New Sky, All the Megs & Endless Possibilities

Our return to Mexico from Burning Man goes pretty much to plan. We spend two blissful weeks being thoroughly anti-social and busy ourselves doing absolutely bugger all. The growing list of jobs, tasks and projects can just wait.

In our absence the rainy season has delivered significantly less rain than expected. A lot less. The jungle is alive and every colour of vibrant green. We can see it growing in front of our eyes but it’s a bit of a worry that the rivers are stubbornly dry. The flashing displays of the fireflies entertain us every night but there are a few million less of them this year. They are attracted by the water that isn’t there. If nothing dramatic happens there is the real possibility that the town well will run dry disruptively early next year.

We notice a very large Copomo has fallen too close to our main solar panels. If it had drifted twenty feet on its way down it would have demolished them. It’s a full size 150 foot tree. It’s a stunningly huge. It has taken out a few fruit trees and now lies on the river border of our land where our fence used to be. It’s an impressive amount of wood. The trunk is too broad for even my extra-long chain saw. Copomo is not useful for construction as it degrades relatively quickly. It does burn well so is mostly used for cooking. We will have to wait for this massive lump of tree to slowly break down or organise an epic cook out.

The first of the significant hurricanes is due. We have had a few good rains but only short lived. Nothing to worry about. The rivers still aren’t flowing for longer than it takes the, still easily passable, roads to dry out and that’s not long. We spend a few days in preparation. We share satellite images of Lidia’s predicted path. The threat is somewhat increased as she moves closer. We are now expecting a full on category 4 with thirty foot waves and hundred and twenty kmph winds.

There is little else to be done. We are as waterproof as we can be and we just have to wait and see what a few decent gusts of wind can do to us.

A great assistance in maintaining my sanity and connection with the world is the Rugby World Cup in France. Time differences are not too disruptive with games at 9 am and 1 pm. Our beach front bar has been nagged and hounded for months to show every match while ignoring the American tourists who turn up insisting on watching their precious “football” games. Many weeks of epic battles ahead. Wales appear to have found their bollocks and are looking well. Springboks and All Blacks are waiting should we progress (so nothing much to worry about!). It is nostalgic to remember my youth when I endured many hours of bleeding in frozen mud and biting winds while buried in scrums and mauls to deliver a ball over a line. It was, and remains, very important. 

Slowly our usual suspects start to return to Mexico from their Summer excursions North. The last few months there has been little open in town, so those few of us that have chosen to remain bump into each other all the time. Whenever we meet up we all agree that the damp heat is ridiculous and we crave a cool ocean and the odd breeze. We now prepare for the oncoming season when the town and beach fills with hordes of transient tourists and snowbirds.

The hurricane is upon us. At the last moment the warm jungle air that reaches out to sea has diverted her a little South. At one point it was predicted to hit us fully in the face. We stock up with last minute fuel and supplies and wait. The rain starts at sunset but not as much as we might expect. The issue for us, surrounded by so many huge trees, is the wind gusts. We listen nervously. The canopy is blown around noisily. The Copomos sway ominously and gracefully. It’s dark until our world becomes instantly bright as lightening hits close by followed by earth shaking thunder. And then we hear it.

There are a number of tell tale sounds when a tree is coming down. Often there are loud explosive bursts like gun fire or fireworks as the trunk splinters, followed by a low deep cracking noise and then eventually the crunch as it hits other trees and branches before the ground. What we heard was a highly speeded up version. We hear the crack and crash very quick, loud and close. We instinctively hold on tight and close to the concrete pillars in the house. After a few moments we are confident we are not currently being crushed and look outside. The Bodega is still standing.

I grab a torch (“flashlight” to you North Americans) and head out to survey the situation. I am very enthusiastically discouraged from going outside but I have to check if there is a Copomo with our name on it. The gusts are moving the elegantly tall trees a bit too much to the left and an uncomfortable amount to the right. It becomes obvious quickly that the landscape has changed. The limited light from my torch picks out a number of substantial trunks lying right next to the Bodega. There are now a great deal of new shadows obscuring our view to the arroyo.

