Mexico Archives - La Colina Project

A beautiful lotus growing in our pool

Currently more of a pond…

Jungle Journal

New Year New Bananas

February 9, 2024February 9, 2024
by Beave

On our return from Tahoe we recognize our need to entirely embed ourselves in the bliss of jungle solitude. The desire to further socialize is zero. We wallow in delicious antisocial isolation for as long as we are able. It’s not long.

Mausetrappe and I taking a much earned moment

The Scavengers have agreed to ride again. A year ago we took to a pimped up Polaris ATV, dressed appropriately and took part in a very silly scavenger hunt to raise a heap of money for the EntreAmigos community centre children’s library. It’s time to do it all again and defend our winning ways. It’s a well organised and rather insane few hours of racing around the town making absolute twats of ourselves but we do it again. Scavengers take the prize and secure our reputation for super hero excellence. Astonishingly we raise over $20k US dollars between us all for the kids. We hang up our capes for another year. We will be back. But until then return to our jungle hibernation.

It’s not long enough before we are forced to emerge from our indulgently selfish and perfectly satisfying prevarications as we once again begin hosting mates from afar who are landing upon us regularly. It’s that time of year. They arrive from everywhere. Some appear from Calgary and other Canadian cities. More from Alaska and other US states. Others emerge from Europe and Australasia and there is even a Brighton Brum from Scotland.

A friend of Jake’s is looking for a spot for his van for a few months. When we get to see the van we are seduced. Its good looking and a rather well put together thing. It would look sexy anywhere so we agree.

It is, as always, a good thing to have our space filled with new souls experiencing slices of our unreasonably unique lifestyle. Our recent exposure to life in Nevada and California has re-enforced our belief that we are no longer best suited to what allegedly polite society attempts to market as normal living. It gives us a dose of the unashamed smugs to share our own version of reality.

There continues to be a steady flood of both Mexican and International tourist folk arriving in town. The delights of San Pancho are no longer a secret. Mates who deal with hotel spaces and rentals to house them all report the chances of renting anything in town for the next few months are slim to none. It’s good for business as the restaurants and shops are packed but the temptation to cash in is all too much. The costs of just about everything are rising at alarming rates. San Pancho is now notably expensive compared to nearly everywhere else. It’s literally the price we have to pay.

We take motivation from the enthusiasm of visitors as we introduce them to all the good spots and for the lucky ones we inflict upon them our lively, creative and quite bonkers community. There is a rich mix of all kinds of idiot here and we rub along just fine. It’s fascinating the variety of folk all with wildly different stories who have ended up together in this place.

Thankfully we are blessed with a good number of good people. There is a very low amount of entitled or unbearably irritating folk. Surprisingly few. Pretty much everywhere I have spent any time has produced a flush of such nutters that you just need to avoid. Should they appear here, thankfully, as if by magic, they don’t tend to stay around. It’s not the environment for them here. We are grateful for that.

In preparation for further guests and potential get togethers we have work to do. The large parota tables that have been ignored for a number of years are showing signs of neglect. It takes a few days of mucky sanding and pints of varnish but they revive enough to look pretty good again. Not sure how many times we can get away with such resurrections.

The outdoor shower has also been ravaged by humidity and termites. Sweaty termites have eaten all the bits that keep the wood resembling a shower. It is now but a teetering assembly of chewed wood. After doing some brutal but necessary triage on the remains of the existing beams and panels it is clear that the new shower will be a more compact version. I save what I can and add a few new bits. The new shower emerges from the heap of partly digested palm bark . It is then decided to absolutely soak the whole thing in our precious “Boracare” tincture which claims to keep hungry sweaty termites away. It took a great deal of effort to smuggle the stuff down here. Importing unknown potentially lethal termite repellant is apparently frowned upon. We shall soon see if it was worth it.

So we slip back into a whirl of hosting and attending/avoiding the plethora of events and get togethers that lead us to Christmas itself. Again Christmas Day sneaks up on us.

It certainly sneaked up on Jayne. I wake up with her missing, replaced with extraordinary sounds of distress coming from our, thankfully, outside bathroom. For the whole of the morning a quite extraordinary amount of the very worst fluidy stuff from inside Jayne is expelled out at alarming rates. It was quite awful but somehow spectacular. In a few hours about a hundred of our friends will be arriving in considerably more festive mood than us. It’s going to be an interesting day. Jayne is now empty and weak. Her delicate wrung out body is bed bound. Anything we try to put in her decides to immediately escape. Emergency Chinese herb medicine is applied. I leave her to rest and prepare for the inbound hordes.

Despite Jayne’s absence another splendid Christmas was had. All the folk and an insane amount of food laden plates arrive. Everyone successfully imbibes, inhales and indulges in all the things. Our now infamous White Elephant event not only entertained the excitable throng but this year uncovered some real festive gems. Amongst many great prizes there was a much desired slide guitar, highly popular utility knives and an unbelievably epic Approved by Beave stamp I acquired. Due to surprised excitement I may have used it far too often. No one was safe from my approval.

Very late in the day what is left of Jayne is recovered enough to make a welcome but short appearance. Thankfully, after a good night sleep, she recovers further and we can rule out Dengue Fever and all the other more serious possibilities. For Jayne it was a very memorable Christmas Day best forgotten.

On Boxing day a number of folk chose to recover at the café/bar/restaurant that Jake works at in town. He was mighty confused that his customers all appeared to have a picture of his Dad stamped on them.

There continues to be endless back to back excuses to gather until New Year Eve also sneaked up on us. Those that had been absent for Christmas all reappeared full of just arrived back enthusiasm. Town is packed. Our friends were DJ-ing all around town and Freak Baby played on the beach at midnight. It was exhausting but we made it through.

New Year arrives but there are no real signs of life slowing down any. San Pancho has felt like one long after party for weeks. The continuous stream of dinners, DJs, dragshows, events, gatherings, and regular silliness continues. Endless opportunities for meeting, eating, drinking and more bloody dancing. Very occasionally we snatch some time to ourselves. Duvet days with faces stubbornly stuck in some brain sapping device ignoring the world except for occasional trips to the loo or the fridge. If we achieve this for an entire day we are bathed in self-congratulatory satisfaction. Love a good duvet day.

It is time once more for us all to gather on the beach and publicly engage in absolutely unashamed silly nonsense to celebrate Emma Brown surviving another year. This is now the fourth annual Emmalympics. It gets dafter every year. By some twist of injustice, even before we get started, I am accused of cheating and as punishment am forced to participate in every event entirely blindfolded. Bit harsh. It all begins with egg themed races followed by mobile balloon abuse and quite inappropriate spoon thrusting. A banana and buttocks event (which is genuinely hard to watch) is followed by the some fairly dangerous welly chucking and ultimately we complete the competition with the inevitable tug of war fiasco. It’s a splendid afternoon which is embellished further by a spectacular jumping and splashing show from a large number of curious humpbacks leaping out the sea to get a better look at our athletic prowess. Who can blame them?

Despite a load of effort to reattach wheels and replace batteries, bearings, bushings and springs our Polari (Ranger & Razor) have both taken a break from working and being useful. Parts are smuggled to replace the more obviously broken ones. Local mechanics won’t touch them so we wait for someone more useful to appear.

The universe provides. Geoff arrives. Geoff can fix anything. Geoff is here. The poor bugger arrives from Peruvian adventures and within hours is up to his guts in tools busily repairing Polari trauma. We now have three working vehicles and our FJ has a new side light cluster, working air conditioning and the horn restored. Horns are essential equipment in Mexico. Geoff is great.

February we hope will provide the opportunity for many more duvet days but with our dance card already filling up for the next few weeks and months it’s looking less likely. There are worse problems to have. What doesn’t kill you makes you older right?

Jungle Journal

Perfectly Natural

October 2, 2023October 2, 2023
by Beave

There are constant reminders of the pecking order in our chosen place in the world. We are often reminded that we are absolutely here at the good grace of mother nature and all her wishes and whims. Should she decide we are no longer welcome we are buggered. It’s a constant challenge where we maintain our gratitude and respect for her and she does as she pleases. So far so good.

We are in that tangibly muggy purgatory period as the dry season changes to wet. The humidity is real and there are occasionally some dramatic thunder, lightning and strong rains for an hour or two. We wait for the big rains to come, the rivers to rise from the dirt, the trees to fall and the roads to wash out. So far is it is a somewhat dry wet season.

Our project to capture more photons to fill our batteries has progressed well. The frame we designed is awkward and heavy and requiring of hours of painting, drilling and further painting. It’s location is very carefully argued. There is only a few hours of morning sun that breaks through the canopy available to us. Holes are dug and concrete mixed and a bunch of mates with muscles summoned for erection day.

It went OK. The half dozen awkward heavy panels are eventually slotted onto the frame and after some fiddling and essential swearing are successfully bolted down in a very sweaty and inelegant process. In order to protect the new structure from any future hurricane conditions safety ropes are installed to trees and planks of wood cut to length to hold up each corner. By adding these props and tie downs we have a fair chance the thing will not blow away.

It’s early days, but by capturing sunlight for those few precious hours in the morning to top up the couple of hours when we are currently collecting in the afternoon our batteries will potentially last twice as long. This gives Brian (our generator) a much needed rest. There is also now the possibility, should the sunbeams align, of turning on our air conditioner. This is a game changer. We have had no air conditioning for six years. It’s an interesting realisation that we have been at this for six years now.

Jayne heads to Canada to spend time with family and enjoy a break from me and our jungle world which is heating up noticeably. When she returns we will have but a few days before heading to Burning Man.

The humidity is brutal. With my new jungle solitude comes an opportunity to submit closer to the new natural pace of life. I make a conscious decision to allow myself a period of doing very little and releasing myself to what may come. This involves a lot of naked sweating, blatant prevarication and delicious guilt free laziness. I even find the time to read an actual book for the first time in an embarrassingly long time. After a couple of weeks I realise that there have been very few things that have persuaded me to leave the land. I have been effectively a surprisingly content hermit. There are a number of essential jobs that I manage to complete, but entirely in my own hot, sweaty and slow, time and space.

It’s been a year since I have left Mexico so the familiar process of preparing for another month dedicated to what Burning Man may bring is a little strange. I finally unpack from the corners of my luggage all the dusty bits and bobs from last year’s stormy, stinking hot and covidy burning man and replace them with fresh nonsense. Who knows what we will need.

