wilsondeluca.com Blog

Last night, during our postprandial giant straw building competition, whose goal it was to see who could build the longest functional drinking straw, it dawned on me that something had changed.  Life on this remote island, our respite from the material and non-material indulgences we had enjoyed while living on the mainland, has forced us into a state of simply being together and, for better or worse, generating our own brand of entertainment.

Vieques is utterly devoid of the diversions we could at one time not imagine living without – the toy stores we greedily frequented; the book stores (still missed desperately) that were the reservoirs for items to further over-stuff our bursting shelves; the beloved do-it-yourself pottery store where for a mere $20 per child we could add another precious ceramic figurine to our vast collection; the shoe stores and clothing boutiques that were irresistible regardless of true need or budgetary detriment; the many cafe bakeries with pricey but scrumptious delicacies to enjoy… And to compound our deprivation, we have neither TV nor newspaper service with which to bombard ourselves with the soothing balm of constant information flow.  One glance at the Vieques city center and it is clear that we live in a commercial vacuum, a bizarre 21^st century anomaly.

Buying stuff, I now realize, used to take up a lot of our time- time that we now are forced to fill in other ways… Hence, the straw building competition.  We engage in other unusual pursuits such as the trapping of wild and dangerous creatures.

Disclaimer: no animals were harmed in any way during the writing of this blog

We contemplate the origin of strange bug bites.

This insect bite was from the acid secreting "Blister Beetle"

We creatively use materials on hand to make art.

Nicholas's masterpiece: Degas meets Reynolds Wrap

Lastly, and most importantly, we depend more upon each other for fulfillment.  And not only among our immediate family but also among the wonderful people we have met here (and on whom we now cling to for survival).  So yes, “No man is an island, entire of itself,” but it appears that in some cases, one must physically transport themselves to an actual island in order to figure this out.

It is hard to imagine a tropical island without picturing the requisite coconut-laden palm tree, and, indeed, coconuts are ubiquitous here.  They hang precariously from the canopies high above our heads and dot the landscape, having fallen onto beaches and roadsides.  Apparently, the occasional coconut falls on the unsuspecting head of an innocent passerby and can lead to very grave consequences.  According to island lore, death by coconut, although admittedly a rarity, is more common here than death by lightening strike.

The coconut is clearly a fruit that demands respect, and not only because of its potential lethality, but also because it guards its treasure with the intense dedication of a zealot.  I am well aware of this fact, as my first attempt at opening a coconut consisted of 30 minutes of forceful hacking with a kitchen knife, and ended with a severely mutilated, but essentially in tact nut.

It was not until I witnessed firsthand the expert husking and cracking of this elusive fruit that I dared to make a second attempt.  I was also spurred on by the generous loan of a tool that most of us don’t have on hand, but is absolutely indispensable to successfully overpowering the coconut – that is, the machete.

So there I stood, gazing at my prey, machete in hand, primed for battle.  I wish I could say that my performance was glorious to watch, but in all honesty, I almost cut off the tips of my fingers during what turned out to be a prolonged and ugly fight.  One by one my family members lost interest and wandered off, only to return when I prevailed.  Yes, I did prevail.  I split that damned nut in two – but, tragically, it was only to reveal rancid coconut water and rotten coconut meat.

The failure of that particular coconut to meet my high expectations was really beside the point.  What is important is that I bravely wielded a machete, no matter how inexpertly, against one of the island’s most formidable challengers, and emerged unscathed and victorious.  Okay, so it was not exactly as hardcore as “Survivor,” as I wasn’t starving to death and didn’t have to pry open the coconut with my bare hands… but, as I see it, this trial by coconut stands as testament to my successful transformation from city girl to islander.  I now pronounce as many others have before me… Veni, Vedi, Vici. Or, more accurately, I came (to Vieques), I saw (the coconut), and I conquered (the coconut).

