Blog - La Colina Project

Footy, the Colour Purple and an Adoption.

December 30, 2022December 30, 2022
by Beave

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 .

Jungle Journal

A Hurricane, Scorpion Fun & Dead People.

November 8, 2022November 8, 2022
by Beave

Our stress about the lack of rain and delight about the lack of weather related destruction this year comes to an end. Hurricane Orlean thankfully missed us but was soon followed by Roslyn. She started as a tropical storm but gathered guts as she moved slowly up the coast and hit land a little North of us as a category 4 hurricane.

It starts raining about midnight but at 4 am we are woken by earth shaking thunder. The rain becomes thick, heavy and loud. The canopy lights up as the lightening hits close and often. There are distinctive noises echoing through the jungle. It sounds like fireworks but we recognised the now familiar noise. This is the unique sound of tree trunks slowly announcing they are splitting apart before they fall. Our treehouse is safe although there is now a river flowing underneath. The road down to the gate is effectively a waterfall.

Our friend Emma is staying with us as she looks for a less jungly and more permanent home in town. My son Jake has also bailed on the UK and moved back here in search of a healthier and less financially stressy existence. We have had intermittent issues with internet so have invested in walkie talkies to make communications easier between the four of us.

It’s 4.30 am when we hear from Emma. The plastic sheet that we attached to her roof in anticipation of a few minor leaks has blown off. After being dripped upon and hearing the trees fall very close by she is now huddled in the brick shit house toilet/shower block. Her cabaña is surrounded by huge trees. The concrete roof gives her the best chance of staying dry and not getting squashed. The rain is coming down in dramatic amounts.

I throw on a rain poncho and grab a rather fetching pink flowery umbrella and brave the downpour. Somehow I negotiate the highly slippery stone waterfall and arrive to the rescue. She is dry and unsquashed but forced to share this small space with her precious computer bag and at least one snake who is also avoiding getting drowned. Before we both brave the journey back to the treehouse I try and get to see how Jake is faring but the front road is now a raging impassable river and the path to his place is completely blocked with a thick ten foot wall of branches and thorns. He is on his own for now. We are all completely cut off.

There is little sleep achieved and so after the rain subdues and I imbibe the appropriate amount of tea I sharpen a machete and head out to assess the situation. It is surprisingly easy to take the upper path to the solar panels that we assumed would be wrecked. This is good news as I am able to check in with Jake who is suitably stunned by events but safe. The river is still too high to cross but from the gate we can see that it has diverted down our access road which now is earth free and looks like a lunar rock fall. That is going to be an issue for sure.

I double back to approach the blocked path from the opposite direction. Within 20 yards is the first downed tree. A huge Copomo previously over a hundred feet high. It’s a lot of wood. It is perched upon an even taller palm tree that it has snapped in half on the way down. I can get underneath it easily. Then another. An even larger Copomo with two huge twin trunks. One I can also get under and the other I can climb over. I am then confronted by the wall of debris. It’s a dozen feet deep and thickly entangled. It takes about an hour to cut my way through.

It is with some relief that after waiting for the first river to drop we are able to make it to town. Our belovedly robust yellow submarine Toyota FJ somehow rock hops over the crevasses, roots and large stones and makes it to the biggest river. Jake and I spend an hour getting wet and avoiding getting washed away. We move all the newly deposited heavy river rocks out the way and take down lumps of overhanging tree to make a suitable path across.

Despite being theoretically able to, we avoid bashing up the FJ negotiating the road and stay put for many days until we can get a machine in to fix things. It has not rained once since the hurricane so we assume the rainy season is over and we can begin the process of repair and preparation for a long dry season.

Irritatingly our internet is out again and this time they have the hurricane excuse so it’s a full week offline. Three out of the four of us require internet to make a living so all impose ourselves daily on our delightful neighbour (she has way more sky than us so has starlink to steal). Her generous and patient nature is fully tested.

Our apiarist mate in town calls us to see if we have a spare bee hive. He has a colony that needs a home. We explain that the lightening appears to have driven off all our bees so he can help himself. We should have three empty highly desirable jungle hives to chose from. We are not correct. We meet him on his way back from installing the new bee home. Unexpectedly he found two fully occupied hives and only one empty. The incumbents were not delighted to see him and were apparently “bloody aggressive” Despite being a highly experienced bee bloke and being in full protective suit he did not want to hang around. We have been warned.

We are very lucky to have a highly organized and effective system in our small town for recycling and rubbish collection. It is the very best I have ever seen anywhere. There are regular collection spots on the roads around town where there are cages to collect plastic, cardboard, glass and aluminum recycling and big blue bins to accept the rest. We only have to bag up our stuff and drop them off. Collections are regular and it is a relatively clean and stink free process.

Jungle rubbish builds up slowly. Most of our food waste ends up directly in the jungle or compost. Most of the rest is recyclable so the garbage can spend weeks in place before it is removed. This attracts a number of interested visitors. Emptying bins is always a fully disgusting process. Maggots and massive grubs make it a living moving mass of part digested horror goop. The smell is memorable.

