A split personality is not necessarily a bad thing. Just take a look at Rincon, the sun-splashed outpost on the western coast of Puerto Rico with a decidedly dual nature - part awesome surf town and part Latin mountain village. But Rincon doesn't need therapy. Its very quirkiness is what makes it so lovable.
First established more than 400 years ago as a gesture of compassion to poor Puerto Rican settlers, Rincon is now transforming itself into a haven for the well-heeled and well-traveled. And while the town continues to embrace the ultra-kinetic pastime that made it famous - the thrashing, slicing sport of surfing - it somehow manages to be the most laid-back place on the island.
True, the concept of "mellow" is not particularly well-entrenched in Puerto Rico, particularly San Juan, where a 15-minute drive home can become a 2-hour odyssey with a honking-horn soundtrack; where cell phones ring incessantly and beepers buzz constantly; where you have to dodge volleyballs, soccer balls and paddle balls from weekend beachgoers and where crowds are a way of life. Keyed-up and keyed-in residents of the capital know that sanctuary is only a two-hour drive west. And now wavelets of foreign visitors are joining them, drawn by a barefoot style of life that coexists alongside a growing number of charming hotels and guesthouses and memorable restaurants.
I can speak of Rincon's alluring duality from personal experience. I was once a work-weary sanjuanero in need of escape. As one of those New York-born Puerto Ricans who came "home" to understand my heritage and to further my career, I would often escape to Rincon on a Friday evening after a long week spent pounding the pavement as a reporter for The San Juan Star. I would arrive there with every intention of returning home on Sunday, but succumbing to the rhythm of the sea, I'd usually finagle a way to stay through Monday. When I'd finally forced myself return to the daily grind, it was as though I'd undergone a complete makeover of body, mind and soul.
After a year of living stateside and a year of longing for my island home - I missed everything: the food, the music, the lush green hills, the way people kiss to say hello - I jumped at the chance to return to Puerto Rico, head for the coast and get another dose of R & R, Rincon style.
Only this time, along with checking out the latest places to stay, best new restaurants and hottest spots to hang out with a cold Medalla beer, I would finally try my hand - or feet, or whatever - at surfing those rolling Rincon waves.
This was a big decision and an example of my own split personality. I might be a pretty adventurous person - the kind who will try weird food, hike unfamiliar territory and talk to strangers - but I have a deep, dark fear of sharks. So deep, it predates Jaws. So dark, I look twice before jumping into a swimming pool. But a little voice inside kept whispering "Try it, just try it. Surfing looks soooo cool."
Rincon takes its original sense of identity, along with its name, from a wealthy 16th-century landowner, Don Gonzalo Rincon, who took pity on some struggling squatters and gave them a hilly point of land that juts out into the Caribbean on one side and the Atlantic on the other. Some of the settlers eventually grew sugar cane and others made their living as fishermen. Isolated from the rest of the island, Rinconeqos developed an independent, do-it-yourself character and their town endured as a study in tranquility.
Life progressed peaceably enough until the 1960s and the arrival of legions of young guys toting fancy, floating ironing boards. Word had gotten out about that hilly point of land and how it met the unimpeded forces of the sea with the serendipitous result being some truly monster surf. This is especially true in the winter when storm fronts rage down from the northeastern U.S. With virtually nothing to stop them on their southeastern path, the swells hit the shallows at Rincon, rear up, curl and break in long, luxurious waves - surfing ecstasy.
Rincon's ascendancy in surfdom was complete when it hosted the Surfing World Championships in 1968, drawing some 70,000 fans and competitors. A fair number of those who gazed out on those waves and camped out in the hills - there weren't many lodging options then - decided to stick around.
That explains why Rincon's current population of about 13,000 is a bubbling genetic soup including not only native Puerto Ricans in shades of cafe con leche, but plenty of blonde, blue-eyed bloodlines from the north. In Rincon, "dude," "awesome" and "gnarly" are as much a part of the local vernacular as "hombre" and "muy bueno."
But the surfers brought more than just their genes and the penchant for a good time. Many of those who stayed saw the potential for tourism. They began offering rooms in their houses to pilgrims willing to plunk down US$5-$10 a night for a shabby bunk bed within easy striking distance of at least eight notable breaks from Rincon north to Aguadilla.
Scott Seddon was part of a more recent migration. After shuttling between Rincon and his home in West Palm Beach, Florida, he decided to plant himself in Puerto Rico.
"I kept thinking: What's the point of moving around every few months, when I can stay here and start making a life for myself?" said Seddon.
Seddon agreed to give me my first surfing lesson. He made polite conversation - about Rincon's rising property values and his plans to buy a house - while pretending not to notice how I floundered about like a walrus. Meanwhile, I pretended to ignore the dark shadow lurking in the water beneath my dangling feet, but I could hear the surging soundtrack: Da-DUM, Da-DUM...
First, I learned how to paddle the board, sort of. Things got better once I realized that the ominous specter below was not a toothy shark, but simply the shadow of my surfboard on the ocean floor. And I even managed to get up on my knees just as a wave - I'm pretty sure it was about 240 feet high - thrust me toward shore. I also managed to get clocked on the head by my board, roll underwater like a sneaker in a washing machine and swallow several gallons of seawater.
It was great, like being a kid all over again.
In Rincon, when you're not surfing or pretending to be, you visit people. They can be old friends or new ones, doesn't matter. You visit them at shops where they sell surf gear and beachwear; you visit them at the local watering holes where they wait tables or tend bar; and when they're off work and not out surfing, they visit you. It is, after all, a very small town.
One afternoon I headed up the hill from Puntas, the beach on the north side of the point, to the Lazy Parrot for a visit with its owners, Steve and Francia Lantz. I'd met them seven years ago, back when the Parrot was part of the bunk bed/surf shack establishment. The Lantzes, who arrived from Texas in 1989, are among the surfside pioneers. In between the distractions brought on by having a couple of kids, they got along by renting out rooms in their house.
Each time I've been to Rincon, more and more of these endearing joints have morphed into "guesthouses" - there are now 11 of them around Puntas Beach. The Lantzes have spruced up their place considerably, expanding to 11 rooms with private baths, cable TV, even air conditioning.
As we sat on a terrace enjoying the late afternoon breeze, the Lantzes' guesthouse seemed a perfect fit with its place and time, a snug haven that is true to its past but also keenly aware of where it is heading.
The same is true, albeit on a more luxurious scale, just outside of Rincon at the exquisite, secluded Horned Dorset Primavera which opened in 1987 with just five units. The Horned Dorset, named after a breed of sheep raised by the original owners, now offers 31 rooms, all with mahogany four-poster beds, and is the only Relais & Chateaux resort in Puerto Rico. It is one of life's great pleasures to stay at the Spanish colonial hacienda-style retreat, wander around the lush tropical gardens, visit the two different pools and climb the uneven stone steps to look out over the sea. The rooms have no phones, no televisions, nothing to distract you from your own pleasure.
I sipped cocktails on the hotel terrace and watched the sunset bloom with Wilhelm Sack, the hotel's manager. A charming Austrian with an affinity for bright red hunting jackets, Sack is a popular and well-known figure in Rincon, a hotelier who encourages his guests to venture out and enjoy the rest of the area, rather than holding them hostage on the resort grounds. While there were many raised eyebrows when the Horned Dorset picked Rincon as home, Sack said it made perfect sense to build this slice of Old World.
Posted online 06/01/00.