For many years prior to our move to Vieques, at least two or three times a week as I headed out the door, Alison stopped me at the threshold to give me a hand written love note.  Her eyes looked at me as if to say “good luck my dear, you can do it,” and I, having glanced down at the note, slowly turned, looking up into hers and said, “is that an “r” ?  To some it’s a love note, a task list, a chore list, a commandment to hunt, but for me it’s the Whole Foods List.

Carefully folded and placed in my button pocket, it is hard to describe the burden of responsibility that, in my prior life, was accompanied with carrying the List.  When finally removed from its safe holding, I meticulously read the fragmented notations which were ordered so that my search for items would flow as the store was arranged.  Starting from the vegetables, to the fruits, then the fish, left to cereals, and finally cheeses, the List, usually a bit tattered at the end, was my guide through the store, and, assuming I delivered, my guide to a happy relationship.

In my prior life, my only serious obstacle to being able to deliver was found in Alison’s notation of one or two mystery words.  Generally angled with respect to the others, and unpredictably placed somewhere on the paper, these mystery items demanded respect. In some cases the mystery item was a specific brand of chocolate, while in others it was the country of origin that was important.  Baking ingredients were truly challenging as well as consistency adjectives like chopped or ground or “the 365 brand”.  Once classified as mystery items for me, I have now learned what tahini, malt, tamari, and ground cumin seeds are along with the obscure item which the 300 page Thai recipe book requires only on page 52.  Unlike the other neatly organized items which the List predicted I would find next, these challenge items had no rules to them and required more than a few conversations with shelf stackers, store managers, and in some cases a conference call with all of us and Alison.

Well, just as one thinks life is difficult after a first child, only to discover how difficult life is with two, with our move to Vieques, my relationship to the List has dramatically changed.

Over the past few years, I have, on a monthly basis, visited San Francisco for work and the trip as a whole has generally taken about 7 hours.  With the move to Vieques, not only has this trip increased in length by two fold, but, unlike before, prior to my departure, I am handed a Whole Foods love note.

Containing all those items which cannot be found at the local Morales (see prior post for Morales description), the List has changed from the small torn sacred scrap of paper to a more bullish full sheet of copy paper and now rather than containing 5% mystery words, it now has 95% mystery items.  To the poor sole I have seen, like myself scouring the store for that perfect Italian Robiola cheese, in ultimate hope of satisfying their mate, this List is a challenge for even the noblest and valiant of my compatriots.

First, unlike before where, over the course of a month I made ten or so small trips to achieve procurement of the items, now, everything is condensed to the small window of opportunity I have of about two hours immediately upon my landing in San Francisco.  After arriving at the Whole Foods at about 8pm, after 15 hours of travel, pulling out the List doesn’t seem to have the same romantic feeling that it did before.  A new “cot cart” which would allow me to take a quick nap between aisle racing would be helpful.

Second, in order to satisfy the requirements of the List, I now need a full time assistant to help me, in some cases two.  On my last trip, I found the two individuals stocking the spices section very helpful, but after the fifth or sixth request the looks began to morph.  I therefore switched aisles to the chocolate counter, but the young lady there stopped catering to my needs after a few hand held walks to find items.

Third, with no fruits and vegetables to help lessen the extent of the financial damage caused by purchasing specialty items, the bill is now capable of significantly increasing the heart rate of even the most fatigued sleep walking individual.

Once all the items have been acquired, the next challenge is trying to get them all back to Vieques.  Getting to the post office during working hours is almost impossible, so a late night Kinko Office stop to do a Fedex economy shipment works well for non perishable items.  The cheese poses the greatest challenge as I have to manage a way to keep it cold without violating TSA regulations.  On my prior trip I froze five salami’s, figuring that despite their dynamite looking appearance, they were not liquid, and placed them with the cheese in my carry-on.  The carry-on proved to be a serious mistake though as the gate guard asked me to try and fit my bag in the size checking dream buster fixture.  Some how, I managed to remove a computer and some books and then tried to squeeze the parmesan and the brie…the parmesan won.  After that experience, I tried the $20 cargo extra bag shipment method, but this too failed as the bag arrived completely broken and torn, with the chickpea flower floating about the plastic wrapping that the airport had used to try and salvage my packaging disaster.  I felt a bit violated by the friendly TSA placard that was placed in the midst of my formally very carefully organized caramel chocolates, goat cheese, and frozen ultra pasteurized hormone free milk.

