On the Road Again!

It’s been quite some time since my last post.  Possibly because I have friends in PR that may read this and call me out, and partly because I’ve just been living life. And I think most of us can agree that by and large, day to day life isn’t all that noteworthy.

I really am getting accustomed to the culture here.  I can now laugh and just shake my head at things that used to send me into a blind freaking rage.  For instance, a week or so ago, a coworker and I went to Chili’s for lunch.  Chili’s is in the mall, and to park at the mall you go through a little gate and take a parking ticket.  Parking is free for three hours and if you stay longer you need to pay before you actually leave the inside of the mall.  Either way, you need to keep your ticket and insert it into the machine for the gate to open and let you out.  

As we went to leave, we worked our way into the line of cars waiting at the gate to exit the parking lot.  We were at the far exit, approximately 200 yards from where you would enter the mall building.  The lady directly in front of us is monkeying with her ticket, sticking it in and out, while the line of cars behind us continues to grow.  She asks for help and my coworker, who thankfully speaks Spanish, got out to help her, whereby they learned she’d stayed beyond her three hours and hadn’t paid.  We tried to back up so she could get out of the line, and the van behind us did the same when they realized what was going on.  But it’s Puerto Rico, so as soon as the van made a space, someone else zoomed in to fill it.

It became clear that the only option was for her to hoof it back to the mall and pay for her parking.  So we waited.  In any of the lanes of the parking lot that I could see, there was a solid line of cars.  The parking lot was total freaking gridlock while we waited for her to walk all the way in, pay, and walk all the way back.  And I just shook my head, laughed, and realized how’d far I’d come.  Sometimes I think I need a dashboard camera, because for a lot of these driving related stories, words just don't do it justice.

The thing I will never understand is why there isn’t a better system.  Surely this must happen several times a day.  Why isn’t there a worker out there to take money, or even a credit card machine?  But then that would be efficient, and as I’ve said, efficiency isn’t really a valued trait here.

Another way I’ve adjusted?  When asked, I’ve started using my middle name.  Just during simple transactions – coffee at Starbucks, a dinner reservation, etc.  Why, you ask?  My name has presented a challenge since I’ve been here.   It’s not something a Puerto Rican would ever name their child, with good reason.  In Spanish, “jodi” is the first person past tense of the verb “joder” - “to screw.”  Not like “to screw something into the wall," but, in a strong enough context, it can also be taken as “to fuck.”  So literally, “Me jodi” translates to “I’m screwed” in Spanish. 

So I took a cue from my buddy I met in Scuba class.  He’s a Jewish Californian who speaks decent Spanish, but also has a unique name for the Puerto Ricans.  A couple of weeks ago, on our drive to the west coast for our final dive of the class, we stopped at a local bakery to get some breakfast.  When the employee asked for a name on the order, without hesitation he said, “Javier.” (So not his name.)  And I thought, “That’s genius. Why haven’t I thought of that?”  So in certain situations, I’m Marie.  It’s much more Spanish sounding.  Maybe I’ll go with Maria and really try to blend in.

As mentioned, I’ve also completed my Open Water Scuba certification. Now I’m free to go try to drown myself anywhere in the world.  It’s actually been on my life-long To Do List for about 15 years, so I figured it was now or never.  I was worried about how it would affect my ears since I’ve had problems. And I was concerned about feeling claustrophobic – once in Hawaii I took one of those submarine tours and it kind of freaked me out.  But as it turns out – I love it.  It’s like visiting a whole other world.  I’ve only done the four dives for my certification so haven’t seen anything too crazy yet, but I should have plenty of opportunity.

And that opportunity stems from a move at work!  For over 11 years, I’ve always been on the Service side of our business.  But this week they announced that I’m going to transition to the Sales side next month, and will have direct dealer contact responsibility for our 15 dealerships in the Caribbean islands, outside of Puerto Rico and USVI.  So I’ll be traveling more – to such places as Antigua, Aruba, the Bahamas, Bermuda, Barbados, the Caymans, Curacao, Dominica, the Dominican Republic, Grenada, Jamaica, St. Lucia, St. Maarten, and Trinidad.  And Haiti. Mustn’t forget Haiti.

While I hate the thought of more time in the kennel for Charlie, when I took this assignment I really wanted to get my list of countries visited up to 40.  After a trip to Aruba, Curacao and Trinidad a couple of weeks ago, I hit 34.  I haven’t been to nine of the islands on my list, so I should make it! I was a bit sad that I didn’t get the Central America zone, since I have friends there and a big personal reason I took this assignment was to learn Spanish.  But if Charlie is already in the kennel, it’s easier for me to justify a night or two over a weekend to actually play tourist on some of these islands (while on a company sponsored plane ticket, as well!)  See something other than a dealership, for once.  And now I guess I need to add Dutch, French, and Papiamento to my curriculum!

