day of the dead Archives - La Colina Project

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

Santa, Spiders & Fluffy Balls

November 26, 2020November 26, 2020
by Beave

It’s been a while since my last blog. I have a number of great excuses. Technical issues and our site being hacked are amongst the most useful. At one point we thought we had lost our site and all our blogs into the dark mysterious unexplainable void of the hacker’s delete button. Thanks to considerably smarter people than us we are resurrected and spending much overdue retrospective efforts backing up our backups with backups.

Excuses aside, in truth I have been cooked. The baking humidity has poached me in its moistness and rendered me stupid. My ability to move, think or function productively escaped me entirely. The last few weeks of October were bloody awful.

It is with considerable relief that I can report that on the night of Halloween the weather finally broke. The humidity vanished. No more rain. Dry season is upon us. We have delicious fresh, dry air in our lungs. I am not constantly dripping on things and leaving damp patches behind me. The ceiling fan has been turned off and there are blankets on the bed. The best thing about this exceptional turn of events is that I have stopped banging on about how unbearably hot it is. Finally.

With the passing of the rains comes the passing of the fireflies. They hatch around September and live for around two months. For some weeks, we have been parking next to our front gate on our way home. We turn off the headlights and watch as many thousands of firefly bums flash in ever changing but certainly synchronised patterns. At intervals they somehow all turn off for a moment of dark and a fraction of a second later throw their tiny lights around in mesmerising fashion . They line the river banks and tree branches; the fields are thick with them. Yesterday we tried the same trick and saw only two tiny flashing critters who are most likely mightily confused where all their mates have gone.

Day of the Dead passed us by with no celebrations, pomp nor ceremony. Even the cemeteries, where families are used to spending the night with their dead, were closed this year. This was a purely political action too far for many. The Mexican traditions of honouring your dead run deep. Extraordinary alters of photographs, candles and marigolds usually fill the town square. This year there were none. We make up an alter on our balcony with traditional flowers and non traditional symbols to honour our own lost friends and family. It’s a gesture but lacks the unique communal mix of celebration and grief that this day is here to represent.

Canadian Thanksgiving came and went. Canadians wanting to drive their huge RVs down to Mexico for 6 months on a beach are unable to cross the Canada/US border as this is not considered essential travel. The result is that the usual influx of snow birds is not a thing this year. Almost all of them have cancelled their wintering in Mexico. Despite there being considerably less Canadians here than at any other time it’s still hard to avoid them.

A gathering was arranged and for some days a truly obscene amount of food was prepared. When we finally got to the point where we could start the feast the heavens opened and it properly rained. The carefully constructed and decorated outside eating area was dismantled in moments. We made a good effort to eat as much as we could, squeezed into a considerably smaller and drier makeshift covered area. A splendid effort with enough left-over grub to keep us stuffed for days.

Halloween was also allegedly cancelled this year. There was, however, a mini revolution from parents refusing to further disappoint their bored lockdown kids. The whole of the town was packed with the usual gangs of parents dragging around over excited sugar fuelled kids dressed as ninja turtles, spider men, batmen or devils. They paraded up and down the main street as normal. In anticipation, we dressed up and took a huge bag of high sugar Mexican candy with which to dose the little buggers. I wore my theatrical gorilla mask which was perhaps misjudged for my audience. Terrified children scattered when I got close ironically throwing candy at me to keep me away. Best intentions and all that.

Inexplicably the kids didn’t exactly warm to my efforts.

Thankfully our productivity levels have risen considerably and notably as the humidity has fallen. We have serviced all our vehicles, kept the jungle fairly under control and rescued vast areas of wood from ravenous termites. We have also persisted with our river rock driveway. Despite the torturous heat the boys have worked the entire time dragging huge rocks and tonnes of hand mixed concrete up our hill. Along with our substantial road that will last for centuries they have created two splendid rather beautiful rock retaining walls. Just this week in far more optimal conditions “we” laid a further 12m of rocks. It’s all happening even if the pace is often glacial.

The fluffy ball season has started again. The Copomo trees are shitting endless quantities of these seed balls constantly everywhere. They make a proper racket bouncing loudly off our house and car roofs. If we didn’t know better we would be convinced it was raining again. I’m sweeping a full coating of fluffy balls from our balconies every morning.

