I visited my mom’s and grandma’s homeland of Puerto Rico in December 2022. It wasn’t my first time there, which had been as a baby, but it was my first time as an adult able to make memories. This post will be a little different from my usual wanderlust series. I want to focus more on the feelings of connecting with a piece of my heritage rather than a travel log of places to see.

Coming Home

We stayed at an aunt’s house in the mountains of Bayamón. From her balcony, the expanse of green stretched out under clear blue skies. As a South Floridian, a sunny December wasn’t new to me. Even though I had no memories of the place as a baby, and I’ve never lived there, it still felt like coming home. Just like my first time visiting Ecuador, my dad’s home country.

As night fell, I finally heard the sound I’d been longing to experience in person. My whole life, my mom and grandma always talked about the coquis, the tiny tree frogs native to Puerto Rico. My mom would whistle, imitating their signature chirp, like a lullaby carried across the ocean. The sun set behind the trees, and their chorus began, feeling like my own welcome home orchestra.

Throughout our trip, every night we fell asleep to this sound as the low hum of the room’s AC unit blew cool air over us in the midst of the tropical heat. How tourists can find the sound so annoying that they decide to kill these creatures infuriates me.

Ghosts of San Juan

We took a tour of the San Juan National Historic Site, walking the paths of the famous El Morro. We even started a ghost tour at night, learning some of the local tales. Unfortunately, my mom got sick during the tour and we had to cut our time short. But I do have a spooky ghost story of my own from that night.

The tour guide had just shown us a hidden rock out in the ocean, yards away from the fort. At low tide, it had an opening that led to a tunnel from the fort’s prisons. Legend has it that a woman in white haunts the fort, searching for her lost lover who tried to make his escape through that cavern.

Walking into the narrow turret, I’d hopped over the hole in the ground the tour guide had pointed out to us, careful not to trip in the dark. But on the way back out, I forgot the hole and stepped directly into it, losing my footing. I felt my arms scrape the walls on both sides as I grappled for my balance. I thought for sure I’d have nasty scrapes across my elbows. But when I stepped back into the lighted path, my skin was free and clear.

As we walked away from the fort, my mom asked, “Did you see or feel something just now when you tripped?” I told her no, I had not. That’s when she told me she saw a flash of white and what looked like a woman grabbing hold of me when I nearly fell in the path.

Lo Que Le Pasó a Hawaii

Ever since I first heard this song, it has made me think about all the beaches I saw on my trip. Puerto Rico is filled with so much natural beauty that it’s no wonder it has become a popular tourist destination. But overtourism always comes at a cost to those who call the island home.

Speculation from wealthy investors continues the legacy of colonialism. Today, we call it gentrification, but it all adds up to the same thing. Those with an abundance of fortune use their economic power to price out the locals, forcing many to leave their ancestral lands.

That’s why in this post, I chose instead to share the experience of connecting with my culture rather than offering places to see. I didn’t want to create a roadmap of secret spots for visitors to overrun. But I did want to share the beautiful adventures my family had as we bonded and returned to our roots. I can’t wait to go back.

Thanks for following along!