Settling In - This Time I Mean It!

After my meeting with the boss from up North a few weeks ago, I had the realization that, although not likely, I could only have a year left in Puerto Rico!  He told me that at the two year mark, they’ll start looking for my next move, and when the right opportunity opens, they’ll pop me.  So I figured I’d better get to seeing this place I can now call home.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d been around the island, albeit in most cases I only saw the dealership.  One of the few areas I hadn’t seen yet was Rincon, in the northwest corner of the island.  I’d heard good things, so on a whim on a Tuesday afternoon, I did a Google search, found a guest house that allows dogs, and booked the weekend.   

I left work a couple of hours early on Friday, threw Charlie in the car, and headed west.  As San Juan faded in the review mirror, the Chilis’ and the Walgreens’ slowly gave way to open-air bars donned with Medalla banners and enough roadside food stands to rival the corner coffee stands in Western Washington.  It began to look a little less like America and a little more like Puerto Rico. 

I’d heard someone refer to seeing the sites of Puerto Rico as “underwhelming” and for the most part, I couldn’t think of a better word to describe them.  Nothing had really “wowed” me yet.  Sure, the beaches are nice and the rainforest is worth a look, but I’d been just a tiny bit disappointed by most of the things I’d done so far.

So I was pleasantly surprised by Rincon.  Rincon made a name for itself when it hosted the World Surfing Championship in 1968, and it is still known as the surfing capital of the Caribbean.  Positioned on a point where the Atlantic meets the Caribbean, Rincon has something for everyone – good surfing conditions on the north side, and tranquil Caribbean beaches to the south. 

I arrived as the sun was setting Friday and seeing as I’m not one for exploring a strange place after dark, I grabbed a quick dinner and settled in with my book for the evening.  Saturday, however, I set out to explore.  After breakfast at an open air bakery, I drove the famous Route 413, which traces the coastline around the point that is Rincon.  The first thing that impressed me was how “un”commercial Rincon has managed to stay.  Sure, there’s still a Burger King, McDonalds, and a Churches Chicken, but there wasn’t a chain hotel to speak of.  The independent guest house still is the preferred choice for accommodations.  I stopped along the way, to explore some of the beaches, watch the surfers and check out the lighthouse, and soon I’d blew right through the morning and into the afternoon.  My room was just feet off the water and I wanted to work on my tan a bit!

Back at the guest house, I pulled a chair up on the patio, kicked my feet up, grabbed my book and a cold beer, and quickly realized that I couldn’t remember a time, outside of getting a massage, when I’d EVER felt so relaxed.   There’s actually very little to do in Rincon other than enjoy the beach and the sunset, so I’ve vowed to try to get out there once a quarter, if for no other reason than to escape the madness that is San Juan!

Speaking of the madness that is San Juan, last weekend, the 23^rd, was Noche de San Juan (Saint John’s Night.)  I’m not going to pretend to know the religious significance of this event, but trust me, there is one.  And the Puerto Ricans celebrate by heading to a beach at sunset, drinking themselves silly, and then, at midnight, throwing themselves backwards into the ocean seven times – or 12, depending who you ask.  Apparently, this is intended to wash away the sin and bring good luck for the next year.

I really hadn’t planned to participate; my boss does an excellent job of making me paranoid about how dangerous these things can be (my mother would’ve LOVED him) but when my new CrossFit peeps invited me to join them that afternoon, I couldn’t refuse.  I grabbed insta-friend and we latched on to their group of 15-20 to partake in the festivities. 

Good times were had by all!  As the sun set and the night wore on, more and more people flocked to the beach.  I’d never been to a beach party like that, and I found myself in the ocean with the rest of them at midnight.  (Expecting a very good year, mind you.)  It finally felt like I’d imagined Puerto Rico would, having a good time on the beach with a big group of friends. 

Early on, one of my posts was titled “Settling In.”  In hindsight, that only referred to physically settling in.  It’s taken a year, like I was told it would, but I feel like I’m finally mentally settling in.  The first six months flew by, with relocation and learning a new job, but after Christmas, I was not excited to be here and found myself wishing the time away.  Now I look up and it’s already July and I wish I could slam on the brakes of time and slow it all down - before I wake up and instead of looking out at the ocean I’m staring at the Midwestern snow!

Happy Anniversary to ME!

