We need to find a good market. The guidebook is nearly useless. Who wants to travel and end up at a mall that has all the stores you have back home? Maybe the authors and editors feel obligated to tell those people who left their Sephora mascara at home where they can replenish, but really? If I'm in San Juan or Paris or Tehran, I have bigger fish to fry than a visit to the mall.
We made our way back at the train station from a different direction and found this amazing street. Puerto Rico is colorful anyway, but this took it to the next level.
At the Tren Urbano, K got in just fine, but my card would not work. I tried it one way, then another, and nothing, just an unpleasant "Failed!" signal each time. There were three people working at the station desk - a gorgeous young woman, an older man, and an even older woman. As I kept trying the card, the man said, "Try doing it slower....not that slow!" Then the young woman came around the turnstile and tried my card another 30 times. Then she handed it to the older woman, who tried it about 40 times. I offered to buy another $.75 ticket, but they were determined. Finally, it worked. The 150th times the charm. They were all very excited that it worked, though.
When we returned to Old San Juan, we stopped by the Cristoforo Colombo / Cristóbal Colón / Cristóvão Colombo / Christophorus Columbus / Christoffa Corombo / Christopher Columbus statue in the square and found some craftspeople selling their wares. The cruise ship was in port, so it was a good time to be selling. We met a lady, The Coqui Lady, who was selling her frog jewelry and art. She was able to imitate the distinctive call of the coqui frog. Once we heard her, we realized that we'd been hearing that call all over the place - but we thought it was a bird. Her granddaughter, when not texting, helped her sell her charms and tie the necklaces with slipknots.
We wandered around the side streets near our apartment and found a little hole in the wall ice cream stand run by this couple. The husband said he was ninety years old and that his wife was eighty. She scooped our ice cream out while he chatted us up. He was from Cuba originally and had worked in Seattle. He offered us ice water and a seat. He saw my camera and wanted to show me where to stand to take a better picture of the alleyway across the street. He pointed out that if I stood in just the right place, I could get the alley, and the cross on the church up the alley. I told him that I really just wanted a picture of him and his wife. He was mystified, but I think he was secretly tickled. His wife fluffed her hair and then lit up the room with a magnificent smile. After I took the picture, K suggested we give them a copy of it, so we ran down to the drugstore and printed one out for them.
When we left the little ice cream shop, I wanted to get the picture that the ice cream man had suggested, but there was a red sports car blocking my shot. Turned out that that was a way better picture, because the guy driving it popped the back and pulled a bunch of fruit out of the car. It was incongruous to say the least.
For dinner we ventured back into unknown parts of town to find Jose Enrique. If you are in Puerto Rico go there. 176 Calle Duffaut, San Juan, Puerto Rico, (787) 725-3518. If you aren't in Puerto Rico, get on a plane, get into a taxi, and go there. Meet Jose. He's the famous chef in the kitchen. The one that Food and Wine named as one of the Best New Chefs for 2013.
The restaurant is small, simple, intimate and full of cheeky, sexy staffers who will gladly tell you exactly what you should be eating. Here is what they told us to eat:
Wait.
Drinks first. We had a pitcher of sangria (see previous post title).
Now we eat.
Ensalda. A giant pile of greens, smothered in cheese and a delicious dressing.
The Mahi mahi starter. Excellent.
Mahi mahi main dish for me. I was sticking with a theme. A theme of wonderfulness.
All right, now that that is out of my system.
We found (online - take note travel book publishers) a market that was described as more local than touristy, with fresh food, and a sidewalk full of vendors. We went.
But first, we had to figure out how to get there. The bus station in old San Juan has a man in a glassed-in outdoor office that sits up on a wall about eight feet high, with a little speaker attached to where you try to talk to him. Even in English, this was not going to work. People stood at the wall, pressed the button, then yelled into the box, then had to step back about four feet to look at the guy, who then squawked something back at the them. There are no visible ticket machines or change machines (this will become very important later), and no one except bus drivers to help you. And, as they are driving buses and all, they are just a tiny bit busy.
