Index: Pineapple plants, Yelapa´s water quality, Vegetarian Tacos, Pygmy Skunk Video, Green Party, Monarch Butterflies 2009 and the Magic Pueblo, Our Lady of Ecology, Mother's Day, Juanita the Chicken, Miette  the Travelling Cat - Lost, Human Swine Flu, The Rainy Season

Pineapple Plant Blooming in my Garden

 I’ve been gardening on a piece of rock sloping down el cerro or hill that has barely broken down coarse particles of granite. Where there’s a finer substance, its clay. Not great for gardening. There’s one thing that grows almost anywhere; it just needs lots of water and lots of sun – pineapple. I’ve been watering for over a year and low and behold - a fruit. It wasn’t there and suddenly was one day, about the size of a baseball. But better than the fruit was the flower. The big surprise was that the flowers look very unusual; nothing tropical, bright, and brassy like the big red columns of leafy flower heads of the ginger, or the bright orange with a blue centre of the heliconia (or bird’s bill). The pineapple has delicate little purple flowers that look like a mint plant that grow right off the fruiting body itself. They lasted only a few days, then vanished about as quickly as the fruit arrived. Since I’ve added pineapple and nopal cactus to my morning’s repast, I’ve been watching it slowly grow. Three days ago the fruit broke on its stem on the plant. Nothing to do but cut it and I let it stand to ripen. It was small, maybe six inches high, green and far from ripe. I'm happy to report it ripened in a few days and was very sweet and delicious. I might plant the whole yard in pineapple and call this place Casa de Piña!

 Water in Yelapa – an Engineer’s Approval

 In February Andrea arrived to study from Whitehorse, Yukon Territories; that’s Canada, by the way. She’s an engineer with the federal government checking water supply and quality for northern settlements, which largely covers Indian communities and the three larger centers, Whitehorse, Dawson Creek, famous for its summer music festival, and Haines Junction, totaling to about 20,000 inhabitants. 

She arrived with an expert’s suspicion of the water quality in Mexico. Her survival kit included a ceramic filter bought for $40 at Mountain Equipment Coop. I trust bottled water, having used the alternative here 25 yrs ago which was bottled soda pop. For me, this is SO much better and now ubiquitous. We strolled one day on the beach and met the water factory’s American owner, Les. I wanted to give her a first hand chance to find out what comprises Yelapa’s water.

 He had billed the water as high quality with the latest technology for treatment. It starts as spring source water about three kilometers up the mountain. It’s chlorinated to kill the organics and then run through a series of filters to get out any solids. It goes through a bed of activated carbon filters of decreasing size of pores to remove everything, including the chlorine. It’s then treated with ultra-violet radiation, which also kills any bacteria.  It’s quality is lab-tested every four to six weeks. Les has all the equipment to treat it also with ozone, however, the quality tests have never shown a need to do so. “Besides which it adds a flavor,” he stated. “In the end, the minerals remain as close as possible to the natural state.”

Les was under the gun, but it appears his system was approved on the beach under the hot sun in Mexico, where most everything appears just perfect. No alcohol was consumed or bribes or payoffs accepted to get a clean bill of health for Yelapa’s bottled water.

New on the water scene – helping to reduce plastic waste. Finally, Les has introduced ½ liter bottles for sale for $2.75US which can be refilled in a few of the stores for very little. The five liter size can also be taken in to the water factory and refilled for great cost-savings.

Now if I can just get Les to spell the name of his company properly, Las Tanquas to Las Tancuas. The letters qu are never followed by anything but e or i in the Spanish language, although he insists it’s a native word. What language Les?

Tacos Vegetarianos – Almost – in PV

 Tacos are without a doubt the favorite food in Mexico. My friend, Edmundo, the pastry guru of Pátzcuaro. recently switched to tacos. There’s money to be made in tacos. From the time they get up to the late, late nights in town, people love to eat their tacos, from basic stand up dining at street vendors to high end taco restaurants. Mundo now works four days a week and doesn’t get up at the crack of dawn to watch dough rise.

Now after a few months or years of eating tacos, they seem to boil down to the same flavor on my palate. Meat of uncertain species, fried and refried, and tortillas, sometimes fresh, sometimes also refried in suspect oils or manteca (lard). By March or somewhere mid-season I begin to appreciate the humor in the T-shirt that has a Chihuahua with its tongue hanging out looking very nauseous saying “No More Stinking Tacos”. I’ve usually had enough and want more veggies or some other varieties of flavors.

In Yelapa, the Rodriguez family opened Tacos y Más (Tacos and More) three seasons ago. Youngest son, Javier, started out with al pastor style pork on a vertical grill topped with a chunk of pineapple to give you mouthwatering tasty pork. Then he put lots of meat on the freshest lovely little double tortillas. He couldn’t feed all the hungry crowds on his patio. That’s when the rest of the family moved in. Sister, Dickie, quit work at the Rosewood Carving Factory that dad, Javier, started decades ago and began to head up the kitchen. I had returned to Yelapa excited to tell them about the incredible avocado pie I had tasted in Canada, only to find that Dickie now served its equivalent in Tacos Y Más.  Sister Livier also joined the kitchen team with her special skills and better yet, started raising a pig or two on a few acres on the mountain next to Aunt Antonia’s Casa Milagros. These are optimal pig raising conditions; no 5,000 pigs confined to cages for these folks! It’s nice to know where your taco comes from!

They’ve expanded now to lots more taco options, including fish, shrimp and chicken, special entrees, often featuring local seafood, fresh fruit water and of course the desserts. Now, unfortunately, I’ve become a vegetarian due to some health issues, with occasional protein support from such places. After months of beans, rice, maybe some cabbage and often onions on my tacos, I’m crying out for a decent veggie taco.

Well, imagine my delight when I stumbled upon a new taco stand in Puerto Vallarta. It’s called Huel Huelic, mayan for muy sabroso or “very tasty”. Instead of the beans on a taco I was prepared for to fill the gap, they offered me a host of variable stews, most with meats, some with veggies, and flavorful broth. I ate rajadas de nopal (strips of stewed nopal cactus a little bit spicy – un poquito picante, and green, red or white rice as a side dish. Memelas  (not sure about this one) served with shredded gouda cheese – another first.  Then there’s a large sampling of condiments with cucumber, radishes, cilantro, carrots and of course a litany of salsas. These salsas were obviously home made with chunks of real fruit and veggies in a range of picante or spiciness. All these were in separate see-through closed containers with their own special spoons that fit inside.

The owner, Carlos, had situated four or five palms about eight feet high to shade patrons on the sunny side of the stand. Too many taco stands are dangerously obstructive of traffic and very “man on the street”. These palms also offer a line of defense. To one side was a wash stand, with aluminum sink and towels. Variety, prices, fast and fresh, green ambience and shade afforded by the palms, hygiene and sanitation and great and tasty food. In fact, muy sabroso!

I would like to tell you that next time you’re in Puerto Vallarta, stop by Huel Huelic on Francisco Madero Street, between Insurgentes and Constitución near the Rana Sonido Music store and tell him Juanita de Yelapa says gracias.However, due to the swine flu media epidemic, there's only a for rent sign. Hopefully, he'll be back on his feet when the tourists come back!  Maybe I'll invest some money so that this really happens. Other investors interested?

Skunk’s Out.

 I’ve written before about the little pygmy skunks in Yelapa that visit almost nightly in my house. I hope you can view this little video of this little fatty eating out of the cat bowl, until along came the cat. No chemical warfare or violence was used by either side in the making of this video.

 Green Party – a la Mexicana

 In the last federal election I was thrilled to hear that the little town of Mascota in the mountains not far up the River Cuale from Vallarta had voted mostly Green Party. I thought "how progressive". Nice to see a big environmental and stewardship role of the earth and its resources is happening so close to where I live. What I didn’t know was that the Green Party name, Partido Verde Ecologista or The Ecologist Green Party has been appropriated by a group, or mostly, one family,  that is definitely right of center on some issues. Here are some current ads on billboards in Vallarta to show what they represent:

Temor es saber que alguien puede matar o secuestrar uno de tu familia Fear is knowing  someone can kill or kidnap someone in your family.

Partido Verde. Pena de Muerto. Si estás de acuerdo, manda sí a 29999.

Green Party. Death Penalty. If you agree, send a “yes” to 29999.

Coraje es para saber que el asesino de tu hijo es libra. Rage is knowing that the murderer of your child is free.

Dolor es recibir una llamada del secuestrador de tu hijo. Pain is receiving a call from the kidnapper of your child.

 All are followed with the “Death Penalty” send us a “yes” if you agree. Capital punishment is not where the Green Party has gone in other countries. The green party logo here is a toucan sitting in the middle of a yellow square; an image of ecological interests.

Check this link to see how twisted this family-run Green Party is! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Partido_Verde_Ecologista_de_M%C3%A9xico

It’s an abomination that this image has been stolen from the environmental liberal thinkers in Mexico. What will the Green Party use when it does develop in Mexico? The Greener Party? Wikipedia reports that the International Green Party umbrella organization just recently nixed this group due to this death penalty campaign..

Their most recent web site www.espacioverde.org.mx has four pillars to their philosophies. Better Quality of Life – Recommendations for Care of Pets; Better Health – Recommendations for Better Food, as well, a statement “La Secretaría de Salud estima que alrededor de 38% de las 2.3 millones de muertes que se presentaron en México entre 2000 y 2004 eran evitables”. The Health Ministry estimates around 38% of the 2.3 mllion deaths between 2000 and 2004 were avoidable. Better Education – demands for vouchers for medications, English and Computer classes . Better Security – here they go on about kidnappings and the death penalty.

I’m with them on their needs on three of the four issues.  Maybe there is some hope that this single family interest is grabbing the spotlight with the death penalty on one issue, and then working on changing the party to address some real issues. Green or not really green, this might have some beneficial end result. Let's hope this is an interesting evolution to something really green and substantive.

Spanish on the Road Trip – Monarch Butterfly Hibernation Sanctuary

I went to the Monarch Butterfly sanctuary at El Rosario, east of Morelia, Michoacan with Andrea from Whitehorse, Yukon Territories as my witness to another miracle. There were many thousands of butterflies flying in the heat of a hot late February day. It was great taking someone with me to see the milling masses of monarch. This year was a hotter year than my first visit last year, and there was much more activity. The monarchs were pairing early this year – apareando. The contortions during mating were most novel and often amazing, since it can occur while flying, linked while going in different directions. Nonetheless, it works. By the time they get to southern United States, they’re ready to lay eggs, which hatch and soon after the adults make their way to Canada. I've written about this migration in my Blog of last spring, 2008. Also a note for those who don't like climbing stairs. They will carry you in a stretcher or a chair all the way up. You might have to pay them for the coca cola, too!

Just north of the El Rosario Sanctuary is a little town billed as El Pueblo Mágico, Tlapujahua, just 2 hrs east of Morelia, Michoacan. Upon our arrival, the first bit of magic noted was the sign that said “no loudspeakers for advertising”. No obtrusive noise by vendors hawking wares from a car. Like the gas truck shouting “gas” literally every six seconds, (I counted) in the village of the Virgin of Talpa from six a.m. on. We did see, however, signs everywhere se vende esferas, “spheres for sale”. Very mysterious.

Buildings were painted in earthy to bright colours, and well maintained. We stopped at a restaurant with a rooftop café serving cappuccino. It was a pleasure to climb the two flights of stairs and taste civilized coffee. From here we could see the setting sun lighting up the already rose-coloured cathedral.  We descended to find a hotel and solve the puzzle as to what kind of spheres were for sale. The owner of our hotel, Fernando, told us there was a factory right next door. Esferas were Christmas tree balls!

Next morning the factory was not open to visitors. Andrea and I headed in different directions with cameras trying to capture the beauty of the place in early morning light, with a rendezvous planned at the Christmas store at the café.  Markets are usually picturesque, but in keeping with the good taste throughout the village, this market was truly impressive. One walks down stairs to view the artfully arranged produce stalls in a golden yellow painted backdrop with lots of morning light. I also found a gift store next door, where I hoped to find a handcrafted teapot or tetera, not a commonly used item in Mexico. I found not just four teapots to choose from, but a 10 cup giant tea pot in solid earthenware or barro cocido. It came with a complete set of six mugs, saucers, and a creamer and sugar pot in a distinctly unique Mexican style of eclipse (sun and moon juxtaposed). The price of the six-place setting was less than the cost of a regular tea pot from a potter in Canada.

Finally I made it to the Christmas store below the great rooftop café. Andrea had already begun loading up a box of tree ornaments. I don’t like the commercial aspects of Christmas, and began my visit here thinking I didn’t like Christmas, but who could pretend to not like dressing the tree? I recanted and got my own box for “just a few - sólo unos pocos”. Well, I have one small or pequeña esfera for just about everybody I know, and I mean - muy, muy pequeña, some smaller than thumb sized.

The store owner, Juan Manuel Ruíz, told us the origin of the idea for this craft in his town. About 60 years ago a Mexican man, Joaquín Muñoz Orta, worked in the U.S. making artificial Christmas trees. He witnessed lab vials being made of blown glass, and when an accidental ball or esfera was made, things clicked for him.  In 1965 he set up a factory with his wife. Now they make an estimated 50 million Christmas ornaments, with 15% of this sold to the Mexican market. Now in Tlapujahua there are 150 workshops or talleres employing 70% of the population, mostly women. Juan added that the sales are dropping off now because of the Asian factories.

When my young friends say they don’t know what to do for a career, I tell them always, “Go travel and find out who you are, and what you like. See things that may inspire.”  Here’s a great example of the benefits of travel and bringing home new innovations.