I prepare myself with gloves and gin to make the monthly run into town. I am confused by my inability to remove the black bin liner from the large black plastic bin. Somehow the rains from the hurricane have found a way in and created a very heavy bin liner full of a grotesque fermented elixir. I am more terrified than curious so leave the bag tied and sealed. By tipping the bin over on its side while applying a lot of force I manage to dangle the corner of the full bag over the balcony outside the front door. I use a knife to cut the corner off and allow the juice to pour out. The smell is neck snappingly foul beyond description.

Jayne’s online work meeting is interrupted by involuntary gagging. Our mosquito mesh windows do not prevent the noxious fumes filling the treehouse. Half a dozen incense sticks lit in a blind panic add a thick perfumed sweetness to the mix which doesn’t help much.

I struggle to maneuverer the offending bag into another and seal it tight. I drag the whole thing down the stairs but it’s clear that everything within is sodden with garbagy maggoty soup. I throw it into the Ranger bed and push a machete through the bottom to allow it to drain properly and dry out. I move myself far enough away so I can breathe without throwing up. It’s confusingly a lot further away than I thought. I realise that in this process some of this unspeakable smelling juice has ended up on me ! I unfortunately can’t get away from me. I stink. I hold my breath to prevent throwing up as I march quickly and directly to the shower.

Our jungle fleet is now down to a single operational vehicle. After its extreme 4×4 adventures the FJ requires work on its suspension but is working and getting us all where we need to be. Long may that continue.

The Ranger runs (sorta kinda ) but the little sugar lump is still unable to cope with driving through water and as we have five rivers flowing between us and our town right now so it’s not useful. Thankfully we have lovely mules coming down from the USA now in Mexico) who have with them a bag of highly useful parts that should help us.

The Razor has been stuck in place and effectively disassembled for months now. Our newly enthusiastic mechanics who promised to get her going again ran out of enthusiasm. Finally after weeks of heavy nagging they turned up to put the thing together again and it’s running. It sounds like a bag of rusty spanners but it’s running. With luck our latest mechanics will have both Ranger and Razor back on form again in the next few weeks. That will be a massive relief.

Complacency is not the best. Having been here for five years and avoiding getting stung by any of the numerous scorpions I share a home with has made me a little complacent. I have bemoaned on many occasions the irritation of tick bites, the various paralysis by spider venom and annoying stings from bees and hornets. I will never forget the pain of a manta ray tail or my head wrapped with the tentacles of a jelly fish. I can, however, now attest that none of these compares to a proper going over by a scorpion.

It’s 11.30 at night. I’m close to our bed and very suddenly there is a pain on the side of my foot. The intensity of the pain takes me entirely by surprise. I sit on the bed and swear eloquently. I have been attacked and my first reaction is to retaliate. This has to be a scorpion. I increase the swearing and launch myself towards where I suspect the little twat is hiding. I am correct. As soon as my injured foot hits the ground she stings me again. The first must have been a warning to keep away. This one must be the “I told you so” shot. Somehow the pain intensity is greatly magnified and takes my breath away. I return to the bed feeling stupid and defeated. She is nowhere to be found and I have lost the will or the energy to find her. I am totally distracted by the pain.

It is impossible to tell where exactly I have been stung. My lower leg and foot feel like they are in a fire. There is irritatingly nothing to see. It’s tough for me to talk but increasingly foul swearing remains easy. I can feel the toxins moving up the back of my leg. That is not a good feeling. It does not improve. After ten minutes the pain is worse. The strange burning sensation has moved over my bits and up my back. My jaw feels tight. My lips are numb. My hands are buzzing. My vision has new sparkly bits added. It is decided that it might be a fair idea to go to the hospital to acquire some anti-venom.

The journey into town is a trip. I’m not quite in my right mind. I’m not fully hallucinating but my whole body is tingling strongly in waves. The incredible unaltering pain is preventing me enjoying myself. I arrive at the hospital and a relaxed staff nurse smiles at me and diagnoses scorpion toxicity immediately. I am guided into the A&E area where a young boy and his mother are sitting on the only gurney. He smiles at me and looks concerned when he is told I have been hit by a scorpion. He has also been stung! He is calm and holds his mother’s hand as he smiles at me and walks away. I slump down. The pain is stunning. No let up at all.

Our relaxed staff nurse looks at me. He has limited professional sympathy. I have a line put into my hand and anti-venom is applied. Pathetic noises are coming out of me as the pain gets unbearable. In my mind they are soft and gentle moans but I am corrected. Apparently they are irritating and the very ill people that surround me are unimpressed. I am unhelpfully reminded that I am clearly not as brave as the little boy. I am also cheerfully told that although it can last up to 24 hours there will be no pain relief as they need to assess my condition. Everyone (else) laughs out loud. I manage a weak smile and some better repressed moans.

As soon as it is decided that the anti-venom has slowed my demise I am released back to the world. I am off my face but that is expected apparently. The full pain experience lasts for four hours straight. When it reduces to moderate agony I can relax a little. A few medicinal whiskies and I collapse. By morning the pain has gone entirely. As well as all feeling in my foot. I cannot feel any of my toes . Nothing at all. It’s very odd. It is common for this numbness to last at least a month, I am told, so I better get used to it.

The following day I arrive at my dentist for root canal work. Compared to the previous night it is a breeze. Almost enjoyable. What is strange is to have the left side of my head numb from anesthetic and my right foot numb from toxin. I now have a strangely disturbing creepy smile and a limp.

