Of cars and culture

“Though North Americans found graitfying opportunities for investment in the islands, they were less gratified by the tempo of island life, especially in Puerto Rico. They seemed unable to appreciate any of the virtues of its culture, while being repelled by what were, in their view, all its faults. The people were courteous and courtly, uninterested in material wealth, committed to enduring social relationships, accepting of hierarchy, Catholic but not fervent, hypersensitive on issues of honor, generous to a fault. On none of these counts could they be expected to win over the North Americans, who viewed themselves as supremely rational, hardheaded, yet idealistic liberators whose fortune it was always to do well while doing good, representing the nation of the future, energetically endorsing hard work above sociability, business above agrarian enterprise, equality above courtesy, frankness above politeness, money above kindness – and Protestantism above Catholicism.”

Jack Delano – pg. 2, Puerto Rico Mio: Four Decades of Change (1990).

“In the impoverished countryside and the urban slums, living conditions were horrendous…What most impressed us, however, was the dignity, hospitality, gentleness, patience, indomitable spirit, and unquenchable sense of humor of the people in the face of the most appalling adversity.”

Jack Delano – pg. 24, Puerto Rico Mio: Four Decades of Change (1990).

The two quotes above are from a book of photographs of Puerto Rico and Puerto Ricans that I bought for John. They personify the culture we are experiencing here and love so much. They are clearly reflected in so many of our interactions with the people here, most especially in the last several days since we got back from the states.

It began with more car trouble. Arrived at 4:30 am on 9/12 to find our car’s power steering had gone kaput. Later that day we drove it to the specialized auto repair shop our friend Marisol found for us – W R Auto Parts – some dozen or more miles east of us on Carr. 2. I took the car and my poor pigeon-Spanish and managed to explain the problem. The young man who helped me could not have been more patient, and willing to use his English while helping me with my Spanish. He explained that it looked like the pump was the problem and with apologetic body language and words said this would be costly, and perhaps even more expensive if it turned out to be the rack and pinion steering instead. “Quanto?” I asked. He wrote $125 p.s and $225 r/p on the back of his business card. I’m no expert on car repair prices but I knew this was less than half we would likely pay in the states so I grinned with relief. He also said they were very busy – might not be able to get me in until Monday, but then started asking me where I lived and pointing to the Ola Lola sign on the car, wanted to know about the business. I managed to give enough info in Spanish for him to get a sense of where and what we were, and then it was his turn to grin – hugely. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “the place where they wave at you and are always really friendly!” Turns out he has a friend who stayed at Villa Tropical who told him about us and he had driven by…once. I acknowledged that was indeed Ola Lola’s and that we used the car to get our supplies for the bar. He then stated that he would fix the car the following morning (Friday) and said if I could get it there by 8 a.m., they could be sure to have it done before they closed for the weekend Saturday afternoon, even if it was the rack and pinion steering. He added more fluid, showed me the type to buy (cheaper than regular power steering fluid), and reminded me to keep adding it to protect the problem from getting worse. No charge.

I came home and shared with John how his “viral” marketing strategy of waving and smiling at everyone who passes had reached well east of Isabela already. And sharing the joy of interacting with someone who obviously was happy to help, and not purely for economic reasons.

That evening, while driving in the dark to pick up a pizza for our late dinner and a couple of last-minute groceries for the weekend, the car died…completely. I barely made it up the cliff, with its steep slope, narrow lanes, and twisty curves. It finally came to a full stop on the side of the road about 1/10 mile past the top of the cliff, and a good distance from the Supermercado Coop (where we get groceries), any open gas station, the pizza place, and home. It was 8:30 p.m. and I called Marisol on my cell phone. “I’ll be there in 10 minutes…just need to get the kids in the car,” she said. Her husband was not yet home from work and it had to be a huge interruption with a 2-year-old and an 8-year-old to get ready for bed, but there was no hesitation, question, or overlays of quid pro quo attached. It was just the generous (“to a fault”) nature of a true Puerto Rican friend – our Puerto Rican sister – responding to a need.

