Jungle Journal Archives - La Colina Project

More Heat, Most Humidity & all the Water

October 16, 2021October 16, 2021
by Beave

Jayne has finally reached the age of forty. It seems to have taken her a long time to get here. There is need to celebrate. This may be more difficult than we expect. Many of our friends have escaped the sticky air and are elsewhere in the world. Many of our more regular haunts are closed down till the rains stop. It’s a bit risky to arrange anything at an outdoor venue as it’s still raining just about every day. The sun drops over the ocean and the sky sucks in the clouds and the rain and thunder play off each other all night.

Thankfully this is not a problem unique to us. For some reason, I don’t fully understand my life is awash with Virgoans. Astrology is not necessarily my thing but I know without doubt that those born between August 23rd and September 22^nd follow me around. A number of them have got together and a joint celebration of getting older is arranged initially on the deck of a beach bar our friends are building but is yet to be completed. We invite folk to join us the weekend before her birthday and bring gin. Our local Mezcaleria is one of the only remaining bars open and agrees to host the after party and hire our favorite local DJ. Should be fun, weather permitting.

It has taken some weeks but the hurricane damage has been sorted enough to get the sub up the road to the treehouse. We have to take it ridiculously slowly and carefully. This is a huge success as walking from town with fuel and water is a ridiculous chore. The big tree that blocked our way has been cut up and dispatched into the jungle. There is enough earth clinging to the rocks to make the roads passable. Just. The many fallen branches are macheted into fire wood. We struggle through the deep layers of crunchingly painful dried spike vines that cover the jungle floor. The hurricane literally blew them out of the trees.

Jayne has booked her flight North and if all goes to plan will spend the entire hot sweaty month of October catching up with family in cold fresh Canada. She has faith that somehow, she can be double vaccinated in time. If not she will have to rebook her flights to a later date.

The luck dragons appear to be on our side and we get news that second vaccines are to be available in another gymnasium in the city. When we get there, we are advised that it is impossible to get a second dose unless we are over 40, had the first vaccination at that location at least a month previously. Jayne is under 40, has never been to this particular gymnasium and was initially vaccinated only a few weeks before. Somehow, maybe due to my stunning good looks and blinding charm we are invited in and are fast tracked to the front of the queue. It’s most likely due to Jaynes command of Spanish, a few tall tales and the undeniable, if sometimes embarrassing, privilege that being a white gringo still holds. She and her family are delighted. I get to look forward to a month in the jungle solo. It’s been a while.

The lightening has become quite dramatic. Flashes light up the jungle like daylight. The big Copomo trees around us have avoided getting direct hits but attract the bolts to land very close to our treehouse. Often the thunder is instant, deafening and travels straight through the timbers. It focuses the mind when suspended four meters above the ground. It is lightening like this that scared off all our bees a couple of years ago. I decide to check next time I’m passing.

Its that time when the golden orb spiders present themselves. If you don’t keep your eyes open you can be clothes lined across the face or neck by a strong wire like thread. Hanging to the end of this thread is a spider that is way too large and irritable that is thrust into your face. It’s not recommended.

If you look closely you can see the tiny male that follows his massive girlfriend around until she’s hungry enough to eat him.

I’m on my way carefully to the Bodega with a handful of tools carrying my machete when I see a shaft of sunlight hit our hives and make my way down through the overgrowth to check things out. The jungle has taken over so I have to cut my way in and spend some-time tidying the area, clearing vines and hacking down rapidly growing palms. At my last visit, there were thousands of bees clinging to the outside of the hives avoiding the suffocating heat inside. It’s a bit of a worry that right now, despite all my commotion, I can see no bees at all. The first hive I check by tapping my machete on the side. No response. I remove the security rocks from the lid and lift the upper section. The hive is entirely empty. Bugger.

I am disappointed we have lost a hive. It distracts me from my overconfidence playing with bee houses without any protection at all. Still no signs of life so a little too eagerly I remove the top section of the next hive. What happens next appeared to be in slow motion. From complete silence, I hear the roar of countless pissed off bees being disturbed non-consensually. The hive protecting warrior bees immediately and very efficiently set about discouraging me . I get some very painful stings but take the time to replace the lid before running away as fast as I could. To better piss them off I’m wearing a black T shirt and black socks. I’m quickly hundreds of yards away pointlessly flailing my machete and swearing loudly. They are not letting me off. My chest head, back and ankles are properly attacked. I’m fully at the other side of the land before I rid myself of the last of the tenacious little gits. I’m an idiot who has confirmed beyond doubt that we still have at least one active hive. Good for them.

It’s some days before the aching stings fade and I can concentrate on the important task of creating a pop up gin bar on the beach. It didn’t take long and for the first time in a week the rains held off. We had food delivered and someone made a cake that had a life expectancy of about 15 minutes in the heat. It was somehow devoured before it melted. We had about fifty people turn up which was just about everyone we know at this time of year. At sunset we cleaned up and moved the party successfully to the Mescaleria bar where there was much dancing till very late. We ended up in a friend’s pool and still the rains held off. Jayne was very happy with the start of her birthday week.

After a very slow late breakfast we limped home the following afternoon with more gin that we started with . The day was spent in low pace recovery watching the rains come down hard. We timed our party perfectly as the rains didn’t really stop after that.

Its Thursday 16^th September which is Mexican Independence Day. This is the day of Jaynes birth so we decide to mark the occasion with a trip to the big city, a hotel with a bath and a table at a great restaurant. It’s been a while since we got away. It’s raining but the roads and rivers are still passable. Just.

The journey to the city is slow. The rains are getting stronger. We arrive at our hotel to find the entire street is under more than a foot of fast flowing water. We park opposite the hotel and wade across. Its chucking it down. Our planned walk along the seafront is canceled. An hour later we are in a taxi which makes it to our posh restaurant despite the rain coming down even harder. Drainpipes are pouring wide streams of water like waterfalls from every roof onto the roads. We watch the lightening and the constant rain rapidly deepening the flooded street from our window table.

It’s a memorable meal. We are spoilt and grateful as we again realise that walking anywhere is just not possible. We taxi back to the hotel to sit out the storm, over stuffed and suitably refreshed. Jayne has forty short video messages from friends and family all over the world which my mates schooled me in compiling for her. She watches them on the laptop from her bath as lightning flashes fill the room through the window. Nice and dramatic

The morning is deceptively calm. Blue skies and an unnecessary but delicious breakfast. We arrange a late check out. Jayne disappears into the city to get a massage and pampering. I abuse the bath as long as I am able before checking out and setting off to meet her. The blue of the sky has been replaced by dark bruised clouds pouring down the surrounding mountains towards us. I find an old man’s bar directly opposite the salon where she has been reclining while for some hours now as a team of patient girls in white coats have dedicatedly buffed and polished her. She meets me in the bar with all her new gleaming bits. It starts to rain. Proper rain.

Having seen a whole heap of rain for many weeks now it takes something special to impress us. This is indeed special. In no time at all the roads double up as fully functioning rivers. The chances of us getting home are looking very slim. We have a few drinks with the old men who tell us tales of old Puerto Vallarta forty years ago when Jayne was born. It becomes obvious we are not going anywhere, anytime soon, so we recheck into the hotel and head out for another over indulgent feed. The very impressive rains keep coming. I have been in monsoon rains in India, Africa and South-East Asia. These rains match those in their intensity but have the added trick of not stopping. It is official that the road North is closed and that the river in San Pancho has burst its banks. The water level has gone from about 6 inches to over 6 meters (20 feet) in an hour. The water is up to the bridges. Large areas have been washed away. Local old boys tell us it’s more rain than has been seen here for 30 years.

https://vimeo.com/manage/videos/633821562

San Pancho river in full flood

The following morning is again calm. We attempt to eat breakfast but fail. We have both eaten more food in the past few days than we have for a month. The only road North is now clear of landslides and mud again, so after a compulsory last bath we stock up on cake, cigars and pies and make the journey home.

