Honeymoon. Is. Over.

After four days back in the cool efficiency of the U.S. of A., I’m about to lose it after just 24 hours back in Puerto Rico.  I’m really questioning how I am going to deal with the crowds and the traffic for the next three years.  I’m either going to have myself a cardiac event and a couple of ulcers, or finally learn to chill out and relax about the things I cannot control.  Or just drink a lot.  Which seems to be the plan so far.

I live five miles from my office.  Most days, it takes me about 30-35 minutes to get home.  Occasionally, if I walk out the door no later than 5:01, I can do it in 10-15 minutes.  If it’s raining, forget it.  It can take up to an hour, which means if I’m feeling particularly athletic that day, it would literally be possible for me to run home quicker than to drive. 

It’s not just the mass of humanity; it’s the complete lack of urban planning that went into organizing traffic flow.  I really hope THAT guy is out of a job.  Actually, it’s a little ridiculous to even suggest there was any thought put into an “urban plan.”  It’s hard to explain, but there are very few ‘rules’ to driving in Puerto Rico.  It’s completely acceptable to pull out in front of people, block traffic from all directions while you nose your way into a left turn, stop in the middle of the lane and decide you want to back up, or stop all together in the middle of the road if there is no where to park.  Each and every one of these sends me into a tailspin of rage that I’ve been told I really need to learn to control.  And not just because it’s not good for my stress level, but because the Puerto Ricans apparently are no strangers to a little gun violence with their road rage.

A few weeks ago, returning from my epic venture to the Wal-Mart in Caguas, I happened across a toll booth on the way home.  Six lanes of traffic were WIDE OPEN – for those with toll tags.  Of course, I hadn’t gotten around to doing that yet.  So my fate was a total clusterf*ck of AT LEAST a hundred vehicles crammed into what might have been two lanes trying to pay an attendant.  After not moving for over five minutes, I decided I didn’t care what the fine was (this would run me no more than $25 in Dallas, and I was more than willing to pay $25 to get out of that line.) I said, F it, and blew through the completely empty express lanes.  Only to find out on Monday the fine is $100.  I’m really hoping when the bill comes I can put my blonde hair to use and play the “but I really didn’t know, sir” card.  (I can always tell him I couldn't read the signs, that's no lie.)

So the Monday after this toll experience, the boss, my other coworker (a Puerto Rican local,) and I headed to the toll office to get me and the boss tags.  Coworker had to come to be the translator.  Since the Australian boyfriend, my biggest fear while traveling is being the stereotypical American – impatient, self-important, expecting everyone to speak English (well, maybe not so much that last bit while in Australia, but you get my point.)  So I stood there patiently waiting our turn for over an hour, despite my boss insisting I go ask about our status several times.  Finally, I give in, ask, and get someone to assist us.  Only for our names to be the very next called.  Oh well, 90 minutes is more than enough time to wait to get a freaking toll tag.

I go shopping and after wandering my way through new stores (K-Mart, of all places, is popular here – no Target yet) I find myself waiting in line to pay for over a half an hour.  Back in Dallas, I would have abandoned my cart about 10 minutes in and gone somewhere else.  But here, even if I could find a “somewhere else,” I know the line would be just as long.  There’s really no point.  It’s a whole different way of living that is going to take some getting used to after the wide open spaces of Texas.  Looks like it’s time for another glass of wine….

Irene - Tropical Storm or Hurricane?

Monday, August 22^nd

Jesus.  Excuse my language, but holy shit.  Sunday night/Monday morning, Tropical Storm Irene blew through Puerto Rico.  Yes, Tropical Storm.  Not a hurricane.  I can’t even imagine and probably won’t have to since some level of hurricane is inevitable during my stay.  Of course, I would have been oblivious to the whole thing if not for a text from Dallas on Sunday afternoon:

2:00 – Text from Sammy in Dallas asking me if Charlie and I are hunkered down.  I have absolutely no idea what he is talking about (I can’t find local news in English, and even if I could I probably still wouldn’t know what was going on.  Must add regular viewing of the Weather Channel to the to-do list.)

3:00 – Rain starts hammering and I wish I would have brought the furniture in off the patio.  It’s soaked.  I can’t see the beach through the rain.

4:00 – Rain stops and pretty much dries up.  Still very windy.  Head to the corner store for provisions (aka - splurged on the $10.99 six pack of Michelob Ultra for my Hurricane Party for one.)