Last year’s Nevada adventure was so extreme with dust storms and extraordinary heat that we made do with a few bikinis and goggles. I think I broke my own dubious record for living in the same pants for the longest time. This year we just don’t know so pack something for every occasion along with way too much make up and far too many costume options.

Our logistical burden is considerably eased as last year, in the confusion of dust and covid, we somehow managed to persuade the “org” (those with power and influence at Burning Man) to pick up The Growler (our trailer) and store it for us. Theoretically it will be waiting for us as we arrive on site a week or so before the event starts. It’s practically impossible to rent a truck with a tow hitch in Nevada so we have always had to blag a truck in Reno to tow our very old sun baked, graffiti covered living box from its storage spot near Pyramid Lake the 50 miles to site. This involves getting registration, a full set of working lights and risking the ancient tyres for one more trip. We also get to pass every overeager state trooper (at 29 miles an hour) with what is effectively a “bust me I’m a hippy” bait trailer. This stress maybe a thing of the past if we play our cards well.

So we fly to Reno and meet up with all the people. After a few days of relaxed organization (one trip to Walmart and two to Trader Joes) we arrive in daylight to be met with the welcome sight of The Growler. We start the process of cleaning and nesting so we can start work building a fun camp for the communications team, construct our infamous viewing deck and raise Media Mecca. This is the interactive meet and greet space from where the flock of over enthusiastic drone pilots, journalists and media folk are carefully and expertly managed. We are organised and have a handy bunch of buggers on our crew so it shouldn’t be difficult.

We are settled in and we have a plan. We arrange a pre-build meeting and prepare ourselves for the challenge of a few intense build days. Then our good mate mother nature appears to further remind us who and where we are.

It is Sunday around midday and it starts to rain. In 2004 it rained a little as the event started and the chaos was unforgettable. The salty dust crust on which we live turns to a ridiculously sticky wet clay which grips to your feet and will suck down a vehicle in no time. Nothing can move. The lines of traffic trying to get into the event were stranded. The only solution is wait for the sun to dry up all the rain so itzy bitsy hippies can move their trucks again.

There is much more rain than 2014. A lot more. It’s a week before the event and we are surrounded by water and seas of glue. It’s impossible to open the container where all our wood and equipment is waiting to be transformed. If the old dried out wood gets wet we are buggered. So we wait. We share food and resources and make the best of it. No one is going anywhere. There are only a few thousand folk here and our stocks of all supplies are not worried. It’s an exercise in patience and self-care. We are very good at caring for ourselves and each other so it’s just fine. After a few days of exhaustingly intense selfcare we dry out and prepare ourselves once again. This time last year we were pretty much done with build and we haven’t even started yet. No pressure.

It’s midnight on Tuesday and Wednesday appears under an impressive star filled sky. We drive an art car out into deep playa and arrange a game of petanque (bocce) with brightly coloured lit up balls under the moonlight. It’s a beautiful night. Someone on crew has a “one wheel” on which one’s balance skills and delusional confidence are tested. An electrically powered single wheel attached to a modified skateboard propels the rider who is balanced above it at speeds up to 20 mph. The playa is flat and smooth after the rains and moonlight visibility is clear. It appears an ideal space to give it a good go. We do not have any protective helmets or pads but that doesn’t seem to be an issue. I am forcefully advised by my less confident selfcare assistant that it’s not a good plan for me as we have a long few weeks ahead and the prospect of me smashing myself up is not ideal.

I return to my flashing balls game as my mate Josh, who is currently awaiting his selfcare assistant to arrive, takes off on his first attempt unhindered by wise advice. He is pretty good at it. He arrives back at speed, wide eyed with growing over confidence. It does look like fun. Until it doesn’t.

On his fourth attempt he is now flying around us. He swoops past the art car and then instantly the wheel stops. Josh does not. There is a crunching noise and worrying cloud of dust.

When I get to him it does not look good. He is winded enough that he is struggling to breathe at all and his eyes are looking distressed. It was something of a relief when he started moaning and stubbornly refusing to lie still. I felt his shoulder pop back in place and noticed a particularly squidgy bit on his collar bone. By some mad twist of fate, in this desert void way out from the event space, there happened to be a real life ambulance just cruising around. Ironically the one wheel was dispatched to retrieve the crew who within minutes pick up Josh and take him to Rampart (the newly built triage & EMT center.) Thankfully Burning Man provides excellent EMT facilities to service a fair sized city.

Josh becomes the first passenger of the year on an emergency medical evacuation flight to Reno. Although he has a broken collar bone, cracked scapula and bust ribs which are all inconvenient and irritating he has not broken his neck or damaged his brain (much). He is incredibly fortunate although perhaps not feeling so lucky.

The next day we are confident enough to open the container and the hard stuff begins. More crew have made it out and there are enough willing hands and built up enthusiasm to knock everything out in just a couple of days. Everything looks just about perfect as the gates open.

Josh or “One Wheel” as he is now called, turns up just before the crowds arrive. He is all fixed up after an operation in Reno and has decided that burning man is the ideal place to heal and caught a lift back. His selfcare assistant is at his side so it’s much more likely to happen. He is stubborn enough to not miss his first burning man entirely. He has one good arm so he can get back to work.

It’s Friday when we hear that more rain is potentially forecast. We watch as vast sand storms skirt around us but mostly they are near misses and we remain dry. Until we are not. We are caught on the outskirts of the city visiting friends when it becomes clear that the rain falling is a substantial downpour and will most certainly be changing everyone’s lives significantly for some time. The water settles in vast shallow lakes moved around by the wind. The radio broadcasts endless corny rain themed songs and strict warnings to rest in place until further notice.

Some bloody idiots just can’t bear the thought of doing as they are told (it is the land of the free you know !!) and try and make a run for it. As predicted they are buried up to their axles within a few meters. It’s chaos, but no matter who you think you are, we are all in the same muddy puddle. It’s another lesson in patience and helping others to stay warm and dry and just a little drunk.

We are grateful to be taken in as refugees in a very well-resourced camp. A large red carpeted tent full of perfectly bemused strangers gets slowly overcome with water. At one end is a tiny bar that has notably high end booze offerings. The guy who introduces himself meekly as bar manager does not appear confident. He tells me he has been drafted in but doesn’t drink and has no experience at all. He opens a fresh bottle of outstandingly expensive whisky and deposits half a pint of the amazing stuff over a cube of ice and hands it to me nervously. I congratulate him on a very decent pour.

Remarkably, attached to this tent is a separate fully equipped kitchen with stand up freezers and large stocks of food and wine. Chefs wade through the puddles and deliver freshly made pasta and meats to soak up the dozens of bottles of cheeky Bordeaux’s and the odd Pinot Noir that are being rapidly consumed. No booze less than toppest of shelf or deepest of cellar is even considered. We have certainly hit the best refugee camp on Playa. We are wet and cold and only a little tipsy after a few cheeky bottles of red and only a couple of pints of whisky. We all cram into our mate’s trailer that offers warmth and a tiny dry corner to attempt to pass out while listening to the rain hit the roof. It’s a long night but we are amongst the fortunate ones.

The next morning after a final flush of morning rain we are absolutely surrounded by miles of muddy water. I climb out the trailer and monkey climb my way from table to chair to the big red tent. Its red carpet now under a few inches of water. There is no one around except for one muddy soul sitting on a soggy coach smoking a joint. She smiles at me. No words are necessary. The floor is strewn with full bottles of Krug champagne and the remains of the excellent red wine stocks. I help out by collecting an armful of each and returning to the trailer to present my hunter gatherer breakfast.

After breakfast we are suitably refreshed to try and brave the mud and return to camp. What would usually be a half hour stroll is far more of a mission. We encase our feet in duct tape and plastic bags or go commando. Bare feet is my preferred way to go but it’s a much slippier option. It takes well over two hours to arrive close to where we live. At some point we eventually arrive back and exchange tales of our overnight survival.

What happens when you leave your mate alone for too long

And then we find out that the world is taking an interest in what is happening. The previous week when a few thousand of us were trapped for days was not really news worthy. Now around 70 000 folks being told they can’t go anywhere is proper news. There are some amazing rumours.

One news outlet is declaring that there is an Ebola outbreak that no one can escape from. Our comms team has to send out a declaration that no communicable diseases have been reported. We are all waiting for the sun and all will be well in a few days.

We get all the messages from deeply concerned family and friends on the outside. You are on the news! Are you Ok? Has anybody drowned in the mud or resorted to cannibalism? It’s actually only been 24 hours of further self and community caring. That’s a good space to be in. We are just fine. Everyone who gets it are just fine. There are some people who consider their need to be elsewhere important enough to bugger everyone else up but not too many of them. They will be the last to be rescued.

Media Mecca is effectively the communications center for the whole place so we have ways to communicate. This gives us access to all the world wide news reports which we find a little disorientating. What we see are extraordinary images that suggest an entirely alternative existence that in which, apparently, we are currently living. A drone photo of a mess of RVs all stuck trying to exit on gate road is shown on US prime time. We are concerned and send a copy to our mates who are out there and they tell us it’s make believe. It’s a creation of AI. Then we see other published images of what we are going through. Nothing authentic at all. AI has created a story in pictures of what it has decided is happening and publishing it to the world as fact. It’s stunning that you really cannot trust much anymore. Even, bizarrely, your own eyes. The following images are all AI creations. Extraordinarily… none of this happened and none of the people exist.

Eventually some bloke called Joe Biden sends his thoughts and prayers so we can all relax . We are saved.

NOT an Ai creation. This is spectacular reality.

Our world dries up. Things start moving again. The man burns a few days late as does the temple. Both are extraordinary as most people have already left. It’s way more intimate and a whole heap less hectic. The man burns after a spectacular pyrotechnic display. The temple burns in silence as we watch from the flatbed of our truck that we have driven to the perfect viewing spot. It reminds us of many years before when not as many people were aware of this place.

Our clean up and tear down takes a bit longer to ensure we are not storing mud for future years but it’s just fine. Everyone who remains does their bit and leaves the place exactly as they found it.

We indulge in a few very slow recovery days in Reno. We find Guinness and sushi and try unsuccessfully to blend into casino life. Our bags are packed and we head South back to the humidity. It’s going to be a few well deserved weeks of prevarication, laziness, sweating, sleeping and the odd tequila. Can’t wait.

