When we got back to Chicago on Sunday morning around 1:30 am (having been delayed interminably in Philadelphia for no discernible reason), the weather was unkind, but not cruel. The next day the temperature dropped 25 degrees, and now, already several days later, it remains squatting at the 0 mark. Why do we live here?
New Year's Day was a laid-back kind of time, spent primarily at the pools and at the beach. Poor Uncle Mike watched his FSU Seminoles be dismantled by Oregon in the National Semifinal game. It's hard at this point to remember much else, which indicates that we did New Year's Day the way it should be done, i.e., by doing little.
The next day, everyone but mom and James hopped a catamaran to Vieques, one of the two "Spanish Virgin Islands" that just sit off Puerto Rico's eastern coast all day (incidentally, only recently have Vieques and Culebra begun going by the name "Spanish Virgin Islands", which as I understand it was chosen for marketing reasons.) The first half of the hour outbound ride was rough; several among the party of middle-aged lesbians with whom we shared the charter barfed their guts out. Silva and Claire chirped happily through for the first 10 minutes or so (Claire: "This is better than a roller coaster!"), but afterwards fell suspiciously silent as bigger and bigger waves pounded our boat. When we did anchor on a deserted beach, the water was quite murky. Nevertheless, we had fun; Erica and I did see some interesting fish and eels, and even got to swim with a big sea turtle for awhile (not pictured), while Dad spotted a sting ray (not pictured).
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Dad (pictured) |
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Uncle Mike's mask hickey |
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El Capitan con sus hijas en las Islas Virgenes de los Espanoles |
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Mate con wenches |
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Rezagados |
The next day was a depressing return to reality. James was crabby on the long flight to Philadelphia. It is cold here, which isn't cool. But it was an amazing trip, one we have plans to do over again next Christmas; if not in Puerto Rico, then some other warm place.
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