She got there and we tried to figure out if we could use the jumper cables in my car to start the car. It was dark. I had no headlights; one of hers was out. Her van’s battery was hidden and we couldn’t seem to get things hooked up. She used my cell phone (had left hers home in the hurry to get there) to call her husband. He said he was on his way and would be there soon. Meanwhile, Marisol left to go pick up our pizza.

Within 20 minutes, JR, Marisol’s husband, pulled up in a pickup with a friend. He told me not to worry, kissed me in greeting on the side of my cheek, introduced his friend to me who also kissed my cheek, and then hooked up the jumper cables to the truck. At about the same time, a police car stopped and shined its light on our little band across the road. Once they saw we were trying to jump start the car, they made a u-turn and came across the road to join us. “Where’s Marisol?” Junior (who goes by “J.R.”) asked. I told him she went to get our pizza. There was no hint of anything other than understanding acceptance and he went back to work, talking in Spanish to his friend and the police officers. The car started with the jumper cables, but as soon as they were removed, it died completely. Marisol returned and immediately gave me my change from the pizza and began translating for me. “It’s the alternator, they’re saying,” she told me. For the next 30-40 minutes, conversations in Spanish whirled around me causing me to both realize how far I have to go with my own Spanish language acquisition and yet somehow making me feel a part of it all.

During that time, the four men agreed that the car, even if we could keep it running, was unsafe to drive home especially given that I would have to once again go down the cliff’s twisty road to get there. They helped push the car to a safe place in front of a house further off the road, with Junior assuring me that the people who lived there were his friends and would not mind. Jose informed us that his twin brother, Anki, had a shop where they fixed alternators and starters and that he could fix ours the next day. Jose also called Anki to see if he could come and look at the car that very night, right there on the side of the road, but that turned out not to be possible. He wrote down Anki’s phone number as well as his own personal cell phone number on the back of one of his business cards, saying that if we had any problems contacting his brother to call him first thing in the morning. Discussions ensued about having the car towed to Anki’s shop in Isabela as well as forming a plan for how I could most easily and inexpensively fix the problem the following day. The plan, as laid out through Marisol’s expert translation was as follows: 1) We should return to the car early in the morning, remove the battery, take it to the gas station up the road and get it fully recharged (would take about an hour), then replace the battery in the car and immediately drive it to Anki and he would fix it.

Marisol then drove me home with the pizza, all the while talking to me about how she would call Anki in the morning and arrange everything since he did not speak English, and would help us with rides and translation as needed to get the whole thing taken care of the next day. I got home at 10:00 pm, smiling from ear to ear with the whole experience of people so generously offering assistance bursting in my chest.

Next day, our guardian angel, friend and Puerto Rican sister, Marisol, once again gave us reason for our hearts to overflow with gratitude for the wonder of this new home, its people, and our inclusion with them. She spent the day helping us. First, she picked up John and they went to get the battery charged. While waiting for it to charge she returned to our house where the two of them had a yummy breakfast of waffles and preserves (homemade by our dear friend, Donna, in Wisconsin) while I rode Chocolate for his morning exercise. Marisol and John left, got the charged battery, replaced it in the car, and checked with another mechanic just down the road to see if he could repair the alternator. He said that he didn’t have the equipment to check the system accurately to be sure it wasn’t more than that and recommended none other than Anki as the place to have it done properly. Marisol and John returned to our house where John and I swapped places so he could get Ola Lola’s ready to open. I drove our car, following Marisol to Anki’s place, a small open cement “underbelly” to his parents’ house on a crowded street in Isabela.