5:30 – Rain picks up again. This time I move the nearly dry patio furniture inside.  Power and cable go out.  Generator kicks on, have power but no TV or internet.  It’s REALLY windy.  Palm trees are blowing every which way and I’m thinking this is kind of cool.

7:30 – Cable comes back on, so I get to watch most of the Cowboys game.  Wind is really blowing now and the rain is hammering.  Not quite so cool in the dark.

10:30 – Power and cable go out again.  The generator kicks on, but I miss the last five minutes of the game.  I try to go to bed, but my bedroom is on the eastern side of the building and the whole eastern wall is a huge sliding glass patio door.  It’s chattering and slamming and the hurricane shutter that I can’t get closed is banging around.  Head back out to sleep on the couch.  Fall asleep around 11:30.

1:00 – Wake up from the clattering and banging of the western facing sliding glass door.  I can see the glass flexing in the wind and the noise is making it impossible to sleep.  I start to worry about the glass blowing right out and then realize I don’t have renter’s insurance yet.   Sit on the couch for about an hour and a half, curled up in a ball with my heart pounding, waiting for the worst.  I live on the sixth floor of an 18 story building made of concrete and I can feel it swaying side to side.  Charlie is sleeping like it’s his job. (Come to find out that this was actually the timing of the WORST part of the storm.)

2:30 – Finally head to guest bedroom in the middle of the apartment to try to get some sleep.  Figure whatever is going to happen is going to happen.  The wind is no longer cool.  It’s downright sinister. 

4:00 – I may have dozed for a few minutes on and off but can't get any good sleep due to the noise.  And I have to get up every 20 minutes to make sure the windows are intact.  At one point I walk into the living room and step in a huge puddle of water.  As I appreciate the fact that I am renting, I grab and towel and soak it up, figuring this is why the floors are marble tiles and not carpet.

Sometime around 4:30, I finally fell asleep.  The chattering of the hurricane shutters finally died to a point where I wasn’t consumed with the thought that any minute the glass doors would burst.  The office was closed today – no power, internet, or air conditioning will do that.  So I spent all day at home without TV or internet.  I have some serious cabin fever.  Charlie and I got out for a walk around 2pm. The streets are absolutely littered with palm tree debris.  Entire light posts are bent in half and billboards are down.  The streets and sidewalks are an obstable course of downed limbs and branches.  Let the clean up efforts begin!

Wednesday, August 24^th

I was so excited to see some blue sky peeking out this morning! It's been raining for over 48 hours.  And not a nice Seattle drizzle, but tropical, heavy rain.  I’ve just finally done some research, and from what I can tell, Irene was just below hurricane status when it passed over San Juan.  At 11pm on Sunday night, reports said we had sustained winds at 70 MPH.  I've learned that 74 MPH makes it a hurricane.  That report was two or three hours before the worst of it, so it had to be right on the cusp of official hurricane status.  I can’t explain the sense of relief that gives me.  It was pretty scary, so at least I don't have to live with the mystery of wondering what a real hurricane would be like.  Now I have a measuring stick by which to compare all future potential storms.  Living in Houston, you could always just get in the car and drive inland if you wanted to get away from a threatening storm.  You don't have that option in Puerto Rico; the entire island is about 30 miles wide.  God help me if a Category 2 or worse heads my way.  

My boss here is a California native.  We’ve chatted a bit about living in earthquake territory, and how I was leaving tornado country, and I thought I’d prefer hurricanes.  They have a decided advantage over earthquakes and tornados in that you can see them coming.  Well, after this experience, I might prefer 20 minutes huddled in the bathtub to eight hours of pounding winds.  Tornados and earthquakes wreak their havoc in a relatively short period of time.  Irene went on for hours.

We went back to work yesterday, and it was nice to get out of the house.  My building is still on generator power, and the cable and internet finally came on as I was getting into bed last night.  After two full days being alone with my thoughts and no TV to distract me, I welcomed heading to the office.  Once there, I learned several co-workers were still without power and water.  So I decided not to bitch too much about not having the internet.  I did make it the first 25 years of my life without it, after all.  Though it was rough trying to do my Fantasy Football draft from my cell phone and I fear my team will suffer the entire season because of it!

Home Sweet Home!