A period of goldilocks weather (not too hot, not too cold) is upon us. No more rain. Barely filled rivers drying up already. This is remarkably early but none the less welcome for the short term. The tropics is an area of the world where climate has been broadly predictable. This is clearly changing.

We take advantage of the surprisingly breathable air and lack of rain and head out to a rather remarkable stretch of river that runs through untamed jungle. By following the ancient pathway and bouncing across the river boulders we arrive at a stunning waterfall with pools to soak in. The unique attraction of this spot is the abundance of 4000 year old graffiti carved into the rocks faces. These petroglyphs are world famous. The region was originally home to the Tequectequi native culture dating from approximately 2000 BC to 2300 BCE. The site remains sacred for the Huicholes who still leave offerings and perform ceremonies here. It’s a very special place.

The new house is looking better and better. Our beautiful section of rammed earth floor is drying out slowly and awaiting the addition of linseed oil to toughen it up. The clay wall is awaiting a layer of cactus juice to smooth it out and offer a little protection. It is looking excellent already. Our wattle and daub upper sections still await our round windows to be added. The latest delivery promise for windows is ”sometime next week for sure”. So we have no idea but are hopeful it will happen this month. We are very much looking forward to seeing the kitchen, upper balcony and our impressive bespoke parota doors all complete with windows.

Our kitchen is done. Our stunning quartz worktops expertly installed. Our superbly crafted cabinets completed. Our sink and sexy tap in place. The new oven cut in. It all looks so very very good.. The water is flowing too. Only one leak from a damaged fitting which was easy to fix.

Our expertly designed access stairs are done. Our fabulous bookcase is installed. We’re are few windows a desk and a bedroom away from being finished.

Halloween is celebrated by a fancy dress party at our friends’ house that they have expertly transformed into a haunted house for the night. There is a huge amount of effort made by so many. A friend and myself are slightly stuck for a suitable costume until we realise that the we both have a striking resemblance to our host. Pam is a tall , slim very attractive blond so we shouldn’t have to make too much of an effort.

Day of the Dead November 1^st is the day to celebrate with children who have died. November 2^nd is for adults. It’s a time for celebrating with the dead. To interact with them. Large Mexican families visit the highly decorated cemeteries to spend time with loved ones. Separate to the graves are alters . They are adorned with marigolds, food, salt, incense, photographs and elaborate artistic collages of beans and sand. At midnight we join a procession of hundreds which arrives at the cemetery in Sayulita to huge loud fireworks, and a Mariachi band playing traditional folk music. The locals sing along to every word. Graves have marigolds, photos and candles. Most have families sharing food and tequila.

In the evening we watch sunset on the beach along with a band of a hundred stylishly coordinated drummers from around the world who unite to synchronise and celebrate. We eat great tacos and return to the jungle where we have created our own alter. We light candles and incense and connect peacefully with the people we have lost. It’s emotional.

Jungle Journal

Summer Lovin

October 7, 2022October 7, 2022
by Beave

We have been jungle dwellers now for five years. It is long enough for it to be not so easy to remember life when we were living in a more conventional house and had somewhat more normal jobs and lives. We decide to mark the occasion by leaving Mexico and experiencing other things for a while. Jayne has essential purple stuck in her hair and we are ready.

Our plan is to visit Jayne’s entire family who have all arranged to be in Vancouver from where we are to embark on a week long voyage aboard an unfeasibly vast cruise ship around Alaska. After this we will travel to San Francisco to stay with our good friends and assist each other to go to Nevada. We are again to be part of the vast crew who construct, participate in and pack up the Burning Man event in the harsh remoteness of the Nevada high plains desert.

So after a week of food, family, intensely beautiful Alaskan green nature & all the weather that goes with it we find ourselves in the salt and dust and intense heat of the Black Rock desert for nearly three weeks. As uniquely surreal an experience as Burning Man clearly is we had our hands full this time. The temperatures during the day were ridiculous and the dust storms were severe and frequent. Nothing much knocks the energy out of you quicker than overheating with lungs and eyes full dust. Except maybe Covid. Which we both contracted again. It was definitely harsh but also remarkable. (photos borrowed from various sources including the amazing John Curley & Erica)

So after a long six weeks away we are back home. Our good friend stayed in our treehouse to make sure the cats didn’t eat all the jungle beasts while he worked on our new house. He happens to be a Master Carpenter and is producing high quality bespoke cabinets, drawers, doors, steps and Jayne’s sexy parota desk.

In our absence the wattle and daub upper walls are complete and await large round windows that we have commissioned. Cabinet frames are completed so we can bring in the marmolero who is the craftsman who can cut and install our slice of Italian mountain into sexy quartzy countertops. The front doors are built and need to dry out while awaiting windows. We have the final layers to complete on our earth walls and floor. We also need to complete all the other window installations and our specialist Tadelakt finish in the shower……and then we only need to build our bed and move in. We are getting there.

In the meantime the jungle is offering us just enough challenges to keep things interesting. This time of year you can actually see the vines growing and without attention the bush grows six feet high and takes over everything surprisingly quickly. It took a few hours of macheting to make it possible to move around the land freely again. In the process I managed to disturb a few unreasonably grumpy hornets that took exception to being hacked. They decided to dissuade me by stinging my head a number of times. It’s an effective strategy. I immediately return, chastised, to the treehouse via the newly cleared pathways with a dull machete and a throbbing head.

