Beave, Author at La Colina Project

A beautiful lotus growing in our pool

Currently more of a pond…

Jungle Journal

Bees, bars, and a bloody nightmare.

June 4, 2020June 4, 2020
by Beave

Time is passing us by both slowly and quickly. The distortion of time while we navigate this new normal remains confusing. We have no idea of what day of the week it is yet we find weekends pop up more often than expected. Months, however, are deceptively drawn out. April seemed like it has 60 days in it this time around. But here we are. It’s June. The roads are dusty, the heat is rising notably and the humidity is building.

There is talk of a fresh bee swarm that needs relocating. They have taken residency in a disused RV parked close to town. We wait until dusk, gather our hive, suits and gloves and head out. The bees are behind a small plastic access door in the side of the RV which is partially hidden by a hedge. Our friend Diego and I suit up, light the smoker, grab torches and squeeze ourselves through the branches to take a look. Jayne has found her way through the RV main door on the other side and is lying on the floor inside shining light underneath the fridge towards us so we can get a better idea where the queen is hiding. We are positioned well and creating a lot of smoke which I direct through the small opening. Diego puts his arm through the smoke to see if he can feel his way toward the queen.

At this point visibility is not good. Its dark and smoky and the torch we are using is now covered in bees so not at all useful. We hear a loud angry noise and feel the distinct tapping of hundreds of unseen bees attacking our suits. I get a sting on my leg and then another. Diego is in full retreat as his suit has been compromised and he has fully pissed off bees trapped inside. We stumble backwards in the dark. I’m covering us both in smoke to get the growing stack of bees off. Rather than calming them down the smoke appears to be making them more aggressive. Wrong type of smoke maybe?!. I manage to swat my body and helmet free of bees quickly and then try and get the them out of Diego’s suit. Unbeknown to us his pants had a rip in the back side where the bees have got in. I find myself quite literally blowing smoke up his arse as he farts out the invading critters.

We decide that the only way to get at the queen is to remove the RV fridge. We could do with a propane fridge so this might be an opportunity. We retreat to fight another day and ask permission from the owner to take the RV apart.

In the state of Nayarit, we have had imposed upon us for a number of weeks now a total ban on alcohol. Beer, gin, wine and vodka have been considered unessential to life. Needs must and in the spirit of the great prohibition it is fair to say we haven’t suffered. Mainly because in practice we haven’t been without booze at all. Bootlegging is the new sexy. Cases of beer can be purchased if you know the right password. It is possible, with a little luck and guile, to avoid road blocks and drive to another state to stock up. There is even the opportunity to collect take away “free” beer given away by local establishments in exchange for a small donation to a “chicken charity”. After some weeks of this farce the governor very suddenly announced a stop to the ban. He admitted that it had been a complete failure and had given criminal gangs a great opportunity to make a small fortune. Sanity is restored.

Despite the ability to buy now essential alcohol we are completely unable to buy any unessential goods. These includes pots, pans, socks, pants, toys, sporting goods, clothes, shoes, hair dyes, electronics, household items. Pretty much anything except food and drink. So, it’s possible to get to the checkout at Costco with ten crates of beer but without pants. Bizarre.

It’s some days since we were chased away from the RV. I have two painful holes in my legs to remind me. They are by far the worst bee stings I have had. Those bees were hard buggers. Unfortunately, the RV owner did not like the idea of removing his fridge or saving bees . Hopefully the queen managed to escape before he poisons them.

I have been whinging a bit too much lately. Bee stings and spider bites have been disabling and irritating. My shoulder, neck and left arm have been sore and stiff for weeks after my last attack. On close examination of my shoulder it looks like either one spider bit me six times or he had company and they all had a go. The bites were slow to heal so Jayne investigated and pulled a fang out of one of them! Since then things are improving but my left arm is notably weaker than my right. I’ve started a little extra exercise and have hung a punch bag under the yoga deck to build up my arm strength again. Less whinging ahead.

Our gardens continue to flourish with the sun and water. Our tomatoes, pineapples and parsley are doing well. We have been advised that our squash and zucchini are out of season but the flowers keep coming. We are waiting to see what happens. No one here is an experienced gardener. We are employing a chuck it in the ground and see what happens strategy. Lots to learn.

Now much has been written about the Primavera tree and quite rightly so. This is the ugly duckling of trees. For 50 weeks of the year it is an absolutely indistinctive bunch of brown branches. Then for two short weeks of the year it blurts into life. The shot of yellow blossom reflects the sun and belts out glowing golden colour like beacons. They are stunning and clear proof that Spring has indeed sprung.

Primavera in bloom photo credit: John Curley

The colours of spring here are spectacular. It’s when the flowers are at their most vibrant and abundant. Life appearing everywhere. Bright vivid green Iguanas dash around the bush. It’s also the time here when the leaves fall. The ground is thick with them right now. As are our solar panels. I have to carry the ladder over the hill a number of times a week to keep up these days.

Our new kitchen is all but finished. I still have to make and install two doors and a few shelves. Then fit the serving counters and make some secure shutters and finish the electrics and lighting…. but apart from all that, nearly finished. We have double sinks inside and out. We bought a rather sexy six burner oven/stove which slots in perfectly. There are polished concrete counters and many shelves built in. It’s going to be outstandingly useful when I get around to those little finishing jobs.

As part of the process we have run electricity from our bar into the kitchen. In doing so the electrical box fell off the bar support. On further inspection, the bar support, which is one of three large logs of copomo wood, has seen better days. It looked a little weather worn. I took a crowbar and decided to test the rest of the structural bits. Somewhat surprisingly when given a push the supports all but exploded. Huge lumps of shattered wood. Clearly copomo is not the best choice for supporting much in the tropics. The bamboo fascia also disintegrated on touch. The whole thing went from bar to no bar in about 8 minutes. Just the two parota bar tops remain.

Shattered lumps of Copomo that was holding the bar up

Julio has been building the kitchen and generally helping us out all year. He lives close by with his wife and small daughter. He grew up here and has great local knowledge. He disappears into the jungle for a day and returns proudly with a supply of special “30 year” wood. Its dark and very heavy. It takes our largest chainsaw to go through it. This will become the new bar. The parota bar tops are installed on top of three large pieces secured with long lag bolts. Screws won’t do it. This stuff is like metal. The sharp strands of sawdust feel like swarf. Eventually the over heating chainsaw produces slices of the stuff which are lined up as fascia and concreted into the ground. It’s a rustic but good-looking result. It will almost certainly be around longer than I will.

The road block into town has finally been taken down. There is a constant police presence but no one is being stopped unless they look particularly dodgy. San Pancho beach is still, however, effectively closed. Police and military have been chasing people off, hauling a few repeat offenders away and fining others. Now there are no tourists it seems madness to prevent locals social distancing at what is effectively the safest place we have.

Lo De Marcos has the attraction of having the same sun setting just a few miles south and a far more sensible enforcement regime. We sit at the beach or swim in the sea as the sun hits the water and gives us a show. We take dinner from Tomatina’s bar which is serving take away food and add a Margarita or two for good measure. Every time we make the effort to see the day out on the beach we are reminded of our good fortune. It’s food for the soul.

Sunset has also become something of a competitive environment for the photographers amongst us. Now pretty much everyone with a phone thinks they are a photographer these days. Most people will get lucky and capture something pretty now and again but those few that really know somehow get lucky all the time! To demonstrate this there follows a series of sunset shots from the past few weeks. Hoping I have the photo credits correct. It’s hard to keep up.

Despite many areas of Mexico that are only just coming to terms with the reality of the Covid threat, other areas are now looking at loosening restrictions. Reports of up to a thousand unreported deaths a day in Mexico City is not good news for the country or its international reputation. While in the San Pancho hospital this week we talked to nurses who told us that despite the official numbers they have had many Covid cases. There is a quarantined ward in the hospital full of patients right now. Ambulance drivers tell us they don’t want to step foot in the place.

Just when we think things could not get much stranger our world takes an highly unexpected turn that entirely resets our priorities.

It’s a new normal day. Jayne is working from her bed office. The boys are fixing a lump of polished parota to a concrete plinth to make an alter on the yoga deck. I have just finished a sweaty ouchy work out on the punch bag and am surprised to see Sasha home. He is working three days a week at the bar delivering food “to go”. His chain is loose on his motorbike and it has come off a few times. We decide if the jungle jeep starts first time he will take that and at the same time drop it in at the mechanics to get the headlight wires replaced. The jungle jeep does, remarkably, start first time.

A fairly productive day ends with a rare homemade dinner and a movie. It’s 11 pm and we are both slow and dozy when our phones ring. It’s Sasha but no voice. A distinctive beep noise and some guttural noises. We both assume his pocket has dialled us. I send a message to check all is well. Some minutes later we get a one word message: hospital.

We are dressed and on our way to town in moments. We are more curious than nervous until we get to the Pemex gas station and see the jungle jeep smashed up on a flatbed parked outside. We stop and run over but the recovery vehicle cab is empty. The jungle jeep’s heavy duty front bull bars are smashed, there is mud in the engine, the windscreen is mostly missing and the steering wheel looks like a rosette. Now we are scared.

As we arrive at the hospital in town we are met by a policeman and the recovery vehicle driver. The story they tell us is that they found Sasha by the side of the road unconscious at around 10 pm. They tell us they think he will be OK. This is a massive relief. We mask up and let ourselves into the ward to find him. There is little or no security at 11.30pm on a Wednesday night. Covid restrictions are not obvious.

Sasha is on a bed looking battered. The heart monitor in the bed next to him bleeps loudly. He has one of the most impressive black eyes I’ve ever seen. The swelling covers his right eye entirely. His “good” eye is almost closed and crested by a long line of stitches. A nurse is completing a further long line of stitches on his leg where there is a substantial wound. His general appearance is bloody and swollen.

He is somewhat lucid and in his usual good humour despite everything. He tells us that he didn’t make it to the mechanic so drove home after work in daylight around 8.30pm On a bend in the road he oversteered and the jeep flipped in the air. His last memory was curling up small and not considering this a good thing. He woke up in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Thankfully he had his phone and managed to get messages out.

We muck in and clean some of the blood off him. We find another hole in his ear and get that stitched too. He is hurting but breathing OK and is very keen not to spend much time in the hospital. We wheel him to get X-rays. By some miracle they don’t find any cracks to his skull. They do however find a displaced fracture in his foot.

We point out further holes in him that need attention. They have not removed his blood-soaked shirt or his shorts so have missed a few. After a short assessment, it is decided that because they haven’t found a skull fracture he is good to go. He is certainly not good but we do as we are told and prepare to wheel him into our truck. They write us a prescription for pain medication and antibiotics which we can’t fill till 9 am. It’s 2 am. He needs to go 7 hours without meds?

Our good friend Narciso has arrived. He is local and knows the working of the hospital and checks that we have not been overcharged. The whole bill is around $200US. If this was North of the border it would likely have been at least $20 000US so we happily pay. Narciso and Jayne both make sure that the doctors really do want to release him. He has a displaced fracture in his foot but apparently, they don’t have the materials to treat it so give us the name of a doctor 30 miles away to call in the morning. Sasha staying the night for observation is not an option apparently so we load him from the wheel chair in to our truck.

The travel home is slow. The Sub is smooth but every bump is greeted with a gurgle and a groan. We park the truck as close to the jungle cabin as possible. Sasha is in a heap of pain. His chest, arms, broken foot, head and most places in-between. I’m trying to hold him up but it’s not working. We shout to our friend Pato who is quarantining with us for a few weeks. He wakes up and comes over to help. We are trying to prevent his broken foot from taking any weight but it’s just not working. We are half way there and he runs out of energy. We manage to get a chair under him before he collapses. Bizarrely Pato has vanished. I find him doubled up on the ground. He is dizzy and nauseous . He crawls away and starts throwing up.

It’s 2.30 am in a pitch black jungle. One friend is broken to bits in a chair and another throwing up. At this point we notice the ants. The jungle floor is alive with them. Large black biting ants sense our weakness and decide to attack. I race to the bodega and return with the anti-ant poison and spray it around the chair. They are already climbing all over Sasha. Pato retreats home to recover and avoid being eaten. If I thought I wouldn’t have made things a lot worse I would have carried Sasha the rest of the way but it just wasn’t possible. Another big painful effort and we made it to his cabin. No.22. Sasha lies flat on his back and does not look well. I wipe blood from his nose and ears and return quickly with all the pain killers we can find. His eyes are now both swollen shut. His face looks like someone has taken a cricket bat to a baboon arse. It’s not good.

I check on him through the night and am waiting outside the pharmacy at 9 am to stock up on painkillers and antibiotics. Sasha’s wife Molly has arrived from Lo De Marcos and stays with him. He hasn’t slept much at all and is complaining that he can’t breathe well. He is in a world of pain. We are unsure if this is due to seat belt bruising or something more serious. He has shoulder pain and shortness of breath which are both indicators of internal bleeding. Things are not OK. We want him to be checked out so try our best to move him but it’s not possible. He is in way too much pain. When he tries to sit up he can’t breathe. We call our local doctor to see if we can get her to come out. She’s not answering.

Pato and I race the Razor back into town and go straight to the hospital. We need a doctor and an ambulance or both. I insist that Sasha can’t be moved, he is in extreme pain, unable to breathe and showing signs of internal bleeding and needs help now. Four girls are on reception and could not be less bothered. They tell us that if he was released from hospital he will be fine and they will not trouble a doctor and they don’t have an ambulance. There is an ambulance parked outside the door in plain sight. We are told to go and find help elsewhere!! I am fucking furious but realise we are getting nowhere with these idiots.

Narciso is in town and we meet up to make a plan. He calls his contacts in the hospital. They confirm that they don’t have an ambulance ready. We call 911 and they tell us they do have an ambulance but no drivers. We get a message from Molly that Sasha is getting worse and is prepared to try and move into the Razor so I can drive him to a hospital that will take him seriously. We get back to No.22 as fast as I can drive.

Although it is clearly a great idea to get out of the jungle it just isn’t happening. Despite every effort Sasha cannot move. We have the option of a private ambulance from 30 miles away that will come for about $1000 US. He has no insurance so private health care is completely out of his budget. We are just about to make the call to spend the money when Pato finds another private ambulance with paramedics from nearby Sayulita who only want 1500 pesos! That’s $70US! Result. We jump in the Razor and again rally drive to the Pemex gas station to meet the ambulance so they can follow us in.

We are there in no time and are entirely grateful to see the flashing lights on the highway. The ambulance is new, modern, huge and has a Bay Watch logo on the side. The jungle road is a challenge but they follow us slowly. We get to the last dry river bed when the sirens go off and they stop. The driver won’t go any further. He has lost his exhaust and doesn’t want to inflict any further damage. We load a gurney and a fully equipped paramedic into the Razor and arrive outside No.22 in a cloud of dust.

While the paramedic checks out Sasha (while at the same time selling the services of his hospital in Sayulita) we call a friend who has a Toyota forerunner SUV that can take the gurney in the back. He arrives in 10 minutes flat. We carry Sasha very carefully strapped to the gurney into the Toyota and all meet up at the riverbed to transfer him and Molly to the stricken ambulance.

The Sayulita hospital requires a deposit of $4000US dollars so we head back to San Pancho hospital. The chief paramedic has rung his friend in the hospital who are now taking the situation very seriously. I follow the ambulance to the hospital where Pato, Narciso and myself wait outside. We are not allowed in. Covid rules now apply. We pay the paramedic his 1500 pesos and a further 3500 pesos for a new exhaust. We catch snippets of information through the emergency room door. They are talking about operating immediately as they suspect a liver bleed. He is not breathing well and his blood oxygenation is dropping. They are talking about intubating him. They are asking about his blood type. No one knows.

There is now a competent doctor and paramedic with Sasha. I can’t be directly helpful right now so decide to make my way back home where Jayne has been madly ringing around hospitals and trying to find a doctor while being on the phone managing meetings in Canada all morning. We are both deeply worried and exhausted. I’ve drank about a dozen diet cokes and have the caffeine shakes.

We need to find out where the vehicle has been taken to. The recovery driver would not accept a bribe to leave it in San Pancho the night before. We discover the jeep has ended up in Guayabitos which is about 20 miles North. We are both too exhausted to drive there so decide to leave it till the next day.

We get a message from Molly. The doctors are very concerned about Sasha but don’t have the resources to deal with him in San Pancho. They are both in an ambulance on their way to the General Hospital in Tepic. Tepic is the county capital and is over 2 hours North. Tepic has a metro population of 500 000 and is known to be a Covid hotspot. There are no hotel rooms or places to stay and all restaurants are closed. The San Pancho hospital director has now heard about the situation and is angry and embarrassed. Good. It is beyond obvious that Sasha should never have been released in the first place.

We finally sleep. We receive news the next morning. Molly reports back that Tepic General hospital is, to be kind, “basic”. All medicines need to be bought from the nearby pharmacy and handed to staff. They had to spend the night trying to sleep in a hospital corridor. They suspect Sasha has a ruptured spleen and they are considering operating. They hope to get a room and be under observation for 24 hours. They will decide about operating then. Staffing levels are low so Molly is having to do a lot of the care. The hospital is under Covid restrictions so will not let anyone else in to see him.

We take a trip to La Penita where our friendly mechanic who built the jungle jeep has agreed to help us retrieve it from the authorities. We meet up with the recovery driver from the hospital and talk to the policeman who attended. On the night, our friendly policeman decided not to make a report. We were the owners of the vehicle and weren’t pressing charges, and there was no one else involved in the accident. However, now that Sasha’s condition is considered more serious he has made a retrospective report and that has caused all sorts of red tape to be released. It is now required of us to drive to Tepic and present proof that the vehicle is ours and that we are not liable for anything and then we can get a piece of paper that will release the vehicle to us. Our mechanic lives in Tepic and knows people in the Federal offices so has agreed to do it for us.

