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About Ramblings of a Hopeless Khowaga

Welcome to my Web site. My name is Chris, and I’ll be your host. I live in Austin, Texas, with my partner, Ray, and our child dog, Mocha. You can read more about me, learn 100 random things about me, and if you’re wondering what the heck a khowaga is, click here. Feel free to browse, read, and leave comments!

Tag: ‘Friday’



Den eneste bøsse i landsbyen

Monday, December 14th, 2009

I got my first hit from Greenland today!  (We’ve discussed my inner stats whore earlier, so never mind that creepy bit.)

See, there it is on Mint:

stats1

What on earth brought my Greenlandic visitor to my site?  Well, I click on the little icon and I discover that what’s on the minds of today’s Greenlanders is:

stats2

A la Dr. Evil: Riiiiiight.

I get my first hit from Greenland, and it’s someone looking for gay porn.  Fabulous.

Well, then I got to thinking.  Like most of the rest of the world, what I know about Greenland is as follows: it’s not as big as it looks on maps, being the main victim of distortion put about by the Mercator projection.  It’s ruled by Denmark, as I have known from the fifth grade when we had to research it as a class project after several of us more literate types questioned our teacher when she said it was an independent country while the map in our social studies book clearly labeled it as a possession of Denmark.

Oh, and there’s some sort of asteroid on the west coast that could power the universe if only extraterrestrial worms weren’t eating peoples’ brains.  I got that last by reading Smilla’s Sense of Snow (the book being far, far better than the movie which now airs regularly on Lifetime as part of their court ordered Julia Ormond quota).  I also recall something about Greenland having low humidity (“I’ve been colder in Denmark than I ever have in Greenland”), a high rate of both alcoholism and suicide (has something to do with the long hours of night in the winter–as I recall Smilla’s brother had committed suicide), and Greenlanders being rather resentful of their forced inclusion into the Greater Danish Sphere (Smilla herself being a prime example).

And since I’m sure that author Peter Høeg is an expert on Greenland, this must all be correct…

Nuuk_night

So, I pulled it up on the Interwebz, and I discovered that Nuuk (formerly Godthåb) is one of the smallest capital cities in the world by population–right around 18,000, which comprises one quarter of Greenland’s entire population.

Which leads me to the following thought: no wonder my Greenlandic visitor was seeking out gay porn on the Internet.  The most accessible gay bar is in Copenhagen–six hours away by plane (among my other random knowledge is that it is far, far easier to fly from Greenland to Denmark than to either Canada or the U.S., even though they’re closer).  Can you imagine what it must be like trying to find a date on a Friday night?

One can imagine the drama that would ensue in the small dating pool: everyone knows everyone else’s business, that’s for sure.  Plus, it’s that part of the year when there are a scant few hours of daylight.  Who wouldn’t want to hang around the house and surf the Interwebz?

Nuuk_snow

Sure offers a new lens to the concept of being the only gay in the village, don’t it?  (BTW, the title of the post is “the only gay in the village” rendered into Danish by Google translate, and I’d be happy to change it if a real Dane happens by and wants to correct it … )

*photos by Peter Løvstrøm.  Used under a Creative Commons Attribution license.

OK, seriously…

Monday, December 7th, 2009

Khowaga is having a bit of a rough Monday morning.

I woke up from a bizarre dream in which I was in the company of Lisbeth Salander (the anti-hero and “girl” referred to in the titles of Steig Larsson’s best-selling novels The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and The Girl Who Played with Fire (and next year’s The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest)) being pursued around Stockholm (a city I’ve never been to) by the police.  And, yes, and one point we did go to IKEA.

On my way out of the house this morning, I grabbed oatmeal and a couple of things that I needed for work, among them a Tide pen (I had to throw out a Brooks Brothers shirt over the weekend because I finally had to admit that a stain acquired at work was just never going to come out).  And I’ve managed to misplace both.

It’s frustrating, because I have pretty clear memories of putting the oatmeal in my jacket pocket, but it wasn’t there when I got out of the car–nor did it appear to still be in the car.  As for the Tide pen–God knows.  I put everything down on the antique card catalog file outside my desk (which bears absolutely no resemblance to the collection that may or may not be on the reading room shelves).  When I went back, it was gone.  I checked the drawer in my desk where I intended to put it and it’s not there.  What did I do with it?  Beats the crap out of me.

Am I starting to wonder if there’s a connection between the shell-shocked heroine I dreamt about last night and my newfound forgetfulness?  Yeah, just a little.

