Rain Decisions, Rum Barrels, and Strategic Napping
Yesterday’s plan (manatees!) quietly surrendered to what turned into a serious, unapologetic loll.
Sharon found us a place on the beach while I was putting the final touches on the blog; when I got down, she already had our standard order of quesadillas and Painkillers waiting. We settled in for some solid sun time and a long stretch of watching an ocean that can only be described as angry. Not moody. Not dramatic. Angry. The waves were powerful and insistent, and while a few people chose to brave it, we were content to watch from shore and respect the message being sent.
After about an hour or so of this — fed, sun-warmed, and properly settled — a single enormous raindrop landed out of nowhere. A pause. Then, another. They were far enough apart that it almost felt coincidental, the sort of thing you might reasonable decide to ignore. The second one hit . . . And we bolted for cover.
Later — safely dry, watching the sky open up in a full tropical dump from our balconies — we found ourselves wondering about the folks who, moments earlier, had sat up, held their hands out to feel a drop or two in their palms, made a judgment call that it wasn’t such a big deal, and then lay back down. One assumes the subsequent weather event may have prompted some reconsideration.
Post-rain, naps ensued.
Sharon eventually rallied and went down for a salad. I, however, committed to a nap strategy clearly designed to make Rip Van Winkle look like an amateur. I surfaced only briefly to remove the zinc oxide from my face — a deeply satisfying ritual, and one I was grateful not to postpone — before returning to my calling.
This morning began with a quick check of work emails, because work emails, it turns out, respect neither vacation nor geography. And then: a pivot.
Today’s main event is the Ron del Barrilito Rum Tour. 🍹
Ron del Barrilito: The Holiday Present That Won
(even if Google tried to waylay it)
The Gift
I had promised Sharon she could choose which of our assorted Puerto Rico adventures would count as her holiday present—one excursion to rule them all, as it were. And she did not hesitate. Ron del Barrilito won. Not “won” as in that was nice. Won as in: by far her favorite thing we did.
Which is impressive, given that the day began with the now-familiar Puerto Rico subplot:
Google Maps Is Not Your Friend
Google, once again, sent us on a little scavenger hunt that ended at a gas station…with gigantic vats behind it. We stood there doing that travel-math where you try to decide whether you’re at (a) the wrong place, (b) the right place but the wrong entrance, or (c) about to be politely arrested.
Our best guess was that this might be Ron del Barrilito’s distribution center—but it definitely felt more gas station than historic rum hacienda, so we did the sensible thing and switched to Waze, which immediately said, in effect: Bless your heart. You’re still 15–20 minutes away.
Note to all future travelers: in Puerto Rico, use Waze. Google is… aspirational.
Free Drink Coins (An Idea Worth Exporting)
We made it to the actual Hacienda just in time to pick up our free drink coins, which is a concept I would like adopted universally. The cocktail menu was long enough to feel like a novella.
Sharon chose the Tu Café. I went for the Floral Oak, because I am apparently the kind of person who sees “odd and botanical” and thinks, yes, let’s do that.
Sharon’s Tu Café was essentially the Bacardi coffee drink’s elegant, older cousin who went to finishing school and doesn’t raise its voice. It began with lighting coffee beans on fire and capturing the smoke under an inverted glass—dramatic in a very controlled, we’ve done this before way.
Mine arrived looking gorgeous: a float of champagne on top of the mixed drink, with a dehydrated orange round, dried lavender, and rose petals drifting above—very Victorian pressed-flower scrapbook. The first sip reminded me that the menu had mentioned eucalyptus bitters, which, in retrospect, was a clue I should have taken seriously.
“This Place Is All Story”
Our guide, Rogelio, was fantastic. The group was just us and another couple from London, which is my favorite tour ratio: intimate enough to ask questions, small enough that the guide can actually tell stories.
And Ron del Barrilito, as it turns out, is basically all story.
Rogelio walked us into the Hacienda and into the family timeline. Hacienda Santa Ana traces back to Fernando Fernández, a privateer for the Spanish Crown who received the original land grant and built the sugar operation that would become the estate’s backbone. Rum wasn’t the original business so much as the natural offshoot of sugar—molasses exists, people get curious, history happens.
The original rum was called pitorro, and we were told that if you took a sip, you could “watch your chest hair grow.”
Don Pedro and the Little Barrels
Then came the pivotal figure: Fernando’s son, Don Pedro Fernández. Pedro was sent to Europe to study engineering, and while he was there he absorbed the traditions of French aged spirits. (Yes, the part that sounds like legend is real—the company history notes classmates with names like Eiffel, Cartier, and Michelin.)
When Pedro returned home, he began making rum as a kind of serious hobby, treating it more like cognac than commodity. He aged it carefully in small oak casks, and friends kept asking for more of that rum—ron—from the little barrels, el barrilito, until the nickname became the name.
That’s the moment where the place stops being “a rum tour” and becomes a living artifact.