Yep, can you believe it?  Exactly 366 days ago from this night, I landed in the Isle of Enchantment for the first time, and ordered up some room service as I watched the Mavericks take the NBA Championship home to Dallas.  (Incidently, 21 years ago tonight I graduated from high school, certainly never thinking that in 21 years I'd be living in Puerto Rico.  Hell, all I wanted then was just to BE 21!)  It has been quite a year, and as I sit here on my patio, watching the sun set over the Atlantic while sipping a cool glass of pinot grigio, I can honestly say I have no regrets about making this decision.

First off, without a doubt it’s been an excellent career move.  I won’t bore you with too much detail, but there are executives running this division with friends in high places, and given the small size of our Export Operations, they know me by name.  In a company this size, this never hurts.  One is pretty young to be as high up the ladder as he is, so we’ll have many more years working here together.   A productive one on one meeting with him last week has left me feeling very optimistic about my future.  Also, because of my “ISE” status (International Service Employee) during my yearly trips to Detroit, I’m afforded the opportunity to meet individually with the executives running my “home” division.  In one as large as North America, the chance for them to get to know me personally is priceless.

Aside from the connections, as many people who’d had Export experience had told me it would, the job by far goes down as my favorite to date, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it ends up the favorite of my entire career.  I had never thought twice about this division in my first decade with the company.  A friend from my MBA program had done three years here, as had another coworker in Dallas.  But other than their farewell lunches, I never gave Puerto Rico much thought.  The experience has been invaluable as far as opening my eyes to our global operations.  North America has it easy.  The next time I have to listen to a North American dealer complain about something to do with our operations, I will have to bite my tongue to keep from launching into a diatribe about how the other half live.  The daily challenges we face with global pricing, distribution, and fundamental dealership operations make for never a dull moment.  Are there parts of the job I would change? Absolutely.  But I have no doubt that’s the case everywhere.

Now, on a personal front.  Am I where I thought I’d be?  Absolutely not.  I had the sad realization today that there isn’t one person on this island I care more about than Charlie, and given the choice between any of them and the dog, the dog wins.  Of course it’s on the heels of a week back home, surrounded by friends and family, that I have this thought, but nonetheless, it is true.  However, there’s hope.  You may have seen my Facebook posts from a few weeks back that there is FINALLY a CrossFit in Puerto Rico!  A married couple a few years younger than me packed up shop in New Jersey and moved to Puerto Rico to open one.  We are currently doing our WOD’s on the beach with a limited amount of equipment, but I couldn’t care less.  Someone else is programming my workouts and yelling at me to get them done, and that’s what I need.  After just two weeks, I can already see and feel the muscle definition coming back. And running barefoot in the sand is the all time ass kicker. 

They are a small group, I believe I was the 10^th member, but their affiliate has just been approved so now that they can use the CrossFit name, I have no doubts that in six months they will have a solid client base.  And that I will have gained some amigos from that client base.  It’s just the way CrossFit works.  And it’s SOOOOOO much easier to make friends when you already have a hobby or interest in common with them.

Which brings me to my next point.  I’ve found a couple of online groups for expats in Puerto Rico.  One is through meetup.com (which, if you haven’t heard of it, is a good place to look if you’re looking for a group of people with a specific interest in your area) and one is an official group for expats around the world.  So far I’ve been to one event for each, and actually met very few expats.  Most of them have been Americans who have moved here permanently, and that’s where our similarities end.  I don’t know if they’re looking to escape something back home or trying to get away from the rat race, but we are in very different situations.  As insta-friend and I drove back from yesterday’s event I wondered aloud about if I didn’t have an end date to my stay here, would I be more tolerant of the things about Puerto Rico that really drive me nuts?  I bet so.  I bet if this wasn’t a three year ends to a mean and a great move in the chess game that is my career I would see things a little bit differently. 

So that’s my goal for the rest of my time in Puerto Rico.  Before we know it, it will be Christmas and I will be at the half way point.  I don’t want to spend the rest of my time here worrying about what’s next.  I’m going to try, as best a type-A, aggressive American can, to adopt the island life and enjoy each moment as it comes.  Appreciate the little things.  To do this has always been a challenge for me.  I recognize that I have a very hard time living in the moment and am always worried about what is coming next.  But I have an opportunity to garner some life skills from this culture that can at times drive me completely, utterly, mad and by God, I’m going to take advantage of that.

Experiencing Puerto Rican Health Care

It’s been awhile since my last post, and in that time I’ve had a good dose of experience with the Puerto Rican health care system.  Suffice it to say, it’s not as third-world as you might think, though you definitely need to pack your patience and manage your expectations.