 Nuestra Señora de Ecología – Our Lady of Ecology

  In early January, signs appeared around town – nicely crafted painted wooden boards, neatly lettered, all with a message to reduce, reuse, and recycle garbage. Who better a person to spread the word than Mexico’s patron saint Virgin Guadalupe? She appeared in her familiar shroud surrounded by her golden aura, but transfigured for the occasion into Nuestra Señora de Ecología. The first I noted was hanging with a globe of the world outside the church from the roof of Gloria’s Restaurant over the public trail.

 It had a message from the Virgin in English, Spanish and Latin. There was at least one Lutheran priest I expected to be involved. And someone was fluent in Spanish. I suspected a collaboration. It was a great work of art. I wondered who was selling this work.  Who would leave valuable art on the street? Was using the patron saint to deliver a socially moral message relevant to today, and this life, not the afterlife, sacrilege?

Well, Nuestra Señora didn’t hang on that street corner for long. Alas! Next there was a sign outside of the stationery store la papelería near Ramona’s Taco and movie restaurant. “El Mundo tiene pocos recursos naturales. No contamines. Reuse, Recicla, Reduce The world has few natural resources. Don’t pollute. Reuse, recycle, reduce.”  There was still no public statement as to what radical environmental sect of Yelapans was behind this growing menace to our polluted, garbage-filled existence.

Again, the rebels struck – it was hard to resist posting the best work on a bright pink wall at Ramona’s Video Taquería. Nuestra Señora de Ecología came to rest. The message, subtle and clear from Mexico’s patron saint, now, of Ecology. At the top: “Piedad para un planeta tan pequeño Pity for a planet so small”. At the bottom: “Reduce los detergentes  Reduce detergents”. On the left side. “Reduce, Recicla, Reusa. Respeto al mar Reduce, Recycle and Reuse. Respect the Sea”. Right Side: “No quemes plástico No. Paz. Alegría. Don’t burn plastic. Peace. Happiness Come sano. Come frutas y verduras, así no tires basura de paquetes. Eat fruit and vegetables. This way you won’t throw out packaging waste.”. Below the Virgin’s robe: No tires basura. Aunque no la veas, Existe!  Don’t throw out garbage. Although you don’t see it, it exists!  She was really on her soap box -  as much as she was painted on a soap box!

Another one showed up even more recently at the Eclipse Cyber Cafe. The painting and lettering matched the other signs. She was the same robed Virgin surrounded by her aura. This time called Nuestra Señora de Ecología y Paz. The campaign had pushed up the rewards of the campaign a notch to grant Peace. Scribed was the heartfelt message – “Yelapa es un paraíso. Hazlo tuyo para mantenerlo así. Yelapa is a paradise. Do your part to maintain it so. Evita la basura, come frutas y verduras. Avoid garbage, eat fruit and vegetables”.  The protagonist had also lettered another sign with a simple human figure, oddly female, leaning over in a potty arch – with a slash through the figure – No Public Washroom!

Izabel, the fire dancer at the Eclipse, was my principal suspect. She confirmed her culpability. “What can I do to make people realize. I’m tired of not doing anything.” Her approach was brilliant. I think it needs to be followed up with a campaign in the schools. Or some such rebel initiates who would like to follow up with more folk art, perhaps at the elementary school level. I’m just starting an English class for kids, at their request. What they don’t know is that I’m focusing on the outdoors and making them super-environmentalists!

Keep an eye out for Izabel’s street art campaign. She’s making life-sized Virgins now, so she’ll fill the visual landscape with her message. At press time, she produced another Virgin in the night sky standing on the horizontal crescent moon, with a prayer printed on the back.

"Oh, little Virgin of the Green Valleys. I ask you to make me conscious of the damage that I do with my garbage.

I promise you I will recycle, reuse and reduce all my packages, containers, detergents, chemicals, pharmaceuticals, diapers and other inorganics.

Make me feel the benefits of a healthy life, doing exercise and without eating junk food that creates garbage.

Make me see beyond the television to understand that you, Mother Earth, give me food and oxygen in order to sigh before your greatness.

Make me understand overpopulation. I promise you to take care of myself and to prepare myself to have a child to whom I can give the opportunity to improve himself.

Make me recognize that the less I need, the more I have.

Places like Mexico there are not two, but there’s only one planet and one life!"

I loved the poetry (it's far prettier in Spanish) and the little Virgin in the night sky. So I bought this piece. We'll be reproducing and disseminating it as postcards or bookmarks. It will also help her continue her campaign. I suggested she speak to the priest about including her life sized virgin in the church. This might seem radical, but I went to a baptism here and the priest talked about saving the environment! I asked Rosa, whose granddaughter was baptized, if I had heard correctly. She said they’ve added care of the environment to the Second Commandment. It looks like God and the Church are officially Green!

I bought a notebook for teenagers at Office Depot with the Virgin on the cover, and under it, “Virgencita, plis jelp!” If you’d like to volunteer with some activities on the environmental theme, especially if you can contribute energy to finding solutions to our recycling problems, please help!

 I am more than a little embarrassed telling you friends about Juanita the chicken. I’d noticed over several months, a single white chicken in my yard, but didn’t pay it much attention. Then one day in February, I really watched her. She was on her own, as always. She made no noise, since there was no one to communicate to. She was very neat and clean, quite pretty in fact, in her clean little white chicken way. She was very industrious, rushing from plant to bug to compost pile. I admired her hard work in finding her food and making her own way.

No bossy rooster herding her around with the others. That flock of hens from down below, with their big white rooster, beautifully white with rusty feathers in the head and as a collar, did come up frequently; since I began putting out food for the wild cats, a little too frequently. His hens didn’t compare. One of them looked like she was far past being of service and should be in the geriatric home for chickens. None really looked in great shape, except him, oddly enough. I've always been a skeptic about benefits of being part of a herd.

Well, that one white hen was doing very well without the pack. She didn’t need a rooster to show her where the food was. She didn’t need his protection. And she probably was having a very good time out there with all the food she found on her own. Probably slept well too without all that crowing!

I suddenly realized I really related to this chicken. I actually liked this chicken. She wasn’t just a chicken anymore. She was ME, in the chicken world. I started calling her Juanita. I realized how much I myself had strayed from the pack and how much I cherished my independence.  At last, freedom and liberty from roosters and the pack. Oh, my God. It all boiled down to that. There I was … a chicken, a very valiente, independent, well-fed, good looking chicken, proudly making her own way among the grubs.

I guess I should try talking to her. She might be a little lonely, at times, like me. I must be lonely, especially if I think I should be talking to the chicken. I’ll have to learn “chicken”, I suppose. Probably in Spanish.

I could be on the fringe like my friend, Paris. She lives happily 10 km off the hydroelectric grid in British Columbia, with no telephone and few visitors. She once told me her tale of isolation. She admitted that in the mornings she’d put a chair in the chicken pen and sit and talk with the chickens. That stopped when her husband found her one day and sent her to work two days a week to socialize a bit more.

You, my friends, I hope will tell me if I’ve really gone too far out there in my chicken thinking and will bring me around, if necessary. Check me into a “get well” clinic for people with animal disorders or tendencies. When they ask " Why don't you straighten her out?", please don't say “Sorry, we’d really like to, but we need the eggs!”

Mother’s Day In San Sebastian

The local school band has been practicing all week here in the little mountain village of San Sebastian del Oeste 70 km east of PV. They’re youngsters and it was obvious they were still learning. Last night I found out what for. At three a.m. there was a pounding, banging, cacophony of noise or ruido outside my hotel window. The band was playing with lots of spirit. Las Mañanitas, little morning songs, was the song, usually a serenade in the early morning for birthdays. But it’s also used for Mother’s Day. They added some very energetic other marching band tunes and a popular one called chameleon that I recognized. They didn’t go away as hoped for after the first joyful novelty was over.

It was a few hours before they had finished marching all corners and the many alleyways of this small town. Then they crisscrossed the town once more with gusto or pleasure just for good measure. Just as I was getting used to their distant echoing presence, hark! Another band. This one was a mariachi band with real musicians. By now it was 5:30 a.m. the roosters were wakening, as were the barking dogs, and from somewhere church bells were pealing.

There was nothing to do but get up. I put on several uncoordinated layers over and under my night dress, and with a final 2 shawls over the shoulders went to find who was being serenaded. On the way I saw the tuba player of the school band in back of a pick-up headed home exhausted.

Three blocks up the street I found the mariachi band on the patio of a lovely old adobe house – not a wealthy family as seen by the old 1960s car at the side, the tin patches over holes in the rough, unfinished adobe. They and their audience were blocked from view by a border of ferns, geraniums and impatiens plants. There was lots of laughter and the mother’s voice was clearly heard making song requests. Their abundance was obvious.

I sat outside the house on a border of rocks looking up at the patio. The full moon lit the house with color from the garden, with purple bougainvillea hanging over most of the cobble fence. It was achingly beautiful, while sitting there amidst such happiness, to hear the songs sung in reverence of beauty and love in those lovely old ballads– “alma de mi alma, que linda eres tú” soul of my soul, how pretty you are; “hermosa querido” beautiful beloved one. I sat enamored of the beauty of this night on the cold stone, worried only that I’d be spotted and then they’d surely welcome me in. I did not want to be an intruding presence in such a naturally wonderful scene. Even the family cat came out to bask appreciatively near me under the moon’s aura .

They sang another round of Las Mañanitas, a song even the youngest Mexican learns at an early age. I recalled listening to five year old Danielle in Pátzcuaro, last Mother’s Day, sing all four verses and the chorus, with three melody changes all alone without music to his glowing mother. As I reflected, the band surprised me on my perch as they noiselessly departed. I thanked them for playing so beautifully and wanted to know if they were local. “I am one of five brothers in the band from Real Alto,” one said as we walked homeward; that’s from a family of thirteen, none of whom have studied music, nor do they have musical parents. Real Alto, a village 3,000 ft above here, has only forty six people, all of them with last name Arredondo. Turns out there’s also a junior mariachi band from there with the youngest at ten years old. Almost every Mexican family has a priest, nun or musician in its fold. This band comes highly recommended. You’ll have to arrange your own sublime setting.

At ten to seven a.m. I was in bed with the roosters crowing, the earplugs firmly in and my travelling cat, Miette, warming my feet. I send a beautiful song to all mothers, present and past, as well as want-to-be-moms, by universal Mariachi around the planet.

Miette The Travelling Cat

I spent a great ten days or so in the old mining town of San Sebastian del Oeste, some of these with Samantha, a student and friend from near Guelph, Canada, who hiked, ate and took lots of pictures with me, and won many hearts. Also along was my Canadian cat, Miette. I don’t always travel with my cat. The Guadalupe fiesta from May 4 to 12^th every year in Yelapa includes a morning ceremony of blasting off several cuetes in succession, bottle rocket  noise at 5 a.m. and again at 7 p.m. No animal does well with this assault. Miette is particularly terrified and flees for the hills. So, every year we are absent from Yelapa. This year I also had my roof replaced, so were doubly refugees.

This year on the eve before my planned departure back to Yelapa, I allowed Miette an unsupervised stroll in the garden in the inner courtyard of the Hotel del Puente in San Sebastian. She had spent several nights so, and always returned to sleep through the open door to my room by early morning. Not this night, however. I suspect she had noticed that we were packed to travel and it’s not her favorite thing to do.

That morning I started my Lost Cat campaign. It included ads with photos of Gata Perdida (female cat lost) and where to find me. I have a history of short visits here, and now a 10 day stretch so I certainly introduced myself in the community. Well, a fast way to meet everybody and immerse yourself in the local language is to lose an animal, although I would not recommend it. I based my operations out of Leonora's Lonchería a stone's throw from the hotel.

I was quite distraught. This cat has been my constant companion for twelve years, ten of these travelling in Mexico. She was a wild kitten found under my back patio in Devine, British Columbia, when I had three adult cats and no desire for another. But the moment I saw her terrified face, she put a little hook or arrow in my heart, andI knew her name. She was mine. She reciprocated, adopting me as her sole human companion for life. She remains wild to all others, hates all cats and is definitely a cat with special needs or as Mexican put it, "es muy especial", which means very problematic and difficult. She can purr and hiss at me at the same time! Like the Saint Exupery's Little Prince and the one cranky rose on his planet, what made the rose most important was the time he had dedicated to it.

I tried to think like her to find her. I had just read two of Isabel Allende’s youth adventure series, City of the Beasts and The Kingdom of the Dragon of Gold. It espouses “listening with the heart” to be able understand, beyond the restrictions of language. I was listening, for any guidance. I searched the roof tops, the attics, the neighbors’ courtyards, their woodpiles, even under their upstairs beds in one house. No Miette. I went out several times a day. Mexico is loud and if Miette responded to my calls, I wouldn’t have heard her during the day. So I woke in the late night or middle of the night to search. Every shadow from my flashlight looked cat-shaped.

After many hours and miles I lost weight, but I got to see some really beautiful parts of the village. The rivers are not littered with garbage as is the case of many in more populated places. People had adopted sections of it and made stairs down and little foot bridges across it. I checked the caves for the cat. I confess I was so delighted by the sights, sounds, birds and vegetation up and down the river, I often forgot that I was looking for my dear lost cat. After one such trip, I came back with the thought "Miette was not, in fact, lost, she was on a two week vacation". She was probably hiding out, ignoring my voice, thinking “I’m just not ready to go back to the hotel or the hot, humid coast and the house where the neighbors are hemming me in with barbed wire!”