We arrive in San Pancho early Saturday afternoon. The river levels have dropped considerably from the night before but we notice straight away the speed and volume of the water. We take a different route off the highway as our usual exit immediately appears damaged. We reach the river and can see that things have changed. The whole river is much wider as the banks have been flattened. The bushes and hedgerows and small trees that lined the river are gone. The usual road from the highway is entirely destroyed. Replaced with deep pits and pointy rocks. The first river is fast flowing and on both sides are steep drops making it impossible to cross even if you could get to it.

We somehow avoid the dips and crevices in front of us and using our most aggressive 4×4 driving get to the second river crossing. A tree and downed power lines block the road so access is only on foot from here. We leave the car and attempt to cross. Pretty much as soon as we take a few strides the water is above our knees and strongly trying to push us under. We abandon that idea and try to circumvent this and the next crossing by hiking through a local neighbourhood which a local lady showed us the last time we tried this. We head in that direction and find more downed power lines and a cement electrical pole fully across the road. We climb over the pole and are met with a cliff like drop off to the river. The road is gone. Not washed out or damaged or replaced with holes and rocks. It’s gone. A road that has been there for decades and only a month previously had dump trucks up and down it all day is no more. The river burst its banks and took it away.

We head for town and persuade friends to take us into their air conditioned world. It’s days before we can contemplate getting home. Even by foot. We are resigned to the fact that all our repair work will be undone. The worry is what else we will find. If one of the big Copomos has fallen next to the treehouse it could be devastating. We are effectively refugees until the rivers calm down enough to give getting home another go.

Jayne is still in town borrowing an office and Wi-Fi . As she works I take on the mission to get home. By navigating downed power lines and finding new safer ways to cross the rivers I eventually get to the road leading to our place. It’s buggered. There are sections of road which are no more. Most of the rest is crater filled with massive rocks at all angles. It’s hard enough to hike over. No chance of driving anything. I get to our gate and things look surprisingly well. The rocks are piled high so access is impossible. Looking up the river to the road up to the treehouse is a worry. The corner of our land has been washed out taking down five of our biggest palm trees. They are all well over a hundred-foot-high and their root stacks are vast. There is a huge tangle of fence posts, palm trees, root stacks and barbed wire making it impossible to pass.

I make my way across the land. The crunching of the dry spike vines underfoot is loud, large broken limbs hang precariously from the trees or stick out of the jungle floor awkwardly where they fell. I’m passing the place where I am avoiding the bees and hear an unusual flow of water. Somehow a small stream is now crossing my path heading down the hill. I am a long way from the water pipes so it’s no leak. The river is behind me and a good few meters lower than where I am. The well which I checked on the way over is many meters below me and the water table a few meters down. Where is this water coming from? A separate water source has appeared that is coming out of the ground above our treehouse which we know to be 80 M above sea-level. It’s a strong flow of water cutting a new channel. It’s all rather odd.

It’s a relief to see our treehouse has not moved or been damaged. Every building we have still has a roof and we have no trees down on the land. We are lucky. The road, however, remains impassable for the next ten days. All the machines we need are fully employed rescuing folk with bigger problems than ours. Eventually we get a machine to work a solid 8 hours to give us access. The fallen trees are shifted around and the river access restored. Large amounts of dirt are poured on top of the rock beds to fashion a road of sorts. It is now possible to deliver water, food and fuel to the land without exhausting ourselves. It’s been a pretty tough time but others had it much worse. The river took a lot of land and property that will never be seen again.

This is the fourth October I have spent here. October is brutally beautiful. The jungle is every colour of green, the vines overtake everything as you watch, fire flies light up the night . The rains have all but stopped for a while but are now replaced with thick warm cloaks of humidity. The air we breathe delivers thick soupy warmth in our lungs which is no comfort. It takes but a few steps to induce profuse dripping sweats. Clothes stick to skin annoyingly so are discarded. Good job I’m so isolated. Lying motionless on dampening towels in front of a fan is the only rest bite. It’s exhausting.

So October is here. Jayne is not. She’s breathing in fresh dry Vancouver air and cooking pies for Canadian Thanksgiving. Our Thanksgiving was cancelled as our Canadian hosts are without power and water because someone decided to dig them up. Pinche Mexico Te Amo. It’s now possible to get to town but the motivation to do anything at all in this heat is sadly lacking. It’s going to be a slow month but with great luck we won’t get smashed by weather again. There is a heap of post rain maintenance to do. The entire jungle needs some taming. Our water pump needs replacing. Vehicles need repair. Large sections of our fences need rebuilding. Little by little it will all get done. In its own time and space. Eventually. No pressure.

Jungle Journal

Nature, Idiots and Bloody Nora.

September 1, 2021September 1, 2021
by Beave

Summer in the tropics. The colours are vivid, the sun is hot, the sea is warm and the beers are cold. Fruit is falling from the trees attracting clouds of butterflies that surround us as we walk. The fast-growing jungle is alive with fast-moving lizards and slow-moving snakes. The birds are loud, the bugs are louder and the frogs are loudest. The cats sleep 23 hours a day. Living with this amount of nature is extraordinary but ultimately humbling. It’s been a mad month.

Again, the rains come and kick our arse. With absolutely no notice, we are treated to a solid 12 hours of hard rain. There was little wind to interfere with the falling water so we got the full benefit. We are stuck for a number of good reasons. The river that has settled in front of our gate meanders towards where the road to our treehouse begins. The strength of the water carves the place where the road and river meet into a small impassable cliff.

By wading through the water, we discover that a new flood path has temporarily formed overnight. The river to our North overflowed and re-purposed our roads as temporary water ways in order to entirely destroy the road heading to the jungle above us and remove all the earth from the road that we use to get to town. It’s a mass of deep holes and large rocks positioned in such a way as to take the undercarriage off anything that attempts to traverse it. We hear the town is flooded so we stay put,

We manage to get a large machine in to help rescue us. Within 24 hours we have invested seven hours of machine time and repaired our roads and moved many tones of earth and rock to divert the river so it can’t bugger up our access. We are impressed by our efforts and look forward to many easier days gliding down our new roads beside our much better behaved river. We are idiots.

Jake makes it back to the UK and is immediately tested positive for Covid. It is very likely he caught it here and it didn’t have time to show up on his pre-flight test. He is symptom free which is good news but entirely frustrating. He quarantines in a small room at his mate’s place In Darlington. He is very lucky in many ways. If he had tested positive before he left here and had to stay for a further few weeks he would have been stuck here. Mexico for the first time has been declared a red zone country by the UK. If we want to visit family we will now have to pay £2250 quid each for the joy of staying in a government prison/hotel for 11 days. This has effectively ended all travel to Mexico from UK. It also meant that with just a few days’ notice many thousands of panicked visitors from the UK have to get back before the deadline. Our friend spent many stressful hours trying to re-book flights or be stuck here indefinitely. It was chaos.

Again, the rains come and kick our arse. With absolutely no notice we listen to the downfall noisily try and pierce our roof. It’s impossible to listen to music or podcasts or movies because the rain is so loud. Lightening hits within feet of the treehouse and the subsequent thunder shakes our bones. We appear from a long sleepless night to find everything we did undone. Not only is the river back to where it likes to be but its toying with us. The massive rocks we moved to protect our road are gone. A new steeper and wider cliff has replaced them. As suspected all our lovely roads have vanished, replaced with larger rocks and deeper holes. We are very stuck.

There are rumors that we will be hit by a hurricane in the next week or so but it’s really hard to tell if this will actually happen. Hurricanes are forever coming up our coast but mostly make landfall in Baja or much further South. The cool air coming off our jungle discourages them getting too close and tends to protect us. This area hasn’t been smashed by a hurricane since 2012. We make the decision to repair our way to freedom one more time. We are idiots.

For the first time this year the town and beach are getting noticeably quieter. Finally.