Jungle Journal

Another Year

January 23, 2022January 23, 2022
by Beave

December is a special time in our wee part of the tropics. The humidity takes a few days off now and again, welcome fresh air is deliciously breathable and there are moments when I’m not soaked in my own juices. It’s Goldilocks weather. Not too hot, not too cold.

It’s absolutely the time of year when we feel the pressure to start growing stuff. The jungle has had its months of taking over and is retreating as the wet season turns to dry. We decide to treat ourselves to a xmas present. We persuade our local boys to again collect piles of river rocks and transform them into three large raised planting areas right outside the treehouse. The plan is to keep a much closer eye on what we grow and install an automatic irrigation system to keep stuff alive and healthy. The planters look fabulous and are filled with good earth and irrigation pipes ready to install. It’s a process but we are getting there slowly.

After one of our regular and very necessary organise days in our stuffed bodega we find a load of seeds. Our Argentinian garden ninja has also left us various bags of newer, fresher seeds. We have separated them into flowers, fruits, herbs and vegetables and started the process of germination in a large seeding box, a couple of our existing flower beds and a dozen or so plastic flower pots. Good soil and lots of watering (when we remember) and there are some signs of life. It’s an exercise in patience and faith.

Jayne has recently become intrigued by the cultivation of mushrooms. A friend of ours has been propagating for over a year and developed all the skills and collected all the stuff to make it happen. After much boiling water and sterilising of straw and wood chips we now have mycelium all over the place. Up trees, in trees, in buckets, on the jungle floor and even in our new Xmas planters. In a few weeks, we are expecting flourishes of blue oyster mushrooms. Theoretically.

On the other end of our highly limited production our vanilla beans are starting to turn yellowish. It’s been around 9 months since we were up ladders pushing pollen in all the right places and this year’s crop is impressive. At a loose count, there are around 60 big fat beans on the vine. We know it will take some time to nurture them to dark oozy vanillaness but it will be worth it.

Xmas comes at us fast. We have never exchanged presents but do sometimes make the effort to write a terrible song or slightly offensive limerick or a dodgy looking card but not this year. 2021 seems to have crept by and again we have been thankfully saved the endless exposure of Xmas trees, snowmen, Wham songs and adverts to spend heaps on seasonal crap. We have entirely missed being caught up by the Xmas spirit.

We have friends staying with us for a few days so Xmas Eve was more of an event than usual so Xmas morning was treacly slow. As is now tradition we have arranged to open our place up from 2pm till very late to the great and good of San Pancho as well as a few of the more dodgy and unwashed. Our Xmas morning is, therefore, a sanctuary time for us to gather ourselves to what will come and eat the best of what we have before having to share. This year our contribution is slow cooked lamb so if no one else turns up it will suit me just fine.

As I’m slowly imbibing buckets of tea and mustering my battered enthusiasm Jayne is clearly up to no good. There is something she is not telling me. The silence is deafening. After a few too many moments of anticipation I am invited outside. In front of me is one of the finest sights I can remember. My bath which was lugged across the jungle and installed outside the treehouse is now full of hot water and very importantly overflowing with bubbles. There is a cold bottle of Chardy on a table within reach. The next hour is spent in bliss and gratitude. Perfect Xmas present.

Unfortunately, my lamb, along with deep fried turkey, fresh BBQ fish and many dozens of other dishes are demolished by around ninety guests who spend a rather excellent Xmas day in the jungle. We are lucky to have such an amazingly close and supportive (if ravenous) community here. The festivities go on just late enough.

We take advantage of the strange gap between Xmas and New Year to arrange the start of our new build projects. It has become clear that building material prices are going to go up massively in the next few weeks so we buy strategic amounts of steel & cement in advance and push forward getting our new bodega built so we have somewhere to keep it all.

We buy a tinaco to store water for the build. It arrives on a truck that has no chance of getting to our land so I take the Ranger and strap it to the back in the middle of one of the rivers. Once I get to roughly where it needs to be we work out how far up the hill we can site it. It fills from our primary tinacos which are far away and not much higher. The whole area is recently cleaned jungle and is full of ticks. The wood tick is not a lime disease candidate but is not a lot of fun. They jump on you and head to your neck in search of warm blood and soft skin. They are usually fairly easy to remove once you find them but often leave holes that take a while to heal. It takes three of us to get it all done. By the time the pipes have been laid out and the hillside dug out we are all covered in the little bastards. I look like a dartboard for the following weeks.

Designing a building from scratch takes some concentration. We have architect/project management support which helps a lot. Our plan is to create a 6m x 4m storage space where we can have a real concrete floor for the first time. This will help with getting under vehicles and generally keeping the place less filthy. We will keep the option of building a casita on top should we need to later. For now we intend to create a large deck on top accessible by a bespoke design iron work staircase. Sketches of electrics, water, doors and retaining walls fly back and forth.

A big issue is the trees. It’s a constant issue for us. We have one of the highest concentrations of Capomo trees in the world. They are extraordinary knarly and beautiful trees that rain nuts that can be made into a coffee type drink that is highly sought after in expensive hippy organic emporiums. The downside is they get invaded by Bromeliads which are gorgeous but heavy. The branches of the Copomo fail often and fall over a hundred feet to the ground. Because of that they are often called widow makers. One hit our Razor and we were only saved from being squashed flat by the highly substantial roll bar. Copomo surround our new build site so we need to find a way of making it safer.

Our cute little Mexican town is home to all sorts of mad buggers. The maddest are the lads that climb the trees to take down coconuts and dangerous branches. They risk everything by shimmying up 150 foot trees with a chainsaw, no safety ropes and apparently no fear. All for the price of a bottle or two of tequila. We persuade these boys to spend a few days up our trees and remove all the branches that could potentially kill us the quickest. We agree to pay them well and for four days there are a mix of fresh noises. Many arguments, chainsaws, crashing branches and lots of swearing. The result was that no one died, all the branches that we were worried about safely on the ground. There is now a lovely patch of clear sky now surrounding our build site. The only casualty was my brand new 7.5M ladder. It is now a more reasonable 5M. It could have been a lot worse.

Our absolutely insane tree cropping crew

There is good news. We are sent a photo of our new expensive heavy solar batteries. After researching a load of traditional methods of shipping 150kg of batteries from the US through the web of confusion and corruption which is the Mexican border, we settled on a less conventional solution. Without going into too much detail we have shipped the batteries from the supplier to a unit in Texas and a number of days later they are somewhere North of us but South of USA. We should get them soon and our power issues will be solved. Theoretically.

A very grumpy and impressive Boa who took residence with us for a while.

New Year comes and there are a number of options to celebrate. San Pancho has a famous street party that is, for the first time in two years, not COVID cancelled. As an alternative, our friends have suggested a beach party which will be less crowded offering a few DJs and a big fire. Both sound good. I donate a generator to the beach party and prepare to meet up with everyone. One of our good friends has just returned from Guadalajara after a brain surgery to solve an aneurysm that was diagnosed just before Xmas. It will be good catch up with him.

My plans are thwarted by man flu. I am without energy, shivering cold and sweating like a horse on speed. There is not a chance that I can communicate effectively with anyone and it is very likely that I am highly contagious. My New Year is destined to be in my bed. I spend four days horizontal for perhaps the first time ever. It’s bloody awful but I have three negative COVID tests so get no sympathy.

Massive moth caterpillar that makes a disturbing clicking noise when disturbed.

Jayne is a good nurse and leaves me in bed to take up the mantle of our social diary. She ends up after dinner at the beach party for the night. It’s an unexpected hit and hundreds turn up. That did include the police who were very supportive and wished everyone a good night and some local business people checking that no one was making money from the event. My friend who was recovering from his brain operation added a touch of drama. He suddenly developed a significant bleed from his groin wound and was very lucky to make it to hospital in time thanks to fast thinking and faster action from those around him. It was a sobering start to the year. It could have been a lot worse.

It takes some days for me to recover and start my New Year by watching our bodega rise up. Concrete mixed and carried in large quantities. My strength slowly returns to find that almost everyone we know now has COVID for at least the first time. This does not seems to be unique to us. We know of people all over the world reporting the same. It makes for a quiet start to the year. Thankfully the vast majority of folk have a lot milder symptoms than my near fatal man flu. They do, however, evoke all the sympathy.

We lose a number of our workers and foreman to COVID who are instantly replaced by others so the bodega continues to take shape. It will be completed in a few weeks so we start to collect things we might need for the main build. After a few false starts we manage to rescue a few funky wooden windows from nearby Sayulita that we plan to incorporate. We also manage to ship an actual sofa (our first in Mexico), a bench and table from a friend’s house in San Miguel de Allende. It was a journey of 700 km and we had to unload onto a pick-up truck at a petrol station 25km away with 40 minutes notice but somehow it all worked out and arrived perfectly. Our new oven and fridge for the new place are due to be delivered soon. At this rate, our new Bodega will be full in no time.

Then something bloody terrible happens. We get a call early in the morning. Our very close friend who we have had many great adventures with has had a stroke. I was drinking with him watching his beloved 49ers win in overtime just hours before. Thankfully he had enough help quick enough to get him to a good hospital 30 km away. We head there immediately. It’s not good news and the artery feeding the right side of his neck is almost fully blocked and his brain needs blood urgently. Emergency surgery is very quickly arranged. We wait for 7 hours until we finally get the message that he is still alive. During that time, we are invited to have meetings with the surgeons during the operation (to agree what happens next) where we see live real-time scans of his brain and the blood flow within. It was remarkable.

After 5 days of induced coma to allow his brain swelling to reduce he is now conscious again. He is now starting a long road of rehabilitation. With a lot of work and some luck we are expecting his physical and brain function issues to repair but seeing our close mate damaged and vulnerable is hard to take. It’s been an extraordinarily emotional time for everyone. Our lives have been so touched by his.

It’s been a proper thumping wake up to understand how complaisant I have been with my own health for a lot of years. It’s made me take long over-due extra precautions to reduce my own risk of vascular brain issues. The impact is just so fucking awful.

Jungle Journal

A Year of Adventure

September 6, 2018
by Jayne

We only had three months from when we first fell in love with La Colina to pack up our lives in England, clear out and find renters for our house, apply for Mexican resident visas, and say goodbye to our UK friends and family.

It was a year ago today Beave and I arrived in Mexico with 11 bags and a surfboard to start our lives anew.

Ready to head to Mexico in September 2017

We made the decision to move to Mexico spontaneously – a decision to follow our hearts as opposed to a carefully planned out strategic move.