It is a constant stress that Sasha does not have the money to cover his care costs let alone his recovery costs. We are happy to write off the vehicle and recovery costs but we have no clue what the next procedures will cost. Latest from Molly is that they have a room they are sharing with 5 others and the doctors have confirmed they will operate on him in the morning.

It is decided to raise some much-needed funds. Narciso takes on the task of collecting cash from local friends so we can get that to Molly quickly. She is required to pay for medical costs up front and in cash. We take on setting up a GoFundMe page and distributing it to the many friends Sasha has around the world. There is a lot of love and generosity for this man. We surpass our ambitious target within hours. This a massive relief and removes all the financial stress from the situation. We can now apply all our energies to Sasha’s recovery. Molly confirms she has the money to cover the hospital bills and there is a fund to allow Sasha time to recover and have access to private care if required. . We are all immensely relived and grateful.

It takes a further trip to our mechanic to give him more bits of paper before he makes his second trip to Tepic to get us permission to take back our vehicle. It will be back in his care directly from the tow company as soon as we pay them an eye watering amount for pulling the thing out of the ditch. Then he can assess the damage. Make the repairs and finally sell the bloody thing.

On the way back we find the crash site. The policeman sent us all the pictures he took on his phone. The photos were taken at night and are far from clear but they show a distinctive blue chair close to the vehicle. We find the chair for reference and are stunned. The jeep was driven off a steep drop above a concrete culvert. How Sasha survived is entirely unclear. He is one lucky man.

The operation was a success. They found over two litres of blood in his abdomen so it was about time. He was effectively spatchcocked and has a scar from sternum to pubis. Molly is given a jar with most of Sasha’s spleen inside to take to the pathology lab! There is still a small portion inside him that they hope to persuade some function from. A doctor friend who trained at the Tepic hospital visited Sasha. He confirmed that despite the disorganisation, lack of cleanliness and absence of staff the hospital does give good care and the surgeons are highly skilled. While concentrating on other more pressing priorities his broken foot still hasn’t had any attention. Molly continues to care for him as well as the others in his room who have no one to help them. The stories they will tell…

Sasha is finally feeling well enough to contact us. We are communicating again which is fantastic. He is going to need many more days in Tepic before he can walk and manage his pain levels. But he is alive. He will be back. He will ride again. Thank God.

Jungle Journal

Strange New World

April 25, 2020April 25, 2020
by Beave

Our own version of this strange new world, to be absolutely honest, has changed considerably less than most. Living where we do, in a lone treehouse in a Mexican jungle has the concept of social isolation sorta kinda built in. The practice of isolation is, however, clearly a different matter.

We have been fortunate enough to create our lives here by claiming our right to choose and defining ourselves by those choices. We instinctively question any pressures to conform to other’s expectations. The removal of choice, being told what to do and being required to conform to media driven social expectations are not easy things for us to assimilate.

But needs must. No matter what view one takes of the Covid 19 pandemic and its short term and long-term implications on us all, we have to accept that it poses a real threat to life for the old and infirm. There are enough vulnerable people around us that we choose to seriously consider the restrictions the Government here throw our way. In order to stay at least as sane as we were before all this kicked off does, however, require some effort.

Our president, it has to be said, was very late to the game. Only a few weeks ago he was cuddling babies and actively encouraging the Mexican people to go out and meet friends and eat in restaurants. There were well publicized announcements that Covid 19 was a white gringo disease and poor brown people were immune.

April Supermoon : photo credit John Curley

A strongly fatalistic attitude is strongly built into the Mexican nation’s psyche. The deep-seated belief that all will be OK because of the overseeing protection of God in daily life that the Catholic church promotes. The practicalities of forcing an average size Mexican family living in very modest accommodation to stay home is virtually impossible. Worryingly there are a frightening number of families here that live day to day. They earn money daily to buy enough food daily to feed the family. Few have bank accounts and fewer have any savings. There is a dangerous mix of ignorance, bravado and fear.

Despite the challenges our little town has practically closed down. Our sizeable part-time community of retirees and “snow birds” have migrated north early. There are no tourists. There is a solid base of full time locals and expats but not enough to keep shops, bars and restaurants open even if they weren’t shut down by government decree.

There is a constant frustration that we should be doing more to help in a crisis. The crisis here is more the effects of the economic shutdown rather than the effects of the virus. There is clearly not enough testing here and under reporting of infection rates. There are, therefore, very few confirmed cases in our area but thankfully no reported deaths. Deaths are harder to hide.

Supermoon lights up the beach at midnight photo credit Josh Meister

San Pancho is home to the only hospital within a 50 mile radius. It has a Covid 19 ward ready to go but it is empty at the moment. There has been a single case of an older lady who was already unwell who was brought from outside the area. She is so far, the only confirmed person to have died with Covid 19 in San Pancho. In January and February there were surprisingly regular funerals in the town for older people who had pneumonia. These predated the official response so we can only speculate if they were viral.

Sleeping dogs at appropriate social distance apart

On the occasions when we venture out to our practically empty and fully stocked supermarkets we buy a bunch of extra food. We are amongst many that are supporting our community centre EntreAmigos by donating food to distribute to local families in real need. There are over 150 food packages delivered weekly and the local community kitchen is serving over 400 meals a day. It’s a mammoth task keeping this all going on donations alone.

Mexico is now in Phase 3 of its reaction to Covid 19. Because of its slow start there is now a period of overcompensation by officials. Here are a few of the very latest (in many cases counter-productive) measures. We are no longer allowed to have more than two people in a vehicle. This effectively pushes people to use the far riskier option of public transport. Anyone over 60 or pregnant, post-surgical or with diabetes cannot for any reason at all leave their houses in the entire state of Jalisco. We may not set foot on any beach. We cannot swim or surf. No more watching sunsets !!

There is also the issue of alcohol sales. There is evidence that the already worrying levels of domestic violence locally are made considerably worse by forcing families to spend time together and then adding alcohol. Fair point. So, in the entire state of Nayarit alcohol sales are suspended indefinitely. Beer, wine and tequila are now the new black-market currencies.

No wine liquor or beer sales until further notice

The infamous annual influx of Mexican families and “spring break” Americans to our beaches over Semana Santa has been a real worry for everyone over the past weeks. All our good intentions and actions count for naught if thousands of non-isolating drunk crazies flood our town. It’s a highly anticipated holiday that Mexican city folk and over excited American students plan for all year. It will take some dramatic actions to keep them away.

CLOSED : This Easter stay in your house please

To help the situation it has been widely published that Nayarit & Jalisco states are closed to visitors entirely. Hotels are closed down. Tens of thousands of hotel rooms are empty. Restaurants & bars closed. Alcohol sales stopped. Army and Police are stationed on beaches to keep even the most motivated surfer out the water. Anti-tourism in action.

Despite all of this there are still a contingent who will not be put off. We have had the odd Spring Breakers arrive in town who amazingly claim they are in Mexico to get away from their friends who are all sick!! We still have families from Guadalajara arriving with granny, six kids, floaties and a tent rammed into a tiny car expecting to camp out for the week. To keep them away San Pancho and Sayulita and Lo De Marcos have all set up road blocks at the entrances to their towns. Only locals with good reason are allowed to enter. No suitcases or strangers or signs of fun allowed. They are manned by local volunteers 24 hours a day. Easter comes and goes and it feels like a less hot week in October. No one around and everything shut. So much better than thousands of sweaty drunk bodies licking things and filling our space for sure.

For the good of everyone , stay in your house

There is a worrying attitude to health workers here that has raised its ugly head. Nurses in Mexico are generally under appreciated and very poorly paid. The fact that they may have be exposed to the Covid Virus is not helping. One of the road blocks turned away a nurse trying to get home after a 12-hour shift because they considered her a risk to the town. This incident attracted National press attention and the threat of 20 years in prison to the organisers of the road block for abusing an essential worker. Despite this, nurses are still getting harassed. It’s as different as can be from the appreciation given to the front-line staff in the UK. No clapping on doorsteps here.

My daughter has just re-registered as a front-line nurse for the NHS and starts her shifts very soon. Couldn’t be prouder.

This is the amazing centre of a Hibiscus flower (not a virus) … photo credit John Curley

It is becoming obvious that alcohol has been replaced as a social crutch by sugar. Everyone is baking. There are coconut macaroons exchanged for brownies, cinnamon rolls and pecan pie. So much banana bread! There is even millionaire’s shortbread doing the rounds. I’m grateful that I do not possess a sweet tooth. I would be a very much larger gentleman without my inability to handle sweetness. My svelte like ballerina body is challenged enough by my love of Guinness, cheese and steak pies.

My birthday comes and goes with our first on-screen zoom party hosted from the treehouse. It’s a strange affair but certainly a bit of different. Jayne is happily working her way through the mass of sugar based birthday treats that continue to arrive for me for some days afterwards. I’m happy for her as I concentrate my efforts depleting our stocks of tequila.

Huge black bees pollenate the morning glory flowers

The current road to Guadalajara has a famous stretch through the mountains that is single lane with endless switchbacks and hairpin bends. It is common for large trucks to overturn and block the road both ways for hours. The last one we passed after many hours of waiting in line was an apple truck. A small crew was there to pull the truck off the road and a larger crowd had appeared to kindly remove all the apples. We get a call from town. Another truck has overturned. This time there is a more interesting cargo than apples. It’s the Costco truck carrying wine to the Puerto Vallarta store. We offer to help. Our wine stocks are now filled with a number of decent bottles of Chardonnay that have literally fallen off the back of a lorry.

Time on our hands has proved good for the gardens. The streams are still running so there is water to spare for plants and time in our lives to apply it. Plants do rather well with sun and water. Who knew! We have eaten beans from our stalks and are watching our Zucchini take over! The flowers are being replaced with huge green edibles. It’s all rather splendid. We have lost one rather flakey lime tree that did not like to be moved and gained dozens of flowers and baby trees that appear to be doing well. Apart from Zucchini our gardens seem to suit beans, cilantro, chilies, sweet potatoes, pineapples, corn and ants. We are currently managing to grow things at a slightly faster rate than the ants can prune them. This may not continue so anti-ant strategies are in place.

We are absolutely blessed that after all these months the highway boys have moved on. They left with a few additional bangs of close by explosions that we watched with pans on our heads, just in case. It’s silent again. That is actually not true. The birds have returned and the insects are gearing up for their nightly Summer crescendos. It’s a mixed blessing. Although there is the sweet chorus of tropical bird song all day long our mornings are somewhat less peaceful. The Chacaluccas are mating and telling us all about it. Every morning for the past few days, just before sunrise, we are awoken to the shrill screeches of large black flirting gobshites right outside the treehouse window, above high in the copomos and way over the valley and beyond. The noise is extraordinary. The locals call them the turkey of the jungle. Apparently, they are delicious. I’m willing to find out.

Our version of isolation does allow us a considerable freedom of movement that we do not take for granted. We have ventured out a few times now and came across a previously undiscovered waterfall close by. It’s modest right now but in the rainy season it will be spectacular. We have also spent time around the new highway to be. By following the river, we find a drainage valley heading up the mountain and climb the ravine to have a nose about. In front of us looms the new highway. It’s invisible from where we are in the valley. It’s perched on top of a ginormous toweringly steep wall of earth. At its base is a corrugated metal tunnel that appears to allow water from one side to the other. It’s a water free zone right now and we are both curious enough to decide to climb through it.

The tunnel is big enough to move through but small enough to feel highly uncomfortable. At no time do you forget there are thousands of tons of earth above your head. We bash the sides with a machete to scare off any snakes or other beast that may be lurking in the dark. A few awkward minutes later and we pop out the other side. Apart from the jungle mountain continuing upwards there is nothing much to see. Behind us the other side of the steep earth mound and the highway sitting about 40 feet above us.

We return home more curious than before. I decide to make the trip to the top of the earth stack and find out what we are in for when the tarmac crews eventually arrive to finish the job. Along the river there are a number of points where some months ago water has found its way from above and left behind rock falls that are reasonably jungle free. I make my way slowly upwards trying to avoid the long tendrils of thorn covered jungle that have the knack of sneakily wrapping around your leg or neck and pulling you over when you least expect it. Not ideal when balanced on an unsecured rock. It takes some time but I manage to make my way out of the canopy and reach the wall of earth leading very steeply upwards. By kicking into the softer parts and using the machete to create hand holds I make slow progress. There are some moments of sliding backwards but nothing too dramatic. I reach the top both dirty and sweaty. It’s midday and there is no shade.

I’m not there yet. The road that I have found is small and uneven and clearly an access road to the main highway which is still 20 feet above. I follow the road for a few hundred yards and find it blocked by a very large rock fall. Probably the result of one of the explosions. The no-access road in the other direction soon runs out. Nothing ahead at all just a further earth bank descending to the valley floor that is too steep to tackle. Only one way to go. The final twenty feet upwards is harder earth with rocks to hang onto so easier to handle. Finally, I’m standing on where the new highway will be.

It’s flat and wide and stretches as far ahead and as far behind as it’s possible to see. It’s high up on the mountain and the top of the jungle canopy fills the horizon in all directions. Noise goes up not down so that’s a good thing for us. The surprise is that despite the size of the operation to construct it the road itself does not appear to be wide enough for the six-lane monster highway that was advertised. It’s possible to squeeze four lanes in at a push. Maybe two larger lanes with room either side maybe. This is a very good thing. I’m most relived to discover it’s flat. Very flat with no incline at all. This means no braking noise and particularly no air brakes. This was our worst fear. So, this underused over expensive highway shouldn’t cause us any issues when it opens. I happily get out of the sun, work my way downwards through the jungle and follow the river home to share the good news.

For the past month, we have kept the boys employed and busy building our outside kitchen. There has been considerable progress. The walls are built and rendered. There are concrete shelves and work tops appearing. Plumbing and drainage are laid for a double sink indoors and another one outside. We have “borrowed” a window and had another made to our design. There is still a floor to lay, doors to make, a serving counter to install and a secure shutter to build. We need to buy a large oven to install but the oven shop is not considered an essential service so is currently very closed.

I have been keeping myself busy by working with large lumps of parota wood for days shaping and polishing to make the serving counter. There are dozens of planks stacked against the bodega that I’ve slowly soaked in diesel fuel to repel termites and stained to look pretty. They will eventually become the doors and shutters. By the time we are allowed out on our own again we should have a fully functional and quite beautiful Corona-kitchen.

Our immediate outside world here is again changing before our eyes as the temperature rises slowly. Bats in our Bodega are numerous. We have literally dozens of the little hairy buggers hanging by one leg from the roof until disturbed. It is now normal to have a cloud of bats above my head whenever I’m trying to find a spanner or sharpen a machete.

Apart from the obvious, life has changed in a number of more unexpected ways. Bi-weekly laundry runs have slowed down considerably. Clothes have always been optional in the jungle but as we really don’t go anywhere else we are getting a good couple of extra days out of our shirts and pants. We would hardly need laundry at all if we didn’t change the sheets and towels when they get properly grotty.

Our diet has also improved dramatically in entirely unforeseen ways. We are blessed to have at hand a contingent of professional chefs who are entirely under employed. Our Montreal French chef friend is offering one beautiful single well balanced nutritious dish every two days to be collected from her house. They are all fabulous. Some of her profits go to the food bank and she also feeds the volunteers at the road block so it’s totally healthy guilty free grub. Our happy food faces are further supplemented by Sunday morning Birria collected in our own bucket from the delightful old ladies in town. Our favorite restaurant is closed but they offer a basket of locally sourced produce that we collect every week. It’s full of all the green things we would usually skip over. So apart from the over stock of sugary stuff and alcohol we are eating rather well.

Earlier this week I took a machete to an area of over growth that has not been touched since we arrived here. I recovered a small rock wall from the bush that runs from behind the new kitchen next to the bar all the way up the hill ending next to our rock stairs. There was a large quantity of overhanging branches and vines that needed to be tamed. The process was satisfying. Our newly discovered wall now hides both the water pipes (hot and cold) leading to the kitchen , that after at least a week of prevarication, I eventually installed.

Unfortunately, sometime during the process of clearing the jungle some beast took exception to me disturbing their peaceful existence with a sharp blade and overreacted somewhat. It took a chuck out of my shoulder. Whatever this thing was left a number of holes in me and gifted me a good dose of toxin. The skin around my neck, shoulder and arm feels like it is sunburnt and my muscles ache. The wound itself is ugly and sore. Apart from the irritation of the discomfort I am feeling decidedly weak and apathetic. The consequence is that I’m now staying at home, not working and taking the time to rest. The Mexican government and a global pandemic has failed to slow me down but some poisonous tree dwelling caterpillar or spider has done a splendid job.

So as much as there is the ever-present nagging guilt to get super fit, read books, learn a language and stay productive I am focusing my now considerably reduced motivation into just being. Being here now. Wish me luck.

Staying at least as sane as we once were ….. maybe

Jungle Journal

I hit dead people ….

March 27, 2020March 27, 2020
by Beave

We are all watching the world go mad and our interaction with it change. It’s mind bending. Just a few short weeks ago things were their own version of normal. It seems like a long time ago already. Let’s go back a little.

We have replaced the roof on the outdoor kitchen that has become a rain drain. When the rains came somehow, we managed to get significantly wetter underneath the roof than in the open!? The process of rebuild involves knitting halved palm leaves together. Simple enough but the make-shift scaffold that was constructed to make this happen was something to behold. One ginger gringo throwing up huge palm leaves to two Mexicans balanced on a couple of ladders, breeze blocks and 4x4s. It was wince inducing even to look at it. Gladly no accidents and no injuries. We have a new roof.