On another note.

Picture 1My silly post liveblogging the “blizzard” on Friday earned a lot of hits, thanks to the newfound power of the Twitter.  I went from my usual 50 or so readers each day to over 600.  Nice for me!  Sadly, my attempts to popularize my Egypt theme for Windows 7 were not as successful, and there was scant interest in my crop of habanero peppers, so I am back to my handful of dedicated, loyal readers who hopefully aren’t there just because they haven’t gotten around to clearing their newsreaders of the feeds they don’t actually look at in a while.

Last but not least in this Monday morning roundup of things before I set my sites on worthier (and more work-related goals): Ray and I watched Brüno on Saturday.  While it was cringe-inducing, as I had suspected that it would be, a good number of the cringes came from people other than Sasha Baron Cohen (and I’m not talking about the obvious ones).  There’s an extended scene of Brüno attempting to cast a baby photoshoot, and the parents of the babies who are auditioning are just freaking insane.

“Your child will be in an SS uniform, holding a wheelbarrow containing bodies in front of an oven,” Brüno tells one mother.
“Great!” she says.
“How do you feel about that?”
“I’m happy she got the part,” the proud mommy says.

If The Daily Show hasn’t picked that up as its moment of Zen … it ought to.

And on that note … happy Monday, everyone!

LiveBlogging the Great Blizzard of 2009

Friday, December 4th, 2009

Given the extensive coverage the topic has received in major international outlets such as the Austin American-Statesman and KUT-FM radio, I’m sure that you are all aware of the impending blizzard that is set to descend upon the ATX later this morning (assuming the weathermen didn’t get it wrong, again).  In case you’ve been hiding under a rock, here’s the skinny: there is a 60% chance that we may receive up to an inch of snow today.

Naturally, this news has caused panic among some weaker willed individuals.  The University of Texas, for example, felt compelled to issue a pre-emptive notice yesterday afternoon reminding everyone that classes had not yet been canceled, but urged us to check the University’s emergency line before proceeding to work tomorrow for the latest updates.

As you know, here at ROHK we strive for journalistic and culinary excellence of a higher standard, and so, I am sacrificing my own well-being to bring you the latest news about the event that I am sure will be recorded in the annals of history as The Great Blizzard of 2009.

Do check back regularly for updates.

Friday, December 4, 2009

6:10 am: Wake up, get dressed.  In honor of the impending cold snap, I search for a clean sweater, and eventually discover one that my parents bought me for Christmas some years ago.  It was clearly purchased before they moved to Texas because, even before I lost the 10 pounds, it was still at least one size too large and makes me look like a mustard colored burlap sack.  However, today we are going with function above form, following the trend set by world-famous survivalist Jake Gyllenehaal in the documentary film The Day After Tomorrow:

jake-gyllenhaal-london-hat

See?  If Jake can sport an outfit that reveals no muscle definition whatsoever, so can I.

6:54 am: Sitting outside of Beverly’s house.  It takes her longer than usual to come out to get in the car this morning, because she is clearly working up the nerve to set forth in the malstrøm and dodge the sunbeams that are beginning to fall outside.

7:10 am: Realizing that I am driving too fast for conditions, I reduce my speed to 72 miles per hour (114 km/h).  This adds at least 2 minutes to my commuting time this morning, but it’s important to drive safe!  Arrive alive!

7:26 am: Walking from the garage to campus.  It is chilly this morning.  The guy who’s not homeless but wants everyone to think he is who usually sets up behind Einstein’s Bagels is nowhere to be seen.  I hope that he has managed to find a shelter for the not-homeless-but-wanting-others-to-think-they-are.

7:35 am: In the office.  It was a tough last sprint across the West Mall to my building, what with the grounds services golf carts whizzing by, but I did make it here.  Lisa has already begun prepping for the cold weather by cleaning out the oven, which has been left a mess by a previous user/staff member.  This is very wise of her — clearly we may need the electric stove as a heating device if the power goes out once the deluge has begun.

7:55 am: Typing these words.  Outside the window, I can see that it is cloudy.  This is clearly a very bad sign — much worse than it has been on every other cloudy day this week.

8:15 am: The men with the leafblowers are out in the pass-through between my building and the next (which once served as the setting for Café d’Amour in the first Spy Kids movie).  Clearly they have been apprised of the danger that can result from snow falling on top of leaves.  I’m not sure what it is, myself, but as landscaping professionals, it’s their job to know these things.