In previous years the volumes of bodies on our beloved pristine sands reflected clear seasons. After Thanksgiving in Canada and USA there was an exodus of RVs and snow birds packing our shores to “winter” in Mexico. This marked the beginning of our traditional high season. Most of these folks are retirees avoiding the cold weather and needy grown up kids. This had the effect of raising the average age considerably. They stay warm and well fed for the length of their 6-month visa and head back North at Semana Santa to be replaced by hordes of low budget Mexican tourists making camp on the beach for two weeks. After Easter, there was notably less folk and everything slowed down. Shops and restaurants closed. We had a full 6 months before it got nuts again.

But, as we know, the world as we know it has changed. Last year the Canadian-USA border closed holding back the swell of RVs trying to escape the winter. A mass of well-aged Covid vulnerable travelers decide to stay put and spend time with grandchildren rather than bake on a beach getting fatter. RV parks that have had full occupancy for years with long waiting lists for spots are now completely empty. Bars and restaurants which had evolved to service Canadians and Americans of a certain age are empty. Semana Santa was effectively cancelled so all our season markers vanished.

The most surprising and unforeseen result of our new world order is that huge amounts of middle class Mexican tourists have descended on us throughout the year. Guadalajara and Mexico City have a large population of fairly well-off families that have been hard hit by Covid and restrictions have been brutal. Lockdown means lockdown. Soldiers on the streets. Life stopped. The traditional holiday around Semana Santa may have been shut down again this year but it just spread things out. Towns such as Sayulita that are used to mass tourism have been packed out into August. Our beaches have been filled with large loud Mexican families camped under umbrellas surrounded by coolers of Corona light. They have been joined by a fleet of shiny new cars carrying new luggage and well-dressed families that are filling all the rentals and hotel rooms. They eat at restaurants and buy stuff from shops. Like proper tourists. It does mean that we have a lot more imported Covid cases but it has helped the local economy survive and in many cases, thrive.

September is somehow here already, the schools are back up and running and the rains, heat and humidity is getting challenging so, thankfully, our little town is pretty much ours again. There is a solid group of lunatics who stay here all year around. We spend time together dealing with all the stuff that nature and life throws at us. A group of hardy souls agree to take a hike across swollen rivers to find deep swimming holes surrounded by high rocks to dive from. It’s good to get away, even locally.

We have been here for four years now. It’s hard to get into our heads that it was four years ago we naïvely turned up at Manchester airport with eleven bags and a surf board. We remember very clearly the hours and days of torment we have suffered getting our immigration stuff sorted. We have been official temporary residents here for a full four years which is the most we are allowed. It’s time to revisit the immigration office again and see what fresh hell they can inflict upon us before granting us permanent residency.

We make the journey over our re-repaired roads to the big city to see what awaits us. It’s a Friday and the office is open until 3 pm so we confidently arrive at 10.45 prepared to sit in silence for many hours while being stared at by security guards that shout at you if you get your phone out or look anything other than bored and miserable. Nothing so predictable. We are told that the office is too busy to see us and we are to return the following week. Ideally arriving at 7 am (two hours before they open) so we can secure a spot sometime later that day. Unless they get too busy again. We leave with the familiar feeling of being stunned by incompetence. We find a good lunch and leave for home. With luck, we may be able to get out of our jungle on Monday and see what happens then. We have no choice but to deal with these very special people as our deadline to get our residency is running out. If we miss it then years of torturous buggering about will be for naught!

Our friend is having a birthday in town. There is a plan to celebrate by having a “lady’s night” at the Cerveceria which is a flimsy excuse for boys to dress as girls. There is a worrying amount of enthusiasm for this plan. There is also a number of worrying radar images being circulated that suggest that Tropical Storm Nora is heading straight for us and gaining strength. It is forecast to hit us Saturday night as a fully formed hurricane. The thought of getting stuck in the jungle again is not something we look forward to. There is also the issue that we will likely have to get to the immigration office and potentially live there for days. We make a call to lock down the treehouse, pack a few bags, head to town and see what happens.

We meet up at the beach for a few early drinks. The hurricane is coming. It’s already raining and remarkably the waves are huge, the swell massive and moving almost horizontal to the beach North to South. We haven’t seen the sea like this. Neither has anyone else. A couple of clearly insane surfers take their boards to the beach and study the water. They soon re-gather sanity, think better of it and retreat to town without drowning. The rain gets heavier and all the bars shutdown and so we also wade through the already flooded streets and retreat to town. It’s highly unlikely we will be able to get home tonight.

There was a good amount of distraction at what turns out to be essentially a birthday drag party as the rains come in and the winds start taking down trees. There are at least three cars and two houses under branches by midnight. The streets are under water and gusts of 120 km/h whip rain at all angles into everything. We camp out at a friend’s house and awake to more rain. News from Puerto Vallarta is that it’s been hit hard. Main highway bridges are destroyed and houses have partially collapsed. We walk through the river/streets in the rain to the beach. The waves are again heading straight towards the beach which is how it should be but the lagoon has breached into the ocean. There are unspeakable human waste type things in that lagoon so we won’t be going in the sea for some time. We have a slow breakfast and decide to try and get home. We are not confident.

It’s soon clear we are in for some fun. We are unable to reach our first river. The road has concrete lumps sticking up from a deep crack filled with water. It’s not possible to drive over or past it. We park up and grab our bags and start the hike in. The water is fast and strong and it takes all our attention not to get tipped over. There are branches all over the roads.

We reach the second river and again struggle across. We meet a local lady who we help to cross back the other way. She tells us the next river ahead is way too dangerous to cross. We believe her and follow across her land to where there is access to our road through a hedge that bypasses this crossing.

The next thing we find is that the organic farm close to us has been badly hit again. Palm trees have blocked the road up to the highway and trees are leaning again their gate. One of the new massive concrete electric poles has come down and is leaning on their house fence dramatically. It is blocking any access by any vehicle. We avoid the downed power lines that sit in large puddles of water.

The next river is the one we respect the most. We know that people have drowned trying to cross. Thankfully one of the big machines that had been moving earth did some work in this spot and moved a island of rocks which divided the water and caused deep channels. The water is strong but not higher than our knees so we both make it. We meet our neighbor who comes out to greet us. He was at our place the previous night checking in on us. The winds were unprecedented and exposed any weakness in any tree. There are lots of branches and vines on the floor but also a huge tree that has entirely blocked the road 100 meters from our gate. Its impressively huge and not quite fully on the ground so full of tension. It will dangerous to use a chainsaw so we need to get a gigantic machine in to move it. We just manage to climb over it and cross the last river. We are home. It starts to rain again. We can see no obvious bad damage. The 150-foot-high Capomo trees are still upright. The treehouse still standing. We are thankful.

Morning arrives and it’s finally stopped raining. The sun is just coming up as we pack up every document we have and wade out to find our car. We arrive at the immigration office sometime before 10am. It is empty. No one there except staff. We learn that Puerto Vallarta has been effectively closed down as they recover from Nora. It appears the perfect time to arrive at immigration is the Monday morning after a devastating hurricane. Who knew?! We sign in and are immediately directed to a window where an inscrutable young lady who we recognise from previous visits takes our thoroughly prepared stack of documents and endless copies of everything. She sends us off to the bank next door and requests we return with further receipts and copies. Our mission is to keep her happy. Maybe even get her to smile a bit, so we comply.

Half an hour later we are again in front of our window. Happy-pants seems pleased enough with our progress but still no smile. We sit for an hour in front of the grumpy guards that are obviously even more bored than we are. They force me to wear my soaked shoes. Bare feet are unacceptable. We are then asked back to the window to sign a document. We then sit for another hour. We are the only people there. They have nothing else to do. It’s remarkable how they are dragging all this out.