I have in the past kept all those little charming Whole Foods love notes, finding some strange sentimental attachment to Alison’s hand written requests.  Today, I still keep the jumbo Lists, though, I think each one should  be accompanied with a framed certificate of commendation along with a reward from Whole Foods for our unrelenting patronage, no mater where in the world we live.  I arrive home exhausted, and now as we look into each other’s eyes, Alison and I wonder if maybe there might just be another way to survive on this island together without chickpea flower and ghee.

In the first weeks after our arrival here, extremely familiar faces kept popping up in very different contexts.  I assumed that this was a result of our arduous move having scrambled my brain.  Later, I realized, that I wasn’t seeing double, but that the physical education teacher at the local school was, indeed, the same guy who came and cleaned our pool once a week; and that the aerobics teacher was also the lady who ran the island’s environmentally friendly cleaning business.  There is also the produce guy who markets himself as a welder, as well as, the couple down the street who sells freshly baked bread, manages various island properties, landscapes, and also runs their own store during the high-season months.  I have heard, and now believe, that the average number of jobs people hold here is at least three, most of which they, themselves, have created.

I have found the entrepreneurial spirit here to be quite contagious and have, myself, considered at various times, opening a gelateria, a movie theater, and a yogurt shop.  And this is in spite of the 6 years of my life that I have poured into preparing for a career in medicine and public health!  Even Nicholas, whose entrepreneurship stood out like a sore thumb among the bankers, lawyers and politicians of Washington, DC, seems rather tame here.  I think he realizes that he is going to have to really ramp up his efforts to keep pace with the other ambitious Viequenses.  His new ideas range from the extremely random, like, becoming the island’s sole soft tile distributor, to taking on more useful projects like developing a new technology to rid the seas of plastic debris.  So far, his most tangible development has been in the successful transformation of “Bessie,” our trailer, from simple cargo hold to deluxe invention laboratory equipped with sliding glass doors, wind and solar-powered air-conditioning, and brand-new posh cabinetry.

Nicholas working all hours

Nicholas and the girls enjoying the view atop Bessie

Vieques clearly has the prerequisites necessary to cultivate entrepreneurialism.  There is the obvious imbalance in the supply of and demand for goods, detectable by even the dullest aspiring businessperson.  Secondly, there is the unavoidable need to make money in a place with astounding unemployment rates.  Lastly, there is the extremely hot sun blinding you to any of the many involved risks. 

Of course, once you have left everything behind, and found yourself on a small piece of land completely surrounded by water, the first question one asks is, “where the h*** am I?”  Having completely lost one’s bearing, this might be followed by the question of, “Who the h*** am I?”  It is at this point that three answers just might not seem like enough.

Cut off from many of the conveniences we enjoyed while living in a large city, we have been forced to, in some ways, become much more self-sufficient, while in other respects we are more connected to and reliant upon modern-day technology than we ever were before.  For instance, our relationship to food and our means of acquiring food has changed dramatically.  The old way of doing things – driving down to the Whole Foods to pick up the obscure ingredient needed for my latest recipe – has been replaced with the new way of doing things – what in the world am I going to make tonight for the umpteenth time with purple cabbage, the only vegetable available again this week on the supermarket shelf?  Okay… this is an exaggeration, but there is only one “super”market here, called Morales, and it basically represents what the island has to offer, with the exception of the fresh produce truck that, on Tuesdays, ferries in produce both grown in and imported to the main island of Puerto Rico.

