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CALLEJON DE LA CAPILLA, a narrow, brick-paved alleyway about 200 feet long, is the nexus of cool in Old San Juan. Behind a thick wooden door is the Nuyorican Cafe, the hottest spot for live jazz and salsa; across from it is a chinchorro, or hole-in-the-wall bar, whose grittiness borders on absolute chic; and at the far end lies Calle Fortaleza, whose ultra-fancy restaurants have earned the area the ultimate sign of approbation — an acronym: SoFo.

The Frugal Traveler's standard weekend budget of $500 rarely buys entree to such trendy zones, but a free-ranging Web search netted a boutique bargain: the Nuyorican Cafe had just opened the upper floors of its bright-blue building, a former Spanish convent, as an art-filled hotel called Da House. My third-floor room — sunny but cool, with colonial-style furniture and tall, skinny windows overlooking the alley — was $80 a night. Perfect.

Even better, Old San Juan's greatest pleasure — simply strolling this beautiful place — costs nothing. The Spanish founded this city on the little island at the head of San Juan Bay in 1521. Its stone forts and pastel-colored houses have not only survived the centuries, but look as vibrant as ever. Its narrow streets flow over mild hills, opening into plazas where schoolchildren chase pigeons, older men slap dominoes, and idlers doze under tree-shaded benches.

Everywhere were explosions of color: blues and oranges, pinks and yellows, reds and subtle shades of cream. When I rested my eyes, my ears went to work. Flamenco dancers click-click-clicked at rehearsal somewhere, almost in time with the rhythm of distant jackhammers, while the songbirds in the trees and the bells of snow-cone vendors provided a sweet melody. Every time a shop door opened, salsa music would come pouring out.

I could have spent Friday doing nothing but soaking in Old San Juan's revelry, but I felt obliged to see a sight or two. The problem was choosing. On virtually every corner was a museum, like the Museo de Arte e Historia de San Juan and the Museo Pablo Casals, which focuses on the life of the cellist Pablo Casals. After cooling down with a street vendor's $2 piragua — crushed ice doused in fruit-flavored syrup — I moseyed over to the Casa Blanca.

One of Old San Juan's oldest structures, the Casa Blanca was built for the explorer Juan Ponce de León, who helped settle Puerto Rico and was the island's first governor. He never lived in the house, explained the cheerful guide who took my $3 entry fee, but his family and descendants occupied the premises for more than 250 years. In the 1960s, the estate became a museum.

After a good long look at the walnut antiques — I loved the wooden chests that needed three keys to open — I walked to El Morro, the enormous fort on the island's northwestern tip that was completed in 1589. Again, I found a well-preserved site ($3 entry), with exhibits on how El Morro defended Puerto Rico from the British, the Dutch and, eventually, the Americans.

The sun was setting, and I was just heading home when Nacho called. A friend of a friend, he'd heard I was in town and wanted to know if I was up for a night out.

Thirty minutes later, I hopped into his black Ford Explorer, and we drove to the Golden Mile, San Juan's skyscraper-studded financial district, to see what his pals — like himself, all lawyers — did after work. Expecting a chichi fern bar with overpriced martinis, I was surprised to see a huge crowd milling around on the sidewalk in front of dingy, no-name bars — chinchorros — in the shadow of a Citibank. Still, these drinkers were clearly San Juan's elite. I could tell by the pinstripes.

After a couple of Medalla beers (prices varied, but the three-can round I bought cost $5.60), Nacho took me to a bigger, crazier scene — La Placita. Centered on the Mercado de Santurce, these narrow streets were swarming with young people and cheap bars, a lovely combination. I can't say I remember very well what followed, but we bounced around, never spending more than $2 for a beer, running into some of Nacho's friends and enjoying a conch-and-octopus empanada ($4.28) from a stand wedged between two buildings.