Knitting a palm roof on a highly janky scaffold

Jayne has been working hard all year and for at least three days a week she is set up in her office bed wrangling folk in Canada from her phone and laptop. I am taking up an avoidance strategy and leave the house early to get stuff done. I return on occasions to throw tea and cake at her but have a good amount of unsupervised time. The result of this and having the boys working full time is proving productive.

The jungle has a new resident. When Pauly departed he renamed the jungle cabin No.22 after his favorite number. No.22 did not stay empty for long. Our dear friend Sasha has taken residence. He is a fine human and we all rub along very nicely so it’s a blessing.

No.22 La Colina The Jungle Nayarit Mexico

Sasha at No.22 Photo credit : John Curley

Our yoga deck has been left alone for too long. It gets some serious attention. The front area has now been tiled. The concrete roof supports have had marbles set into fine concrete work and look splendid. The pathway up to the deck is now clear of spikey things and a river rock floor has been laid. Stone walls will now direct water away from where we don’t want it and also form a small deck garden which we have planted.

We are fortunate enough to have a huge vivero (plant shop) not too far away with thousands of strange and wonderful growing things to choose from. It’s crazy cheap to fill up the Sub and fill up our beds. The gardens are looking impressive.

Another otherwise neglected area is coming alive. In front of the Mariposa cabaña is a strip of clay earth where we have failed to grow much. It was held up by the wooden block centers from the palm trees we used to build. Over time these have disintegrated and it started to look pretty ropey. The boys came to the rescue. Using cement and blocks spare from the kitchen build to create a retaining wall. This allowed the space to back fill with good earth from the river to create a fertile spot. We planted with pretty things and added water. In less than a week the pineapples that had stubbornly failed to fruit burst into life. We now have eight of them all competing with each other. Pineapples are certainly in our future.

New retaining wall ready for some artwork

The people have spoken. We are nagged into arranging another of our jungle dinners. Our French chef agrees and I begin taking stock of the things we need. It has been sometime since we last did this and inevitably we have lost a few things. We need more plates, more glasses, more cutlery. The rains have destroyed some things we unwisely left outside. We need more chairs for sure. I spend my unsupervised days restocking. I buy a load of cheap raw wood and wicker chairs and soak them in diesel to repel the termites before staining and waterproofing them.

We lay the huge tables, set up the chairs. Jayne is arranging fresh flowers when she gets a message that stops her in her tracks. Jayne’s best UK friend Katherine has committed suicide. We have known that Kat has been struggling for some time and have been encouraging her to come and spend time with us here but she didn’t make it. It’s the worse news. She was such a truly lovey person. I met Jayne and Kat together five years ago in the deserts of Aragon in Spain. Jayne is in shock and absolutely distraught.

Despite the news we prepare ourselves as best we can and with a lot of help from fabulous friends the dinner is done and a very good evening it was too. All our usual guests were present. 22 long term residents of San Pancho. Many of these fine folks are older than most. As it turns out this would be their last authorised socializing for a while.

The morning after the dinner Jayne flies to Toronto to wrangle folk face to face for two weeks. She hasn’t slept and is struggling with grief. Jayne, as always, doesn’t want to leave the jungle but on the plus side it does give me a whole two weeks unsupervised. It takes me the entire day to clean up after the dinner. I have never washed and polished so many glasses. Jayne finally arrives in Toronto late and exhausted and kindly sends me a picture from her bath eating takeaway Thai food. She is fully aware that those are two things I miss madly.

Tomatina bar hosts an afternoon of music in Lo De Marcos a short trip up the highway. We are blessed to have a large number of excellent proper talented local musicians. A bunch of them have formed a band. An extraordinary girl with a stunning voice is backed up by sax, guitar, keyboard, drums and trumpet. It’s a very fine afternoon of food , music and margaritas by the beach. The place is packed with a large contingent from San Pancho and retired Canadians from the adjoining trailer park. It ends well and just after sunset I’m given a lift back to the Pemex petrol station in San Pancho where I have left my car. It’s a short drive back to the jungle from there avoiding any real roads.

It may not be a complete surprise to know that I have had some very embarrassing moments in my life. What happens next is up there as one of the most painful. In my defense, the one thing we learned about our beloved Toyota Cruiser Sub is that it is almost impossible to reverse safely. The spare wheel obscures the rear window and the width of the thing make the side mirrors next to useless. Every owner we have spoken to tell us stories of reversing into things regularly. To mitigate this issue, we installed a reverse camera and a screen to help make things less dangerous.

Aware of the difficulties I slowly reverse out of the parking spot. It’s dark and my vision through the camera screen is partially blocked by a tent shade right next to me. There is a sudden jolt and it’s clear that I have hit something. I jump out the sub and am confronted with a terrifying sight. I have somehow managed to smash into the back of a hearse. Around the hearse are a collection of distraught mourners. All of them are glowering at me in horror and wailing that I have hit their dead mother!!! I am in shock. I almost can’t believe it. I start to apologise profusely to everyone, including the corpse, crossing myself and holding my hands together in shameful prayer. One of the sons takes pity on me. Hands me the wheel cover that has fallen off and allows me to remove myself from the scene. I have never been more grateful. I leave as quickly and carefully as I can.

Now this situation may be bad enough but somehow things get worse. I reverse myself around the hearse and at that very moment an invisible milk truck parks behind me and I hit the side of it. I jump out of the Sub again. The milk guys jump out of their cab and we meet up to examine the damage. It’s only a slight dent but I throw 500 pesos at them which they happily accept as recompense. This further deeply awkward nightmare is watched by the mourners who have all gathered to gawk at me. They are deciding amongst themselves if I am drunk or high or just a complete bloody moron. I accept that I am indeed a moron and drive home slightly traumatised and in absolute shame.

The pool party that was cancelled due to rainstorm at the end of January is rescheduled and after some weeks of effort our pool is looking clean and ready for anything. Some credit must be given to our newest investment that we had smuggled into the country. Hagrid is our new pool robot. Sexy looking thing which trawls the pool collecting debris and climbs the walls giving them a scrubbing on the way. The crew from Tomatina beach bar have wanted to come out and see where we live for a long time. Sasha is the bar manager there. They close up and head junglewards. We BBQ and swim in the pool and enjoy the silence. The construction machines have stopped for the public holiday. It’s a welcome break.

And then the world changes. We no longer all meet up for sunset. The pub closes. Tomatina closes. The tourists all leave. Trump finally wakes up a bit. Boris is doing his best Winston Churchill impressions. Italy loses staggering amounts of its people every day. It is now without doubt that Miley Cyrus (coronavirus) is a serious thing. How many ventilators are there in Nayarit? There are a disproportionate number of vulnerable retirees here to add to the large indigenous elderly population.

Jayne’s time in Toronto is not as she expected. She is there to interview dozens of companies at her Toronto office. Within days of arriving all meetings are cancelled; the office is shut down and she is working from her phone and laptop in her hotel room. Her employer’s absolute resolve to discourage her working from home has not worked out well for them. Everyone is now working from home. Except Jayne who is now far from home. She is making the best of it.

We rearrange her flight as soon as we can to get her home. It’s not till midweek. Jayne makes the best of it and meets her very good friend Isabelle who visits her for the weekend from Quebec. In order to make this visit Isabelle has to agree to work from home for two weeks on her return. They have a strange few days being the only ones in many restaurants and wandering the deserted streets of ghost town Toronto. Things are getting very real very quickly.

Jayne arrives at the almost entirely empty airport in Toronto for her flight home. The flight is not cancelled despite it being the first direct flight all week to Mexico having a total of six passengers. The crew tell her that the flight is overbooked on the way back with escaping Canadians so thankfully they have to go. I pick her up at the airport. We are both mightily relieved she got home under the wire as airlines are grounded and borders closed. We head to the posh supermarket on the way home and buy all the things we need for 14 days quarantine in the treehouse. We send pictures of the mountains of pasta, rice and toilet paper we have here to our jealous friends around the world. Mexico is way behind the curve in preparing for the crisis ahead but all shops are fully stocked, there is no panic buying.

We are now in quarantine in our treehouse listening the falling copomo nuts loudly smashing into the roof and balcony. We are together and so far, healthy and wanting for nothing. We are immensely grateful for our good fortune as we watch the world shut down and life as we know it change. We are look forward to sharing again when we all meet up on the other side of this. However that may look.

This is the eulogy that Jayne wrote for our dear friend Katherine.

Last week one of my best friends, Katherine Stewart, died. ?

It has hit me very hard, and reminds me how important it is to be grateful for every day and to take care of each other.

Kat and I met as two young, single ladies seeking our fortune in the big, lonely metropolis that is London. We soon discovered that we were kindred spirits and became great friends and had many adventures over those years in London.

We travelled… We went to Paris, Berlin, Italy, Thailand, Spain, Turkey and more. Katherine was one of the rare and precious people who I could travel well with for long periods of time.

We played Ultimate Frisbee, we skied, we windsurfed, we camped, we danced, we drank wine, we cooked & baked! We shared a love of food and cake and cheese and often cooked for each other.

She celebrated my 25th birthday with me, and then helped plan the lavish masquerade ball I held for my 30th. She and I loved dressing up, costumes, bright colours, funky shoes…

Kat lived with me for a few months in Greenwich when she was buying her flat, and then decorating it with her incredible unique style.

We witnessed each other’s love lives, acted as wing women, cheerleaders and shoulders to cry on. We were there for each other. We joked that it was a shame we weren’t lesbians because then we could just marry each other and live happily ever after.

I moved away to ride the Americas on my motorbike, but we stayed in touch, and when I came back to visit London I always stayed with Katherine and we always fell right back into our effortless friendship as though we had never been apart.

We went to Spain to Nowhere, the European Burning Man, together. Katherine is my only friend who was there with me when I met Beave.

It wasn’t only me who moved away… Most of our London friends left London, fell in love, had children… And Katherine started, very slowly, to become consumed by darkness – it was just a bit harder to cope with the stresses and get back up when life knocked her down. Mediation helped, as did cake and chatting to friends, but the darkness was there in the background creeping in.

Katherine stayed in London’s gloom, working at unfulfilling, stressful jobs and searching for, and not finding, the right partner to share the highs and lows of life with.

Kat recognised the mental health issues she was facing and she sought help. Counselling, anti-depressants, therapy, CBT and other therapies all were tried. She did everything right. Just like so many other diseases, sometimes the treatment doesn’t cure you.

We saw each other when we could, going to occasional festivals or events together and spending a few days together at my house or her flat – we even went to a cottage in Norfolk for a few days together.

I moved to Mexico and over the past few years Katherine’s mental health gradually declined – the darkness settled in. Kat kept fighting though. Each time I asked Katherine told me that she “wasn’t recovering but she had high hopes for the next few months” or that although she couldn’t see the path to being well again, her therapist could.

I kept trying to convince her to come to the jungle, to get out of the isolation of being alone in a huge city – to spend some time with people who love her, in nature and sunshine. She said over and over that she would come, but couldn’t yet. I offered to buy her plane ticket, to make all the arrangements, but the darkness had taken hold, and she couldn’t even contemplate getting to the airport, never mind all the way to Mexico. But she kept fighting, kept trying new therapists, kept trying to find her lost mojo, to stop feeling so very tired.

Last week Katherine sent me a message out of the blue; “Sending love to sunny Mexico x” I replied but did not get another message in return.

It was the last I ever heard from her, her goodbye message to me. Shortly afterwards that darkness that she had been fighting for so long won and took her from us all.

It is nearly inconceivable that my Katherine, the strong, independent, capable, bright, laughing, dancing whirlwind whom I love so dearly could get to such a low, dark, terrible place where to go on living was no longer an option for her.

I certainly did not think that she was in that place. I naively still believed that she would be well enough to come to Mexico soon. To come to heal, to laugh.

I keep telling myself that she is now at peace, and no longer hurting or fighting the darkness or trying to be strong.

In 2018 Katherine’s school friend Liz committed suicide and Kat sent me this message about it:

“The celebrant at Liz’s funeral said it was just her body that was gone and she would live on in our hearts and minds. We are just all trying to make sense of it happening and inevitably trying to think how we could have prevented it. Pointless of course, it happened and we have to accept it. So very very sad and final.”

I am trying to take some kind of solace in that message, to do as Kat said we must, and not feel that I should have prevented it, to find some way to “accept it”.

Katherine will, of course, always live on in my (broken) heart and my mind as my dear friend, the strong, vibrant, independent, active, clever, funny, loyal, beautiful woman she was. I shall never forget her. In fact, at the moment I don’t know how I will get through the grief and shock of losing her. But get through it I will. The tears will dry, the pain will fade to a dull ache, Katherine will take up residence in my heart, and life will go on.

Mental illness is no joke my friends. Take it seriously and be kind to yourself and others. Visit your friends who are struggling – they may not be capable of coming to you.

I love you and I am here for you. ❤️

Jayne

Jungle Journal

Bees, Bribes and a touch of Silence

February 20, 2020February 20, 2020
by Beave

It’s been some months since our bees were scared away by a particularly impressive lightning storm. We have had our feelers out ever since to attract a queen to our newly refurbished bee homes. There is talk of a swarm causing some issues in a large mansion on top of the highest hill in San Pancho. There is further talk of destroying them so we decide to intervene. It has been agreed that we go along and attempt to save the swarm by relocating the queen to the jungle. We arrive as the sun goes down when the bees gather together for the night and are relatively calm.

The mansion is huge with very high ceilings and unfeasibly large glass windows. A British guy and his 2-year-old daughter are renting the place. They breakfast outside every morning and have bees falling out the light fittings above their heads constantly. We find a ladder, set fire to the smoker and suit up. The swarm is hidden from sight in the upper eves of the house and the only access we can find is via the tiled roof. Its precarious and somewhat hilarious. We are fully suited up with limited mobility and very poor visibility. We find ourselves in the dark, inelegantly balanced on loose roof tiles on top of the highest house in the town. What could possibly go wrong?

We hold onto each other for a modicum of safety as we lay flat on the sloped roof so as not to break the clay tiles or slip off and end up at the bottom of the hill some hundred feet below. The swarm is large and only accessible by pushing a gloved hand through a hole in the wall into the mass of bee bodies in an attempt to locate the queen. It’s during this process that the bees sense something is not quite right and start taking an unwelcome interest in us.

Handfuls of confused bees have been shoved into a black bin liner which they clearly dislike. The buzzing noise inside the suit is loud and we feel a few stings on less protected areas. It has become clear that the queen is very smart and has hidden herself deep in the cavities between the roof and the outside wall. It’s a mission impossible to be able to reach her without destroying large sections of mansion. We release the ungrateful bees from our bag and abandon our positions. We transverse the roof as quickly and cautiously as possible followed by a large number of rather pissed off bees. We smoke each other until the bees back off a bit and all arrive back on the ground thankfully safe. We need to find a better plan to encourage queeny to come out and be captured. More research required. We console ourselves with tequila and engage in a spontaneous game of ping pong in the mansion basement.

Time has overtaken us again and Pauly and Emma are heading back to the frozen UK. We are grateful for their company and their efforts. Emma’s agricultural engineering department leaves us with three newly restored garden areas. Pauly has left us a repaired and well tested jungle jeep along with kitchens doors and Yorkshire Gold tea.

After dropping them off at the airport I head home through a busy area with way too many traffic lights. Stopping at lights here is quite entertaining. There are the usual car window sellers who will try and persuade you that what you need more than anything else in the world is a large map of Mexico, bin liners or a plastic mobile phone holder. While ignoring these temptations there is often some skinny lad painted silver balancing on a rolling log with one leg while spinning a football on the other while juggling machetes with a further football on his hat and another on his chin. It’s impressive stuff. All that effort for a few pesos. The lights change and I throw coins into the silver guy’s hat while accelerating away. I notice some pretty lights behind me and it takes me a while to realise they are for my benefit. The traffic police have decided to stop me for a chat. I struggle to stop the car and surreptitiously remove all the cash from my wallet and hide it under the seat. Guests have just paid me a bunch of cash and I can’t have them see it and get any ideas.

I wind down the window and explain to the podgy face under an official looking hat that my Spanish is still in process but I will do my best to cooperate. He takes off his sunglasses and tells me that not only was I travelling way too fast but I had jumped a red light. It is clear that I did not jump a light and that it is unlikely that I was speeding. The game begins. He tells me that he needs to confiscate my driving license until I return to the local police station and pay both my fines. I ask him if he would do me a great favour and save me some time by accepting the fine from me in cash right now. He pretends to think about it. He tells me that each offence carry’s a fine of 3600 pesos. That’s a total fine of 7200 pesos please. That’s 300 quid or 400 dollars. Cheeky twat. I manage to keep a relatively straight face. He is prepared on this one occasion to accept cash from me and he will return my license. I know that the actual fines are a fraction of this and so am prepared to let him keep my license if it comes to it. I explain that I am but a poor gringo despite the Toyota and don’t have anywhere near that amount of cash with me. I show him my newly emptied wallet and the 650 pesos within. I empty it on the passenger seat and give him a “take it or leave it” look. He exchanges a knowing glance with his partner and begrudgingly throws me back my license and takes the cash.

EntreAmigos is the local community centre that is does amazing things. It’s been running for many years offering education, recycling., library and support for families and children in the area. They promote ecological consciousness within the community offering workshops and classes all year. We are all rather proud of the work they do and want to support them in any way we can. Most of the funding required to keep things happening is raised in one single evening. The great and good and naughty of San Pancho gather for this fundraising evening. We are invited to join friends seated at a table. Tickets to this event are eye wateringly expensive but we agree as it’s for a very good cause.

The whole event including all food, cooks, staffing and auction items are provided by donation, sponsorship or volunteers. I am required to help set up in the morning. The venue is an almost over the top beautiful beach front club with infinity pools and stunning heavy wood chairs and tables. It’s these hundred or so chairs and tables that it is my job to remove. It’s sweaty work but we are all in good spirits. Whales are rising off shore as they head South. We watch them as we work. The event itself is very well attended and a great success. Great food, music, and dancing. The auction raises over $10k alone. There is a satisfying community feeling of a job well done.