And then it happens. A flood of activity. We are fingerprinted with their new electronic scanner machine. Our digital signatures are taken. A white board is rolled up behind us as our tired faces and wild hair filled with bits of tree are photographed from all angles. A further hour of sitting and we are presented with two plastic cards. Happy-pants gives us a small, tiny, slightly sarcastic smile. Each card has a photograph that looks nothing like us but have the words Residente Permanente written in bold type above. Our way home is strewn with power lines, power poles, downed trees and crazy rivers. We won’t have internet for a week and we are exhausted…. but… we never, never, never have to come to this immigration office ever ever ever again! It’s a great day.

Jungle Journal

Poo Bags & Time Out

August 3, 2021August 3, 2021
by Beave

My radiant immortality is in question. It has been decided that because we are of a certain age (just me actually) it would be wise to indulge ourselves (me) in full medical screens. I’m more tempted by a delusional Peter Pan existence where such things are reserved for the very, very old (clearly not me). The best health clinic in Puerto Vallarta we can find is located and booked. We must present ourselves at 9 am, in the city, with a selection of recently harvested body fluids and samples. We are required to fast for 8 hours before my arrival. Not even a cup of tea is allowed. Not ideal.

The day arrives. After a few unusual morning contortions to collect samples (and no tea) we head to the big city with bags of unmentionable things in hand. The day does not go according to plan. There has been very heavy rain overnight. It is later confirmed that over 11 inches of rain fell in just over 5 hours. The mountains have disgorged massive amounts into our valley. The trickles of water carving patterns in the ground outside our gate have transformed into a 30-foot-wide, fierce, rock filled raging torrent. We look at each other and decide very quickly that it’s not worth risking ending up in the ocean.

We turn back just as the internet packs in. For the first time this year we are trapped and entirely out of touch. We return to the treehouse to wait it out and find that I had forgotten to take my technically challenging stool sample with me. I almost dislocated myself successfully getting what I needed into the undersized ziplock bag that now sits on our kitchen table. Jayne is unimpressed.

Our rainy season is transformative. Hot beautiful days are concluded with showers of fireflies and deep, bone shaking thunder. As the sun dips, clouds of many varieties and colours of butterflies precede blinding sheet lightening. The sounds of the jungle have moved on from the screaming cicadas and squawking chachalacas to the more melodic changing symphonies of endless bugs, frogs and beasties. The rivers are running and our roads are again slowly turning to rock pits as the water invades everything. It is now entirely possible to sit quietly and watch the jungle plants grow. Life surrounds us.

The rescheduled medical is upon us and we find ourselves in the big city with poo bags in hand. We undergo a series of prods and xrays and scans while parts of us are taken away for further research. We are told to return for the results in a week.

Our friend is trying to take advantage of an over stay visa amnesty where it is possible to get temporary residence without income checks and an annual visit to immigration offices. Immigration offices are famously horrendous pits of pedantic administrative hell. So it’s worth a shot. We spend a torturous hour or so waiting outside an immigration office, in the sun, with a ticket to eventually go into the office to be told by incompetent administrators to come back with further endless copies of pointless documents. We are eventually asked to return the following week. Jayne and I are required to be witnesses to our friend’s good standing. Not sure how that will play out. She’s a bit dodgy.

Jayne has an absolutely understandable desire to see her family in Canada. She hasn’t seen her parents in years now and hasn’t even met her nephew in Vancouver and he’s nearly 18 months old. Due to Canada’s tight border policy, if you are not vaccinated, you spend a silly amount of money being the guest of the Canadian government approved hotel/jailhouse for 10 days before you are allowed to mingle. The UK has also announced that unvaccinated folk must quarantine on arrival. This makes visiting our families effectively impractical unless we are vaccinated. For this reason, despite our low risk lifestyles, we decide to take up the opportunity to get jabbed.

27 000 AstraZeneca vaccines have been released to be distributed over a 48 hour window in Puerto Vallarta. We find ourselves in the city, on the final day of the program and head to the naval base very close by where a long line follows the contours of the vast building and way beyond. The thought of queuing for hours in the heat is too much for us. We head for a second location at a nearby gymnasium. 20 minutes away we are told. After 45 minutes of traffic we arrive to find a mass of people swamping the entire area forming loose queues and looser mobs. We can’t even see the building. The place closes at 3 pm and there is not a chance we would be anywhere near the front of the line by then. We head back to the naval base as fast as we can. We arrive to see a lot fewer people, manage to park and get in line. The queue is moving fast and we are soon at the gate. This is explained when we meet two armed guards who advise us to go back to the gymnasium as they have run out of doses. Our hopes are dashed.

There is no forecast re-release of vaccines in the city expected for some time. The vaccines distributed outside the city are most often Chinese or Russian version that are not accepted by the Canadian government. This makes Jayne very sad. We find a restaurant and take down a few huge plates of restorative sushi before heading for home after a tough day.

Jake has decided that now is the time to reintroduce himself to “real-life”. He has a flight booked back to the UK where he has arranged to quarantine at a mate’s house and pay for a series of Covid test on his arrival. All seems well until we realise that Spain will not allow anyone in who does not have two approved vaccines. He is way too young to get vaccinated here in Mexico and privately funded vaccines are not available. Second vaccines are months away so he is stuffed. We arrange to reroute his return flight via Amsterdam. Apparently, even though Brexit Britains are not welcome in the Netherlands they will allow him and his bags to pass through quickly if he brings a recent negative antigen test result with him. We will miss the bugger but it’s time for him get moving and earning again. There’s only a finite amount of paradise a bloke can handle.

A good mate arrives from California to stay with us for a few days. She is travelling with her husband and 4-year-old son. They have rented a very posh condo-apartment in the city but want to rough it with us for a few days. They are here to take advantage of the dental tourism industry that has popped up in Puerto Vallarta. Dental care options are excellent in PV. Incredibly they were quoted $22k US dollars to get one single tooth fixed in San Francisco. They have come down on holiday, rented a cool place and paid for all sorts of dental work for a tiny fraction of that cost. To make things even stranger they have rented out their place in San Francisco while they are away and are actually turning a profit on the trip!

It’s odd, in a good way, to have guests again. They are here for a very short time and our weekend is packed. We spend another splendid day on the sailboat and eating way too well at the fancy restaurants near the marina. Sunday is a Birria breakfast then a long painful football match against some overachieving Italians that I don’t want to talk about. Solace is taken by swimming in the sea outside Tomatina’s bar in Lo De Marcos as the sun comes down in its spectacular way. It’s always immensely satisfying seeing our life through new eyes. Especially friends and especially a crazy four-year-old. We are lucky.

The next morning, we are up early, cram into the Sub and head to the city. We drop off our guests and Jake at their higher-class world of room service, pools and flushing loos where we arrange to meet up later. We head out to do our stuff. Our immigration interview is on time. As official temporary residents, we sign a few photocopies of our ID and this is apparently enough to allow our friend to be officialised and many steps closer to her residency. At no time are we asked any questions at all about our friend’s good standing or our relationship with her. It is not clear that we even know her! This does not seem to be an issue. We leave in good time and head to the clinic for our medical results.

We meet our assigned doctor who carefully goes through reams of results and data with us both. Jayne goes first and after 20 minutes it becomes obvious that she is both irritatingly young and unbelievably healthy. Then it’s my turn. My heart, lungs, prostate, ziplock bag and most surprisingly my liver are all in pretty good shape… “for my age”. After the usual nagging about cholesterol and blood pressure I am advised to eat more good things and maybe drink less beer but certainly increase my intake of Tequila and Raicilla. Our wise doctor has a grandmother who makes Raicilla. He absolutely advised me in his capacity as my medical advisor that tequila is life. I respect his advice. We will all meet again in a few months to see how we (me) are going. Could have been a lot worse so I consider it a win. Jayne remains silently young and smug.