But I was still hungry. And by the time Nacho dropped me off in Old San Juan, I was also sober. Despite my meager budget, I realized I could afford to eat at Aguaviva, a slick seafood restaurant on Calle Fortaleza. The blue-and-white décor evoked an aquarium, and the room buzzed with models and their hangers-on. I took a seat at the bar and ordered a glass of warm chardonnay and a pair of ceviches: buttery, garlicky marlin and ultra-tart shrimp with green clam. By the time I finished, I was dead tired, so I settled up ($30 with tip), walked home to Da House and, despite “Oye Como Vas” blaring from the Nuyorican Cafe downstairs, quickly fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke determined to explore the world beyond my beloved Old San Juan. I couldn't leave before breakfast, of course, so I walked two blocks to La Mallorca, the Platonic ideal of a diner — drop ceilings, dim lighting and families crowding plasticky tables cluttered with platters of eggs and bacon. I took a stool at the long counter, which was staffed by grill men in white hats, and ordered a “mallorca con jamón y queso.” I didn't know what it was, but with ham and cheese, how bad could it be?

Quite good, actually. It was a pressed sandwich dusted with powdered sugar. Magically, the combination worked, the sweetness offsetting the salty ham and oozy cheese. With orange juice and a café con leche, the bill came to $5.05 — I was sure the counterman had made an error, but I wasn't about to argue.

Sated, I caught a $14 taxi to the Museo de Arte de Puerto Rico, a grand institution that houses the island's most important works of art ($6.39 entry). Some date back to the 17th century, but everything I saw was contemporary and — apart from some facile criticisms of Puerto Rico's relationship with the United States — fascinating. The exhibits included the re-creation of an entire barbershop by the artist Pepón Osorio and the evanescent beaded sculptures of Milton Rosa-Ortiz. Even the gift shop sold signed and numbered lithographs that were museum-quality (if only I'd had $450 for “Niña,” by Myrna Báez!).

After a rest in the peaceful sculpture garden, I was, believe it or not, hungry again, so I took the advice of a woman at the museum's information desk and walked a few blocks to a restaurant called Bebos.

Like La Mallorca, Bebos will never win awards for décor: faux-wood tables and tiled linoleum floors that resembled those of a Burger King. It was packed with families enjoying comida criolla, or classic Puerto Rican cuisine, but as the only tourist, I got extra attention: a free side dish of juicy roast pork to go with my wine-stewed chicken and rice and beans, as well as free coffee. With tip, I spent $13.60.

Eating at Bebos put me right next to Condado, San Juan's most yuppified neighborhood. I set out on foot, taking a detour along Playa Condado, where teenagers were goofing around in the Atlantic surf, until I reached central Condado — or was it San Diego? Ashford Avenue, the main drag, had a Fuddruckers, a Starbucks, a Marriott and, in one strip mall, Cartier, Ferragamo and Louis Vuitton.

This did not seem very frugal so I ducked down a side street and came face to face with a sign that practically shouted frugal: “30-50% SALE.” The store was Otto, and it carried hip menswear — Trovata, Parke & Ronen, J. Lindeberg — with nary a guayabera in sight. I picked up a super-soft polo by Velvet, $58.88 after the 30 percent discount, and caught the 75-cent A5 bus back to Old San Juan.

The sun was setting, and I felt dirty and sweaty, but I did not immediately go up to my room: the action on Callejon de la Capilla was just getting going. I bought a $1.50 Medalla from the chinchorro and lingered to watch. A film crew was celebrating the day's wrap with cocktails, and a drunkard in a white Panama hat was floridly greeting everyone he passed. Spanish, English and Spanglish echoed off the brick pavement and stuccoed stone walls, and reggaetón boomed forth from the bar. This was absolutely the place to be.

I had $190 left, more than enough to splurge at another SoFo restaurant — Tantra, an Indian-Latino restaurant that serves tandoori mofongo and Madras lo-mein. Then I'd check out live jazz and salsa at the Nuyorican. It would be a luxurious end to a busy weekend — but an instant later, that plan was history.

“You like reggaetón?” asked a young Puerto Rican woman in square eyeglasses and vintage-store cardigan. She was at the bar with two similarly dressed women. I considered my answer.

“Of course!”