The biggest, oldest and tallest Copomo, that we have been using as base for our compost, has finally given up to a gust of wind. It’s fully uprooted and now stretches out all the way to the arroyo. This was another ancient beast previously over 150 feet tall. On the way down it has taken a number of others. They are somehow all neatly piled next to each other. The closest missed the Bodega by inches. By midnight the winds are gone and the rain gentle. We are once again amazingly fortunate.

The following morning is blessed with slightly cooler air with the welcome smells of freshly smashed jungle and petrichor. The rivers are still not flowing. I spend an hour or so clearing the paths but can find no further damage. The roads are somehow better. The empty rivers aren’t cutting trenches and removing dirt so the rain water has helpfully created localized mud that has filled in a few holes. Could have been a heap worse.

We are without internet for the next five days.  A new cell tower has been built in town that services the whole area except for us. The old tower on which we still rely on has now been dramatically relegated or often forgotten in the service/repair schedules. We call it the sugar lump. If there is a drop of rain then it’s done for.  

We cannot rely on sugar lump anymore. In order to ensure WIFI we need to invest in a satellite system. This is, as always, not simple. We tried one out that was loaned to us. Because of our canopy (lack of sky) it wasn’t able to cope. Our plan is to pick a tree and acquire a long pole and a brave soul who can climb up and install it for us. Our mate turns up with his drone and launches it above the trees. According to the altimeter we will need to get the dish at least 100 feet up to stand a chance.

I am walking over our land to check the water, avoiding the Golden Orb spider webs and macheting the new growth. There is something different that I can’t quite work out till I look up. The huge Copomo that is no longer up has left behind it a massive amount of sky. Brand new gorgeous sky and lots of it. This one single tree accounted for a great deal of shade. The total area of sky above our panels is now about a third bigger. This explains why we are noticing that the solar panels are converting photons surprisingly well. There are loads more of them!

On returning to the house I look above the Bodega where the downed trees were and again find a new large blue patch where once there was none. The sun floods through the windows in the morning for the first time. The big old Copomo that fell we estimate to be over 150 years old. The last time light hit this bit of jungle floor was over a hundred years ago. It will transform the place. We might even get some sun hungry fruit trees going.

We have finally acquired a satellite internet device and a long heavy pole to attach it to. After much research a number of stand-off brackets have been created that we can screw to our chosen tree with lag bolts. This is the considered wisdom to keep our Copomo happy with the procedure. The trunk will accept the lag bolts as new branches and not push them out. Amazingly we have found a bunch of absolute lunatics that have accepted the challenge of installing the thing.

We can’t help but be uncomfortable as the over confident boys rope up and start climbing. We follow their progress nervously until they vanish into the high branches. Eventually the pole assembly is hauled up higher than we can see from the ground. It takes a number of excruciating hours and some very questionable Tarzan moves but somehow the dish is clear of the canopy, the pole is secured and the cable connected.

Internet signal floods downwards. Lots and lots of it. Twenty times more than we have ever had before. Jayne is ecstatic. It means that she no longer has to dash into town to borrow signal when ours drops out in the middle of a meeting. No more will our sugar lump connection be lost for days due to a bit of rain. This is very good news. And more remarkably, no one died.

Halloween and Day of the Dead arrive. We celebrate Halloween with a party to christen a newly constructed pool at our friends’ condo complex and a competitive fancy dress beach party. There is a great deal of effort put into both costume and cocktails. The horse won. Day of the Dead is a marked in Puerto Vallarta by an enormous world record 24 Meter (78 feet) Catrina statue that dominates the Malecon. In San Pancho it’s a quieter affair. We create our own traditional alter in the trees to invite my Dad to join us. It’s emotional as always.

There are strong and tempting rumours of a very discrete gathering of creative nonsense somewhere around the Nevada/California area. Should such an impressively secret event actually exist, consciously outside the pseudo-reality that is social media and unspoken of by participants, then it would certainly tickle our curiosity but be very tough to write about.

If it was a option to be personally invited and sponsored to allow us to learn more then, theoretically, we would have to fly to Reno and stay with friends for a few days and then travel to an unadvertised venue, should such a venue exist. The timing of such a trip would mean we could possibly be in an area where the weather would test our soft warm tender slow cooked Mexican bodies. Should I decide, for reasons unknown, to wear a kilt for three days straight in minus 8 degrees, for example, essential bits of me might go into shock, change shape and texture. Perhaps.

