Uncategorized Archives - La Colina Project

Mary, a spider bite and a Yellow Submarine

December 8, 2019December 8, 2019
by Beave

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

Fluffy green seed balls covering everything.

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

Natives are getting restless waiting for pub to open.

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

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

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

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

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

Outstandingly robust old Wrangler in need of a clean.

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

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

Sand art traditional in front of shrines

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungle jeep leaves the mechanic shop after 6 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uncategorized

Circus, Costume, Culture & Curry

April 30, 2019April 30, 2019
by Beave

Jake has left on an adventure with his mate Rosy around Oaxaca. A group of us have arranged to meet up with them both in Mexico City for a few days to include my birthday. It’s been months since we left the jungle and feels like even longer. We are all nervously looking forward to it.

My son’s place in the jungle cabin has been temporarily filled by one of my oldest and ugliest mates from the UK who has arrived with us for a few weeks. He lands at PV airport where we have agreed to meet him. Pablo and I haven’t seen each other for a few years now but he is a distinctive bugger and easily recognizable from across a muddy field.. We soon spot the tell tale mop of hair and straggly beard but the eyes behind the glasses are a worrying shade of orange and his skin is clammy and yellow. He hugs me weakly and makes a pathetic noise. He smells ripe even for him. Turns out he is the victim of a Travelodge sausage. His strategic pre-flight night in the cheapest motel in Manchester and free breakfast did not work out so well. An hour into his 11 hour flight all hell broke loose in his trousers. This only served to distract him from his spontaneous vomiting. Much to the delight of passengers and aircrew alike the plane was down one toilet cubicle into which he was installed for 9 straight hours. When he was finally deemed empty the aircrew helpfully offered him water and oxygen. He is not in the best of shape.

We manage to get what’s left of him into our van and head home. A shower and a few days sleep should sort him out. I’ve seen him in worse states but those are stories for another time. To help matters further our van decides that this is the time to pack up on the highway. We limp it into a side road close to Jesus (one of our many chosen mechanics). We call a taxi and decant our shopping, bags and half dead mate into it. We arrive home an hour later. Pablo is still showing signs of life. We absolutely insist he showers before collapsing. We don’t see him again for 20 hours. Good start.

Turns out the van’s new transmission is now the newly broken transmission. We have arranged for a tow to our favorite mechanic and a new new transmission to be arranged. We are resigned to be without the van for many weeks. Our only vehicle is the Razor ATV. We don’t intend to move very far from home (with the exception of Mexico City) so it’s workable.

Circo de Los Ninos is putting on their annual show again. After last year’s surprisingly excellent offering we bought tickets well in advance. The plan is to meet a bunch of mates, see the show then head to Mexico City the next morning. It’s another superb offering. Cirque du Soleil’s costume department has created unique outfits for the kids and their training is clearly top notch. Another very polished performance. Remarkable for such a tiny little Mexican town.

Circus in Mexico is a proper mixed bag. As excellent as this well supported production is there are a much larger number of less ambitious, but still highly popular, versions. Some weeks ago we decided to sneak a bottle of tequila into a local travelling animal-free circus that arrived in town. The big top tent was packed with kids who queued noisily to be served day-glo candy floss balanced on electric neon flashing sticks served by a short well built guy called Leo in a silver suit. Show time arrives and a familiar looking spectacularly muscular bloke in tight silver Lycra balances himself on sticks in such a way to show off his unfeasibly perfect buttocks to the adoring crowd. I’m reliably informed by an enthusiastic 80 year old woman next to me that this is in fact Leo the sugar vendor. We are then treated to the sight of a now very familiar looking figure on a motorbike with fire spurting out his head as he rode inside a large spherical cage. Leo removes his helmet to wild applause and then struts magnificently around the crowd with a bucket for tips. He is openly stroked and fondled by women of all ages. My 80 year old friend sticks 50 pesos in his very tight pants. We are then treated to Leo in a clown hat surrounded by his aged Mother and his very young sisters all dancing semi-erotically in outrageously revealing outfits. It’s almost impossible to watch but disturbingly almost impossible not to. The finale is a small person in a rather grubby Peppa Pig suit stumbling around the ring being chased by the under-aged pole dancers. I’m glad I brought the tequila.

We leave the care of our cat and our vanilla to a Russian spy who has been staying with us and has agreed to stay for a few more days to look after the place for us. She gives us a ride into town where our lift to the airport awaits. The two of us, Pablo and two further friends are on our way to the Federal District, also known as Mexico D.F./Mexico City (DF). Larry is an ex Hollywood movie guy from LA whose white shirt is already covered in Pablo’s lunch burrito that escaped his face for a moment. Desiree is another Calgarian girl who turned up at our place in January and is still here. She has a mate in Mexico City that we have arranged to meet up with at the Lucha Libra wrestling arena on my birthday. Flying into DF is an event in itself. DF is a rather large place. Looking out of the plane window it is a stunning span of building reaching out to all horizons. The city is 1500 km2. The metropolitan area has a population of 21.2 million. This many people moving around is a mind bending logistical issue. Getting anywhere takes time. Thankfully I am a famously patient individual and Ubers are cheap and plentiful. We grab one.

Our large, strangely featureless, 4 story AirBnB is in a central location where we arrive to meet Jake and Rosy who have been in the city for a few days checking things out (usefully mainly cocktail bars). We settle into the place and efficiently check out the most local bar. It’s a front room on the street opposite our place that’s open til very late and serves immense beers for very few pesos. Jake has brought a bottle of Mezcal from Oaxaca so we are all set. We explore the local area, table football and tequila.

The first morning arrives and we are all pretty exhausted before we start. There is no Mezcal left which accounts for the slow pace. The girls have made a plan. We have a schedule of events throughout the next three days all within an easy-ish commute. First on the list is to visit the Blue House where Frida Khalo the iconic Mexican artist and her family used to live. It’s obscenely early (nine in the morning). We plan to fill ourselves with coffee, take two Ubers and be in the front section of the large queue before the place opens at 10 am. By some miracle we succeed. Frida is one of the most popular figures in Mexican history and revered worldwide. Her distinctive image with a lady mustache and mono-brow is plastered on just about every item imaginable in every Mexican gift shop. Her art is dispersed around the house which is open plan and surrounds a peaceful garden space. Her painting style is an acquired taste but well loved. Her life was undeniably quite remarkable and portrayed quite brilliantly by Salma Hayek in the 2002 film Frida which I recommend heartily and will save me from writing any spoilers here. Look her up. My daughter is a huge fan so I managed to irritate her by sending sneaky photos of us in situ. We are all happily sucked into the scene and the history and the art. We head out into the city for lunch.

It surprises me that at no time do I get the sense of the number of people I’m sharing this city with. The architecture is low rise and so far quite colonial. I’m not a fan of the big city and certainly more of a country mouse and most recently a jungle dweller so I was relieved beyond measure that the feel of Mexico City is light and spacious rather than the expected overcrowded and hectic.