Despite the minor irritation of the highway construction team nearly killing our friends with their latest explosion it appears that they want to give it another go. On this occasion, they give us fair warning and install a lady with a sign at our gate to prevent anyone coming within range. This time the explosion is less of a surprise and the rocks fall a little short of us.

The engineers have assured us that they will not be on our doorstep for long. Since the New Year we have had machines smashing their way noisily through the jungle every day. Only after our complaints about them trying to kill us did they stop the night shift. It is somewhat ironic that we are disturbed by the shrill electronic scream of reversing heavy machinery. One of my first ever jobs was to introduce reverse alarms to the UK. Reverse Alarm was the first company I set up and the first product I designed and manufactured. I am responsible for the existence of tens of thousands of these bloody awful things. I’m finding it difficult to blame anyone else for our current suffering.

Two sets of guests have had to cut their stay short due to lack of sleep. It will be sometime next month that the big machines move away from us. We then get some respite from the horrible din until the next lot turn up to actually lay the highway. Maybe 6 months away we hope. When the thing is actually completed we are not expecting much intrusion at all. It will be another little used toll road which is thankfully fairly incline free so we won’t be subject to the horror which is airbrakes. When the night is still we can hear the fart of airbrakes from the hill into San Pancho. That’s near enough.

Businesses in the area have all raised their games (and prices) in the past few years to service the growing tourist market here. We are blessed with outstanding Mexican food, fresh seafood and more recently some more traditional steak & burger offerings for the well-heeled Canadians and Americans. There are a couple of missing elements. We would just about kill for a good Ruby. (Ruby Murray was a popular Irish singer in the 40s and 50s and her name is commonly used as slang for curry in certain parts of the UK. ) There has been a general lack of Asian food in the area. Jayne has even been giving cooking lessons in making Indian style curries as an attempt to fill the void. In recent weeks, our lives have been significantly improved by a couple of new restaurants we have found. One is a Thai place that can actually offer authentic versions of classic Thai dishes. The other is a Moroccan offering with extraordinary delicious babaganoush and slow cooked lamb. Both these places are in Sayulita which is usually a bit too busy for us and best avoided. This changes things. Too tempting not to make the 10-minute drive down the highway and endure 30 minutes finding a parking spot.

We have been nagged for many months to burn something on a beach again. It’s about time so we agree and set a date and forget about it for a while. Time has a way of getting away from you if you’re not paying attention and we realise that somehow it’s already February! Planning for this event has been notable by its absence. There has been talk of creating a wall …… but gringos building walls in Mexico doesn’t seem right somehow. There has been talk of constructing bridges … but gringos burning bridges may give the wrong message. We always have our trusted Coconut Lady Man symbol to fall back on. We have decided to play things by ear and allow a “design” to evolve. We start the process of collecting wood and tools while roping as many people into help as we can.

The word is out and there is good level of enthusiasm which manifests into a solid crew of helping hands. We pile up all the wood, grab some string and a few tools and open the beer cooler. We set about creating our wall/bridge/Coconut Lady Man hybrid. The following day we load up a convoy of vehicles and head for the beach. We drag huge lumps of drift wood and add it to the pyre. We balance our make shift bridge on top. We dig into the sand a series of large wooden cut out letters that spell the word JUNTOS which is Spanish for “together” . We throw up a palm wall and erect our Coconut LadyMan. Design complete. The theory is that the wall will burn down very quickly revealing our bridge and the fire will glow through the cutout letters overlooked by the Coconut LadyMan which will burn last. That’s the theory anyway.

We have had a call from the local batala samba drumming group who turn up in force and start things off. When they play the drum the people come. As the sun drops slowly in the afternoon sky people start arriving. We are at the very far North end of the beach so it’s a good walk from the town of Lo De Marcos. More people arrive. By the time the sun is hitting the water and we are ready to burn there are over 150 people of all ages. It’s a good mix of locals, gringos and a few tourists. Probably twice the number who made it last year.

We fuel up the structure perhaps a touch enthusiastically as our carefully thought out burn plan evaporates as the thing bursts immediately into flame. The walls do indeed burn quickly and reveal the letters and the bridge. Almost all the letters glow spelling out the word JUNTO which is actually a 17^th century British political faction but we assume that no one will figure that out. The bridge falls followed by our magnificent LadyMan whose coconuts burned off rather rapidly. The whole crowd watch the whole burn in absolute silence. It was a great spectacle for everyone and very emotional for some. There is magic in that silence.

We danced around the fire until late into the night. Thankfully everyone was incredibly respectful of the environment and took all their things back with them. The next morning there was not a single beer can or spot of trash. The official environmental assessment after the event was that we left the place in better shape than we found it. That’s a very good thing. Gives us great hope and inspiration for next time.

YOU are indeed exactly where you are supposed to be

Jungle Journal

Tarantulas, Kitchens & All the Rocks

February 10, 2020
by Beave

We eventually reappear in town after our New Year adventures. Many large Mexican families have spent many hours on buses to drag heavy coolers, kids & granny to our paradise beach for their New Year holiday in an undersized tent. The mad rains have somewhat scuppered them of any chance of fun or sleep. There are queues of buses at the end of town loading up long lines of tired, miserable and very soggy kids and grannies. Beside them is a growing pile of sodden undersized tents and discarded coolers. It’s a depressing scene.

The sun returns and restores our energy and brightens our outlook. Jayne is back at work 3 days a week and that leaves me unsupervised. It’s apparent that we need to make some plans to keep me out of trouble. We agree to get stuff done. It‘s about time.

With Jayne working we can restart investing time and resources. Two very handy local boys have just completed months of work at our friend’s new build house and are available. Julio & Jorge are now our latest crew members. Five days a week. 7 hours a day. Emma & Pauly are with us for another month too so we set ourselves some tasks.

We have a number of challenges daily. The hillside where the treefall happened is one of them. It is, to say the least, treacherous. It’s a jumble of loose block steps, rebar, roots and either dust or mud depending on the season. When we need to climb up to the solar panels or the water tinacos it’s a relief that we make it without incident. One of these days it’s not going to end well. The boys have decided to remove a great chunk of this danger from our lives. They are going to make a proper staircase up to the very top of the hill made from river rocks. It’s a good few hundred feet of steep incline. It’s a formidable task.

A friend in town, Ferdy, is also looking for work so we decide to explore the prospect of creating garden areas and actually planting things that we will look after and protect from being eaten by the ants. Emma has skills and takes on the role of “agricultural engineering lead” and works with Ferdy to clear some land and create stone ringed beds. During a banana collecting expedition to one of the corners of the land we find a hidden wall. A few hundred machete strokes later and a path is revealed that takes us to a, up to now unexplored, section of land and a new route down to the river. This is inspiring as it has opened up a large new area which we name “the secret garden”.

Days are spent collecting unfeasibly large rocks from the river to create stairs and surround beds and newly planted trees. The boys bring us seemingly endless truckloads of soil which we use to cover layers of carefully collected leaves, wood, sifted compost and branches to create hugelkulture piles. The idea is the organic waste holds moisture and breaks down delivering nutrients to the soil over time.

A few truckloads of fermenting horse shit arrive and is mixed with more soil. We cover all the beds with cardboard to discourage undergrowth and cover everything with the soil/shit mix. We take large amounts of brush away and cull many of the over hanging plants and branches which lets light into the area for the first time in many years. We also apply rings of natural diatomaceous earth This stuff is created from the crushed shells of fossilized diatoms to form a fine powder consisting of incredibly sharp edges that will penetrate an ant’s body

During our clearing and digging we uncover a number of good size tarantula spiders. They appear to be living just below the surface. We haven’t seen so many up to now. We manage to relocate them to the more remote areas. They are not so dangerous to humans but they use their hair as a weapon. They can fire out hairs from their body which causes pain, irritation and swelling. I discovered this many years ago in a coffee plantation in the Dominican Republic. My hand looked like a catcher’s mitt for a week.

It takes many hard days of preparation before we can with any confidence give anything we plant a fighting chance of survival. We have been collecting plants for weeks and months and finally comes the satisfying process of planting and relocating trees.

While we have been entirely preoccupied with the gardens the boys have slowly and steadily perfected the art of river rock staircase building. The rocks that are being lifted from the riverbed and carried up the slope are huge and unbelievably heavy. It’s back breaking work but it’s looking magnificent and it entirely practical. What used to take a death defying age to transverse is now an easy scramble.

They have also ripped out the janky rotten wood planks onto which we climbed to open the solar house door and drag out the generator. That was another task that was bound to end in tears one day. They have been replaced with the largest and heaviest stones to make a solid staircase on which we and the generator are safe from disaster.

Our upgrade from a janky termite ridden plank

We are currently living in a small cloud of melty deet. Deet is the less than lovely ingredient in the most vicious of mosquito repellents and actually melts clothing and removes paints and dyes from stuff. It does keep the tiger mosquitos away and that at the moment is all important. Dengue fever, which the little bugger is responsible for, has become very common around us in recent weeks. Many people we know have been felled. It’s not pretty. Worst headaches, no energy and achy flu symptoms. It can get worse with haemorrhaging from eyes and ears but there have been very few cases like that thankfully. Can last months. We are stocking up on papaya leaves and coconut water which blended together reduce the symptoms significantly. Despite our preparations it’s clouds of deet for us. We can live with melty shoes.

This an anatomically accurate drawing of the Dengue virus.

San Pancho has very active turtle protection programs and we find out that a release of nurtured baby turtles is happening on the beach at sunset. We head down to check it out. The sunset is particularly pretty and we gather next to five channels of sand raked smooth into what look like race lanes. Over 70 baby turtles are placed at the “start”. It’s vital that these tiny creatures make the struggle to the water without much assistance. It’s the struggle that activates the survival instinct required when they hit the ocean. Without it they don’t make it. Some race off and are gone in minutes. Some take a lot more coaxing. There are a few sneaky side bets on our favorites. Eventually the waves carry then all away. In future years the females that survive will return to this very spot to lay their eggs. We all hope that this beach survives the pressures from developers to make that possible. We are working on it.

74 turtles in a box. Photo credit: John Curley

Lane 3 the fastest : Photo credit John Curley

While gardens and stairs have been preoccupying our days Pauly has quietly and skillfully ripped out and replaced the entire kitchen in the jungle cabin that had become too rotten to live with. The scaffold and cement frame wood we rescued from our friend’s house build was recycled (sanded and treated) into a kitchen. It’s all natural wood, varnish and tiles. It’s a cracking job. Great improvement.

Jungle cabin Kitchen in fairly urgent need of an upgrade.

Not a termite in sight . Our first spanking new kitchen .

We like the idea of recycling wood so make a point of returning to our friendly building sites and claim as much raw wood as we can. We have quite a stock so make further plans. It’s about time our treehouse had some attention.

Not to be outdone by Pauly and the new jungle cabin kitchen the boys have taken on the task of ripping out the wooden outdoor kitchen at the brick sh*t house. It’s done its job but is looking a bit termite bitten and also needs an upgrade. We decide to use our boy’s local skills and create a Mexican style concrete kitchen. Worktop, walls, floor and shelves all poured and polished concrete. Looks great and lasts forever. A few weeks work but absolutely worth the effort.

Not to be outdone by fancy concrete work Pauly takes on the challenge and entirely upgrades the kitchen in the treehouse. Wood is skillfully recycled at great speed. The whole new kitchen re-model includes an entire shelving system where previously there were none. A new bespoke unit for the water jug, raw natural parota shelves on the window and a brand new medieval style internal door. There is also the addition of a set of rather splendid wooden drawers so that Jaynes infamous floor-drobe has a new home. She is beyond delighted.

Our new front door that actually closes !

Jayne’s life has had a further and significant upgrade. We have two angelic girls who visit us twice a week and clean stuff! Despite my own fastidious organizing, cleanliness and seemingly endless tidying there is still much to do. Jayne is not famous for her tidiness and cleaning is perhaps her least favorite activity ever. Our need to provide clean places to rent out and regularly change sheets has been a constant source of misery. Our own treehouse has been in need of a thorough clean most days. Humidity and apathy are not a good mix. The kitchen upgrades were actually demanded by the girls who couldn’t work out how we could be living in such disorganized chaos. Fair point.

The wonderful kitchen goddess at the Cerveceria has been called away as her pregnant daughter and her mother both have Dengue. The call to arms is sounded and Jayne answers. For a number of long nights, I am forced to sit at the bar all night “supporting” Jayne as she cooks burgers and pours pints. Everything goes very smoothly. I am obviously very good at supporting.

We have made a plan for a road trip to find the legendary 2000-year-old Petroglyphs that we have heard exist not so far from us. It’s Emma’s birthday which we take as a great excuse. There are 13 of us. We load up an old painted VW bus and the sub and head for the hills. This process takes many hours as we discover the Mexican ability to fanny about is quite extraordinary. Toilet stops, snack stops, stops for stops sake. A trip which may have taken maybe an hour takes us half a day. My incredible patience and equanimity was well employed. We finally arrive deep in the hills.

Thankfully we have folk with us that know the lie of the land. It’s a short walk through ancient forest and layers of exposed rock. It’s not long before we see rock faces and boulders with elaborate carvings weathered and moss covered. It’s impossible not to touch them. Run finger tips over the ridges and grooves. It has the effect of transporting you back in time to imagine whoever it was that carved them. A 2000-year-old graffiti artist. They are spectacular and the setting is perfect.

We gather in a high walled valley crowned with a quite uniquely beautiful rock formation that creates a small waterfall and plunge pool. Impossible to resist diving into the cold water. We dry off in the speckled sunlight making it through the canopy surrounded by patterned rocks and bird song.

We slowly and meditatively gather back to the vehicles and agree to continue the extra hour down the road to visit some natural hot pools. Before we reassemble there is further inevitable faffing around. We find a deflated football beside a tree that we kick around. It lands a few feet away and I decide to launch it impressively over the VW bus. It’s airless so will need some force. I apply all my efforts and energy directly in the center of the ball with a golf swing like kick. To my immediate surprise the ball stayed exactly where it was. Behind it was a large rock buried in the ground. My foot entirely stopped instantly. It hurt. A lot.

A little over an hour later we are in the hot pools drinking beer. I have a stream of hot water on my foot which is throbbing in disapproval. This is the nearest thing to a bath I have had in memory and I’m not going to let my first authentic “sporting injury” for years make it any the less wonderful. We all overdo it a bit with the hot water and make ourselves rather dizzy. Nothing at all to do with the bottle of tequila being enthusiastically passed around.

We are incredibly relaxed as we make our way back. A scheduled stop at a Pizza restaurant is welcome. We forgot to eat all day. I am limping again but on the other leg this time. There are some sore bits from those refreshed enough to travel on the roof of the VW as they dodged branches and hung on. A grand day out.

Superbowl Sunday arrives and we are treated to our own reserved table for 18 by the beach. There is some throwing and catching and bashing and a bit of kicking. The half time show has some middle-aged girls pretending to be teenagers. I am absolutely convinced and thoroughly approve. There is also betting and eating and touch of drinking. Kansas beat SF and we lost all the betting. We awake at our friend’s house in Lo De Marcos very early. It’s raining hard. Here we go again. We had a large BBQ day arranged with the local bar closing for the day and all the staff coming to us but it’s too wet so we postpone. We spend a pleasant long recovery day with friends in the treehouse listening to music and watching the rain. We indulge ourselves with shakshuka and wine and crossbow target practice from the balcony

Days of rain and cloud and chilly nights get old quick. Our half –a- solar system goes down too often and our generator struggles to keep up. It’s February and highly unusual. The rivers are running and our well is full but we both actually miss the sun. We’ve gotten used to it. Nayarit has 350 sunny days a year. We need a few more just now.

The morning sun finally arrives again and all is peaceful until it isn’t. We are both in the treehouse drinking tea and contemplating our day. Its 10.18 and the world changes. An explosion tears apart the silence. The depth and volume of the sound is very worrying. We consider that a large gas storage facility has gone up. We wait for the sounds of emergency services arriving. Nothing happens.

We then hear Emma & Pauly coming up the hill. They are flustered and talking quickly but we can’t understand what they are saying. They arrive at the new door noticeably shaking. They tell us the story.

They also appreciate the morning sun and are sitting outside the jungle cabin drinking coffee and reading quietly. At 10.18 they are stunned by the explosion and look upwards. The hill on the skyline is torn apart and lumps of earth as large as trucks are flying upwards. They are hypnotised by the sight until they realise that the sky above them has rocks in it. Lumps of stone are falling all around them at high velocity. Pauly runs for cover but Emma is caught in the open and crouches terrified. Rocks are flying overhead and landing way too close. Lasts about 10 seconds they reckon but feels like a lot longer. It’s clearly something to do with them. We head back out to check for damage. I’m highly relieved no one was hurt but I fear for my solar panels. We soon start collecting hand size sharp rocks and notice impact marks all over the new stone stairs. By some miracle the missiles missed not only people but solar panels and our buildings. No real damage. We then find some of the larger lumps very close to where they were. It was terrifying to think what could have happened. What nearly happened.

Two sheepish looking engineers appear. I pick up a rock and throw it at one of them. They tell us that they didn’t realise we were here but beyond that admitted that they f+ked up and the blast was way bigger than planned. It became clear to all of us how close they were to causing a fatality. The days ahead for all of us are emboldened with a new fresh appreciation of life and luck.