We are preparing very slowly for our day when we notice a commotion in the treehouse. It feels like the cats are racing around crashing into things and making the sarongs that hang around the place move around. Confusingly the cats are motionless and quietly ignoring the world. This, we discover, is apparently the effect from a 7.6 magnitude earthquake 400 km away, 15 km under the sea. The predicted tsunami didn’t happen but the surfers loved it.

We are passing our front gate heading to town when we noticed a strange shape in the road. On further inspection it was the back end of what looked like a good size snake. It was thick and long and black and lifeless. No sign of damage but no sign of movement. This was exactly the same type of snake that scared the life out of me when it emerged from our pool full of frogs a few years ago. I was curious as to its size so I braced myself and took hold of the tail and pulled. The snake (ex-snake) that emerged was indeed a large specimen. Despite it being smaller than the one from the pool it was a good deal longer than I am tall and also shockingly heavy. Very glad I didn’t get to meet him when he was alive and hungry. I left the body next to the road on a large rock. This was not the best idea. A couple of days later the stench of rotting snake was overpowering !

The weather this year is highly unusual. There are rains nearly every night but the water in the rivers is only just flowing. Our well is currently full but if the aquifers are not fully restored this will not be good for our community. By this time last year I had replaced our road that was completely destroyed four times. This year there just hasn’t been anywhere near the amount of storms, tropical depressions or hurricanes. The past 24 hours, however, we have been hunkering down due to hurricane Orlene heading straight for San Pancho. Thankfully, for us, the grade 3 storm headed North and missed us. Our tropical jungle releases warm air out to sea that had the effect of diverting storms. Much as we can use the water we would rather not lose trees, roofs and roads at the same time.

Since our return we have, however, had some impressive thunder storms. Last week we had seven inches of rain in one night. The lightening hit very close to the treehouse and the resulting thunder claps shook our world. The result was that the lightning took out our well pump and also appears to have frightened off the bees again. We just installed our new replacement pump but, so far, no sign of the bees returning.

I am outside our local mini-store in town trying to get my keys to open the car door. This is not easy as I am carrying a collapsing box of groceries while balancing a drooping open tray of fresh eggs. Suddenly the sky falls in with the noise of a bomb. Twice. I instinctively duck down. The eggs do not. Somehow in an unrepeatable and instinctive display of juggling skills I catch them all before they egg-wash me. I had completely forgotten that it was the start of Saint Pancho days.

This is the infamous week where the patron saint of animals is celebrated by scaring the living shit out of every dog, cat, bird (and egg carrying human) in town by regularly setting off the loudest possible fire works for “religious reasons”. Further traditional celebrations in the town square (when it stopped raining) include dodgy roulette, shooting stalls manned by dogs, deadly fireworks, deafeningly awful live banda music, dancing horses and dozens of aspiring gymnast kids accompanied by their parents consuming jugs of harsh margaritas and a few hundred cans of Corona light.

The whole of the area has a different feel and look this year. The lack of water destruction is very welcome. In its place are acres of plants we haven’t seen before. There is a quick growing fine grass that produces bright yellow flowers that has carpeted large areas. Contrasting the yellow are swaths of stunning red fire blossoms. It’s a stunning look.

It is also, however, distracting. There are a number of golden web spiders that have suspended themselves from golden threads between trees and larger plants. These structural strands are strong like wire and if you are making your way through the jungle mesmerised by the pretty colours you will inevitably be clotheslined by them. Feeling (an admittedly very beautiful) golden strand hit your eyeball is unpleasant.

We are settling back in to our jungle routines. Jayne is back to working from her four poster office until her new desk is completed. I am preparing long list of jobs we need to do and accomplishing just enough of them to keep from being swamped.

We are rewarded by the extraordinary firefly show every night. It’s that time of year. A loose swarm of fireflies will flash their lanterns in their abdomens randomly. But when the swarm reaches a certain density, the fireflies begin to blink in unison. It is almost perfect synchronisation, with rhythmic, coordinated waves of light. We are so very lucky to be right in the heart of it. No plans to leave here again any time soon.

Jungle Journal

Blue Buttons, Bees & Froggy Nonsense

July 20, 2022July 20, 2022
by Beave

It may not surprise you to know it’s bloody hot here. There is, in fact, record breaking temperatures throughout Europe right now so we expect little or no sympathy. It is true that the UK is really not set up for hot weather – bless them. The whole country has been on red alert ‘threat to life” status. I remember how grossly uncomfortable it is in the UK’s air conditioning free cities, homes and offices even at 35 degrees. This week the UK has had over 40-degree heat for the first time ever! Despite me continually struggling along in a pool of hot sweat I will, therefore, attempt to take a short break from moaning about the temperature for a change.

One of the gifts of being close to the ocean is the chance get wet and float around on a whim. Most times of the year this is a refreshing change but during these hot times the water temperature is that of a warm bath. It was one such whim that did for me. I’m at the bar on the beach that we have named “the office”. It is often that we arrange an urgent meeting with friends at the office. The beer was cold but not cold enough so I decide to strip off and dive into the waves.