Our next event on the list was a complete wild card recommendation from a girl in Oaxaca that shared a Mezcal tour with Jake. Sensorama is an interactive immersive theatrical experience. Knowing this we were still none the wiser but turned up to an office on a side street where about a dozen others were waiting to find out what comes next. The theme of the experience, we are told, is “Things that Only The Dead Know”. We all store our things in lockers and stand expectantly and bare foot in the center of this very unremarkable office space. We are given glasses to wear that let in the faintest amount of light but make us effectively blind. It’s over an hour before I take them off again.

**Sensorama** : Stunning Sensory Interactive Theatre

We are led away in single file with arms on each other shoulders to maintain balance. It is dark but there are flashes of soft colour visible. We are separated. An invisible handler gently and expertly guides me to the floor. Some one whispers in my ear that they love me and they will miss me. I am invited to remember my childhood, a soft toy is placed in my arms, sweets are placed under my tongue. Further whispers guide what is becoming a hypnotic meditation where I experience the process, sounds, smells and certainly some of the emotion of dying, being laid out, buried then moving on. At some point in the gently guided process I experience the feeling of standing next to the sea surrounded in a pastel green light with breeze in my hair and all the associated smells and feels and tastes. Time has passes in a way which can’t be measured. We are joined together again and I follow the line shuffling somewhere else. Where we have been and for how long is impossible to tell. Slowly and silently we are instructed to remove our glasses. We are once again standing in the center of the unremarkable office in a side street in Mexico City. We look at each other and share the next moments in silence. It’s not necessary to talk. It takes a perfectly timed unnecessarily extravagant dinner at a pretty special Thai restaurant before we can talk about it. We all describe a very different version of the same experience. Absolutely recommend it.

We have arranged to meet with Desiree’s mate outside the hugely hectic Mexico City Wrestling Stadium. It’s Lucha Libra time. Nothing quite prepares you for a super camp Mexican wrestling Friday night spectacular. Buying cheap, tacky and slightly brilliant masks to wear is certainly a start. We look terrifyingly ridiculous. It was slightly worrying that we find out there about six separate events with multiple wrestlers that could take many hours. Already a mob of abandoned 5 years old kids are making a teeth achingly obnoxious noise with hand pumped air klaxons right beside our heads. We have one large bottle of tragically bad tequila cocktail so end up taking the taste away with cold cans off the boys and girls whose job it is to get you drunk with cheap beer. Perfect.

After the first few fights we are now absolutely frantic dead in the wool Lucha Libra fans. A highly noticeable girl with a black bikini brings up the round numbers. From a smoke filled stage bizarrely dressed huge masked lunatics dance through the wiggly girls and launch themselves over the ropes and into the ring. The crowd goes proper wild. Huge amounts of highly coloured bloke fly around crashing into each other in progressively more inexplicable ways. It’s completely ludicrously excellent. Round 4 introduces us to a gaggle of brutal looking woman chucking each other around by the hair It’s the fight you always wanted to see in your local pub but was never going to happen. Round 5 we are getting feral. Delight abounds as a massively round black man with a bone through his hair (not kidding) leaps from the top rope over the ring and flattens some poor equally massive lump of shiny lycra. Crowd goes insane!!

Final rounds are kept for the top boys who somehow launch themselves just that bit further and make their knee strikes to the head just a touch more convincing. Lots of smoke and black bikini girl makes two rounds of the ring. She is definitely my favorite. It has been noticed that about half the fighters bear a strong resemblance to Pablo. There is certainly opportunities for a career move. He is yet to be completely convinced.

We are slightly drunk on fake violence, bad tequila and cheap beer so head off for further adventures in town. Desiree’s mate is the local so takes us to her favorite big night out spots. After a slow walk through the center of this amazing city to see buried temples we find it’s too late and temple viewing has shut down for the night. We decide to give cultural things a miss and head for a pint or two. It’s now 11 pm and my birthday is in an hour.

I have mentioned this before but Mexican express joy and love through volume. At no time has the phenomena been better demonstrated. We walk down the central town main road from North to South. The terribly irritating noise coming out of the clubs four floors above the ground was truly ridiculous. On the street below we were having trouble talking to each other. I declare myself to be too old for this bollocks and demanded in my loudest wail to get me out of here. We soon discovered that all attempts to escape are futile. In the next bar an embarrassingly bad volume 11 cover band kicks off as soon as we arrive. We start to move quicker now and lose all faith in our deaf tour guide.

We walk at pace out of the center towards darker quieter spots. A much less offensive bar invites us in. Unbeknown to us every square foot of the ceiling is lined with speakers. An unseen DJ throws himself into his set. My hair moves with the base woofer wind as we all have an ear bleedingly loud Michael Jackson mix forced into our heads. It’s impossible. We drink fast and make a hasty retreat while communicating by the medium of mime. We get an Uber back to our local. Relative peace and huge beers for few pesos. Happy Birthday me.

The plan is for us to get up at a more decent hour, be slow, get a feed and head out for some culture. No rush.

We all manage to make it to the world renown Anthropological Museum. Designed in 1964 the monumental building contains exhibition halls surrounding a courtyard with a huge pond and a vast square concrete umbrella waterfall supported by a single slender pillar. The halls are ringed by gardens containing outdoor exhibits. The museum has 23 rooms for exhibits and covers an area of almost 20 acres. When we enter the main hall I am a bit over excited and head off by myself at speed. We all do the same as we realize trying to get around what we want to see with others would soon become irritating. Alone at last. There is enough extraordinary things here to keep me entirely entertained and inspired for many hours.

We agree to meet up after 3 hours and see how we are going. I head straight away to the great Sun Stone which is one of the most famous Aaztec pieces. The 24 ton, 3.5 meter diameter calendar stone was carved around 1470. The next few hours pass quickly. The many ancient Mayan cartoon symbolic style art and sculptures completely get to me. I want to try and get this symbolic style into our place in the jungle. I have decided to work out how to create sculptures and murals when I get back. Someone will know how to create something excellent I’m sure.

We have all been invited to a house party near by. A friend of a friend has introduced us and the host has agreed to host us at an “event” at his house. Before that we head to a bar that is No.11 in the world for cocktails. Limantour is a small narrow bar with little room for the seven of us. It opens at 5 pm. We have an hour to kill. The girls all disappear to a world famous chocolate and churros establishment which is packed. Boys take the opportunity for a quick meditate on some rather comfortable benches before waiting out the final half hour in a posh gin bar.

We arrive with great anticipation as Jake has banged in about this place since we got here. I pull out my ‘bar tester’ immediately. It’s not on the menu but can you make me a Vespa please. A Vespa is 1/2 oz Vodka, 2 oz Gin, 1/4 oz Lillet Blonde. Shaken over ice until well chilled, then strained into a deep goblet and garnished with a thin slice of lemon peel. It was made famous by Ian Flemings James Bond. In the movie Casino Royale, when Vesper asks Bond if he named the drink after her “because of the bitter aftertaste”, 007 replies that he named it for her, “because once you have tasted it, you won’t drink anything else.” Our young attractive bar girl doesn’t even blink and provides what is without doubt a very fine Vespa. I order another.

