Despite frequent application of 70 SPF sunblock, I have returned home light beige, and in possession of a copy of Puerto Rican Dishes, the island's 1955 version of Fannie Farmer, and a tiny ceramic coquì, the tree frog that sings all night.
The weekend was lovely and relaxing. The six-bedroom villa had incredible ocean views, and despite (or perhaps because of) its role as the getaway for executives of a famous fashion house, was simply decorated.
This is a wild stretch of beach discovered on an early morning run:
Here's the plaque outside my room (no, it wasn't appropriately scented):
You may have already figured out that the titles from these posts are taken from "America," from my favorite musical ever, West Side Story.