GPS in the tropics.  Rely solely on the animated map that the hotels hand out that isn’t to scale and leaves you guessing on the bottom of a hill in a two- cylinder hatch back in the middle of a forest.

Why am I always in a hatchback?

      I would like to reiterate that I am wearing a sign on my forehead that says, “I like to rent hatch backs when given an option, please let me have one.” Only rental car agents can see it. And this time it must have said, “a ten year old hatch back for a rainforest trip with unpredictable terrain, one car-sick person and one 215 pound/ 6’4 man with no map would be GREAT.” Despite the aforementioned struggle in navigating to the rainforest we made it thanks to Andreas persistent, “keeeeep going, I think this is the way the locals take to the forest” and Eleodoro’s desire for our silence. We arrived and Andrea gave us a whole hearted “suck it” In front of the sign like the lady she is.

Our fearless navigator.

      Our treck through the rainforest was supposed to be a total of two miles and end in a water fall which we could all swim in. Anyone can do two miles, right? But this treck was beginning to test the patience of our resident realist (aka Stacy). She attempted to remain positive, but much like Monica in the Episode of Friends in the Caribbean (see photo below), her hair was beginning to inflate and she is pretty open that nature and hiking are not her thang. Dora was leading the way though, and there was no stopping her and her Tevas. That’s when about a mile in a palm tree tried to kill my friend Stacy much like a scene out of Final Destination. Here is the picture of the leaf that almost took her out:

The five foot dagger leaf that almost took out my five foot friend.

Our trails ended in us not making it to the waterfall because it was getting too dark, and our group substituting swimming in pools that fed the falls- which for me was just as good. Eleodoro posed in the water, and Andrea took about 19000 selfies. Stacy dreamed of better days at the JW marriot and pronounced her disdain for nature and the outdoors, and here is what I did:

If you don’t know, now you know.

By dinner time on this day it was clear that Andrea was sun burned and Stacy had just about had it with culture and nature. Eleodoro wasn’t getting fed enough because the hotel had $14 French Toast and tapas. This is when we had to disclose, what are the some of the things on a trip that turn you into a dislikable person?

• For Stacy: Humidity/being hot. She has 300 pounds of hair. “This hotel feels like camping and I hate it.” Stacy said, at her wits end. “It’s five stars,” I said (and please imagine my eye roll). “Well there’s no climate control in our room and I want to leave.” “There’s no A/C?” “No. It’s just humid.””Well, We’re on a tropical island….” Eye roll eye roll eye roll.
• For Andrea: being hungry or tired. Both of which I think contributed to her being most dislikable when discussing her sunburn for the 1000th time. “I think you look healthier,” Stacy said. “I’m already peeling and I think I have an irregular mole.” Andrea responded. And then went back to sitting with RBF. Which is a condition known as “resting bitch face,” and made servers in the hotel bring her things more quickly than people who don’t suffer from RBF.

Just in time, we had booked the second portion of our trip at the W ok Vieques island. The only obstacle was the unreliable ferry that we had to take in order to get there. I know I was made for private planes, but he ferry was only $2 per person for a ride across the ocean and a flight just didn’t seem economical.

“Did you know you have to help other people pack when you’re married?” Said Stacy.

I googled our route and quickly found that only cargo ferries (as oppose to human ferries) were running to the island and they were known for being unreliable. “Don’t tell Stacy that we have to ride a cargo ferry. Just let her find out when we get there.” Dora said. The Nutella in my desert really took the edge off and I was able to rationally create a plan for our arrival at the W.

Zero organization to loading the cargo ferry like cows.

After a cargo ferry trip that wasn’t as bad as it sounded despite feeling like a herd of cattle- we arrived at the W and I was again reminded that I was born for a life of luxury. Unfortunately I can’t afford it but gahhhhhh

Arrival at the W at Vieques Island, Puerto Rico

 

The W consisted of all things W-esque. IE there were no bugs? No bathrooms ever smell! Unclear how they make this happen. Poolside service. Private beach access. Robes after you shower!!! I was walking around as if I were cast in a commercial for them. Feeling glamorous, and hair whipping, and scheming how to avoid paying for a $15 glass of sangria.

