A few months ago my boss called and said, “how would you like an all expense paid vacation to Manhattan”?  He obviously knows my weakness for traveling, and you can’t beat free when being frugal.  I decided to bite: “Ok, what’s the catch?  Who do I have to go kill?”

It turns out what he really meant by vacation was, “why don’t you spend a couple weeks in the financial district while you tackle hard engineering problems for one of our Wall Street clients.”  Yano’s been busy with accreditations, tests, and the like, so I couldn’t bring her along, but I decided to give it a whirl, since the boss asked nicely, and there’s a standing bet amongst my friends of how long I’ll last working 9-5 with no naps in between like the rest of the working population.  So I’ve decided to prove them wrong!

It’s hard for me to surpass my backpacking frugal habits, so $300/night posh hotels downtown still don’t sound as exciting as a bunk bed in a hostel.  So I was sure to pack a budget guide to New York City before I embarked this morning (borrowed from the Palm Beach County Library of course).

This probably being the only day I’ll have to walk around (that whole 9-5 thing again), I decided to follow the guidebook’s walking tour of Lower Manhattan.  I’d never taken the time to properly tourist around the historical sites, so this proved an incredible experience– that is, until I started collapsing with hunger 4 hours later.

I had been starving since 4pm, but I had decided to push through it, in an effort to see the sites before sunset.  I wanted some authentic cuisine, and despite the fact that I had an ample allowance for a family of eight in just about anywhere else in the world, I decided to eat at a (guidebook) recommended hole in the wall in Chinatown.  Apparently even chefs from Nobu (one of the city’s most celebrated Japanese restaurants), still in their chef’s whites, come to dine here after their shifts are over.  I decided to try my luck, and pushed my way through a crowd of dining Asians.  This was definitely the real thing!

Not being able to read or understand most of the menu, I opted for the book’s recommendation “sauteed pea shoots”.  After a short wait, I realized that sauteed pea shoots were mild flavored lettuce looking things with a semblance of seasoning.  I quickly scarfed down the entire 2 pounds of lettuce, and ended up hungry.  I looked around at the nearby tables and the scrumptious plates around me.  It seemed I was the only one with a less than spectacular meal.  All right, let’s try this again… this time I ordered something more recognizable: chicken fried rice with onions.  Wrong again!  This other meal was what you cook yourself when there’s nothing in the fridge but left overs.  This is what you cook when there’s no seasoning, the rice is stale, you have no soy sauce, no vegetables, and you only have one egg to spread for 8 cups of rice.  Maybe a little too authentic, or maybe the entire restaurant staff, was secretly laughing at the stupid foreigner ordering the 5 English things on their menu.  Oh well, I wasn’t about to try a third plate, so I politely smiled, paid, and left.  I could hear the laughter as I closed the door.

Now, I’m all about taking public transport, but it turned out that I was in an uncomfortable corner of Chinatown, in which I was so far from a connecting subway line, that it was a wash between taking a few subway hops and a bus, or just walking back (a taxi would have fared worse with the bumper to bumper traffic).  I started to walk, and as is customary, it started to rain, so before I knew it I was running full speed, pushing small Chinese women out of the way, out-running small children on their bikes, and screaming at tourists for walking too slow.  After a couple miles I started doing some quick mental calculations:

• 2 pounds of lettuce: 80 calories
• boiled chicken parts: 200 calories
• copious amounts of rice: 700 calories
• miniscule bits of egg: 17 calories

All for a total of 997 calories.  But then you start subtracting:

• 4 hour walk: 800 calories
• 3 mile run: 300 calories

So I was basically sporting a caloric deficit which was bound to wake me up in the middle of the night with insatiable hunger pangs that are only serviced by room service (which I’m obviously philosophically against).  So I did the next best thing– I stopped at the closest hotdog stand and ate a big New York hotdog.  Unfortunately, by the time I got home it occurred to me I had only had two meals today, and had gone for a 2 hour bike ride before I got on the plane.

So now I’m sitting in the hotel room and the $15 can of peanuts is looking mighty fine, cause I’m not about to walk to McDonald’s, let alone Chinatown.  I think the fine dining experiences in the subsequent week will be kept down to a minimum of mostly recognizable plates: I’m thinking Indian food every night, because that’s never done me wrong.

So, I may update the blog in the next week, if only to amuse myself after a long day of “real” work.  I’ve yet to prove to Mirialis that I can “nine to five” with best of them.  I can even do proper overtime, and can even donn dress slacks and button down shirts for work (ok, I had to buy some last week)…

It’s been raining non-stop for the 3rd straight day, but rain cannot stop Bob.  It can deter me, but not Bob.  He wants to continue travelling: bastard!

I cycled through the Cordillera Central (Puerto Rico’s mountain range) on the third day.  The view, which in dry conditions is spectacular, was nothing more than fog scintillated by the occasional light of an incoming car.

I guess it was better not to see the mountain tops, because I doubt I would’ve finished the day had I seen I what I was up against.  After crossing 4-5 mountain towns, I called it quits in Cayey.   I dragged my sorry looking drenched self into a quaint restaurant on the side of the road: Lechonera (pig roaster) El Cuñao.

El Cuñao (literally, brother-in-law) sells traditionally slow roasted pig, and has been doing so for over 65 years.  Three generations of the Lopez family along with a couple dozen locals serve a myraid of customers on any given day.  On a busy Sunday afternoon, there’s a staff of over 20 workers.  The restaurant serves a variety of local plates (the rice and beans are to die for), but their mainstay is roasted pork.  Over 20 pigs weighing over 100lbs each end their careers in El Cuñao every week (100 per week during the Christmas holidays).