It is also spider season. Although we get spiders all year around we are currently blessed with Nephila. The females are big. Their bodies around an inch and half (4cm) with legs spanning about 6 inches (12cm). They produce highly impressive webs that shine like gold in the sun. They are often called Golden Orb Weavers. The golden coloured threads they produce are very long and also surprisingly strong. When we are making our way through the jungle paths we often clothes-line ourselves by walking straight into a cross thread that just doesn’t break. We end up with a squashed nose and a slightly panicked hunt for the spider which could easily could be on the back of our head. They are poisonous with a neuro-toxin similar to a black widow so best to pay attention.

Gold spider thread gets wrapped around your head if you don’t pay attention.

A friend of ours has just returned back here after a few months away. He visited his new girlfriend’s place in the UK and then returned via his house in the USA. He very kindly and very foolishly offered to bring us things that we were having problems finding down here. We have taken full advantage. Actually, taken the piss to be honest. Our new best friend (or Santa as we now call him) drove his rather large truck over the border stuffed with our new things.

So Christmas came early for us. Our wish list to Santa included: Full set of heavy pans, large stocks of batteries, a dozen pairs of reading specs, many sets of cotton sheets, Branston Pickle, Yorkshire Gold Tea, Marmite, Paxo Chicken stuffing, Cadburys Fruit & Nut chocolate, a dart board and darts, decking screws, a backgammon set, pan hanging brackets, meat thermometer, random kitchen stuff, food processor, some earphones, two speakers, throwing knives and throwing axes. Remarkably the Mexican customs reluctantly let him through without charging any duty fees as they were extremely disappointed that they couldn’t find any drugs underneath all our stuff. Bless them.

The boy toys will be an interesting addition. We have plans to create wooden targets so we can become proficient at chucking sharp things around the jungle. What could possibly go wrong?

We have news of more bees. This time they have been recovered from the top of building in Puerto Vallarta and are looking for a new home. We agree to be that home. We awake early to find that a box of bees has been delivered to our new kitchen overnight. Our hives are looking a bit grotty as they have been sitting empty for over a year now. We clean them up as best we can and suit up. Our new technique for calming the swarm is to spray sugar water on them. They are distracted by licking sugar so have less time and motivation to sting me. I approve. It appears more effective than the smoke. “We” carry the box to the renovated hives and manage to get the queen and her sugar high swarm relocated. We leave with only a few stings (somehow a couple of less sugary bees managed to find their way up my trouser leg.)

The roof in our treehouse has seen better days. At some point, we will move out for a month and have it replaced. Maybe not top of our list for now. Some time ago we were wise enough to cover the whole roof in plastic to stop the leaks and then tied palm leaves together and placed them on top to keep an authentic aesthetic. These purely decorative palm leaves have been soaked and dried one too many times recently and are now covered in a good layer of fluffy balls. Inevitably gravity has taken effect and huge sections of it have fallen off. I can attest that hearing the sound of large lumps of palm leaves unexpectedly sliding off your roof and crashing onto the balcony is a touch terrifying. Thankfully the loads have so far landed where we were not.

There are some very reassuring signs from nature that our beautiful autumn days are back. Whip lizards dart about in our peripheral vision. Huge inelegantly oversized white butterflies are thrown about by breezes. Flocks of brightly coloured birds feed noisily high in the trees. Some stunningly large hairy spiders wake you right up when you uncover one. Bright green lizards hide motionless; perfectly camouflaged by the river plants. Whales are appearing close to shore. Whale watching season is just starting up again. It’s the best excuse to stare at the ocean for a few hours.

We returned to our bee hives to welcome in our new arrivals to find that they have all buggered off. It appears that the accommodation was not up to their standards and they have gone to find a better class of hive. We don’t really blame them. It is decided that we will invest in new hives and provide refuge to a couple of homeless queens. Despite our ineptitude we remain aspiring apiarists.

San Pancho Sunset Photo credit: Larry Drogett

The sunsets continue to stun. The water has far less poo in it now the rains have stopped so oyster season is back. My son is due to arrive here in a week’s time. We have plans to drink less tequila, eat more oysters, kayak, surf and go fishing. Now the heat apathy is no longer an excuse there is an outside chance this may actually happen. Maybe.