Having been here nearly a year already, it was time for my annual check – up.  Several of my coworkers recommended a place that “took appointments.”  While this is something we tend to take for granted, it’s not the standard practice down here.  At most places, you show up, hope not many others opted to see that doctor that day, and wait.  Charlie’s vet doesn’t take appointments.  One coworker told me a story of needing to see a specialist.  She showed up at 9 am to wait her turn – and wasn’t seen until 12:45.  A.M.  Yep, 12:45 in the morning.  I made her repeat the story three times to make sure the timing wasn’t lost in the translation.  But her English is among the best in the office.  Nearly a 16 hour wait.  I couldn’t take it. 

Let me give you a frame of reference of what I was used to in Texas.  My doctor’s office was less than two miles from my house. I’d show up 10-15 minutes before my appointment and be seen within 15 minutes of that time.  In under an hour, I’d get the full workup:  take my vitals, talk about my weight, do the womanly exam, draw blood, renew prescriptions, discuss any other issues on my mind, and out the door.  A one-stop shop.  In about a week, they’d call and tell me all my tests were normal; see you next year.

So I made my appointment for 11 am.  I thought that was a bit late, since my Texas doctor always tried to schedule it for the morning knowing you should fast before getting your blood drawn.  Turns out, not so much a one-stop shop here in Puerto Rico. My doctor (who’d just returned after seven years in Las Colinas, Texas) was a general practitioner who merely listened to my heart, checked my throat, eyes and ears, and wrote me a prescription for blood work.  Thankfully, they had a lab on site, and since I hadn’t eaten, I could at least still get that accomplished.  I had to make another appointment for two weeks down the road for what I’ll call the “woman’s physical.”

Two weeks later, I show up 30 minutes before my appointment, as instructed.  I’ve now learned these instructions are for the natives.  Those of us who routinely arrive for appointments ahead of schedule have no need to adhere to the 30 minute recommendation.  I assume this is because if you tell a Puerto Rican to arrive 30 minutes early, odds are better they’ll be on time.

I expected to be seen immediately, as I was the first appointment of the day.  However, it’s hard to be seen at 9 am when the doctor doesn’t show up for work until 9:45.  I’d been waiting for an hour and 15 minutes and was about to blow a gasket when they called my name.  Keep in mind, this is the “good” place that keeps a schedule.  The exam went off without a hitch, except for the fact that I had to schedule a follow up for two weeks later to learn the results of my tests.  Apparently, follow up phone calls don’t generate any revenue.   (Oh, and add the gynecologist to the list of people who have a warned me about Puerto Rican men.)

During this time, I’d developed an odd lump just below my ear on the left side of my neck.  I’ve been having some real ear problems down here, apparently something not uncommon in the tropics.  But after a couple of weeks of it coming and going, I decided to see an ENT to get it checked out.  I had to have a coworker call and schedule the appointment, as I was quickly learning that the administrative support at doctors’ offices couldn’t (or wouldn’t) speak English.   I made an “appointment” for between 1 and 2:30 in the afternoon.  As it happened, I could also get the mammogram done in the same building.  I’d planned to show up at one, be finished at the ENT no later than three, and then get downstairs to have the mammogram done before they closed at 4:30 (no appointments taken at the mammogram place.)

That was a boatload of wishful thinking.   I finally got out of the ENT’s just before 4 pm.  (Determined to be a swollen lymph node, it’s since subsided completely.)  I went downstairs to see about a mammogram, only to find the office completely wedged.  I had no idea how this worked.  If they didn’t get to you by closing time do you just get kicked out and have to wait all over again? Do they stay until the last person is done?  I had no idea if that could mean 12:45 am, and after already waiting three hours for a 10 minute conversation, I was in no mood to find out.  I went back on Friday afternoon, just before yet another Puerto Rican holiday weekend, and was in and out in under an hour.  And now I know when to go. 

Which brings me to Saturday morning.  Friday, my eye was a bit sore and purple.  I didn’t know what the problem could be, thought maybe Charlie had kicked me in his sleep.  I wasn’t too concerned about it, until I woke up Saturday and literally couldn’t open my eye.  It was completely swollen shut.  Luckily, there’s an emergency room two blocks away that my boss had recently been to and spoke highly of.  I’m leaving for a week in Panama early Monday morning, so waiting the weekend to see if it got better wasn’t an option.

At 7:45 am I was the only person in the waiting room.  I checked in and the nurse was calling me to the back before I could even complete the paper work (all in Spanish, mind you.  The run of the mill forms I can translate, emergency room disclosures are still beyond my literacy rate.  For all I knew, I was agreeing to let them remove my liver - an organ that quite honestly, I probably need more than some of the others.)  Awesome, I thought.  Maybe I can make my 10:30 nail appointment. 

