An American Abroad

The Distinguished Gentlemen’s Ride on Calle Loíza

One of the joys of living in San Juan is that there is no shortage of scenes. There’s a street art scene, a rat rod scene, a food truck scene, a Jeep scene, a punk scene, a cocktail scene, a surfing scene, a baseball scene — and a motorcycle scene. That last was on full display last Sunday.

I was enjoying Sunday brunch at Tresbé on Calle Loíza when I heard the basso profundo throb of big bikes — a whole lot of them heading east. I grabbed my camera and started shooting. As the first motorcycle came into focus, I immediately knew what I was seeing. It was the Distinguished Gentleman’s Ride, a global event where men (and a few women) get dressed in their dapper finery and ride to raise money for prostate cancer research and other worthy causes.

There was an eclectic mix of motorcycles: Japanese, American, European, Indian, choppers, boulevard cruisers, and cafe racers.

This being the Caribbean, some people took the dress code pretty liberally — or ignored it altogether. But most of the riders at least made the attempt to look both distinguished and gentlemanly.

I especially liked this guy on the chopper and was sorry not to have gotten a better pic of his ride. I haven’t seen pants like those since the Nixon administration!

This was the only sidecar I saw. These two definitely win the prize for cutest couple.

I was surprised that there were so many Royal Enfields in the mix. But maybe I shouldn’t have been. Royal Enfields are as natty and anachronistic as the Distinguished Gentlemen themselves. First manufactured in 1901, they developed a reputation in World War II as being nearly indestructible. “Built like a bullet” was the strange simile that was used to describe them. The company was eventually sold and moved to Chennai, India where it continues as “the oldest global motorcycle brand in continuous production.” Royal Enfield is surely a niche player in the global motorcycle market. But for whatever reason, they’re popular here in Puerto Rico. There’s even a dealership here in San Juan.

Not everyone was riding a big bike – or for that matter, a motorcycle at all.

I’ve ridden a motorcycle while wearing a tuxedo, so I think I could fit right into this group. Next year?

Santurce Graffiti, Murals, Tags, and Unauthorized Public Art

The Santurce dictrict of San Juan can fairly be described as an aspiring arts mecca. Not that many years ago, many Puerto Ricans considered it a dangerous drug- and crime-infested place rather than a neighborhood to be proud of. Though there are still grim and blighted parts of Santurce, other areas have exploded with vibrant colors, new businesses, and young Puerto Ricans looking for a place to live. The neighborhood’s revival is another testament to the power of public art to change both the perception and the reality of an urban locale.

There’s a lot of street art in Santurce. And many of these works can be found on and around my favorite street, Calle Loíza.

Some of the most striking works depict human heads and figures.

The tagging is exuberant and precisely rendered.

Murals are common and certainly add life to otherwise derelict buildings. Click here to see what the building in the two photographs below looked like just a few years ago. Quite a turnaround, no?

The wall in the photo below, though, shows that far more subtle compositions can be even more effective at setting the mood of a streetscape.

All of these photos were taken on and around Calle Loíza, which runs parallel to the beach just two blocks north. But there are equally wonderful works of public art in other parts of Santurce. And eventually I will get around to photographing them.

The Santurce Culinary & Art Festival

Some writers call Santurce “the Brooklyn of San Juan.” And there is a hip, entrepreneurial, artistic spirit to this barrio. As the New York Times cooed recently, you can walk down the man drag and find new restaurants “led by inventive chefs who prize local ingredients.” There are dance clubs, boutiques and vintage clothing shops, a gay bar, bakeries, an upscale tattoo and body piercing shop, and colorful graffiti everywhere.

It seems like the perfect setting for a culinary and art festival.

Unfortunately, the actual event didn’t quite live up to its potential. There weren’t very many exhibitors — and there was a certain sameness about those who did show up. Attendance was probably in the high hundreds, but not much more. Still, the vibe was festive and relaxed.

I heard a strong cover of Bob Marley’s “Redemption Song” as I approached Calle Loíza. Though Kingston is two islands and 700 miles west of San Juan, no one was complaining about the Caribbean cultural mash-up. The song set my mood for the day. And it was coming from this boutique/cafe, where the bartender mixes a mean mojito.

The first festival-goer I met was jauntily dressed and seemed to be enjoying all the people who came up and talked with him.

He wasn’t the only one who was literally at street-level. Two of the artists from the hipster tattoo parlor were making chalk art on the sidewalk.

Older folks lugged lawn chairs out in front of the pumps at the local filling station and sat there talking, drinking, and people watching. Hanging out like that is pretty common here and, to my mind, nicely obliterates the ordinary commercial grimness of gas stations.

Alcohol, rather than food, seemed to be the vice of choice at the festival. Bar tents outnumbered food tents by about three to one.

The spirit of the festival seemed to be to be captured by this bumpersticker. I think Bob Marley would approve.

It wasn’t only people on the street who were enjoying the relaxed mood of the day. You can just see the bare feet of a man sacked out in a hammock on his Calle Loíza balcony.

While he took a siesta, other people took advantage of the festival being closed to cars and promenaded down the street, seeing and hoping to be seen.

Others used the occasion to walk the dog.

After a couple hours of walking around, I craved someplace peaceful to sit and relax. I walked over to a Dominican chinchorro (i.e., a hole-in-the-wall bar) just off Calle Loíza and bought a Medalla beer from Mercedes, the beautiful old woman who runs the place. I took a seat out on the sidewalk in a plastic lawn chair, watched the world go by, and did my best to chat up one of the Dominican guys who’s a regular at the place.

Santurce’s not Brooklyn, but it’s not trying to be. It’s more like a laboratory where many mostly-younger Puerto Ricans are trying to build something new in a barrio that used to be known for drugs, crime, and blight. Not everyone approves of the changes that are happening here.

My take, though, is that even if the festival wasn’t a roaring success, the people of Santurce are succeeding at building something more enduring and important.