Aside from Tuesday, the day of joyous abundance, we shop at Morales.  This is why we have grown very accustomed to shredded purple cabbage salads, and why we rejoice at the sweet baby tomatoes and fresh heads of broccoli that periodically appear on Morales’ shelves.  The dairy section of these shelves offers a lovely selection of pre-sliced processed cheeses, along with milk that is both un-organic and un-hormone free.  The meat section is one I have yet to become acquainted with, due to (perhaps entirely unfounded) quality concerns.  We now order our meat on the internet from a farm that sells grass-fed beef and free-range poultry.  It arrives by Federal Express packed frozen in dry ice.  So one day I am feeling like Laura Ingalls Wilder stirring my homemade yogurt over a warm stove; and another day, after a few clicks of my computer keyboard, I am opening a box that has traveled hundreds of miles overnight with food packed in a weird material that has the ability to turn my kitchen sink into a smoky cauldron. 

We, who have direct access to so little, are always astounded at the the items we are able to get with the help of modern technology!

Amid rumors of rampant acts of hostile land grabs, Vieques has a distinctive “Wild West” feel.  We were personally subjected to a taste of island-style vigilantism when the owner of our neighboring plot of land came to our door to notify us that she was going to come again with a chainsaw and bulldozer to mow down the fence separating our properties.  This fence was erected by our landlord and although we had no particular interest in the dispute, I was taken aback by our neighbor’s utter disregard for all civil means of reconciliation.  She henceforth displayed the determination and spirit of a classic frontiersman (or woman, in this case), and keeping to her word, we soon found the fence felled and lying awkwardly in the grass, a jumble of sprawled posts and tangled barbed wire.  As we eyed the debris contemplating the safety issues it posed for our young girls, we were left to wonder where the sheriff was in this land of apparent lawlessness.

The incident made clear the rational behind the random hand painted signs laying claim to various pieces of land around the island, stating the owner’s name accompanied usually by a clear warning not to trespass.  As evidenced by Senor Robert Ayala’s “No Pace” signage in the picture below, this technique can be extremely effective in keeping people away.  If he waits much longer, he may not even be able to find the land himself.

At least we can always rise above the petty squabbling and peer out into the distance where, thankfully, there are still no signs of ownership.

When we first arrived on the island, we enrolled Olive and Annabel at the local public elementary school, Escuela Playa Grande.  We wanted the girls to benefit from a Spanish language immersion environment and to encourage them to bond with Spanish-speaking children growing up on the island.   Day one arrived quickly, and the girls matriculated into their new classrooms at their new school.

You can see Olive’s expression was one of anticipation, whereas Annabel’s was one of trepidation.  This really encapsulates their individual approaches to this entire moving experience.  Olive adopted her new school quickly and enthusiastically, but Annabel was not so easily swayed.  In spite of her resistance, the first two weeks of school went relatively well.  The third week was cut short due to an incident in Annabel’s kindergarten class that apparently involved an unruly child and ended in the teacher falling over and injuring her arm.  Due to the school system’s scarcity of resources, no teacher means no class.  Kindergarten was to start up again the following week but, that Monday, we discovered that the school had lost their third grade teacher.  “Se fue,” we were told.  Basically, she quit, and there was no replacement until otherwise notified.  Home we trekked.

We considered waiting for a new teacher to fill the vacant position, but ultimately decided to move on to another school.  Annabel insisted that the uniforms were too hot to bear, that she couldn’t cope with the school’s hot lunch, that she would never be able to communicate with her classmates, and that she desperately did not want to go back.  Olive was not so anxious to leave the school, but did complain that they sat in the same classroom all day writing at their desks with no extra-curricular programs and only a small patch of grass and a concrete lot to play in at recess.

