Let me start by saying that when we booked a week-long trip to Puerto Rico, we envisioned tropical breezes, bar mojitos and some horseback riding on the beach. I had a full PDF with carefully made plans and reservations for El Yunque, the islands of Culebra and Viques and Old San Juan. We were set to do some beach laying, scuba diving, kayaking, hiking and gliding through the bioluminescent bay at La Parguera.

What we got instead was a crash course in hurricane preparedness, questionable rental car decisions, and a forced spiritual connection with some sweet stray dogs.

But let’s back up, shall we?

 

Day 1: Arrival in San Juan – Spirits High, Forecast Kinda Known

“Did you hear there’s a hurricane heading to Puerto Rico?” ….Well, we did, actually. Two hours before we boarded our flight to San Juan, the announcement came through on the news. We debated whether to cancel our long-awaited trip … but, according to the weather apps, the primary bad weather was going to miss the mainland and hadn’t turned into a hurricane just yet.

Plus, a little rain? We thought we could manage.

Arrival in San Juan. The air was thick with tropical magic — and humidity. Grabbed our rental car (which shook slightly every time we turned left) and hit the road west, headed for Rincón, a surf town where every third person owns a hammock, every fourth is a surfer named Kyle and everyone had a Corona in hand.

Our Airbnb had twinkle lights, a sea view and a questionable shower curtain. We were in love.

Day 2: Rincón – Surf’s Up, Confidence Higher

Rincón was exactly what the internet promised: laid-back vibes, beach shacks slinging fish tacos, and surfers who looked like they were born with saltwater in their veins.

We took a wholesome little road trip to the famous “Window Cave,” snapped photos like influencers in the wild, and watched the sunset like blissfully unaware tourists in a disaster movie’s opening scene — the kind where everyone’s smiling before the sky turns angry.

That evening, we posted up at a local beach bar literally inches from the sea (great storm proximity, 10/10 risk), where the locals sipped cocktails and assured us, “Eh, we’ve seen worse.” Comforting? Yes. Reassuring? Also yes. Scientifically helpful in a hurricane scenario? Absolutely not.

Day 3: Cabo Rojo – Lighthouse Views & News

On Day 3, we headed to Cabo Rojo. The cliffs? Breathtaking. The lighthouse? Majestic. The empanadas from that roadside stand? Life-changing. We spend a day leisurely swimming in the lagoon, snapping photos of the resident turtles and planning future trips to more islands.

That evening, we got the official word: the storm — now officially Hurricane Irma — took a dramatic turn and was now definitely going to hit the island. The advice? “Prepare yourselves.”

Prepare?? What does that even mean?? Were we supposed to board up windows? Dig a moat? Sacrifice a coconut to the storm gods? We Googled “how to survive a hurricane” while stress-eating plantain chips and realized we were about to enter our DIY disaster-prep era with exactly zero training and one flashlight shaped like a dolphin.

Day 4: Hurricane Watch Begins

​Apparently, ferries don’t run when there’s a Category 2 hurricane headed straight for the Caribbean. Go figure.

Plan B was “stay on the mainland and ride it out.”

Plan C was “drink until we forget Plan B.” We initiated both.

We immediately canceled all our dreamy plans to stay in El Yunque, the islands, and Old San Juan, and instead quickly booked what can only be described as a “concrete bunker with WiFi” somewhere inland at San Germán— the kind of place that says “rustic charm” but really means “sturdy enough to maybe not blow away.” We fired off a flurry of texts to our parents and mildly panicked coworkers saying, “We’re totally fine!!! (Translation: we are not fine, but we have snacks).

Then we spent the rest of the evening panic-grocery shopping like contestants on a doomsday episode of Supermarket Sweep. We grabbed the essentials: water, bread, tuna, granola bars, beer, and yes — peanut butter, because even in the face of a natural disaster, we are people of class and protein.

Day 5: The Storm Hits – Adventures in Indoor Camping

​By Day 5, we filled the bathtub with water (someone on Reddit said it was smart), charged every device, and made peace with the fact that our trip had gone full Discovery Channel.

We took a short walk through town that evening — or what used to be a town. It had fully ghosted us. Shops were shuttered, windows boarded up like a zombie apocalypse was imminent, and the only other souls around were a few confused-looking stray dogs we fed like the tender-hearted disaster survivors we were quickly becoming.

Naturally, we snapped some photos of our new deserted hometown (caption idea: “wish you were here, bring plywood”), then went back to our bunker, laughed nervously, cracked open an unnecessary amount of beer, and played UNO like it was our last night on Earth. We couldn’t drive anywhere — what if the storm came early.. or we ran out of gas and got stranded pre-storm — so we did what any group of emotionally unstable vacationers would do: we bonded in a forced, slightly panicked kind of way.