If we were to  imagine such a place it may involve many rooms filled with creations from boundless and varied imaginations designed to challenge and delight thousands of possible people. A snarky AI driven Furby Octopus could exist to bitch and argue with you. A room that takes the colour out of your existence would be unlikely but not impossible. There may be talk of bizarrely complex adventures driven by anonymous phone messages. A psychedelic clown cabaret show could be a thing. Entertaining elevator and gate shifts might coexist amongst DJs and extraordinary art. There could be a highly engineered ski lift ride through tantalising and almost unbelievable landscapes existing behind a gentle tea room. There is an outside chance that there could exist rooms of roses, music , bodies, eyes and ice. Or not. This could all be a figment of our delusions or a secret never to be told. I really couldn’t say.

Fires , a Flagpole & All the Pink

The land neighboring ours is a huge lump of untamed nature around 20 hectares that remains empty most of the time. The family who own it have ambitions to sell to some yet to be identified gringo for a huge wad of pesos. They are somewhat deluded. The zoning is restrictive so it’s really not that saleable. The cattle that were grazing there have been moved on as they were a bit too much effort to look after. The many dozens of chickens that inhabited the area are down to but a few.  There is little water and access is not good. During the rains it’s pretty much cut off.

We have a visit from a softly spoken ancient old bloke who is trying to build a Catholic church deep in the jungle. It’s a strange ambition and we have no idea why. Maybe he has decided at his very advanced years that it’s wise to make peace with whoever and maybe in some way improve his odds of salvation. He has an idea where he will pay for big earth machines to cut a road through our land and onwards through the dense jungle for the few kilometers up to his land where the Church is under construction.

He is a cheeky bugger. We very politely decline his kind offer. We risk the wrath of a vengeful lord and absolutely refuse to build his Church an access road. There is an existing route that follows the river up to his spot. Despite it getting washed out a number of times a year it will have to do to serve the needs of the almighty.

He is also, we discover, a resourceful bugger. He approaches our neighbours family and sells them on the idea that they can also get much better access to their land by building his road to redemption. This will theoretically make it more desirable to gringos. They agree and a line is drawn on a map.  It shows the proposed construction missing our land but following the arroyo outside our house and then cutting through the jungle upwards and onwards. They agree to build a gate that can be locked which will effectively make it a private access road only.  Gods work starts almost immediately.

Within two days of long hours from the massive ground trembling machinery the arroyo is cleared. A wide long stretch of strong smelling freshly uncovered earth appears where there once was trees and thick bush. We grab the Razor and decide to ride the new camino up to the Church. We get about 500M into the jungle and are stopped as the road turns into a hugely steep dusty hill. It’s impassable. Thankfully nothing is visible from the house and we are fairly convinced that when the big rains come it will be entirely destroyed, but we wish them well. Inshallah.

We meet one of the first neuvo camino users who is waiting for the gate to be unlocked.  He is the local water diviner bloke and is very keen to demonstrate his skills. He uses a forked stick to find underground water sources. We all have a go. The reaction of the stick is strong and convincing. He assures us we have a water source close to the house about 10 meters down.  Good to know.

So it’s been some weeks since we were teased with promise of rain. Our well has been dry for a month. The dust is thick and gets into everything. The jungle is desperately thirsty and despite the humidity becoming increasingly flammable.  We were reliably told by retired and recovering firefighter mates from California that the chances of being troubled by wild fires is very low. The  humidity is always so high that fires don’t make it for long.  Someone failed to tell the jungle.

Our neighbours son is standing in the arroyo looking seriously concerned. He tells us that there is a significant fire heading our way. We can’t see or hear anything so are not as concerned as perhaps was appropriate. It’s about half an hour later when we smell the smoke.  If we listen hard there are certainly pops and cracks coming from the hill right behind us. There is a worrying breeze that is dropping white ash all around us. We all jump in the razor and head up the new road to have a look.  

The ash is falling like light snow but it’s the only clue. Only as we get about 300 meters from our house do we see the wind assisted flames . They are at least 20 feet high. All around us are large areas where the jungle is now just piles of ash. We note that our new God given road is acting as a sort of fire break and slowing progress considerably.  We don’t hang around. It’s clearly not the place to hang out.  We are joined by the cavalry. A gaggle of marines turn up in impressive but maybe not entirely useful open top military hummer trucks with 50 mm machine guns at the ready. More reassuringly there are a few fire service pick-up trucks leading a backhoe for shifting dirt around.

