From The other side and perhaps Beyond

My younger sister is getting married tomorrow. Because of this event, my family and her future husband’s family and my family’s significant others are all here together to celebrate the occasion in Rincon, Puerto Rico. Rincon is the furthest point west on the island. A sleepy beach town that has the strangest variation of middle class and rich tourists, very poor, fairly well off, slightly metropolitan, relocated New Yorkers, country villiagers, strangely metrosexual, extremely old world, beach bum surfers and divers, and, well...simple natives. The people here are more oft than not very friendly and warm, and very welcoming. I would have to say that coming from Big Bend Naitonal Park, with a population of maybe eighty, I had culture shock upon my arrival.

It took me nearly 24 hours of travel to reach this destination. And I would have to say it wasn’t a particularly easy jaunt. The night before my departure I was delivered some pretty fucked up news via minor telephone conversation which led to panic, anger and all out disruption. I was overtired, overwhelmed and completely spent. I slept a whopping uncomfortable two hours and was picked up by good friends who graciously drove me the 4 and half hours to the closest airport to my home, in Midland Odessa Texas. I slept on and off in the back of their car as the sun slowly made it’s way up over the neverending flat west texas highway. Oil derrecks slowly pumped into the earth rhythmically throughout the landscape, looking for all the world like old dinosaurs grazing necessarily on all sides. They were silohetted in the early morning light and their tireless movement seemed to mentally rock me to sleep, leaving me with my previous thoughts of discomfort and filtering out a familiar stubborn surety I wished not to revisit. We arrived at the tiny airport fairly early. I was sad to see my friends leave me, but felt curious and exited about what may be on the horizon. I asked a stocky man in military or prison issue glasses for a smoke and he shrugged, his face mashing up like potatoes, offering me a Newport 100 with his sausage link fingers. He was kind in his eyes and I felt a sadness that made me feel like an immediate asshole. Who I am to feel such a way? I smoked my last square for a long time.

Midland is a tiny airport with only 1 real terminal. Going through security was a joke, although I have to say , watching so many Texas removing their boots, hats , belts (complete with giant buckles bearing an array of texas pride) and massive billfolds made me chuckle a bit. It looked like a slightly backward synchronized calastenic set specifiacally for cowboys. I was certainly surrounded by a very specific sort of the population of America and I felt slightly out of place. I enjoyed people watching though. It’s no secret that I’m infatuated with Texans, especially west texans at that. Men dressed to the nines in tight wranglers, stylish sunglasses, ten gallon hats, boots that cost more than some of my camera equipment, old worn leathery faces wrought deep with wrinkles that run like timeless rivers throughout their faces, moustaches stained with tobacco and the slight scent of aftershave or cologne. Their female counterparts are just as beautiful. Decadent in country updressing. Women who are older and have a grace and dignity about them but somehow look younger by a few years. Too much powder in the face, maybe too much rouge, most certainly too much perfume. Gold ringed fingers, platinum necklaces decorated slightly with tourquise and hands that don’t make much more maybe than bisquits. This is the upper class. The poorer more rural folks who most likely don’t own land tend to be on the overweight side. Maybe with a gaudy flair here or there accenting their otherwise plain façade. All with an unmistakable deep drawl. All friendly and polite (even to me…an obvious outsider). I sat there watching the morning light moseying it’s way along. I drank shitty coffee and contemplated my new found freedom. I made up ridiculous stories about all of the folks I was lookin at and then I boarded the plane to Dallas Ft. Worth. I fell asleep instantly and as soon as we were in the sky we were touching down..into the afternoon. Upon deplaning I almost had a heart attack. FUCK. Jesus. I had forgotten about real cities, actual cities. Real America. I’ve been out of the loop for a spell living in some crazy desert daydream. I was choking with claustrophobia as I watched all of these people on all sides of me and felt pushed and pulled by the constant movement of too many people moving too fast, talking too loud and prioritizing their own needs. I had three hours of a hellish layover stuck observing the disgusting nature of most of the overweight, mostly well off, mostly too loud and mostly too demanding people around me. They scarfed down the fast food in the airport, argued about who was in line first for shitty novelty items, yelled at their misbehaved, bratty, spoiled children, talked too loudly in their cell phones as they ordered food, ignored their loved ones as they typed frantically on their laptops….breathed in and out the recycled air of the motherfucking airport. I felt so trapped and so completely and utterly overwhelemed. I’m sure it’s unfair for me to write such things, But jesus Christ, our culture is just so disposable, so removed, and so sickening in such a way. I really think it’s simply because I’ve been living in a bubble for the past two months. I felt like I was stuck in an elevator with some of the most awful people for three hours. And then I was lucky enough to be moved onto an airplane with these people on a smaller level for 4 hours…near crying children, an arguing couple and folks speaking Spanish at more than a comfortable audible level. My plane was delayed an hour and needless to say, when I finally reached San Juan, I was extremely tired, somewhat defeated, wanted a smoke, had no cash, and wanted to simply hug my sister, get to our destination and relax a bit.

