“This curious world,” Thoreau proclaimed, “is more wonderful than convenient.” These words resonated with me as I prepared for my journey to Mona, gathering my essentials like hiking boots, helmet, laxatives, Dramamine, batteries, baby wipes, and safety gear in neon orange. After facing numerous bureaucratic hurdles, I was finally on the brink of visiting Mona. The popular tour companies had been unresponsive, so I decided to team up with Jaime Zamora, a seasoned guide with over 40 years of experience exploring the island. I admired his genuine passion and his aversion to formal institutions. Instead of a conventional website or brochure, Jaime directed me to a private Facebook group where he meticulously documented old maps, news clippings, and personal photos of artifacts found on the island.
In December, everything fell into place: Our permits were approved, the sea was calm, and our team was assembled. I hurried through Midtown with cash in hand to wire to a boat captain named Mikey. My friends Ramón, Javier, and Elisa joined me, along with photographer Chris and his partner, Andrea. Jaime enlisted the help of his old companions: Chito, Manuel, and Charlito. The ecologist Hector Quintero, also known as Quique, suggested we include Tony Nieves, the retired director of Mona Island. Jaime excitedly informed me that the moon would be full during our visit, promising that “your magic will begin to shine” in a week.
As the boats arrived at the pier in Joyuda on Puerto Rico’s western shore, we were relieved to find the sea unusually calm, described by the captain as smooth as an ironed sheet, a rare occurrence. He cautioned us not to misinterpret this tranquility, emphasizing, “Mona is not always like this.” Crossing into the challenging waters of the Mona Passage, where the Atlantic and Caribbean merge in turbulent crosscurrents, our boat began to ride the waves aggressively, requiring us to cling to the railing to avoid injury. Reflecting on my proximity to the water, a perspective I seldom experienced as I usually arrived in Puerto Rico by air, I pondered the journey of the indigenous people who navigated these waters without visible land, relying on celestial cues and natural signs.
In recent years, I had been reevaluating the conventional narrative of precolonial history. While Puerto Rico’s education department perpetuates the perception of the natives as simple and submissive, archaeologist Reniel Rodríguez clarified that recent findings indicate otherwise. The migrants from Central America and the Amazon basin who settled in our archipelago were skilled seafarers akin to the Polynesians, utilizing celestial navigation techniques. They established diverse polities over generations, forging extensive trade routes incorporating materials like jade from Guatemala, gold and copper alloys from Colombia, and jaguar teeth from the mainland jungles. Contemplating the challenges of transporting guinea pigs from Colombia to Puerto Rico in a large canoe, I marveled at the intricate connections established by our indigenous ancestors.