Two hours later everyone returns satisfied we are not in danger. The biggest factor being the breeze has stopped fanning the flames. The smell of smoke is strong and ash is covering everything as a gentle but menacing reminder of what could have been. That was an uncomfortable few hours.

The sun and our jungle canopy are forever at odds. We want all the photons we can to be captured by our solar panels.  The sun, however, has other ideas . It changes path as the Summer moves on and our effective photon collection times are significantly reduced. It means we run out of power and need to employ Brian ( our generator). One solution is to add another array of six panels at a place where we can take advantage of the morning sunlight. This is a complicated, technically challenging and logistically difficult project. So it is decide to do it.

We identify a good sunny morning spot and acquire  the panels .New cable is found, conduited and run to the block where our batteries and inverter live. Over some weeks the metal is manufactured to assemble the frame.  It’s not a simple process. Mounting holes must be drilled to fine tolerances through thick steel angle lengths. There are many new components that are sourced and delivered from numerous places that require expert installation. Jayne somehow manages to fight her way through the technical specifications and successfully plumbs the new panels ( that are not installed yet ) to the existing system. It’s impressive.

The array frame is completed, painted and with some effort erected in the correct space and concreted into the ground.  We theoretically now only have to mount the panels and plug them in to have all the power we need.  That will be tricky as the frame is now 8 feet in the air.

It’s PRIDE week in Puerto Vallarta and a very sensible, shy group of calm and introverted folk are assembled to visit. We all had a quiet highly relaxing day out.

Lack of rain and our dry well is a worry. Our water stores around the land are almost out. The cistern in our house is also very low and we have to accept that we won’t be catching any rain anytime soon.  We call in a pipa truck which delivers 10 000 liters with which we fill our cistern, top up our emergency tinaco and flush out the well.  This doesn’t help get water to most places but at least our house will be sorted. The delivery boys tell us that they are very busy. The rains are now officially over a month late.  Nothing forecast in the near future.

Our tiny tomato farm is doing Ok. The tomatoes that have appeared are huge and beautiful and very tasty but not plentiful. We have had just a few from each plant. Our friend takes us around his nearby organic farm and boats he had produced 1500 kilos of top quality tomatoes this season. We have a lot to learn.

My daughter Suzy arrives from UK with an extra bag full of marmite, chicken stuffing, cheese and licorice all sorts. It’s very good to see her too.  She has brought her mates who settle in the treehouse.  It’s off season now so Jake also moves back from his retreat center in town.   Sasha has also recovered enough to be back on his motorbike so is also back in the jungle.  We are always happy having the place proper lived in. We do, however, have  all the people and but very little water. We need it to rain. Soon.

Jakes best mate Luca decides to prove to us all that his best dog jungle life has not gifted him with any road sense at all. While dutifully walking at heel in town he decides to run directly into a passing car. Idiot. We are grateful he is alive. He does, however,  look very confused and quite rightly ashamed.

Our local falafel seller who is also a vet is close by and confirms he has dislocated his leg.  The people doctor’s office in Los De Marcos has an X ray machine and we take him along. It’s a pretty well executed dislocation but thankfully no other issues. Our town vet then knocks him out and pops all his bits back in place.  Luca is now confined to no exercise and rest for a minimum of fortnight. It will be about four or five weeks  until he can run around again.  Looks like Jake and Luca will have a quiet month ahead.

The doctor who helped us with the Xrays is a good bloke and we decide he will be our new doctor. Our previous doctor moved away to Guadalajara to work for an insurance company. Don’t blame him as doctors ( like dentists) are not paid huge money in Mexico.  We have both recently had a full medical screen and my assessment was that not only was I handsome and wise but unlikely to die anytime soon.  (There might be a touch of interpretation and paraphrasing involved … but something like that.)

So it was unexpected when I got a call that my new doc wanted to see me. He told me that there was good news and bad news.   I forget what the good new was but the bad news turned out to be that tests suggested that I may have an issue . Apparently for a man of my age it is wise to check things out. This was the opposite result to my recent tests so a little confusing. He contacted his mate in Puerto Vallarta and I’m booked in for an MRI.