The second day of my search, people saw her just three buildings from the hotel. She came out of a drainage channel from an abandoned billiards hall; then raced through an old orchard. By the time I got there an hour later, she was no where to be seen, however, I spent the day combing the vegetation along a small stream and the back gardens along it.

I sent to Yelapa for a live trap, which arrived the next day by bus. I wanted to set it in the courtyard of the billiards hall. I told the owner I thought his place might be el refugio de mi gato the refuge for my cat. I asked his name. “Refugio,” he replied. I looked at the sign over his head at the billiards. It was called Don Gato. Señor Cat. The coincidences were too auspicious. However, the trap caught only one very loud fat cat, and the next night a very furry tlacuache or opossum. On the coast they’re ratty scaly-looking animals.  I told friends if I didn’t find the cat, I might take back a furry possum for a pet.

On the fifth night clouds loomed overhead. "It’s not the rainy season," people said. "It never rains in May." It poured. For two nights. Poor Miette. Thereafter, at the sight of any cloud, they all said, "yes, it's going to rain!"

It was not easy to stay positive. This was one of my worst fears – to lose Miette in a village of people. She is terrified of people. I would get dressed and head out the door and stand at an intersection not knowing which way to go. I thought she’d be in old orchards, up rivers, in the wilds somewhere. I walked the streets mostly on the outskirts of the village calling “Meeeeeeee-yettttttttt”. No answer. I was becoming La Llorona, The Crier, of San Sebastian, the Mexican legend and haunting song of a distraught mother who lost her children and her ghost was heard forever more wandering and calling up and down the river. I even bought a megaphone on Day Eight to call her in from the surrounding pine forests.

I awoke on Day Nine with an idea to make small photo cards of Miette with my numbers to call. I planned to talk with people on the periphery of the village. The second person I talked to said he and two others saw her the previous night at the Butcher’s, La Carnicería, not far from my hotel. The butcher told me she shot out from a drainage channel and up and over a 3 meter high fence. Amazing what adrenaline will do to a twelve year old cat! I talked to people up that hill. One lady saw Miette in the village zocalo or plaza the first night of the rains. Miette was looking for me in all the busy parts of town, and I was dragnetting the outskirts!  I stopped at a hotel near Don Gato’s Billiards. The woman had seen her five days earlier in the back garden. I thought, “It’s maybe too late, but I’ll try calling her.” I called. She replied instantly – from the end of the garden, possibly from an old backyard dump of old stoves, tables, chairs, all covered with years of vegetation. We called back and forth. Then after I stepped on a stove to get closer, she replied no more. Two more hours of looking along the back creek and calling were futile. At 9 p.m. I got the trap, a blanket for me to sleep out in the yard next to the scrapyard, food for me and a tin of tuna for the cat. Just at dark, she walked up to me with a quiet "meow". She had given up being the town renegade and has been purring ever since!

What impressed me most about that whole period was how positive the townspeople were and how helpful they tried to be. I never had anyone suggest the town was overpopulated with cats and I could take any of my choosing. Or that she was just a cat. In subsequent visits they all wanted to know how Miette was doing. I took a picture for them of Miette lying in "her" lounge chair under a sun umbrella on the sunny patio off my bedroom where she faces the ocean breezes and sleeps away her days and only dreams of such adventures.

Human Swine Flu

In mid-April I heard from a Canadian friend that there was a flu in Mexico. Yelapa is off the beaten track and I don’t listen to the news here. But in another week that’s all that was talked about in the news, certainly on the internet. Once revealed, the Mexican government responded swiftly. In Mexico City where the majority of cases were, government offices, schools, any meetings including church masses, were cancelled. At first schools closed until May 6^th,  then extended until May 18^th  when a case was reported in Guadalajara. That meant a three week closure. By then there had been 1112 cases in Mexico and 42 deaths, 642 cases in the US and 1 death, 201 cases in Canada, 73 in Spain, 28 in Great Britain.

Is there a pandemic? TheWorld Health Organization met June 5th in an emergency meeting to discuss this. At that time, there were nearly 22,000 cases worldwide and only 125 deaths. In the U.S. the human flu normally results in over 36,000 deaths and over 2,000 in Canada per year. .

 There is at least one dissenter concerning the reality and severity of the swine flu. Dr. Mercola ( http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2009/04/29/Swine-Flu.aspx) states this is not the first time of a pandemic warning. In 1976, the swine flu produced a panic. Tamiflu anti-viral vaccine was brought out. More people died of the vaccine than the flu, and worse, a further 1,800 people were left paralysed from it. The vaccine side effects produced the same symptoms that the flu did, but only shortened the duration of the illness.  His contention is that that US has a stockpile of $2 billion dollars worth of over 20 million doses that expire this year. Great Britain has 15 million doses. The boost that sales of this drug will provide to the economy would be significant.

The cost to the nations affected – economically Mexico is being devastated. Flights were cancelled, cruise ships were cancelled (the first to come back June 25th).  There are jobs lost in the low season; however, this has started earlier and is more far-reaching than normal. Streets are empty in Puerto Vallarta.  Foreigners in the Puerto Vallarta area are working with the Social Services department to provide food packages to the needy. If you can provide, ask and I´ll send the address and email. Students returning late in the season told me horror stories of how they or their family were treated on their return - James from Boston was quarantined and kept from work for three weeks. Susan from Toronto told me her grand-daughter was photographed at the airport and became the poster child for returning Canadian from Mexico, maybe with swine flu. Then she was unable to go to school because of irate parents!

How to protect yourself without taking the Vaccine? Dr. Mercola, who has studied influenzas over the many years, recommends keeping your immune system in optimal working order by:

1. Optimize your Vitamin D levels – the best strategy to avoid infections of all kinds. He suspects vitamin D deficiency is likely the true cause of the seasonality of the flu – not the virus itself!

2. Avoid sugars and Processed Foods

3. Get Enough Rest

4. Have an Effective Tool to Counter Stress – meditate, pray, etc.

5. Exercise

6. Use Animal Based Omega-3 Fats

7. Wash your Hands

8. Eat Garlic regularly

9. Avoid Hospitals and Vaccines. Hospitals are where new bugs are likely to be found first! Vaccines for this will not be available for a minimum of six months and can have side effects.

The June 5^th meeting of WHO determined the world remains in Pandemic Influenza Phase 5, with requirements:

• “That all countries intensify surveillance for unusual outbreaks of influenza-like illness and severe pneumonia.
• Not to close borders and not to restrict international travel. It is considered prudent for people who are ill to delay international travel and for people developing symptoms following travel to seek medical attention.
• That the production of seasonal influenza vaccine should continue at this time, subject to re-evaluation as the situation evolves”.

 The Center for Disease Control reports that it is not yet clear how serious this new virus actually is compared with other influenza viruses. On May 26 they stated that new cases in the U.S. had probably peaked, and most cases throughout the world have so far been mild relative to "seasonal flues." But because this is a new virus, most people do not have immunity to it, and illness may eventually become more severe and widespread in different demographic and population groups as a result.

Vallarta has decided to hold an open air free concert with some of their nationally performing songsters, Alejandro Fernandez and Enrique Iglesias  among the big names today, June 20th to let the world know we're open and alive. The latest report was there in fact are six cases of H1N1 (swine) flu in PV. No doublt there will be more.  They're expecting 65,000 people to attend the concert. I'd really like to go, but ... I've got a flu.

Witnessing the devastation to the economy here in Mexico, we can all hope that this virus continues to be mild, and that rational minds prevail in terms of cancelling travel plans and closing the borders..

 Come visit us here in Yelapa, Mexico

Yelapa English Spanish Institute offers Weekly Classes, 15 hrs over five days, Monday to Friday, also Weekend Courses, and Spanish Study Tours to Day of the Dead in Patzcuaro, Michoacan, Monarch Butterflies in Wintering Areas in Michoacan, Mountain villages near Puerto Vallarta, etc. www.studyspanishontheroad.com.   Check the website www.talkadventures.com for the details. I look forward to meeting you or seeing you again, and come visit Juanita the Chicken!!

On the Road

For several years I've been watching my students "graduate" from weeks or months of Spanish and go on a trip  throughout Mexico. I've been much more sedentary maintaining the school program and moving between my home in Canada and Yelapa. This year I took the time to travel and to recharge myself with the thrills and experiences that only travel offers. As a result of my summer roaming, I developed my Spanish on the Road courses - classes and conversational coaching while travelling.These will be offered on occasional weekends in the Puerto Vallarta region, with a few one week trips planned. Please check out the details on the website http://www.talkadventures.com and go to Courses.

   Here are the exploits and diversions from my summer in Mexico!  I hope you enjoy.

Pizota - On the Grid

Yelapa used to have no electricity. December 2001 my house was connected, and little by little, the lights on the hillside lit up at night like fireflies. Well, we’ve all adjusted but when the electricity goes out as it can for an evening, there are the sighs from the villagers ah, como el Yelapa antigua ah, like the old Yelapa.  I live with candles for an evening, love the mood created, and vow I’ll revert to candles even when the electricity comes back on. That lasts about a day, before the convenience of good lighting and refrigeration sabotage my romantic desires.  

Pizota is a little fishing village of 26 families just around the southern point of Yelapa, 10 minutes by boat. The workers were blazing through the jungle towards it with the posts in, when I decided to see the “old” Pizota one last time in May.  I met friends who had already kayaked there for breakfast. At the only store/ restaurant owned by Primitivo, we ate whole red snapper. Primitivo is excited by the new changes, and is in the midst of building a 2 story hotel - another first for Pizota. He brought out various hardcover books given to him with mysterious inscriptions - one purportedly signed by Walt Whitman himself, and another signed by John Huston.  We were excited until I realized that the great poet had died a century or so ago.
Primitivo recommended a tour to the giant tree. His 10 year old son and friend guided us to a certifiably huge higuera blanca or white fig tree, with roots branching from the lower limbs, extending it an additional 20 or 30 feet outward from the massive main trunk. The boys couldn’t date the tree but it doubtless was one their many ancestors would have played on as children too. I left hoping to hold the memory of the simplicity and innocence of that village to fortify me as changes sweep the rest of our “global” megalopolis.

Marine Day - June 1st

I’ve always missed Marine Day in Yelapa. Since it follows so closely on the heels of the Virgen de Guadalupe fiesta in Yelapa (May 4 - 12), I associated it with those dreaded cuetes or bottle rocket bombs that split the air with deafening explosion causing animals to flee into deep dark shelters, our aging hearts to skip a beat and fight or flight responses to activate. This year I attended Marine Day and not only was it devoid of bomb blasts, it was great fun.

One did have to avoid being “egged” in the simulated battles between rivaling pirate boats. A dozen or more boats were out in the harbour, someone racing on board with cardboard flats of 100 eggs each. They sped toward each other, eggs expertly tossed at their villainous opponents.  The egg wars extended onto the beach which was a short step away for a quick wash. Judging by the numbers of fully clad people hanging out in the ocean, there were many anointed in egg yolk that day! At beach side a whole canoe was filled with beer and ice, free for the taking.  Three or four tables of barbecued pig and fish were available to all. The pandemonium could be safely watched from higher perches above the feast where the elderly, the children and the wise, including myself, retreated.

After lots of consumption, the games began. There was a grudge race between the water taxis, Rayando del Sol  or Shining Sun and The Beautiful Sea, won easily by the latter - an old military boat refitted as taxi.  And in my view offering a ride as comfortable as one would expect in the military!

 
The games on land commenced. Many sack racers hopped to glory, downed a beer at the half way, and returned somehow without upchucking. Games and beer consumption continued hand in hand. The pinnacle of the games was the greased pole climb. The whole 6 meters (20 ft) of it was black with a thick slippery grease. Tied by a short rope to 2 crossed studs on top were the prizes - the most coveted of which were bottles of alcohol. The only rule - get to the top and bring the glories down. The first attempt was a teen daredevil, Francisco, who ascended one or two meters and was blackened for his efforts. After the sprightly first round of glory seekers removed a good part of the grease, the wiser crowd started to think collectively. People pyramids appeared, bracing each other and those climbing their backs onto their shoulders, three and even four layers high. The women’s team was undeterred and tenacious until they won their booty!  Spunky 11 year old Izela nabbed a bottle towering above her peers.

 
If the boat and egg wars, races and pole climb, and endless beer didn’t keep everyone animated the DJ had them dancing to caliente latino numbers spicy enough that it was unimportant who or what your partner was!

The day coincided with the president’s inauguration of a new port in Vallarta, and all boat traffic ceased. We were happily isolated from the lack of marine transport in our own bubble of good fun, food and friends. What a happy life those pirates led!!  I’ll not miss another.

Buying a Car

Although there are no roads in Yelapa, and I really don’t like being in a car for very long, I decided I needed a car for those few weeks and weekends of wandering I’d like to do. I began the search through the Mano a Mano Hand to Hand weekly advertising flyer and visited car lots.  Some cars had quemacocos  “burn coconuts” literally translated. I thought it was a technical term for some type of carburetor or catalytic converter. It’s a sunroof. Burn your coco with sun!!

 Cars are often brought in from the U.S. especially Toyotas and Hondas.  If they’re 10 years old, they can be sold. They buy them cheaply and sell them for twice the price. The first one I saw I wanted, but the mechanics were closed on a Saturday, and it had no plates, so I wouldn’t drive it. Well, in Mexico you don’t need plates on a car to drive it. In fact, we witnessed a woman park an SUV in a no-park zone in front of a restaurant on the highway, across from the Transit Police station on a Sunday. They came over immediately and took off the plates. I expected a tow truck to haul its prey and the woman to call a taxi home. Instead she got in the car and drove home in front of the police. It’s hardly an inconvenience at all. I wonder how many plates the police have in their collection waiting to be claimed? 