That my friends was a no go. My sister never showed up. I had no phone, no phone numbers, no idea where I was going (save the town on the island) and no idea what the fuck was going on. My sister had previously agreed to pick me up at my gate and new the airline and the arrival time. She was going to grab my friend Johnny first and then myself next as we were supposed to arrive half an hour within each other. He from Austin, me from Midland. I waited for an hour, then an hour and a half and then I started to become slightly angry. At this time a very nice gentleman named Ricardo, who directed ragged tourists to the taxi stand noticed that I had been there awhile and struck up a friendly conversation. Before I knew it we were becoming good friends. He still did not understand my lack of a cell phone or my lack of knowledge of my destination, but he was kind and offered me a place to stay or help if need be. He also offered to hang out with me a bit and let me use his office to use the wifi…I had resorted to using facebook to try to contact my family. Another hour slipped by. I had not eaten since the morning, found that practically no one in Puerto Rico smokes and was stopped by and talked to by quite a few of the friendliest cab drivers I’ve ever encountered. Those folks kept passing me by, as the hours passed and they kept asking me if I needed a ride, or a place to sleep. One very beautiful nice older woman asked me if she could buy me beer or dinner or if I just needed some company. No one knew what to make of me. They surely didn’t believe me when I insisted that my family would be here to pick me up. When I told them I was going to Rincon, they laughed and said simply “Senorita, do you know how far this is? It would cost you $170.00 for a ride…you are very far from where you are going…”. Nice. That made me feel so much better. I met a very handsome young man who I bummed a smoke from (finally). He was an American from Santa Barbara. He had scuba fins and a simple bag. He also had a funny sense of humor and kept me company a bit as he waited for his rental car shuttle to come and take him away. He found out after a bit that it was never to come and, finding out we were in similar situations asked me in a goofy way if I’d like to hop into a cab, go back and stay with him and then go diving in the morning. Oh the possibilites. When the hell was I going to be able to do such a thing? With such a fun guy. I weighed it out in my mind and almost gave in and then slight reason hit me upside my tired head and I decided to stay. My sister never came. I met more people. Had more conversations, smoked more cigarettes and began to panic. I had only one phone number, only 50 cents and a dying computer. I somehow stole some wifi and had to sit in the median to do this. I must have looked insane at 2 o’clock in the morning sitting in a strange way, balancing my laptop on my knees, trying like fuck to use the tiny signal to send an SOS out across the ocean on the interweb via facebook. I have to say, after about half an hour I was lucky enough (thank you Jen Hellow) to get my buddy Johnny’s phone number, borrow a cell phone from a dark and mysterious Latin man in leather pants and FINALLY find out what the fuck was going on.