8:28 am: Discover that emergency provisions are already stocked in the front office: two bags of Chips Ahoy™ and one of Pecan Sandies™.  Skeptics may suggest that they are, in fact, left over from Professor E’s final-class-of-the-year celebration yesterday, but that’s just crazy talk.  Lisa continues preparation of baked goods for this afternoon’s Survivalist Training/Birthday Celebration.

9:14 am: Correction: Provisions are one bag of Chips Ahoy™ and two bags of Pecan Sandies™.  Please make a note of this. This is, of course, in addition to the banana bread that Lisa has made, along with the molasses cookies that are apparently on schedule to be made at noon.

Looking out the office window, I can see that we now have a lower cloud cover than we did earlier.  Possibly this is due to the impending snow.  Possibly this is due to the arrival of the alien/Snuggie™ vanguard that I described in yesterday’s post.  Will investigate further.

The Statesman is reporting that “some” snow flurries have been seen in some parts of Central Texas, and that San Antonio may see a light dusting.  I shall keep the brave people of San Antonio in my prayers.

9:28 am: Discover that #Austinsnow is now being hashed on Twitter.  I have to join Twitter to do this, but the feed is too damned amusing not to share:


10:07 am: Take a break from perusing postings about the first harbingers of wintery doom–is Skol preparing to eat the sun and invoke the long winter known as Fimbulvetr?–to notice that the clouds are looking far more sinister now than they did an hour ago.  At least a five on the Scale of Sinistry, up from a four and a half.

Kim suggests that the gravity of the situation requires that the word “aught” be worked into the title, and that we should refer to this as the “Great Blizzard of Aught-Nine.”  What say you?

10:15 am: Realize that I left my iPod in my car.  In the movies, the guy who goes back for something never, ever lives until the end.  (Well, except in the Final Destination movies, but then Death spends the whole movie trying to catch up.)  Not falling for it.  Take that, Law of Murphy!

11:13 am: Fear not, dear readers!  I remain as fervently committed to bringing you updates as they develop.

It has transpired that one of the bags of Pecan Sandies™ has been devoured by inconsiderate coworkers who do not realize the strategic value that they will play in our survival should the worst be realized and we become stranded in the building.  An investigation with possible court martial is under way.

According to #Austinsnow, the earlier rogue flakes have abated.  We remain poised for a resurgence.

It is very cold in my office.  Am contemplating putting on gloves.

11:32 am: Confirm with Ray that he made it to work safely.  Breathe sigh of relief.

11:47 am: Cabin fever has clearly set in amongst the staff.  Food is being anthropomorphised:

apple

Also, the Chips Ahoy™ are stale.  We will put them on the back burner for now.

12:12 pm: Hearing Christmas carols being sung on the West Mall.  Assume there’s irony involved in any song mentioning snow.  The Statesman is now claiming that the snow is “on the way,” downgraded from the “it’s already falling” that we got earlier.

Am off to dodge air molecules on the way to find lunch.  Pray for me.

12:26 pm: Back from acquiring food.  Bitter cold, grey skies, no snow.

There was, however, a young man in front of Goldsmith Hall wearing what is either a very large paper boat or a paper papal hat on his head.  Not sure what the purpose is, other than to make people stop and stare.  Which we did.

12:37 pm: Have met the first person today who claims to have seen at least several snowflakes.  There is much praising of his survival instincts.  He has clearly suffered emotional trauma (but not enough to get me to cancel the panel presentation in 23 minutes in which he is supposed to deliver a talk in Persian).

12:53 pm: Ray calls to tell me that it is “snowing heavily” in Round Rock.  The office moves to Defcom 2 in preparation for the snow to begin falling.

12:57 pm: SNOW!!!!!!  There’s at least 15 flakes out there.

1:05 pm: Photographic evidence that the onslaught has begun:

snow

It’s kind of hard to see, but you can definitely tell if you look under the trees.  There’s a small possibility that some of it’s dust on the window that I shot through, but some of it is definitely snow flakes.

1:47 pm: And now the sun’s out.

1:51 pm: The Statesman is now reporting that winter weather advisory that had been issued for today … has been canceled.

I didn’t even get to go out in it: I’m trapped in my office because there’s a lecture going on outside.  Poop.  On the other hand, it’s a nice sunny day now!  And I left my sunglasses at home.

2:43 pm: My journalistic efforts have been foiled by the final presentations of one of the Persian classes going on in the room outside my office, however, I assure you, I will continue to cover the story until my last breath.  Or until it’s time to go home for the day, one or the other.

