Puerto Rico Punch

Joe Beach's west coast crib turns out to be a travel rarity: a place that's actually nicer in person than its Web site lets on. With a breezy lobby connecting two low-slung hotel towers, a palm-lined infinity pool and an inviting beach bar, the Rincon Beach Resort is more luxe than its price ($124 a night) would suggest.

After a patio breakfast, Jose Playa heads south along the coast. His goal: La Playuela, a beach on the island's southwest tip. It's at the end of a rutted dirt road and recent rains have flooded the parking area. So Joe follows several couples who know the work-around: a 20-minute hike up a hill around the Cabo Rojo lighthouse and along rugged cliffs. A heavyset guy named Hector tells Joe that he and the wife have driven in from San Juan to spend the day here. "I just moved back from Brooklyn," he says, gesturing toward the beach below, "and this is one of the reasons."

La Playuela is a crescent-shaped miracle of white sand and gentle waves flanked by rocky outcroppings. Joe figures his new friend drove at least four hours to get here, but after an afternoon of picnicking and napping and reading, he understands why.

11:35 a.m.

Eco Guy, still damp from the morning breaststroke in the waterfall pool, is working his way deeper into the rain forest. At one time, the road past the hotel skirted the mountain ridge and led to the Yunque park visitors center. But long-ago landslides cut it off, leaving this stretch a pleasant hiking lane into the jungle. He walks hard, trying to shed last night's dinner, a starchy glut of Puerto Rican comfort food at a roadside cafe near the eco-lodge.

The forest is thick along the ruined road. In places, almost no sky is visible, and the breezes are moist and warm. It's like hiking in a lung. Skinny rivulets of runoff race down the hill, seeking the bigger river for a ride to the Caribbean that's just visible to the east.

Eco Guy is wet and happily tired when he gets back to the hotel. He has just time enough for a shower before he gets back on the road for a long drive along a network of inland mountain roads called La Ruta Panoramica. His last view of the sea comes at the Bella Vista, a cliffside restaurant where he eats admirable mofongo (a rich paste of green plaintains fried until soft and mashed with garlic, bacon or conch meat) with a Delta Air Lines fork.

11:50 a.m.

Slick is within the massive white walls of El Morro, the 400-year-old fort (and now World Heritage Site) that sits on its rocky promontory as the icon of Old San Juan. Guide Loriane Serrano gestures to the field where soldiers fought and died as the Spanish empire slowly crumbled. "My family comes here every year at Christmastime to picnic and fly kites. I've got so many aunts and uncles from the States -- this is a place where we can fit them all."

Slick's morning walkabout, after a garden breakfast, started at the much-loved San Juan Cathedral. Its simple beauty was profoundly affecting, but what's this? Electric votive candles? Well, she never. But she inserted four quarters and a faux flame flickered on.

Now, after electric rites and historic forts, Slick happily wanders Old San Juan, exploring shops and galleries. She finds an oasis of calm in the two-story Pablo Casals Museum, a sweet ocher-colored townhouse in San Jose Plaza. It's a trove of original manuscripts, concert posters, prints and other musical memorabilia of Casals, the Spanish-born cellist who lived on the island for the last 17 years of his life. Administrator Anibal Ramirez still gets excited when he talks about an unexpected visit by cellist Yo Yo Ma a couple of years ago.

12:11 p.m.