My lovely friend rings me from her posh condo-apartment to tell us that her dentist had told her that there was an extra batch of vaccines arriving at the gymnasium now. “No one” knows and there are no queues. We make it there in 15 minutes flat and before we have had time to think are directed to sit on chairs with about 50 other people. A trolley follows a guy with a clip board. When clip board guy has all the details he needs then a large lady with nice eyes and a syringe drops the needle into my arm and moves on. We are required to sit still for 10 minutes to check we have a fair chance of surviving and are then released. That was it! They have it all very professionally dialled in. No wonder they can get so many thousands of vaccines done in such a short time. The group of 50 who have just arrived are told they have run out of doses. We are lucky.

We spend the rest of the day congratulating ourselves on a far more successful and productive day by meeting up with Jake and abusing our friend’s hospitality by leaping noisily from pool to pool in their oversized and under occupied super resort. We are feeling absolutely fine. Maybe all the talk of post vaccine symptoms have been exaggerated.

They have not. The day after we both wake up and are shocked by how crap we feel. The dull ache from the jab has somehow travelled to every muscle and joint. Neither of us has a spark of energy. It takes most of the morning to simply get tea into us both. It’s a pretty horrible day of moaning and self-pity. We get through a sleepless night and thankfully begin to feel more human and functional again.

A friend of ours is having a few medical issues and has been admitted to hospital in San Pancho. We undertake to go and see him. We are both aware that trying to get in and out of San Pancho hospital is a chore as they have a ward with Covid cases and they keep everything pretty much inaccessible. Jayne is starting to feel like she has a sore throat and maybe the start of a cough. The vaccines are not effective for a while yet so she wants to get tested before she inflicts herself on anyone. She heads into the hospital and asks for a checkup.

It takes a few hours but Jayne appears with a handful of prescriptions for a mild chest infection. They refused to give her a Covid test. The test site in close-by Sayulita is open and so we head there and pay our money and get her tested. It’s a quick process and within 10 minutes we meet up again and plan to head into town for lunch as we await her results. As we return to the car we notice a doctor in full PPE dramatically running out of the hospital down the street towards us waving his hands in the air. He shouts at us, through his mask ,that Jayne has tested positive and needs to go home immediately and await symptoms. We make a quick stop at the pharmacy and do just that.

Jake somehow manages to stay healthy and is allowed to leave Mexico. It is with great relief his Covid test, like my own, comes back negative. This avoids him being stuck in quarantine in the jungle for another few weeks. We make it to the airport early and in no time, he is on his way. I’m very sad to see him go but I am grateful we got to spend so much time together. We are very lucky to have had that. I now need to prepare for my daughter who is due here in just over 6 months, three weeks and four days. Not that I’m counting or anything.

I also, somehow, remain virus free. It could be that the crushing heat was not entirely to blame for my few weeks of lethargy and uselessness last year. We are both entirely thankful for that. Jayne is proper sick and needs care. If we were both this bad we would have been stuffed. She has no energy and absolutely no appetite. I can’t persuade her to eat anything. She has a high temperature. Her throat is very sore and she can’t talk. Despite this, nurse Beave postpones taking any joy from the situation. She has a persistent cough whenever she is awake. When she is awake, no one sleeps. Thankfully when she does sleep, which is often, she is peaceful and her breathing remains good. It’s a worrying time that lasts over 12 days before she starts to improve. Covid is shit. It’s easy to see how, if you add age, existing health conditions and breathing problems, it can kill you. Jayne is continuing her recovery. Slowly to avoid any post-viral fatigue issues. We are lucky. Our very good mate in South Africa has just lost his amazingly beautiful wife to Covid. They were inseparable. It’s so very sad.

In a few months’ time, maybe, we will find a second vaccine and, maybe, fulfil all the travel criteria necessary to visit family again. That will be a good option to have.

Jungle Journal

A Dream Gift & High Tide Burn

June 30, 2021June 30, 2021
by Beave

The Cirque de los Ninos is showing signs of life again. The circus school in San Pancho has been supported by the mighty Cirque de Soleil for many years and has been spoilt by being given access to world class equipment, training and resources. The world has changed, of course. Cirque de Soleil has just emerged from bankruptcy post –pandemic and has been sold. Its future is uncertain. A much-anticipated massive Cirque de Soleil theme park construction is currently on hold 40 miles away from us in Puerto Vallarta. No idea what the future holds for them but our little town’s little circus has somehow survived so far.

The kids’ extravaganza show has again been cancelled this year but hope is that it can be revived next year. For now, they are offering acrobatics and circus skills training open to anyone a few times a week. Jake has been sucked into their circus ways and is training to throwing himself around like a champion. We are also presented with small community shows. A few wildly bendy contortionist dancers hypnotise us for an hour of swinging about and contemporary dance moves. It’s all highly impressive.

As Jake is chucking himself about I am lured into the community gym which is sited right next door to the circus venue. Within are a few local boys who are properly skilled Thai boxers. The fastest of them is a highly skilled fighter and coach. In my distant past, I did a spot of martial arts. Amongst the many and varied bizarre adventures in my youth was a spell fighting in the streets of Bangkok in staged Large Farang v Tiny Thai bloke street fights. It was a betting game and fixed outcomes but we put on a good show. Invariably the win was to the little guy. The Thai boys and girls and especially the boy-girls were incredibly skilled and fit athletes with shins like iron bars. They regularly broke full coconuts hanging from trees with stunningly powerful and accurate flying back round house kicks. You don’t want to get your head in the way of one of those. I’m distracted by such memories and in a fit of nostalgia somehow agree to train Muay Thai amongst the younger, fitter and faster.

I turn up at the hot humid gym with a feeling of impending doom. It is with some relief that I find there are large professional pads that we will use to avoid breaking each other. In my head things slot into place easily and I’m kicking and punching away in no time. Body, however, appears to be unable to get up to speed. Within half an hour my arms don’t feel like they are part of me and I’m unsure how I’m still standing up. It’s at this point I get to hold the pads for three, three minute rounds of getting battered by someone half my age. Lucky me. The pads absorb a good percentage of the power but there is enough left to whittle me down. Then it’s my turn.

Three minute rounds. Full power punching and all the kicking. One torturous minute after another then another. Three of them. Half a minute rest. My body is leaking all of its senses, I’m sucking in air noisily, attempting to drink water with shaking hands in a foggy haze. Round two. It goes on. And On. Another half minute to try and make sense of all the spinny things then round three. It ends. I am stunned into a deep silence. Not sure I could speak if I wanted to. My arms don’t work. I can’t reach up to scratch my head. What I truly know is that the older I am the faster I was.

I am often asked what I miss about my former life in UK. It’s a good question. People aside, for a moment, the first few obvious ones are Draft Guinness and Greggs Steak-bake. Less obvious but equally true is the loss I feel by not having a bath in my life. Baths, for many precious years, were my sanctuary. Bubbles and candles, a duck or two. Pile of Sunday papers. Radio and importantly no water shortages. Endless top ups. I miss that for sure. Baths are not a thing here. We tried and failed to check into a hotel with a bath (just to use the bath) but there are no hotel rooms with baths. It’s a limited water, hot humidity, swimming in sea, shower culture. You don’t see baths very often but when you do…

When I saw the bath in the flat my mate Tommy is living in I went a bit daft. It’s a free-standing claw foot enamelled bathtub with high round back. It’s also very deep. I have a fighting chance getting very wet in hot soapy water. I spend a long time and lot of effort dropping way too many hints that I need to try the thing out. Tommy is away for a few weeks but on his return, I’m booked in. BYO bubbles.

It’s raining again. As soon as we drop in the cistern and fill her with water the rains come. Typical. Tropical storm Dolores comes at us full force then changes its mind at the last moment and heads West. Missed us by 8 miles which is close enough. The wet is, however, upon us. The cicadas scream their wee heads off at sunset, the pressure drops and it rains. We have seen our very first firefly. His zillions of mates are on their way. Can’t wait.