2:56 pm: BREAKING NEWS: the baked goods that have been added to the stockpile of supplies in the office include banana bread, chocolate ginger cookies, and both Irish and English breakfast tea.

I have learned from this blizzard that the primary difference between Irish and English breakfast tea is that the former is caffeinated, the latter is not.  (At least, that’s according to the HEB in-store brand — I can’t help thinking that’s not actually correct, but I’m not a tea-o-phile, so can not confirm.)

I have also learned that the air filter on the LCD projector needs to be changed.  I didn’t know it had an air filter and that it could be changed.  Things our sales reps forgot to tell us.  I wonder if this will affect the quality of the breathable oxygen in the event that we become trapped up here.  There are at least two clouds that I don’t like the look of visible from where I’m sitting right now, and that’s before I turn my head too much.  I have a feeling this isn’t over yet, dagnabbit.

3:36 pm: I am startled to see that there is ice buildup on the roof of Goldsmith Hall, which I can see from my office window.  It’s blue and shimmery and … oh, wait.  It’s someone’s jacket.  In fact, now that I look at the photo I took at 1:05, I can see that it was there then, too.

Never mind.

4:07 pm: Whoa!  I’ve gone viral — 600 hits in the past two hours.  Who knew?  The pressure’s on!  (OK, I know I’m supposed to be all Ocean’s 11-style cool and act like this is so <yawn> boring, but I’m just a touch too neurotic for that).

In weather related news, we’re holding at 39 degrees F / 3 degrees C with bright, practically cloudless skies.  I do so hope that the roads have been plowed and salted before I head home–I’d hate to drive in unsafe conditions.  My palms get a little sweaty just thinking about it.

4:23 pm: Time to start powering things down and head out into the wilds.  I shall check in again once I have arrived in the wilds of Round Rock, across the moors of Pflugerville and the towering craggy peaks of Tarrytown.

Stay strong, fellow commuters!  Man shall always persevere over Mother Nature.  (I mean, just look at the Domain.)

4:35 pm: On leaving the building, I see the measures that my fellow Austinites have gone to in order to protect themselves from the blustery weather.  One young fellow is wearing a dark suit, but has elected for the protection of white athletic socks.  Clearly, desperate times call for desperate measures.  Later, I will see another young man so affected by the cold weather that he has had to pull his boardshorts down in order to cover his mid-calf, exposing a considerable amount of plaid boxer short above the waistline.  I feel for him.

4:50 pm: Apparently, the snow has caused a short circuit in the gate at the parking garage.  One poor woman sits there with a line of cars behind her, and is finally forced to back up and go to the pay station in order to make her ticket work.  It’s very sad that such desperate measures need to be taken in order to complete such mundane tasks.

5:02 pm: MoPac expressway.  Cars moving much slower than the posted speed limit.  Possibly due to the weather.  I can think of no other reason why traffic heading north out of Austin would be moving so slowly at 5 pm on a Friday afternoon, especially the weekend before the Red River Shootout in Dallas.  It just boggles the mind.

5:35 pm: I  arrive home and begin searching for things to cover the plants in order to protect them from tonight’s deep freeze.  I now have a basket full of habanero peppers (seriously, what am I going to do with so many habaneros?  I might have to make salsa for the office Chrismukkah gifts.  But, oh no, I’ve said too much.

5:45 pm: I send Ray out to Home Depot so that I can wrap the Christmas gifts that came in the mail today.  I hope they didn’t get wet.

6:03 pm: Gifts wrapped, Ray happily off at Home Depot, I sit in front of the television, open my laptop, and blog this, the last of my updates.  At 6 pm, the winter weather advisory has expired, and I, for one, am considering myself very lucky–very lucky indeed–to have managed to survive the Great Blizzard of 2009.

LiveBlogging has now ended.  Please remain seated until the vehicle has come to a complete stop.  Don’t forget to search under the seat in front and in the overhead bins of you for any belongings you may have brought on board, and have a nice day in town, or wherever your final destination may be.  Drive safe!

Good Lord, Kill Me Now

Saturday, October 10th, 2009

It’s Saturday morning.  It’s cool outside (54 degrees! — 12 if you speak Celsius), and I am relaxing with a cup of Cafe Yaucono that I brought back from Puerto Rico and ran through the French press this morning.  (Does anyone know if they make automated / programmable French presses?  Cos I could totally get into that…)

Ray commented last night that I am neglecting my blog (I wouldn’t say I’ve been neglecting it: it’s been hacked twice in the past two weeks and I spent a good chunk of Tuesday locking it down to prevent a third occurrence).

