Rincón — Spanish for corner — is on the Western side of Puerto Rico, a two hour’s drive from San Juan.
Waiting for us was an enigmatic and as yet faceless man known only as Carlos, whose condo we’d be renting out. I’d texted with Carlos throughout the day and he’d informed me that Rincón was easy to get to, but hard to navigate once there — because the little surfing village doesn’t really have many road names. Using our GPS was useless as well. It was almost as if Rincón didn’t exist. I was intrigued.
One road name stuck out, however, and would foreshadow our entree into town.
Evening fell as we entered the village. We followed Carlos’ instructions of turning this way and that at specific landmarks and against all odds we successfully located a trove of oceanfront condominiums. Carlos met us ever so briefly at the front gate to exchange keys before speeding away in a fancy little car.
We were starving, but before we could leave the house to explore, a little disaster occurred. Not within 15 minutes of us being inside the condo, the toilet exploded.
There was a geyser, a lot of screaming, frantic running … Water gushed for minutes until we finally turned off the water valve in the bathroom. We got Carlos on the horn and he vowed a plumber was on his way.
Treading an inch of water throughout the house, we got the hell out.
But where to go?
The sleepy town of Rincón was almost fully dead, as it was the off-season. Restaurants shuttered and no one walking the streets, we managed to find the downtown area and wandered into a place called Brothers Pizza for a late slice.
The local ne’er–do–wells were congregated there and happy to engage us and provide the evening’s entertainment.
The older gentleman of the bunch asked us to meet him at the pizza parlor the next day at three, where he would feed us moringa tea and it would cleanse us and maybe we’d have some psychedelic experience … I wasn’t really sure what he was talking about.
But you know I was into the idea, anyway.
As for Anne. Not so much.