This happens quickly. After fasting and awkwardly enduring two do-it-yourself enemas I arrive at the test clinic the next day. I am entirely unprepared for what might happen next.  The clinician is a nice bloke and speaks to me in Spanish. My Duolingo skills don’t entirely cover medical procedures but from what I understood he wants to strap me to a table , attach gadgets to my body and shove me in a tiny tube. There is something else he is trying to tell me. I soon discover what that is.  My knees are placed on my chest . He then asks me to breathe deeply and inserts what feels like a flagpole into my rectum. It’s not what I had expected at all. For 40 minutes I am squeezed into the truly tiny tube where I am told to stay entirely still while listening to the crazy clunks and whirls and zaps as the machine dissects my innards with its magic beams . I do my best to  ignore the flagpole that is skewering me like a kabab.

The following day I am told that the images showed little to worry about and we agree a plan to entirely rule out any unfortunate possibilities. I continue to be handsome, wise and unlikely to die any day soon.  ( Note possible further paraphrasing and interpretation ).

Jayne has arranged to head North to Canada to see her family. She will return in a few weeks when we will be journeying once more to the deserts of Nevada. We will both be working and playing at Burning Man for the best part of a month. Before she departs we arrange to go with a gang of excited friends to the posh movie theatre in Puerto Vallarta to see the Barbie film. It turns out that having a flagpole inserted was not the most uncomfortable thing to happen to me this week.  Despite my very best efforts I could not last more than 15 minutes before I had to retreat from the cinema.  I found this extraordinary pink acid trip unbearable. Remarkably everyone else loved it. What do I know ?

Footy, the Colour Purple and an Adoption.

The aftermath of my scorpion stings is awkward but not too bad. My right foot is still numb after 6 weeks or so. It’s coming back to life very slowly but I have had to endure the inelegance  of a dead foot limp and the occasional confusion when someone actually stands on it unnoticed until I try and walk away. This never happened before. Must be that I just don’t know it’s there and leave it lying around, in the way, and forget to move it. Whoever may find themselves standing on my carelessly discarded foot, would , to be fair, naturally expect any body part they happen to crush to be pulled out the way instantly. It’s all a bit odd.

Driving has also been made more interesting. With a dead accelerator foot it feels rather strange speeding up and decelerating by means of shifting weight rather than ankle motion. This became a factor in a very near miss on our terrifyingly dangerous highway. A large modern Pacifico bus was overtaking a stalled dump truck. Before the bus pulled out, the road was clear ahead, so I sneaked behind and followed him past the stricken vehicle. Rather than slowly and smoothly returning to the correct side of the road the bus suddenly swerved away leaving me facing an enormous concrete lorry heading right at me very fast. My reaction was to instantly lean right. I accelerated fast and swerved right at the same time. Somehow I missed the bus and the stationary truck but more importantly the concrete truck which flashed past me. It was close. Closer than I feel comfortable thinking about. I still have images of that big blue and white concrete truck, head on , that I can’t forget. It has made me highly aware of my exceptionally good fortune to still be here

Football is a great healer. My trauma is eased considerably by spending an indulgent few weeks watching the World Cup with a large number of equally deluded fans. England do OK again. Just well enough to spark the damp tinder of long held painful hope that rises to entrap your heart and mind in the fantasy of some magnificent victory.  But as the hope was torn away once again we were able to marvel in the overall standard of the football which at times was truly breath taking.  We have a number of viewing venues depending on kick off times. The 9 am matches are a great excuse to eat chicken wings and drink cold beers for breakfast while cheerfully engaging in traditional over excited shouting of encouragement and abuse in equal measure. There are a large contingent of both French and Argentinians in San Pancho so the final was a pretty big deal. And what a final! 

There have been a series of developments with our new build project. It’s getting tantalizingly close to the time we move in. This in itself will be a major change for us. We are actually moving house (albeit 300M away). We have spent the past five years in our beloved treehouse. It’s 6m x 6m of our own unique space and it has suited us very well. It will be a more than a little wrench to leave it behind so my own plan is not to. My own vision is that the treehouse will become a  man cave (even if 4m higher than the ground). Jayne has vetoed moving a great deal of my prized possessions (or crap as she calls it) to the new house. This gives me a place to house my crap and enjoy the solitude and engage in boy type activities. Jayne’s vision is slightly different. She either wants to rent it out, use as a guesthouse and/or use it as a dog house should I ever be naughty and need somewhere to “think about what I have done”. Don’t see the need myself.  