But here’s why: there’s a big conference coming up at work at the end of next week, in honor of a professor who passed away last year.  Since the summer, I’ve been wrangling an organizing committee (a bit tantamount to standing up cooked spaghetti) consisting of dear colleagues who want to honor said professor.  Read another way: the organizing committee consists of people who have massive personalities and are capable of causing all sorts of massive drama.

Professor A, one of the two co-chairs, is a sweet guy, but bizarrely capable of getting his feelings hurt very easily.  He also displays an innate tendency to bring an issue before the committee, which is discussed and agreed upon in a meeting where he takes no notes, and then goes back and reports something different to the people involved.  For example: “How long should the Thursday keynote speak?”  We decided that the talk should go no longer than 30 minutes as we don’t want the event to go longer than two hours.  He then reported to the keynote speaker that she should be prepared to speak for 30-40 minutes, and would have 20 minutes for questions.

Seriously.

Professor B, who is the professor who sent the nasty message that put a sour spin on my last few hours in Cairo over the summer, has since then actually been very easy to work with.

Professor C is a handful.  I believe my facebook status earlier this week read, in reference to her, “She’s such a pill that if I could bottle and market her, I’d be a millionaire.”  She’s written one book that won tons of awards–as well it should: she spent TWENTY YEARS writing it.  Her main goal in life is to make sure that people know that she’s in the room.

How this all plays out is as follows:

Thursday morning.

A drafts the program for the conference and sends it around.  It’s formatted wildly, so I spend a good chunk of time reformatting it and pass it around.  It takes two hours for someone to notice that all of the panel chairs are wrong and another hour for someone to notice that half of them are at the wrong times.  When this is expressed, Professor A responds that, “Well, I didn’t have my notes in front of me, so I just made things up and figured that someone would catch the error.”

I choose, for political expediency, not to respond by pointing out that it might have been more useful for him to make a notation to that effect, or, heaven forbid, actually say, “Hey, I don’t have this information on hand, can someone fill it in?”

B asks if the program and poster can be sent around electronically so that everyone can send it out on their listservs.  The program and poster are online, so I send out a message containing the links to the files.

B then responds that … well, never mind.  It’s too much work for her to download the files (also, she wants to know if the 11X17 poster and the 8.5 x 11 program can be put in the same document), so, as I’m getting ready to go to a meeting, I quickly send off the poster and the program to everyone as an attachment.

In my haste, I send a slightly older version of the poster.  The only difference between this version and the new version is that one speaker isn’t included on the list of presenters.  Unfortunately, said speaker happens to be …

Professor C.  Who writes me exactly 30 seconds later complaining about this, and then asks me, “Shall I just plan not to speak, then?”

Allow me to say it here: !!!!!!FUCKING BITCH!!!!!!

I feel better now.

When I get back to my office, I send out the “new” poster (which Professor C has already found online, because there were approximately 47 new messages waiting for me detailing every moment of her exhaustive search for a document whose location I had already sent out, but let’s give Madame Indiana Jones credit here because she wants it).

And so, we’re set.  Right up until we discover that A has scheduled someone for a panel on Friday morning who was originally told he’d be talking on Saturday, and isn’t arriving until Friday afternoon.

I know that Thou Shall Not Kill is one of the big 10, but … surely there are exceptions, aren’t there?

Borricua

Wednesday, September 30th, 2009

“Horse,” Ray said.

We were driving down an expressway in the middle of San Juan on our last afternoon in Puerto Rico.  Instinctively, I slammed on the brakes.

“Why are you stopping?” Ray asked.

“You said ‘horse,’” I said.  “I thought you meant there was a horse in the road.”
“When have we ever seen … never mind, I withdraw the question.”
Frankly, by that point, a horse in the middle of an expressway in downtown San Juan wouldn’t have surprised me at all.  Not one bit.

I went to Puerto Rico for a conference, held at one of the glitzy five star hotels near San Juan Aiport in the Isla Verde area. Puerto Rico is, officially, part of the United States of America.  It’s a Free Associated State (Estado Libre Asociado), which is emblazoned on a number of license plates and bumper stickers.