It could have so easily turned out to be a decision we would regret, however I am grateful every day that we did it, and chose the adventurous option.

I regret nothing about our move to this beautiful land of friendly people and endless opportunity.

Throughout my life I’ve found that making the choice to travel, to explore, to learn new things, meet new people and get out of my comfort zone has always been the right choice. While deliberating whether to quit my corporate job to ride a motorcycle from Alaska to Argentina (a prime example of one of my adventurous, life-changing decisions) my close friend Dave gave me advice I will never forget.

He said: “If you don’t do it, and stay here, how many days will you be in a meeting or sitting at your desk wishing you were riding a motorcycle across two continents? And, if you do it, how many days will you be on your motorbike wishing you were back here in England at work?”

I spent 20 months on that voyage, and can assure you that I didn’t spend even one second wishing I hadn’t chosen adventure.

Even soaked to the bone, having crashed on the highway in Chile because of a flat front tire was better than working a traditional corporate job.

A year ago Beave and I arrived to San Pancho, the quaint Mexican village we now call home, to the streets running with six inches of water, energy-sapping heat and humidity, and the beautiful sandy beach having been half washed away.

We weren’t able to close on our purchase of the land because of a series of bureaucratic delays, and the pick-up truck we had rented was unable to make it down the 1km dirt road and across the five arroyos (streams) required to reach La Colina.

We abandoned the truck at the biggest, fast flowing arroyo, waded across and walked the rest of the way.

The land was much lusher and greener than when we had fallen in love with it, 12 weeks earlier, and the task ahead of us all the more real.

The Bodega and Selva Vista when we first took possession

Even when my dear friend Abi, who was with us that day, said with worry in her eyes: “Oh Jayne you have such a lot to do!!!” I felt much more excitement and potential than I did fear or apprehension.

We worked hard for the next six months. With help from our new friend and neighbour Rogelio, my dad, friends visiting from around the world, new friends met here in Mexico, Beave’s son Jake, and cheered on by friends and family globally, we transformed this piece of long abandoned jungle into a place where people can come unplug, get in touch with nature, experience off-grid living, and find themselves.

Jayne and Beave being the gate to La Colina in Sept 2017

The Selva Vista Sky Casita – rustic luxury in the Mexican jungle Sept 2018

More importantly than that, we created a home for ourselves, one which we love being in so much, that for the first time in many, many years, neither of us feel compelled to leave to explore the rest of the world.

Have you seen the beautiful two minute video our friend Tim and his drone made of La Colina? If not, click here to see it on our homepage.

We have had so many momentous successes. The day we got water pumping from our well to the tinacos (water tanks) high up on the hill above, the day we finally switched on the power from our 12 solar panels and I could finally have a fridge (and a freezer full of ice cream!), the day I first had a hot water shower in the jungle (thanks Dad!), the week at Easter when all our cabañas were fully booked and we actually made more money than we spent that month.

That time when we made water flow uphill!

It is a real gift to finally find the spot on the planet which challenges, inspires and comforts us all at once. A place which we are proud to show to friends, family and strangers, and which constantly surprises and delights us with its wonders and absurdities.

Amazing San Pancho Sunset Photo: John Curley

Every week the jungle changes character, fireflies and butterflies give way to armadillos and passion fruit, the dry season’s hot days and cool nights morph into summer’s humidity and thunderstorms. Each development a cause for wonder and delight.

The less-than-delightful happens too of course. Trees fall (sometimes on us!), bees and wasps sting, and we’re constantly dirty; but we’re happy and busy and surrounded by love.

That time when a huge tree branch fell on our ATV!

We have met so many amazing people in the past year. There is something about this small corner of the planet which attracts great humans. We are fortunate to be able to call many of them our friends, and are thrilled that so many who have come to visit are considering making Mexico their home as well.

Amongst all the magic, the progress and the love, there have been two major challenges.

The first is being away from family. It is indescribably difficult to be on a different continent when your loved ones are facing challenges and/or celebrating special occasions. All the phone calls and skype video in the world are not the same as being physically able to be there when a loved one needs your support, or to celebrate special achievements and occasions. This is a challenge I have faced most of my adult life due to my passion for travel, even having faced it over many years doesn’t make it any easier.

Our second challenge has been financial. While the cost of living in Mexico is generally much more affordable than in much of the developed world, our desire to invest in La Colina has meant that we have recently found ourselves property rich and cash poor. Our families and friends have been incredibly generous with gifts, loans, cash and hiring us to work for them. It is because of you amazing people that we are still solvent. THANK YOU!!

We very much hope that the coming months will see more paying guests coming to stay at La Colina, and we have started to find other opportunities here to make some extra cash. It will be a glorious, and hopefully not far-off day that our incomings are higher than our outgoings!

I think all entrepreneurs starting a new business have this challenge to overcome, the period when their investments into their future are high and the income hasn’t started to flow. It takes a lot of faith in the new venture(s), and definitely some belt-tightening and careful budgeting, to get through to the awaited days of plenty.

There’s always the possibility (threat?) of getting a 9-5 job to spur us on to making a success of ourselves!!

Come play in the jungle with us! photo: John Curley

If it weren’t for small challenges to keep us down to earth, we might very well get too full of ourselves. It is with no small amount of amazement and gratitude that I look out of my treehouse, with our cat Maustrappe licking my feet, our three remaining (still eggless) chickens scratching around for bugs, our glistening swimming pool nestled amongst the palm trees and jungle growth, knowing that we live in a community of incredible people, protectors of an ancient jungle filled with fruit trees, home to countless animals and plants, with plenty of room to welcome all those who find themselves in need of a break from their default world. (Is this you? Come visit us!)

It’s been one of the most memorable and special years of my life, and I can’t wait to see what happens in the next year. Thank you to each and every one of you for following along with our adventures, for your support and for your love.

This adventure would not be the same without you.

Jungle Journal

La Belle Verte

August 31, 2018
by Beave

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungle Journal

The Cake Distraction

August 7, 2018
by Beave

The thunderstorms when they arrive are extraordinary. We are floating in the pool watching large drops of rain falling and landing painfully on our faces. We retreat to the house as the dark sets in and the weather gets serious. The sky flashes constantly with sheet lightening. Then the fork lightening hits very close just behind deafening thunder that shakes the house and moves the air around us. Everything lights up bright as day. This lasts for a number of hours without a break. We hide in the tree house and watch the show. A vast amount of water is dumped on the jungle that happily sucks it up.

The fireflies are here in force now the water has turned up. When the moon is waning and the nights are darkest it is pretty much impossible to tell where the stars stop and the fireflies begin. It’s stunning.

My Dad is unwell and we arrange to return to the UK to see him and clear out our house to make it more saleable. It’s tough to leave this place emotionally and logistically. We have our man guarding the land & have cancelled a booking or two. We have acquired standby flights, which saves us a large chunk of cash. We pack light and accept a lift to the airport.

We are arriving in the UK about the same time as Trump. London is rammed with protesters. Only the Brits can come up with such spectacularly abusive banners and be encouraged by the London mayor to wield them in public. My daughter is front and center in Trafalgar Square under the Trump blimp balloon. Very proud Dad.

Aircraft seating is designed for humans of different dimensions to me. My shoulders are wider than any seat on any plane. My legs are long enough to jam in front of me if my knees touch my nose. It’s not pretty. Sleep is impossible. 11 hours of numbing contortions later we land in London. We are collected and taken for a quick lunch by Jayne’s Uncle and then head to Lincolnshire on the train loaded with newspapers & cake. The jet lag kicks in properly. The words on the page are blurred and the cake remains uneaten. I watch the countryside pass by baked by unfamiliar sunshine. Everyone we meet bangs on about the heat wave. The UK has a single week of sun and there is such a drama and hose pipe bans as standard. It’s been sunny here now for months and the population is going nuts. World Cup football and no rain. Doesn’t get better than this.

We finally arrive and my Mum collects us from the station. We have arrived in a state of hallucinogenic fatigue with stale clothes stuck to us holding newspapers and cake. We spend a few hours struggling hard to stay awake until dark when we have planned to give in. I am fully jet lagged. My brain is effectively useless. I realise how useless when I set about unpacking. My backpack has our two laptops, a tablet, kindle, all my most important paperwork and pretty much everything of any value that we own. It’s not there. It’s not anywhere. It’s vanished. I’m gripped with slow gut gripping panic. I have a clear memory of moving uneaten cake from next to my backpack as we left the train. It must have been on my back. The car is searched a dozen times as is every inch of the house. No mistake our lives in a bag is missing. We are in the car driving the 30 minutes back to the train station. The rising level of stupid mixed with anxiety and the growing realization of the many many consequences of losing ALL our most important things does not make for a good driving state. We somehow arrive at Grantham station without an incident.

At this point our angels conspire to save us from our imbecilic selves. Grantham customer services happily confirm that I am indeed an idiot. I was distracted by cake and left the bag on the train. It has been found at the next station 20 minutes drive away. We manage to avoid collisions and police speed traps and arrive at Newark Northgate station customer services. The boys there recognize a moron when they see one and give me an appropriate amount of banter. The bag is returned. I can’t remember being as grateful. I get back to the car and realize I am without my wallet. I return to Newark North Gate station customer services to prove beyond any doubt what a complete fool I have become. They look at me with almost disbelief as they remind me I put my wallet in my newly returned bag. I thank them once again and invite them all to Mexico. They clearly never want to see me again. Bloody cake.

Darlington in the sun. We have rented a van and arrive at my house which we emptied in a massive hurry 10 short months ago so we could rent it out. It’s currently for sale as we intend to move our kids inheritance to Mexico (with their permission). We very cleverly created three hidden spaces in the house where we have stashed all the things we didn’t throw out or sell. We are here to clear these spaces. One is an entire cellar and the others are attic spaces. Memory is a strange thing. We have very generously been gifted a storage area at a friends house which is more than adequate for the few boxes of stuff we need to move. Three days of hard graft later our friends now hate us. Their house is now home to a full size Elvis, two mannequin wives and four rammed van loads of our ever expanding stuff.

Our great value standby tickets from London Heathrow to Mexico City require us to be at the airport for 9:30 pm to grab the first two spare seats available. This involves a long sweaty airless hour and a half tube ride from our friend’s flat in London in the heat wave. We have acquired two suitcases which are rammed with all the best 25kg of things we have rediscovered along with as much hardcore cheese and marmite as we could squeeze in. We are fully laden and exhausted and ready to fail to sleep for another 11 hours. This was not to be. We have chosen the busiest week of the year at Heathrow. First week of school holidays. Everyone wants to go to Mexico City. The flight is overbooked and we are 11^th and 12^th on the standby list. Not happening today. Maybe tomorrow. We stash our bags and return to the delights of overheated London.