San Pancho waves are strong and mostly break quickly close to the beach. The trick is to get past the breaking waves to the calm water out back. This is often not as easy as it sounds. I negotiate the fast moving walls of water as best I can. Some I dive under, some I float over. It was at the top of a rising wave above water when from nowhere I get hit on the side of my head. My ear felt like it had been suddenly struck by something hard and hurty. My immediate thought was that I had been stung by a hornet. I remember how much that hurts but in retrospect that was not the smartest assumption (being in the ocean, a long way from any hornet nests). I instinctively dive deep under the waves to get away from any flying hazard and swim hard to get some distance between me and whatever that was. The side of my body suddenly hurts, a lot. My ear is stabbingly painful and the discomfort is now all around my head and neck. It is only then that I see them. All around me in the water are bright blue bubbles. Blue button Jelly fish!

I make my way out of the surf swearing warnings at the oblivious swimmers frolicking around me. There are lines on my body where the tentacles have wrapped themselves. My ear and neck feel on fire. At least one of the little buggers has clung to my head and the cnidocytes along their tentacles have released harpoon-like structures full of venom, called nematocysts all over me. These things are not fun. Back at the office, everyone has a helpful opinion about how to assist me. There are offers of soaking my ear in hot coffee. A couple of people enthusiastically suggest they pee on my head. I take the decision not to accept their kind offers and try my best to scrape off the tiny harpoons as best I can. It is a number of days before I can forget about my wounds and some weeks before the skin around my hairline settles down.

Although the rains have started and we are getting rainfall most nights, there hasn’t been a storm of any note so far. This is good news. Our access roads are passable and although the jungle is growing over us as fast as it can we are just ahead of the game. It takes at very least a full day of swinging machete a week just to hold the green stuff back. We, thankfully, have just the bloke to help us out with that. If he doesn’t turn up we are stuffed. Around the treehouse are a load of palm like plants that are shooting up. Some that have just appeared in the past few days are already many feet high. It’s a project!

The fireflies have arrived and that is always a blessing. There is a dozen or so clumsily crashing brightly around the mosquito net every night. They are staying close to the ground at the moment which makes walking around at night somewhat magical. The trees glisten and flash. The undergrowth sparkles like glitter.

The nights are scattered with rain and lightning and the occasional loud smash of thunder. The jungle orchestra is on full song and we get to drift off to the calming music of nature. If it wasn’t for the frogs!

This year the frogs have changed their game. Every year up to now we have had to endure listening to a rain fuelled frog orgy in our pool. It is usually a two-day, two-night affair. By then the frogs have kept us awake for 48 hours but have concluded their wild sex party duties or have died trying. This year they seem to be more aware of social distancing. Smaller groups (bubbles) are declining the mass orgy option and getting it on whenever the mood takes them. The result for us is weeks of nocturnal non concentual acoustic abuse. We don’t need to hear that. They are clearly having way too much fun.

Our bee neighbours have been confusing the hell out of us recently. Around six months ago I went to check on the bees and didn’t find any. We have three hives. All were active until they weren’t. One week we were down to two active hives and then only one. It is a disappointment that the last of the bees have decided to move on so we take advice from our wiser apiary mates who suggest we move the hives and try another spot.

The day comes and I have arranged to make a new sexy bee home area close to our solar panels which is more sunny and open. Should be a lot of pollen and water around so this seems a good move. I approach the first hive and immediately get stung! On closer inspection, the bees have decided to return and seem to be fully occupied and content making honey and stinging me. I abandon the relocation task for the time being. The following week the second hive somehow springs back to life. It is highly confusing but they seem happy enough. Our friend calls us and asks if we have a spot for a homeless queen and her cohorts that he has rescued from someone’s house. We now have three fully active and productive bee houses. Honey in our future again!

Our house in progress is looking remarkably like a house. The stunning boveda roof has been matched up with a palapa roof. This week our wood whisperers will be building the tapanko loft where we will sleep. There are stunning stairs, there is an outdoor/indoor bathroom, there are bright tiles and polished concrete floors. Our tasks now are to find tiles for the shower floor…. now. Lights for inside and out…. now. Decide on finishes and details … now. No pressure!

We are a week or so away from the builders completing all the buildy stuff. The electricians and plumbers are well on their way to finishing all the sparky and plumby stuff. We have ordered windows and doors. Our master carpenter friend is set to move into our place for August and apply his skills to the piles of Amapa and Parota wood we have had delivered. We have cabinets and stairs, a bed, wooden doors and other secret things planned. It is going to be an interesting few months turning this remarkable space we are creating into a fully functional home! It’s a splendid job. We are grateful for all the massive effort by so many to get to where we are.

There is the issue of water. The mornings these days are often cloudy and that severely restricts our ability to pump water up from the well and to our tinacos. Feeding the tinaco on the build site has been a mission and so keeping it topped up for the new house is going to be a challenge. The new water system we have is reliant on our large cistern which we built underneath the front porch. We have a rain catchment topping it up. All the water to the house will be treated by traditional filters and an Ultra Violet (UV) light disinfection unit that removes most forms of microbiological contamination from water. Our plan is to keep the cistern topped up by 10 000 litre pipa truck when the rains stop. This gives us the chance to use our high power water pump to back-fill our tinaco from the cistern if water is scarce. This is a huge bonus.