So January has passed us by and we can look back with some pride and exhaustion at the amount of work so far achieved. We have glorious stone walkways up our entire hillside. We have beautiful gardens throughout the land. The jungle jeep actually works. There are new trees, bean stalks and plants around our pool, the casitas and the new secret garden. We have three new kitchens. Our treehouse is shiny clean and we can actually see the floor around Jayne’s side of the bed. We are happy and healthy (except for a broken foot) but a touch knackered by the pace of life. More time in appreciation and less time in the making ahead. One day.

Jungle Journal

Some seasonal nonsense…

January 23, 2020January 23, 2020
by Beave

Every Tuesday, for one night only, there is a traditional venue in San Pancho where an otherwise empty bar is filled with enthusiastic musicians and singers and way too much tequila. The mix provides us with an open mike experience that goes late into the night. The standard of performances is in truth a mixed bag but surprisingly most acts are pretty good and some are excellent. There are occasions where a brave soul murders some tune at great volume or recites some angst-ridden poetry at a whispering monotone. These moments only make the dancing violin bloke and the slightly creepy puppet guy all the more acceptable. It in is this high vibe venue that Suzy decides to play. She rocks up to the tiny stage and whips the tequila soaked masses to a frenzy with her guitar and sing skills. She is now our newest local rock star.

Suzy Rocking it at Buena Vida Open Mike Tuesday Gig

Time moves too quickly and it’s time for Suzy to leave. Back to December weather in the UK but with a fresh Mexican glow. She leaves behind a bunch of new fans & friends along with tea, cheese and whisky, god love her. She will be back.

It’s the time of year where masses of visitors and locals from USA get all wound up about the throwy catchy runny smashy game. The concentration of folk from the pacific north west mean that the Seahawks from Seattle create the most excitement. It’s worth watching them suffer and celebrate in equal measure. There are private game nights at our Lo De Marcos bar and Sundays are often spent amongst the Seahawk sufferers. It does take me back to the time when I was a professional American Football player.

It was 1987 and the NFL and the Budweiser pretend beer company got an idea into their heads that Europe and in particular the UK was ready for an American Football league of their own. The Budweiser League strategy was to approach martial artists, rugby players and nightclub doormen and persuade them to give the game a go. They provided all the strange armour and helmets and coaching and offered a stunning wage of around 10 quid a game. As it happens I was a martial artist rugby playing doorman at the time and turned up on a wet windswept field in Hartlepool to join the largest group of thugs that could be assembled dressed in helmets and padding. It was a lot less glamorous than I had imagined. We were encouraged to enthusiastically inflict short bursts of freestyle combat with a ball chucked in somewhere as an excuse. My job was to destroy the bloke whose task it was to throw the ball away before I got to him. Easy enough.

Well certainly at the time we considered it all a bit easy. Our bits were protected by metal and plastic and our entire lack of skill or knowledge of the game was replaced very effectively by extreme violence. The slightly embarrassingly named Darlington Dragons rose to the top of the league. Many teams took one look at us and gave up. To be fair we were a particularly huge and ugly group.

Our reward for consistently creating terror and distributing injury to our opponents was the right to play the American Airforce team based at the Harrogate Airbase. When the day arrived, we were treated to the joyous sight of scantily clad bouncing thighs and tits with brightly coloured pom-poms. There was a marching band with hats and local TV cameras, a sport journalist or two, and for the first time, an actual crowd of onlookers holding up banners, hotdogs and pretend beer. The Americans turned up in shiny uniforms and looked generally smaller and considerably better looking. In order for us to identify those of them that were actually American and therefore familiar with the rules and tactics of the game a large black letter “A” was painted on their helmets. The first play arrives with much pomp, ceremony and distracting bouncing. Their entire offensive team lines up showing us worrying amount of AAAAAAAAA. They do, however, seem to have made a schoolboy error and leave the bloke with the ball unprotected and within bashing distance of me. I launch myself at him. Our eyes meet. Rather surprisingly he looks very relaxed with a hint of anticipation. More surprisingly was when I get but a yard from him I am hit very hard by three “A” blokes at exactly the same time from three different angles. I am not in the best of shape. In fact, I am an entirely different shape. I have two broken ribs, along with a dislocated shoulder and jaw with a few evenly distributed cuts and bruises thrown in for good measure. It hurt quite a lot.

It transpires that because it had been noticed that I had notched up a high number of victims in previous matches and been awarded most violent person (MVP) for knocking out the most ball throwing guys this lot had actually planned this ambush in advance. How very rude. It is apparently part of the tactics of the game. Who knew????

Inadvisably I managed to relocate my shoulder and jaw and continued. We all painfully learned many new tactics while getting very bored of picking ourselves up and leaving parts of us behind. We all slowly began to realise that these metal and plastic bits we were covered in were not protection at all. They were thinly disguised weaponry. A shoulder pad sliced into your neck or a helmet colliding with your solar plexus at speed really changes your day. Who knew ???

Thankfully the end of the game saved us from entire annihilation but safe to say we did not win that one. There ended my short-lived American football career. It was some months later when we got our own back on the field of rugby battle but that is another story.

The Superbowl 2020 is in a few weeks time. There will be a huge party on the beach and we will all be there even though, to the heartbreak of many around us, the Seattle Seahawks will not.

My spider bite injury is not improving fast enough. I’m starting to be known as the “limpy guy”. On doctor’s advice, I am to have a series of injections in my bum that will somehow sort out my knee. I’m a trusting soul and allow my doctor to inject me the first time. She wants me to return every two days for two weeks but to save time it is agreed that with a little training I can inject myself. I take all the needles and vials back to the jungle and give it a go. The needles are longer than I thought and the angle of penetration a touch awkward. I reluctantly ask Jayne if she fancies stabbing me in the arse with a large needle. Her little face lights up like Christmas. She is worryingly enthusiastic. Can’t imagine why this process gives her such joy? Arse a little sore, knee improving.

It’s starting to get less than warm. Especially at night! We didn’t really sign up for this and it has taken us somewhat by surprise. For the first time in two years even I have put on long pants and long sleeves at the same time. Unheard of. More blankets are required. It’s all very strange indeed. Now as I am a ghostly pale ginger man from viking stock I find it quite a blessing to breathe cool air but this view is not shared by the soft delicate Canadian types used to central heating and piping hot water. Bless them. They will probably survive.

Christmas comes and goes. We both very much appreciate the lack of fuss and tinsel. Our present to each other is to not give presents and just eat good food and share the day with friends. But sharing my roast lamb is a different story. We eat by ourselves before the throng arrives. It is only with great reluctance that I am pretty much forced to share some of the leftovers with the incoming hoards. I am not happy about that. Humbug!

Open house Xmas day in the jungle happens again. Waves of folk bringing heaps of food (didn’t have to share my lamb after all!). There is a flood of donated booze. The over indulgence begins around 2pm and goes all night. More than 60 folk turn up over the course of the day. Probably many more. We lost count very easily early doors. We are in abundance. Food, booze, music, friends and jungle. Ho Ho Ho !

A good friend arrives for just a few days laden with gifts and a heap of stuff we sent him to bring down. We have more whisky and a few more practical things like sheets but also essentials like a reverse camera for the sub. Much as we love the sub it is all but impossible to see behind it when reversing. Now we have a screen on board where we can clearly see the terrified faces of any dogs, old people or children we are running over.

Pinching Wood from building site to make new kitchens.

It has been decided we have far too many vehicles. The Wrangler has been spruced and fixed and gratefully returned to its rightful owner. The Sub has become part of the family and our love together grows by the day. The Razor electrics all failed when we ripped off all the fairy lights it was covered in when it was recovered. It is our work horse on the land during daylight and remains very useful. We will keep it for now. The Jungle Jeep is finally working like a dream. The incredibly useful Pauly Paulus has returned for another long stay with us and we immediately deployed him on fixing the thing. He soon discovered that the shocks were seized and, once replaced, the suspension copes admirably with jungle life. No more serious back and arse injuries. It is ready to sell after Pauly has left us. In return for fixing it he gets first dibs on using it while he is here. They do suit each other! That leaves Django. Our much beloved van is parked in Lo De Marcos with a vandalized window which so far no one has been able to find a replacement for, a stolen battery and no real use for us. It’s time. We decide to gift her to a good friend who will restore her to former glory. Django will ride again!

Pauly and his made-to-measure ride for the next 6 weeks

So now we have three. Our day Razor (lights don’t work), The Jungle Jeep (Pauly’s ride for the next month) and our beautiful Sub. That’s quite enough to be going on with. Although we do have our eyes on a Crew Razor with six seats and a tipper box …. Maybe.

New Year is upon us. We have plans to be at a house warming and surprise birthday gathering for friends who have just in the nick of time finished building their house pretty much the day before Xmas in time for their large family to arrive. It a stunning modern design with infinity pool just out of town. It’s a very good start to proceedings. We are fully refreshed by the time we all head into town to join the masses gathered in San Pancho. The masses are further swollen by refugees from a rave on the beach a few miles away that was cancelled at the last minute (by our environmental vigilante friends) to save turtle nests and the damage to nature 2000 stoned dancing ravers can inflict. They forced the corrupt county president to revoke the illegal permit he issued. Our friends had to call in the army to protect them from the “well connected” organisers that were less than impressed by this development.

It’s a long night. Two separate DJ dance areas in the main street with Samba drum band thrown in for good measure. The place is packed with happy well behaved highly refreshed people. It starts to rain just after midnight. It doesn’t stop raining till about 36 hours later. We wake up rather late the next morning on “Big Blue”. Big Blue is our favorite sofa in town. Big enough to sleep four of us comfortably it turns out! The rain is heavy and it is very unlikely that we will make it back to our place. The rivers will be raging. Everyone is feeling rather average and although going home and hiding away for the next few days seems incredibly attractive it’s not going to happen. To add to the days challenges the power is out in town.

We muster ourselves and pack a group of six of us into the sub and head off looking for somewhere to have a very long lunch. It’s raining hard and the streets are flowing with many inches of water. No power means no lunch. No places are open except one. One place to eat in the whole town and its packed. It’s a corner on-street location and we huddle out of the rain waiting for tortas (warm sandwiches). It appears everyone in town has ordered before us. It’s taking an age and we are all feeling decidedly normal. We realise we are within yards of a friend’s dry warm flat and we brave the rain to run to his door and barge our way in. Poor bugger has six soaked and hungover refugees dripping puddles on his floor. Food eventually appears and is inhaled instantly. We just bought the last bread buns in town. The kitchen served us and closed. The rain is coming down harder than ever but we are slightly cheered as the power finally comes on. Our phones start making “look at me” noises. We have two lots of guests at our place. A family of four from Oregon and a French theatre director and his boyfriend from Mexico City. They are all trapped on the other side of the rivers with no food. The solar has had no solar for some time so they only have a few hours of power left too. They are contacting us to request rescue. Rescue is not happening anytime soon.

We wait for a gap in the rain for a few hours. We are all camped out on the only bed in the house watching terrible TV. Hangovers have had time to fully develop. It’s a sorry sight. We all need a shower and few days sleep.

It is decided that we will decamp to another venue. Our friend from Montreal is a chef and has offered to cook for us. A huge feed may help our mood. The rain hasn’t let up for a moment so we resign ourselves to being in town till after dark at least and expect our guests will be having a real adventure. Especially now they have no power. Poor buggers.

We find ourselves camped on someone else’s bed waiting for food and feeling grim. Pauly delivers a few cartons of undrinkable red wine he found on a dusty shelf in a nearby shop. A huge face full of spaghetti carbonara and no wine was actually incredibly restoring. It’s 9 pm and the rain is slightly less than torrential for the first time all day so we decide to make an exploratory dash for home. We pour our sorry selves into the sub and head out.

The rivers are flowing hard and many of the banks have been washed out but it’s not a problem for the sub. We make it home with relative ease just as the rain returns to torrential status. We deliver bags of spaghetti carbonara and cartons of terrible wine to grateful damp guests in the dark. Pauly and I drag ourselves over the hill in order to pull the generator out into the rain. We make it a temporary shelter and get the power back on. We are home, soaked and exhausted. Happy New Year.

Thousands of Gods eyes still hanging above Sayulita.

Uncategorized

Mary, a spider bite and a Yellow Submarine

December 8, 2019December 8, 2019
by Beave

It’s a transition time again. The humidity is on its way out along with the heaviest of rains, both leaving an entirely different landscape. Our place is now entirely jungley. Most of our attempts at growing things have been washed away or eaten by ants. The sun picks out strands of golden web from the huge spiders hunting in the trees. There are a noticeable amount of medium sized bright red snakes that I am now convinced are not hallucinations caused by dehydration and humidity. Bats are breeding and the Bodega has a population of a couple of dozen of them thankfully munching our mosquitos. It’s fluffy green balls season. They fall from the Copomo trees in great numbers and I get to sweep them off my balcony every morning.

Fluffy green seed balls covering everything.

It is fair to say that some tasks I get caught up with here are less of a challenge than others. I get a call for help from town. There has been an incident and I have been summoned. The Cerveceria is gearing up to reopen in but a few more days. The pint starved masses are getting a touch overexcited and restless. A pick- up truck is dispatched to Guadalajara to collect 13 barrels of various brew. It was hampered slightly by the rains that are stubbornly hanging on but it has arrived and has been unloaded. All the barrels look exactly the same and contents are identified by large attached cardboard collars. Theoretically. It’s the attached bit that is the problem. Twixt brewery and pub every single one of them has blown off on the journey. There is a large stack of unidentified beer. There is only one solution.

Natives are getting restless waiting for pub to open.

It’s a great thing to be sitting back in the pub with a pint glass in my hand again. It is a truly wonderful thing to have 13 barrels, each tapped in turn, to sample at least once. It’s important to be accurate so it takes some time. There are three of us and we all have to agree on what it is we are drinking before we label it up and chalk it on the board so it’s not a quick process. Too nice a job to rush. We eventually and enthusiastically congratulate ourselves on a task well done. We have applied our best heroic altruistic efforts and wobble off in a very jolly mood.

There is a slightly less jolly morning ahead but it was worth it. There is a message from Lo De Marcos that Django (my van) has been broken into. The roads are too washed out to get it to our land yet so she has been parked in the corner of our friend’s front garden behind locked gates. I arrive to inspect the scene and find one of the side windows smashed and the doors open. Nothing has been stolen so it looks like a touch of random vandalism. The bugger is that getting a replacement window for a 1989 G20 Chevy in Mexico will be effectively a mission impossible. So I can’t drive it until I find a solution. It’s in hand. Probably a 6 month lead time.

The Cerveceria opens and offers beers helpfully matched to the barrels from which they live. Pretty much everyone comes and the place is royally packed till midnight. The staff are just heroic and the sunset that night was one to remember. We have our pub back!

It is clear to me after being here alone for good chunks of time that the thing that takes most of my effort is transport. Getting me around the land and getting stuff from one place to another. Breaking projects down it becomes obvious that moving things from one place to another is the biggest part of just about everything. So it is agreed that we need to invest in a vehicle that will both useful & reliable.

I have been borrowing a classic (old) Jeep Wrangler 4×4 from a generous friend who has effectively saved me from being stuck. As much as I have come to respect the jeep for its ability to slowly and clumsily keep moving even through the wildest of conditions we will need something that is more road friendly, less likely to break down, more petrol efficient but still be able to climb mountains and get through swollen rivers. It’s a big ask.

Outstandingly robust old Wrangler in need of a clean.

It is at this point that I discover a hideously ugly bright yellow Toyota FJ Cruiser advertised locally at a price that isn’t too cringey. Much research later it is discovered that despite the distinct similarity in appearance to a frog/turtle this is the truck for us. So that’s decided upon.

It’s Dia de los Muertos (the Day of the Dead) when I arrive in a wildly decorated Sayulita to collect it. The sky above the town square is obscured by hundreds of strings holding thousands of hand made God Eyes (small wooden crosses decorated with brightly coloured yarn.) It’s a hypnotic effect. The streets are packed with people dancing around shrines of flowers, candles and sand pictures. This celebration and honouring of the dead is a fabulous and cathartic tradition. I drink a tequila and remember my extraordinary Dad who died a year ago.

Sand art traditional in front of shrines

So our new jungle resident is a strange looking beast of a truck. It’s a massively welcome addition to our lives. An air-conditioned room on wheels with a great sound system and the most comfortable seats we own. It will happily glide over pretty much anything we point it at carrying me and heaps of stuff. It’s not a subtle looking thing. Very yellow. We have named it “The Sub”.

Life is about to change again. Not only is the pub open again but Jayne is due back. My daughter is arriving a few days later. Going from no girls in the jungle to two in a very short time. Terrifyingly exciting. I create a list of things that absolutely need doing before they arrive. It’s a very long list. The rains have slowed down and are on their way out but are still threatening to soak anything that I may decide to dry out. Remaining solitude days are spent de-molding as much as possible. The level of mold infestation is at an all- time high in the days following the big rains and as the humidity falls to levels where humans can exist. Mold loves to hide and leave a lingering odor on clothes, bedding, window screens and most other things including me. I have become very used to smelling like an old damp rag. For folk with better personal hygiene who are lucky enough to stand close to me it is more of a surprise. Two fresh noses attached to fragrant girls arrive soon so it’s a disgusting mammoth task ahead.

The day arrives. The fridge is stocked. The house is as clean and tidy as it is going to be for at least the next 6 months. The casitas and apartment have been de-funked and repaired post humidity. Art has been installed. Mosquito net washed. The jungle has had days of machete attention and is now trimmed back to almost habitable levels. The pool is only a little bit green. The poor traumatized laundry ladies have had a daily delivery of unspeakably grotty things to wash for nearly two weeks. Gin and tonic water stocks are replenished. I have reduced the list of potential disappointments or areas of judgement to a mere few hundred. Ready as I will ever be.

