Harvey Flea | Mosquito. Travel Writer. Sleuth.

Coffee anyone?

I have just arrived at the Luis Muñoz Marín International Airport in Carolina, Puerto Rico. I’m looking snazzy in my typical guayabera button-down shirt, with its pleats down the front and back - specially fitted for mosquitoes, of course. I’ve got my camera, my three-page list of restaurants, my swim trunks and my sun block. I lack just one thing before I can start my adventures full swing.

I need coffee.

Puerto Rico’s coffee has an illustrious history. The Vatican used to import its brew from Puerto Rico. Theodore Roosevelt drank it at the White House.  Can it still live up to its past glories? I was about to find out. But where should I start?

I start, of course, by leaving the airport terminal - and immediately wish I didn’t have to. The humidity and heat hit me like a wall and push me back toward the sliding doors. I flap my wings with extra aplomb. I at least have my options narrowed a bit. Wherever I go will be air conditioned.

I ascend and make a sharp right to avoid a Wendy’s. I mentally pen a letter:

Dear People of Puerto Rico:

What were you thinking having a Wendy’s be the first thing tourists see upon arriving to Puerto Rico? You can do better than that. Let’s try a little harder.

There, I feel better already. I’ve had my say.

Wendy’s. Sheesh.

I have now left the airport and have an aerial view of the Isla Verde section of town. Isla Verde means “green island,” but it should mean “lots of condos, cars, stores and, oh yeah. Did I mention condos?” Unlike most tourists who reach San Juan via Avenida Isla Verde, I’ve got a great view of the ocean. Isla Verde may not be green, but the ocean is liquid emerald. It’s so eye-catching, I almost miss my first opportunity to have a coffee. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Panadería España. I’ve heard of it. It’s a bakery, pastry and sandwich shop started, not by Puerto Ricans, but by Spaniards. I descend.

I slip in the door. Panadería España has caved to the modern pressure to have a TV, but in honor of its roots, it is airing a channel from Spain. I take a reconnaissance flight to see what coffee people are sipping. The first I see is black coffee, called a pocillo negro. It’s small, just like me. The costumer is sitting down, so it is steaming hot still. I take a quick nose dive to try the coffee before he puts sugar in it.

Our Father who art in heaven,

A little request for when I die and go to heaven. Please source your coffee from Puerto Rico.

Amen and keep up the good work.

Unlike most roasts, Puerto Rican coffee gives you the full flavor without the bitterness. No wonder the Pope drank it.

The customer is putting his sugar in. I take another nose dive. I might have to move here.

Now it’s time to try a café con leche that is, coffee with milk. This will 

Slurp!

be  tougher. I could camouflage myself better in the black coffee. Of course, after the caffeine, I’m sufficiently stoked. I’ll be able to move much more swiftly.

I then look down at my guayabera and smile. I forgot. I was coffee stained. The perfect camouflage.

There is an old lady paying at the counter. She has a coffee. I sneak closer, sliding along the pastry display. What? Pastry? Pastry!? I’ve been here a full three and half minutes and I haven’t had a pastry yet? Harvey, what’s the matter with you?

I sneak a closer peek. The lady has a café con leche. And red hair. I don’t know why it is, but ladies in Puerto Rico like to dye their gray hair red. My dear readers, please don’t make the same mistake.

Sweet!

Suddenly a shiver runs through my wings. She has something else nestled on her tray. It’s flaky. It’s sweet. It’s plump and oblong, full of cream cheese. It’s a quesito. I attach myself underneath the lip of the lady’s tray, then peek my nose out for one last look: Yup, just as I thought. She has cataracts. I will be under the radar.

Before I continue, I need to clarify something. I am not a coffee junkie. I can quit anytime I want. However, it is scientifically proven that coffee is good for people with asthma. Therefore it is good for me. Tht mksh mm a hthsh frksh.

Sorry, I was swallowing my first bite of quesito when I said that. The cream cheese makes talking sticky. Let me repeat that: I am a health freak. That is why I drink coffee.

However, if you have high blood pressure, caffeine is contraindicated. And since my dining companion is 132 years old, I am going to assume she has high everything.  It is clear I am doing her a favor by taking a few extra sips of her coffee and extra nibbles from her pastry. I don’t want her to drop dead.

Thanks to my help, the quesito is now just a memory. The coffee cup is empty, but the sweet flavor is still caressing my palate. And its color has irrevocably stained my clothes, but no matter. My dining companion and I are relaxing in our chairs and watching the TV. It’s airing some documentary about the history of Spain. This makes me hark back to Puerto Rico’s own history. It used to be a major provider of coffee to the world. A few hurricanes, and its crops were devastated. It lost its supremacy. But it still has the goods. The world would be a better place if Puerto Rican coffee could take the globe by storm. You can keep your Starbucks. I want my Puerto Rican coffee.