But through the magical power of K and the iPhone, we found the right bus. We went to get on and the driver said, "Change only." The fare was .50. I know. Does anyone have bus fare that low anymore? So take note, if you are coming to San Juan, get your ass on the bus. But we didn't have the correct change, and he would not take a dollar bill. It had to be change only. So we stood at the front of the bus, frantically digging for it. This is obviously a common occurrence, as he just looked us impassively, patiently waiting for his one dollar in change.
At the Tren Urbana (can you guess what that is?), we got some help from a local, which was welcome and very appreciated. Everywhere we go, people have asked us if we are doing all right, if we need help with anything. It is wonderful to be traveling again. Meeting people is what this whole thing is about, and when they want to help, and (key thing here) when you accept the help, it just makes things so much simpler.
We exited the Tren Urbana station and found ourselves in a serious downpour. A warm, tropical downpour, but a downpour nonetheless. I had my little travel umbrella with me, but even with that, we are soaked through in about a minute. But we found our market.
It is off of Paseo de Deigo in the Rio Piedras neighborhood. Called the Plaza de Mercado, it is a covered, air conditioned market full of fruit and vegetables. As far as I could tell, we were the only tourists there. We strolled the aisles, but quickly found the food section and got a delicious, and cheap, lunch of rice and beans with a meat stew, and a kind of plantain and ground meat casserole. The woman who sold us the casserole said she had lived in Pennsylvania for awhile. I think Puerto Ricans might be the most well-travelled people I've ever met.
We left the market and walked up and down the main drag. It was definitely more of a local scene. People selling clothes, herbal remedies, household goods, all in storefronts. Men hawking lottery tickets and newspapers. Music blaring out of speakers from somewhere. Due to the off and on rain, people had to keep rolling their stuff off the sidewalk, then back on, or throwing tarps over it.
We saw a group of teenagers covered in what looked like paint or whip cream on the road. We hung back a little bit, because teenagers armed with anything is a recipe for uncertainty. I really wanted a picture, though. So we walked by, tentatively, kind of like approaching a wild animal, and the group almost as one turned their eyes to us. K stepped right up and said, "Can she take your picture?" And they all laughed and one girl said something about gringos and photos, but I got the shots I wanted. It seemed all good natured. It turned out to be a shaving cream battle. We were spared any active participation and got out without a drop on us.
We made our way back at the train station from a different direction and found this amazing street. Puerto Rico is colorful anyway, but this took it to the next level.
At the Tren Urbano, K got in just fine, but my card would not work. I tried it one way, then another, and nothing, just an unpleasant "Failed!" signal each time. There were three people working at the station desk - a gorgeous young woman, an older man, and an even older woman. As I kept trying the card, the man said, "Try doing it slower....not that slow!" Then the young woman came around the turnstile and tried my card another 30 times. Then she handed it to the older woman, who tried it about 40 times. I offered to buy another $.75 ticket, but they were determined. Finally, it worked. The 150th times the charm. They were all very excited that it worked, though.
When we returned to Old San Juan, we stopped by the Cristoforo Colombo / Cristóbal Colón / Cristóvão Colombo / Christophorus Columbus / Christoffa Corombo / Christopher Columbus statue in the square and found some craftspeople selling their wares. The cruise ship was in port, so it was a good time to be selling. We met a lady, The Coqui Lady, who was selling her frog jewelry and art. She was able to imitate the distinctive call of the coqui frog. Once we heard her, we realized that we'd been hearing that call all over the place - but we thought it was a bird. Her granddaughter, when not texting, helped her sell her charms and tie the necklaces with slipknots.
We wandered around the side streets near our apartment and found a little hole in the wall ice cream stand run by this couple. The husband said he was ninety years old and that his wife was eighty. She scooped our ice cream out while he chatted us up. He was from Cuba originally and had worked in Seattle. He offered us ice water and a seat. He saw my camera and wanted to show me where to stand to take a better picture of the alleyway across the street. He pointed out that if I stood in just the right place, I could get the alley, and the cross on the church up the alley. I told him that I really just wanted a picture of him and his wife. He was mystified, but I think he was secretly tickled. His wife fluffed her hair and then lit up the room with a magnificent smile. After I took the picture, K suggested we give them a copy of it, so we ran down to the drugstore and printed one out for them.
