Puerto Rico and New York have a strong connection. There are lots of Puerto Ricans who have lived on the mainland. Their accents could be from anywhere in the states. And they speak spanish and english. And they call each other (guys) "cabarone" meaning cuckold. And they know they are Puerto Rican. There is a strong sense of identity and lifestyle. And in the heat of it, it is obvious why. Yet before we opened the book I would have had trouble pining it on a map.
J-Lo, the ex-Ms Affleck, star of Gigli, the very same Jenny from the block is Nuyorican, a Puerto Rican but one that has lived her whole life in NY. Marc Anthony (not the Cleopatra one) is from PR, as are numerous baseball players and boxers.
And so is... Ricky Martin. And Magda works for Ricky Martin. We feel like he is pretty much one of the family as Magda has him on speed dial - well, she works for the Ricky Martin Foundation, doing good on behalf of the sweaty, leather-trousered one, and helping the young and disadvantaged. Magda is tall, blonde and Polish and hoping for a steady job with Ricky. Meanwhile she was staying at our hotel, Casa Candela, enjoying the benefits of living above the Calle San Sebastian, the coolest street in town, filled with bars, salsa and revelry - and not unlike the Bairro Alto in Lisbon.
Within minutes we were discussing the festival we had read about in Loiza along the coast and how hard it was to get there and how no one knew about it. And then Rafi, our barman, our hero, appeared. With a flash he has rounded us up, grabbed some water bottles, found the car, and we were on our way to Loiza. We caught the tail end of the local afro festival of masks. We were just in time to see the booty shaking-conga-dance off. Chaps with congas spat out pulsating, earthy soca rhythms while ladies of various shapes, sizes and ages took it in turns to second guess the drummers´ syncopations, syncronising their ass-and-milkshakes with the beats. Each dance off became a battle as the lady would close in, threatening the skinsman with fluttering flesh. It was at times a frightening spectacle. And then there were also blokes with colourful masks. We were the only tourists around and everyone was having a great laugh. Rafi took us back to the old town, set us up in a nice restaurant and we realised, that as long as we threw financial caution to the wind, we were in for a great week.
Old San Juan
Loiza festy action
The view from Casa Candela
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