Before we can make such decisions we need to finish the place. There is a great deal in progress.  Jayne’s mega desk is now cut to shape and awaiting application of specialist resin varnish so it will last eternally. The final flush of drawers are made and awaiting installation. For some reason it has been decided that we need dozens of them. Our upper banister that will prevent us (me) falling off our raised sleeping space is being jointed expertly into place. Our newly designed four poster bed will form part of this structure and awaits being created from a pile of freshly delivered lumber.  When the bed appears we will consider it time to actually move out/in.

Our time and attention over the past weeks has been sucked up by our two most labour intense projects.  Our shower which requires the application of Tadelakt (Moroccan style lime plaster) and our rammed earth floor that requires drying out perfectly before the application of a blend of linseed oils. It had passed us by that drying anything out here is nigh on impossible. The humidity is often 100% and there are times when you can hang a towel out to dry and it gets wetter!? Now if it is a very thick layer of clay you are waiting on, it appears to take forever. We have applied a number of fans 24 hours a day and (after closing all doors and windows) deployed a large dehumidifier. Despite all efforts there is almost no perceivable improvement.  The floor stays damp. 

It is with some desperation that we agree its time for more aggressive tactics. A blowtorch.  We find that by carefully moving across the floor directing the hottest part of the flame onto the clay it changes colour in a way that suggests it’s a little bit less moist. Jayne does a few dozen passes and things seem to be changing very slowly. I decide to help. What I have not taken into consideration is that I am a pretty much constant sweaty mess.  Despite using towels to stand upon and my delicate ballerina type skills to move across the floor, my guts twist as it becomes obvious that I may have in fact made matters slightly worse. The sweat that was previously in me is now distributed over the floor highlighting the occasional spot where my delicate feet have left prints. Jayne is less than cheerful as she repairs the floor and we start the process of drying it out all over again.  My help is unappreciated.

We have worked out that the Tadelakt application is going to be a beast of a job. The finish of our shower will require many hours of layering and hard polishing with a special purpose hard polished stone.  We recruit a friend to stay with us overnight to help out. She has no idea what she signed up for! The girls have taken on the task of managing the project and myself and Jake will be called in to help as required. The Worlds Cup is in its final agonising stages so this works out.

Day one is spent in creating a single huge lump of mixture which needs to be the perfect colour from our stock of lime and dyes. When we start we cannot stop. The whole of the shower area has to be done at the same time or the finish will be inconsistent. The existing rough grey lime finish is covered with a white base coat and our recently smuggled specialist dyes are expertly mixed by complete amateurs into enough paste of deep purple Tadelakt to complete the job.Its already late and the following day is going to be hard so the girls call it a day.

Day two and the task ahead became terrifyingly clear. The first layer of purple is spread as smoothly as possible and worked with trowels as it drys. After about an hour it is set enough to start polishing. Our black shiny stones are rubbed over the surface. It takes effort. The task is to close up all the tiny holes that emerge from the drying process and prepare for the next layer. The next layer is a mix of water and soap. The soap dries very quickly and then the fun starts. If you polish hard enough and long enough it takes up a shiny smooth stone like finish. Looks great. Then the second layer of soap is applied and polished into a final layer. The polishing technique is to apply the stone flat to the wall with enough pressure to make a difference while moving it in small circles. It hurts. There is much complaining about the burning pain in my shoulders and my arms after only a few minutes of strong rubbing. Jake and the girls seem a lot less complainy. Clearly they can’t be doing it right.  I am convinced this was going to be a long day.  It was.

Day three arrives and we realise two things. The shower needs finishing and we are a long way off and of equal importance, it is the World Cup final. We have already kidnapped our friend from her family and effectively chained her to a shower for an entire weekend. We make a plan. The girls will layer the tadelakt and when the game finishes we will join them for further torturous hours of polishing.  It was a day of two half’s. The World Cup final was a joy to watch.

