Mostly I can tell you about Vieques in the rain, lovely tropical rain on the tiled roof of Evelyn’s spacious house built into the side of a cliff, with terraces stretching almost over the sea. So, there was always the sound of waves. In the big storms, the pounding rain and pounding surf were so closely paired that they became one. It was like being under water in a mermaid dream: cozy, glassy, Coke-bottle-green Light. The six of us read, played Mexican Train, talked, threw together great cold lunches, and yummy rum cocktails; Evelyn, the easy and gracious host. What we missed most was that the water never cleared enough for us to snorkel the legendary reef that spills out beneath the terraces. The sandy cove, rimming the house gates, was clear and smooth enough in the full moon low tides to catch the rare fulsome washes of sun, and a perfect place to set out from for swimming. I think I swam in the sea every day, rain or not. Our tour of the World Heritage declared “greatest Bioluminescent Bay” was cancelled by weather. I will say that there was enough sun to toast Gretchen back to her early summer hue. Every time the clouds pulled away, she found a sun puddle and settled there.
The island is fringed by wonderful, near empty, beaches. Horses are everywhere, like chickens in Key West. Horses--dating back to the conquistadors-- sun-speckled in the woods, in small herds on seaside fields, grazing the grasses along the airport runway; standing, thoughtfully in the yards of small pastel houses. There are two towns, though we only wandered the one near the house: a couple small galleries, a wonderful grocery store, several gourmet coffee shops, some funky patio restaurants, and a handful of really good restaurants. Still, a local feeling to the town, as though the people who live there have created something nice for the jaded traveler, while keeping the town their own. We had a private chef come to prepare Kay Kay’s birthday dinner and enjoyed two really good dinners in town. We were not long on Vieques.