We all take a serious attempt at the entire, equally impressively executed cocktail menu and are suitably refreshed. We head to the mystery party we have been invited to armed with a few beers and a bottle of Raicilla. Raicilla is a famously potent Mexican agave based liquor that is the blackest sheep in the already murky tequila and mezcal family. We find the apartment and are let in by buzzer. We take the stairs to the fourth floor where a door is open in anticipation of our arrival.

We are greeted by the unexpected and gloriously fabulous sight of a number of large hairy gay men. They are all covered in jewels, wearing hats, loin cloths and nothing else. Pablo starts to hyperventilate and opens the Raicilla for comfort while Larry holds onto his pants with both hands. Our host greets us. He is wearing the finest of hats and leather loin garment. He is a costumier and has a separate room packed with theatrical costumes, hats and jewels. We are all invited to participate in one of his infamous dressing up parties. You don’t have to be gay but it helps apparently. It takes Pablo & Larry a full 10 minutes to get into the spirit of things . Within the hour we are all undressed and redressed while having the best of times with Mexico City’s finest. Our host is a spectacularly accomplished artist. The apartment is covered in his work. I am mesmerized by a painting of Lucha Libre wrestler.

A few hours later we are reunited with our original clothing and regroup at a packed taco bar across the street contemplating a quite extraordinary day. Tacos and tequila before arriving back at our local street bar for more over size beers for very few pesos. Happy Birthday me.

Next morning we find ourselves a little stunned by the previous day but keen to fill our remaining hours before flying home that afternoon. The plan is to take advantage of the big city and find ourselves a feed that we can’t get at home. We wander the streets in a random fashion and discard the many Mexican breakfast offerings. We come across a huge Indian supermarket and restaurant. Much excitement. Ruby! Ruby Murray! Curry! It’s closed. We are invited back in an hour when the chef is due to arrive. We fill ourselves with coffee and stalk the place until he returns. We make the traditional mistake of over excitedly over ordering and create an impressively colourful, delicious and huge lunch. Our first proper Ruby for a very long time. Miss a Ruby we discover. We are stuffed. It has the effect of slowing us down further.

There is one spot In DF that I have wanted to visit for a long time. Carlos Slim was listed as the richest man on earth from 2010 to 2013. He owns the mobile telecommunication company Telmex which is by far the largest player in Mexico. The story goes that he spent 70 million $ to create a feature architectural building that houses the Soumaya Art Museum. Named after his wife, dedicated to his family and gifted to Mexico. It’s free for everyone to visit. The 151 foot six story structure is the only curved shape amongst DFs traditionally boxy high rise commercial center and to make it more distinctive it is covered in 16 000 highly polished aluminum tiles. As impressive as the building is, the contents are mind blowing. The museum has 66 thousand articles on display from 30 centuries of art. A recent value of these items has been reported as well over 700 million $.

We arrive slowly still in a post lunch reverie. It’s a slow climb up the six floors as just about everything is entirely distracting. Insanely intricate ivory tusk carvings, classic grand master canvasses and a entire floor of world famous sculptures. There are over 100 exhibits by Rodin. It takes us a few intensely entertaining hours to work our way up and down the skate board type ramp that spirals around the inside of the building. We are now satisfyingly full of culture and curry.

One over indulgent “classic DF” burger later we are at the airport and heading back to PV. It’s too late to get back to the jungle so we all bunk in at our friends’ house close by. Our few days in Mexico City are tough to describe in any meaningful way and impossible to summarize. This is why this blog is so painfully long. We decide not to bother so much and decompress. Jake makes us rounds of Old Fashioned’s. We sleep hard and long. The morning comes and we take the long relaxing bus ride back to our jungle life in our beloved San Pancho to meet up with our Russian Spy, vanilla and cat.

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Jungle Xmas & Thanksgiving-gate

December 24, 2018December 24, 2018
by Beave

It’s a few days after we land back from UK that we understand the extent of the changes that have happened since we were away. In just a week there have been vast swaths of jungle completely destroyed by bulldozers and chain saw teams. Bird sanctuary and Jaguar habitat gone forever. The Auto-pista highway from Guadalajara to Puerto Vallarta has been spoken of for decades and we were aware it was heading our way before we bought our land. The reality now it’s here is sickening. The small village of Tiqueeleechi very close to us has had a 60M corridor of jungle ripped out of it. We can hear the distant machinery and chainsaws every day from our tree house.

We take a breath and a sharp machete and head out in the Razor to examine what’s happening close by. We climb a hill about half a km from our gate. From the top we can see huge areas of trees grounded and the yellow dirt where the highway will sit clearly visable. It hurts to look at it.

We take the Razor down rivers of mud where roads were only weeks ago and find total destruction. Trees laid everywhere and a huge mud super highway stretching for may kilometers North. This is the direction they are coming from. To the South hectares of jungle are already wounded and even more marked out for the heavy machinery to flatten.

We approach a resting chainsaw crew who reassure us that they very much doubt the highway will be seen from our land but it’s only a guess and it doesn’t make the tragedy of this senseless destruction any easier to take. The highway is a pay/toll road. In Mexico they are only used by the wealthy or the bus companies selling premium tickets as they are too expensive. Your average Mexican is not going to spend more than a day’s wages to make his trip from Guadalajara 2 hours quicker. They will take the old 200 death highway. This new highway is going to be empty, expensive and an environmental disaster like all the other toll roads we have used. Too many people have been paid off so there is no stopping the thing now. Too late for the new government to step in.

A previously beautiful remote jungle walk

The existing 200 highway continues to prove fatal. Your average Mexican drives like a maniac. A bus carrying passengers to Guadalajara is run off the road by some idiot and rolls down into the jungle. This takes place very close to us and is traumatizing for everyone who witnessed it. The bus was destroyed and there were many fatalities and horrendous injuries. Despite this there is still a frightening number of wreckless morons on the road every day. We are lucky we don’t have to commute anywhere and when we do drive it’s invariably during daytime. Our driving style is defensive to say the least. I drive like a scared granny with one eye and Jayne is a biker so automatically assumes everyone else on the road is a drunk blind twat and that helps.

On a more positive note there is art in our jungle again. We encourage everyone to leave no trace but leave us art. We were blessed to have one of our favorite artists staying with us who has epic skills with oil paints and has just spent the last year travelling the world perfecting hand-poke tattoos.

She has surveyed spots for murals and has started an elaborate sign for us on a lump of parota wood. She had to leave to attend a posh exhibition of her work in London but will be back with us early next year when we intend to kidnap her for some weeks.

Actually turns out she is back with us a bit sooner. We get a message from the airport soon after dropping her off. She has taken Pauly’s British passport and left hers behind. She does not have shaved hair or mustache or any other resemblance in the slightest to Pauly. She is effectively stuffed. Has to return to us for a few days extra and rebook flight to get to London just in time. She is not at all phased by the added sun and jungle days.