The trip to the airport is usually around an hour although our record is 40 minutes. The trip to pick up Jayne breaks all records but not in a good way. It has been deemed important to make the lines on the road that everyone ignores damp with new paint for a number of hours effectively closing the road to Puerto Vallarta. After 4 months away I collect Jayne from the airport a good hour and a half late. Her mood is softened by a large number of beers at the airport Corona bar before I arrive and a head sized burrito soon afterwards. It’s late and its dark when Jayne finally arrives home again. The Sub is a big hit. I am forgiven.

Morning arrives and we set about preparing for my daughter’s arrival the next day. Suzy arrives early morning so there is a whole other level of “girl standard” cleaning to do. Fussy buggers. What’s a little mouse shit, a few dead cockroaches and a few scorpions between friends? In a very short time my list of things to do has mysteriously grown exponentially. Normality is restored.

I find the most embarrassing Dad shirt possible and head to the airport with time to spare and collect Suzy. We haven’t seen each other since my Dad’s funeral and that’s too long. Now Suzy is here my life is fuller and more complete in so many ways. Let me count the ways: Marmite, Yorkshire Tea, kilos of cheese and a great bottle of Scotch. I hide these treasures immediately. We decide that after the compulsory introductions to a Sunday beef Birria breakfast with spiced Cafe de Olla coffee and a Margarita on the beach we should make a trip North and collect the jungle jeep.

Finally the jungle jeep will be home. Again, finally turns out to be more like eventually. We arrive at the mechanic shop and I follow in the sub as the girls drive the bone shaker all the way to Lo De Marcos relatively without incident. I notice that they both appear to fly into the air at every tope (speed bump). We pull up at the beach bar in a cloud of green spray and steam. The fan is not working and there is a stream of boiling fluid jetting out of the radiator overflow soaking the battery. We park her up and take the load off at the bar for a few hours while we all take time to cool down. It fails to start again so we park her up next to the shore and agree to return the next day for attempt number two to get the thing home. The Sub reliably and comfortably takes us home.

The next afternoon we happily reintroduce ourselves to the beach and the bar and to our relief the machine starts up first time after drying out in the sun all day. After a congratulatory Margarita, I drive the loud rattly thing following Jayne in the sub. We arrive at the hellish 200 Highway to San Pancho only 8 miles away. The wind is in my hair and the sun blinds me and the engine roars. Until it doesn’t. The roaring stops and is replaced with a spluttery croak and my speed drops to a crawl. I limp off the road at a small spot near a bridge.

Jungle jeep leaves the mechanic shop after 6 months

Steam starts to rise but the engine kicks in again and I take the chance to get another mile or two before stopping again. It is suicide to stop on the road as there is no “hard shoulder’ and idiots fly down the highway presumably with foot to floor and eyes shut. I‘ve called in support from Jayne who has now double backed to rescue me. After stopping for a ten minute rest the engine appears to have cooled down enough to give it one more go and I just manage to get the thing up and over the final hill before coasting all the way to the lateral turn off at San Pancho.

Jayne then attaches the overpriced extra heavy duty AutoZone tow rope we bought for such situations. We get 200 yards before it snaps for the first time. 100 yards the second time and finally it just makes it the 30 yards over the highway before the last thread disintegrates. We roll up to the shut gates of our local mechanic where there is an audience of large squad of hairy boys drinking on the step. By some miracle the gates are unlocked and we (Jayne) persuades the boys to help push the thing into the shop yard for the night. I am spaced out and a little unnerved by the thought of how many close shaves I’ve just had. The Sub then takes us reliably and comfortably home.

The next morning we set the engine up with our mechanic for a short trip to Sayulita. We make it with almost no issues and find a friendly electrician and give him a full list of bits that we have worked out need replacing. A final lump of cash later and we eventually get to drive the thing home. It’s taken over 2 years but we have the jungle jeep actually in the jungle. The process nearly broke our backs. The suspension is so rigid it is effectively undriveable on our jungle roads. It’s for sale if anyone is interested.

2 years later the Jungle Jeep finally arrives in the jungle .

It is again good to see the jungle and our lives within it through fresh eyes. Suzy is settling in to the pace of life, heat and wildlife perfectly. She is already scarred by some attack plant, been eaten by bugs and has been adopted by Gargoyle. Great start.

Mausetrappe has returned to the treehouse. She appears unusually affectionate. Her time living with an Australian has been (unsurprisingly) a bit too much for her and she is spending her life motionless staring into space with her body pressed to the lid of the freezer. It’s the coolest place so it’s a wise move. Her gifts to me have been varied in their revoltingness. Praying Mantis appearing regularly with their comical faces and elegant statures are but a quick cat crunch from oblivion. More disturbing are tiny mouse size possums. Ugly brutes by any mother’s eye. Perfectly horrible when you pull them from between your toes.

Jayne has begun a new phase of existence. She is working a three-day week coordinating an enormous amount of unspeakable nonsense in Toronto remotely from her four-poster office bed. In return Toronto sends us a bucket of Canadian tax payers cash. It is both highly surreal and spectacularly useful to our lives. It takes away the pressure to rent out our place to less charming and more entitled folk than we would like. Despite my famed equanimous and patient nature that is a great gift.

I now have a greater and deeper appreciation of the joyous mobility your knees give you. Having played rugby for many years and dabbled in full contact martial arts the concept is not unfamiliar but I am currently being reminded on a daily basis. A few weeks ago I was bitten by something in the side of my knee that resulted in a number of days of ouchy-sore-painy immobility moving around very slowly and grumpily with a stick. I have had an injection from a doctor who thinks it’s likely to be a spider and have been taking all sorts of concoctions since. Whatever it was did not clean its teeth as its infected my knee tendons. Incey wincy spider he may have been but I’m still limpy. Feels like I’ve taken a few full-on tackles from Adam Jones (the Welsh prop.)

Feels like this bloke has been tackling me for a week.

Gargoyle is in for an adventure today. It’s time to make less of a man of him. He’s old enough now and the free clinic for fixing dogs and cats in San Pancho has started. We starve him, Suzy shoves him in a bag and then we drive him town. The clinic is an hour into their day and there are 21 other animals all with less parts lying around unconscious. Each of them has a volunteer rubbing and massaging and petting them until the anaesthetic wears off. There is water to keep eyes and tongues wet. Most of the cats have their eyes open to a wide blank stare and their tongues hanging out. It’s like looking at tables of roadkill.

It doesn’t take long and we are drawn into the process. There are mostly cats all racked up and totally unconscious. Solid gone. It takes some skill and patience to check they are breathing. Gargoyle is added to the table and we concentrate on him and a couple of kittens that would easily pass for dead. They all pull through. We head for lunch then collect an entirely spaced out cat with no spacial awareness or working limbs. It brings back memories of having a drunk teenager in the house. Funny.

Thanksgiving arrives. It’s Suzy’s first. We are invited to join a group of thankful Americans to eat and drink too much. The venue is the rooftop of our friends brand new and rather impressive house in town. The moon and stars give us a stunning backdrop. We eat a huge pre-cooked smoked turkey that they have accidentally bought. We are all thankful it is surprisingly good! Mezcal is produced which leads to some competitive behaviour when it comes to leaving with the leftovers. I think I managed to somehow limp off with them all.

Somedays surprise you more than others. It is, however, totally unsurprising that registering the Sub has taken weeks and we find ourselves endlessly waiting in overcrowded transit offices with huge lines for further bits of paper to allow us to actually own the thing. On this particular day it takes till 4 pm to lose the will to live, give up and head back to the Sub to comfortably and reliably take us home again.

Jayne is starving which is not a good look for her. Best avoided. We head to find food to calm the savage beast. We drive the Sub out of the PV transit office car park and notice a blue Razor similar to the one we had stolen but with bull bars and extra lights and covered in tacky horse stickers. It has the word MARY in large letters on the windscreen. We look again and notice the windscreen strut amazingly has exactly the same falling tree wound as ours did. I jump out the Sub and limp over. By running my hand over the roll-bar I soon feel the history of our Razor in the dents. It’s our vehicle no doubt about it. Here at the back of the transit office in PV. No plates. Fresh off a horse ranch.

The realization of the situation is slowly sinking in and Jayne has a new direction for her growing anger she is not eating. A small friendly looking Mexican guy wanders up to us proud of his ride and happy that we are admiring it. Poor sod. Within a moment he has me at full size in his face and more worryingly Jayne is in full attack mode. He clearly knows it’s stolen and we suspect that’s why he is here. To see his friend the chief of police to sort it out. We have by some miracle caught them in the moment red handed.

He runs into the transit office and I fast-limp after him. He is not getting away. Jayne is snapping at his heels shouting at him in Spanish. He heads straight to the Police Chief who he tells us is his friend and will vouch for him. This comes as an unwelcome surprise to the Police Chief who is entirely wrong footed by events. There in his posh private office is his friend with the both of us after his guts. The horse guy is pleading innocence and apologising repeatedly. The Police Chief is slowly registering that there is a stolen Razor outside his office and he is now implicated by association with horse guy. It’s not a good look for him. If we call in the Federal Police then he is in big trouble and his friend will be in jail. He offers to impound the vehicle for a few months while we sort out the paperwork or suggests we might want to deal with it another way.

Jayne attempts to call the insurance office who are the actual owners of the Razor now they paid us something for it. It’s 4.30 pm and they are out to lunch?!?? Idiots. The Chief is making some frantic calls and horse guy is looking very uncomfortable. If we call in the Federal Police he is going to jail. Chief will have a lot of explaining to do. It’s clear that horse guy is not the thief but that’s not going to be easy for him to prove. We suspect that a cousin or brother of his wife is involved somehow. His wife is called Mary.

I leave the office to take photos of the Razor and horse guy follows and Mary joins us. They both apologise continuously. He then shows me around the Razor pointing out the new lights, tires, rear frame, bull bars and suspension rods he has installed. For you he says. We can see there is a moment of opportunity here. We offer to take the vehicle out of Jalisco state to our house in Nayarit state and deal with the insurance company from there. The Chief of Police puts the keys in my hand immediately. I do not hang around. I jump in and head to the nearest restaurant following Jayne in the Sub. As exciting as this development is we need to get food in her quick before someone gets hurt !

Jungle Journal

Touch of rain

October 30, 2019October 30, 2019
by Beave

In the past months, we have dealt with a high number of infrastructure issues, the jungle jeep, the burglary and its aftermath. Whatever has needed attention since Jayne left in the past months has , of course, been down to me . I’ve spent what I considered was a surreal time in Toronto until I spent the best part of a month at Burning Man. Most of the time in-between I have been dealing with preparations for what comes next and firefighting what nature has decided to throw at me. It has become apparent that I have been considerably busier than I have realised. I have made a pact with myself to slow down a bit. Smell the jungle. Watch the butterflies. See more sunsets.

I let myself down pretty quickly. The solar system is running terribly and keeps cutting out during the night. It’s 4 am and I’m awake. I’m hot and sweaty and breathing in the thick warm air. It’s impossibly humid and pitch black. The lights are out but worse, much worse the fans are off! The sweat flows slowly and constantly down my body. I am miserable in a warm puddle of myself for long enough to realise I’m not sleeping again and grab torches and clothes and head out to put on the generator.

It’s a good rule that we don’t walk through the jungle at night. We are too low down the food chain when the sun goes down. My understanding of this is overruled by my need to sleep and breathe. Walking very slowly and carefully through the overgrown pathway to the solar battery house focuses the mind beautifully. I can hear every noise and my eyes are straining to catch any movement. There is no moon. It’s very dark. I manage to walk into a few spider webs. The webs here are vast and sticky . They cling to your head glueing their contents into your hair and face. I spit the bits out and carry on. The ground is soft from the rain. Thin strong vines are everywhere and wrap around my ankles in an attempt to pull me over. It is with great relief that I arrive at the battery house door without being eaten.

I pull out the dead weight of the generator and fill it with fuel by the light of the torch between my teeth. Everything is plugged in and ready to go. I grab the starter cable and give it a strong yank. My arm flies backwards and I end up on my arse in the jungle with the handle in my hand and my torch some feet away in the dark. It’s somewhat disorientating. The starter unit is busted. I recover myself and work my way down the steep slippy hillside to the Bodega to get tools to fix it. When I finally work my way up and over the hill again I am soaked to the skin with warm sweat, covered in vegetation and a good quantity of fair size bugs attracted by the torch light. I remove the starter cover and duck sideways as a long strip of metal fails to hit me in the face by not much. My motivation to struggle on in the dark is leaving me. I gather all the parts I can find that are now scattered far and wide. I struggle to lift the fuel filled generator back into the solar house and head for home to better assess the situation.

Missed me by inches this horrible thing.

Dawn is an hour or so away but the air is no less thick and warm. I try and rewind the sharp metal strip spring into its plastic housing with absolutely no success. It’s effectively impossible. I give in and take a series of showers to survive the heat until daylight.

The morning is spent finding a generator starter-unit fixer. There is tell of such a bloke outside La Penita and I drive up to find him. I find a ramshackle shop stacked with mowers and generators and chainsaws. A very tiny, dirty young guy called Alan greets me nervously. He explains in great detail that the handful of part I have brought him are stuffed and he needs to see my generator. This is communicated mainly but the medium of mime as his Spanish accent is unique and delivered at incredible pace which I use as an excuse for not understanding a word. In the weeks since this first meeting , he and his identically tiny, dirty young brother have fixed two generators, a chainsaw, a mower, a water pump and two weed whackers for me. All for a handful of beans. Alan is my new superhero.

Caitlin our Australian caretaker has moved on. Probably the inability of the Australians to beat Wales at Rugby again that finally did it. It’s not the easiest to follow the Rugby World Cup in Japan from Mexico. Kickoff is usually 3 or 4 am so you have to be keen. After the match, it only took her a week to find the strength to leave Mausetrappe and head South.

She has somehow managed to ingratiated herself very effectively into the local community and a band of mates turn up in the jungle to give her a sendoff. It starts to rain hard and we all congregate in the palopa next to the bar and around the orange block. The trees are lit up and there is a DJ playing till the solar system finally gives up. Inside the tightly packed palopa a large piñata shaped as a beer bottle emerges and Caitlin lays into it. To her and (almost) everyone else’s surprise the whole thing explodes and covers the damp, tequila filled crowd in flour.

September has been unseasonably dry. The good news for me is that the roads & rivers have been passable so getting in and out has been as easy as it ever was. A year previously we were crossing raging rivers on ropes. I have been quite concerned our well would not fill and we would have to make contingency plans to gather enough water to get us through the dry season. I need not have worried. October started with hurricane Lorena followed by a tropical depression Narma. Much as Lorena came close enough and dropped a steady 20 hours of moderate rain upon us Narma properly moved in.

A tropical depression sounds like a tough day after too much tequila rather than a scary hurricane so we didn’t really have the usual precautions in place. It’s about 4 pm. I’m pottering around when it starts. It’s a sunny beautiful afternoon filled with bird song and butterfly’s then the sky darkens almost instantly. Within minutes blinding lightening is striking very close all around and the intense crashes of thunder are shaking the treehouse. The amount of water than is dumped is impressive as hell. For the next many hours, I can see only a few meters out of the windows through what looks like a vast waterfall. I can just make out a proper brown torrid river flowing down our hill. The noise is deafening. Despite my best speakers on full bore I can hear little else but the rain hitting the roof. This is as much rain as I have ever seen in one go. I didn’t think that was possible having been through monsoons in India and Thailand. Mexico for the win.

It’s not till much later the next morning that the intensity of the rains stops enough that I can leave the treehouse to assess the damage. There is a full-on new brown river running past the house. I am wearing rubber wellies to my knees but that’s not good enough. I’m slopping around ungracefully with wellies full of water in no time. I’m nearly taken off my wobbly feet a number of times. I struggle to reach the casitas that have thankfully survived well. Somehow I stay upright in the fast-moving water. As I move past the casitas I find my water trenches overflowing with silt and half the road down towards the gate washed out. Deep striations filled with new foaming river. The tiny stream that was dry a week previously and usually meanders slowly in front of our gate is now unrecognisable. Its meters wide , fast , deep and raging. There is no way across. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.

I work my way to the gate side and note a large number of broken branches scattered around the place. The lights that were suspended above the round parota tables are on the ground and are in a sorry state. I look up. The landscape has changed. The orange block roof is covered in huge branches. The outdoor shower is completely obscured although clearly in many pieces. Something dramatic has happened and it’s hard to work out what exactly. There is no way up the hillside which is covered in downed trees. The ground has a coating of leaves that reach above the knee when I try and walk through. The big clue is that there is a significant lump of brand new sky visible at the top of the hill. A 20-foot shard of wood has appeared pointing to the sky. I manage to climb around the mass of downfall and reach the hill top above the solar panels.

The first thing to greet me is our internet cable that was previously buried beneath the path . It is now entirely pulled out of the ground. The huge new wooden shard is in fact a root from a massive tree that has toppled down the hill landing just a few feet from the orange block. Our cable is now attached to the highest point of the root. Way out of reach. This beast of a tree is lying on the hillside. When it stood it was around 100 feet high. Its size and mass has destroyed half a dozen other trees on the way down. Some of these are big enough to have had their trunks smashed in half but still stand. Others are on the ground with branches contorted at all angles. There are two that are worryingly sizeable that are suspended many feet above the ground. It’s not a safe place to be.

Thankfully its only me trapped out here. If this had happened 24 hours earlier then this would have landed on Caitlin’s party. Doesn’t bear thinking about. Tragedy averted. No flour dipped bodies to recover.

Orange block battered and shower smashed

I share photos of my little incident and the raging river outside my gate with friends in town. In return, they send me images of San Pancho entirety underwater. People literally floating down the main street! I am lucky enough to have adequate stocks of essentials and settle in for a few days of solitude.

