Ponce

If Ponce were a woman, she'd be an old and weary one -- still beautiful, but past her prime. A woman colorfully dressed, perhaps in pink or sky blue, with striking features and skin that sagged loosely off the bone. She'd probably be the type to still get her nails done every week, while forgetting to pay the electric bill on time.

In a way, Ponce is a beautiful older woman. She has that run-down, lived in look that is so attractive in all great dowagers. Ponce has a certain something, a nobility, a genteel decay, that is both lovely and sad, all at the same time.

When I first found out I was going to Puerto Rico, I had no idea about the country or anything in it. The only city I'd ever heard about was San Juan -- and that was only from the Real World and my mother's thirty year old memories from her trip there.

Even after checking out brochures and tourist guides, I was left with the impression that life started and stopped with San Juan, and that Puerto Rico was an otherwise staid, boring little place with nothing else to offer. Sure, a few beaches and rum filled drinks were touted, but otherwise the guidebooks left off anything about 'the rest' of the island.

And so, when my mother told me we were going to be staying in a little town called Ponce, I asked -- where is that?? She didn't know anything about it either, except that it was cheaper, supposed to have a nice beach, and less touristy than San Juan. (And oh boy, does my mother have a thing for avoiding touristy places -- a little personality trait that I've seemed to pick up along the way, as well.)

On one of our first full days in Puerto Rico, me and my mother set about exploring our temporary new home. Together we spent several hours exploring the alleyways, sidewalks and shops of Ponce. My mother even dared to drive -- a feat that she (nor I) would ever recommend to the uninitiated. Mom nearly had a heart attack. Twice. (Drivers in Ponce apparently don't believe in a)following traffic laws, b)using any signals except car horns and c)obeying speed limits.)

We went on a free trolley ride, giggled at the cheap crap for sale that every white person within 50 miles was lined up to buy, and ate yummy homemade ice cream that rapdily ended up melting out of cones and onto our arms. Part of the time we simply sat in the shade of the central plaza, watching all the people go by. They came in so many beautiful shades, from light creams to dark browns -- it was almost like being here in New York.

And, of course, I loved every minute of it. I took dozens of photos, which became a mini addiction for my day in Ponce. I literally walked around like a madwoman, crossing traffic clogged streets to capture a pigeon on film, or a gutted house.

This was also the place where two very hilarious things happened to me, and which I will write about in the next entry. An old grandmother tried to auction me off to her (very, very attractive) grandson, and, just before that, a man walked into a tree while staring at me. All I can say is -- good stories to tell when I'm old and wrinkled someday.