Again, a whole lot of wishful thinking.  In to see the nurse, back to the waiting room.  In to see the doctor, back to the waiting room.  In to see the nurse for a blood draw and IV antibiotics, off to another waiting area.  By 9:45 my IV was finished and I was ready to go.  Only to find out that when the doctor said, “I’ll call you when the blood work is done” she didn’t mean call me on the phone. She meant call me from the waiting area.  They left the needle for the IV in my hand this entire time (which kind of weirds me out) it case the results of the blood work indicated I needed to be pumped full of something else.

Five and a half hours later, I was back on the street with a prescription for an antibiotic.  Not exactly the way one wants to spend a Saturday morning.  But I was VERY happy I got up and went early, the place was jam packed when I went to leave.   My eye started getting better soon after starting the IV;  I no longer look like a deformed Cyclops.  I didn’t do much this weekend, though.  Not a fan of the looks I’ve been getting, because frankly, it looks like I finally met a Puerto Rican and he turned out to be not so nice.  I’d had the foresight to bring my Kindle with me to the ER.  I’m learning that if I can manage my expectations and prepare accordingly, I can probably get through these mundane have-to-do’s in the chil-axed pace of a Latin American culture without having a cardiac event.

Which brings me to a slight side bar.  A few weeks ago my Dad said something when we were on the phone and I was complaining about the car in front of me that had stopped and blocked the entire road while he chatted with a passer-by, leaning against the driver’s side window sipping a Coke.  He said I could probably learn a thing or two from the Puerto Ricans.  I may have mentioned this before, but viewed through my North American glasses, this kind of behavior - holding everyone up while you tend to your own desires - seems quite narcissistic.  In fact, I really think it’s more to do with how relaxed the culture is.  Nobody’s in that big of a rush, what does it matter if I hold things up a bit? And it’s tolerated, because next time it might be you doing the holding up.

My sister was here a couple of weeks ago, and during our couple of nights out we had some conversations with the natives.  I wonder what it would be like to be perfectly content just pouring lattes or running a craps table for a living.  More concerned about living your life and having fun with family and friends than what the next move or promotion might be.  I bet it’s pretty nice.  Unfortunately, I believe this ship has sailed for me.  I’m just not wired that way.  Doesn’t mean I can’t pick up a tip or two along the way, though!

¡Me gusta Guatemala City!

I freaking love to travel.  Seriously, over the last several years, I think I’d forgotten how much.   Faced with having to put Charlie in a kennel and remembering the uneasiness being outside of your comfort zone can bring, I’d stuck to my normal vacation routine in the years leading up to my move to Puerto Rico.   Washington a couple times of year.  A week in Colorado.  A couple of weekends at the NASCAR races.  Perhaps a weekend at South Padre Island.  But this week’s trip reminded me how many places I have left to see in the world.

Destination?  Guatemala.  Since I wasn’t invited to our dealer meeting in Vegas, a coworker scheduled me to spend a couple of days with the dealer there, to work on a variety of marketing and sales projects.  I was excited about Guatemala; not only would it add a new country to my list, but one of my good friends from grad school lives there.  I hadn’t seen him in nearly 11 years.  We exchanged a few emails, and scheduled dinner at his house one night.

Before leaving work for the weekend just before my trip, my boss gave me a big speech on being safe in Guatemala.  He said it was the most dangerous country we travel to, and even went so far as to suggest I bring something to cover my blonde hair.  I consider myself fairly well-traveled, but haven’t really been anywhere on my own that would elicit fear (well, if I’d seen “Taken” before I went to Paris alone, I may have thought differently, but I digress.)  My imagination started to run and I was feeling just a tiny bit apprehensive as I boarded the plane.

Well, once again, my expectations were not met.  And this time, in a good way.  After the comments from my boss and coworkers, I was expecting Guatemala to be similar to Nicaragua.  To be fair, memories of the time I spent in Nicaragua are cloaked in a fog of inebriation.  (I was there for five days for a wedding, which turned out to be a week-long string of parties.)  But regardless, I was expecting a barely developed city, lacking entirely of anything resembling a skyscraper with mostly dirt roads and no shortage of machinegun-clad guards.  I remember my Nicaraguan friend keeping small packets of Saltines in the center compartment of his SUV to hand out to the children who swarmed the windows at every stop sign.  Guatemala was nothing like this (well, there were still plenty of armed guards, but they mostly used shotguns.)