It has taken a couple of weeks to chainsaw my way back to relative normality. The flattened shower is uncovered and awaits repair. The damaged water lines are fixed and internet has been restored. The hillside has been cleared enough to get access to the solar panels and batteries. The solar rig has been refigured after finding a few dodgy batteries buggering up our system and is now working well again…….time to relax ?… maybe?

It’s October in the tropics. It rains pretty much every night. It gets horribly hot . The humidity is famously inhuman. There are however many distractions. Dozens of fire flies dance around the mosquito net at night. Impressive to even the most jungle weary . The quantity and variety of butterflies are stunning. They follow me around apparently attracted by the salt on my skin. On the other hand, I’m coming across the occasional less sexy creatures. There are snakes coming out of the wet undergrowth, a few large hairy tarantulas crossing the path in front me, remarkably huge scorpion eating whip spiders and hornets. Hornets. My least favorite of beasts. I’ve spotted quite a few hornet nests and dealt with them but the sneaky buggers have had their revenge.

Stunning varieties of butterflies follow me around . Found a number of this type in the treehouse.

‘Canklays” Whip Spiders: Our Scorpion eating friends

Bad news. The lightening has scared away our bees. The hives are located in a clearing a few hundred meters from our house close to the casitas. I have had lightning strike very close to me a few times and embarrassingly have dived for cover (far too late) more than once. A friend from town has asked to relocate two swarms at our place. I check out the area and all seems well. Happy bees. We arrange to meet up and add to our bee stock. Two days of storms later and I get a call to say both his swarms have vanished. At least twice I have seen hits very close to the hives so I go and check them out. They are abandoned. Not a single bee left.

There will be other swarms in our future so I take the hives over to the parota tables and spend some time slowly preparing for new residents. I clean out the wax and repair the wires. It’s a satisfying job only made painful by being stung by a hornet in the leg. Hornet stings hurt. A lot. They only sting if threatened and almost always protecting their young in their nest. If you stay around the nest they keep stinging you till you get the message. The correct strategy is to run as soon as you are stung to get out of the sting zone. I leap from my chair and start the hunt for the nest. I check under the table, around the bar and scan the trees. Nothing obvious. Slowly I retake my seat and carry on with the job in hand. My leg throbs.

I get up again to reassemble the newly renovated hive. This time I’m stung twice. In the same leg. I swear loudly and swat the general area with my hand and connect with one large hornet. There is another on my foot. Another circles menacingly around my head so I limp away as fast as I can. I return cautiously and kick over the chair I’ve been sitting in. There it is. An active nest under my seat. For the past hour, I’ve been sitting on top of a hornet’s nest full of hornet grubs. I deal with it aggressively.

After considering my luck that I have not been more seriously attacked (or lack of it having sat on a nest in the first place) I set about cleaning up the bar area of broken branches, leaves and weeds. A few minutes into the job I am stung four more times. Too quick for me to hop away. Two on my good leg and two more on my sore limp one. I use my machete to upturn all the dozen wooden chairs around the tables. There right in front of me, under another chair, is an even bigger nest again full of hornet grubs. I make my way to the Bodega and collect a poison spray that I save for very special occasions such as this. My legs are dysfunctional. They carry me around like broken candle sticks. I deal with the hornet nest without mercy and call it a day. The hornet poison is making me feel very odd.

The signs are there. I need to slow down . The hornets stopped me for a day or two. I’ve had over a week out of sorts with a irritating ear infection & the added joy of food poisoning that felled me. It’s the first time I’ve had to deal with Mexibum for a long time. Our Jungle jeep is threatening to be ready soon with new roll cage and bull bars and even seat belts. Everything important here is working again. I can’t do much more now till the rains stop. I’m allowing nature to set my agenda which in many ways is a blessing. Let’s see what she has in store for my immediate future. Hopefully not a lot. Jayne is back in one month’s time. That gives me a month to stop charging around so much, deal with the oppressive heat and rest up. It’s what October is for …. I am learning .. slowly.

Jungle Journal

Dusty distractions

September 27, 2019September 27, 2019
by Beave

DIt has been said that I am nothing if I am not generous with my time. The much loved Cerveceria which is our only purveyor of pints for some distance is shutting for the season. There is beer left that it would be unwise and rude to leave in the kegs. My presence is requested to help solve this issue. It took a lot of effort and an entire night of drinking, gambling and dancing to achieve this. Our host is grateful for our efforts. We lock the door and contemplate with some sadness the loss of our “pub” and the pint free months ahead

Can never see the Ceveceria logo the same again.

There is a chink of hope that we can persuade someone to feed us and supply cold beers for the Summer season. It’s a mission as the heat is crippling, staff are hard to find and there are very few tourist dollars. It is considered wise for ones sanity to take a few months off before the season kicks in again non-stop for 8 months. For these entirely reasonable reasons August, September and October are dormant months here with very few places open. There are a handful of fine traditional places serving locals with proper Mexican delights but nothing much in terms of bars. The concept of a pub which gives the community a place to meet and talk nonsense is not so much a thing here.

There is a special bar on the beach in Lo De Marcos which is 8 miles north of us. It offers good food and a large number of yellow fizzy cold beers. The crew are fabulous and the location is outstanding. The sea is calm, tempting and yards from the bar. There is the added bonus of an onshore breeze that cools you down beautifully if you stay very still on your strategically placed bar stool. It’s worth the trouble to make the journey North. If we keep turning up they are more likely to stay open.

On one such day I am floating in the sea slightly disappointed that the temperature of the water appears warmer than the air. The large grey Pelicans fly a few feet above our heads occasionally diving close by scattering fish that collide with us in their rush to escape. I head for the shore dragging my feet through the sand. The lure of a cold yellow fizzy beer and a breeze to sit in is just too much. I’m a few yards from the beach when something hits me. Not in a good way. It feels like I have had a hot nail hammered into my foot. On further examination, it becomes apparent that I have been stung by a Manta Ray. There has been some rain which attracts them to shallow waters. One of them was irritated by being disturbed and stuck his stingy bit deep into me leaving an impressive hole.

My attempts to be a big brave boy are hampered by the blistering eye watering pain which does not get any better, even after a prescribed tequila and a few cold yellow fizzy beers. A very lovely and suitably concerned local girl tells us where there is a patch of plants near the shoreline with distinctive large green leaves. Our Australian is dispatched to collect some. They are then steeped in hot water. My foot is placed in a bowl of this slightly stinky green leaf tea. To my great relief the pain dissipates very quickly. I’m good as gold within minutes. We ask our wise new friend what the leaves are called for future reference. They are a traditional native medicine she tells us. The local name for them is Curamantaray ….. of course.

My attacker. Perhaps not entirely to scale.

Incredibly our jungle jeep is at the stage where our good mechanic is eventually happy to allow me to drive it. I only have a few days before I’m heading North so I arrange to collect the beast and test drive her for a day or two and return it for any required modifications while I am away. It’s looking pretty and immediately attracts a considerable amount of attention. There is no roll bar yet and no seat belts so I take it very easy. I get almost 10 miles before it splutters and cuts out. I am very lucky and manage to glide the thing off the highway onto a rare bit of side road. I would have had nowhere to go and been totally buggered (on one of the most dangerous roads I know) if it had cut out anywhere in the previous 3 miles.

There is much fiddling with leads and battery as I bake in the hard sun. My first mistake was not to have a hat, sun screen or sun glasses in a vehicle with no roof. Lesson learnt. The gods are with me today as I loaded a can of petrol. The petrol gauge is showing a quarter tank but I am suspicious. Sure, enough after a refill she starts up like a champion and I’m on my way to the nearby Pemex for a fill up. Second lesson learnt.

The “Spanker” at Tomatina Bar & Restaurant

I make it to the beach at Lo De Marcos and grab a drink at our new local. The beast looks the part but needs some work. There are a few too many rattles and driving it at any speed does make one feel somewhat vulnerable. It’s when I steer off the highway that things become interesting. The spring suspension has had the benefit of some hydraulic additions which have made the ride noticeably solid. The journey to La Colina is very slow and eventful. It’s a tadge bumpy. I can describe every rock and divot by feel. My bum-bone appears to be hitting the top of my head. I park near the pool and get out slowly. I’m walking funny. My spine is knotted and my arse feels bruised and sore. This thing could be the end of me. Slowly spanked to death. Modifications are indeed required.

The time has come. I’m on my way out of my hot wet jungle to hot arid Reno to prepare all the many things required to allow us to survive in the dust of the Black Rock Desert for the coming weeks ahead. My lists of things to do in the next week are long and terrifying. I am meeting Jayne in 4 days. We intend to be leaving the delights of Reno almost immediately afterwards to collect our junk filled trailer which we haven’t seen in two years and then live in it for a number of weeks in an impressively inhospitable environment. No pressure.

The Growler : Our janky old trailer stored at Pyramid Lake .

The Black Rock Desert is a thousand square miles and sits at 4000 feet. The playa is a lake for many months of the year but when the heat starts to get very silly it dries up to a salt flat. This is one of the few places where land speed records are attempted as it is so level and featureless. It’s tough to avoid the effects of altitude and severe dehydration on the body as the salt in the air draws moisture away from the skin and breath. I don’t sweat out there. It’s zero humidity. That said the temperatures often reach well over 100ºF during the day and can dip below freezing once the sun sets. Dust storms are a normal occurrence, and in whiteout conditions, winds often reach around 70mph. There are few living things out there on the playa. No birds in the sky, no plant life to speak of and if there are some poor unfortunate bugs or creatures found they are usually imported from visiting vehicles or reluctantly blown in on the wind. .

All the temperature and non of the humidity

For reasons best left to myth and mystery this is the chosen venue for the Burning Man event. A temporary commerce free city is created for a population of around 70 000 for one week. Money is not a thing in Black Rock City as the only things you can buy are ice at two places and in one location coffee. It’s a gift economy. Bring everything you need and give away what you can . It’s the 4^th biggest city in Nevada for one week of the year and attracts a stunning concentration of art alongside extraordinarily diverse creativity. After the event participants are required to take everything they brought with them back with them. When the legendary playa restoration teams are finished there is no sign that anyone was there. A true “leave no trace” event.

This is the 13^th time I have been involved with Burning Man in Nevada. My “burn-mitzvah”. This is a clear indicator that the event still holds enough of an attraction to me that I am prepared to invest the considerable amounts of time, resources and gut lining required to be there. It is an environment that tests and refines ones physical & mental stamina. Why I chose to put myself through this is a long story. Years of unique experiences are hard to summarise. How does one explain the unexplainable? I will, however, try and give you a flavour of what captured me in the first place and inspired me enough to keep at it. The photos show art pieces from this year.

I first heard about Burning Man around a campfire at the Glastonbury Festival in Somerset UK in 2004. Glastonbury is the largest greenfield music and arts festival in the world. I have been there 27 times so it perhaps suggests I’m a festival junkie of some kind. That year my kids won an O’Neill competition to allow them to surf with pro-surfers in Cornwall the same week as the festival. I was committed to go but I wasn’t going to miss a surf with pros. I arranged to hitch out of the event early morning, join my family on an idyllic Cornish beach and then hitch straight back again.

Later that night I sat in a yurt sauna with my mates discussing highlights of the week. Muse, Oasis, James Brown, Joss Stone, Toots and the Maytals, Franz Ferdinand, Scissor Sisters, Black Eyed Peas and Sister Sledge were memorable enough but for me didn’t beat our day catching clean waves. This woke me up to make a pact with myself to open up to broader experiences rather than being a habitual Glastonbury junkie. Two guys had joined us and heard me babbling on. They agreed , suggested I do things differently and try out Burning Man. It sounded interesting enough but at that time I suspected that it was something I would never do.

The *Head Maze* houses 18 extraordinarily connected art rooms
Artist: Matthew Schultz

The very next year I found myself at Glastonbury again but soon after I took a surf trip in California. The water was cold, the waves sparse and the attitude of my fellow paddlers was aloof and exclusive. Not what I imagined. At my hostel, I received an entirely unexpected and random call from Reno Nevada. A complete stranger called Fred had heard about me from someone I had briefly met the week before in a bar in San Diego. Fred had somehow decided that I was to come to Burning Man. I needed to get to Reno and he would sort out the rest. I remember after the call being marginally more intrigued than confused. Of course, I was going.

Our friend and neighbour in Mexico and his unbelievable art car
*El Pulpo Mecanico* Artist : Duane Flatmo
Photo Credit : Stephane Lanoux

I managed to get to Reno and turned up at what I discovered was The Black Rock International Burner Hostel. A retired teacher from Reno who dedicated his time, his house and his pension to encourage and facilitate people from all over the world to come to Burning Man. I was one of them. After some quick pre-training, finding a bike, a tent, a box of trail bars and as much Gatorade and PBR (Pabs Blue Ribbon) as I could carry I found myself in a car with two girls from Montreal and my new Turkish friend heading out to whatever this thing was. About 4 hours later we arrive on the playa. It’s a few days before the event and the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. The stars were stunning and hypnotic.

I stood next to the car getting checked through a traffic gate with nothing else visible. My eyes were slowly becoming accustomed and caught something moving in the dark. I stared for a long time as the shape of a man running towards me took shape. As he got closer it became apparent that he was a big bloke, hairy, wearing a Viking helmet and absolutely nothing else. His eyes were locked on mine. He was coming at me at some pace and in the process of going for a high five/hug he knocks me to the ground. His face is very close to mine, his eyes wild and wide. He holds my head in his hands and slowly and clearly says to me … if this don’t change your life boy don’t come back…. He then gets up and runs on. I never saw him again.

*“Slonik”* is 23M of elephant that arrived from Moscow
Artist : Michael Tsaturyan

Within a few hours of arriving in the dark I am throwing ropes over structures and bikes on tents as a series of storms hit. I absolutely thought Burning Man was a survival exercise in keeping beer (PBR) cold while not being blown away in a dust storm. That’s certainly a part of it but it was two days later when I woke up in a stinking hot tent that I managed to see further than a few yards away.

I took a walk with one of the Canadian girls and finally understood the scale of where I was. Our little storm blown camp of mainly Kiwis, Brits, Irish and Ozzies was but a tiny part. We walked to an elaborate temple structure. We sat and took stock of the beauty of the building and the overwhelming vastness of the place in which we found ourselves. An older man with a white beard came and sat next to us. He asked us to look into ourselves and find something that would make our hearts sing and ask for it .. out loud. Mine was easy. My surf trip hadn’t really materialised well and I wanted to surf. “Good luck with that” he said…” but you never know.. this place may just surprise you. “

One of my favourite pieces this year made up of slivers of perfectly stacked plywood.
*Mariposita* Artist: Chris Carnabuci

We slowly walked towards where we thought our camp might be. We were lost pretty soon after leaving but lost was a good place to be. We saw it coming from a long way away. An immense wall of dust covering the entire sky to what we guessed was the South. We were armed with already well used scarfs and goggles. When it hit us we could see nothing, we held hands so we didn’t lose each other. The wind was strong but we kept walking very slowly. After a few minutes, a shape emerged and we found a guy on a tricycle who handed us cold PBR . We sat together in that spot in the dust storm until the beers ran out. The air cleared and we noticed the trike was towing a small trailer. On the trailer was a long board on springs. Our new dust storm friend was riding around offering to tow people on a surfboard! We both got to surf the playa gobsmacked.

When you cover 100 steel statues in wax and chuck in a match
*The Mans Army* Artist: Michael Ciulla & The Rave Knights

It would take me a full dissertation to continue this story. Maybe I’ll write it one day but it’s not for now. These first few days at Burning Man truly captured my imagination and led me into a world of endless possibilities. I did listen to my naked viking friends words and have now returned a dozen more times. The very many other strange, humble, skilled, inclusive and magnificent folks I met in 2005 and since have been responsible for seeming constant further adventures. We have, together, created amazing projects large & small in all corners of the world and helped hundreds of curious travellers to experience what would have otherwise have passed them by. For this I am grateful beyond measure.

When a bunch of black powder meets an anvil
Photo credit : John Curley

This year Jayne & I somehow have become staff at the event and have been persuaded to build a media centre and deck, then take it down again and store it in a container. It was hard work but a relatively straight forward project with a good crew which turns out to be fun & drama free. I did manage somehow to stupidly throw a lump of wood through the back window of the truck I was borrowing but I was forgiven. Eventually.

The 38 foot long *Flux Capacitor* Artist: Henry Chang
We were gifted this art car to play with for a fabulous few days and nights.

We camp in our janky trailer next to far better organised friends who are building a very large-scale metal hand that blows propane from fingers that are articulated so they form different hand signals. There was a moment when I was inside the metal forearm during a deafening pyrotechnic show using pulleys to move giant fingers. During a very hot afternoon we had to task of diverting the Bunny March (a herd of hundreds of over excited lunatics dressed as rabbits) away from our crew loading a truck of highly explosive fireworks. Not something that happens to a chap every day.

*I.L.Y* Artist: Dan Mountain and his sexy rock star crew

Of all the many unique moments in 2019 there was one that will stay with me. I visited the Temple this year to leave a message for my Dad. The process of leaving messages and tributes that will burn and be released is one that is a tradition here and in my experience very helpful to very many. . This year the structure was a series of portals in Japanese style. The inside is covered with photos of people who have died along with thousands of messages of love, hope and forgiveness. . I find a bench that has some space left on it and leave my Dad a message. I take along a few slugs of decent single malt Scotch. I take a drink in his honour and pour the rest on the message and leave the bottle for him. It’s emotional as hell but cathartic. I apologise to him that I couldn’t get the 10-year-old Laphroaig Cask Condition Scotch that we always drink together but under the circumstances I’m sure he won’t mind.