Tomorrow comes. This is the busiest day of the entire year at Heathrow. No seats. Maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow comes. With immense relief that we don’t have to get on the suffocating tube yet again… we fly away. Thankfully we have spent two unexpected days in steaming hot London abusing hospitality, eating well, loading up on Guinness and catching up with friends. Some of which we said goodbye to 3 times. We even squeezed in a visit to the National Portrait Gallery which is entirely impressive. This was my favorite. “An angel at my table” by Miriam Escofet . A portrait of the artist’s mother.

We are relieved and delighted to be home. We unload our massive amount of cheese and marmite into the Razor and head back to the land. The rains have been regular since we left but nothing dramatic and to our surprise the arroyos (rivers) are still dry. This is unusual. Never been this dry this late in the year we are told. As we drive there are clouds of butterflies surrounding us. Many types and colours and thousands of the buggers. There are clusters of them all over the place. We disturb them walking around and are covered. It’s extraordinary.

We are straight to work. We have to get water pumping and we install our third water pump which we have brought with us from the UK. The second pump proved to be worn out. Probably was running without water in the well and stuffed the motor. Anyway our third pump is running like a champ and we are back to full tinacos in no time. The rain tends to wash out some sections of road quickly so I am deployed with pick axe to create water trenches leading the flowing water down drainage channels rather than removing our road. So far they have worked well which means I will have to create more of them. We have Hurricane John and Hurricane Ileana whipping things up out past Baja so we are expecting a huge water dump sometime soon.

In our absence the rains have taken down our devil fruit tree ( as Jayne affectionately calls it due to her deep seated loathing of all things bananary). We have rescued all the fruit we can and to Jayne’s great delight they are ripening slowly on our balcony.

We have three sets of guests arriving in the next week so we have to set about making the pool sexy and clean all the cabanas. We remove all the sheets from the beds and find half of them to contain mouse nests! With mice in residence. Mausetrappe is deployed. Everything washed and replaced and we add an electric fan next to every bed. It’s inhumane to not have a fan handy in this humidity.

Our house is in one piece but now sits in a huge mass of green foliage. It’s machete time. The boys have spent two solid days on hands and knees removing as much of the new growth as they could. It’s a losing battle these days but we keep at it. We survey the massively overgrown land. It’s only been two weeks but it’s changed so much. There are vines that you can watch grow in front of you. These vines are brutal and not just a little spooky. They have overtaken the area underneath the solar panels where my sunflowers and bougainvillea were happily getting bigger and better. The bougainvilleas are tightly wrapped in vines but I manage to save about a dozen. The sunflowers have not faired well. The vines have lifted every one of them out of their earth bags and broke them into pieces and dragged them off. I take the machete to the murdering swine. It’s a futile gesture as they immediately regroup. It’s going to be a long battle.

Mausetrappe has certainly missed us. We locked her out when we were away and constructed a temporary enclosed house that we attached to the cat flap. We couldn’t take the risk of coming home to large piles of rotting mouse bits. She has forgiven us and spends a great deal of time clingingly wrapped around our feet. The chickens remain dumb and ugly. Three have full sets of tail feathers now but Sister Bland remains stubbornly bare arsed. Despite the lack of any signs of intelligence they do have their lucky moments. The cutter ants raided their chicken coop and made off with most of their food. There was a long line of ants bearing huge loads of grain headed directly into the jungle. Exactly where all four chickens were waiting . Chicken feed with bonus ants. They scoffed the lot.

Dragon flies are appearing. Brightly coloured and often in pairs attached in a push-me-pull-you copulation flight pattern. The bright day-glo lizards have returned and dart around the bush at great speed. The dogs here are experts at catching them. It’s pretty much their go-to snack.

So life has returned to a somewhat normal state of affairs if such a thing exists here. The World Cup ended up in France of all places and won’t be coming home anytime soon. Hose pipes are banned throughout the UK and surprise surprise we are expecting more rain. The pool is our sanctuary and still worth the constant attention it demands. We are fully stocked with Marmite and also have the added bliss of a fridge filled with proper mouth punching Cheddar cheese in which we indulge with dollops of original Branston pickle. Now that’s paradise for ya.

Jungle Journal

Spider Eyes and a Chicken Nunnery

June 22, 2018
by Beave

So I’ve been banging on about the rains coming for weeks and they finally arrive early and in style. Last night was the second night of rain. We have spent a very sedate day sweating and both recovering from my man flu. We mostly watched Netflix and waited for sleep to take us. No rush. The nightly chorus of tin whistle bugs is done and at midnight we drift off. At 1 am I am awake. The jungle is in instant shadow as the whole sky lights up in flashes. It’s chucking it down. Real tropical rain. The roof is holding up well and the ground is soaking it all in (for now) so there is little to worry about. Then the frogs kick off.

Considering how dry and water free it has been up to this point it is illogical in the extreme that all of a sudden a few hours of rain can create all the frogs. Where have they all suddenly come from?? I can’t count how many but the noise is deafening. Can’t hear the rain for them. I spend the next 4 hours in my man flu misery reading and listening. Amongst many others I identify a “base cello’ frog, a “scooter with a bad battery trying to start” frog and a particularly irritating “everything is hilarious and I’ve just huffed some helium” frog. The rains reduce by 5 am and my book is finished. The frogs care not and are still having a good old sing. I pass out.

The frog orgy has left without cleaning up. The evidence is everywhere. Frog and toad spawn had filled the previously dried up jungle pond. The sight of the swimming pool is shocking. There are about two dozen large frogs in there. I manage to rescue the few survivors and then start the body count. I fish them out of the pool and arrange them on a rock for curiosity purposes. It’s carnage.

I arrange the dead frogs on a rock beside the pool and return to the tree house. We are somewhat surprised by a high pitched scream. The local pool company has turned up for a visit and the girl who is examining the pool has just discovered my frog rock display. She is loudly unimpressed. Her colleague is highly entertained.

Curiously this whole frog rave lasted only two nights. They are still out there being irritatingly loud but this is an after party crowd. They now sound like clowns with bike horns and give it their all for about 20 minutes then shut up for an hour… then start again. It’s better than it was….

We now have lots of water. The well is filling up again (just in time), we have three out of five full tinacos, the pool level has improved, all the plants and herbs are thoroughly watered and the solar panels are washed. These are all good things.

Last week we wondered why our solar batteries were low. A brief examination of the panels showed that in just over a week the entire solar array had acquired a thick coating of twigs, leaves and muck from the shedding trees. How we had any power at all was a mystery. As our ladder was being used elsewhere an enthusiastic, brave and acrobatic friend who was visiting climbed up with broom and removed all the crap. Battery power renewed in no time. It was on our list of maintenance jobs to do this regularly but now there is no need. The rains have polished them to a sunbeam friendly gleam.

It’s time for planting stuff out. We have bougainvilleas to place on the fence line. Also a spontaneous planting of sunflower seeds has produced a dozen or so competing shoots that need a home. We have collected orchids in dormant state and tied them to trees. Theoretically these will suck up the moisture in the air and flower in a month or two.

I have had a nagging request for some time. Someone wants chickens. The opportunity presents itself when we get a call informing us that a local vet-student has chickens to rehouse. Our friends are bringing her and her family over to meet us on Friday… with chickens. I spend a day building a chicken nunnery tractor. A nunnery because it will NOT be housing any bloody roosters. Sorry girls. The purpose of the tractor element is to allow the chickens to eat all the scrub and insects underneath their home and then we move it along. In this way the jungle floor is fertilized and cleaned progressively and the chickens are safe, dry, fed and producing eggs. Chicken safety out here is something we need to understand better. Pretty much everything eats chickens. Eagles, snakes, jaguar, ocelots, us. They are famously delicious. Have to see how that turns out. The process of building all day in a ginger puddle has left me exhausted. I have been fooled by a few cooling showers and protective afternoon clouds and managed to get dehydrated.

I recover with pints of homemade Jamaica (pronounced “hamica”), AKA cold hibiscus tea, which is a red plant base that we boil up to make a concentrated syrup. Added to a heap of water and ice with lime juice it is as refreshing a thing as we have found. There is an endless jug of the stuff in the fridge.

My recovery is somewhat disturbed by the sound of the cat fighting with one big fat cicada type bug. It’s the ones that make all the racket at night fall. Now they are loud enough half a mile away but having one being chewed by a cat a few feet away is deafening. I drag myself up and grab a cloth. My first attempt at rescue only manages to scare it into a limping flight with its one remaining good wing as it attaches itself to the window screen. It’s bigger than I thought. A good handful. I make my move but it’s too quick and noisily collides with my face and disappears in silence. It’s nowhere to be seen. Mausetrappe and I look at each other in confusion. I feel a scratching sensation and am then startled out my wits by a massive noise in my ear! The little sod was hiding on the back of my neck!! I grab him and throw him hard onto the floor. The cat pounces and diverts the thing under the sink. He is silent again. Not for long. The cat gets him in her mouth. The sound is unbelievable. I grab him. My whole hand is vibrating wildly as it screams. On the balcony I shake the cloth in my hand and I see him shoot directly upwards into the trees. Gone. It’s raining and very dark. Around me there are slowly moving majestic lights. The fireflies are back!!

Mango season is upon us. I was put off mangos by spending a lot of time in Montreal. There was a phase of putting mangos on everything. It was trendy to have eggs and bacon with a lump of mango. Bugger that! I am , however, seduced by the laden local mango trees. Each mature tree produces up to 250 kg a season. We had to consider that when looking at land with a dozen mango trees. Thats literally tons of mangoes to deal with. The little ones taste better than the big ones.

Another welcome return is that of the toilet paper butterfly. This is unlikely to be the scientific name but they can best be described as a lump of toilet paper floating around in the wind. They are bright white and huge. The wings are far too big to be efficient so they kinda flop around randomly and somehow stay in the air. Inelegant but stunning to watch.