Well, I’m in.  After a week of unpacking and organizing, me and all my worldly possessions (less three plastic totes of exterior Christmas decorations sent to my Dad’s farmhouse for safe keeping) are once again under the same roof.  And it feels good.  It seems like just yesterday I was wishing it was the middle of August and I was settled.  It took three attempts to finally get the couch in. The first delivery day they discovered the elevator was too small.  The second try, the building’s elevator guy was on vacation and they sent some scab who clearly didn’t know how to work the elevator and scared the crap out of the moving company guys.  Finally this past Monday the stars aligned - it’s in, so we can be damn sure they can get it out!

The couch situation about put me over the edge, though.  It was one of those little things that showed me how close to the precipice all this transition has put me.  I can’t explain how frustrating it was to stand there and listen to the movers talk and strategize about how to get the couch upstairs and not understand a single thing they said.  As far as I knew, the conversation on Second Attempt Day went something like this: “Yeah, we can probably get it up there, but I really just don’t feel like it today.  Let’s go back to the warehouse.”  I’d have been none the wiser. 

That said, my first Spanish tutor flaked out on me.  On the day that was to finally be our first lesson, after two cancelled sessions before that, I finally texted him when he was 20 minutes late and he responded that he’d gotten a full time job, didn’t my relocation counselor tell me?  So now I have a new lady who comes highly recommended by the company people before me.  We are supposed to start next week.  In the absence of formal instruction, I am making progress, though.  I always felt that if I was just in a situation where I was surrounded by Spanish that I could pick it up, and I can already tell that I understand more simple conversations in the office.  I’m as excited as a kindergartener sounding out his first word when I comprehend an entire sentence or question. 

So, I don’t have any excuses for not getting out and meeting people.  This is it.  This is my situation for the next three years.  As mentioned in a previous post, I always figured when I got relocated I would just join a CrossFit and meet people there.  It worked so well in Grapevine that I had no doubts it would work elsewhere.  Except I hadn’t planned for the fact I’d move to a corner of the world that CrossFit hadn’t yet infiltrated.  So I joined the new fancy gym in town.  Apparently the only other one is in Manhattan and it’s the latest craze.  I was warned about how expensive it was when I told coworkers I was going to check it out.  Turns out it’s half a much a month as CrossFit.  It’s so new it doesn’t open until September 1.  But they boast of 50 different kinds of classes, things like Kettle Krazy (very high hopes for this one) and Anti-Gravity Yoga (not so sure about this one) so surely I can find a class or two I like and meet some people that way. 

I also caved and signed up for the freaking half marathon in November.  Three friends from three completely separate eras of my life who have never met will be joining me in Puerto Rico for the run and I couldn’t be more excited.  Last night while walking Charlie I finally got brave enough to break into a jog, and found it’s not so bad having to pay such close attention to the road.  It breaks up the monotony of running that I so loathe.  So I paid my money and even if we end up blowing it off and walking the thing with a thermos full of mimosa (and by “we” I mean Lynda and I, I am sure Kim and Jessie have more willpower!) at least I have a goal to work toward.  I should probably research if there are any “running clubs” in the area and use that as an excuse to meet people.

The Friday before last, a coworker invited me and the other new guy moving in from LA to happy hour with some of her  friends.  The happy hour was a celebration for a woman in their circle who’d just taken a position in Austin.  When she found out I’d just moved from Dallas, she mentioned the terrible heat in Texas recently.  She said, “So it’s a good thing electricity is cheaper, because I guess you just leave the air conditioning on all the time, right?”  Uh, yeah.  On full time and it blows 24/7 and still doesn’t get to the temp you have it set at until about four in the morning.   I’ve learned that even among the educated, well-to-do of Puerto Rico, air conditioning isn’t an expectation.  It’s something you turn on for special occasions or when the weather is particularly extreme.  Not even my apartment, that rents for $4000 a month, has central air; I have five window units throughout the place and it really only requires having one on to take the humidity out of the air.  That said, would I live here without it?  Hell no.

I’m off to Vegas next week.  A trip with my sister and some other friends for my cousin Katie’s 21^st birthday.  This will be my first venture making the eight-plus hour flight and dealing with that three hour time change.  When I lived in Texas, Megan was no stranger to chewing my ass the first day or so I was back in Washington for wanting to go to bed early, we’ll see if the Vegas magic can overcome yet another hour!  (I stayed out of the casino last weekend so that maybe gambling and free drinks will seem like a novelty again when I get there!) 