Culturally, however, Puerto Rico is quite distinct from the US.  To begin with, the primary language on the island is a weird language that kind of sounds like Spanish, except that they use interesting words for things that I’ve never heard before.  A naranja (orange) is a china.  A frijol (bean) is either a gandule or an habichuela.  The letter j is pronounced as … well, as a kind of “zh” sound instead of the usual “h”, so the stickers on all of the doors say “hale” (pull) instead of “jale.”  Anything good is “chevere.”  (On the flip side, batteries are baterías, instead of pastillas, which is what they call them in Spain.  Pastilla also means “pill.”  I’m a little uncomfortable with the analogy.)

I’d heard that Caribbean Spanish is kind of the worst-case scenario for speakers of Spanish as a second language — now I know why.

I had a rental car.  This may have been a mistake–it’s hard to tell.  Taxis are expensive (one could literally walk from the airport to our hotel in about 30 minutes–a taxi is $12, flat rate), but free parking is both risky and hard to find.

The road signs are made to the American standard, but they’re all in Spanish.  Given that Spanish is the primary language of the island, that’s understandable.  What’s less understandable is this: speed limit signs are in miles per hour.  (Apparently just as a suggestion: I tried to slow down in a school zone once and … well, when the sign says “15 mph,” it apparently really means “40 mph.”)  However, distances are measured in kilometers, and gas is sold by the liter.  I gave up trying to figure that one out, and am much happier for it.

Traffic lights are hard to figure out, so when the light turns green, all of the drivers waiting for the light start honking immediately, to helpfully let the driver in front of them know that the light has turned green in case he’s fallen asleep or decided to get out and walk or something.

Cars in Puerto Rico are equipped with an archane lighting system.  There are four lights on the car: one at each corner.  They are connected to a lever on the steering column.  When you push the lever up, the two lights on the right side of the car light up and blink.  When you push the lever down, the two lights on the left side of the car light up and blink. Archaeologists are uncertain as to the original purpose of this lighting system.  Modern drivers simply ignore them.

The night we arrived, I woke up with a splitting headache at about 2 am.  It was the kind of headache that has physical presence: it was a third body in bed with us.  I tried to ignore it for a bit, but when I heard Ray stirring a little later on, I asked it he’d brought any aspirin with him.

“No,” he mumbled.  “Go ask at the front desk.”
I threw on shorts and a T-shirt (and no contacts, having left my glasses at home, naturally), and trudged down to the empty lobby where “The Girl From Ipanema” was clinking over the speaker system (of course it was “The Girl From Ipanema.”  Why wouldn’t it be?).

The concierge had no medical supplies, but I was helpfully informed of the existence of a Walgreens “5 minutes away.”

I’m supposed to walk to Walgreens at 3 am along a deserted street in San Juan?  Does this sound like a good idea to anyone?

I went up to the room and tried to go to sleep, but now my head was throbbing on a level that had me quesitoning whether I could remove my eyes temporarily to reduce the pressure.  Ray finally insisted that we go to Walgreens, and so, at 3:30 in the morning on our first night in San Juan, we strolled up the street filled only by us, the frequent passing by of the tourist police, and the bouncers at the clubs that never close.

Back to the horse comment.

On Friday morning, the day after my marathon four presentations at the conference, Ray and I decided to take a cue from the Lonely Planet guide I’d brought with me and drive to Loíza, the next town over.  According to LP, one could not wander around the town square without stumbling over makers of the vejigante masks.  We have a small collection of masks that we’ve bought on trips, and we’re always looking to add, so we got in the car and drove along the rambling road to Loíza.

There were, in fact, several horses along the way–although, to be fair, none of them were actually in the road.

To make a story that seemed longer at the time rather short, LP was an epic fail.  The town square was not where the guidebook said it was.  There were no mask makers.  We found a (singular) establishment — Centro de Cultura, Inc. — that had some (pretty ugly) examples on display, but when I asked the nice lady if one could find the artisans, she shrugged.  “Maybe on Sunday,” she said.

At some point, while driving around, we noticed that some of the expressways through San Juan were labeled with little icons.  There was one of a tree, one of a parrot, one of a coquí frog, and one of a horse.  We never found out what the icons stood for — they weren’t in the copious amounts of tourist literature in the hotel room (directed at the sort of tourist for whom money is not an issue, natch), nor was there ever any explanation in writing on the signs themselves.  At one point–possibly on the drive back from the Bacardi distillery in Caguas–we got giddy and started calling out “parrot!”  “Tree!”

And, the next afternoon, Ray called out, “Horse!”

As I said, by that time … the presence of a real horse in the road would have failed to surprise me on every level.

Would I go back to Puerto Rico?  Sure.  Just not sure I’d plan to drive there again …

 

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