The attention to detail on this piece was stunning. Carpentry porn on every wall with dioramas hidden behind pictures . The Folly represents an imaginary shantytown of funky climbable towers and old western storefronts, cobbled together from salvaged and reclaimed lumber.
The Folly Artist: Dave Keane & his epic crew of warriors

A truly gorgeous burn.
Photo Credit: John Curley

We then head off for a treat we have waited for a whole week for. A shower. There is an area called the Wet Spot where hot showers are available for staff. We were given a couple of passes and have saved them for this moment. A shower after a week in the dust is transformative in so many ways. 15 minutes of water has shifted all the muck and for a short time restores the feeling of not being stuck to your pants.

I am lying in the sun drying off when the girl next to me says my name. She recognises me from an event in Wales some years ago and knows many of my mates. We offer her a lift back to her camp in our truck. She is a volunteer doctor from UK who is not licensed to work in Nevada so has been learning to repair bicycles at a free repair shop. She is also an active whisky club aficionado. When she gets back to her camp she appears with a Viking horn and a sample. It’s a full bottle of 10-year-old Laphroaig Cask Conditioned ……..

*The Temple of Direction* flames creating a fire dragon.
Artist :Geordie Van Der Bosch & Temple Crew

Some days after everything has officially finished and all the propane has been burned off we leave a large crew of hard core lunatics restoring the playa to its former unremarkable glory. We store the trailer and make it back to Reno. We have three baths and three showers back to back. We try and find out how many of the hotel towels we can wreck. Jayne takes her flight back to Toronto. I stay on for a day or two to mend the truck window and fill myself with sushi and steaks. It takes a number of zombie days in a Reno Casino to recover enough to fly home.

I’m glad to be in the jungle again. My buddies have looked after the place (and the cats) and everyone has survived. Jayne is expected to be home and in loin cloths again as soon as November so that’s something to look forward to.

I’m back just a few days and my body has entirely changed shape again. I was feeling skinny there for a moment but like a ginger pot noodle have swollen to an acceptable size again by just adding water.

I’m writing this in the treehouse while Hurricane Lorena swings by. It’s a CAT 1 and the eye is off shore so thankfully we are getting no winds to deal with but it’s been raining hard now for a large number of hours. It’s so good to be damp again.

Jungle Journal

Change is in our nature

August 5, 2019August 5, 2019
by Beave

My ability to capture our lives in this blog has been somewhat scuttled due to a number of reasonable excuses of late so there is a bit of catching up to do. First and foremost, not having a laptop has been a fairly demotivating factor. My newly purchased tablet has been bloody useful and reconnected me with the wider world but is a compete pain in the bum to type on. The frustration of insanely programmed predictive text and a randomly functional narky touch screen rather than a key board has been frankly too annoying to face.

The days after we were burgled were very strange. There was gratitude for what we had left and acceptance of what we had lost. The process of gathering police reports and evidence for the insurance company is never a joyous process but the Mexican way beggars’ belief. Convoluted requests for notional paperwork mixed with conflicting advice of how to get them combined with almost fictional bureaucratic madness combine to send the sanest of us completely bonkers.

This tarot card was the first thing we picked up from the pile of random mess we found in the treehouse after the robbery.

At one point, we are asked to return to the police station 10 miles away to request that all the paperwork they gave us is reprinted and stamped with an official stamp. The admin girl there is stern and officious but Jayne has melted her stony heart and they get along fine. The paper work is redone and stamped and we are presented with a bill that must be paid and certified. It’s a total of 30 pesos. Less than 2$US. We happily try to pay the girl but police stations are not allowed to take cash. In order to achieve what we need we are instructed to drive to the official payment office and return with the receipt to be authorized. The payment office is 50 miles away. That’s a 100-mile round trip to pay 2US$. We look at each other in disbelief. Even Madame Admins expressionless face cracks a little as we ask her to explain this to us a few more times very slowly as we frankly don’t believe it. As it happens her love for Jayne manifests in a dodgy side deal that makes the process easier but we did indeed have to travel 50 miles to pay for the photocopying.

I will be kind and save you the many further tales of extraordinary pedantic police administration we witnessed and endured. I am happy to report that some weeks later we have been paid for one insurance claim. When someone eventually admits to understanding the system that they are employed to manage and lets us know how they want us to invoice in the correct way we should presumably get paid for the other. Without Jaynes excellent Spanish, our endless patience, perseverance and our thick sweaty pasty skin this would have been impossible. Insurance companies here make themselves safe from any poor unfortunates that may actually need any money from them by constructing seemingly endless levels of increasingly nonsensical administration. Maybe it’s a universal business model. Bastards.

It’s a few days after we get back and we are busy re-sorting our lives and taking stock. We are anticipating the rains arriving soon and it’s already hotter than is absolutely necessary. Not expecting any guests any time soon. We are interested what life will throw at us next. Then we find out. Jayne gets an email from Toronto.

In one of her former lives Jayne has been a significant player in the world of transit. Getting people from one place to the other. The fact that in London anyone can get on a tube, train or bus by waving a credit card at a bleepy box is down to Jayne and her team. The heady days of long sweaty queues juggling change at counters or machines to work out what ticket you may need are no more. Toronto want to move from sweaty queues to bleepy boxes so need Jayne to make it happen. They need her enough to offer a short-ish term contract at very sexy money. So there is a decision to make.

We don’t need the money even though it would change our lives short term. Jayne does not have to leave her beloved jungle home. The cash is the temptress. It would allow us not to be beholden to chasing Airbnb 5-star rating from guests. It would allow us to build more infrastructure, spend more time on our own projects and attract heaps of art. We as a couple have not spent much time apart so that in itself would be a fairly dramatic new dynamic. The contract does offer the potential in the near future to find ourselves in a position where we both live in Mexico and Jayne remote works a few days a month and we would be entirely self-sustainable. That is the real golden goose. It takes a lot of soul searching but it has been decided upon. Jayne has accepted the contract and is required to start in Toronto in about a week.

In what seems no time at all the treehouse is in bits again as everything we own is dragged out and half of it imported into our remaining luggage. Friends offer to lend Jayne all the essentials she is missing for her new temporary city existence. There is quite a lot missing. Silly little things such as clothes and shoes. We have one night out in Puerto Vallarta and then very early Jayne flies out to a posh hotel for a few days while she looks for an apartment to rent and I am left alone in the jungle with the cats. This is a huge change and it has happened so quickly. These last weeks have all been something of a blur.

Our treehouse is a modest 6M x 6M but now there is so much less stuff and only the three of us it seems somewhat larger. The jungle seems to have expanded too. All this space all to myself. It’s been a while since I’ve had this much time for just me. It takes a short while to readjust and settle in. It’s a good few days before I find myself leaving the jungle or talking to anyone. I spend the time digging drainage trenches , building furniture, rearranging my new living space for one and preparing all the many thing for the coming downpours. It’s exhausting and distracting.

Moving myself and stuff around the Jungle is a different prospect now the Razor is elsewhere. Django (our 1982 van) is our only form of transport and is limited to where it can go and at what pace. It currently has 480 000 km on its clock. Life slows down noticeably as a result. When the rains come properly it will need to live in the town as it will get trapped out here. Our jungle buggy is getting a new suspension, seats and wheels so no sign of that for a while yet. Thankfully our stunningly generous friends, currently in the USA for a few months, lend us their jeep. Now jeeps have something of a crap reputation here. There is a romantic image many gringos from the USA have of travelling around the tropics in an open top jeep. To the obvious delight of local mechanics many do just that. Jeeps are their no.1 source of income. Despite its reputation we gratefully accept a solid 4×4 that will get me across my land. Over the week or so I used it I sorta kinda got to like her a tiny little bit. She has stiff suspension and is a bone rattler for sure but it didn’t miss a beat going up and down our hill.

I get a call from town. Our well head turtle sculpture is ready to go. Exciting stuff. The paint required to protect it from rusting away has arrived and applied in funky style. It’s now clearly a male turtle. We load him up on a truck and bring him out. In place, he looks extraordinary. He is named Wel-Ed. The day is getting ridiculously hot but there is work to be done. I prepare the area and mix concrete. A mate turns up out of the blue to deliver life saving ice cream and give me a much-needed hand. We are both soaking wet with sweat and dizzy in the heat but it is done. Wel-Ed is solidly in place and he looks magnificent. Our first commissioned art piece.

The process of getting accommodation in Toronto is proving a touch more challenge than expected. After spending many hours on line reviewing small but luxurious apartments it becomes apparent that many of the adverts are scams. We quickly learn these scams are well known and frequent in Toronto, Vancouver Seattle and many other places. Dodgy buggers armed with much cheek and gab trawl Airbnb sites for pictures of apartments and then re-post them as rentals on Craig’s list and fake websites. They ask for upfront deposits. When renters arrive at their new home they find it already occupied by the actual owner or legitimate renter. We came across a load of them. All pushing hard for deposits up front and reluctant to show you the property. Took a week before Jayne navigated her way around the unscrupulous and moved into a rather posh, if compact and overpriced, apartment not too far away from the office so she can walk to work. Let the temporary nesting begin. Bring on the gin and Tim Bits. Tim Hortons who are the ever-present coffee provider of choice in Canada also offer highly addictive boxes of small round doughnut type balls (Tim Bits) with varying levels of sugar coatings. Canadian crack.

The highway construction has been relatively quiet recently. Environmental groups have been conducting studies to see what the actual effects on the wildlife are manifesting. A group who track Jaguar have been working close by and we meet up. They are tracking about a dozen Jaguar who are all very close. One of them is over 100kg in weight so we are advised to be cautious. They have set up cameras and hung pig guts in the tress to attract them. These photos were taken just a few hundred yards from our house. Jaguar are not interested in humans as food and concentrate their attention on cattle. Their greatest danger are cattle ranchers who shoot them. To prevent this the Mexican government pays farmers a good price for any cattle the Jaguar take. The problem is that the paperwork and administration is also very Mexican and most ranchers can’t or won’t go through the compensation process so continue to shoot them. The conservation teams have jumped in and now take on the administration on the ranchers’ behalf to encourage them to keep the guns away from the Jaguar. This bit of direct smart conservation action is making a measurable difference.

The land is looking good. Drainage ditches are in place and I have stripped all the beds and prepared the place as best I can to cope with the water that is forecast very soon. I have installed tarps over the kitchen and a water repellant coating on the outside walls of the most vulnerable casitas. My dear mate from Lo De Marcos has asked to live on the land for the Summer and help out. More than anything this will allow me time away if needed. I start a plan to visit Toronto for a short while.

I am approached by a local girl who lives in the guts of the town on the main exit road where all the construction traffic passes 24 hours a day. She is looking for a more peaceful place to stay for a few months. She wants to garden and generally keep the place clean and functional during the time when we don’t have guests and do have thunderstorms every night. So that’s two self-sufficient people on our land for the Summer. Result !

An Australian friend of Jakes contacts me. She is in Columbia and heading North and interested if there is a place to stay over the next month or so. There is a ready-made small community developing with the aim of making thing better here. I have agreed for all of them to be here until November. That is the rainy season covered. Be great to have some help and keep the place alive. I am starting to realise this new situation removes my best excuse for not going to Burning Man this year.

Jaynes contract goes up to the end of December. She can leave with 10 days’ notice but potentially she won’t be back till Xmas. She is not the jaded old burner I have become so is very keen to go to Burning Man in Nevada again this year. www.burningman.com We have great friends who have recommended us to an infrastructure build so we have been offered staff passes and the ability to arrive way before the masses. It gives Jayne a much-needed break from city competence in the freedom of the desert. La Colina is now occupied so I have run out of excuses not to join in. My resistance is weak and I crack under the considerable pressure. I’m in and flights to Reno booked. Here we go again.

Dusty Desert Nonsense in Our Future Again

The rains arrive. A huge storm of tropical proportions delivers a vast amount of water in the shortest time through the night. Lightening is close and the thunder rips the sky above the treehouse. It’s been a while since I was in one of these. Spectacular. The morning shows that the water ditches were 80% successful and show what adjustments need making. I check the well. The water is back for now. It’s been a worry as we have had no well water for weeks. The source stream up in the hills that feeds all the dwellings between me and the town stopped flowing for the first time in 40 years the week before. Relief.

The frogs and toads have turned up again. Raucous amphibian orgies keep me awake for another couple of wet nights. The pool has had no water for weeks and is in a sorry state. It’s now home to countless swimming beasties. There are long strings of toad spawn , water beetles and many thousands of tadpoles. There are also masses of horrible looking things that constantly swim vertically from the bottom of the pool to the surface and back again. They are a few inches long, black, a cross between a fat slug and a hairy caterpillar with fins and a large head. They look like something from a bad movie and there are hundreds of them. When there is enough water I’ll restore the pool to the humidity sanctuary that it will become for the Summer. In the meantime it will have to remain a well occupied jungle pond.

So things have rapidly shifted from jungle solitude to a full schedule of travel over the coming weeks. I let it slip that I am flying to Toronto and the word gets through to an animal sanctuary in Sayulita http://sayulitanimals.org . These lovely folk rescue animals in bad situations and get them adopted around the world. There are two puppies that have new owners in Toronto and they are desperately looking for a mule to transport them to their new owners. They bombard me with messages and calls. I am puppy mugged. It looks like that’s going to be me.

So I gather what could be considered relatively normal clothes and an empty suitcase and am collected by the animal sanctuary with two four month old puppies and head to the airport. They are by any standards cute. Even the process of checking in is hampered by adoring crowds. I am to carry these little buggers all the way through Dallas and then onto Toronto. By the time I get onto the first plane and they are squeezed under the seat in front me there is already a small dedicated crowd of puppy followers. If you would like to experience the attention usually saved for the most famous and beautiful people carry a box of puppies through an airport. I’m mobbed. It’s past midnight when I arrive in Toronto and get through the hoops and special inspections to get dogs into Canada. The new owners are waiting with great anticipation but they have to wait for Jayne who is first in the queue to greet me. Two happy new puppy families later we head in a taxi towards the city.

Its already a bit of a head twist, post-puppies, arriving in Toronto centre at night. Our rather posh apartment has a view over the city and the CN Toronto tower. It has automatic blinds, a TV the size of me , a dishwasher , ice maker, heating and air-con . It is also home to a fully automatic toilet with an electronic control panel to allow for a number of bum washing and polishing options. Bit of a change to the usual bucket in a box option. I look out into the city from our posh apartment with a glass of cold chardonnay. It absolutely feels like I have landed in a graphic novel.

More bum cleaning choices than absolutely necessary

So walking to the office with Jayne in the mornings shows that perhaps I’m not entirely city conditioned. The amount of other people is a touch overwhelming . Crowds of them at pedestrian crossings all packing the pavements heading to their offices. No one talking to each other. Half of them dodging joggers, bikes and traffic while staring at a phone. Then at 9 am peace descends on the city. Office folk are in their offices and everyone else is in a Tim Hortons. Shops don’t open till 10 am . It’s altogether a bit strange.

So as Jayne applies her genius at work I am released to Toronto. I spend far too much time in the Apple store and not quite enough time buying tools at Home Depot. We stock up with tech, shoes, clothes and cheese. It’s a very multicultural city with all the benefits to gastronomy that brings. It’s good to catch up and our week is brightened by fresh Pad Thai, home cooked chicken, a quite superb Moroccan lamb , authentic Japanese dishes, Portuguese sardines, dozens of buck-a-shuck oysters and very importantly buckets and buckets of much missed Guinness. We add culture with a trip to an interactive art exhibition and a night at the theatre. It’s all very different. I haven’t been bitten by anything for over a week.

I’m very grateful that Jayne is so well appreciated by her colleagues and that we have the money to enjoy time in what is without a doubt a very expensive place to be. As I drag my over-packed bags back to the airport Im absolutely looking forward to getting home. The luxury of well paid city life is a measure of great success for many. We can certainly appreciate it for a short while but it’s clear our basic human needs are met elsewhere. I am most grateful that we both know that and have our self created sanctuary in which to stay just the right side of sane. Jayne will be back in our world soon enough. It’s not easy to play the game when you know its not the game for you. We just have to change the game.

Arriving back after just over a week away is a shock. The whole place looks entirely different. The dust has changed to dark rich earth. The paths are overgrown with vines and covered in fallen branches. The roads have been washed thin by the flooded rivers that are now showing signs of flowing and are full of rocks after the storms . The pool is now two feet deeper. The tadpoles and black hairy swimmer things twice the size. Since I left there have been real tropical storms. Huge quantities of water and lightening.

The effects are not entirely welcome. A few days before I return the power went out. The solar system is showing fault lights and it’s tropically hot. We don’t have lights , refrigeration or more importantly fans ! I spend the next two days sweating like never before while tracing and repairing potential faults. It’s so hot I can’t think. I find myself sitting on the sharp jungle floor with a breaker box in pieces in front of me. Ants are biting my feet and my head is under constant attack from mosquitos. The heat turns me into an even more obvious moron. My over heated brain feels like its forcing it’s thoughts through warm soup. I spent half my time looking for my screwdriver with my right hand that I eventually discover in my left hand. I have been up at 7 am in order to speak to three separate solar inverter experts around the world who all give me conflicting advice. The latest is to remove the entire 40kg inverter and send it to Mexico City for repair. I can’t face the idea of that unless absolutely necessary . Even my soupy brain tells me they are all talking bollocks. I pass out and wake up a few hours later with an idea. I return to the solar inverter which I have stared at for hours and flick a few switches . Power is restored. I am saved.

It has occurred to me only today that I have one week to get myself ready to fly to Reno. I must not only prepare the land for leaving for the best part of a month but I must entirely prepare myself for burning man too. So I have a week to clean the pool and fix the water pipes , collect and return the jungle jeep, replace security cameras and finish this overdue blog. Then I get to pack enough stuff to leave the humid tropical heat of our jungle and spend a month in a hot dry dusty salty desert. I’m looking forward to be dehydrated in a whole new and exciting way . Lucky me.