We learned much of this history while standing in the original house, which they date to 1804. Its cool Spanish tiles are still intact underfoot.
Prohibition, Rubbing Alcohol, and Adaptation
Then the story took a sharp turn into Prohibition. Because Puerto Rico was already a U.S. territory when Prohibition hit, rum production had to stop entirely (remember, Bacardi was still in Cuba). Like everyone else, the family adapted.
The operation pivoted to producing Alcoholado Santa Ana, a bay-rum rubbing alcohol infused with plant oils and botanicals, including eucalyptus. Rogelio showed us a malagueta leaf—crushed between the fingers, it released that allspice-adjacent, medicinal aroma that makes you understand why old-timers swore the stuff could cure headaches, fevers, and pretty much everything else.
After Prohibition ended, rum returned under Edmundo Fernández, who resumed production and developed a new blend—Dos Estrellas (Two Stars)—while preserving Pedro’s original cognac-style recipe as Tres Estrellas (Three Stars).
Sugar, Mills, and Man Caves
From there we walked toward the sugar mill, built in 1827 and now one of only four left on the island. There had once been many, but as Europe shifted from sugar cane to sugar beets—easier to grow closer to home—the need for sugar mills dwindled.
Above one doorway were the initials EBF, which Rogelio described as Eduardo’s “man cave”—part study, part escape hatch from the daily demands of work and family, in the way history always pretends not to be relatable.
Barrels, Breathing, and the Freedom Cask
Inside the barrel warehouse, Ron del Barrilito quietly outshines the bigger, flashier rum experiences. The place doesn’t need theatrics. We even got to see the gentlemen who, day in and day out, bottle the rum by hand. I took a video—possibly too large to upload—and sent another home via Marco Polo.
The rum ages in oloroso sherry casks made from American white oak—never charred, never used for bourbon. Tropical heat expands the wood, drawing the spirit deep inside; cooler moments pull it back again. It’s a slow, breathing exchange between rum and barrel, repeated year after year. The barrels are used over and over again after the rum is siphoned off, making a bit of a “solera” in the wood of the cask.
And then there was the Freedom Barrel: a cask filled in 1952, sealed with instructions that it not be opened until Puerto Rico becomes its own country. It still sits there, unopened—part hope, part dare, part time capsule.
Mixology: Where Sharon Became Evangelical
If the tour had ended there, it would have been worth it. But then we went into the mixology room, and this is where Sharon became mildly evangelical.
Bacardi had promised “Legacy + Mixology/Tasting,” but what we really got was “Legacy (movie edition) + a tiny sip.” Ron del Barrilito delivered the whole arc.
We each had our own station and learned three drinks using the Three Stars rum.
First, a rum Old Fashioned: 2 oz Three Stars rum, 3 dashes chocolate bitters, 3 dashes orange bitters, 1/2 oz. Simple Syrup. Add all ingredients into a mixing glass, add ice, stir for 20 seconds and strain into glass with fresh ice. Garnish with Dehydrated orange peel and cinnamon stick.
Then, an Encanto (2 oz. Three Stars rum, 1 oz kiwi purée, 1 oz lime juice), shaken and strained (everyone was introduced to the Boston shaker), then topped with a luscious coconut foam (made from coconut cream and egg whites — mercifully pre-whipped). The kiwi purée added the sweetness, so no Simple syrup necessary!
And finally, the piña colada, Puerto Rico’s national drink, served with a dried pineapple wedge and a cinnamon stick you could sip through.
Rogelio explained the two great piña colada sins: blending (no) and too much coconut (also no). His ratio — 2 oz coconut, 2 oz Three Stars rum, and 4 oz pineapple — was balanced, bright, and nothing like the frozen beach slush people expect.
Afterward, we sat outside in that warm, easy haze that only happens when you’ve learned things… and then consumed them. There was absolutely no way we could finish all three drinks, so we did what any responsible adults would do: we emptied our water bottles and quietly rehoused the cocktails for later (shhhhhh).
A Marble, a Wall, and Time
Before we left the Hacienda, I tucked one quiet moment into the day. I found a spot in an old wall overlooking the sugar mill and left one of H’s marbles there—another small piece of him traveling, in a place that felt like it understood time.
Sharon’s chosen holiday present had been an unqualified success. Mine—a bottle of Three Stars—capped it off. Because sometimes you should just bring home the thing that tasted like the whole story.
Verdict
If someone asked me “Bacardi or Barillito?” I’d say go straight to the history. Ron del Barrilito was charming; it felt less “tour” and more “welcome to the family . . . How’s about a drink?”
Bridge to Tomorrow:
Tomorrow, we trade barrels for cobblestones—spending the day wandering Old San Juan with stops for tapas and mofongo-making before (hopefully) circling back to pick up snorkeling gear and see some sea turtles and manatees…and then, inevitably, to start packing.
P.S.: Every time I even think the words “Puerto Rico,” my mind immediately goes HERE. If you haven’t seen Rita Moreno in West Side Story . . . Well, get on it 😉