I disembarked the plane and tried to exude a look of cool boredom I’d imagine someone who frequented countries caught in the middle of the Mexican drug war would display.  Once outside, I was very pleasantly surprised.  Guatemala City was not at all what I was expecting.  It continues to bother me that in this job I land in countries I know virtually nothing about and Guatemala was no exception.  First off, I wasn’t expecting to be in the mountains, but the elevation of Guatemala City is just under 5000 feet.  Even though it was dark when I landed, I could still make out the peaks and valleys that run through the city.

The first shock was the city itself.  Not only were the roads paved, but they were in a much better state of repair than most of Puerto Rico.  And it’s an actual CITY, developed with all the glitz and glamor of any US city – and home to nearly three million people.  No, this was no Managua. 

I was also excited to get to Guatemala because I figured I’d be forced to practice my Spanish.  Alas, it was not to be.  I walked up to the check-in counter at the hotel and the employee took one look at me and said, “Good evening, ma’am, do you have a reservation?”  Damnit.   Given the easy way out, I’ll always take it. 

The next day the Service Manager picked me up and gave me a tour of one of their service facilities and their parts warehouse.  This allowed me to get a good look as we drove around the city.  For lunch we went to a restaurant in the hillside with a great view of all the mountains, volcanoes and the city below.  I was intrigued.  Over the course of the day they briefly told me of all the historical and cultural places to see in Guatemala.  I began to regret the short duration of my stay.

My friend picked me up that evening to take me to his house for dinner.  I don’t remember saying goodbye to my Central American friends after graduation all those years ago.  Knowing me, it was a very light and informal goodbye, hoping that by keeping the emotion at bay I could forget that never again would we be a daily part of each other’s lives, and that the odds of even seeing each other again were slim.  Reuniting with him in the lobby of the hotel felt like we were together just yesterday, if we both did look a bit older.  Once again I appreciated the friends I can just pick up with no matter how much time or distance has lapsed. 

He lives in a brick house that could easily be plopped into the suburbs of any US city. As most people I’ve known in similar countries do, there was a maid/nanny.   As he explained to me, it’s easier to do more with less in Guatemala.  Is he a Guatemalan one-percenter?  Probably not, as I’d guess is the case for anyone making an HONEST living in a country that’s no stranger to a little corruption. 

I met his wife and daughter, and over the span of a couple of hours, some Guatemalan finger food, and a bottle of wine, we caught up on the events that had helped to shape us over the last 11 years.  Meeting his wife and starting a family.  The passing of my mother and addition of nephews and a niece to my life.  The course of our careers.  And naturally, reliving some memories of the years I fondly recall as the best of my life.  Like most people I’ve kept in touch with from Texas A&M, we’d both lost that business school drive to one day run the world and learned to appreciate a balance in life.  All the while, I’m thinking that never in all the time that I’ve known him had I imagined a scenario where I’d be sitting in his living room in Guatemala, journeying down memory lane.  And once again I gave a little thanks to the universe for the opportunities I’ve had in life.

I know enough not to be fooled by the developed familiarity of the city. According to the US Department of State’s Travel website, Guatemala has one of the highest violent crime rates in Latin America.  During the first seven months of 2011, an average of 42 murders a week were reported in Guatemala City alone.  Since 2009, 25 Americans have been murdered and six American women have reported being raped.   A weak, overworked, inefficient judicial system has given criminals confidence in the fact that there is little chance they will be caught and punished. 

Before dropping me at the airport, we had lunch in an outdoor mall.  The Service Manager told me that people enjoy coming to places like that because the parking is safe and the security is tight.  My friend had told me that there was a streak of cell phone thefts (the above mentioned website is very clear about keeping laptops and cell phones out of view.)  When I mentioned this to the dealer folks, the parts manager told me that last year someone put a gun to his head for his phone.  Granted, this could, and does, happen anywhere.  When I was a kid, my mother was robbed at gunpoint at the Shakey’s Pizza in Puyallup, Washington.  But I think the statistics I’ve shared here warrant a bit of extra caution.

Regardless of the crime rate, I’m still a little enamored of Guatemala. The history, the cultural, the natural beauty and the gorgeous weather make it easy to see why my friend went back after graduation. Whether another company sponsored trip or a long weekend on my own volition, I’m going to do my research and take him up on his offer to show me the sites of the place he so proudly calls home.  And frankly, at first glance, I can see why.

Time is Flying!

It’s been nearly a month since my last post and I can’t believe it’s March already!  Does anyone know what happened to February?  It feels like we just got back from Christmas but already it’s nearly spring and I fear March will go by just as fast - I'm off to Guatemala this week and Panama in a couple of weeks.  With trips to look forward to that break up the month, before I know it, it will be April.

