Shawn R.
Google
We had time to kill before dinner, which is often when the best decisions or the worst get made. So we went looking for wine. Old San Juan doesn’t make it easy. The streets twist and repeat themselves like a memory you’re not done with, all mosaic stone and quiet defiance. Getting lost there feels intentional, like the city wants to know how badly you want to arrive anywhere at all.
Eventually, we found El Vino Crudo. It hides the way good places should, no neon, no desperation. You earn it. We ordered wine, then oysters, because that combination has been solving human problems since people first learned how to linger. Or maybe it was just the wine thinking. It was the right call nonetheless. Briny, clean, honest.
We lost track of time, then of ourselves, the way you do when conversation matters more than destination. Outside, the street grew louder, touristy, bright and cheerful, the night announcing itself with clatter and laughter. Inside, we stayed still for a brief moment. There’s a moment like that between daylight and dinner, between getting lost and being found, where everything feels briefly aligned. And if you’re paying attention, you realize that’s the whole point.