We are all invited to US Thanksgiving. There is a crowd of six of us on the land and we arrive mob handed to a beautiful seafront property with a private beach. Although many hours late we are the first to arrive and settle in for a huge feed. More folk arrive as we carve up turkey and start tequila matching everything. Turns out tequila goes with everything. The sunset is stunning and the moon is full. We all become thankful as newts.

A slight hiccough comes as we try and leave. Our pick up truck is squeezed in a tight space and during much maneuvering manages to catch the large front security gates and make them an unhelpful new shape. No drama as our very understanding hosts employ a guy who arrives and quotes for the repair and takes a rather hefty deposit for the work. Turns out the bloke was a chancer who has no intension of mending anything and disappeared. The receipt for the cash was a fake. Cheeky bugger. A local chap mends the gates in no time for pretty much no money. Deposit gone and lesson learned.

Love is expressed by different cultures in different ways. In Mexico love is expressed by volume. If there is a speaker playing it is on full volume. Bigger the speaker the more love. It’s insane. If there is a wedding or quinceñera party in San Pancho we can hear it out here in the jungle as if it was just outside. Amazingly bad music played very very loud.

We are invited to an early Xmas party out at an organic farm through which we have met many good people. It’s an impressive set up run through volunteers and a dedicated full time crew. They produce organic vegetables, cheese and dairy and sell it from a shop in Lo De Marcos. All goes very well until further conversation is made impossible. A large group of highly loving musicians turn up and blasts our faces off with fairly terrible versions of all the traditional Mexican hits…. The boys then bring on their beloved horses to dance. How they have such affinity with these animals I do not know. They are in beautiful condition and dance pretty much in time to the crap music. It’s a sight to behold.

It’s tourist season again. The days are bearably sunny, new restaurants are opening and producing exceptional food this year. Nights are cool enough to sleep. It’s altogether rather pleasant. With all the Thanksgivings over we now experience a great influx of Canadians and Pacific NW Americans who are here escaping the snow for the next 6 months. Xmas is coming fast and the town is busy… and so are we. Guests are arriving and paying us to stay. We sorta kinda forgot about the intricacies paying guests which is very much a lot of the point of the place. We have been too wet and warm and are out of the professional hosting habit. It’s back to laundering sheets and employing my legendary patience. We seem to be avoiding the idiots that can’t work out where the beach is and attracting a more jungly sort this year which is good news.

So we have all sorts of ambitious plans to create and refurbish but have spent most of our energies transforming our rental casitas and apartment from soggy and rain-washed to clean and sexy places to stay again. It’s working out. Thankfully guests like what we offer a lot and our bookings are looking good for the next few months. The jungle destruction machines and chainsaw teams are moving away from us for now which means our guests are no longer treated to the not too distant sounds of engines, falling trees and reversing alarms from 7am to 9pm. At it’s worst, it was still better than the roosters in town we are assured. It turns out we won’t see the highway from any part of our land which is a massive relief but we will have to arrange for some guerilla bamboo planting in the next months to create further sound barriers.

More worky work is lined up for after Xmas. We have a heap of wood ready to be varnished , placed and screwed. I have spent a week or two making the stuff taste foul to termites. Termites will take out a solid 4×5 beam in less than a year out here. By soaking the stuff in a mix of diesel fuel, engine oil and a particularly nasty behind the counter toxic red fluid it has a fighting chance of surviving 5 years. The right screws have arrived from USA with friends along with a new impact driver and other essentials we can’t get here. Just in time. My beloved much abused Makita that came with me 15 months ago from UK actually burst into flames in my hand. Didn’t know they could do that.

The soon to be Sky Yoga Platform. Currently just old termite infested lumber.

Our chickens need to watch themselves. A new morning visitor is a huge black eagle with a white face and long striped tail. Size of a teenager. It’s taken to sitting on top of the chicken house and scaring the feathers off them. To be fair it is a huge mean looking scary thing. We can shout it away but it’s not scared and looks twice it’s size in flight. Its very possible it could take off with a chuck in each talon.

The new chickens continue to provide eggs, as is their purpose. Sister Bricklebank & Sister Bland are, however, heading nearer to the pot. To add to the mix our friend who is studying to be a vet saved a small scraggy chicken from the mouth of a dog. She mended its legs with lolly sticks and delivered “Hey-Hey” to us to adopt. I had a strong word with Hey-Hey about not becoming a rooster and giving us eggs and to add authority I pointing my machete right at her. This daft little thug was not paying attention, she jumped on my machete and then sat on my shoulder and pecked my ear. For the past week we have had a small chicken that looks like a dog has chewed it follow us everywhere while regularly nesting on my shoulder. When we leave the house she gets in through the cat flap and eats the cats food and leaves chicken shit everywhere. Mausetrappe is nearly as unimpressed as we are. I have taken to launching her off the balcony as a discouraging strategy that seems to be working.

We have a rather successful birthday party at our bar. We have the place restored from the rains and lit up and ready to go. The waterfall/pools above our land create a magical secluded spot and to have a unique exclusive jungle bar close by is a proper bonus. We have a friend cater for us and deliver endless shrimp and some excellent form of pig to soak up the refreshments. Everyone is fully refreshed for the mandatory scorpion hunt. It’s a great night and reminds us that we have a great venue.

Our exclusive Jungle bar venue ready to take on the masses.

Invisible during the day and day-glo ravers at night

Xmas is now upon us and we have decided to stay in the jungle. There is no tree nor snowman nor Santa nor turkey nor pudding nor presents nor tinsel nor baubles in sight. We love the lack of Xmas stuff. Not being total humbugs we have invited anyone who wants to come over in the afternoon to do so and bring food and tipple. We will set up at the bar as the venue. It occurred to us today that we have had over 30 people absolutely confirm they are coming. If they all indeed arrive and bring food and booze then it’s going to be an event. We have created the makings for four large Beef Wellingtons which is pretty much the most complicated choice for a stress free Xmas but we are going to give it a go. We and our full compliment of guests will standby the beef with a lightish refreshment in hand and see what happens next.

Gold thread spider. One of many throwing massive webs this this of year.

This fella is destined to be a belt.
Found close by when laying water pipe.

**Love & Feliz Navidad to Everyone from La Colina.**
What is not given is lost.
Be Kind

Jungle Journal

La Belle Verte

August 31, 2018
by Beave

It’s dark. Once again I’m on the balcony watching the fire flies and the lightening close in anticipating the rain. Through the window I see Mausetrappe chasing something around the floor. It catches my attention as it’s not clear or obvious what it is. It looks like some fair size bug with its wings bitten off. This I decide is the most likely but it is moving unusually fast and acrobatically. Not surprising because the cat looks intent on eating the thing. The escapee jumps in the air and hides under the fridge. Mausetrappe looks away for an instant and it leaps out and lands at my feet. Taking a closer look I am properly freaked out to see something twitchy and unidentifiable with no eyes, legs, wings or features. It’s a disembodied tail. It is winding the cat up magnificently. I check the corners of the room to see from whence it came. I catch sight of a snake and chase it out the house via the shower but it looks intact. Tail fully attached. I then spot the cat trying to pry a tail-less gecko from its hiding place where it is proudly and safely watching events. I catch him and release him. His unbelievably animated tail sacrifice saved him. Since this incident I have tried to save a couple of geckos from the cat and seen them dispatch their tails at close quarters. The gecko speeds off and leaves their tail to break dance and summersault wildly. Best distraction ever. Smart nature but proper weird and not a little creepy!