There I explained (and Marisol translated) that our power steering had gone out as well and, given that the previous owners of the car had replaced the alternator with a new one last December, I wondered if there might be some connection between the problems (or even, a separate electrical problem that was not related to the alternator at all). The information was respectfully considered, but within a matter of minutes, Anki had determined that the alternator was indeed bad and was suggesting that if we took it back to the place that the previous one had been purchased and there was a warranty, we could simply get a new one for free and then he would put it in. Marisol jumped at the idea and I called John to say that she would be driving me back to the house (well out of our way once again) and we would be picking up the receipt, which thankfully we had saved.

I admit at this point I was more than a bit skeptical. Here was this guy pulling out a grungy looking alternator from the car and handing it to us on a dirty rag and saying that if we returned to the store where it was purchased 9 months ago, they would simply hand us a new one and we could bring it back to him and he would replace it. I became even more skeptical when I saw the receipt with about 20 exclusions to the warranty – exclusions such as incorrect installation, misuse, etc. How the heck could we prove this was the alternator under warranty, much less that we hadn’t violated any of the provisions, especially since the alternator was out of the car.

However, I was soon to be reminded we were simply traveling through a continuum that was part of Puerto Rican culture, Puerto Rican honor, and Puerto Rican generosity. We arrived at the store, the alternator was replaced with a new one and a new warranty with no questions asked. After a small hesitation on her part and a bit of convincing on my part, I was allowed to buy Marisol some windshield washer fluid and a new lamp for her front headlight which was out as a small – very very small – token of my appreciation for this miraculous saving of $125, the cost of a new alternator.

By this time it was after 2 pm, and Marisol had to make several phone calls to insure that someone else could pick up her nieces from their school and her son from his, activities she usually takes does every weekday from 2-3:30 pm. She then drove me back once again to Anki’s, where he installed the new alternator, tested it, and evaluated our cooling and air conditioning system (our AC fan is disconnected because it doesn’t rotate correctly on the spindle), all in the rain as his shop had two cars in it and was full. Once I knew that repairs were going to be completed soon, I tried to insist that Marisol return home because I knew she had a 5-10 pm class that evening at the university and still hadn’t eaten since breakfast, completed her homework, or taken time for herself and her family. Instead, she stayed by my side, being sure that anything and everything that was said was translated into English to keep me from any confusion or problems and to be sure I could leave safely.

As Anki was finishing the job, his brother Jose, the police officer, arrived in his civilian clothes. He had come just to be sure that we had been able to get the car fixed without any problems. Anki then finished the job and told us the price - $30! I was once again reminded that there are more important things to Puerto Ricans than getting rich. I paid him and Marisol and I finally parted company, leaving her to rush home with barely enough time to change her clothes and hug her kids before having to leave for her graduate level class. There are no words for the gratitude John and I felt and still feel. The only small repayment I was able to give her was to print out her homework (her printer’s ink cartridge was out) and give her an Ola Lola smoothie to go when she stopped by our place, for the 5th time in less than 24 hours, running late on her way to class.

The next day was almost as miraculous and revealing about the nature of the heart of Puerto Rico. Marisol called me first thing in the morning to see if I wanted her to meet me at the place that fixes power steering. We agreed that I would call her if I needed a ride; but would first find out what needed to be done and how long it would take. She called me no less than 3 times to be sure I did not want to be picked up or if we needed her to get anything for us at the store. I drove the car to W R Auto Parts where I was once again greeted with the friendliness typically reserved for longtime customers and close friends in the states. The power steering problem was diagnosed; it was only a broken hose. Several hours later, they had finished fixing it, testing it, replacing fluid and clamps, and I was ready to go. All of this was communicated with a mixture of Spanish and English and mucho patiencia with my poor communication abilities in the former language. The bill? Twenty dollars, plus tax, with a 90-day warranty.

And so, in some 60 hours of what would have been previously thought of as “car repair hassles,” John and I emerged richer than ever, with our hearts overflowing. There are no words to describe how amazing and wonderful the experience was and how much we love our new lives, friends, and the culture here.