From Winter Wonderland to Regents or Carnaby street to your local borough’s high street, the whole city explodes with magic.
I could easily see myself coming here every weekend
I sat on my roof deck lulled by crashing waves and coqui chirps. I took a deep breath of salt air and humidity as I giggled to myself. At what? I don’t remember, buzzed off of happiness and piña coladas. It was almost midnight, almost my birthday, and I was exactly where I wanted to be. Alone. In Rincón, Puerto Rico.
And when the malaise seeps in, it’s my cure.
For years, I’ve heard mumblings about Rincón from friends and I’ll get into what eventually led my there in a later post but for now, here’s just a taste of the beautiful weekend I spent in Rincón for my birthday with my photos on my Fujifilm Instax camera.
A watch face smashed on January 1, 1959. Hotel ballrooms seem haunted by a ghost of a more decadent era as tables were set and the place-settings hardly seem to have changed since.
I relished taking the taxis that regular Cubans take, and rolled by eyes at being ripped off by the shiny new ones. I enjoyed seeing the sites at the ration markets and the back alleys of Cuba where our guide Julio took us.