So Dubz and I go and sit in a plaza, and I start to have those doubts creeping in. This was a terrible mistake, why do I insist on making things complicated? Who did I think I was by traveling to Puerto Rico and make a movie? Just as I'm about to suggest to resign myself to a night of drinking, a group of musicians with drums walk into a plaza. Not kidding. They were amazing, led a group of people throughout Old San Juan, we exchanged contact info, and I felt like the documentary was finally taking off.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
I wake up and go to yoga. Yes, yoga, because I need to move around after sitting on a plane and doing nothing for hours. My friend Dubz FINALLY makes it to San Juan to help me film. This was after a two hour security check delay, missing his connection in DC, spending the night in DCA, then finally catching a flight to San Juan. So he comes, we kick back with some Medallas (Puerto Rican beer) and run errands. We take the bus to Old San Juan because well, its a good idea to show that area to someone recently arrived, because its amazing. Earlier that day, I talked to Juan and he said we could meet around 6ish to schedule interviews. By 7ish, I hear nothing, so I call him. They are too drunk, he says, to meet. Damn musicians.