When I did get a hold of Johnny, he was halfway to Rincon and had left me for dead at the airport. He was tired and extremely angry and started off the conversation by yelling at me…it was a good renunion off the bat I’ll have to say. I waited another 15 minutes and then, I was picked up by a Puerto Rican man named “Memo” who had some serious patience and a very angry and very exhausted Johnny, who punched me as hard as he could in the shoulder and started yelling at me. It was a clusterfuck. A confusing confusing clusterfuck. We yelled at each other, questioned each other and realized that we had been maybe 100 feet from each other most of the time. What a ridiculous chain of events. Before the long drive to Ricon, we stopped at a gas station so Memo could gas up, and I bought a small bottle of scotch, which was a peace offering between myself and my compadre. Johnny and I caught up while Memo blasted some sweet booty shaking tunes very loudly and we welcomed the morning in Puerto Rico, letting San Juan slide off like dirty water down the drain. We stopped for coffee and it was then that I talked to Memo. Apparently, he’s a friend of my youngest sister. He’s a taxi driver here in Puerto Rico. It was arranged (without my knowing) that he was to pick Johnny and myself up and bring us to Ricon. Classy. A hired driver. He’s fairly young, has the most sincere smile you could ask for, dresses well, seems to be ok with anything and just sort of goes with the flow. I was grateful easily for his gracious nature and felt an instant affection for him. We arrived in Rincon, unsure of where exactly our final destination was at 5 am. After some navigating and maybe the most delirious I have ever been (or ever seen Johnny), we arrived at our villa. All I could hear was the loud crashing waves of the ocean. Unsure again of exactly where to go, we whistled and called my sister and we were greeted by her and her boyfriend. I wanted to wring her neck, but instead hugged her tightly and said my hello. Everyone else was sound asleep (rightfully so). We quietly walked into our temporary home and it was then that I realized how insane the situation was in and of itself. This place is beautiful. It looks like something out of a hip hop video. It looks…EXPENSIVE. I don’t think I’ve ever stayed anywhere this nice. I put down my bags and tiptoed through the hallway out to the back deck…and BAM, there was the ocean. The sun was trying to quietly arise. I stripped down to my underwear and jumped into the waves, swimming alone in the sunrise and laughing like a kid. Memo, Johnny, my sister, her boyfriend and now my mom and stepdad stood there watching me. I felt overjoyed and content in the warm bathwater ocean that I knew I’d be spending almost the whole week in. The sun kept moving at a slow and steady pace and everything around me became more and more surreal and more beautiful. Palm trees lined the beach, pelicans dove down close by to catch their morning desayuno. I floated on, and then dragged my sister into the ocean with me. I hugged my family. I felt alive. I felt amazing. I felt exhausted. I went to the rooftop pool (yes, we have a rooftop pool that appears as if the water is spilling off into the ocean) and then I laid in a hammock, listened to the ocean singing it’s rhythmic song and I slept hard in the sun. I slept harder than I have in a long time. I loved my family in my sleep and I dreamt easily and when I woke up I had a criss cross sunburn from the woven bed of my nap and I welcomed the first real day of the first vacation I have had in some time. And this is how I came to this place. You’ve already read too much, so I’ll write more about the many adventures perhaps tomorrow. There have been many characters, Nick the coffee shop owner who tried to get Johnny and I to work a drug enterprise transporting cocaine via submarine from Columbia, Daddy the 60 something year old barber, seeing Bjork at a crazy town celebration, feeling like I was in Point Break…you get the idea…But my sister is getting married on the beach, and I am somehow the bridesmaid. And so maybe it might have to be on Thursday. But I’m tired as I’m settin here on the back deck alone. I can hear the voices of my family being carried off and battled with against the crashing waves of the ocean at high tide just below me. I’m easily tired and easily happy. And I’m excited that again, some sort of varying adventure holds it’s place in my unnecessary stupid little life. And I’m grateful. Goodnight from the out there across the ocean somewhere. -KG