 I also visited car lots in Guadalajara. To my surprise one car salesman wanted $100 to let me take the car for a test drive. It wasn’t a deposit either. I indicated my astonishment and they expressed indignation that I didn’t accept or understand their system. Some system!

Insurance seems to be entirely optional as well, and no one I talked to had any. I would want a good policy for covering other uninsured motorists.  In the end, I left the car buying to another day, possibly another country!

Corpus - Pátzcuaro, Jarácuaro and Comachuén

I revisited Pátzcuaro, Michoacán (see last BLOG entry). I had worked there 25 years ago, and had just come back from a 2 week visit in May. I returned again for the month of June to study Spanish Literature and further explore this very rich cultural community.

In late March when I was last there, it had been dry, very dry and I met Cresencio and Magdaleno sitting at the edge of their field waiting for the rain to be able to sew (sembrar) their seeds. By June, there was some rain, sufficient to auger hope and the seeds went in. It’s the Purepechan native custom for the farmers to throw a big party “Corpus” - it’s called, where they give away what they produce. The thinking is that if they give away their abundance it will be returned with abundant rains and the harvest. Somewhat similar to the northwest coast native potlatch.

 
I witnessed the downtown squares or zocalos and streets in  Patzcuaro change overnight to patterned pathways made of died wood chips. But I missed the ritual of Corpus due to an appointment. Can you imagine giving away the product of your labour to a populaton of over 50,000? I thought I'd try again next year for the ceremony.

One Sunday I arrived in the midst of Corpus in Jarácuaro, unaware it was a feast day. It’s a town where they make palm sombreros - many styles and many thousands. There were live bands playing mariachi style music and other bands playing the beautiful ballads of the Purepechan culture. A couple thousand visitors flooded the main square with expectation. Food was sold and eaten - strawberries with whipped cream from Zamora, lots of fresh blue and other varieties of corn boiled, skewered and slathered in cream, cheese, lime and chili pepper, pink cakes and cotton candy, which I thought didn’t exist any more - no doubt linked to cancer and only sold now in 3rd World Countries. At the church entrance was an altar decorated with corn and wheat stooks.

 As the crowds flooded the main square, the clouds moved low and thickened to dark grey. In anticipation of the threatening rain, I went to a small store and asked Salvador, the owner, for a hat. Despite initial reluctance, he sold me a beautiful one with lining for $3. I gave him $5. Apparently one cannot sell crafts on Corpus.

 
Back in the square, people stood in their summer wear, holding babies, elders seated on low curbs, rounds of wood, and a few benches. Men appeared on roofs of buildings, or roamed through the crowd, opening the plastic bags upon bags of hats and other gifts. The crowd surged and condensed. There was room enough for your body and a bit of shoulder room with one hand raised to catch whatever flew your way. Then the hats whizzed through the air, some like frisbees, some floating high and feathering downward. Many fought for the same hat, which somehow survived the mangling. I was glad I had bought mine since I wasn’t up to the fight.

 And then the rains began. Phenomenal rain right on cue. Give away your bounty and the rains will come, nourishing your crops for your continuance.  No one ran. We laughed and the bands played on - circling the whole crowd. It was insanely glorious. I’ve never experienced anything like it. When the thousands of hats were newly owned, we had a chance to look around and assess our riches. My booty was the many pictures I took, through the rain drops and with that outstretched arm. Sadly, none of these is really in focus.

That same weekend my friend, Elías Rodriguez went to Ihuatzio for Corpus, about 15 kms away on the eastern side of the lake. A feast that started in the public square went inside to private house parties and extended over the next few days.

 Well, now I was in the know and started checking the town's Corpus schedule. My neighbour, Ivan, came from a little village in the mountains, called Comachuén. It wasn’t even to be found on any local maps I had. He described how they decorated the buey or oxen teams, with cornstalks and flowers in the yokes or yuntas and pulled them in a parade around town.

 I imagined Comachuén to be pristine and quaint. Once armed with directions, I headed out by bus. I arrived an hour later in the afternoon of the Copa de Oro Torneo de Futbol or  Gold Cup Soccer Tournament. Mexico was playing United States for a chance at the championship. The bus driver had the radio on and Mexico was winning 1 - 0. I had to watch the game. The town was surprisingly large and especially busy today. I asked for a restaurant, thinking there would be a TV. None existed, claimed a lovely woman, who invited me into her house, assuming I was hungry. When I explained I had to see the soccer game, she set me in a seat in the kitchen where I could see their TV in the next room. It was the largest flat-screen TV I have ever seen. They had obviously received abundance over the years!

The family was hurrying around preparing and loading up their wares for the Corpus festival. The villagers make wooden furniture. This family made wooden serviette holders and other small gift items, as well. Their van was loaded, with more objects tied to the roof, ready to go.  They were just waiting for me to accept Mexico’s defeat 2 - 1 and to leave. They would accept no payment since it was the day to give, but I tucked away a donation for their girls.

 I found a spot above street level just as the oxen were being led to the head of the parade. Soon I met the owners of one oxen pair, held by a yoke or yunta that appeared familiar with the dress and the process. They were waiting for the rest of the procession. The next float was an altar of gladiolas with inside a toy-sized ox team and ox-driver. They paraded to the front of the church where the altars were then set down. Women pinned small gifts - bags of grapes, peanuts, embroidered napkins and doilies, little doll-sized embroidered shirts and the very traditional multiply-pleated skirts. Each act of giving would reap abundance.

 I made my way past the food stands to the central square. Oddly enough no one sold any corn! Corn sold on the coast has the quality of cow corn. It’s tough and not particularly tasty, definitely not sweet like northern corn. I’d hoped to re-experience the blue corn fed upon at Jarácuaro. For some reason, Comachuén celebrates a cornless Corpus.

Arriving in the central square, I was amazed at the three professional stage assemblies with lighting and sound equipment to rival the best I've seen at any music festival at home. Somehow this sleepy “village” without a single restaurant was paying three bands to play - one a nationally famous recording band, and two others that played at international festivals. I puzzled over this for a while, then recalled that Mexico, and in particular, Michoacán is one of the states that receives great sums of money from “remittances” or earnings sent home from the U.S. Many Mexican expatriates pride themselves on throwing the biggest and best parties back home. Not much had changed in the 25 years since I’d worked in this region. They still didn’t have garbage collection, potable water or proper wastewater or septic treatment, but still prioritized fun!

 Just as the band members were making an appearance, someone began firing off the cuetes , those rocket bombs from hell. They were numerous and low.  The results were surprising. The clouds that had hovered sparsely, moderately high above, now descended and in 15 minutes dumped their load. It was quite dramatic. NOW, I know why they love their cuetes - they “spark” the rain. And rain produces abundance. Somehow understanding this reason for them, made me go away with an acceptance, and a lesser resistance to them.

 I left as the bands dueled for our attention with the thunder and rumble and ferocity of the rains. I didn’t wait to see how they would distribute the wooden chairs and tables and wooden knick knacks manufactured here. I was almost a little worried they might throw them to the crowds!

Mexico City and Teotihuacán

I lived briefly in Mexico City 25 years ago. Back then I worked for the Environment Ministry of government, and knew just how polluted the city was. Much of that problem was due to the 2.5 million cars that moved in and around this mountain valley daily. In spite of its congestion and contamination, I left marveling at the beauty of the city. I returned now to see the ancient ruins of Teotihuacán north of the city, to see the Frida Kahlo exposition of her paintings at the Museo de Bellas Artes, and to re-acquaint myself with the city since my last brief visit 14 years ago.

Teotihuacán is an hour north of Mexico City.  In Nahuatl, Teotihuacán means "birthplace of the Gods". There is debate as to who built the ruins; once thought to be the pre-Aztec Toltecs, now it's realized there were even earlier Olmec influences, believed to be the "mother" civilization of Mexico. Earliest buildings date from 200 B.C. and the largest Temple of the Sun was constructed around 100 B.C.  The culture collapsed around the 6th or 7th Century. Some believe this was due to invasion by the Toltecs, others note that only the noble's buildings were sacked which might have been caused by internal uprising, others note there were extreme droughts due to climate changes.

The site today covers a massive area of 83 km2, and was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1987. It was populated at its zenith with an estimated 150,000 to a maximum 250,000 people. It had no military fortifications, although they conquered throughout Mesoamerica. It was a centre of industry, with jewelers, potters and other craftsmen.

I arrived late in the day after winding through the mountains for 8 hrs from Pátzcuaro, feeling sick and tired. As soon as my feet hit the ground, and I got past the multitude steet vendors, I was energized by the size and magnificence of the site. I sat back and assessed how different these people appeared from the nations of indigenous people I knew from elsewhere in Mexico.

At the entrance lay the steep almost 200 stairs up to the top of the Temple of the Sun.  It was not so steep that anyone who attempted it could not do it. Poco a poco - little by little -  the daily adage a Mexican lives by, and one I've adopted with great results! At the top, I had the inspiration to call Canada on my cell phone. I was hoping to excite friends with my words from this temple of the Gods. No one was home.

Down below I rambled through the buildings on the outer edge of the Avenue of the Dead, marveling at the intricate detail of construction and the artistry still remaining in colour, inlay of obsidian and statues. I left after many kilometers of walkings at closing time, knowing my return visit must be a full day.  Mexico was lobbying to make Chichen Itza in the Yucatán one of the Seven Wonders of the World in the Internet sponsored process; it has so many marvelous sites I'd have trouble making that choice.

I spent Saturday night downtown at a very conveniently located YWCA two blocks off the Paseo de la Reforma, which is the busiest downtown corridor. The next morning, it was quiet. Ever Sunday the 12 or so blocks from the Angel of Independence to Juarez is closed to traffic. There were police at all the intersections to control through traffic. It was, however, open to non-motorized traffic - bikes, roller blades, joggers with and without dogs running alongside. I was in tears at the changes. There was a lack of smog! The air was breathable - no tears, no sinus attacks. This was unimaginable 20 years ago, and probably is not the case any busy mid-week morning!

Along the route, on foot I enjoyed the grandeur of the statues and other monuments. The National Lottery building had white angel wings painted on the side "wings" of the building - extending 200 ft on both sides. The Angel of Independence has stairs one can scale from the inside to a viewing platform. I talked to one biker who never misses a Sunday, and he spoke of the bike trails on outskirts of town that are used by those commuting to factories.  The city and its people are transforming.

Viva la Vida! - Frida Kahlo

What drew me into the city was the 100 yr anniversary of the birth of Frida Kahlo - Mexico's painter of international fame for the feelings she painted, mostly in portraits of herself - with thick eyebrows almost joined and a slight moustache on ever portrait. She claimed there was no subject she knew better. In her short 47 years, only 30 years as a painter, she was the first to convey her raw emotion and pain in the surrealistic images of her experiences.  Around her she painted a Mexico she loved. She had two accidents in her life, she claimed - one was a tramway collision with a building which caused a metal rod to skewer her spinal column and uterus, breaking her column and one leg in several places. The other was Diego Rivera, her husband, the famous muralist.

Several movies have been made about her life (Frida! by Roberto Rodriguez starring Salma Hayek 2004, Frida by Paul Leduc starring Ophelia Medina 1994, Frida by ___ a retrospective mostly of her art 1983). Books are numerous - the ones by Raquel Tibol, a Chilean/ Mexican art historian who lived with Frida in her later years, perhaps the best.

The Museo de Bellas Artes devoted two floors to her art, and another to photography of her. It was a Sunday morning crush to view the work, but worth it. Her skills had evolved in a spiritual dimension way ahead of her time. Her artistry promoted her as one of the world's great by the likes of Pablo Picasso. Her personal charm was also notable, as were her many affairs with men and women. Despite her pain and struggles, she loved life.  My favorite work - The Love Embrace of the Universe, The Earth (Mexico), Me and Señor Xolotl (1949) shows her mothering Diego in her arms as she and her world are embraced by Mother Earth (see at http://www.artchive.com/K/kahlo/kahlo_love_embrace.jpg.html).

For those of you who have missed her exposition, the house she was born in and she and Diego lived in is a museum in Coyoacan, a suburb of Mexico City. This year a previously unknown hidden inner chamber or room was opened after a letter from Frida was opened on this anniversary. She was a true enigma and gains warranted reverence as her audience grows.

Summer in Yelapa

I love returning to the coast after time in that other-world of interior Mexico. There’s a different magic, an excitement or expectation, an anything - goes kind of attitude, an acceptance and tolerance of many different influences, an easy going culture. And there’s a casual beauty of the Pacific coast that’s so inviting. It's home most of the year and a great "reception room" to the rest of Mexico for travelers. I look forward to receiving you there sometime!

Spanish on the Road

I’ve developed some programs to invite students to travel with me while on some of these adventures to see more of Mexico, a way that most tourists would not. I offer two hours of classes daily and conversational Spanish as we travel, and assistance and back-up when you’re conversing in the real world. This Spanish on the Road includes some weekend locations within a short drive of Puerto Vallarta, and some one-week tours that include Pátzcuaro (naturally), San Sebastian to Talpa in the near mountains and through Tepic to San Blas for a cultural tour visiting both indigenous museums and villages as well as natural jewels in the environment (the crystal lake of Santa Clara de Oro and the estuary and river jungle environment of San Blas, renown for its birding).  

Please check the Website http://www.talkadventures.com  to see the further details, or join us in our exciting regular program with activities after classes (see http://www.talkadventures.com/courses/html ). This year we’ll also offer overnight camping expeditions up the river to the waterfalls (http://www.talkadventures.com/activities/html)

Interlude – Yelapa and Beyond

Spring Review and Ruminations

The winter season has flown by, as does much of my time here in Mexico.