But Dora couldn’t hold still for long and her need for adventure, heat and repeated failure at communicating in the Spanish language with locals had worn off on Eleodoro. The next day we decided to rent a Jeep (um yes) and explore beaches on the island. I went into this adventure with a slight amount of reluctance:

1. I always like to know when my next nap is. And Dora woke up with some all- day- energy. Plus we thought “continental breakfast,” meant “free,” which at the W it does not, but it did give her $18 of additional breakfast energy.
2. Id really like to nap poolside at the W and not like a Girl Scout on the public beach without optional sun coverage.
3. I’m pretty sure I will not be in love with any beach as much as I am with the one at the W, because the one at the W includes fluffy towels and food and drinks at your fingertips.

But I went anyways. Because I have FOMO. And I enjoyed for a few hours- but then Eleodoro had a close encounter with a Sting Ray and Dora was leading me to believe she wanted to shell hunt for another five hours. Then we were low on gas and there wasn’t a shrimp quesadilla in sight. And this is when I asked (in a way that was probably more demanding than anything) that I be promptly returned to the W. They called me a “princess” and tried to guilt me into thinking I was going to miss the adventure of a lifetime, but I could have dropped and rolled out of that jeep in the drive way of the W and been fine.

 

I looked like something the cat drug in upon arrival. Too REI-esque and in need of a good lace cover up and my jewelry and not my Hurley rash guard. I made my way to the pool where I stumbled upon none other than the Latch Key herself- drink in hand, with and iPad, freshly showered awaiting a menu.

This is why we are friends.

“It was so hard.” I said. “They were trying to make me shell hunt all day. And they were almost out of gas and they didn’t even care. There’s no AAA on this island!!” I said, coming down from the beginning of an anxiety attack. “Your husband has collected fifty pounds of shells and coral.”

“Did you know you have to clean the hotel room for yourself and another person when you’re married?” Said Stacy, dispensing more marriage truths.

“Please get us a menu and some drinks.” Said Stacy to the waiter. Two pitchers of sangria, chips and guacamole (I had been searching for a avacado for days), 1 poolside hamburger, and multiple magazines later, we were found somewhat drunk and sleeping in a spacious cabana when our friends came back to the hotel.

How we were found. R&R.

“And now we know what the thing is that makes Lindsey dislikable on trips!” Said Dora aka Andrea. “Don’t take her out of a five star for too long.”

You got it, Boo.

Wild Horses and glow stick necklaces

That night we did a Bioluminescent Bay tour with one of the most insulting and friendly people on the island. It started with him asking if Stacy’s husband was her dad, and ended with him telling us about how he generally asks roommates if they’re lesbians. But the bioluminesce was the most incredible biological miracle i’ve ever seen. And it was made better by the fact that my brilliant self remembered to pack glow-sticks from the Dollar Section at Target.

Vieques was probably the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen made more beautiful by the W hotel. “Don’t make me sound like a bitch in your blog,” said Stacy, before we left. “There was a snail in one of our shells and now everything smells like fish,” said Andrea. Time ta’ go.

And this wouldn’t be a blog entry with out mention of the airport

On the airplane home I always envision myself meeting my future lover. I’ve said this before. I think to myself, “I bet by happenstance I’ll sit next to some very attractive man who enjoys traveling like I do and we will fall in great poetic love and travel the world together.” But airplanes are quite the opposite. Intact they are most similar to the DMV: lots of people with unfortunate tattoos, too much occasional and audible farting, and people who lack awareness for a healthy level of personal space.

Friendly reminder to the public: taking your shoes off on airplanes if your feet even remotely smell pollutes the small anount of recycled air we are all forced to consume. Also- everyone get next to some gum.

Cheers, y’all.