There is the issue of power. The Scorpion temple is a good distance from the treehouse and, we discover, over 250M away from our solar powered fuse box. There is no real way around it we need to run a conduit and a single 250M length of high quality, high grade cable from the box to the site. We manage to find the right cable and acquire a massive heavy reel of the stuff. Our chosen conduit is bright orange and corrugated. It comes in 50M rolls so we have six of those. All we have to do now is to mount the reel and lay and connect up all the conduit, find a way to run it all under the stone driveway and 250M through the jungle to the fuse box and thread 300M of twin cable through the whole thing. This is a day we will not forget in a hurry. My Covid recovery is frustratingly slow and I have been running on 30% power for some weeks. Add a bunch of extreme heat and humidity and it really adds to the fun. It is great news that Jayne is motivated and we have help from our mate from town. Somehow, we manage to get this all done in just six hours. It takes me three days to recover.

There is the issue of the fuse box. Our existing fuse box is far from weather proof and is now four years old. It looks a lot older than that. The wires to it have been pulled and tugged by jungle growth for years so it’s a janky box with over tight connections attached to a tree and protected from the elements by a plastic container that I cut up in a way to function as a rain cover. Our biggest issue is that the tree it was connected to fell over. The box was cast into the jungle but somehow still works. This is not a sustainable solution to our power needs. A new posh waterproof box is found and we mount it a few feet above the ground on plastic bug proof poles that we set into the jungle floor. We are desperate for power. It’s unbearably hot and humid and we don’t have any way of running a fan!! Jayne takes on the very frustratingly fiddly job of wiring the bugger up. Theoretically it should only take an hour or so but it is fully dark and I am lighting up the jungle with a torch before it is finally up and running. We retreat fully exhausted to the treehouse to shower and drink gallons of water and stare blankly and silently for a very long time. The feeling of satisfaction for a job well done will kick in later.

Jungle Journal

Hot & Wet With a Sexy Roof.

June 25, 2022June 25, 2022
by Beave

It’s notably warmer as I arrive back in Mexico with my jeans uncomfortably stuck to my legs with sweat. I haven’t worn long pants for years and this is why. The bloody traffic light system at airport customs for once decides that I shall not pass. My main bag is absolutely stuffed to the gills with liquorice all-sorts, chocolate bars, cheese, fruit pastilles and many cakes. There is at least 10 kg of sugar which will be a bugger to explain away. Somehow, I have managed to confuse the bored custom bloke with my pot of newly rediscovered USB sticks he has found in my hand luggage. I try and explain the concept of digital photo storage to him while looking as innocent as I can muster, while sitting protectively on my bag of sugar. He doesn’t quite know what to make of them. He calls in his supervisor, to show off his find, who pretty much slaps the bloke and tells him to let me go. I’m saved from the indignity of trying to explain away pots of Marmite, boxes of short bread biscuits and a bunch of Bakewell tarts and Jaffa cakes.

Jayne’s best mate from Quebec has been here for a while. It’s good to meet her and her friend who still have a few more days left before they return North. Jayne has successfully survived my absence by having a lot of fun with her mates. We have a good few days getting some surf hours in. It is my first time back in proper surf for almost a year. My knee injury is healing but at a frustratingly slow pace. It is good to catch a few waves but it is clearly going to take some time before I’m back to my bouncy surfy-self. It’s not a good time to surf here when the rains start and the sea water quality gets icky. Next season I need to make some time to get me more waves again.

My dear homestead is being transformed. When I left, the boys arrived, to start building our new house. There wasn’t much to see two weeks ago but now, from the humble ruin that was the scorpion temple, there is an actual house taking shape slowly. This crew work hard and quick. So far so good.

The pace of the build is driving things along steadily. The list of things that we need to decide upon is long and rapidly becoming urgent. Doors, windows, drains, tiles, wall finishes, lighting, fans, electrics, cabinets and bathroom fittings. We also need to attach the entire site to our modest electrical grid. There is a lot to do.

There are also a lot of decisions to make. Now Jayne and I have very different and passionately held ideas around interior design and colour schemes. Very different. Life has become a constant negotiation. I can have my palapa roof if she gets a strange colour on a bathroom wall. She can have her strange front door if I get my round windows. Somehow, we have agreed on colours, tiles and finishes that neither of us hate. We are keeping faith that it will all work out in the end.

It has always been core to our intentions for this build to become part of the jungle rather than separate from it. Our thinking is that we live on large clay deposits and the build site itself has a rich supply from the land into which we are building. We are keen to look at using this clay as the external wall coverings so the building matches it’s surroundings. We are also interested in creating rammed earth floors and polished plaster Moroccan style walls, and even a few wattle and daub areas made from a clay/sand/straw mix. We are lucky enough to be offered a training course by two very well-respected specialists in natural finishes. It is arranged that they travel to stay here for a week and put on a master class to train us and most importantly our build crew in the dark arts of natural finishes.