Brian — sweet, delusional Brian — kept watching the radar and making jokes like, “Hey, at least we’ll have great storm stories!” It was not funny. Not even a little bit. My brain had already spiraled: What about the stray animals? What if we get stuck here forever? What if the airport gets swallowed by the ocean? Do I have enough granola bars to live here now? Who feeds my plants back home? Do I still have a job??

We smiled. We sipped. We pretended this was just a quirky detour.

It was not a quirky detour.

Day 6: The Storm Hits – Adventures in Indoor Camping

The storm hit. The power went out. The WiFi died. Our phones clung to 3% battery like it was their last breath. The wind howled like it was auditioning for a horror movie. We ate cold pizza by flashlight and paged through old magazines left at the AirBnB.

Brian, in a moment of pure Discovery Channel-meets-dad-on-vacation energy, hung halfway out the window with his GoPro, narrating like he was filming a documentary called “Idiots in the Eye of the Storm.”

“This is INSANE! Look at that palm tree!” he shouted, as if we needed visual confirmation that yes, nature was currently trying to slap us off the map.

I just rolled my eyes.

Day 7: The Aftermath

The storm left behind a trail of destruction and one extremely dazed iguana on our porch. Trees were down, roads were flooded, and our dreams of snorkeling in Vieques had floated off into the storm surge.

But we survived. We celebrated with a breakfast of crackers, peanut butter, and a warm Corona that had somehow become part of our emergency hydration plan.

There was truly nothing to do. Nothing was open. The roads were closed. The power was out. Our phones were nearly dead. The air conditioning was a memory. And worst of all — no books. Who vacations without books? Apparently us, the pioneers of poor planning.

So we spent the day slowly melting into the furniture, making up games like “Is That Cloud Coming Back?” It was bleak. It was sweaty. It was character-building.

But mostly, it was just very…humid.

Day 8: We’re Stuck

Yep. Another thrilling day of absolutely nothing.

We flushed the toilet using our precious stash of bathtub water like 18th-century nobles and took luxurious “washrag” showers. Opened the fridge exactly once — like bomb squad professionals — to rescue some emergency cheese and apples.

We wandered around town like post-apocalyptic characters in a beach-themed sci-fi film. Good news: the stray dogs were alive and well, and yes, we shared our rationed peanut butter with them, because we’re heroes now. We saw a few locals out sweeping debris and clearing the roads — actual legends, while we stood there nodding helpfully, holding a jar of Skippy.

In that moment, all I wanted was a coffee. Just one glorious, steaming cup of caffeine and hope.

Our flight was scheduled to leave late the next day, and we clung to that hope like it was the last granola bar on Earth. The problem? We had no news. No updates. No idea if the airport even had a roof anymore. Was it open? Closed? Now a community center? Who knew!

We imagined a chaotic scene: hordes of desperate tourists sprinting toward the terminal like it was the last chopper out of a war zone, while we showed up ten minutes too late, holding our suitcases and emotional baggage.

Would the plane take off? Would we be left behind to live off peanut butter and stray dog loyalty forever?

Truly, it was a coin toss. And we were sweating — partially from nerves, mostly from the complete lack of air conditioning.

Day 9: Return to San Juan – Windswept and Wiser

Good news: the power miraculously came back on in the middle of the night — possibly due to divine intervention. My shower was fantastic.

We tossed our bags into the car with the urgency of people fleeing a heist, gave our peanut-butter-covered goodbyes to the stray dogs (who, by now, we considered extended family), and hit the road to San Juan like we were escaping in a getaway vehicle.

The drive was… dramatic. We passed flooded fields, downed houses, and enough fallen tree limbs to build a small log cabin. But we were hopeful. Clean(ish). And finally heading toward an airport that may or may not exist. Victory was almost in sight.

San Juan was buzzing with cleanup crews, humming generators and people wandering aimlessly (probably trying to find a cold beer).

Spoiler: We did find a cold beer …. in the airport, which was fine by the way. And we were able to board our flight without a worry.

The Takeaway:

Did we see Vieques? No.

Did we relax on seven different beaches? Also no.

Did we get chased by a flying palm frond and learn how to light citronella candles with a car lighter? Yes and yes.

Puerto Rico, you beautiful, unpredictable island. We’ll be back. Preferably during the dry season.

While we were lucky to ride out the storm with mild discomfort and a few soggy shoes, it wasn’t lost on us that Puerto Rico has weathered far worse. The island is still healing from the devastating blows of Hurricanes Irma and Maria in 2017 — storms that left deep scars on its infrastructure, economy, and communities. Even now, years later, many Puerto Ricans continue to feel the aftershocks of those disasters in their daily lives. Experiencing even a small taste of that vulnerability was humbling. Our hearts are with the people of Puerto Rico — resilient, generous, and full of spirit — and we encourage anyone who visits to support local businesses, give back where they can, and remember that paradise is home to real people with real stories.