Settling In....

After nine more nights in a hotel, Charlie and I officially moved into our place this past Tuesday.  It feels good to be home, even if home is pretty much empty and we are sleeping on an air mattress.  I could have stayed in a hotel until they deliver my things on Monday, but I just couldn't stand Charlie being so close and not being able to see him everyday.

Our first night, Tropical Storm Emily was on her way.  The governor called a meeting and let all the federal employees go home early, encouraging the private sector to do the same.  We got dismissed at three.  (Which was handy, since I had to leave then anyhow to be home for the kennel to drop off Charlie.)  I stood on my patio for an hour and a half that night watching the sunset.  We got a lot of rain the next day, but the whole event felt slightly familiar.  Ahhh….it's like listening to the news in DFW when they are forecasting snow.  However, with snow you can stay home and avoid it.  If it's the one in ten times the hurricane is for real, Katie bar the door.

I've seen a bit more of the greater San Juan area in the last couple of weeks.  And I'll steal a quote from a 1995 classic, Clueless.  "Don't you think she's pretty? No, she's a full on Monet.  What's a Monet?  It's like a painting, see?  From far away, it's OK, but up close, it's a big ole mess." 

On Saturday, I drove about 15 miles south to the town of Caguas because I was told it was the nicest Wal-Mart around.  And it was a nice Wal-Mart, but the drive was beautiful.  Good thing, since it took me two hours to find the Wal-Mart, but I digress.  I really wish I could afford a chauffer so that I could stare at the scenery more instead of having to drive.  Because I get to gawking at the lush, tropical, greenery and the pretty little houses tucked in the hillside…..and then BAM!!!!  I'm jolted out of my reverie when I hit an 18 inch deep pothole and worry that the entire front tire is going to come off. 

You think I exaggerate, but I swear, the potholes are out of control.  You've got to watch the sidewalks, too.  Walking out of my hotel to most of the restaurants, there's an area of sidewalk with four or five 12 by 6 inch mini-manhole covers to the water system.  One of the covers has been missing since my very first trip two months ago.  It leaves a gapping hole full of water just prime for someone to stick a foot in and break a leg.  I've found a similar situation just outside my condo, and I'm worried about Charlie because he doesn't pay attention like I do.  If a street in Anywhere, USA (and by USA I mean the 50 states) had as many road and sidewalk hazards as San Juan, you'd be walking or driving through an obstacle course of orange construction cones and yellow caution tape.  But here, you are left to fend for yourself.  Guess the Puerto Ricans aren't quite as litigious as we Americans. 

Another issue is the homeless.  I'll admit it, I'm a suburban girl.  I lived in Puyallup, WA, and left well before it had grown into what it is today.  And Flower Mound, TX, is possibly the height of middle class suburbia.  It's new, it's clean, and doesn't stand for any homeless people lurking about.  Other than my three years living close to downtown Houston, it's not something I'm used to, and even it Houston, certainly not on a daily basis.

But here, everyone has their corners, and there's one on just about every corner.  My Texas republican friends will call me a bleeding heart democrat; others will say I’m just a good person.  But I feel like if I start, I won't stop.  It's so hard to drive by them every day, knowing what that fiver in my wallet means to me and what it might mean to that guy. I see three on a regular basis before I get to the highway on my way to work. (The one in the wheelchair with the little dog of course gets to me the most.)  Quick math says even a dollar each a day is $21 a week (no weekends off), $84 a month, $1008 a year, and $3024 during my tenure in Puerto Rico.  Hmmm…..

I might start but for the fact that the woman who owns one of the distributors I work with (who's reputation is one of the kindest, most generous people you will meet) told me it's all for drugs.  There's no good system to rehabilitate anyone and the money goes straight to their fix.  So the guy with the pitiful look on his face, rubbing his stomach as I pulled out of the Burger King drive thru this morning is really just a good actor.  Half of me still wants to give him the buck if his fix lets him escape for awhile. 

The Feeling Update: still no real signs.  I've been waiting for it.  I know it can come out of nowhere and just knock the life out of you.  But the other night, I realized something.  Sure, I'm older, I'm wiser, more worldly and experienced since I last had The Feeling.  But I've also been through something since then that makes all other challenging experiences pale in comparison.  When I compare starting over in a foreign land with no family or friends to losing my mother, I'd start over every day if I could have one more with her.