Jayne requires a wisdom tooth taking out. She has been putting it off but our dentist is leaving town for a while so she books herself in. Tooth was dispatched within half hour and everything went pretty well. Face mended quick and the whole operation cost us around $25. Our friend was recently quoted over $500 USD a tooth in California! We are very lucky. Dental tourism is a real thing here. Getting your face fixed is one of the best excuses to come see us.

The young chaps who arrive to teach us all things natural are interesting and clearly experienced. One is Mexican and the other French. It’s a full-on week of daily classes. We learn how to mix building materials by dancing on clay and water and sand and straw. We create rolls of the stuff at exactly the right level of sticky and build a wall. By removing straw and adding more sand we create the perfect mud pies that when bashed with a levelling mallet are compressed into what appears to be a solid floor. We used much care, a lump of soap and some polishing stones to create the highly impressive Moroccan style Tadelakt polished plaster. There are buckets of soaking cactus to add to the mixes. There are pigments and various clays added to lime plaster to find us a colour that is in keeping with the earth around us but also doesn’t look too shitty or pink. There is much to be learnt.

It is extraordinary how fast the build is going. Round windows and columns and stunning stone walls and steps. It’s starting to look like the real thing. The biggest issue we have is that the build is thirsty. The concrete has used many thousands of litres of water and the finishing plasters will need a heap more. The sun has decided to make a break for it and has hidden behind clouds for many days. It’s impossible for me to pump enough water every day to replace what they are using. We even have a water pipe syphoning off pool water to keep them going. Despite the well water levels holding up nicely we are almost out of water on the land. It is a blessing that the large cistern we have built underneath the front of the house is finished and should be able to hold water. We order a pipa truck that delivers 10 000 litres into their empty tinaco and the new cistern which does not leak. Problem is solved. Now to try and replace the water we have used, that will require some sunshine for our solar pump.

We have a full on weekend booked. Our friend has a birthday dinner booked, we have a DJ night at the Mezcaleria, Lucha Libre wrestlers are in town and it’s Pride weekend in Puerto Vallarta where the annual drag queen street obstacle course is happening. It is pretty excellent to have some time away from the build and catch up with folk.

Finally, after three Covid cancellations, my daughter Suzy is arriving with us. At last she has taken two weeks out of her hectic life. She has suffered through working on the front line as a Covid nurse and currently in Leeds, West Yorkshire, managing an overstuffed case load of sex workers who she helps to manage drug and alcohol dependency issues. Girl needs a rest. It was fantastic to see her when I was in the UK but now she has nothing to do and two sweet weeks to do it in. There is no sun still but this is taken as a blessing as it’s still oppressively hot. Opportunity to acclimatise from the delights of West Yorkshire.

It has become clear that the issues that persuaded me to go to the UK are different and it is perhaps not as useful to return as planned. I’ll reschedule when it suits everyone better. My son, Jake, however has found himself with an amount of time between projects so has decided to join his sister and a good friend (already scheduled to be here) for a short visit. Having both kids here is an unexpected blessing. Neither of them drink alcohol now so it’s an opportunity to be a touch healthier and less hangovery. It’s been a very long time since we all spent more than a few hours together.

We have also arranged to host a few highly skilled boys to drive in from Guanajuato who will transform a pile of bricks into a stunning boveda vaulted roof. There was going to be six of them for a week but we are now expecting four of them for four days. Who actually arrives are two blokes. One boveda master and his mate. They both want to get everything done in three days because they want to get back to San Miguel Allende where they have a footy game to watch. If they can do a good job we are absolutely up for that. The rains are threatening and getting our roof on in time is crucial. We give them a few hours to settle in then go for a site visit to see how they are doing. It’s remarkable what one skilled bloke can do with a pile of bricks. Our guy is slapping bricks masterfully into the rapidly appearing roof that seems to have its very own gravity. It’s going to look extraordinary.

June bugs are here. It’s a sign the rains are upon us. They really are the most stupid animals. Their entire existence seems to be to clumsily fly directly into your face and get caught up in your hair. They are solid little buggers so it’s like being constantly hit in the head with a handful of nuts. For this reason we call them nut bugs. Thankfully they only last a few weeks.

It’s great to have the kids here. It’s been a while for Suzy so she gets to see all the changes we now pretty much take for granted. She settles back into a new pace of life beautifully. There is surfing and relaxing. No sun but all the food. Jake and our friend arrive. The sun returns and it gets sticky hot. Our place is alive again with people for the first time in a very long time. We do all the things and eat all the food and rest well. It is sadly and inevitably no time at all before they are due to fly back to UK. Before they leave we get to see our newly finished boveda. It is stunning work. Only in Mexico could we afford to be making such sexy roof decisions.

The mighty kick ball league of San Pancho is taking its Summer recess. It’s hard to get the numbers these days as large amounts of folk are leaving as the air heats up and it becomes interesting to breathe. It’s only June but the hot stuff is upon us. We were introduced to kick ball only a few weeks ago. Two teams, of varying ambition and competitiveness, pitching and kicking and catching and running until it’s time for another cold beer. It has been the source of group competitiveness and minor sports injuries for a number of Saturday mornings at the local football field.