We have had mixed success with keeping the rain away with roofs. Our new treehouse roof is fabulous and we are only damp due to our humid sweating, our stuff remains dry even when the weather gets proper knarly. The rest of the ageing palapa roofs are less efficient. One has a hole in it, another a sneaky but significant leak, two others have further sneaky leaks and one we are assured is OK. By balancing on ladders and origamiing black plastic sheeting with dry palm fronds we mend the leaks and patch the holes as best we can. We smugly retire for the day and wait for the rain. Our leaks are clearly solved.

The next morning we hear that the cabana who’s roof was reported as OK has had problems after the latest overnight downpour. It’s the one we didn’t get to climb over. Probably best we didn’t. By some misunderstanding our Mariposa cabana has not been checked for termites in a while. The result is a few million fat termites and a roof where half the timbers have the tensile strength of toilet paper. The termites have scoffed the lot. It’s not a terminal termite lunch but near enough. The rain has made the old absorbent palms very damp and very heavy. The whole thing could collapse given a slight nudge. It’s clear our Argentinian friend needs to change location until we can get a team in to fix it. This is the incentive she has been waiting for. Guadaloupe, our live-in gardener girl, has decided to move back to the land of flushing toilets and windows. She has moved into a place in town… with a boy!

Further, more careful, post rain surveys make it clear our roof situation is far from useful. Despite painting the wood with nasty goop to keep the buggers at bay, the termites have stubbornly found their way into all sorts of hidden roofy places. A close pass from Hurricane Enrique throws enough water our way to prove beyond doubt that all five roofs we have (other than the new one on our treehouse) need proper attention. One requires completely replacing, three need reenforcing with plastic sheeting and fresh palms and the other needs a few more of our origami leak fixes. We don’t have the luxury of our usual prevarication and get on with the jobs as fast as the gaps between the rains allow.

Much as the world is wet our lives have become surprisingly dry. It’s a very natural thing here to take a tequila offered in welcome when you see your mates. It’s rude not to have a cold beer after doing sweaty work. Sunsets have margaritas attached to them. It’s an almost compulsory accessory. For reasons, I’m still not sure of (as I can’t quite remember how we got into this) we have all decided to be aware of what we drink in June. Or not drink alcohol. Or drink less alcohol or something like that. I approached the challenge as I did when I decided I was smoking fags too much.

I was getting on a flight from LA to London and realised I was unable to smoke for a lot of hours. I had just got back from nearly two months in the deserts of Nevada where I had been busy and awake for most of the time and smoked constantly. After a good few too many hours I notice I have had no cravings at all and my body was actually enjoying the rest from inhaling smog. This surprised me greatly. On paper, I was supposed to be climbing the cabin walls by now. I made a deal with myself that if I wanted a fag I would have one. But I would really have to want one. Not just smoke habitually.

I haven’t wanted a cigarette enough for over 8 years now so I make another deal with myself. If I want to drink I will have a drink. Anything I want, whenever I want it is OK. But I must really want it. Not drink by habit. I haven’t wanted an alcoholic drink enough for 29 and three-quarter days so far. Extraordinarily I am not missing it that much. That’s odd. I’ll see how it goes. No pressure.

Due to not learning from experience and having a VPN on our phones. We have been drawn into watching Euro 2020 (delayed) football. We see England win a game for a change and stupidly we take the bait and set out for an amazing day watching further football. By no logic and not much critical thought we decide Scotland v England has to be a good game. We waste that part of our lives drinking ginger beer and watching a bunch of Americans in a bar watching and commenting on football. It is far more entertaining than the match. We lose the will to live and remember the feeling of anticlimax and mild disappointment that is the feature of supporting most teams. Certainly England. No more football. That’s a lie.

Unbeknown to me Jayne gets a telephone call when she is in town by herself. This gives her the opportunity to make further calls and organize what is to be a memorable afternoon. She arrives at the treehouse and gathers me to go on a mystery tour. I am curious but also deeply suspicious of this behavior. I almost reluctantly get into the sub. We collect Jake who knows more than he is letting on. We then end up at my strange mate from Preston’s house on the beach. He takes us all into his new posh big V8 truck and then off the Pemex to collect Emma who has travelled in from Sayulita. I haven’t got a clue what’s going on but it’s clear I am the only one.

We find ourselves at the security barrier which protects the gated community where a number of our mates live. We park up and all walk towards Tommy’s place. Tommy and his son meet us and lead us up to his apartment. The owners have sold up and the new folk are due to move in soon but are having the whole place renovated before they do. I’m led up to his apartment with floorboards ripped up and the bathroom gutted. Tommy stands me in front of beautiful shaped thing wrapped in cloth. He removes the cloth and presents to me his gift of the bath from the apartment. Somehow, he has negotiated with the builders and acquired this lump of delight, to gift it to me. He is a top, outstanding, handsome, kind, lovely, splendid bloke. Absolutely my absolute favorite. To be fair, I kept making such a bleating fuss about the thing he probably just wanted to shut me up.

It takes five blokes and a good smattering of expletives to lift the immensely heavy iron casting to the huge V8 which transports us into the jungle where my bath is heaved to rest onto blocks we have laid out in front of the treehouse. There is much celebrating. Every time I leave the treehouse I am presented with my bath. My beautiful, beautiful bath. I can’t wait to buy bubbles, candles and ducks.

Summer Solstice is here again. Our compulsion to burn things on beaches started 3 years ago on this very night. There is a break in the weather and we are blessed with a day without rain. It’s enough time to transform another of my failed chairs into something resembling a janky coconut lady man. A matching janky base is masterfully constructed. Precious dry wood is collected. Fuel accelerant is stashed away. We decide to construct something pretty on the rocks in front of Tomatina’s bar in Lo De Marcos. We load everything in our cars and head beach-wards.

Again, our plans are somewhat thwarted by nature. It’s a high tide. Very high tide. The beach is getting eaten away at great pace. By the time we are considering unloading our dry wood the sea is at our ankles. Everyone has been washed from the beach and the beach itself has all but vanished. The sand sucked away to return another day. Not only are the rocks impassable but there is not a dry spot on the entire beach. High tide comes at us hard and dents our hopes of burning anything.

We return from scouting out alternative less accessible dry sand but find very little. There is a spot but it’s a hike. Especially carrying a janky coconut lady man, his/her base, fuel and a bunch of dry wood. A glimmer of hope appears. Thanks to a beautifully executed charm offensive by Jayne, Tomatina’s owners agree that we can set up our burn kit directly in front of them on where now a receding tide is threatening to leave our dry wood dry. It’s well after dark before the sea and tides look trustworthy and we have the confidence to assemble our solstice offering.

Its dark. The sea is far from peaceful and continues to threaten to disrupt proceedings. The fire is going well but a random wave could easily snuff it out. The long foamy fast waves race up the beach towards us getting mockingly close. The water is almost touching the fire. By sheer Canute telepathy we hold back the tide with pure will. The sea retreats and our latest Coconut Lady Man is silently consumed by flame. Perfect.

Photo Credit : John Curley

Jungle Journal

Hot Bees, Fire and Water.

June 4, 2021June 4, 2021
by Beave

We are currently being wooed by cuteness. The huge man-eating Rhodesian ridgeback couple that live in the ranch nearby have just popped out a litter of a eight pups. Now even the most bitey beasts trained to take down lions are cute for a while. Our friends are very keen that we take a few of these mini-monsters to live on our land and protect us from pretty much anything we can think of. The cuteness is tempting but these are pedigree dogs and valued way too much to consider. We have a number of semi-feral dogs that have adopted us and gratefully mop up all the bones and leftovers we toss over the balcony. They very usefully howl and make an appropriate fuss when they smell jaguars coming out of the jungle to hunt. If we were to take on a jungle dog there are large packs of more ugly rescue street hounds constantly in need of short or long-term homes to choose from. We again decide to defer committing to a full-time dog just yet. I’m sure our dog will eventually find us.