Before I knew it, Arialys (the reggaetón fan) and her friends Heidi and Yesica had bought a round of chichaítos, an anise-flavored rum shot. All three were on similar tracks: Arialys was studying design, Heidi art education and Yesica fashion.

They were young and friendly (and cute), and when Arialys and Heidi invited me to a bar frequented by people from La Perla, the slum right outside Old San Juan's tourist zone, I didn't have to consider the answer: How could I say no?

El Adoquin del Patio lay at the end of a shadowy alley, with dingy blue-and-white linoleum tiles, peeling paint, fluorescent light, $1.30 Medallas, (two rounds cost $7.80) a bank of video poker machines and a jukebox full of salsa greats like Eli Santiago and Héctor Lavoe. For a long time, we drank and danced, and when Heidi vastly overestimated my age at 40, I tried to prove my youth by claiming to have a MySpace page.

Then a friend of theirs, a beefy local named Luis Enrique, showed up, and after a drink or two, it was somehow decided that we were going over to his place. I went along with the plan — the girls hadn't steered me wrong yet — and soon we were following Luis deeper into Old San Juan. As we walked, I began to regret this decision, and to wonder how that tandoori mofongo tasted, who was playing at the Nuyorican, and what sort of models were strutting around SoFo. The last thing I wanted was to spend the evening sitting around someone's apartment.

Arialys was hanging back, so I asked if she really wanted to go with him and how well did she know him. She shook her head.

But it was too late. We were at the apartment, and we climbed the stairs reluctantly. Inside, there was no furniture, but the walls were covered with Picasso drawings. Were all San Juan crash pads like this? Luis's girlfriend, Denali, was watching CNN.

Time to escape. Muttering excuses about catching a bus home, Arialys rushed out, and I escorted her and Heidi back to the familiarity of SoFo. At the Brickhouse Bar & Grill, we ordered 20 super-hot buffalo wings ($20 with tip) and danced to 1980s clichés, then called it a night.

I was about to enter Da House when I realized I still hadn't been inside the Nuyorican, so I paid my $3 cover (no discount for guests of Da House), ordered a $3 Heineken and found a perch inside the dark, cramped space.

The live band had gone home, but a dozen couples were still strutting the dance floor, throwing down salsa moves I could barely comprehend. The energy was palpable—but mine was flagging. I yawned, put down my half-full beer and climbed the stairs to my bed, where I slept a happy sleep, secure in the knowledge that, with little time and less money, I'd come face to face with the heart of the nexus.

Total: $341.85

VISITOR INFORMATION

WHERE TO STAY

Da House, 312 Calle San Francisco, (787) 366-5074, dahousehotelpr.com.

WHAT TO DO

Casa Blanca, 1 Calle San Sebastián, (787) 725-1454

El Morro, 501 Calle Norzagaray, (787) 729-6777, www.nps.gov/saju.

Museo de Arte de Puerto Rico, 299 Avenida de Diego, (787) 977-6277, www.mapr.org.

WHERE TO EAT & DRINK

Aguaviva, 364 Calle Fortaleza, (787) 722-0665, oofrestaurants.com/aguaviva

Bebos, 1600 Calle Loíza, (787) 726-1008

Brickhouse Bar & Grill, 359 Calle Tetuan, (787) 559-5022.

Café Berlin, 407 Calle San Francisco, (787) 722-5205, has an all-you-can-eat brunch buffet that's a relative bargain at $15, a steal when you factor in the sunny plaza-side location and free Wi-Fi.

La Mallorca, 300 Calle San Francisco, (787) 724-4607.

WHERE TO SHOP

El Alcazar, 103 Calle San José, (787) 723-1229, elalcazar.com, has a marvelous collection of antiques: 18th-century Wedgwood tiles, Uruguayan woodcuts and Colonial-era Spanish crucifixes.

El Galpón, 154 Calle del Cristo, (787) 725-3945, sells handmade hats, vintage local movie posters, and Puerto Rican cigars of every shape and size.

Otto, 69 Avenida Condado, (787) 722-4609.