February went by in a whirl partly because I was back stateside for a week and a half in the middle of the month.  I spent a week working in Michigan and sandwiched the weekends in Dallas.  If the company’s paying, why not sneak in a visit to see some friends?  The week in Michigan was good, hadn’t been there for any length of time in six or seven years.  I didn’t realize how many people I know up there now, and honestly wouldn’t mind if that was my next stop.  Though I doubt blogging about freezing my butt off will be as interesting!

To finish February, my friend Stacy came into town for the weekend.  I was excited about having a visitor as I hadn’t since mid-November, and even then the visit was tainted by having to run that pesky 13.1 miles.  She arrived wearing the pale February coat that drove me to the tanning beds every March and was determined to get some color.  I had worked hard the weekends before my trip to get a nice tan in an attempt to make my Michigan-based coworkers a bit jealous, so already had a base.  In hindsight, I should have been more forceful in my suggestion that she apply sunscreen right from the beginning, but I figured a forty-something year old woman would know better. 

I was wrong.  After four hours in the sun, she was nearly purple.  And blistered.  And swollen.  Sure, she finally put some sun screen on after a half hour or so, but the damage was done.  And so was our time on the beach for the rest of the weekend. 

I figured this was a good opportunity to get out and explore some more of the island.  I’m a bit reluctant to do it on my own, safety in numbers and all that.  I was also ready to see the Caribbean side of the island.  Envisioning white sandy beaches and mild surf (the Atlantic side can be a bit rough) we loaded Charlie in the car with us and south we went.

I was headed to La Parguera, an area a coworker said a lot of natives go on vacation.   It took us nearly two hours to wind our way to the southwest side of the island in search of lunch and dipping our toes in the water (how worldly would Charlie be, having been in three major bodies of water?)  Once again, Puerto Rico wasn’t what I was expecting.  Not that I can really articulate what I WAS expecting, but having spent the vast majority of my life in the commercialism that is the U.S. of A, I guess I was hoping for a bit more development.  Structure.  The look of a beachside area that catered to tourists.  Instead, we found a few street side vendors and a waterfront surrounded by foliage that made it look more like a lake than the Caribbean.  And it was surprisingly desolate during a Saturday afternoon in what is supposed to be tourist season.  But I guess if it’s where the locals go, that should have been expected as it wasn’t Spring Break quite yet.

We took a brief walk around and headed back to Ponce, where I’d been told there was a nice boardwalk of restaurants and bars.  And I was still hoping for that white sandy Caribbean beach.  We found the boardwalk, parked, and promptly headed to the beach.  And again, didn’t find what I’d expected.  The beach was small, the waves were rough, and the sand was course; more like ground gravel than the fine white powder of my imagination.  Regardless, all three of us stuck our feet in, just to say that we did.  We walked up the boardwalk in search of lunch, and settled in for some traditional Puerto Rican fare.  I went with the beef mofongo and Stacy had the fried pork with tostones.  I love me some mofongo and couldn’t resist swiping a tostone.  Plantains are good, especially when mashed or fried - or both, as is the case with mofongo. 

We were lazy bums on Friday night, after drinking on the beach all afternoon, but Saturday we managed to make it to Old San Juan.  Rather than commit to one restaurant, we set out on a drink and appetizer tour that took us around the world in one evening.  In just a few hours and in a one block radius, we managed Asian, Puerto Rican, Indian and Mexican.  Old San Juan really is worth a look.  The city is something like 500 years old; the streets are paved with blue cobble stones and the architecture looks every bit its age.  Good times.  Then of course after all that wine, what else to do but head to the casino? 

Sunday we had brunch with insta-friend and then hung out, hoping to watch a Daytona 500 that never happened.  We had some evening cocktails and took it easy before putting her on a plane the next morning.  All in all, a good time.  So, who’s next?

CrossFit Condado is Open!

If you’re a regular reader, you’ve heard me griping about how I miss CrossFit.  I had really gotten into it during my last year and a half in Dallas and made some really good friends, along with dropping about 30 pounds from my all time high.  There are CrossFit’s all over the world, but not yet in Puerto Rico.  This really bummed me out, because as soon as I knew I was getting relocated, no matter where I ended up, I’d counted on finding a CrossFit I liked and meeting people that way.  Instead, I joined the new gym in town.  And it’s nice enough, but it’s just a gym.  Some of you read my Boot Camp Chronicles, and much like that time of my life, it’s really hard to go back to the boring old gym after getting used to a workout regime that pushes you to the very limit on a regular basis.

