...and I won't be blue without you, Puerto Rico.

Ah, yes. The annual tradition of decorating Old San Juan's numerous plazas and plazoletas has begun again, and I hate to be a scrooge, but there's something about this tradition that just makes me cranky from now until...oh...about January 15, when all the joy and goodwill and turn-of-the-year promises of "ni una bala mas"* finally start to die down and life gets back to normal. Last night, the blue glow of the branches that are supposed to mimic snow and ice covered trees lit up all of Plaza de Armas and even bathed the end of my street in light. The Christmas tree has been erected on a platform that was built over the fountain of the four seasons, and its base is surrounded by satellite dish sized lights that have been shaped into poinsettias. There are new decorations this year, too. The government has no money and the governor is being investigated by the FBI, but there's some level of organization in the treasury and someone has his or her priorities straight because there are always Christmas decorations, and they're always set up on time. The crews work round the clock to make sure that light poles are swathed in garlands of fake greenery, that extension cords are placed just so in order to avoid serious injuries, and that every light--and there are many--works.

Let's talk for a moment about those lights.

According to my count, Old San Juan alone hauls in at least three generators the size of small pick-up trucks to be able to keep this light show on 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for nearly two whole months. There are probably more--these are just the generators I've happened to notice. It's no wonder, then, that on a 2004 map titled "Earth at Night... Lights of the World," produced by National Geographic Maps, Puerto Rico is almost completely white, one of the most densely lit places in the entire world. The map shocked Francisco and me so much that we've kept it, sticking it into the cover of our world atlas. I'm all for Christmas cheer, but I'm also for a world that's sustainable enough to see many more Christmases, not just this one.

And speaking of sustainability... there's a great deal more about the Christmas tradition here that simply isn't viable... for the earth or for me. From Thanksgiving on, families from all over the island will make the pilgrimage to Old San Juan to see the lights. They'll drive in past Fuerte San Cristobal, up Calle San Francisco, around Plaza de Armas, hang a left on Calle San Jose, another left on Calle Fortaleza, and then, wondering whether that was "it," will make the loop--which is less than a mile but takes more than an hour--again and again. They might pause the car and idle for a bit next to the trailer near Plaza Darsena, where Santa Claus in all of his North Pole regalia, will listen to kids' gift lists. (Poor guy... can't they get him a guayabera and some bermuda shorts?)Their cars will clog the streets (which are supposedly on the way to becoming entirely pedestrian) and the garbage they toss out their windows will pile up for two months, making the quality of life for people who actually live in Old San Juan less than merry and bright.

But... the big news is, I won't be here for most of the celebration this year. After two Christmas seasons in Puerto Rico, Francisco and I are pulling up stakes--an idea we've turned over for awhile--and leaving the island. The goal is to be out by December 1, and as we've started packing, everything seems to say "Yes! This is the right decision." We've been living more at the mercy of bugs than we realize, as I pulled a box of handmade envelopes and paper out of a closet last night, their fine fibers chewed happily away by tropical insects. The same went for some Christmas ornaments that had been given to me at my wedding shower, and the fuzzy earphones of an old Walkman. As I turned on the ceiling fan this morning, sparks shot out of the motor, and I noticed that a leak that has plagued our hallway but which we thought was fixed has begun to wear away the wall... again. Francisco stuck his entire right hand into the space that has yawned open between a baseboard and the floor in the guest bedroom, noting that the foundation of our 1800s building has sunk noticeably since we moved here in March, 2005.

We've tried hard to live a sustainable life in Puerto Rico, and I mean that in every sense of the word. One of the many amazing qualities of an island, and of our apartment in particular, is the light, and we hardly ever turn ours on; the wood-shuttered windows that have no glass and no screens throw open onto a patio that is blessed with natural light all day long. We've lived without a car and walk wherever we need to go. We've never installed an air conditioner, deciding it's okay to let sweat roll in rivulets down our backs every June, July, and August. We've picked up others' garbage, we've tried to help others live a little more consciously, and we've tried to contest the notion that Puerto Rico is not polluted because of a volcano halfway around the world--as someone actually told us--but because on an island of 4 million people there are almost 3 million cars.

Back in New York last week, the move was sealed. As I looked around me, hyperconscious of everything, I realized that the city is the most sustainable place I know, a subject about which I'll be writing more very soon. I'll opt out of the light show this year, and choose instead to ring in the new year in a place where I know I can make a bigger difference.

*Ni una bala mas means "not one more gunshot," which is the San Juan Police Department's campaign against gratuitous violence in general and the end-of-year tradition of firing guns randomly in the air. This tradition of random gunfire always results in tragic and unnecessary deaths. Read about one of them at http://www.sanjuancapital.com/noticiasread.asp?r=CYVEUDRSHH

Links: Earth at Night Map:  http://shop.nationalgeographic.com/shopping/product/anotherview.jsp?itemno=20306C&viewcount=1