So we now have a rather unique and beautiful shower. Three days of solid graft.  The girls are happy which is crucial and we gain some comfort in the fact that we may never have to rub a purple wall with a shiny black stone ever again.  We find out that the word tadelakt means in Arabic  “to rub until ones arms fall off” (or something like that.) Jake and I now have arms like bags of achy rocks.

EntreAmigos is our community center which has an excellent reputation. It has even been blessed by the Dali Lama. Volunteers arrange (amongst many other projects) food banks for local families, recycling for the town and encouraging local kids to read and engage in educational activity. There is a constant need for fund raisers. The latest of which is a drive to raise a lump of cash to support the library for the kids. Teams are invited to enter the Great San Pancho Scavenger Hunt.  Each team must raise a minimum amount of donations and engage in a series of activities that must be photographed in order to win points. The team with the most points will be declared the winners and their wisdom and beauty immortalized in the hearts of all forever and a day. We are persuaded to join in.

We have decided to call ourselves the “Scavengers -End Game” after a movie franchise I haven’t seen. We gather the evening before to talk cheating strategies and allow the girls to dress us up as superheroes. That morning we are greeted by a dozen golf carts with eager teams keen to get started. We appear to be one of only two teams that have dressed up for the occasion. There is a jolly but certainly competitive atmosphere. I start by wander around introducing ourselves to the other teams while stealing their golf cart keys. This goes rather well until I am spotted and forced to return them all. 

Our tasks are varied in their ridiculousness.  We must find an old woman born in the town and all of us have our photos taken with her while she is smiling and one of us is upside down. We need to find someone to take the shot and extra points are added for any horses and chickens we can add.  I draw a series of horses and chickens on cardboard and hold them up over the bemused old lady wondering why we are holding our friend upside down. She sorta kinda smiles.

We are required to all be on a skateboard, or playground slide or beach or stage or tree (always with one of us upside down and getting someone else to take the shot. There is a lot of fun had. We return late to a victory BBQ. We have all raised way more than expected. The library now has a book budget of 20k dollars. The best news of course is that The Scavengers are declared the team with most points. We are suitably humble as we bask in our collective glory.

It is time for the Americans to outdo their Northern neighbours in thankfulness.  Canadians are thankful about a month earlier but the Americans make a bigger deal of it so consider themselves higher on the thankometer.  We get the benefit of being invited to two competing thanksgiving feasts and are grateful for both.

Having my son, Jake, living with us has proved, in general, a very good thing. There is an issue, however, with his bizarre need to exercise at stupidly early hours of the morning when any sane individual should be unconscious. I am not sure how this has happened but somehow I have been roped into joining him. As the sun hits the sky, six days a week I drag myself to the car and drive us both to the old prison in town that has been converted to a sweaty, old school grunt gym. Here there are small stacks of huge tyres, ropes hanging from the ceiling and what look like ancient lumps of concrete attached to metal bars. There are racks of hand weights and enough mirrors on the wall that it is almost impossible to ignore how bloody exhausted you look.  It has been about a month of this nonsense. That’s a long time to feel tired and sore.

There is a new addition to jungle life. Luca (new name) is a street puppy that wandered into our friends’ restaurant in Lo De Marcos. Distressed to find that it was a vegetarian place he made the best of a bad job by adopting Jake. They are now inseparable mates. Sometimes the levels of cute became nauseating but we are getting used to it.

So Christmas somehow sneaked up on us again. The only festive effort we undertook was for Jayne to make a Christmas cake. This required particular effort as things like candied peel (why?), glacé cherries and molasses are not things that Mexicans recognise and certainly don’t sell. So we arranged for friends to travel from Canada and stay with us for a month to help with our building project and importantly smuggle us in some molasses and something revolting but essential called Swedish Berries??  

Jayne finds the time and motivation from somewhere to make her own peel (why?) and cherries. The cake is made.  I have never really been a great fan of Christmas Cake. The addition of candied peel (why?) is a mystery to me. This cake, it has to be said, turned out rather well. It needed the traditional Yorkshire touch of a block of strong cheddar cheese to go with it but it worked! So that was Christmas done. Apart from about a hundred friends new and old descending on us for our now traditional pot luck feast, jungle white elephant and after party till late.

We wish you a splendid New Year.

May 2023 bring you everything you need and something to share .