There’s a Christmas tree in the lobby of the hotel, decked out in white, and White Christmas playing softly in the background. Of course Christmas is Christmas, even in climates that stay consistently 80ish. To me it feels like I’ve stepped into summer, so the tree and music feel incongruous.
But whatever the weather, soon we celebrate the newborn King. Hallelujah.
It rains the kind of passing warm deluge that the tropics are known for in the brief window between my check in and my plan-making for tomorrow. I head out to get dinner and GPS says walking is more efficient.
It is, if you discount walking past a club that advertises cock fights. Ugh. Cruel much?
Still, a delicious mofongo de pollo later, I am thoroughly enjoying Puerto Rico.
Of course, that might also be the Pinot Gris.