Our well is dry and that’s a problem. I dragged our sad water pump 20 metres up to find it clogged with a four foot long beard of grass and debris. The whole area is in drought. It’s proper dry and dusty as hell. There has not been enough rain in the mountains to fill the aquifers so we are buggered. The tinacos are low and running out fast so we need to do something. After a bit of research and a few outings kicking large plastic containers we buy a big blue 5000 litre cistern and have it delivered. We hire a machine and have a 2.5m x 1.5m round hole dug. We then refine the area with shovels so the cistern drops in level and true. We dig it in next to our turtle well and then spend some days trying to find a pipa water truck that will come out and fill it up. They are few and far between at this time of year when everyone is out of water. We can then drop the well pump into it and fill the tinacos. That should get us by until the rains come. There is a tropical storm forecast so things may change sooner than we think.

So, the rains they are a certainly a-comin.. In preparation, we survey where the arroyo will soon flow past our gate and urgently bring in the machine. We realise that if the floods come down the mountains it will cut our access road to the treehouse in two and we would be driving into a plunge pool if we needed to get out. Much moving of earth later the river now has a clear route safely past us and the dirt has been piled high enough to create a road which theoretically will not wash away immediately.

If there’s rain then a roof that works is always a good thing. Ours does not and we need that to change. Our treehouse palapa roof is the more robust and expensive Palapa Royal. These are tufts of palm leaves that are woven together with sheets of plastic to create a waterproof seal inside and a huge fluffy roof up top. The bugger is, that in order for us to have our old knackered leaky roof removed and a brand new sexy one installed, then we need to move us and most of our stuff out.

It’s a crap job but we have put it off long enough and resign ourselves get it done. We move most of our stuff under the bed and create a few strategic piles of boxes and cover the bed and everything else in tarps. All breakable stuff is boxed and stored outside in a highly useful temporary shed we were gifted over a year ago but never took the time to collect.

We are lucky enough to move into a beach front air conditioned room at our lovely friend’s house for a week. It’s really not so bad. We take time to enjoy being in town as Jake looks after the jungle. I’m at the house every day making sure the roof doesn’t go on upside down but the crew are great and do an extraordinary job and somehow don’t leave the place a mess. It’s a full week away from our beloved treehouse but it’s so worth it. The roof not only looks fabulous but we are safe in the knowledge that when the rains eventually get here we can smugly prance about without getting dripped on. Our first fully operational tree house roof.

Our highly useful Razor has stuffed up again. The bracket that holds the gear stick in place has snapped off. Without it it’s impossible to shift gears and it’s stuck in park so can’t be moved. The only gas welder in town has broken and we don’t have the power for an electric welder so we are out of options. The Razor stays parked up outside our house for a few weeks. We attempt to get enough power to a welder from our generator tied solar system a few times but with no luck. In desperation, we find our old portable generator which Jayne’s Dad had modified to give double the amps before the fuse blows. Despite spluttering and groaning in clear distress, somehow, we manage to extract enough juice out of it to get the welder to melt the bits in place. Thanks to our metal whisperer the welds hold and our Razor is back in service.

It’s not just us who are feeling the heat. Our bees have been active and appear happy enough. We have checked and there is a lot of honey being produced out of our four hives. Although shaded from direct sun, mottled sunlight has heated up the hives to the point where many of the bees have relocated to outside the hot boxes. They cling to the outside of the west side where the entrance is. It appears to offer the most shade and catches the most breeze. It’s completely understandable.

Our cow proof gate is ready. It lands at our place for two days so we can degrease it and add undercoat before it is hung. Jayne has extended the electric wires from the pool house and has prepared all the power we need for our automatic remote control hydraulic gate opening arm to function.

The day arrives and brackets and frames are bolted into our walls and the gate hangs, swings and closes. We are one side. The cows the other. We are delighted. After some buggering about we have the added benefit of pushing a remote-control button to instruct our newly installed robot arm to elegantly and slowly open and close the thing on demand without us having to jump in and out of the truck half a dozen times a day. Our plants are now safe. Looks sexy too.

Because it doesn’t seem like we are doing enough at the moment it has been decided that we need to rip out our kitchen countertop and sink. It is true that the sink is set in a badly warped and rotten wood frame which leaks. It is also true that the kitchen counter has not been replaced for three years. The termite eaten wood is covered in a dirty old plastic leather material and perhaps not the most hygienic of surfaces. Our architect has gifted us a number of large ceramic tiles which has been a catalyst to action. Old damp termitey wood is torn out and new wood is found, treated and cut to shape. A new sink is acquired and Jayne sets to work tiling and grouting for all she is worth. The result is a new shiny sink, posh taps that work (and don’t leak) and a respectable work surface that now shows all the dirt rather than hiding it. An improvement I am assured.

It’s getting proper hot. All the spring leaves have fallen and lay on the jungle floor in a thick carpet. It’s impossible to move around silently on top of the bone-dry covering. The whip lizards that usually go about their business unseen are now obvious as they flit about noisily through piles of leaves. There are hundreds of them attracting all sorts of predators. They move at lightning speed and drive the cats insane.

The lunar eclipse came and went very early in the morning. Too early for some but our intrepid photographers were dedicated enough to get up early, drink enough coffee to capture it beautifully.

Photo credit: John Curley.

It’s that sweaty time of year again. Even a simple job requiring me to be outside for anytime means I am soaked. I rehydrate, hang my shirt and pants on the balcony railing and lay on a towel for half an hour until they dry out. It is true that I am a muck magnet but now I’m working in this dust laden humidity its getting ridiculous. My general state of being is pretty much always damp and filthy. I’m having about three showers a day but that doesn’t seem to be helping that much. For reasons I don’t fully understand my finger nails cannot stay clean for more than a few moments. I am clearly a joy to live with.

June is here. It’s the month of the stupid flying June bugs. Weeks of avoiding the hard shelled idiots flying into your face. I have a friend in town who entertains herself by putting a light on in the evening, opening a window. As the June bugs fly in she swiftly returns them to the night with a badminton racket. Hours of fun.

The annual cicadas are back too. They have started performing their invasive droning whistle as the sunsets every night. There are a few hundred of them at the moment soon to be joined by thousands more. It will become a deafening chorus for about 20 minutes every night for weeks.

It’s late in the afternoon and as we are walking towards the treehouse there is a peculiar sound that takes our attention. It’s coming from the hills that surround us to the South. It’s a series of cracks and what appear to be small explosions. We find a good vantage point on our balcony and watch as thick dark smoke appears over the rise of the hill directly above us. The noise gets louder and it becomes clear that there is a forest fire heading our way. The wind is light but in our faces and fanning flames that are now visible. They are at least 40 feet high. Some bigger than that. There is a gently but sinister fall of ash in the air. There is a line of flames now at the crest of the hill busily devouring the dry trees and scrub as they start to head down the slope towards us. This is not good. We have no way of stopping it.

We are blessed. As the sun gets low in the sky the wind changes and moves off shore. We can see the glow of burning scrub along the horizon but it has stopped moving, the flames are much smaller and the noise much less aggressive. It takes a while but we start to relax again, confident that without the wind assistance the fire has burnt itself out. There are a number of highly experienced retired Californian fire fighters living locally. They have seen things they can’t talk about. They have often suggested to us that the humidity levels we live with here protect us from forest fires. This may well be generally true but the current drought and a little wind have made us think again.

The long-awaited pipa water truck arrives. Much celebration. The town water supply is almost done for the season and these trucks are in massive demand. A number of them have broken down so getting one to venture out this far is a result. The new cistern has been sitting for a few days and when we fill her up we find a few visitors have found their way in. With the help of a flour sieve I manage to reach in and rescue two fair sized lizards and a small snake. They are half drowned but grateful for the reprieve. The rest of the water goes in the pool. We are going to need that to survive soon.

Just about as soon as the pipa truck leaves tropical storm Blanca appears out at sea. We are subject to 24 hours of cloud which prevents me pumping our new water to where we need it with the solar well pump. In anticipation, we take down the hammocks and put everything else that won’t appreciate getting wet in safer places. It’s midnight and there are light sounds of rain in the trees, then the muffled noise of water pouring off our new roof, then it comes.