It was a wonderful season of very inspired and inspiring students. But it was time to come out of my absorption for teaching Spanish and for Yelapa. I realized how much I also want to travel to other parts of Mexico. This year I booked some weeks away. I went to San Sebastian, my nearest mountain retreat that is a 70 km drive way. Another few days were spent in “magical” Pátzcuaro in Michoacan., or, as they bill it, the alma or soul of Mexico. This was soon after followed by two weeks there again, and I’m now on the verge of spending a whole month there, for some further travels and adventures.

May’s gone, June's here. It’s usually very hot and dry, with no breezes. This year it’s been marvelous, cool evenings and mornings and hot mid-day with breezes throughout.. I hear from my friends in Canada that they’re still waiting for enough consecutive warm days to be able to plant their gardens. As I watch a Hermit hummingbird with beautiful long white tail feeding on a hot pink hibiscus, I reflect on how much I’ll miss this tropical haven. It’s wonderful to see how everything has slowed down .Yelapa transforms from a little village busied by tourist demands to a Mexican pueblo resurfacing to its former leisurely pace, with time enough to watch life go by. That’s the pace I enjoy the most, time to sit and just talk about the passing of a burro, or remark on the growth of the newest baby.

Huichol Easter

I booked time to go to the Huichol (wee-chole) homeland for their Easter or Semana Santa celebrations. After years of getting to know Alejandro, the visiting Huichol artist, and buying his beaded carvings, jewelry and yarn art pictures, and learning some of the customs and various words in their language, virárika, I knew it was time to meet his people and explore their homelands of steep mountain canyons and flat tablelands or mesas. I was all the more thrilled to fly by small plane. We arrived at the ceremonial center of San Andres de Cohamiate, northwest of Guadalajara, at an altitutde of 6,200 ft in the Sierra Madre mountains. This story will be told in a later Blog, as it might have addendum at least if not a sequel soon.

· Note to Reader - the accent mark in Spanish, in Virárika and in Purépechan does not change the sound of the vowel it is on, but instead puts stress on that syllable (eg. vi- RA-ri-ka; poo-RE-pe-chan).

Magical Pátzcuaro (PATS-cooa-ro)

History

Twenty two years ago I lobbied hard to escape the pollution of Mexico City, where I had been working on environmental impact studies, funded by the Canadian government. I was given a chance to work five hours west of Mexico City on the inception of a program to restore quality of the environment in the watershed of Pátzcuaro Lake in the state of Michoacán (mechoacán is nahuatl spoken by the Aztecs for “place of fish or fishermen”). It was an ambitious program and still is.

The lake was the gathering place for the Purépechan natives, who at the time of Spanish conquest were fishers and farmers. They fought against invading barbarians, and against the Aztecs who fought to extend their kingdom, but were never conquered. The Purépechans were very refined in their social organization, some forms remaining today in religious celebrations, public services such as joint community building. Their knowledge of the environment included a soil classification system more advanced than that used today by international foundations. They used copper for work tools not common at their time. Their artisans were organized under chiefs, and even today each town specializes in a craft.

When Cortez arrived, the Purepechan king, Zuanga, denied the Aztecs the help requested to defeat the Spanish. When Zuanga realized his mistake, later accounts report he either drowned himself or died of smallpox. Shortly after the conquest, a Catholic priest named Vasco del Quiroga, became a greatly admired benefactor and guide for the natives who were previously abused and enslaved by the governing Spanish. He built hospitals and organized the already well-trained artisans by town to produce crafts and arts, that today are still produced.

Pátzcuaro Revisited

I arrived for two days in March and was happy to find the two matrons, Antonia y Marister, still running their Posada de Salud (Inn of Health). They are now nearing 80 years of age, still actively running the show and living up to the name for their hotel! Since I had never had the opportunity to explore the region when working there, I now jumped into taxis and plagued the drivers with questions and commands to discover some of the many towns, with their special craft or trade. I was exhilarated but exhausted when I left and knew I’d be back one day.

Well six weeks later I and the traveling cat, Miette, were refugees from the cohetes or cuetes (bottle rockets or firecrackers) of Yelapa’s celebation of Guadalupe, the patron saint of Mexico. We were headed to Guanajuato, to the north of Michoacan. Instead Patzcuaro drew me back as familiar territory, and was close to Guanajuato for a side trip.

I also had planned to do some studies of latinamerican literature and those troubling aspects of Spanish grammar that the books don’t ever explain, and each native speaker, when asked, has a different answer. Well, I didn’t ever go to Guanajuato. I stayed in Patzcuaro, happy with my studies and constantly stimulated with the town and the villages and their artisans around the lake. In two weeks I spoke English with one person. Quite a contrast from the language use on the coast.

A Village A Day

Each day I went somewhere. It took much of an evening to figure out which towns had what crafts and art forms, and much of a morning practicing how to say them – try Erongarícuaro or Cucuchucho or Ucazanáztacua (oo-ca-sa- nas-ta-kwa)!!!”.

Taxi drivers are inexpensive guides in Patzcuaro, and the first ride was to the famous copper crafts town of Santa Clara del Cobre only 24 kms away. Here their historic use of copper has been put to great economic gain. Everything almost can be made of copper. From a key chain, mirror frame, candle holder, huge bathtub, to roofs. You can even go to their workshops to view them in action.

One Monday I went only 10 kilometers to Tócuaro, the town of wood carvers. The town seemed very closed behind high gates and concrete barriers, with no evidence of life. I guess artists like their privacy. I called through one fenced yard and met Jaime and his daughter, Maricela, son-in-law, Freddy, and his wife - all of whom were carving figures of ducks from reeds stacked, bound and dried. Since I have a real bond with marshes and ducks as a former biologist who used to count them in duck surveys, of course, I bought one. I had plans to return with gift ducks for everyone.

I was then directed to another door, marked with a carved moon. Gustavo Orta lived here, Jaime’s brother. He’s a master carver, although it took 20 years away from his home town, and a dream of a tree on a mountain at home that wouldn’t leave him, to figure this out. He’s now well renowned for his masks featured in various magazines such as Mexico Desconocido (June 2005), with a history of expositions in the United States. He works with one piece of wood, often copalito, and can carve complex figures usually representing the devil, a popular theme in Purehepechan celebrations, the dark side with which to contrast the good, life and death. Gustavo likes to speak of the spiritual message and researches ancient traditions. It was clear he felt deeply what he does. It made it all the easier to connect with the artwork. My favorite mask was the devil, horned, with an owl representing protection and snakes surrounding the devil’s head. His prices are very reasonable considering his skills and probable collector’s price in the U.S.

I knocked on another door, just about any one of which would likely be a carver. This one yielded Felipe Horta. No relation to Gustavo. He was very voluble and had many works. Every new question resulted in another corner of the room being presented and new masks uncovered. He started with some older original versions, and the later more advanced work that seemed to show a drastic leap in the quality of work he created. He, like Gustavo, has sold in the United States and is no stranger to self-promotion.  He paints the masks with intricate detailing, like car art and tattoo design. His spiritual connection was not as apparent as with Gustavo, but his works were skilled, blended with modern tastes. I left both wondering how to carry any purchases home by bus.

Another village, Jarácuaro, 2 kilometers down the road from Tócuaro, used to be an island. Sadly, they petitioned for a causeway to be built to link them with the lakeshore. Someone did, and poorly. The road was built right on top of several of the main spring sources (manantiales) of water for the lake. The lake levels dropped drastically. The lake is now a marsh, but the plus is that it’s one of the best places to watch birds. I saw several “firsts” here, such as the glossy ibis – large, deep velvet maroon coloured heron family member and tons of water- walking jacanas – a brown and yellow “coot-like” bird that walks on very long-toed feet on the lily pads over the water

The government sold the newly created land to the farmers, possibly another plus. However, they have been allowed to unwisely hack back the reeds and have plowed right to the water’s edge. The lack of vegetation along the edge of the lake allows sediments eroded by water from throughout the upper levels to flow directly into the lake. The lake is filling with sediments and drying up. These sediments are full of toxins from farm chemical use (fertilizers, etc.) and other sources. The many fish that once thrived here have been drastically reduced in number.

Economically the village is doing well, since it’s served by local transit now every 10 min. bringing tourists and business It’s renown for making sombreros. I didn’t have to walk far to find the first home “factory”. A family business owned by Gloria, with a showroom of hundreds of hats in more styles than I could ever have imagined existed. There were the traditional cowboy hats of the western movies, the traditional Mexican cowboy hat. I found a new hat that all the Mexicans in Yelapa are coveting and people follow me in Puerto Vallarta just to ask where I bought my hat!!.

Gloria showed me how they braid thin strips of palm leave into very long braids. These are then sewn together in very narrow concentric circles or rings. The more circles, the higher cost of production and price. She even modeled a decadent summer fun hat for ladies that I can’t imagine many seriously using since its very wide brim hung down to one’s chest, unless pinned up. I of course left wondering how I could buy a car load and get them to Canada for sale. More curious was the fact that I hadn’t seen very many of these styles before on the coast, and resolved to help with their marketing if possible. Down the street I met María who made nothing but strips of palm used by the hat makers. The townsfolk were very friendly and there was lots of life in the streets.

One day I spent visiting the ruins of the former cities of the Purehepechan empire – Ahuitzio (a-wee-tsee-o) and Tzintzuntzan (tseen-tsoon-tsan). The first ruler of the natives of this area established Pátzcuaro as the seat of the kingdom. He subdivided the rule to his nephews to three zones: Pátzcuaro (shortened from Zacapu Hamúcutin Pátzcuaro (where the stones are found at the entrance of paradise) , Ihuatzio (Place of Coyotes) and Tzintzuntzan (place of the hummingbirds). The rulers of the latter two shifted the ruling center to their towns and built temples.

Ihuatzio is on a flat plane with great views of the lake and surrounding hills. I went with Rogelio, a very personable and knowledgeable taxi driver. It was his favorite ruin site, since it was more expansive and less touristy. We were the only ones there, except for the admissions attendant. He worked out of a small cabin, which had a cedar shade tile roof. The first evidence of this type of roofing I’ve seen in Mexico. Coming from the cedar-infested wet west coast of Canada, I wondered if there was some equivalent wood here that was similarly resistant to bugs and waterproof like cedar. It is used in many wooden cabin in the region.

The site was first occupied by nahuatl-speaking indigenous peoples, then from 1200 to1522 occupied by the Purepechans. Only a small portion of the total 50 ha site has been unearthed, primarily the Plaza of Arms. Today it consists of two 50 ft monuments of rectangular shape. Like many other temple sites it was used to concentrate soldiers, as a meeting place for the tribes in grand assemblies, for games and ceremonies, and some suggest as an astronomical observatory.

Tzintzuntzan was the ruling site of the Purepechan empire at the time of conquest. It’s located only 17 km away from Patzcuaro along the lake, less than 10 kms from Ihuatzio. It is located on an steeply banked hill with views of most of the lakeshore. It is constructed with five circular mounds budded off a long rectangular structure, that stretches a few hundred meters in length. Today there’s a nice museum with information available. The several sources of information I checked vary their views on whether the royals inhabited, whether priests were buried, whether sacrifices were performed. More digging required to unearth the truth?

Both sites are impressive. Ihuatzio has a feel of being more of an outpost in a rugged wind-swept environment. Tzintzuntzan has a more cultured setting suggestive of easier living conditions in a more hospitable environment.

Outside Ihuatzio I stopped the taxi to take a picture of nopal cactuses in full bloom, although this was the driest of seasons. Nearby sat two men looking more like something the wind blew against the stone fences than campesinos (farmers) surveying their fields. They presented themselves with the most beautiful names from antiquity. Cresencio and Magdaleno. They were also very simply beautiful in their manner. Magdaleno tried out a word or two in several languages he had picked up from tourist contact. A little German, only a bit less French than I knew, some well pronounced English, and of course fluent Purepechan and easily understood Spanish. They sat waiting for the rain, to sew the seeds in the fields, and by the looks of them, for a good scrub in the tub. They were relics and the sense of where they came from, who they were, what they represented is etched deeply in my being. It was like I had visited 100 years past with the knowledge, priviledge and comfort of the present. We shared some sense of the collective spirit.

Another day I set out in the VW van public transport or “combis” for an afternoon to the same area to explore the village of Ihuatzio and get to the lakeshore. As the numbers of passengers dwindled, I explained my objective and the driver proposed for a little more money he would be my guide and take me further north along the lake to where one could get to the lakeshore. Most of it was privately owned and not accessible. José Alfredo Pablo Silvestre (“wild” the last name translates) came from Cucuchucho (koo-koo-choo-cho), the last public stop along the lake shore. The name came from cucucheo, the name for the rounded stones which are hollowed out and used to water the cows. On closer inspection, I believe these were the layers of usually igneous rocks that concentrate around some mineral or ore concentrate – like rings of an onion. They fall off.

We drove a bit further north to Ucazanaztacua (Oo- ka-sa- nas-ta-kwa), where a public path led steeply down the banks to the lake edge where cows were given access for drinking. It was not the wild marsh or lovely lake for dipping I had hoped for. The neighbour had chopped reeds to the edge to give his cows a few more feet of possibly edible swamp grass. José Alfredo spoke with great love for the lakeside life and history of his people. He showed me the gray water treatment plant built on a pilot basis in his town by government. One stage used marsh plants that filtered the polluted water and restored it to a higher quality. More of the region needs to be assisted to build such structures.