The chickens arrive. They are an ugly bunch. Dirty brown with bare arses. Tail feathers are optional we discover. The chicken nunnery is placed outside our balcony so we can keep them under review for the first few weeks. The ground is uneven so we create a rockery around the nunnery to discourage beasts from getting in. The chickens are installed and we decide to keep them locked in for a day or two so they learn this is where they live. Not necessary. Despite the door being left open all day the chickens don’t move from their luxurious perches in the shade. We learn that organic free-range chickens are mainly conceptual. Despite acres of lovely range to be free upon most chickens prefer to stay inside and view the outside from the inside. Despite being agoraphobic & antisocial our five chickens appear happy enough. I have decided to name our nunnery inmates. Sister Kwafi, Sister Pybus, Sister Bricklebank, Sister Allenby & Sister Bland. Any comparison with anyone with similar names is entirely deliberate. Eggs are in our future.

There have been a few nights now of heavy to very heavy rains. In retrospect many things have indicated rains were coming. The lime trees started to bear fruit again and we found a heap of bananas appearing the week before the rains came. We found a tomato growing wild next to the house, the last flower on the vanilla orchid appeared and was pollinated and the roof got fixed, all the very day before the rains came.

The ground is alive with bright glowing red beetles. We spend some hours at the waterfall pools and they are everywhere. Individually they are fascinating but they have a trick. They gang together and make balls of themselves. A bright red shape the size of a golf ball. I have no idea why. It doesn’t seem an efficient love in and there is no feeding frenzy going on. See how long they last. They are harmless and very, very pretty.

There is a phenomena that I was convinced was fake news. If you shine a torch or headlight at a certain angle into the jungle thousands of tiny glowing lights reflect back at you. Every one of these lights is a spider looking back at you. Well I had these lights shown to me a few times but refused to believe the spider story. This was until the tinaco above our tree house sprang a leak and I needed to change out a fitting immediately and the sun was setting. It’s not something you would chose to do without daylight but I had no choice. On the way up the hill my headlight caught a mass of reflections, which I ignored until the tinaco was fixed. On the way down the hill in the dark I decided to explore these tiny lights close up. Unbelievably its true. I got close enough to confirm that the closest dozen lights were indeed spider eyes reflecting back at me. They were only tiny spiders but they shone like diamonds. Spooky.

And with the rain comes the crabs. It’s a famously strange and wonderful sight here in Nayarit to see hundreds of thousands of large pink crabs heading a kilometer for the sea after hibernation all year. If you are in the way it’s described as biblical. There is no avoiding them! We have avoided them as we are just far enough away from the sea. Just. The run to the ocean is over now but the bodies of those that didn’t quite make it are everywhere.

The bugs have changed again this month. We had weeks of tiny little buggers that felt like grains of sand when you caught them trying to nibble on you. More recently there is a medium sized loudly buzzing night time arrival. It’s a good job we have the nets on the bed. You hear them first and then see them head butting the fabric screen loudly. It’s impossible to sleep with these antics so I have taken to punching them off the net. They cope with this tactic rather well. Despite getting a full knuckle punch in their face they come back at you! They have heavy armor that looks like a nutshell. It can take two or three well placed punches to put off a “nut bug”. The cat is far more efficient and crunches them loudly and leaves them in a pile for me.

The Summer Solstice is upon us. The longest day. Tomorrow in the UK Christmas cards start appearing in the shops. It is also the anniversary of the burning of an effigy on Baker Beach in San Francisco over 30 years ago from which the Burning Man event evolved. One of the founders of the event died recently and there is a worldwide acknowledgement of gratitude for the connections this event created. My life would certainly be very different if those guys hadn’t decided to burn something on a beach that day. So to mark the occasion we gather with friends both new and old and knock up a “palm man”. We collect mango margaritas and head to the beach. It was all rather beautiful.

The rains have held off now for a week. What appeared to be the rainy season coming early was actually the back end of Hurricane Bud. The first of the season. The real rainy season is due soon enough. We are preparing slowly.

There is no doubt that Mexico is now a great footballing nation. It only takes a single goal but timing is everything. We watch this goal live from our friend’s restaurant packed with locals. We also endure an hour of waiting for the Germans to equalise but incredibly it doesn’t happen !! Torture to ecstasy. The place goes nuts. Moscow will be out of tequila in the morning. We have the might of glorious South Korea next. Despite the dull as ditch water England performance against Tunisia Jayne’s footballing needs are satisfied. We are, however, asking ourselves if getting up at 6 am on Sunday to watch England v Panama is worth the effort… probably.

Jungle Journal

Ginger Puddles

June 5, 2018
by Beave

It’s all getting very different. The tropics have two seasons. Wet and dry. Right now it’s absolutely dry with the exception of the air, which holds a consistent 30-degree heat and manages well over 80% humidity most of the time. By the afternoon it is pretty much impossible to move. I am effectively a ginger puddle from 2pm. Every day.

The light fades down at around 8.30pm as the sun hits the ocean. In the past couple of weeks full volume creatures accompany this event. These tiny bugs are the sound of the wet season rains coming to turn our dust into mud. The rain is due about 20 days after they start we are told. It kicks off as a kind of throat singing and morphs into the noise that a couple of dozen three year olds would make with a crate of tin whistles. It’s loud and tuneless. There is no other option but to stop and wonder how something so small can create such a bloody racket. The noise travels for miles and ends as abruptly as it begins when the dark sets in.

There has been a few recent Coatis sightings. They have been using their properly fingered hands to open sealed containers and scoff or re-distribute anything remotely edible they find in the outdoor kitchen. We have been tidying up after them for weeks now. These monkey/bear/raccoon type creatures are fearless and we now know why. The local dog packs chase them up to the very top of the tallest trees but they had a surprise when they cornered one last week. One particularly terrorized Coatis decided that enough was enough and deployed its claws. One dog ended up with a significant hole in its neck and poor old Tripod has had his face horrifically rearranged. How these scratty dogs heal so fast from what are no doubt serious injuries continues to impress. We won’t be cornering a nice cute Coatis anytime soon.

Jayne’s mother has not survived the journey from the UK well. Despite feeding her daily with the requisite flour and keeping her in the fridge there was not enough feedback to justify the effort. So we said goodbye and started another one. Sourdough bread is a process. New mother has faired better. The yeast in the air here has produced what has turned out to be a far more useful substance which has produced, with some effort, a pretty impressive and delicious loaf.

Lulled into a false sense of security we tried to reproduce the event. Despite hours sitting beside the outside oven and fantasizing about warm sourdough slices dripping in butter and marmite it was not to be. Our first attempt turned out to be a Frisbee shaped brick of solid dough. Even the dog wouldn’t touch it. Not to be put off we persevered. After further hours swatting bugs and staring through the oven door our second attempt appeared. It sort of defied description but a sourdough loaf it was not. It was more of an oversized hockey puck heavy weapon. It took a great deal of effort to throw it into the jungle. I’m sure it will be there for a very long time. Our bread making adventures are suspended. It’s not her mother’s fault apparently.

Ironically it was Mexican Mother’s Day (Thursday) and US/Canadian Mothers Day (Sunday) that very week. Our mother here remains well fed and refrigerated and ready for when the need for a marmite butty exceeds our reluctance to invest further hours staring at an oven. There is good bread in our future.

Big news. Our first pineapple crop is ready. Ok so it’s only one but it’s a start. Smells amazing.

My Spanish is coming along but way way too slowly. I understand most of what is said between Gringos and locals as this is a slower paced and more basic version of conversation. When two Mexicans add tequila and start an enthusiastic chat I’m lost in no time. This is a result of quite spectacular prevarication on my part. If there is any job that needs doing it takes priority over me spending time learning Spanish. Now this is very good for the ever ready composting loos, washing up and general house tidiness but vastly extends the time I can confidently and effectively converse with our growing number of Mexican friends. It’s so important. But here I am writing this blog about my need to learn Spanish rather than actually learning Spanish. Me bad.

Our good friends have bought a lovely house in the next town and we are helping them with getting the garden sorted out and overseeing some building work. I have always had great respect for my friends who are architects and structural engineers and always considered this an alternative path should I ever have the funds and motivation to re-train myself one day. What I have realized over the past weeks is that stress levels when building things for yourself is a different world that building things for someone else. What if something goes wrong? Are the boys doing everything right? What am I missing? It’s not my house! The responsibility! Thankfully all seems to be going very well and in a few days there will be a magnificent palapa on the roof to compliment all the new hand rails and neatly groomed garden. I will ask permission to publish some photos when it’s all done. Mightily relieved. We also get to nick their Wi-Fi whenever we go over so that has helped fuel our new habit of binge watching series on Netflix.

The Ceveceria (pub) has shut for the season. This is hard to take but our great friends who dedicate themselves to keep us all in pints deserve a break. It’s interesting to note the difference between a beer serving establishment and a pub. It’s all about community. The place we all get to know each other and meet up. The font of all knowledge and gossip. There is so much creatively, socially and economically that comes about from creating a space like this and drinking beer within it. That said we have to find an alternative social venue for the next few months. There are enough of us crazies around here that intend to sweat out the rainy season. We decide to have a pool party while we work it out.

So the pool finally becomes more than a sanctuary for one overheated ginger person. Many many friends arrive and after a very long and successful night it is clear that we need to continue to make the effort socially. It’s so worth it.

When a bunch of us get together there are recurring topics that arise. Real Estate is one of them. Our own experience in going through the performance and drama that is buying property in Mexico makes us think we know a little bit about it. In truth we know a lot less that we think we do. It’s an extraordinarily complex process and there are so many trips and hazards on the way that it takes a great deal of effort and good fortune to get through unscathed. We have been asked by a number of people to help them get through it all and the more we learn the more we need to. Finding out who owns the land (Ejido land or otherwise) and what you can officially do with it should you be able to buy it , and what permissions you need and if a great bleeding highway will be built right next to it are all pretty much a mission to find out.

There is a large Cuota Toll highway scheduled to be completed between Guadalajara and Puerto Vallarta over the next few years. We were told about this a year ago and it was a real consideration for us when we looked at buying our land here. By some good luck and slight of hand we acquired the GPS coordinates showing exactly where the road is planned to be. Many of the local estate agents don’t have that information.

The highway is scheduled to cut through the bird sanctuary and many miles of protected forest and jungle. It will skim past the entrance to our land about 200m away. The construction will require a 60m wide corridor being cut through unique and irreplaceable natural environment. It is a travesty ecologically but this is Mexico. Payments have allegedly been made. Money has allegedly been washed clean. Politicians have allegedly been bought.