Still, I had high hopes of finding a couple of classes that I liked, becoming a regular attendee, and possibly meeting some people in class.  All the classes have strange names that really don’t tell you at all what the class is; the first one I went to was called “Exco” – which turned out to be jazzercise with shake weights.  Not exactly my thing after completing WOD’s (Workout of the Day) that involved cardio sprints and Olympic lifting and absolutely everything in between.  The next class I tried was “Kempo Combat,” basically Tae Bo in Spanish.  That’s the other thing; I don’t know how it completely escaped my stream of consciousness that the class would be taught in Spanish - with a background of high volume techno music.

So I gave up on the classes and half-assed focused on the Half Marathon. BORING.  I don’t know why I continue to sign up for these things. I always think it’s going to help me lose weight, and I never do.  I’m so hungry all day on the days of the long runs that I think I eat away any calorie deficit achieved for the week in one afternoon.   I’d managed to only gain a couple pounds during the whole relocation process, but between boring workouts, my November/December travel schedule, and the compulsory two week binge over the holidays, I’d found myself up another seven.  But with all the muscle tone I’d lost from not doing CrossFit, it felt like 20.

So I jumped on the same bandwagon that I and millions of other Americans do every January and vowed to get it together before it spiraled completely out of control.  First step, get back to eating Paleo.  I won’t get on my soapbox for too long, but after years of fighting my doctor’s request that I limit the carbs, I finally took the time to understand the biology behind what they do to your body.  For someone with a strong history of diabetes in the family who at one point was trending that way herself, it made a lot of sense.  And it was much easier to do when most everyone I was working out with was doing the same. 

I’m on day 12 of no carbs, no sugar, no dairy, no caffeine, no alcohol and I feel great.  On day three, I wanted to mix a pot of coffee with a bottle of wine and chug it.  I felt like shit.  My head was pounding, I was exhausted and I felt like I was moving through quicksand all day.   But boy, once you get through that fog, it’s great on the other side.  I’m sleeping like a baby and have plenty of energy.  Sometimes during the day this feeling comes over me and I have to take a minute to appreciate how good I feel in that moment.  It’s hard to explain, but there’s something to be said for purging your body of all the poisons you routinely put in it.

Second step, get back to doing WOD’s.  I bought a large workout mat for my office, a set of dumbbells, a jump rope, an ab mat, and a kettlebell.  Just ordered a 12 inch box that I can use for box jumps.  So far, I’ve been doing these workouts in my office for about three weeks now.  Already I can feel the muscle tone is on its way back.  I follow the website for the CrossFit I went to in Dallas, and make modifications when I have to in order to complete the workout.  It is much harder to do it on my own than it was surrounded by others, coaches cheering you on, trying DESPERATELY not to be the last person to finish the WOD.  Some of the workouts I’ve done have taken me forever, but I just keep telling myself at least I am doing it.

What I missed most is the feeling right after you’ve finished kicking your own ass during one of these WOD’s.  I suppose it’s endorphins though I haven’t researched the actual chemistry of it all, but there’s a feeling of utter calm that sweeps over you. It’s a feeling of complete and total serenity after a job well done.  I’ve always heard about this mysterious “Runners High.”  Frankly, as someone who’s completed four half marathons and all the training involved with each, I think it’s bullshit.  I’ve never experienced this mythical phenomenon in the nearly decade since I did my first Half.  But if it’s anything like the feeling that I get after a WOD, I see why runners stick to it.  Though with many WOD’s lasting around ten minutes or less, I’ll take CrossFit over running miles and miles, any day.

I told myself if I could do this for two weeks I’d earned a couple of beers during the Super Bowl, but now I’m not sure I even want them (who am I kidding? Of course I want them, I just don’t want how they make me feel the day after.)  What I do want is coffee.  I miss the coffee most of all.  It will definitely be back on Monday.   Caffeine never did much for me by way of a pick me up.  I can drink it before bed and it doesn’t affect me.  But clearly, I was addicted.  Take yourself off caffeine for a few days, and you’ll see just how much you need it.

I haven’t weighed myself yet.  Last year when we were doing the “Paleo Challenge” at CrossFit, I didn’t weigh myself for nearly two months, and that’s the way to go.  Ignore the scale and pay attention to how you feel and how your clothes fit, and you’ll be much more successful.   I can feel it in my stomach, it’s like the carb bubble that had been living in there the last few months finally popped.  The jeans that were becoming a struggle over Christmas fit again.  And I have plenty of motivation - I live on the beach, for heaven’s sake!

So sadly, unlike the title suggests, a CrossFit hasn’t opened in my ‘hood.  (Free rent to anyone from GVCF that wants to come down and start it!) But one is slowly being assembled.  When I finally break down and buy a rower, it’s on!