El Cuñao is yet another of the plethora of well oiled family run restaurants along the mountainous region.  Its walls are lined with local and international sports figures, and every conceivable local political figure from the 40’s, till today.

One of the owners welcomed me, and a little after learning of my odyssey, offered me a large bathroom/cabin to camp for the night.  I spent all afternoon talking with locals, eating arroz-con-dulce (rice pudding), and quietly typing away since I have full 3G signal on my cell phone.

I am continually amazed at the local hospitality in the rural areas.  I would’ve spent quite a few cold rainy nights out on the side of the road, had it not been for the generosity of folks along la Cordillera Central.

If you’re ever in town, El Cuñao is definitely a place to stop by, not only for the food, but for the exquisite ambience.

The first day was largely uneventful, thankfully. I ended up dragging Bob through 50 miles of which the last 10 were excrutiatingly painful, mostly because I wasn’t aware the front pads were rubbing the brake disc. I spent the night in Ponce, where I managed to score a Couch Surfing host at the last minute. So no camping needed; real bed!

The second day I had no such luck. I rode the longest 25 miles ever.  All uphill. I went from Ponce to Villalba, all the way to the outskirts of Toro Negro, which unbeknownst to me is right smack in the middle of the highest peaks in PR. And when I say peaks, I mean peaks. None of this Colorado sissiness where hard gradients are 5%.  I’m talking 10%+. I’m sure the civil engineers who designed these roads couldn’t design a slanted sidewalk in a place with snow.

And yes the Bob weighs like I would imagine carting around a guy named Bob would, if you had to drag him uphill all day. At 3 hours (mostly) uphill, I decided to call it quits, when I realized the only
convenience store was all there was until the next mountain pass (ok, they’re not mountain passes, but with Bob slowing me down, they’re a lot harder than the Boulder molehills I did last summer).

So here I am in Divisoria, which is technically Orocovis despite what Villalbenses say. And I must say, good old traditional Puertorican values are alive and well in the center of the island. I am in make-shift
gas station that also doubles as convenience store, bar, restaurant, cafe, dance club, casino, and meeting place. This is what I envision Cheers would be like, if Sam would’ve ever gotten around to
diversifying.

Here mothers still bring their kids for alcapurrias after school (ethnic for deep fried treats), grandpas buy shots and beer for their grandchildren, dad’s train pool sharks posing as 15 year old girls, and most importantly, store owners let complete strangers camp in the cafeteria terrace
after hours.

Edwin, the store owner and empire manager for the entire Orocovis/Villalba frontier owns the cafeteria, gas station, bar, convenience store, rental cabins, and apparently half of the 12 houses
in all of Divisoria. The man is a credit to capitalism, and kind soul to boot. He has not only let me camp here, but has poured me endless cups of (free) coffee, stuffed me with all the leftovers from the cafeteria, and has given me enough financial advice to fill a senior level accounting textbook. With a man like him at the helm, Lehman Brothers would’ve never folded.

Yano was worried about this trip, mostly because of the exaggerated crime rates in Puerto Rico (well, and my propensity to fall off of bikes face first). But as I expected, the farther you get away from the coast, the kinder and good natured people are. I’ve been fed, clothed, given extra blankets, and given a kick ass (mostly) water proof roof to shield me from the 60F rainy and windy weather up in the middle of nowhere.

Welcome to “La Cordillera Central”, where at my current average in the mountains of 4mph, it may take me until June to get to get back home.  Yanory better hire a taxi  when she arrives on Monday.

There is this episode of Friends where Chandler  asks Joey if he’s ever had an impotence episode.  Joey thinks for a while and admits he has.  Chandler asks “so, what did you do?”.  Joey shrugs his shoulders and says, “I did it anyhow”.

So what do you do when you have no vacation time, but you want to go on vacation?  That’s right, you do it anyway!

My Christmas gifts this year were 3 chickens (which have yet to lay eggs, and are looking more like chicken stock material), and a Bob trailer. Yanory and I want to cross the Andes with it later this year, but I’m dying to try it right now.

It turns out Yano is taking a CRNA test review in Florida this week, so it seems like the perfect time to stay behind. The perceptive reader would ask why would someone who routinely scores in the 95th percentile on official practice tests need a review? That of course, is beyond me. When I scored 51 percentile on my ACT/SATs I was ready to take on the world! I concluded, “it’s official, I’m smarter than most”. I was obviously ignoring the fact that 49 of people are smarter than me, but who cared. Yano, on the other hand, seems to have a grudge against that other 5% who did better than her, and expects this review will help narrow the gap.

So… no wife, no vacation time, a bike trailer, a tent, and a laptop: sounds like a working holiday to me! There are a few open questions, like where I’ll camp given that Puerto Rico is the least traveller-friendly country in the world, and what I’ll do come Monday when I need to pick Yano up at the airport… but I’m sure it’ll all work out in due time. Besides, how bad can it be?… I have an internet capable phone, and worse comes to worse, Tato can bail me out with his pick-up. We’ll see…

In the immortal words of Heber, who just came back from doing most of South America with another Bob, “when choosing a course of action, do either the most extreme, or whatever pisses off the most people”.

I leave tomorrow. Expect updates throughout.

p.s. Oh yeah, I’ve never really camped. And the only times I’ve been in a tent, Yano has set up everything. She says tents are moron-proof, but I think she underestimates the creativity of the average moron.

Just when you thought Yano was the only one with sudden attacks of laughter, you find out there’s a whole tribe of 5 foot uncontrollable women; and most of them are single!  Order your chickens now! This video pretty much sums up the past 3 weeks.

I have uploaded all our pictures so far. In all honesty, most of them are quite boring to the masses, as they’re family pictures of people you probably don’t know. But for the bored; take a peek.