He spoke of other development problems - the recent invasion of foreigners and nationals who have bought up areas of the lakeshore and built mansions. This was not the “magic” of Pátzcuaro that people came looking for. His town had solved this problem. No one was allowed to sell to an outsider. One man needed money desperately and did. The buyer was ex-militia from Mexico. He brought in machines. The people stopped him from progressing any further. He was given his money back, and the precedent was reversed. The villagers want to maintain the village lands for their families in the form that they collectively choose. I truly hope they can keep this form of socially conscious land planning alive and keep the low-life politicians from selling quality of life in exchange for higher economic value.

Volcán de Paricutín - There’s a Volcano in the Cornfield

I read a children’s story about a farmer in a little village in Mexico, who complained that nothing ever changed. One day while plowing the field with an arado or plow and ox, the plow got stuck in a hole, and then sunk into it as the hole grew, with smoke billowing out. A volcano was growing. This story turns out to be true. The man was Dionisio Pulido and the village was San Salvador Paricutín, about 70 km northwest of Pátzcuaro. I visited the nearest village of Angahuan. As I stepped off the bus, a small wiry old man with a chewed up hat and a dirty white bandage wrapped diagonally over his head covering his left eye, asked me if I needed some horses. He was a guide. I asked if he remembered the volcano. Luck was with me. He was 13 then, and remembered all the details like it was yesterday. Francisco Lazaro Ramirez is now 76 years old. Aside from the knock on the head and an injured eye from a roof caving in on him, he had the vigor of a man many decades younger. I opted to walk to the edge of the lava flow with him. I’m a quick walker, but I was scurrying to keep up.

The smoke from the volcano began at 3 p.m. on February 20, 1943. By 9 p.m. fire was shooting upward and the lava began to flow. Both the village of Paricutín (pop. 40) and the larger San Juan Parangarícutiro (pop. 2000) had to evacuate. By 1952 the lava field had covered 20 sq km. Amazing that there was not a single death.

The lava flow to the north stopped just after it buried the cathedral in San Juan. We covered the distance there in a half hour. It was an eerie spectacle. The church date of 1618 remains visible, and one tower complete with bell, and there’s still access to the altar. Many left offerings and flowers here. The volcano itself is visible in the distance, at least a two hour walk away. There’s a new San Juan (San Juan Nuevo) now located to the south, or due west of Uruapan.

We walked back to town, him still striding along, me still scurrying but fatigued. We watched the village women, all in full long skirts, rebosos (shawls) over their heads, with several kids in tow, headed to the church, all carrying flowers. In the month of May, they pay homage to Guadalupe, the patron saint, with daily flower offerings. There are cabins for rent at the edge of town en route to the volcano where mosaic tile murals depict the Virgen Mary wearing the same local reboso (shawl) as the local women.

We parted just in time for me to catch the last bus. I paid him well for his generous time and history, and left him my new hat. I hope when you get there, he’ll still be there to greet you. The chance is very good. He told me of an aunt who reached 136 years, and another in the family attained 145 years. Sounds like a place where legends are made!

This was a glimpse of a region rich in history and a very unique culture, even for Mexico, full of uniqueness. I am headed there for the month of June to continue to study, explore, meet new people and to write a book. The weather on the coast is truly marvelous, with breezes to cool the days, which are normally very hot this time of year. I hate to leave, but am drawn on by all those things in life I want to do. I’m extending again my return ticket to Canada for another month or so.

In this blog, I’d also like to introduce two features that I hope to run continually – Artist at Work and Yelapa’s Elders.

Artist at Work

Deimoz Rojas Nuñez is 40 years old, born in Santiago, Chile and a resident of Mexico for 32 years, mostly D.F. (day - e- fay for District Federal), and six years here. He was trained in private schools and in art colleges in Mexico City. As a sculptor, he has works spread throughout Yelapa’s gardens and terraces. He has a rare talent to make found objects like rusted machine parts into innovative art. In recent years, he’s turned to painting, with wonderful results. He’s had shows in Taos, New Mexico and Yelapa. Marketing is no artist's strength. He has a pile of highly original and expressive paintings under his table in Yelapa waiting to be bought and an agent in Taos with a supply. Contact Deimoz for a showing deimozarts@hotmail.com when you’re here or in the U.S., Taos, New Mexico. He’s using his creativity now as a teacher with YESI spanish program and having fun with his students.

Yelapa’s Elders

Primitivo García - under revision

Summer Program -Yelapa English Spanish Institute (YESI)

Should any of you be interested in studying in Pátzcuaro, I will be teaching this summer in June and also in August. Courses are also offered in Yelapa throughout this period, with Deimoz and others assisting. We’re also offering San Sebastian in the mountains east of Vallarta as a summer location.

Please view the website for details – http://www.talkadventures.com and note under Courses – Summer Program. Courses are offered year round in Yelapa. Please consult by email or follow the signs from the red brick house on stilts above the village..

Birding in Spanish or “Bird Conjugations”

I came back to Yelapa on the 1^st of November and there were no birds on my hillside grove of trees. I was concerned. The winds from the October cyclones blew down various old trees over the path up the hill, so Lupe had them cleared away and a few others cut down. The bird perches are gone along with the old snags, and the many flowering vines climbing to the treetops where birds fed on insects, seeds and fruits. I’ve since witnessed small flocks and occasional sightings of some of the many birds I know are winter residents here. But by mid-December I was getting very concerned. Don “Capomo”, a committed birder, also complained one day “what birding? There are no birds” when I mentioned I was going upriver.

I teach a birding course in Spanish. I call it “Bird Conjugations”. I researched the family traits, summarized the bird-related verbs (to perch posar or even perchar!), summarized the family, English, Spanish and local names. I initiated it with two students from Toronto, Enriqueta and Jaime. He’s an avid birder and she wanted to study at the same level and would learn the birding terms too, just to be a good sport.

We spent one afternoon learning river birds. The estuary here has just about every heron family member in the North American and Mexican bird guides. It was a great afternoon. Jaime was reading on tropical flock and feeding behaviour and shared his knowledge.

During classes there can be many birds singing or feasting in the trees, or flying by and sometimes right through the class on the patio. Pointing them out to students can be quite a distraction so I have to gauge their interest and the infamy of the bird. But the scheduled birding tour of El Cerrito, the little hill where the school is, with Jaime produced rather poor results. After combing the hill much further up and longer than normal, we saw one bird. Mind you, it was a brilliant red one – a summer tanager. As explanation, the locals posited something about the cold evenings. My nephew, Jason, a big fan or aficionado wrote about my Bird Conjugations premiere, “Perhaps you are saying that the singular bright red bird was, in and of itself, really quite something. How about tree conjugations, bet there were plenty of those.” Yes, it was, and ...Ahhhh! It’s all in the marketing!

The birds appeared more plentifully by mid-January. One pale billed woodpecker (same large size and similar appearance to the pileated back home in the northwest) was working away at the wood of my patio post one day, 10 ft from my office. Brazen but shy of the camera, of course. Nicola, my neighbour, left a message one day after feeding the cat. “At 11:30 a pale billed woodpecker was happily hammering away, upstairs in your bedroom at the structural beams.” It had possibly discovered the army of ants (hormigas) eating my house. Rather than be alarmed, I should reward and encourage him as a natural insect pest solution. Although an overzealous woodpecker might cause more damage in the process, such as one in Canada which fed on my telephone post. It had stripped all the brightly coloured plastic right off the copper wires, making it non-functional!

Fish Story

I learned to scale a fish today. No wonder I never did it before. There was blood and a mess. It was my blood. The fish was pargo, a very nice white fish (top feeder) but its fins had these nasty two-inch spines that made scaling a kamikaze task.

I live on the coast and I decided I must eat fish more often, so I have to learn to cope with the obstacles to preparing them. At least they sell them gutted! Friends David and his partner, Susan, a reputable chef, invited me once for a fish dinner. When I arrived, he looked a little apologetic when he told me, “Susan’s naked at the sink scaling the fish.” I knew her to be somewhat dramatic and it suited her style. As I emerged from the kitchen after my first attempt, with scales in my hair, scales stuck to my neck, and scales stuck to the kitten playing on the floor, I realized my only mistake was not to get buck-naked!

Trees in the Buildings, None in the Parks

I wrote last journal entry about the treed parks in Vallarta being converted to underground parking lots. One old building nearby, however, had a tree right through the red brick wall, leaving lots of room around it for growth. I was impressed. I returned to get a good picture and couldn’t find it anywhere. Fred, my Irish student from Winnipeg, and I walked many blocks until I finally saw the building and the tree. It was becoming an art gallery/crafts store. The owners cut the side limbs, leaving the main trunk intact, in the two weeks since I saw it last. The adjacent building is the Brazil Steak House restaurant, which is responsible for leaving three full-sized trees growing right its middle.

They sealed up gaping holes in the wall with cement board, bricks and cement snug up against the tree leaving no room for growth. So much for the value they give to trees for the cause of Art in modern Vallarta. Since the politicians don’t care to preserve them in the parks anymore either, we might have to hide more trees in the buildings!

The Crabs are Hungry, very Hungry!!

I have a beautiful baby blue lambs wool zipper-front cardigan sweater, with intricate red crossed design across the chest. When it’s cold, like it can be in late December, it’s the best thing to crawl into late evening or chilly morning. One such day I looked under the blue pareo (shawl) covering my clothes hung on a pipe. The sweater was missing a few inches of collar. I blamed the moths. Isabel, a resident of nearly 40 years here, assured me a moth couldn’t do that much damage, it had to be a crab. I planned to remove the collar and make the best of it.

A week later, I again sought the shelter of this lovely blue sweater. This time I was aghast at the damage done. One whole shoulder was missing. That was one very big, very hungry crab that had been working away at the sweater, and it ate a huge hole through the pareo to get to it, as well. I haven’t even seen any crabs on the ground to get my revenge. They’ve all gone far underground with the cold, having fattened up on my sweater. The skunks burrow deeply to get at them nightly. I should pay them a bounty!

The sweater has gone on to a higher use – it’s a mama cat surrogate to little foster kitties who love its cuddly warmth while being nurtured to kittenhood.

Policing Yelapa

Three years ago the community requested police to control a growing theft problem. The robbers were crack-addicted kids. There were five of them. We knew who they were and we watched them. But they watched us too.

The police came, three of them. We grumbled that they were the ones we had to be afraid of, not the robbers. Instead of controlling the robbers, they seemed to patrol the disco, and enforced a two a.m. curfew. They invaded houses of various foreigners in an effort to arrest or perhaps extort pot smokers, but did nothing to alleviate the robberies.

To be able to arrest any robbers, they had to be caught red-handed. If they were, they were sent to prison. However, the families of the arrested paid very hefty fines and the addicts would be back in town within days. The good news is that one day the fathers said “no more”, and the robbers stayed in jail. It’s been a theft-free year.

The police roamed the town, watched movies at the taco stand and seemed to be unaccounted for any time there was a crime. Every once in a while they would round up Marcos, the known beach pot vendor, and he’d be free the next day. A not very convincing sham.

This New Year’s eve, one American was home in bed having convulsions. His concerned landlady gave the police access to his home. He witnessed them taking his rent money left on the table. How many others who had been robbed had been victims of the police? Kind of ironic, isn’t it? His landlady reported the crime. The police were instantly fired.

The Search for the Perfect Shoe goes on!

In my last blog I reported the great need for good sandals here, and how hard the task of walking everywhere in Yelapa is on shoes, and the feet. I’ve tried the molded foam Crocs which were highly unstable and led immediately to two harrowing incidents resulting in an almost broken toe and a twisted ankle. I tried the traditional Mexican huarache with high quality real rubber tire soles. Too flat.

I requested a search for specific brands and models of sandals from afar. Morgan, returned to Santa Cruz for a week, hopefully to return a week later with some sandals for me. But winter had come to Santa Cruz and there were no sandals. Funny, I called several outdoors stores in Vancouver, B.C. Canada and each had several styles, several models. This winter the incredibly stormy weather in B.C. made the top news story in Canada for the months of November and December. There in Canada where snow is paramount, I found a wealth of sandals. One would think Canadians never stayed home, ¿verdad?eh?

The sandals from B.C. arrived. Gabrielle, fromVancouver, picked up a sturdy, pricey ($70) pair of Columbia Interchange with a back strap. The instant they arrived, I put them on, excitedly looking forward to good arch support. As rapidly, the Velcro back strap tore from its base. They went back to Vancouver on the return trip .

There had to be a Mexican sandal somewhere that would work. I went to Lans, a big upscale department store here in PV. There I found Flexi sandals, that were sturdy, comfortable and moderately priced ($50). They fit wonderfully. I wore them for a day on the hot concrete in PV but at the end of the day hobbled to the dock. Two seams on the back strap rubbed my foot raw. Asha, Nicola’s very resourceful daughter, suggested hammering the seams to flatten them. I gingerly struck the strap on a flat surface. The material was vacuno , from the root word vaca for cow, which I took to be leather. It split open – like paper, and peeled like plastic. I refunded these, too.

I resorted to my stable of flip flops of various makes that have been reliable over the years. The Sunday previous, one four year old pair finally broke, and I walked the streets of Puerto Vallarta bare foot (descalzo) looking for a cheap pair to get me to the dock. Another ancient pair disintegrated on this Sunday’s hike upriver, and I hopped as much as ran over the hot sand, retreating home.

The search goes on! I think I will write to Chacos and Keens and see if they can foot the bill for some advertising space in exchange for sandals! I have seen many pairs of blistered feet in Chacos here, and as many greatly satisfied. Keens with the rubber toe appear possibly a hot bake for the toes in a hot environment. The optimal jungle shoe has not been made/found for Mexico. One old Huichol Indian in San Andres Cohamiate, high in the mountains, had on an old pair of sandals that he looked like he was born in.

