Puerto Rico’s new normal: No power or stoplights

On the plane to Puerto Rico the day before Thanksgiving, I got surprised by the question right after taking my window seat.

“Are you a volunteer? Are you a relief worker?” said Luis, who was sitting two seats away by the aisle.

I chuckled, answering half-jokingly, “I’m going to rescue my mom. She’s down there. I’m going to see her.”

Luis nodded. And that was all the introduction he needed to open up.

“My dad died yesterday. I didn’t get to him in time,” he said.

In Puerto Rico today, 10 weeks after Hurricane María, everyone has a story. A new normal has settled in that is still hard to process and accept. Luis, who runs a towing company in upstate New York, said that his father Carmelo, a U.S. Army veteran, had been living with him until a month ago.

“He said that he had to go back. He drank contaminated water. A virus killed him. He went into hospital. And never got out.”

If you think that Luis was being dramatic, know that one of the developing stories is older people dying from complications exacerbated by poor medical care, a contributing factor to what epidemiologists call the “excess death toll.” While the official count is more than 50, two weeks ago the Puerto Rican government admitted that 472 more people died on the island in September 2017 than in September 2016. For some, that is a better measure of a disaster’s human cost.

Commercial airlifts

Luis and I were on JetBlue’s morning flight from John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York. The sixth of seven children, Luis had another brother flying down to San Juan later that day and ended up arriving only a short time after us. Our flight departed an hour late. For a good reason.

“We’re taking advantage of the extra space in baggage and taking on relief supplies for Puerto Rico,” the pilot announced.

To its credit, JetBlue launched the 100x35JetBlue program shortly after María devastated Puerto Rico on Sept. 20 — 35 initiatives in 100 days to support the needs of crewmembers, customers and communities on the island.

Private and commercial airlifts have been a part of the initial recovery efforts, but nothing prepares you for the aerial views as the plane skims above the San Juan metropolitan area before landing at Luis Muñoz Marín International Airport.

Tropical pockmarks

I saw specks of blue here, there, everywhere; specks of blue which upon closer inspection turned out to be the blue tarps that FEMA has been providing to people who lost their roofs or part of their homes. And at the point where the plane lowers its wheels, I started noticing blown-out apartments, abandoned buildings and walled-up mini malls — deep pockmarks on what used to be a lush tropical destination.

My mom lives in Isla Verde, the residential and hotel strip barely 10 minutes from the airport. There were no lines for taxis. Tourism — which contributed more than $8.1 billion to the economy in 2016 — is close to nil. The driver said that he waited five hours for my fare. And that where he lived, in the neighboring town of Carolina, he and his family had been without power since Sept. 20.

My fare cost $13. I couldn’t tip the driver enough. And I probably didn’t.

While my mom’s apartment sustained minor damage, her building got walloped. At least four units seem to be total losses. Another dozen sustained significant damage. A couple of conference rooms on the ground level are completely exposed. The doorman’s post lost its roof and glass windows. When it rains hard, he gets wet. One glass door survived. The rest of the entrance was replaced by wood panels.

Capricious Mother Nature

Reyes, the doorman who works the day shift, lives in Santurce, about three miles away as the crow flies. My mother’s building got power about two weeks ago. He and his wife are still waiting.

“I get home from work in the dark to turn on the generator. Every night,” Reyes said. “But to save gasoline, we only turn on some of the lights.”

He said that he spends $8 day in fuel for the generator, or $56 a week. And another $10 to $20 weekly for ice to safeguard perishables in coolers. They generally eat cold cuts or canned food. Occasionally, they will treat themselves to a hot meal by shopping and cooking on the same day.

Mother Nature can be very capricious. One house is intact, the one next door looks bombed out. There are two restaurants in front of my mother’s building. The Italian one to the left is doing brisk business because people without power still need to eat. The Argentine steakhouse to the right is boarded up with a “For Rent” sign in front. It was my mom’s favorite. She loved their churrasco con chimichurri, a boneless cut of grilled meat served with a parsley-and-garlic sauce and, of course, an order of tostones.

mobil car wash

Half a block down is Bistro Café, a popular coffee shop and brunch place. It survived because it has a generator. And a young staff with a can-do attitude.

My waitress shares an apartment with a roommate. They, too, have been without power since the hurricane hit. While Coraly freely admits the situation on the island is “horrible,” she’s coping because she loves nature and camping. She’s making do with her own portable gas stove and lantern. It may not be quite like cooking under the stars, but she’s guaranteed a hot meal more often than her neighbors.

A senior at the University of Puerto Rico majoring in political science, her final semesters have been pushed back and stretched out through late next year. While people have been leaving the island by the thousands and some economists calculate that Puerto Rico won’t recover economically until 2033, Coraly said that she’s willing to stick it out and help rebuild.

“I want a job where I can make decisions for the good of the people,” she said.

Or, to quote the popular hashtag, Puerto Rico se levanta. Puerto Rico rises.

Then there are José and Johan, two entrepreneurs who have carved out a unique niche. They call themselves Mobil Car Wash. Thanks to a 300-gallon water tank inside a van connected to a couple of hoses, they can come to your house and clean your vehicle for $25 to $30. On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, they were at my mom’s building, washing nonstop.

But that’s not all they do. In this time of need, they also deliver water to neighborhoods and homes with cisterns or large tanks, charging $60 per 300 gallons.

“You’re asking how’s business after the hurricane? We’ll, we’ve started a new business,” Johan said with a smile.

Not enough telephone poles

Another new business to consider might be the manufacture of power and telephone poles. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers calculates it needs 48,000 new poles to rebuild the power grid on the island and there’s simply not enough inventory in the whole United States. For now, the island will count on small weekly shipments of poles and other materials.

In my four days there, I saw only one working stoplight. Mind you, San Juan is a city with a metropolitan population of 1.25 million people when you include the adjoining municipalities. When you get to an intersection, you slow down and navigate your way through. Outside the tourist sections, few main drags have regained their street lights. Driving in Puerto Rico at night now is like driving on the dark side of the moon. For safety’s sake, you don’t stop until you reach your destination.

There are people who have lived without power since Hurricane Irma swept past on Sept. 7, including the parents of San Juan mayor Carmen Yulín Cruz, making this the longest blackout in United States history. How long will people accept living under these conditions is anyone’s guess. Governor Ricardo Rosselló promised at one point that 90 percent of the island would have power by Christmas. As of Tuesday, the power grid was working at 56 percent capacity.

The truth is, power comes and goes, as it did for me on Thanksgiving Day. When my mom and I came back from the supermarket around noon, the first thing the doorman said was, “Se fue la luz.” (Power’s out.) Fortunately, we had bought pernil, arroz con gandules and a salad, and decided to sit down and have an early holiday dinner. We opened a nice Rioja and ate right out of our Styrofoam containers.

Welcome to Puerto Rico’s new normal.

Featured Image: Clemson Smith Muñiz / La Vida Baseball

Inset Images: Clemson Smith Muñiz / La Vida Baseball