In practice the road will be too expensive for most people to use. It costs at least a day’s wages to use the road, which saves between 2, and 3 hours driving compared to the alternative free road that exists now (the infamous route 200). There will be tourists and the wealthy, some buses and a few trucks using it but few others. This is the same with other Cuota (toll roads) in Mexico. We have used them and there is practically no other traffic on them. You can travel for many miles and not see another vehicle in either direction. Massive waste of money and resources.

The government has paid off the compulsory land purchases already so much of the money has already been spent. Lots of locals with new pick up trucks. The road is already built up to about 40 miles away. The construction crews are due to arrive with us in a year or so. It’s pretty much a done deal but there is a chance of stopping the route through the protected jungle. It’s not a big chance but it’s a chance.

The current government in Mexico is right wing and the last two elections have ended controversially. We are told that the first time they got into power they did not get the majority vote but declared themselves the winners and that was it. The last election the vote count was called off at midnight when they were slightly in the lead and all other votes were not officially counted. If they had been they would not be in power. The next election is next month. The opposition party is standing on an anti-corruption ticket and want to make Mexico “work for the many not the few.” If they get in they will have a much more sympathetic ear and could overturn decisions made where corruption is proved. Lets see what happens.

Leave No Trace : Leave Art . My mantra for the past few years. Entire civilizations have come and gone and left no other history except their art for us to judge them by. Art has arrived!! We have been blessed with the arrival of mural artists who have transformed our orange block and inspired me take brush in hand and practice. If you are inspired in any way to leave us some art in any form then please get in touch.

Our roof has been a worry for some time. It looks pretty and functional from the inside but the outside is buggered. It has had numerous trees and plants growing out of a thick layer of compost that the palm leaves that were installed 8 years ago have now turned into. When it rains there is a mad rush to cover vulnerable areas of stuff with plastic and deploy buckets to divert and capture the brown water that seeps through the compost. It’s not a good thing. We need a new roof.

Budget constraints and our reluctance to move out of our home for a week or two have lead to a compromise. We have a large 6M x 9M sheet of industrial plastic, a roll of wire and 40 huge palms leaves. In the hands of our man, his Dad, his son and his mate this is sufficient to create a waterproof roof in under 3 hours. I attempt to help but end up covered in ancient compost to the amusement of all. I helpfully pass around a few beers and brush away the fall out. We have a functional roof!!

Mexican man flu has descended. I again have a near fatal dose and am suffering in peaceful silence and equanimity. Jayne has a very mild dose of girl flu which is best cured by activity such as cooking and caring for me. This makes her very happy. I might yet survive.

It’s 3 am and I wake up in my ginger puddle of man flu. It’s raining hard. First time in over 6 months. I get up from my sick bed and wobble onto the balcony and get instantly very wet and cold. I return to my damp warm bed. The roof is holding up. I don’t have the energy to be buggering about with buckets and am very grateful. Mausetrappe makes a loud and dramatic entrance. She is entirely unimpressed with whatever this is. We remember that she is probably less than 10 months old so won’t remember rain and certainly not the heavy, cold, get you wet instantly stuff. She decides that my puddle is better place to be and settles in for the night.

Jungle Journal

Ayahuasca Custard

May 9, 2018
by Beave

Vanilla Orchids….. not the easiest thing to propagate. Having climbed the Copomo tree next to our balcony brandishing a the pool cleaning rod to make sure the host vine is heading upwards a certain way then downwards a certain way we wait. Months later we spot the first buds and then flowers. Each flower lasts but one day. During that time it relies on a particularly rare type of Mexican bee to happen across it and pollinate. No pressure. This is far from a certain event. To increase the odds of vanilla pods exponentially we have adopted the role of surrogate bees and have been sexing orchids. Up a ladder with a toothpick may not be obviously sexy but is apparently effective. We pollinate our first two flowers. There are buds for many more so we will be up a ladder with toothpicks doing all the sex for some time. In 6 months we may have vanilla pods . It’s a long and delicate process. How do we ever get enough of the stuff for ice cream ….or custard ….??

Took the time to get beyond the break and float on my back in the Pacific watching birds and sky and sun. It is remarkable and beautiful and humbling. The sea here is so powerful and yet today tranquil and supportive. If I keep air in my lungs I rest on top of the building waves with no effort. I close my eyes and consider taking a floating nap. Sure it wouldn’t last long but it’s entirely possible. Need to do more of this. Floating meditation is the way forward.

The moon is full, the bar is open, the food is cooking splendidly and our guests arrive. All goes in a very relaxed and enjoyable way. Good food, too much wine and a moonlit jungle with the now compulsory black light scorpion hunt. We are now recovering with a heap of over catered left overs, more beer than we started with, an amount of actual cash and enough wine to keep us out of trouble for the next week. There is the satisfaction of a very pleasant evening and the knowing we can cater at a high level for up to dozen people without much drama. We are told that there will be a write up on the night’s activities in the next edition of the San Pancho Life newsletter. This is certainly another potential thing to do to earn a crust when the season starts again.

Jungle wake ups are slow. There is a routine of moving towards the kettle and creating tea while showering that is now achievable with limited brain cell activity and only one eye open. A bucket of tea brings the synapses to life and my mind fills with the strangest of priorities. Do we have water flowing? Is there air in the tires? Any petrol in the tanks? Water, air and fuel. I’m becoming worryingly practical.

The sun is moving overhead and mornings are later and evening stretching out further and further. The solar panels catch sun very differently these past few weeks. Days are getting hotter and the humidity turns the air three times thicker every afternoon. Warm thick air to breathe for the next three or four months. Got to get that needy pool in good order. It saved us many times last year.

My buddies are building a temple on a lake in Netherlands. They want us to join them. It’s the first iteration of the Temple for Peace that we spent so many months evolving last year. Would love to be there to share the load and the laughs. I have foregone the delights of Kiwiburn and Afrikaburn this year and don’t see us making Nowhere, Nest or Burning Man either. I’m not too sad about that as this new adventure requires a different mind set. Over more than a dozen years I have devoted energy, love, time and cash to create the space for some magnificent art. We have chosen crazy places in many countries to build cities, temples, huge scale propane delivery systems, exhibition spaces, large theme camps and much more. With few exceptions these creations were burnt to the ground or dismantled within a week. I have learnt to let go. I’m very good at it, I’ve had a lot of practice. Our project here is different. I’m letting go of letting go… slowly.

Dogs for security. Everyone tells us we need dogs for security. It certainly focuses the mind at night when a pack of dogs starts barking at you. None of them will bite you and most are scared off by a good stare but it’s definitely a deterrent. Tripod is next to bloody useless. He is properly attention seeking and has well practiced “poor hungry me” eyes. The tart will flirt with anyone if he thinks there is food in it for him. We are sure he limps on alternating legs for effect. He turns up now and again and makes a good show barking excitedly at some confused armadillo that might have wandered by.

We have a fair chunk of land to protect so at the moment we are considering at least two (and probably more) large ugly dogs that look mean and sound horrible. They need to be self-reliant outdoor dogs that eat once a week and are protective of us and scare the be ‘Jesus out of anyone else. Tall order even for here. There are very many stray dogs here. A shameful amount. We have had a couple of slobbery candidates directed our way. We are looking for dogs that will thrive out here and do not need too much counseling. None has passed muster yet. The search continues…

The season change is now pretty dramatic. It’s hot. Flowers are bursting out everywhere but at the same time the leaves are falling from the trees. It’s like both Autumn & Spring have come at once. With the canopy thinning so dramatically we can see around us new places and all the birds and a lot further through the jungle. There is now a carpet of leaves drying to a crisp on the hot slippy dust. The palm oil coconuts rest amongst them like ball bearings. It’s a miracle we can stand up at the moment let alone walk around.

We recognize the growing need for the pool to be ready to escape to. The sand filter pump has been working hard fairly often (subject to sun on panels.) It’s the only thing we have that makes even a dent in our “Nano-carbon” batteries which sit happily at 96 % or more all day no matter what else we throw at them. Good job as they cost their weight in truffle oil. We are well serviced for power thank the goodness’s. The pool however is stubbornly cloudy. It’s significantly less dusty and the filter is slowly working but the chlorine fish needs filling and probably some other costly process will be necessary. It’s currently a darkening shade of green. More attention required. It has been foretold by wise folk that lawns and pools need more upkeep than wives. I have a very needy pool that’s for sure.

We bite the bullet and head to PV to collect some cheap tyres for the Razor. They took a lot of finding but are less than half price of anything else we can find. They are 6 ply and many times better than the ones we have broken. The Razor has been on chocks for many days and this has made us a lot less lazy. We don’t drive across the land now but walk. It is a good thing to get more in touch with the land. We notice a lot more nature and wildlife. And jobs that need doing….

We have been invited to a XV Quinseañera party. Our man has insisted we join his family there. His son is the boyfriend of the birthday girl and he has a very important role to play. It’s a very well organized event with lots of traditional happenings involved. In Mexico the age of 15 is considered a very important time for young girls. Families save for years to show off and give her and everyone they know the party of her life. It’s a “coming of age thing”. It is not uncommon for pregnancy and marriage to follow soon after. We arrive at the town square on time. The stage is set for a band and the whole town square is packed with tables decorated in burgundy and gold.

We wait for the families to arrive from their long catholic church ceremony. No one shows so we hide in the pub for an hour. On returning we are spotted and join our man’s mum and a gaggle of kids and family. Still almost all the tables are empty. The panicked looking girl arrives dressed in burgundy and gold. She is shadowed by an equally stressed looking Mum. Slowly oh so slowly the entire town turns up. The band starts. I am surprised the racket that a dozen guys on stage can make. It’s a strange mix of wailing vocals , trumpet, tuba and at least two trombones (played as trumpets) with other bashing things behind them. This is either bloody awful or the best thing ever. I decide to decide later which one.

The girl is looking less stressed now and performs a well practiced dance with a dozen boys all dressed in identical burgundy shirts. Her brother leads her and our man’s son is right up there too. There is a table laden with gifts. There are presentations of dolls identical to the girl dressed exactly as she is. Bit spooky. Flowers are thrown and caught and every male member of the family gets a dance with her. The band are enthusiastically belting out what has become clear is bloody awful music. By 11 pm the place is packed and more tables are shipped in. The endless free beer takes effect and the dance floor starts to fill with some rather entertaining sights. There is a tendency for the lardy in Mexico. It is now published by the WHO that Mexico has officially the lardiest population in the world. This is demonstrated by the happenings on the dance floor. A properly entertaining mix. Some sprightly older folk at least 80 years old (probably older) swing dancing perfectly and looking good. A number of rather large boys practically suffocating slightly traumatized looking girls and sort of jumping together on the spot as the band blares out. Most transfixing is the huge ladies who have in their grip some tiny looking Mexican men who cling on for dear life as they lurch around not entirely in time with the music (if that is actually possible). The finale is the presentation of the girls first “official” high heel shoes. A traditional gift from the father. A sort of permission and expectation go now and be a woman. She looks a bit too young to me but what do I know.