When we left the little ice cream shop, I wanted to get the picture that the ice cream man had suggested, but there was a red sports car blocking my shot. Turned out that that was a way better picture, because the guy driving it popped the back and pulled a bunch of fruit out of the car. It was incongruous to say the least.
The restaurant is small, simple, intimate and full of cheeky, sexy staffers who will gladly tell you exactly what you should be eating. Here is what they told us to eat:
Wait.
Drinks first. We had a pitcher of sangria (see previous post title).
Now we eat.
Ensalda. A giant pile of greens, smothered in cheese and a delicious dressing.
The Mahi mahi starter. Excellent.
Mahi mahi main dish for me. I was sticking with a theme. A theme of wonderfulness.
Pork shank in sauce for K. Everything was perfectly seasoned, full of flavor.
We also discovered a brilliant dessert. Tembleque is a salute to coconut and cinnamon. Jose Enrique's tembleque was heavenly. Fluffy coconut cream pillows, covered with cinnamon candy, cinnamon tapioca dots, cinnamon foam, gelled cinnamon. It was a haiku of cinnamon. A cinnamon symphony. I really can't overstate how wonderful it was.
K asked our server if we could meet the chef, and he said it was busy. We asked again after dinner. It was slightly less busy. Then after dessert, K asked again. The server said he would see what he could do...but first, we were all going to celebrate our dinner with shots. Tequila with orange and cinnamon flavored liqueurs. So we all took a shot. Then we got to meet Jose Enrique. We praised the meal, then got our pictures taken with him, and then he told us where to go drinking.
We had another small libation liqueur shot with salt and lime with the bar staff while we waited for our taxi to come.
We also discovered a brilliant dessert. Tembleque is a salute to coconut and cinnamon. Jose Enrique's tembleque was heavenly. Fluffy coconut cream pillows, covered with cinnamon candy, cinnamon tapioca dots, cinnamon foam, gelled cinnamon. It was a haiku of cinnamon. A cinnamon symphony. I really can't overstate how wonderful it was.
K asked our server if we could meet the chef, and he said it was busy. We asked again after dinner. It was slightly less busy. Then after dessert, K asked again. The server said he would see what he could do...but first, we were all going to celebrate our dinner with shots. Tequila with orange and cinnamon flavored liqueurs. So we all took a shot. Then we got to meet Jose Enrique. We praised the meal, then got our pictures taken with him, and then he told us where to go drinking.
We had another small libation liqueur shot with salt and lime with the bar staff while we waited for our taxi to come.
Our evening had one more treat in store for us. Our taxi driver was a Puerto Rican surfer dude with highlighted tips and he was totally high.
"Oh, man, did you eat at Jose Enrique? I love that place, I've eaten there like seven times. I had this fish thing there last time - snapper! Oh man, and the pork? Can't be beat. Did you like it? What did you eat? Oh man, that sounds so good. I'm getting hungry. How long have been in San Juan? Where have you eaten? There are so many great places - Puerto Rican food is great, oh man."
I was laughing and could barely reply to any of his run-on questions. K was trying to act like nothing was happening - and I just could not stop laughing. It was the perfect ending to our night.
"Oh, man, did you eat at Jose Enrique? I love that place, I've eaten there like seven times. I had this fish thing there last time - snapper! Oh man, and the pork? Can't be beat. Did you like it? What did you eat? Oh man, that sounds so good. I'm getting hungry. How long have been in San Juan? Where have you eaten? There are so many great places - Puerto Rican food is great, oh man."
I was laughing and could barely reply to any of his run-on questions. K was trying to act like nothing was happening - and I just could not stop laughing. It was the perfect ending to our night.
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