We have put out the word with a local butcher for a lamb. Rumors are amuck that such a thing exists and that we can buy a whole one for a very reasonable amount of pesos. Lamb chops, melty shanks, Sunday slow cook leg, roast shoulder…. in our future. We wait for the call from the man who knows the man who knows the lamb. We wait. Eventually we have the offer. A man will deliver to the man who will deliver to the butcher who will deliver to us a goat. It’s the same as a lamb in Birria right? Birria is a dark red highly spiced hang over stew/soup of long cooked meat available to nourish the dehydrated and sweat excess tequila from the body for breakfast every Sunday. No one can quite understand that we want to eat lamb when there is perfectly good goat available. The word is still out…. We wait.

We are completely swamped with enquiries from locals, internationals and gringos alike wanting our help with all sorts of buying, building, selling and renting adventures. Our makeshift office in the pub has been fully occupied for the last few days. We are sorta kinda relived the pub is now shut for the next three weeks. Tequila & bad karaoke and complicated Mexican legal procedures do not mix perfectly. Our first “corporate” day out involved much ale, pizza and a flat tyre. It’s a good start we think.

There is a good scattering of strange fruit on the ground that is attracting pretty much everything. Two large trees are shedding them in great numbers. The butterflies cling to them and drink the juice as they sweat in the heat. The jungle floor is alive with a multitude of butterfly wings of all patterns and a slightly fruity smell. We are surrounded by colour as they take flight around us. The ants and wasps eat the yellow flesh in no time and leave the orange stones. I have taken to using the side of my machete as a bat and hitting the stones at pre determined targets (usually a tree branch or a chicken). It’s a simple pleasure but my accuracy now is much improved. It has been suggested by the locals that the yellow fruit we can’t identify is some sort of sweet fig. I am unsure of that but we have asked a number of very nature savvy people who shrug and suggest it’s another local freaky hybrid.

Protecting turtles is a huge issue for Nayarit and the entire Pacific Coast of Mexico. Turtles have nested here for many thousands of years and thankfully the government take their well being very seriously. We heard tell of a local poacher who was caught with 300 eggs and sentenced to seven years imprisonment. He was up for release recently and faced the judge again with 6 months to go to be informed that he still had to pay a fine. 100 000 pesos for each 100 eggs. As you have to pay for your own blankets and food in Mexican prisons and his wife had left him and sold everything while he was inside he was unable to pay. He is not attracting much sympathy so may be inside for a long time yet. The police have just conducted a raid on our beaches here to catch more poachers. We were invited to assist but there is a law that only Mexican citizens can be “official turtle protectors” and the police were in serious mood so we gave it a miss. Last night at 2 am there was a nest of 110 eggs saved and two poachers chased through the hills. The big result of the night was that a local “turtle protection officer” was found to be in league with the poachers. There is a tradition that he will suffer the wroth of the community he has deceived by being taken to a remote spot and beaten with wooden sticks before the law get to throw him in prison. You don’t mess with turtles in our town.

We are looking ahead to dryer days and deciding what to create next. There are two structures we haven’t touched on our land as we ran out of time and cash. The scorpion temple and the white house. The large white house is likely to be our forthcoming focus. We will wait for the rains to blow themselves out when they eventually come and then make a plan. The roof trusses are in place and in good shape so that just needs a cover of some sort. All the floorboards and supports are termite food so they need to be completely replaced. The shower and toilet block are solid so a new window or two, taps, shower head, paint and some spit and polish should make it a splendid prospect. The view from that spot is over the treetops of the protected jungle and is one of our best. We expect to have created a multi-function space for a yoga/bird watching platform and an open air bedroom overlooking the canopy in about 6-8 weeks from the start point. There is a little creative vision required. Looking forward to starting this process as soon as I can work outside for more than 10 minutes at a time without passing out.

Pineapples are appearing everywhere. It’s one of the many pineapple seasons locally. Our man has been working in the local fields planting maize and picking pineapples. Our current method of production is to save all the pineapple tops we use and dry them, soaking them and replanting them. He has however acquired us a large number of fruit and pre-rooted well-established bases from the fields . I spend time creating space in the green landscape and planting them out along with the half dozen heads we still have rooting in pots of water all over the house. In about a years time we will have heaps of them. We know that pineapples require a seriously worrying amount of chemicals and water to grow commercially but we will deploy organic methods. More learning required. It will be worth it as our house currently has a very healthy fresh pineapple smell, which is a great deal better than damp flip-flops and moldy pants.

Jayne does something remarkable. She gets out of bed and gets dressed without violence or injury before 8 am. We have been invited to meet our man at a local farmstead and milk the cows. We are in need of a reliable source of fresh milk and so we present ourselves. Two bleary eyed gringos watching rancheros do their thing. Our “help” is an event in itself. Jayne realizes that a milkmaid she is not. The cow stubbornly holds onto its milk and the teat delivers but the tiniest dribble to the bucket. Our man takes over and extracts about half a pint a squeeze! I give it a go and soon realize the hand strength required. I’m told not to pull but squeeze hard. Our cow has her rear legs tied together so I don’t get kicked so I am over confident. I manage a steady stream of high froth and then quickly relegated to the bench while our man takes over. Life is too short to watch a gringo milk a cow. The kicker comes with the tradition of breakfast from the milking stool. Large cups are filled with spoonfuls of Choco-milk powder and heavy pours of good tequila. We then take turns to milk the cow directly into the cup which now overflows with warm, sweet, frothy Choco-tequila. It’s surprisingly delicious and filling and effective. Great way to let the day begin.

We had an unexpected flush of guests in August which was welcome. This we found to be partly due to the Mexican four week school holidays which have just finished. We have learned, however, that we have to improve our information, especially in Spanish. Despite being as clear as we thought we could be about what to expect from an AirBnB booking and managing guests’ expectations (this is not a 5 star resort in the jungle) it is becoming obvious that a lot of folk just don’t bother reading it. Minimum requirements to book with us are that everyone accepts that we are off grid, in the jungle, a few km from the beach down a country road and that we don’t use water in the toilets. This comes as a great surprise to a few guests when they arrive late, in high heel shoes, with no torch in their town car wanting the wi-fi code and horrified by the thought of crapping in a bucket. There was a family of five adults stayed with us for two nights who couldn’t bring themselves to use the facilities even once. Empty buckets! We have been advised that due to our excellent feedback since March we are “superhosts” with AirBnB and we want to keep that up. It’s great for business and we don’t want to spoil it by attracting the wrong people for our place. We know it’s extraordinary & unique to stay here and almost everyone who stays here agrees so we have added a few extra pictures of poo buckets on our AirBnB site to scare off some of the potentially squeamish sorts.