The rain, lightning and thunder are loud enough to keep my attention all night but it’s the sound of over vocal horny frogs and toads appearing from hibernation and getting at it in our pool that keeps me from sleeping. The roof holds up. We have indeed smugly pranced about and have not been dripped on. Amazing.

It’s a pleasure to experience the morning after. Petrichor (the smell of rain on dry earth) infuses everything. I reluctantly fish out of the pool the few over sexed exhausted frogs that don’t have the stamina to save themselves. Nature is alive and well after a long night. The rivers are still dry but the plants look vibrant after their welcome soaking. The storm has passed and we told we are due another few weeks of sun and dry. Raining season is not here yet. With our new river road, new gate, new roof, new kitchen top, newly repaired Razor, and new water store we should be prepared. We are not worried.

Jungle Journal

Slow Roads, Poo Smells & a Melty Tree

May 3, 2021May 3, 2021
by Beave

Our recovery from our grotty gut virus was thankfully swift. The excuse for a rest was appreciated and almost worth it. Spring has arrived. It’s a stunning time of year here. The primavera trees are in full magnificent bright yellow bloom and the colours of bougainvillea blossoms bust through the jungle. The remaining flowers the cows have chosen not to eat are popping up everywhere. The whales have moved on as the sea has warmed up. The sky is deep blue every day.

We take time to review our jungly surroundings and make plans to improve things. It’s become obvious that the road that gets us to our land is stuffed and is taking its toll on our vehicles. The sub has required new steering bits again and various suspension bolts have broken on the Razor. In one single day I managed to get three flat tyres. We have finally invested in new tyres as the ones we had were repaired so often they were pretty much held together with glue and hope. The bed of rocks that were left after the last flood were covered in lose earth but are now reappearing as the dirt dries to dust again. To protect our new tyres we decide to take action.

When the machine arrives to take on levelling the road we are confident that a few hours of pushing more muck around should do it. As is usual, we are wrong. It takes an hour to clear the rocks from just a few meters of road. The lumps of stone that are bashing our suspension are but the tips of vast boulders buried deep. When they are excavated they leave great big pits that need filling with new earth. There are dozens of them. The road is now lined with huge impressive boulders. The road is now passable without getting bashed. It’s a vast improvement. It will be interesting to see what to floods will do to it next time.

San Pancho has been considered a cool and trendy place to be for a very long time. It attracts artists, chefs and musicians from all over the world. The town has (until COVID) staged annual music, food and dance festivals. Such gatherings over the past year have been missed. There has, however, been an upsurge in murals. Local artists have been encouraged to show off their talents. Heaps of new art has appeared on the walls near the beach and around the town square. It’s impressive.

My attempts at dusting off my surf boards and getting back in the waves have been thwarted. The last of this season’s waves have been tempting me for weeks and I finally give myself permission to descend into surf beach bum mode once again. My boards are waxed and loaded and I’m ready. It is not to be.

Just before I leave for the beach I make the terrible decision to empty our loo. Our composting toilets are basically large buckets that require emptying weekly into our humanure compost heap where we bury contents under leaves and let nature make us good stuff to plant in. I very carefully carry a very full bucket down 17 steps from our treehouse and manage to chuck its contents into the compost. In the process of aiming the heavy bucket in such a way as to avoid splash back, my spine twists in a way it shouldn’t and I’m crippled. I can’t even carry my board so chances of catching waves are slim to none. It takes weeks and a few visits to my favorite back cracker to fix my poo bucket injury. More time to slow down and wait for waves. Surf bum life on hold.

Semana Santa is the week of celebrating all the saints that ends on Easter Sunday. It’s the week that has traditionally marked a vast exodus of overexcited people from the cities to the beaches. Convoys of coaches arrive outside town spewing thousands of visitors carrying tents and coolers. Huge families spend a week crammed on the beach drinking endless tins of Corona lite, playing music at full volume and eating biscuits and tacos. It’s best avoided. Those of us who live here tend to hide . Our place becomes the perfect sanctuary to avoid the masses.

Last year, due to lockdown, Semana Santa was effectively cancelled. Road blocks and beach bans were aggressively enforced by marines and federal police. Everyone is preparing for a post lockdown backlash this year. All the stores are over stocked with high walls of corona lite, biscuits and tacos in anticipation. We stock up with essentials and hide ourselves away.

Finally after running out of excuses and a huge amount of buggering about we manage to attach the polished parota shelf to the kitchen with our custom designed brackets. It’s taken nearly a year to get it sorted but worth the wait.

The anti-climax after Semana Santa 2021 is tangible. No one showed up. If anything, the week before Easter is one of the quieter weeks of the year so far. It’s a blessed relief to many but others have been left with more beer & biscuits than they know what do with.

It’s Good Friday and our Semana Santa hibernation week has been delightful . We agree that The Democratic Cocktail club will host an Eastery event at our bar. It’s an opportunity to emerge from our hiding places and meet up again. It’s another splendid evening and gives us further reason to vanish away again for a few days of recovery and peace.

Easter sees our chocolate orchid in flower. It’s a powerful orange colour that appears once every two years and gives off the distinct smell of Maltesers.

Our gate posts are completed and our actual gate is under construction. It cannot come fast enough as the jungle cows continue night raids into our gardens. We have been hosting Guadalupe, an Argentinian girl, for the past few months who has been tending and planting and nurturing our food and plant growth. In the last raid, we sadly lost most of her hard work. All our squash is gone along with, most of our lemon grass and a few banana trees. To add further insult most of our stunningly beautiful flower heads have been munched off. it’s brutal.

With the highly skilled rock work completed around our gate and hobbit door, attention has shifted to the intimidatingly tough job of getting our driveway completed. Since we agreed a price we have had half a dozen boys collecting and installing tons of river rocks for up to 20 hours a day. It’s an incredible feat of strength and sweat. The concrete is set. It’s done. We now have safe access to our treehouse all year around. It’s taken so many months of extraordinary work but it’s turned out a stunningly transformative creation. The boys are exhausted. They have worked with us full time now for over a year and have left us to take a few well-earned months rest. We now await our gate.

Our other project is also taking shape. Our summer house/scorpion temple renovation has had some serious attention. Quotes are coming in for roof sections, walls, bathroom, kitchen, mezzanine and all the bits to hold everything together. We are creating a budget from the designs as they develop and dreaming of a day when we can flip an air conditioner switch.

Amongst the springtime jobs is to keep a solid eye on our vanilla vines. It’s the time of year when we have only a few hours every morning to discover brand new and very short lived vanilla flowers and get pollen inside them quickly before they drop off. Those that pollenate will eventually develop into a vanilla bean. Vanilla is only naturally pollinated by the Malipona bee. Although native to Mexico this is a very rare creature and the chances of one happening by a flower that only ever opens for a few hours is slim. Almost all vanilla orchids are, therefore, hand pollenated.

My birthday comes and goes leaving me older and heavier. Jayne takes two weeks off work for the first time in over a year and we take time out to better appreciate our lives.

We eat oysters, drink good wine, watch sunsets and swim in the warm sea. We listen to the birds and watch the lizards dashing through the bush. It’s deeply satisfying to allow ourselves the space to do nothing guilt free.

On the day of my birth we host a party for friends in the jungle. We are fortunate to know so many creative and slightly mad mates. There is an impressive amount of dancing, singing DJ-ing and general nuttiness. Two of the slightly madder variety of friends proceed to both shock & entertain us in equal measure with a fully costumed and choreographed dance performance of” Like a Prayer” the Madonna classic. It is perhaps my most unusual birthday gift.

It has been planned for while that we take a few days away from the jungle and install ourselves with a bunch of very good friends in an exclusive beach resort which is 20 minutes away from us. It’s an idyllic spot on a secluded beach. It’s been owned by a good mate who employs great skill and care spoiling us all for a blissful few days. We return to the jungle fully restored. And certainly fatter.