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Old 10-03-2020, 04:34 PM
 
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Quote:
Originally Posted by hindsight2020 View Post
For clarification, I know the come y vete's mym refers to, but from my recollection we would stop at a bona fide sit down restaurant with more typical full sized meals.
That's great. But "Come-y-Vete's" bring me good memories, especially after I moved out of PR. I'd go back periodically. One way or another, I'd end up having lunch at one of several "Come-y-Vete's" in our hometown. The food was typically good. Best yet, many times I'd bump into someone I knew from back in the day at these "Eat-and-Go" lunch stops. A few beers and a good conversation with an old acquaintance felt like icing on the cake each time.
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Old 10-05-2020, 07:28 PM
 
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Once again, here's one of my fondest memories during my adolescent days in Our Puerto Rico:

I took up jogging at the age of 16 in 1976. I recall how much I enjoyed getting out in the "isolated open", of our Caribbean Island regardless of heat, rain, or humidity. My goal was to develop enough stamina to get to the next distant goal.

Truth be told, I developed a bad left knee from jogging on asphalt. To this day, it's something I still have to consider when working out.

In 1977, my parents and I lived 7 miles from Playa Cerro Gordo in Vega Alta. During the week, I'd jog the shoulders of the #2 Highway - La Numero Dos - between Vega Alta and Vega Baja. But on many Sundays, I'd jog that 7 mile stretch from my parents' house in Santa Rita to Cerro Gordo Beach.

Today, those days seem like a magical moment in my life.

I'd get up early Sunday morning before my parents woke up. I would prepare breakfast for myself doing my best to ensure I did not awake my folks who looked forward to sleeping in on Sundays.

After breakfast, I would hunt around for loose change everywhere! Sure, I had a few loose coins. But Dad's pant's pockets were the assured jackpot! Mom's purse was second. All I needed was $1.50 to make it through the day. No sooner I had my $1.50, off I'd go, jogging my way to Cerro Gordo.

The things I saw during my jogs are as unbelievable as they are beautiful. Of the many things, I recall the one time in which I saw a man limping far ahead of me. He had a Conga strapped to his back. No sooner I jogged up to him I saw blood from his right leg. I asked if he needed help. "No Brother! Estoy bien! Un motociclista me dio pon y se barrio en aquella curva. Tan pronto se levanto, me dejo arrollao en el carajo."

Each time I reached the beach, it felt like an accomplishment. It was something which took time, patience, and determination.

I'd reach the beach and would reward myself with a little free time. I'd sit there, by myself contemplating the waves, their sounds, and absorbing the peace they produced in my heart and mind. After an hour or so, I'd purchase one frosty Corona beer, and a bacalaito frito with my $1.50. It was all I wanted and needed.

After my reward I'd slowly walk into Cerro Gordo's tempered waters for a good long swim. By the end of my swim, there'd be plenty of people on the beach, and I always came across a friend, acquaintance, or familiar person whom to chat with. A good conversation, a naughty joke, and great laughter always ensued.

Before sundown, I'd be on my way home. I always walked back fully knowing that a friend, acquaintance, or familiar person would give me a ride near home; and they always did. I'd arrive at my parents' home where it was almost time for Sunday's dinner. After a long shower, I'd eat dinner and go out yet again to meet up with my buddies, my friends, my accomplices, or as I sometimes jokingly referred to them, Los Maleantes.

But think of this . . . I would leave my house before my parents woke up. An entire day would go by before they saw me. When we finally saw each other, at the end of the day, they had nothing to worry about. They automatically knew I had spent the day at the beach. Best yet, they felt assured I'd make it back. And if I didn't, they'd find out what had happened. No cellphones. No texts. No internet.

Back then, it was all bout trust, family, friends, and acquaintances who cared enough to ensure our offsprings would get home safe and sound.

Asi era la Vida en mi Puerto Rico Lindo, bello, Divino . . .

Last edited by chacho_keva; 10-05-2020 at 08:41 PM..
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Old 10-05-2020, 09:05 PM
mym
 
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Quote:
Originally Posted by chacho_keva View Post
I'd purchase one frosty Corona beer
and that was the old Corona beer brewed and bottled in PR
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Old 10-05-2020, 11:15 PM
 
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Quote:
Originally Posted by mym View Post
and that was the old Corona beer brewed and bottled in PR
Yes. The one sold in a silver can.

Fifty cents (cincuenta chavos) was all it cost in 1977. No ID required. If you were old enough to pay for one, you were old enough to buy one. No questions asked.

Pastelillos, and Bacalaitos were 25 or 30 cents. This is why $1.50 was all I needed to get through an entire day at the beach.

Best yet, my parents nor I ever worried about someone doing something malicious despite not being able to communicate with me for 8 to 10 hours.

On those Sundays in which they'd wake up and not find me at home, they knew where to find me if they really wanted to. I was either on my way to or at Cerro Gordo Beach.

So glad I grew up in a time like that.

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Old 10-07-2020, 07:46 AM
 
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Lived on pastelillos and corona's back in the early 60's while stationed at Ramey....loved the country.Stll harvesting sugar cane with oxen back then.Loved to stop for conversation at the little rum shacks along the road.So innocent and beautiful back then.
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Old 10-07-2020, 08:29 PM
mym
 
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Luvboats View Post
Lived on pastelillos and corona's back in the early 60's while stationed at Ramey....loved the country.Stll harvesting sugar cane with oxen back then.Loved to stop for conversation at the little rum shacks along the road.So innocent and beautiful back then.
if you can post pictures from that time that would be very cool

in the early 80s there was a youth summer camp and we stayed in barracks(?) on the old base. they were by the cliffs. we watched rambo and held talent shows. i was a hit cuz i did the Schaefer jingle.
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Old 10-07-2020, 10:28 PM
 
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Luvboats View Post
Lived on pastelillos and corona's back in the early 60's while stationed at Ramey....loved the country.Stll harvesting sugar cane with oxen back then.Loved to stop for conversation at the little rum shacks along the road.So innocent and beautiful back then.
"So innocent and beautiful back then"

The older I get, the less civil the world seems, and the more I find myself saying those words in my head. I sincerely miss the relative civility of simpler times. Thanks for sharing that brief but pleasant anecdote.
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Old 10-09-2020, 10:13 PM
 
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What were those dulces with coconut or yam (or sweet potato) they used to sell in San Juan? Maybe they still do. They were bars similar to turrón from Spain.
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Old 10-10-2020, 08:53 AM
 
Location: Tampa Bay`·.¸¸ ><((((º>.·´¯`·><((((º>
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They used to sell marrayo, with the tiny paper underneath.
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Old 10-10-2020, 09:23 AM
 
Location: Toronto
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Tedster24 View Post
What were those dulces with coconut or yam (or sweet potato) they used to sell in San Juan? Maybe they still do. They were bars similar to turrón from Spain.
God, I love turrón. My family used to send it from PR when I was little until finally more Latin Americans started moving into the area and opening groceries that sold it. I like the hard stuff, but the brittle almendro is the best.
One thing I can’t get here and are just too bloody hard to make are pasteles. I occasionally have family visit from Miami who bring them and I really wish there was a Puerto Rican diaspora where I live so I could get them more often. I make my own mofongo and other classic dishes, but haven’t had lechón since my abuelo passed. Puerto Rican food is delicious, but a lot of work. Unfortunately, to our knowledge, we are one of only a handful of Puerto Rican families in the entire province, so there are many things I only eat my when I go to New York City. I guess I could get it in Buffalo, but I haven’t been in ages.
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