Some of our newest arrivals have been attracted by the overgrowth. A donkey, a mule and a horse go into a jungle bar and decide to stay. The three free range souls arrived with us a week ago and seem to like it here. They don’t appear to be missed by anyone and they are keeping the greenery slightly less overwhelming. And overwhelming it is. Despite much machete work the green stuff, beautiful as it is, keeps coming. We can’t see our house now from the road. Anything left out and within range has vines and branches quickly reaching out to embrace it.

The past few nights we have had some encouraging and spectacular storms. More rain fell in the past few days than in the past few weeks. For a tantalizingly short time we had two out of five rivers flowing. The one past our house and the big one from the mountains. Its been enough to wash out the river beds . I have spent days moving rocks and filling in roads and maintaining our water diversion trenches. Despite all efforts access to us is now by 4×4 only.

By November the rains & humidity will be on their way out. Surf will be amazing, the bars and restaurants will reopen (pretty much everything is closed now) and life will return to San Pancho. We will then reappear, ragged from our damp, hot jungle slightly stir crazy to lower the tone somewhat.

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Crossing the streams

October 11, 2017October 11, 2017
by Beave

This post is perhaps a little overdue. We have been distracted by large amounts of life. No apologies for the amount of words. This is an accumulation of a number of weeks of happenings. We are out in the jungle now pretty much fulltime with no internet except on phones so when I get to publish this I’m not sure. It’s the calm after the storm this morning and we are in post-Shatshuka bliss listening to the evening sounds…. More on that later.

It’s raining a lot. This is not Chapala. We are in a small cheap windowless room in San Pancho with 16 bags and a surfboard and everything else we have bought and/or been gifted so far. There are now five rivers to cross to our land. Our lovely van has no chance to get out there. Its tough enough on foot. Our 4×4 is in Chapala getting tinkered with. We are stuck.

Lucky for us we are needed elsewhere for many more days to sign our names many many times and keep the beurocracy of Mexico in Mescal and Tacos. After endless hours and words and papers and signatures and cash (oh the cash).. we have our tax number therefore we have a company therefore we exist enough to prove our borrowed address therefore we can give away all our money and …… we own the land. W-e o-w-n t-h-e l-a-n-d !!! …. Drink!!!

It’s raining. No4x4. We arrive at our land (yes our land) thanks to our solar guy and his immense 4×4 monster truck that eats most of the roads and rivers . The very last part is totally washed out so we hike that bit. We start to make a plan for solar. The place is totally overgrown but so beautiful. This makes us happy.

Our room is getting a little ripe. Constant rain and clothes that don’t dry will do that. We deposit embarrassingly soaking fermenting piles of cloth to our laundry girls next door. They take it in their stride (outwardly at least). Clothes really do not dry. When you hang them up to dry either inside or out they develop musty gagging smog. When you change shirts a few times a day it soon piles up. These girls are our saviors they deal with constant deposits of unspeakable funk and charge us pennies This makes us happy.

We head to Los Varas to pick up our truck. It’s a 45 min drive over no rivers so we take the van . It’s a very Mexican town and noticeably friendly. Everyone we meet wants to help us or at least offers a smile. We look at destroyed second hand fridges and buy more tools and get some excellent pork tacos with our newest Jesus friend (he comes in many forms) and his family. The seven-year-old daughter takes great pleasure in correcting my nearly useless but improving Spanish. It helps quite a bit. I need to spend more time winding up Spanish kids for the sake of my education. We wait for our truck. After a number of beers and few tacos more she arrives!! We have our truck … we can get to the land … we are moving in !!!

We have an air conditioned room on wheels . Oh the relief of various bits changing shape and consistency and size as the icy air envelopes you. It’s blissful. It’s delicious. We decide to love it a lot. Worth the wait.

First days and its all a bit wet and exciting. We make shift a bed and camp around it with hammocks and start to unpack our stuff . The artist who lived here off and on and helped build the place comes over and we collect all his stuff in the truck and help move him out. He has just had his first child and is all loved up and cool. We learn a lot about the land and how it works. His art involves a lot of tiny bright coloured beads. They appear like dandruff or glitter in everything for days.

I am pretty much constantly covered in roof. When I go into the tree house or leave or even get close the roof deposits ancient muck down my neck. I decide to give the thing a haircut. Armed with scissors I set upon the doorways to give me some head height enough to avoid the straggling fronds that launch muck at me the minute they sense me passing. I do a pretty good job. The front door now has a passing resemblance to Paul Weller and the balcony reminds me of Bradley Wiggins. It’s all in the fringe apparently.

We are not new to roughing it and our radical self reliance has been tested over the years, however, the things we (I ) are conditioned to take for granted on a day to day basis are endless. Dry under pants is one. Moving around here is tough on the milky white , not in top condition, and no longer 25 year old body. So that’s one too… moving around and doing stuff without extreme salt/water loss and over heating. I am mostly a sweaty ginger chap.

The joy of slipping into the cool river at such times is indescribable. Floating and marvelling at the colours, patterns and variety of butterflies that join you….and their size. If some of them had strings they would be kites. Note to self to learn about butterflies. They are our constant companions now and its rude not to.

While the water is flowing (we have a another week or two) the stream is our source . Oh how I have taken the humble tap for granted. It is now a daily thing to take large carrying devices to our bathing pool and fill them up, load them in the truck and drive them home. I know with some certainty that there are 12 uphill strides from where we park the truck and then 7 large stone steps and 10 large wooden steps leading to our front door. I am so sure of these stats because I have carried my own substantial bodyweight in water up them every day.

Charging your phone/kindle/laptop/work lights etc.. That’s another thing. So we bought and assembled a generator. We now have very noisy power. It’s located on a levelish platform of pallets and flat rocks under the tree house. A single cable is routed upwards from which we have sucked every drop of lovely recharging energy to allow us to be re-connected with the our stuff. The noise is such that it does take away all the tranquility.. entirely. We have taken to plugging in all the things, firing her up and buggering off to lunch or pub or other essential missions. We return and restore the quieter jungle noises with full battery symbols and lights. Genius.

A fridge … with a freezer bit to make ice….miss that ….. We live out of an average size cooler box. It’s lined with beer and bit of milk for tea. There is a zip lock bag with a few items of edibles under a bag of ice. Daily purchase of ice is an essential. Warm beer not an option. Ice cold cooler water deposited in a tin bucket everyday for us to use to mop/cool ourselves down. Classy.

Much homework and dodgy sketches later we have a plan for solar. Be nice to be home when the power is on. There is a spot put aside to create a 6M x 4M structure onto which silent panels will provide sunshine power magic to nice quiet batteries while providing a large shade area. This sunshine power magic then gets distributed to all the places one could possibly need to recharge your phone. Silent refrigeration, quietish cooling fans, amplified music and other such delightful things are in our future., Our plans will become a series of jobs as early as next week and we may well be able to retire the generator within a month. This makes us happy.

