Puerto Rico - Day Eight

The taxi driver yesterday told me that there's a public beach just down the road from the hotel, so my plan is to walk down and take a look, take a swim, and then head into Old San Juan and be a tourist for the afternoon (what am I talking about, I'm ALWAYS a tourist).

Well, that was my plan at least. Wow, I was so busy all day, and barely got to Old San Juan at all. I spent the whole morning and afternoon sitting on the beach talking to Hannah my long lost kindred spirit through a sandstorm and a couple of rainstorms. By the early afternoon, we were the only two people left on the beach, except for the poor suckers stuck out in the water in kayaks in like 30 mile an hour winds. We talked like old friends who hadn't seen each other for a long time. And she was a message-giver who said all the things I needed to hear. I am very lucky to meet such amazing people.

Then the taxi driver who delivered me to town told me about the most amazing hotel.
Look at this view from the jacuzzi on the roof. I sat in it all night instead of walking around town. So much for nightlife. I got your nightlife right here. Anyway, why would I want to go downstairs and join all the poor bastards that WEREN'T sitting in a jacuzzi? The hotel was called Da' House, and was like a cool, crazy art gallery. The lobby, stairways, and every room was filled with original art by puerto rican artists.

Next morning I found myself a mean cup of coffee and bought a box of cigars from Pedro Pena, a "cigar artist" according to his business card, who was sitting on the sidewalk rolling them fresh. I couldn't remember if cigars were one of those things that is better when it's aged, so maybe fresh isn't a thing you'd want a cigar to be. I don't know. Maybe Pedro's specialty is selling shitty fresh cigars to people who don't know anything about it, like me. Maybe he chuckles every time he makes a sale.

I'm imagining myself working on a boat. Hey, if you've got to work.... Maybe I could buy a boat and live on it. Or a mountain. I don't want to go home. Dang.