There are certain places that you associate with certain diseases. Think of legionnaire’s disease and you think of cheap convention centres, the thought of plague and goes hand in hand with 17th century London. If you think of harbour rot then Salinas in Puerto Rico should be at the forefront of your mind. This is the sort of place that people come to and never leave.

After blasting downwind (as usual) from Vieques we were at the entrance to Salinas harbour. We always knew that this would be a tricky place to get into and as we watched the amount of water under our keel drop and drop the trickiness really hit home. The problem was that there was no channel and no-one really seemed to know where the deep water was. After very nearly ploughing our own underwater furrow we finally anchored in the great mangrove harbour.

Salinas is a great base for exploring Puerto Rico and being very American the only way to do this is by car. Public transport is just about non existent and so Fiona elected to take her life in her hands and let Iain drive around the island.

On the roads the Puerto Ricans still exhibited the same split personality that we found in Vieques. They didn’t seem content on either the left or the right side of the road and they seemed happiest when they were in the middle, when we then approached (driving on the right, which we thought was correct), at the last minute they dive off to one side, only to resume their middle path once we’d passed. Making sure that we dodged all these on coming cars we planned to drive with our sweet wheels along the ‘Ruta Panoramica’ and then peel off into the historic district in San Juan.

The ‘Ruta Panoramica’ is billed to take you into the hills where you can be amazed at the views and take walks into the forests. We went up and up and up, and the roads became smaller and smaller and less and less used. As we swerved around palm leaves and stray dogs, all of which gave us very funny looks, we commented that this was way off the beaten track and these roads were hardly ever used. It all became abundantly clear why these roads weren’t used; they were the roads to nowhere.

At the top of the pass, after not seeing any sign of life for miles. The road was blockaded, closed off by concrete barriers as the tarmac had simply been blown away by the last hurricane.

Pork, or more specifically spit roasted pork, to the Puerto Ricans is less of a food source and more of a religion and so after retracing our steps we elected to stop at a roadside shack to worship at the temple of crackling. After queuing up behind a bunch of local farmers, complete with wellies and machete’s, we pointed at their plates, then at our tummies and were served up plate of hearty fodder.

The meal of basically meat wouldn’t satisfy the needs of your ‘5-a-day’ but the farmers and us were fulfilled by the protein and thankful to the pig for his sacrifice.

We now had to burn off some of the protein and the bright lights of old San Juan were calling. We expected that Old San Juan would be a mix between old Caribbean and Spain, i.e. streets with piles of rubbish and broken down buildings and Spanish chic with expensive shops. We’d read about cobbled streets, little shops and plaza’s covered in dappled shade, all protected by forts at both ends.

Old San Juan, historically and architecturally, was everything we expected but our residing memory is just how clean and tidy it was. There was not a piece of litter on the street and no building looked anything but perfect. You would think that this would be simply enchanting but with no locals loitering on the streets and no pumping tunes there seemed to be a complete lack of vibrancy and life. This was not either the Caribbean or a Spain that we would recognise.

The following day, wanting to ensure that we didn’t catch harbour rot, we pushed onto one of the outlying islands of Puerto Rico, the invitingly named ‘Coffin Islands’. Ashore in Coffin Island we found that everything here could either poison, blind, prick or eat you. The cacti which towered above us were poised to inflict damage with their seemingly foot long spines and some of the vegetation was just waiting to irritate your skin and blind you if you happened to get its sap in your eyes. All very charming.

Although the vegetation on Coffin Island didn’t want us there we still found delights. We practiced our breaking and entering skills when we visited the crumbling lighthouse and after hiking the trails that litter the island we snorkelled on the rough eastern coast. The coral was as tall as the cacti on land and the fish were as inquisitive and plentiful as all the scuttley little critters we saw on land.

So far Puerto Rico has been super varied and tomorrow we’ll be off the ‘Gilligan’s island’ of ‘Gilligan’s Island’ fame where we hope the variation will continue.

Early morning trade wind sailing. Nice and gentle.


Afternoon tradewind sailing. Fast and frenetic.


A great backdrop to the anchorage in Salinas.


Washing up, time to cover ourselves in oil and service an engine.


They love their art in Puerto Rico. Even the smallest towns are full of sculptures.


Ruta Panoramica. The route to nowhere.


The only rainforest in the USA.


Time for a refreshing dip in the fresh springs.


Kite flying is THE thing to do outside the castle in San Juan.


You can have your house in any colour; As long as it’s LOUD.


Romantic sunset strolls.


Iain sports a new winch handle after he threw one overboard.


We are not big fans of marauding squalls.


You don’t want to wander off the path in this forest.


Fiona tries her hand at breaking and entering.


The northern reef in Coffin Island.


Another derelict automatic lighthouse.


Hi there little fella.


Coffin Island. Not as grim as it sounds.


Great snorkelling on the windward side of the island.


He got as much of a shock as Iain did.