The idea was that on Sunday morning, I’d drive to the neighboring town of Cataño, catch the ferry across San Juan Bay to Old San Juan, and then stumble around there until I found some way to get into trouble. This seemed like a great way to visit a part of the metro area I’d never been to, get a lovely view of the old city, and even save money. But for want of two quarters, my plans fell through.

I made my way to Cataño all right. I parked and walked along the corniche, admiring the view of the 500 year old town and its fortifications across the bay.

I found the Terminal AcuaExpreso Cataño. The ferry was idling at the dock there, preparing to cast off. I walked briskly up to the window and asked for a ticket. “Fifty cents,” said the ticketseller. I pulled a twenty out of my wallet. The woman behind the window looked at it like it was some sort of alien artifact and archly informed me that she didn’t have change. Fine, I said, I’ll pay with a credit card. No dice. It was fifty cents, exact change or near to it.

I must learn to keep a better poker face, because I’m certain my expression at that moment revealed that I thought that was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard and/or that the ticketseller and her boss and her boss’s boss and her boss’s boss’s boss were a bunch of dolts. So any hope I might have had of getting a free ticket or even convincing her to loan me four bits vanished with the incredulous look on my face. So I was here — and not going anywhere.

With my plans for a ferry ride to Old San Juan thwarted, I decided to see some of Cataño. I wasn’t too put out, really. The weather was uncertain and sprinkling rain. I made a mental note to come back for the ferry when the sky was bluer.

The area around the ferry terminal wasn’t rich, but neither was it poor. There were some restaurants, apartments, and commercial buildings. All looked modest but well-kept.

There was a public dock where one sport fishing boat was moored.

I watched across the bay as an enormous Carnival cruise ship edged along the San Juan peninsula, angling to dock at one of the piers along Calle Marina. I’ve never taken a cruise or even been aboard a ship like that. I don’t think it would be the way I’d want to travel — I prefer a more unscripted approach to new lands — but I wouldn’t rule it out forever and ever.

A few blocks away from the main waterfront area of Cataño, I found another ship that wasn’t quite as fancy as the Carnival Horizon. It was, however, definitely more fun to photograph.

I also found a much poorer part of town and was reminded, oddly, of Chelsea, Massachusetts, where I lived for a while when I was 20 years old. Perhaps I have a strange affinity for down-at-the-heels seaside towns. I saw an old woman sitting out on her balcony, surveying her surroundings. I didn’t want to intrude on her Sunday morning by walking up to her house and taking a photo, so I captured her from far away. It was another reminder of Chelsea: an older population sitting out on their porches surveying the gradual decay of a neighborhood they’ve probably lived in for decades.

I headed for the town square and found a modest but well-kept pavilion, some gothically decaying architecture, and an interesting church whose bells were summoning the faithful.

Across from the pavilion was a mixed-use building that housed a Chinese restaurant. This, too, reminded me of another place I’ve lived. During my year in China, people would sometimes express surprise that I knew how to use chopsticks and liked Chinese food. I explained to them that Chinese food is their country’s gift to the world and you can find Chinese restaurants even in the smallest, most out-of-the-way towns in America — and indeed, around the globe.

A few blocks away, though, the local bakery was out of bread and the pizza truck hadn’t woken up yet.

Having completed my accidental tour of Cataño, I was heading back to San Juan when I saw this motorcyclist, pulled up beside him at a red light, snapped his picture, and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Moments like that make me smile for hours and remind me how very glad I am to live here.