how i accidentally became a diy roommate in san juan
i didn’t plan to crash on a couch in a clifftop hostel but here i am, wedged between a freighter container and the ocean. the sun’s just outside in a way that makes me feel both tiny and infinite. the air smells like salt and regret. summer here is a myth, according to the guy behind the falafel cart, but i ate three sandwiches and told myself it was health-conscious.
weather? it’s that sticky kind where you check your phone every five minutes to remind yourself you’re sweating in a room that’s technically already hotter than your soul. neighbors are the kind who play loud cumbia at 2am but leave their doors open so you can pretend to hear the waves even though the building’s on the wrong side of flores street. i heard one yelled at a seagull for stealing their mango. it’s small town stuff.
i got curious about reviews by accident. some guy at the bar said the hostel’s wifi was so bad they started a cryptocurrency instead. another person warned me the showers would flood if you used soap. i didn’t believe them until i tried. the water was blue and smelled like chlorine but also… nipple balm? i guess that’s what happens when your city’s plumbing is a black box.
i tried to map my wandering with this app but it glitched into a loop of tuna nets and abuela’s recipes. the link to the hostel’s page is tripadvisor/sanjua-lodging if you want to pretend it’s trustworthy. for food, yelp.com/anfitres-snacks says the arepas here are made by a guy who once hired a parrot to crack nuts. i haven’t checked if that’s true.
the best part? i found a map behind my blanket. it’s a printed one from 2010, marked with red felt tips. it shows a sketchy dive bar, a chess club in a church basement, and a place that sells used typewriters. i followed the typewriter spot. turned out it was just a street artist’s bench. i bought a postcard from him. it’s got a drawing of a dude juggling coconuts. he said it’s not for sale but i took it anyway.
i should probably mention the beaches. not the actual ones, but the concept. there’s this one that’s just a concrete slab with seaweed. locals call it ‘the sand that’s not sand.’ someone told me it’s good for reflection. i used it to cry about my freelance gig. money’s weird here. i got paid in seawater and a poem about existentialism.
if you’re thinking of coming, the ibis hotel has a rooftop that’s basically a zipline. the link is ibishotel-sanjuan. last warning: the streets are alive. i tripped over a skateboard mid-ramble and cried into a piñata of lemons. they told me to just embrace the chaos. i did.
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