Sounds out here are ever changing. At some point I will be able to tell the time of day by the background sounds. Might take some practice. There is always a series of beasts, bugs and birds putting their t’penceworth in. The very first of these that hits the consciousness is the bloody roosters. In town there are a flock of the buggers competing to irritate you at increasing ridiculous times of day. I have decided my love for rooster is now surpassed by just about everything. The longer they torture my morning brain the clearer the image of rooster pie becomes.

As day presents itself there begins the day songs that change with the sun. Birds mainly with a soft backing chorus of bug sounds. As the dusk arrives a dog or two may chip in to assert some perceived authority and then shut up eventually. At this point there are more distinctive cries , howls , croaks, hoots, screeches, gargles and shouts from all things announcing the night. It gets fun as we mimic the calls and listen for the responses. After a while it becomes difficult to remember who is mimicking who. Palm leaves crash to the floor regularly. The trees here all look like green haired old men with fresh leaves on top and long brown beards of dead leaves hanging from their chins ready to drop at anytime.

It’s at dusk the bugs proper give it some. An increase of the bug volume dials up slowly as the night sets in . Starts off at a reasonable 3 to4 as the dark arrives and gets up to a pretty rocking 8 or 9 some nights. The whole symphony is on occasions complimented by the one sound that reaches through the trees and gets to us this far out. The low low base parp-fart-parp-fart-parp parp of some old janky truck using it’s airbrakes. Add to the mix the shaking thunder rolls & rainfall loud on leaves, trees and our palapa roof and it really gets entertaining. .

We only have one rooster out here and its not that close … but I will find it.

Green is the colour the human eye sees best. More hues and shades of green than any other colour by far. The rains are still coming pretty much every day but for shorter visits and showing off less each time. The result is a lotta lotta green. An amazing amount of green highlighted by bright primary flowers and orchids in the trees. But mainly green. Almost all plant based but there is a lizard type creature we meet daily that is such a shocking Manchester Hacienda Day-Glow under black lights shade of green that it stands out strongly amongst all the other competitors. Not sure if that’s a good thing for him but confidence is a good start. I wouldn’t mess with him.

As the light changes so do the colours so nothing much stays the same for long. We watch the changes from the tree house balcony and make a discovery. At first it looks like a trick of the eye as we watch an intense clear lump of light move across the ground towards us. Then another. Nero (the nearest tree to our balcony) flashes. As the light fades these illusions get more frequent. Then as the dark takes over the lights move upwards. A light ball floats above my head. Our land is home to fireflies ! They are mesmeric. Flashes and movements in all directions. We wake to find one above our bed. Another at the window screen. They don’t like the rain much but at any other time they are everywhere. So as the sun goes down we watch in awe the lightening and the fireflies. This makes us very happy.

Now you may have seen the post I made about our new mates the Whip Spiders. They are truly incredible beasts escaped from a Starship Troopers set. We have found out more about them recently. They are not dangerous to humans (unless you have a faint heart) but they can spray formic acid at you if threatened. They in fact are one of nature’s true warriors. The body is so strong that nothing much will penetrate it so they are purpose designed to hunt and fight and kill and eat.. … Scorpions. They are on our side. Scorpions here are dangerous to anyone who has a reaction to their venom. Normally a bite will hurt like hell for a while, cause numbness in a limb and fever but the body will recover. Found one on my suitcase today and had to deal with it. Scorpion venom is known to activate the human immune system. Locals deliberately sting themselves at the onset of flu, which they swear activates their defenses and cures them every time. I will not be trying this out.

Whip Spider movie

So today started with one great big real thunder storm. Buckets of rain and lots of flashy lights and gut wobbling thunder right above our heads. The tree house is usually waterproof despite the screen windows but in this deluge there are 3 leaks that are bucketed quickly. No drama. A few hours awestruck by weather and cozy in our new bed armed with Yorkshire Gold Tea. Not a bad way to start the day.

At about 9 am we hear the chink of a machete. The boys are here to make pond. Our neighbor and his son, his mate and his Dad. The family is one of our closest neighbors. They raise cows. We now have a fresh supply of milk and cheese. We met him on the way in and he helped us rebuild the road to our place and carry some of the 16 bags and surfboard. Already in the past few days they have completely rebuilt the road, cleared the land around the house to discourage snakes, ,the connecting driveway to the road is clear and we can now see right to road and the pool. The remaining three huge 2500-gallon water tinacas that haven’t been nicked off our land have been reunited with each other, dragged 40 feet above our tree house to a newly cleared spot and await to be filled to supply us with running water!!! . We pay these guys what they ask no argument but it’s a small small amount for what they do. They are the reason we have progressed further than we ever imagined possible in less than a week out here.

Water will be a very good thing. I have a bucket to refill in the outside shower with an electrical shower in it. We have two water dispensers/filters that need refilling for drinking water. There is the jug next to the loo for flushing purposes that needs filling up regularly. Way more often than I thought. Flushing the loo with potable water is such a waste. Who came up with that idea ? There is the ceramic pot for hand washing and the bucket we fill with cooler water. It’s bloody endless! Can’t wait for gravity to do it all for me.

We have decided to create a wild jungle pond. The swimming pool that has been abandoned for many years and is actually just that. Covered in a pond plant and showcasing amazing lilies that flower in extraordinary ways. The water is murky but clearly alive with tiny fish and tadpoles. All great for eating mosquito larvae. We intend to empty the pool and transfer the life from the pool to a newly dug 8m x 8m x 0.5m pond. We will refill the pool from the stream now it is flowing and then pump water from the pool up to fill our tinacas . Rumor has it that this pool is deep and impressive when not a jungle pond. Today we find out.

The rain is light now and not causing any issues. We syphon the top bit of pool using a few hoses to the newly dug and lined pond. Pool to pond takes a while. As the water flows the plants are transported across. Looking pretty authentic pretty quickly. Then the youngest of us gets into the murk and with some mosquito netting and a plastic crate starts catching all the swimming things and re-homing them. This is a good. The new pond looks like it’s always been there and will look even better when we surround it with the heaviest largest rocks we can carry.

The syphoning stops and we go collect a pump for the next bit. Already about an extra couple of feet of pool has been revealed. It’s a really cool mosaic of small light blue tiles. The pool is a good 4m x 8m and now our fisherman is in there we realise its deep too. I mean really deep.

As the pump releases the pool water into the jungle slowly but slowly the size and magnificence of the pool is uncovered. First few feet and we find two massive plant pots submerged. (Yes I do indeed mix and match metric and imperial measurements.. ..It’s a British thing.) We haul the dead weight of pot and water and earth. A few more feet and large rocks pop up and are reallocated to surround the pond. A while later, after many hundreds of critters are rescued and rehoused, we discover ledges built into the deep end . Below is another few meters to the bottom. Another two huge pots are found and rescued. The deepest part is 4 meter from top to bottom. All the sludge is removed and amazingly there is no damage to the tiles at all. We all stand around the edge looking down cautiously. No-one want to fall 4 m onto hard tiles. This thing is a work or art. We had no idea it was going to be this impressive.