Passing of Saul

There’s always that someone you know who’s always there. The first person you visit when you return. That first meal back in the village, I always ate at Saul’s El Tule restaurant. There was never any doubt that you were his friend. He had a very ready smile, a huge heart and was entertaining and witty, and very forthright with his opinions. My kind of people. My brother-in-law Joe and his friends, Alan and Stan, arrived from Winnipeg, Manitoba fleeing minus 48^o C weather. Their first request was for lots of beer and a shrimp dinner.

We headed to Saul’s. There he was, sitting on a chair, in a pink bathrobe, with his legs scarred and blistered from the effects of diabetes. He was ill, but had rallied from being very ill a week earlier. He was very kind and inviting, and welcomed us, and called the cook from home to prepare our shrimp. We chatted. He was distressed by his condition. He had several boxes of medications, but had no clear idea of how much of what to take, and no doctors could be reached. We spent a wonderful afternoon over dinner and wished him the best, since he’d finally reached help by phone. Two days later he died.

I never had any tangible momento of his life to fondly remember him by. I never took a picture of him. I always take zillions of pictures of people. Saul was eternally effervescent and omnipresent, and I never doubted that he’d be there for that future greatest of pictures, that I would inevitably take of him.

The funeral was quickly accomplished the next morning. His coffin was placed in the family tomb next to his mother of 83 years who had passed a few years previously. Many, many people came to grieve and pay respects. He was incidentally gay, and in this community of family and friends, there appeared to be little overt prejudice.

Isabel and Karina, gringo residents of nearly 40 years, and I briefly chatted, lamenting Saul's passing. We also pondered our own place in this village. More specifically we realized our own space in this cemetery might have to be a vertical column rather than a plot. The bodies are piling up in the small panteon.

Life continues in this small village. But there’s a decided lack of lively energy, good humour and good will with the passing of Saul. He was painted once in several poses by a French artist, and T-shirts were made. I'm trying to track down the source and re-print the shirts for all his friends. Put your orders in!

Medical Contributions

Lafaunda and Mark Curtis arrived with two couples of friends from Salt Lake City, Utah to visit recently. They were bearing gifts for the medical clinic. Mark is an MD, who specializes in women’s midlife health- a topic very current and forefront in my life.

They wanted to know what the medical clinic lacked. I read off a list of several items given by Dr. Rafa Real. Some of the items had been on the list for two years.

Dr. Carlos Ramirez, right out of medical college, doing a year of social service here, showed Dr. Curtis's group the clinic and answered questions. “I’m going to cry,” he said, very sincerely, in very good English when the top of the line opthalmoscope (estuche diagnóstico) was presented to him for the clinic. The two doctors had been sharing one private scope. The clinic was also allowed to retire the “tin egg cup” that was used to listen to the fetal heartbeat. Dr. Curtis and wife, Lafaunda and friends donated a digital fetal monitor. They also heard my call for some water bottles and hot/cold compresses. The former are expensive here, as I found out when I loaned my own out on several occasions to families. The cold compresses are nearly impossible to get in Vallarta, and those few are short-lived with leaky seams and other imperfections. The donations were all very happily received.

A week later, Patricia, who has visited before from Calgary, and her husband Lane, arrived with a nebullizer or vaporizer for medications, with masks for adults and special sized ones for children. She also carried a host of additional necessities such as bandages for sports injuries. Dr. Rafa Real was overjoyed. In one week, his wish list had almost been cleared. Remaining on the list are an electrocardiograph and a defibrillator. Donations in lieu are gladly accepted!

Don’t Brush with Tap Water

Three out of three nurses (and naturopaths and homeopaths) here for the medical course used tap water for brushing their teeth. Two out of three were sick. It could have been the 24 hr virus, but … Tap water is creek water with no chlorine, and possibly a few salamanders living in the water reservoir, hopefully still alive. Tap water shouldn’t ever pass the lips! Dr. Rafa Real was wonderfully helpful in allowing observations of patients and in inviting the nurses' input. Although it was only a short week, they had made a contribution and learned a great deal.

A day on the plateau – Rodeos and Hot Springs

The road out of Yelapa rises steeply to the next mountain town of Chacala. It has lots of hairpin bends and even a few turnouts where you back up and forth to negotiate the turn, and then proceed upward. A bunch of us headed up one Sunday morning. Joy, a returning student, arranged the trip with Aldo, paragliding tandem flyer. I came along with a sudden burst of last minute energy instead of a rare Sunday sleep-in. The first stop was the paragliding launch site at 2500 ft or so. The views of Yelapa Bay from here are truly awesome. Aldo dropped off his tandem fare and himself, and Uncle Luciano spent the day with us continuing upward and onward. It’s a very different environment with the altitude. There are lots of oak forests before too long and open savannah with grasses and fields where brahma cows fed. One stop announced a twinned coconut palm, a rare sight indeed!

The nearby town of Chacala was the source of the original six or seven families that today have produced Yelapa - the progenitors of today’s over 1000 people. Chacala is tiny. There was someone grinding coffee in his back yard. An old brick well, with rope and pulley spoke of olden times. A huge buganvilia bush draped over the yard of one family, covering every shrub and tree in the yard, as well as the house, the horse, the dog, and colouring everything a beautifully iridescent shade of magenta.

We headed on to the Aguas Calientes hot springs on the river. The natural pool was cold and very deep. The small trickling falls was warmer, but not hot. The lower pool was man-made and a hose piped in hot water from a natural spring uphill. We enjoyed thoroughly the 10 peso beers (20 in most places in Yelapa, rarely 15) and the lovely contrasts in landscapes. It was a great day in the sun and the rocks, and all went well but for the fire ants which found our picnic. Pretty fierce when they even carry off the bits of onions!

We headed to the Charreada or rodeo in Algodón, back toward Chacala. The village consists of 7 houses and one very large rodeo corral. We arrived about 2 p.m. but very early on rodeo time. They had danced and celebrated until 4: 30 a.m. I had witnessed one Saturday night dance there years ago. I remembered how achingly beautiful and exquisitely Mexican everything was – the coloured plastic streamers bordering the dance floor, the fiercely loud music, hot tacos and a moonlit sky.

This early afternoon, the mariachi band members were just tuning their instruments, and went ceremoniously playing from house to house. They were then led in a parade by dancing horses to the main corral. The horses ‘dance’ with a high step, alternating left front and right back foot at the same time, and the right front and left back foot. It’s a rocking dance step to the music. The music was typically loud, too loud for us to talk, so we picked up the tables and chairs we had in the ‘dance square’ and moved about 30 meters away under a tree, all of us feeling the need for shade and less intensity. We then noticed the a few bulls tied to the other side of the trees, relaxing before their gig.

I explored the little ranchito, joking with my friends that I was going to find my bag with the bathing suit, wool blanket and book I left here 6 years ago. Mexicans are truly so honorable, I was certain they'd still have it. I came upon two women working in an outdoor patio, making tortillas. I told them about the bag I left behind in one of the houses. They agreed it might possibly be around, since they had just returned a bag of a friend kept for four and a half years.

I watched them make tortillas. They used an ancient grinding board and roller type pestle, called a metate which is typically used to crush the hard corn or elote kernels. In this case they were smoothing the masa or dough. Then they pressed a handful of dough into little tortilla circles in a simple hinged wooden press. From here they cooked the tortilla on a comal, a wood-fired stove on bricks. As I ate these wonderfully smooth and soft tortillas, we chatted and in this small world, discussed mutual friends.

Riding on a Bull

The charreadas in Mexico are all about bull riding, and exhibition of the dancing horses, and a demonstration of lassooing calves. The hardest part of riding the bull, it appears, is preparing to harness it in a tiny stall, which can take as much as 20 minutes. At the last moment, the rider launches on-board, and the gate opens. The last rider of our day was glued to a very large white bull. When the rider would not come unseated, ropes were lassooed over the bull, pulling it from all angles, to a standstill. It was guided gently like a dog on a leash back to the bull pen. The rider’s eyes, however, were still rolling.

Love that Loud Music

Mexico is all about music, lots of it. People singing loudly everywhere as they work or walk. Radios play loudly from some part of the town or another. When teasing one of the neighbours about the sounds of love-making carrying around the hillside Colonia I live in, a friend chided that at least the Mexicans play their music loudly to be somewhat discrete. Odd that I never ever guessed what it was all about! To hear all the loud music playing in Mexico, there must be a lot of loud love-making going on!

Jaguar and Día de Amor y Amistad

We’ve raised a little kitty named Jaguar from the age of one week or so. It’s been a collective effort of the vet’s mom, Ani, and many of my students, and my neighbour, Nicola. He was pretty unique and obviously adorable. He had an orangish gray face, black lynx tufts on his huge ears, and spots on his grey body, that made him look his name. Everyone enjoyed feeding him his bottle. We found a home for him and another kitty, who had similar features but older (also a vet adoption), in Boca, with no streets around, on the other side of the river. Missing him and in his memory, I dressed for Dia de Amor y Amistad as a jaguar.

I went a week later to recover the cage left at the kitties' new home.They were both locked under a milk crate with rocks on top to keep the family dogs from ripping them apart. Needless to say I brought them back. A few days later, I brought them to a kind vet in Plaza Caracol in Vallarta who gives away free kitties. It works great for him since there’s lot of traffic in his storefront tienda and his clients all want cat food, shots, and treatment. For those that helped raise Jaguar, you’ll be pleased to know, he and his buddy, were immediately placed in homes where the owners bought top of the line cat food and made appointments for vaccinations !

The foster parenting of kitties goes on. Pamela, the vet and I, will start a campaign soon to keep baby kitties at home with the moms (mortality is high away from the mom). We'll buy bags of food to feed the wild cats, tame and catch them, spay them and release them. Any donations for bags of food and cost of operations would be welcomed!

There’s Something Living in my Copier/Printer/Scanner

I live up a hill on the edge of the jungle. There are relatively few insects now compared to the summer season. I lifted the lid to my copier and prepared to copy a few weeks ago. There in the upper chamber, which appears sealed, there was a wasp and worse yet, it was constructing a nest. It was a very dainty wasp with a rather neat and tidy little nest of only one column. How it got in is a mystery. Where it got its nesting supplies and how it smuggled them in is a bigger mystery.

I needed a special screwdriver to get the top off, which I didn’t own, nor did anyone I knew. The nest grew. The copier light that scanned the page just barely cleared the top of the nest as it grew upward. I finally had Jaime, my genius electrical and mechanical repair guy, come to the rescue. He took it home, removed the screws, removed the wasp and nest, and put new screws with a different head in. Our hero!

Look What’s Coming ...

Another interesting critter crawled in one day, unannounced. Barbara, who lives with nature in the Northwest Territories of Canada, high above the Arctic Circle announced with a laugh one morning, “Look what’s coming over your board!” A multi-legged caterpillar with unbelievably furry extensions like a shag carpet hanging from its sides, boldly nosed over the top of my whiteboard. It looked like a float in a parade with a skirt of fringe hiding the wheels of the trailer!

One caterpillar I tried to pick up years ago looked like it had many tiny lime green pine trees branching out all over its body. When I consulted the local insect expert, Gail, she informed us of the highly toxic tips to those barbed pine branches. She even demonstrated with a prick to the tip of her finger, the resultant pain. It went immediately numb.

I didn’t plan to get close to this new little fuzzy beastie but it was worth a million pictures. You never know what’s just over the other side of your board, ever!

Cine y Cena Movie and Dinner Night

So far after 5 months, we’ve staged many dinner and movie nights and we have been so engrossed with the other members of the group over supper, that we haven’t yet seen a movie. One Friday evening Irma was cooking lots of Castel, or Amberjack filets for 18 of us. Somehow the invitation list just grew and grew.

One afternoon on the beach, I heard a couple of young guys playing guitar and mandolin and singing. I asked if they’d come to our dinner and play for us. The temptation of a good home cooked meal and some payment worked an instant deal. Pablo from a Chilean family, resident of Colorado, and Miguel, a best friend, and musicologist entertained with a great blend of new latino, old traditionals and a variety of 60s to 90s folk and a bit of rock. The highlight was Irma singing Las Mañanitas, the birthday song, with Pablo. I’d never actually heard the proper tune for the verses. Everyone was beaming. I'm sure the tequila, wine and beer helped. We might just give up the movies, and keep singing.

Don’t Just Do Something

I'm trying to minimize the stress and effort involved in the biannual migration back and forth to Canada. I’m pretty fixed on the alpine snows, pure glacial lakes, the beauty of the mountains, the kindness and humour of my friends and the culture in Canada. Not to mention a medical system that provides for my future needs. I might try just vacationing there.

I’m seriously addicted to both countries. I thought I’d look at buying in Mexico while here, and look there when there. The process would trigger some decisions, I was sure. I've been exploring and waiting for the right answer to appear while I process the options. As one friend quoted the Buddha: “Don’t just do something, sit there.” Well, I’m constructively sitting, then.

Another Mexican is Born

Jeff, my neighbour, from San Francisco came back from a trip through the cities in the mountains north of Mexico City. He was so enthralled with the depth, majesty and grandeur of Mexico and its peoples that he wanted to immigrate immediately. He would put up with the loud music, and learn tolerance and become one with something this great. He came over to get the immigration officer’s phone number. He was so humbled and euphoric, that he waxed on and on - about how great it would be to live in a country that he felt this strongly about and that stood for something. Well, he left without the number, but I’m sure he’ll be back… forever. It was bound to happen.

