The Adventures of First Officer Butch Brandow and The Legend of El Fallardo

As previously mentioned, us Blogtaris got our Boricua on with a short trip to Puerto Rico last weekend, and have concluded that for many reasons, Puerto Rico rules.

First of all, it's not far, but far enough to be legitimately Caribbean. Everyone (mostly) understands English, but because Spanish is the main language, you don't feel like you're in the United States. But because technically you are, you get all the benefits: no exchanging money, clean and dependable drinking water, signs in English, Walgreens, etc. Seriously, the Walgreens does it for me. How many times have you been traveling abroad and just wished there was a Walgreens or a Duane Reade so you could get the essentials (diet coke, doritos, toofpaste)? Well, in Puerto Rico that dream is a reality.

Also, the food there is great. I had found this small hole in the wall in Old San Juan last time I was there, and sure enough, it was just like I remembered it: El Jibarito. Translation: The Place with the Funk Funk food. We crushed a plate of mofongo, tostones, sweet plaintains, and stuffed tamales like no one's business. Old San Juan is rulio, except for their blackjack dealing methods, and we saw a huge party in the town square in honor of Navidad.

As for the title of this post, our JetBlue pilot, I mean, first officer, was actually named Butch Brandow. I didn't actually get to see Butch as I deplaned, but Melissa was confident that the reason for his absence is likely because First Officer Butch Brandow was knee deep in a rum runner the second we were wheels down at San Juan Int'l. El Fallardo was a nickname Melissa obtained during our snorkeling trip to El Fajardo off the east coast of PR. Given Puerto Rico's maritime geography, its love of rum, and obsession with novelty pirate t-shirts (I almost bought one that said "Arrrrbucks, Where Pirates Get Coffee" or something along those lines), I figured that El Fallardo should be the name of a legendary pirate who roams the 7 seas, but who is actually a 5'3" woman. The catamaran back and forf to the snorkeling was great, especially because everyone was butt ugly and therefore did not make El Fallardo and I feel self-conscious about our holiday ponches.

Snorkeling was rad. We saw fish, sea turtles (not of the leatherneck variety), and even manatees (from a distance). Snorkeling is the laziest sport and thus, I love it, though I suck at it still and get pwned by Melissa who doesn't go up for air for like an hour.

All that said, the highlight of the trip was our hotel, in my opinion. The Condado Plaza is this sick hotel that is covered in mosaic and other nice decor, and mostly sick because it is home to: a Striphouse Restaurant, a casino, and a poolside arcade which has Lethal Enforcers. Melissa was absolutely lights out at the craps table one night, and completely corrected my losses at the hands of unruly Boricuan blackjack dealers. She must have hit 9 points, and rolled 5s, 6s, 8s and 9s only for about 20 minutes. If the odds were more than 2x at that table, we would have paid for the whole trip in her roll alone. Oh well.

So I guess this is a ringing endorsement of Puerto Rico, especially when the economy sucks and all the tourist areas are empty and can actually be enjoyed. The 85 degree sun during a snowstorm in NY didn't hurt, either.

Puerto Rico: rum, mofongo, ocean, chicks in tight jeans, party music, navidad, caribbean stud, fajardo snorkeling -- what else could you ask for?