The fatted cow is distributed. We knew the cow as it was one from a nearby ranch that our man slaughtered and spent all day cooking over a wood fire. Rather good stuff. It is served with what is now my new favorite Mexican delight – “frijoles puerco”. It is beans and cheese and chorizo all mashed together properly and deliciously. There is also a bottle of Agave type liquor which the family and many other random onlookers encourage me to drink a lot of. It is a poor man’s tequila but given a good go is still effective. It is effective enough for me to distribute cow juice and beans and chorizo and cheese onto my white shirt in a “look at me” obvious way. Embarrassing. It is confirmed by everyone on our table that we are the only “gringos” non-Mexicans in the entire square of many hundreds of people. It’s OK they tell us. “We are all Mexicans here .” Despite the spiny head and foody shirt that makes us feel rather good. By now we are ready to leave the noises from the band far away and make our way home. Its only 12.30 and we are the first to leave. The young kids and oldest folk are just getting started. The party goes on without us till sunrise.

We have met a number of people who have spent time out here over the years. The most recent is a girl who we heard about many times. She lives in town and had her first baby just about when we arrived so it has taken this long for her to surface. She arrives with us unexpectedly on her horse. We show her around as she shows us around. We go up to the Selva Vista apartment where she spent many years. She is relieved and emotional (in a good way) as she sees what we have created. Those tears are the best endorsement we have had so far by a long way. Before she leaves she shows us the many things she planted before she left 4 years ago. There is the lychee tree and the passion fruit and to our surprise a now mature Ayahuasca vine right beside our Morning Glory.

The important issue of the World Cup has arisen. Much as we would like to see England squeeze past the might of Tunisia and Panama I am more interested how Mexico will do against Germany, South Korea and Sweden. One of the restaurants in town is talking about remaining open just for the tournament and showing three matches a day. That is a huge relief. Wouldn’t want Jayne to go without her precious football.

Jungle Journal

Sprung

April 26, 2018
by Beave

It is without any doubt that spring has indeed sprung. It’s everywhere. And what a movement that was…

Within but a few days the Primavera (springtime) trees around us have exploded with sudden bright golden blossom. That scrawny old tree that had hidden behind everything else has burst front stage in a flamboyant flush of yellow. This display lasts for only a week or so. The Bougainvillea are alive and throwing colours everywhere. It’s an event .

It’s dry too. The ground is transforming into fine layers of dust. The pathways release clouds of the stuff which can be blinding when the sun reflects on it. Large thick roots are revealed as the earth evaporates around them. The rains are coming and we are now experiencing the grip of mild anxiety as we imagine all the landscape flushed of content and guess what might remain.

The humidity is also upon us. It’s been a quick transition between feeling the heat on the afternoon and the heat feeling you. Gets into every crevice. By 4 pm there is little option but surrender. If I’m outside I become a damp pink bloke with melting senses. Best to give up anything mentally or physically taxing. Which leaves little else to do but stay still and indulge in early day gins and naps. The fan has had it’s first good go of the year. Moving air is altogether more acceptable than the still warm heavy damp kind.

The sun has changed altitude and the mornings and evening have extended themselves later and later. There are days when the sun and squawking of mating parrots are ignored enough to sleep late. The sunsets complete their act around 8.30 pm so nights out are no longer ending at 9 pm. The town has emptied of most of the tourists. A steady but slow stream of beach seeking gringos still remain. The snowbirds (those who spend 6 month in Mexico/ 6 months in Pacific NW) are leaving for their long journeys home. Seattle and Vancouver are filling up again for Summer. We share a few last sunsets before they leave. The humidity moves in behind them.

Our mates from SF have bought a place in Los De Marcos 20 minutes away. We go with them to see it and end up at a jazz gig with newest friends. We agree to help mange the place and transform the garden and build a roof Palapa. That should keep us busier. We celebrate with dinner under the stars at our place. We engage in a late night Tequila fuelled scorpion hunt. We have a hand held UV dark light and we prove very quickly that when it hits a scorpion it glows like a light bulb. Have tried this before in Israel and South Africa but the Mexican scorpions are the brightest I’ve seen by far.

This did not help one of our guests. She had returned to stay with us for the second time because she loves it out here. Until that is, at 6 am, when she called us to an emergency. She had been hit twice on the foot by a scorpion that we find in her bed. We fly to hospital and wait there as she is observed for allergic reaction and bagged and given an anti-venom shot. It was her first time in hospital and a bit of a drama but we were soon out having breakfast of raspberries stolen from our white witch friend who happened to be passing by. Scorpions rarely are dangerous but they do give you a “poison trip” for a day or two that can be unpleasant. After she got over it all she went straight to town and had the astrological sign for Scorpio tattooed on her scorpion bite !

There are a very few things that I have avoided since being here but Micheladas is top of my list. I’m not universally known as a shy one and am all about trying new things but the very thought of a virgin Bloody Mary with beer in the same glass just seems instinctively wrong.

Our favorite sunset bar is closing down. Their lease is up and the owners are probably looking to sell their uniquely stunning spot for a hotel or something equally crude. Our Argentinian bar staff/friends who we have seen many times every week since we arrived are moving on. This is a sad turn of affairs and must be marked with a house Michelada. I’ve seen huge glasses of the red-stuff with salads of celery and cilantro spilling from their chili crusted rims pass my head very often. At no time has this tempted me in the slightest. However, in honour of Bar La Fresona and our brief love affair I order one. It arrives showy, resplendent and larger than necessary. The salt and chili flavours are soon overcome with an icy cool flood of tomato and the aftertaste of beer. It’s not entirely revolting. Over the next 20 minutes of sipping and battling a chili flaked celery in the eye three separate friends come over in high excitement to find out why I looked like I had been kicked in the face by a mule. No matter how much care and attention I took to get this this in me without drama it was not to be. For some reason I’m covered in bright red chili salt from hairline to chin. I am in bad need of a shower and a shave. Not my finest hour and I’m in no hurry to repeat it. Farewell la Fresona, going to miss you. Micheladas… not so much.

The season in terms of visitors has changed equally suddenly. We have had full occupancy these last few weeks and spent our days cleaning sheets and floors and greeting folk. I have done the tour of the land many many times. Same questions and similar answers every time. I have discussed this with bar and social hosts many times. How do you deal with being asked the same questions over and over again ? It’s not quite automatic for me but I can feel it getting a bit like that. Our story told in 20 minutes changes and evolves in the many tellings and as time passes. I have to keep an eye on keeping it authentic.

Right now we have no one on the land but us. It’s good. We have the odd enquiry and the very odd booking now and again. We have had a Welshman in a hammock for a few days and a couple of great friends bearing gifts of a new well pump, sheets, towels, car parts, jubilee clips, sewing machine oil and cheese. (Oh how I miss the joy of real proper, bites your tongue and makes you sweat cheese.)

The extra time we have now is a welcome distraction. We have had the space to start the process of planting. Much shifting of earth is required. We move pick up loads of real black earth from a river bed 1 km away to our piles of palms left over from the building. Earth on top and the placement of large river rocks and we have our “hugelkultur herb spiral”. It’s planted with all the seeds. Many herbs, chilies and marigold we smuggled in. Our well is still wet & the new well pump works okay after a repair or two so we may even have enough water for the plants and us.

A day is spent collecting good growing dirt. I remove 4 years of anthill & bat poo that has filled our pool pump house with a carpet of it a few feet thick. Back breaking but we now have sacks of the stuff. We mix this with rotting palm wood and a full load from the river bed. We ninja raid a local stable and make off with a bag of horse shit. This all meets in a single pile under the shade of the solar panels. We are assisted by our hermit neighbor from even further up the hill. He has propagated Bougainvillea for many years. He told us that he spent months growing them locally and then cows ate them all in one day. So we collect the cuttings from a local snowbird on her way home to BC. We create the perfect grow bags from mixing all our offerings together. Good dirt and ant and bat and horse and palm. We dip the snipped ends into white power growth hormone and then each is planted, released and watered. Left to fend for themselves and get big and strong. We now have more than 100 future Bougainvillea of all colours under our solar panels protected from cows. They will one day make the most beautiful and dangerously thorny borders for the fence lines.

It occurs to us that we don’t currently have a single Irishman on our land… it’s been some time.

Our Polaris front tires blew out again for the umpteenth time and the fourth time in a week. It’s now our No.1 expense. We have a crap bald second hand tire on one side but that is so much better than the teabag that is the other. Can’t keep air in it no matter what we do. Even inner tube blew out. So we are saving our pennies to buy new tires and for now Pauly Razor is on chocks. Thank the stars we have a friend here who has been fiddling (in a good way) with Limonada Toyota for the past week. Brakes work and accelerator pedal is reattached and wheel bearing renewed.

Armadillos are noisy buggers. Must be mating season coz they are everywhere at the moment. Didn’t see one for months then all the big ones turn up digging loudly and proudly around the tree house at 2 am. Even spotted one in front of our balcony in daylight. Maybe walk of shame from night before.

We are well on our way to putting our house on the market in Darlington. When that goes through we will be funded for our next phase of creating. Until then it’s the farmer’s diet of tacos and tequila for us. We are living simply and saving costs and keeping busy. There are still small opportunities to make a few quid (pesos) here now and then and we are keeping ourselves up for it.

An unexpected opportunity has somehow appeared on our horizon. We meet new friends in town. They have been retired here for many years and split their time between an amazing house here and an equally stunning property near Seattle. They generously gift us herbs, flower cuttings, curtains and tequila. They and their visiting daughter end up at our place and we produce a makeshift feed at the open outside kitchen in the jungle. We use the oven to roast chicken and we overcook (burn) spuds & vegetables in the fire. Despite this they have waxed lyrical to their friends about us and now we have been invited to invite “them all” out here to a dinner. We have the great and good of San Pancho at our place for dinner in a few days!! They want to pay us for the privilege and take photos for the local news-rag to promote us. This could become a thing.