The rivers are full of debris and mud from the storm this morning so we will wait a few days to start pumping water in. We have a huge 4m deep and stunningly beautiful pool and a large jungle pond full of slightly confused critters. This makes us very happy.

Jungle Journal

Onwards to Pilar … avoiding the coloured chicks

September 25, 2017
by Beave

I’m in a room in San Pancho we just rented for the week drinking tequila and drying out slowly. Tropical storm Pilar is upon us and this is how we got here …… I’ve added a few extra pictures to bulk it up a bit.

……………………………

Daily routine Chapala:

Wake up at some hour exhausted but conscious. Become aware of crazy itching in proximities and the self-satisfied mocking buzz of well fed mosquitos. Make better plan to avoid further blood loss. Sleep/wake cycle till the need for tea overrides fatigue.

Count the bites. Tea . Shower.

First thick coat of P20-50+. P20 is the best invention of all time. A single application sun screen designed by Scandinavians for the lighter chap. “Ginger juice” smells like a vodka cocktail for 20 mins until it sets in and works hard all day to reduce the onset of pink and the freckle spread . At some point I will become a single off-orange freckle. P20 makes the inevitable some weeks away.

So my natural day starts with a thick coating of Butyl Methoxydibenzoylmethane ( ginger juice) and my ankles soaked in Diethyl Toluamide with minimum 50% Deet to avoid becoming lunch as well as a midnight snack. The Deet stuff has actually melted our shoes.

There are many plans to dissuade mosquitos. The latest revealed to us is to soak cloves in vodka for a few weeks and then add a touch of baby oil. This gunk will apparently give you less delicious baby soft ankles…and won’t melt your shoes onto your feet. Going to give it a go. Will be tempted to taste it before we add baby oil.

Drove the rugrod into town at some ungodly hour this morning. Coincidentally Mexican Independence Day and the whole town has turned out for a parade for Jayne’s Birthday. We watch endless marching children dressed in their best and met the local dignitaries and the president of the area . Everyone is very impressed with Jayne’s age. We remove her before it all goes to her head and feed her breakfast and prepare for cake. Cake comes after hugely successful and well attended dinner to honor the creeping certainty of age.

Been acquiring tools. Brought enough to break a bag or two but need more. We head to a pop up market ( Tianguis ) with cash and a large bag. Not large enough. Only Mexican faces and only Mexican prices. Negotiate with an old guy (who claims to be Jesus )for an old drop saw and handfuls of over loved tools and shovels and a rake that he displays on the pavement. A deal is struck before the local Police move him on. We buy all the rest of the things but avoid the coloured chicks…..

Another Earthquake . The light fittings were swaying for half an hour in Chapla yesterday afternoon. Absolute tragic scenes from Mexico City. Wish we were closer and could have lent a hand last night. The army has deployed many thousand troops now . Outstanding response from everyone. It’s a thing of nightmares watching the parents waiting around the rubble heap that was their kids school . Counting our many blessings today.

Our friend who runs a community center in the North area takes us on a visit. There is a B side to everything. Drugs are traded on the North side and the advertising method is ingenious and well understood. The type of shoe hanging off the power-lines in front of your dwelling denotes the type of drug available. Sweaty old trainers for weed. High heels for coke. The full list may well be available on google. Everyone seems to know it .

The Tepehua centre https://www.facebook.com/tepehuacommunitycenter

is well funded by Rotary and other NGOs and provides day care, sewing craft training , clothing , water (without mercury), dentist and a health clinic for the area. They feed hundreds of people every Friday. IUDs are offered to women in confidence, as contraception is not considered a macho pastime by local men. The previous day care center transformed into an orphanage as parents took babies and small children and forgot to collect them.

There is another of many projects underway to offer woman a rehab facility. This is not a service available to women in Mexico. We are taken to a secure men’s rehab center where 128 males of all ages co-exist without drugs and alcohol. The atmosphere is surprisingly calm and friendly and respectful. We are show around by a young cleanly presented boy . He has been here 8 months but “needs to be in for 12”. There are voluntary inmates & many sentenced by courts. 18 men to a dorm. Communal kitchen. High walls and large well decorated locked gates. The girls are treated with interest but respect. The land next to it is designated as the first women’s facility to be opened when construction completed, maybe next year. Wish them luck with that.

We then visit one of the households that is being directly helped.It’s impossible to know how many people live in this pile of bricks topped with iron and laced with damp electric wires. The women won’t say as censuses may result in taxes. We see a number of young kids in a bed watching TV. We are shown where the water comes in.

Total respect for the time and intelligent effort going into real long-term community benefit here.

It’s been a sobering day.

Joy of joys…the land closure date is put back further.

Friday is now the day. Finally and absolutely.

Its completely understandable because ( good luck keeping up ..)

We will need our corporation to have a tax code in order to close this deal.
The tax code is available to us when we have closed the deal. …. !?
Our passports are not considered ID in the tax office. ….!?
Our address needs to be confirmed in order to close.
This can only be done by proof of purchase of the land……!?

In order to weave through this latest conundrum of knotted red tape we are required to be in PV on Thursday to sign over power of attorney to our accountant and have a false lease created so we actually lease the land 24 hours before we buy it so there is proof that we and it exists… and our accountant can be officially us .. even if we are there… unofficially. …… Simple.

Chipala is comfortable. May be too comfy. Good friends and food and weather and a pool and lots of very reasonable excuses to stay. Our van is undergoing major facelift and life saving surgery. It now has a lot less original parts , which we are told, is a very good thing. It has new brakes and a compete air con system designed for alloy monkeys freezepops ( or ginger men) . But it is always nearly ready… its been over a week now and we are starting to feel like cuckoos.

Friday is not the day. Further very dull and inexplicable reasons have put our closing back now to Tuesday but require our presence on Monday and so we decide to leave on Saturday.

Before we leave we make plans to transform the rugrod into a total babe. We will get all the bits working and add roll bars and seat belts and other luxuries like a speedometer, tyres & indicators. We will return to Chapala to pick her up…. Sometime after the rains. She will never be waterproof.

After a day in Guadalajara buying acres of mosquito netting and seventies kitchen wall fabric ( future curtains apparently) we manage to tear ourselves away ……. without the truck. It will be delivered to us sometime next week gleaming with perfection & refrigeration . … maybe.

5 hours of van time and we arrive back home in San Pancho at 7pm… just in time to meet Tropical Storm Pilar who arrives on our tails at 7.05. It rains. Oh how it rains. The sort of rain that gets all your bits wet at once pretty much immediately. We are reunited with 16 bags and a surf board and our ever patient hosts . We are soaked to our bits.

The road becomes a river and then all the roads become rivers. We are already wet so we dig out our small inefficient sun broleys and venture out. Wading through the town to a few bars to drink and eat and watch the sea eat the beach in large mouthfuls. It’s an incredible view. An Italian pIzza guy from Rome surpasses himself with distracting pear and blue cheese yumminess. We eat well & drink better and stare at the endless rain. We meet many wet locals doing the same and eventually wade home to return to a dry room . We catch the flashes & listen to the drumbeat of storm until we sleep.