I was sad to say goodbye to Escuela Playa Grande as I had already forged relationships with the head of the school and various teachers, although I am not sure my warm feelings were completely reciprocated.  For instance, there was that one morning that I had to strong-arm my way past the security guard and a rather large woman whose role at the school I never quite figured out.  They told me I couldn’t enter because my very cute sundress (they didn’t use those words) was in violation of the school dress code.  Yes, my shoulders were bare, but the rest of my body, all the way down to my ankles was modestly covered.  Anyway, this was the first I had heard of a dress code for parents.  So, I pulled the, “yo no comprendo,” excuse and pushed my way forward.  I was half expecting to be tackled from behind and dragged out of there.

Our new school is called, “Oasis.”  It is privately run by a nice couple.  I have no idea what their background is in education, but they teach 9 kids including ours, every day in a large open room in town.  They spend most of the week on different adventures (today they are all fishing off the island pier), and the girls could not be more thrilled.  Their first day was yesterday, and we found out at the end of the day that all the kids piled into the bed of the teacher’s pick-up truck for a field trip to the museum at El Fortin Conde de Mirasol (Count of Mirasol Fort).  The two 5 year olds got to ride up front with the teacher.  I am now less worried about Spanish fluency and cultural exchange, and more worried about emerging from this island experience fully in tact.  For now, we are just riding the wave of our new experience while trying not to plunge headfirst into the sea…

So, for better or for worse, adios Escuela Playa Grande… we will miss you.

Seraphina and I began our morning with a walk down the dirt road that leads to our house, when we encountered a strange undulating track spanning the width of the road.  Upon closer inspection we noticed it to be more of a tunnel than a track.  To satisfy our curiosity we bent down further at a section of the tunnel that had been smashed by a passing car.  We were amazed, and slightly disgusted, to find the ground teeming with hundreds of fat little termites burrowing into and out of the tunnel. 

We would find these beasts to be pretty tame, though, compared to what was in store for us back at home. 

Often we will find creatures trapped in our pool drain, and today was no exception.  When we opened the drain, we found clinging to Annabel’s purple Croc, a strange mutant creature that looked like part-insect part-amphibian hanging out with some ugly looking friends. 

We also fished out of the drain a disemboweled roach of some sort. 

Nicholas then found a similar sort of creature, but with bowels intact, hiding in his shoe that he had left outside overnight (never a good idea in the tropics).

We were treated at the end of the day to a great scare by an enormous orange spider who had crawled into Nicholas’ hanging bathing suit. 

Nicholas retaliated with his insect fighting weapon of choice.

 Yet, in spite of all the beasts we still see beauty on this island wherever we look.

I think Nicholas’ exact words yesterday were, “She’s definitely milking it,” in reference to Annabel’s monotonous tummy ache complaints.  This was about a half hour before she appeared at the top of the spiral staircase, leaned forward, and showered the first floor with waves of shredded carrot and chunky mango vomit.  I was personally hit on the head and shoulder with drops of her expelled stomach contents while working my way up the staircase during the cleanup phase.  Nicholas somehow missed all of this drama, but is paying penance today for his callous remark, as he has been cooped up since early morning in the lower bunk nursing his own tummy ache!

Although the rest of us remain unscathed (thus far) and the virus seems fairly mild, I am reminded of how precarious it feels to be located so remotely, in a place with a health care system that is unequipped to deal with major health problems.  Luckily, so far, it has been only swimmer’s ear and stomachaches.

Here is a lovely picture to erase from your mind the other not so lovely picture.

The weather here is completely erratic.  A new friend said today, “hace sol y llueve.”  And it’s true; the sun and the rain are constantly competing for attention, and we are frequently drenched by a rain shower while admiring the sun shining off in the distance.  It is a nice formula for rainbows, and we are often treated to huge bursts of color streaming down from the clouds into the sea.  You can always peer through peepholes in the dark clouds to see the bright blue sky.  But I am sure I will revise this statement when the first tropical storm, or worse, steamrolls through here and flattens my optimism.