In anticipation of powering up the dehumidifier and air conditioning units we have acquired there needs to be a few upgrades to our power grid. There is a lot of buggering about and nerd wizardry employed to add the fourth and final new battery to our system and fiddle with the layout of the solar panel to maximise voltage from sunshine. There is much technical help from our team of super solar ninjas (Alan, Jayne’s Dad and Ray, our solar guru in Hawaii). When these guys start talking technical speak together I must admit to being a little (lot) lost. Glad Jayne has the skills to translate and patience to get stuff done.

The rains have come. We have just about made our new roof waterproof but the clay finishes we have chosen are far from dry or sealed. It looks like we will have to wait out the rainy season before we know exactly what colour our exterior walls will become. The palapa roof is happening fast so in about a week we should be fairly weather proof. The rains, however, are not waiting. Every night they come hard. There have been a few thunder storms already and the rivers are showing signs of coming back to life.

Electrics are in place. Tiles have arrived. We have a master carpenter who is making a plan for all the cabinets. We are designing windows and doors. The stairs are being built. It’s all happening at pace. If we are not washed out we are close to having the building work completed in a month or so. It’s shocking how far along we are already.

Well finally it’s my turn. After a modest night at the Mezcaleria I find myself waking up at 6 am with what I assume to be a surprise hangover. It is irritatingly rare for me to ever suffer from hangovers so I am confused. I pretty much behaved myself the night before but my body feels poisoned and my kidneys ache like I’ve had a proper kicking. I stagger to the bucket and have to hold myself up. I’m not feeling at all pleasant. Jayne shuts up my moaning by launching a Covid test into my face. It’s an instant positive. Bugger. I hole up in the treehouse for a miserable week. Thankfully my woes did not include coughing or breathing issues for which I am forever grateful. Have to respect how bloody awful this thing makes you feel. I’m taking my time and everything seems to be returning to its usual state of strange normality again.

Jungle Journal

The further we go the nearer we are

May 11, 2022May 11, 2022
by Beave

It has come to my attention that I have been happily ensconced in my jungle bubble here for years. Jayne has had a few trips North to Canada but it has been many a moon since I have left Nayarit. We have had loose plans to visit much praised areas of Mexico and expand our horizons. We have had looser plans to perhaps visit family in the UK or head up North to Burning Man again. This, for all the reasons, hasn’t happened. A mix of lethargy, laziness, a pandemic and the fact we live in such a spectacular place has pretty much removed our motivation to go anywhere.

We are, thankfully, surrounded by more motivated, organized and adventurous folk. A few of them have spent a lump of time and energy organizing exciting things in temptingly remote places. In the unique environment of our local Mezcaleria where our good friends are hosting a night of DJ nonsense, we learn of one such exciting plan. After a strategic quantity of Mezcal we invite ourselves along.

The plan is to take a number of flights and taxis and end up in San Miguel Allende. We know of many who have lived or visited and all wax lyrical about its delights. The purpose of the trip is to support a fundraiser for the Mayan Warrior. The Mayan Warrior is a huge art car in the form of an ancient spirit animal, built on a truck body. Along with a world class sound system it has installed upon it the most spectacular (and barely legal) lasers available to man. In remote places such as the Black Rock desert at the Burning Man event in Nevada it offers to those that make the journey a treat of truly stunning lights and sounds. They are selling a few thousand tickets to dinners, parties and a late-night event to raise the money to take the beast back to Burning man this year. This is deemed a suitable enough excuse for us to make the trip. We are in.

It’s March and for the first time in a few years the Cirque De Los Niño’s is putting on their show. Gilles Ste-Croix (the co-founder of Cirque du Soleil) steps up and works his magic again. Thanks to his world class training, costumes and production skills the kids again put on a truly spectacular night once again.

Our planning for the Scorpion Temple build is at an end. Materials are bought, builders chosen and deposits paid. A troop of boys are descending on our site every morning and making satisfyingly loud buildy noises. It’s going up fast.

We have our brand-new fridge, sink, taps and oven in our new bodega awaiting a place to be. Our list of stuff to acquire is long but we have some months to get it together. On the list is to choose a thing to become our new kitchen counter tops. This is not something that I was expecting to get excited about until we arrive at a warehouse filled with shiny bits of stone. Out the front was as extraordinary stunning lump of mesmeric beauty. It looks like a massive three-dimensional satellite photo of a storm over a grey sea. I am smitten. We are now the proud owners of a very unique slice of Italian mountain.

There are flowers on our vanilla vine. We have only just processed last season’s harvest and here we go again ! The pollination ladders are ready. We are on a roll. Irrigation tests are a clear success. Sun and water makes for crops. Who knew ! Our first bed is now full to burst with rocket and lettuce. A ton of salads are in our future. We spend the time creating more water lines to the other two beds. Seeds are planted and expectations are high.

It’s time to leave. Our mate moves into the treehouse and we head to the airport. We are away for four days. It’s been a long while since I got on a plane. In my past life, I took up to 50 flights a year and I really don’t miss airports at all. This is the longest time I have ever been required to wear a mask. It’s not at all comfortable but everyone conforms. We arrive on San Miguel Allende as the sunsets. It’s a stunning old town built in 1542 full of colonial and Mexican buildings. Our initial oversize Airbnb is both large ( colonial) and dark (Mexican). A bit too dark due to no electricity. After a late night explore to find the roughest bar in town we camp down for the night and arrange to move to another place in the morning.