Easter Week - Semana Santa

The winter has flown past, and Mexicans have descended on the coast for the Easter week. Many come for two weeks. The holiday is bigger than Christmas here. I retreated to the high Sierra Madre mountain town of San Andrés de Cohamiate - home to the Huichol Indians. The ceremonies are a spectacular blend of ancient pagan worship woven into Christian history. It was fueled by peyote, brought by peyoteros recently returned from a 300 mile hike to the desert east near Real de Catorze, and tehuino, a beer made from corn. The shamans led processions of Jesus on a cross around the town stopping at the stations of the cross, and into the temple. Outside they tied about 80 cows, bulls, sheep and goats. Saturday morning they sacrificed them in public. This was the blood of Jesus flowing, which was used to bless the gathering. Jesus looked on from the cross, embraced by a tourist, who seemed very much a natural part of the scene. Hope your Easter was as memorable and as thought-provoking.

For future students, past students and others browsing the courses offered at the Yelapa English Spanish Institute, click here. Options for a fun summer program are under development and will be posted soon.

http://www.talkadventures.com

November Hot!!

It was so hot in October and most of November. This followed the hottest June to September period reportedly known for at least 30 years. One of my students, Nicola from Saltspring Island, B.C. announced, “Now I really know why we have eyebrows!”. One hot day in November I witnessed a group of boys, who couldn't give up soccer on a hot day, adapt an odd variant - river soccer. For weeks the Mexican greeting was “Cuándo va a cambiar el clima?”  When’s this weather going to change?

Then one day it did. The night was drastically cold on Nov 20^th – thank God! Gracias a Dios! I brought out the down quilt. Now in mid-December the colder weather begins in earnest and it’s hard to believe it was ever that hot. Nicola now tells me she wears everything she’s got and climbs under the covers to keep warm in the evening, since it’s too cold to work (at her art). Last night at the open mic jam at Mimi’s restaurant, as the temperature suddenly warmed, she went to remove a layer or two and realized she’d be stripping down to her pyjama tops if she did.

The contrasts of hot and cold season, and daytime heat (bikini hot) and nighttime cold (flannel pyjama cold), is hard to believe in Mexico until you experience it. I’m sure Nicola never did when I told her about “winter” in Yelapa. I’m sure even fewer Canadians will sympathize.

Slow Down, you Move Too Fast!

I have decided to not work as hard this year. That’s fortunate, since as you’ll read there are not as many tourists in Mexico. To ensure I keep my promise, I’ve fallen, twice, on my right hand. Hard. So hard, I’ve made the students get up and write on the board. So hard, that I couldn’t type for a month. So hard, I hired a gardener to do the digging. A mason to tile my floors. I like this new life.

Just as I began to think I could accelerate a bit, I hit my left ankle on the ladder coming down from the loft to answer an early phone call. I hit it very hard. I had a very sore and swollen left foot. I recovered a bit, but a few days later I fell in my new shoes and almost broke my right third toe. I think my life is supposed to be mellower than my almost youthful self believes I want to live.

Years ago Byron, one of the oldest Americans here, would shout at me “slow down” as I sped upriver or down to make it to a class I was teaching. He seemed angry. I ignored him. I continued to move quickly in my long, purposeful stride. Well, this year, eight years later, I saw a woman beetling along the path in the village, moving almost painfully fast. She didn’t look comfortable at all. I began to get it! Then one day as I ducked out of a class I was teaching at Ana Rosa’s in the village, to buy some coffee for the class, I heard Jeff, Myra’s American husband, shout “You’re not late!” I laughed and I think now I might just be getting it, maybe. These injuries plaguing me are definitely causing me to tread more carefully, maybe even slow down ... I'll still ignore Byron out of habit.

The Coco Connection

Cocos are diminishing in Yelapa. Or is it Mexico. The drink of the Gods is not margaritas or piña coladas or some alcoholic beverage, but rather agua de coco. It’s pure, slightly sweet, thirst quenching and has health benefits, including healing for sore stomachs and a cure for parasites. They are only sold at the Coco bar/restaurant on the beach in Yelapa. They cost 30 pesos each! That’s almost the price of a mixed drink here with alcohol. In Vallarta agua de coco costs 12 pesos, almost one third the price of cocos in Yelapa

Cocos in the trees aren’t scarce here. No one wants to climb the palms to get them anymore, I was told. Someone broke their leg a few years ago, and since then it’s been a hard profession to sell. The trees are very dangerous to climb. Although I have watched at least one veteran 50 year old Pablo, Galdino’s son, shimmy up in no time, using no protective or climbing gear of any sort.

In Vallarta I asked the vendor at the little store there, where they get cocos from. They bring them from Tomatlan, about a 3 hour drive to the south. He says the palms along the coast in PV are on property owned by the resorts and can not be harvested. Here’s a hot stock tip – invest in cocos!

Enter an American with a good idea. Charlie is a tree limber from Tucson. He has the gear to go up trees. He can climb the highest trees and get those cocos like no one else here. This could be a great job for any local boy. Or for a number of locals going up and down the coast. Coco-busters!

Save the Trees

Three students, Dalia, Marta, Dan, and myself joined Alejandro Díaz for a naturalist’s hike. We focussed on the trees, most of which had poetic native names like huatapil, trompeta, guaco, and pochote. The pochote’s large almond-shaped seeds explode into a puff of cotton fluff the size of a grapefruit. Locals used them to stuff pillows, but it’s much easier today to buy new ones, says Alejandro. We gazed in awe at the largest of the jungle giants, the parota tree. One fills the field near the high school. Each tree has a history that unites people. “You know that tree in the field up near San Sebastian?” I asked Alejandro. Sure enough. When a tree dwarfs almost everything on the horizon, they are apt to be legends.

Philippo Lo Grande, local artist and magician, told me about the recently ousted mayor of Puerto Vallarta. The city and new council are suing him for selling off two shady parks to developers to construct two underground parking lots. The citizens protested to no avail. A block away from one of these construction zones, I saw graphically the importance that locals had given to trees in the past. There’s a multi-storey building of red brick with a tree right through the middle of the brick wall, still healthy with lots of growing room left for it!

Dance it Up!

Pedro came from Ashland Oregon where he teaches Latin dance. He offered his services to the schools. The director of the Secundaria (grades 7 – 9) was glad to have his help but thought we should start with the Mexican cumbía. The 12 year old students were not impressed. They wanted regatón, a rap-salsa-hip hop new beat dance I’d never heard of. At 12 years of age they didn't get the romance in a couple moving too slowly around each other. This group was composed of those who didn’t join the regular “ballet folklorico” that wins all sorts of high school folk dance competitions. Dancing wouldn't be their first choice. "But it was fun and a good cultural exchange. Pedro from Ashland returned and exclained un fracasón - a great failure!! Thanks Pedro for trying to motivate a class of unwilling teenagers to try something new.

Cocinera

Jan from Vancouver did a home stay with Ana Rosa and Ronco. Ana Rosa is a marvellous cook, and Jan was telling her so. Or so she thought. However instead of saying una buena cocinera she told her she was una buena cochinera. A cochina being a swine, in the derogatory sense of the word when used with humans, this was a good laugh. Ana Rosa loved to talk to Jan and her friends since many such gaffes continued to amuse her all week.

Beware the Resaca

Betina and Roberto from Vancouver, raised on opposite coasts, are experienced swimmers who swam at the main beach as much as they could, even despite very high waters and abnormally rough surf. They were both bounced around cruelly one day. They both had a very difficult experience coming out of the water one day, and were dragged back in a few times by the undertow or resaca. They realized fighting the resaca was not the best plan, and conserved their energy for another successful attempt and got onto dry shores. The very high oceans except at full moon are not typical . Even very experienced swimmers should take caution and not underestimate the seas. No one has drowned here, but don’t leave your survival instincts at home!

Shoes in the Jungle/ The Optimal Jungle Shoe

I found my shoe today. It’s a leather sandal, one broad strap across the toes, easy to slip into and very comfy. I last saw it a month ago. I had looked everywhere in the house. I either dreamed it or I actually threw it at some marauding racoon or feuding cats. So, I looked outside in the yard. Although the jungle in my “yard” had been cut back in mid October, it was rapidly becoming a jungle again. Yesterday Eddy hacked it back viciously for an hour or two. While herding the chickens away from my compost afterwards, I thought about my shoe. If Eddy hadn’t come across it, it was gone, I concluded. I glanced along the edges among the weeds. There it was, slightly deteriorated, but with a little tea tree oil rubbed into the leather to fight the fungus, looks new again. I have vowed not to sacrifice any personal items or body parts in my further feuds with the wildlife.

Wherever you go in Yelapa, you need a good pair of shoes. There are concrete and cobblestone paths in the village, but mostly the trails are dirt, dust, rocks, sometimes animal droppings, and in the wet seasons or very high tides, water and mud. Shoes are to survival here what snow tires are to winter drivers. I’ve been trying to find the perfect pair for years.

Some like Bev, my massage therapist, swear that shoeless is the only way to go. Other published professionals also rave about natural posture and no footware. However, the roving veterinarian, Roberto, told me he saw signs of parasites in the feet of children in the next village carried from dog feces. My instincts have always warned me to wear something.

I have tried flip flops, and thrown them away quickly as they’re made for casual wear, not serious trecking in a mountainous village. I’ve tried the various tevas and teva knock-offs and seen the blistered Chaco crowd pass through. I thought, I’m in Mexico, I’ll try Mexican huaraches. You’ve seen them. They’re the leather braided sandals, usually soled with rubber tires. The leather stretches to the feet. But they lack any arch support or heel support and a day spent on concrete in PV is almost debilitating.

I went to my chiropractor last week. He has worn Crocs for 1.5 years and wishes he had a commission for every one he’s referred to the shoe shop. They’re made of some synthetic plastic resin that moulds to your feet. They’re usually bright and quite goofy looking. They’re worn losely, remniscent of toddlers trying on their parent’s shoes. This is so there are no pressure points anywhere. They have a very cushy feel to them. Even the die-hard barefoot Bev has shown me her new Crocs. Last January my friends from Vancouver all came down sporting the newest colours in Crocs and swore by them. So after the Dr.’s words, I went straight down to Vallarta’s Croc shop, and paid 33% more here than in Vancouver. They’re bright lime green, they’re splashy and everyone asked me about them as I strutted. They seemed envious.

I had them less than a week before I slipped on a rock on a path I walk everyday. I’ve never fallen before. The spill was so spectacular and so unexpected, I’ve revisited the site to figure out how I could have survived that fall with my spine intact. Perhaps that’s where my chiropractor receives his payback. Crocs have no treads, or little to speak of, and I find them sometimes hot. I have now retired them for house wear, or just standing around on my patio, or beach parades. I have a very purple third toe, that is fortunately not broken. I’ve had fun painting all my toenails deep purple to match. Should anyone have any great ideas for foot wear (sandals) that have arch support, sturdy materials for soles that don’t wear down quickly, good treads, breathable, don’t cause blisters, please send me a line. URGENT.

Where Are the Tourists?

It’s the week before Christmas and all through Mexico, … we wait for one of the principal engines driving the economy – the tourist. Or better yet, many tourists. A flood of tourists. There are no tourists in Mexico, or relatively few, or certainly fewer than hoped. We’re hoping that changes by Christmas. Mexicans have given up their self-sufficiency and let the tourism industry determine their fate.

First of all, I should not belittle that first wave of Canadians. The Canadian exodus is as reliable as snow in Canada. I once was part of that front of defectors as we drove from Calgary on October 31, 1999 toYelapa. The same B.C.and Alberta licence plates leap-frogged past each other through several states. This year there’s an obvious Canadian population passing through and lots of news from home.

Some thought with a change in American politics this fall, there’d be more euphoria in the populace that would flow south with the new feelings of optimistism. Not so. The streets of Vallarta have been only slightly touristed. Some claim it’s the fault of all-inclusive vacation packages which trap the tourist in one resort and no one leaves to spend any money elsewhere. I had heard about travel advisories issuied by U.S. State Department. Carolina at Tortilla Flats in Vallarta read one and it’s because of the teachers’ strike in Oaxaca, the terrorists in Michoacan and the ongoing Zapatista revolt in Chiapas. These incidents are sporadic and very restricted. To cross a nation off the holiday destination list suggests to me that someone again doesn’t have other news to report or needs a new boogie man to deflect negative attention to matters at home. Please tell EVERYONE you know that Mexico is muy pacifico - very peaceful.

Thanks to all of you especially for coming here!! Spread the word – Mexico is as friendly and safe as it always has been, or more so. Come on down – better yet – bring a friend or a family!

Santa’s Here

“When did Santa Clause arrive?” - ¿Cuándo llegó Santa Claus? - I asked as I stood in an unbearably long line-up to re-connect my phone. There were big and small Santas everywhere in the centro commercial and radios blaring “Jingle Bells” and songs about snow. I thought I had escaped that Christmas commercialism – one of the huge attractions of Mexico. Years ago in Yelapa there were several Nativity scenes in front of homes. These were assortments of sheep, camels, burros and barnyard scenes in miniature with baby Jesus in a manger, shepherds,etc. Now only a few are ever displayed. I only hope there are still some inside the homes. Christmas gift buying and that scene are really reduced here relatively speaking. As more Mexicans return home from the U.S., they come with new customs and possibly more disposable income. Kids even go out trick or treating on October 31^st in Vallarta! The discussion in the line up was lively. Most could not quite put a finger on it, but Santa Claus has arrived in Mexico. Guess what? He looks very gringo.

Work in Mexico for Mexicans

The Mexican emigration dilemna. Most Mexicans don’t stay home to make their fortune. They’ve always been sold the belief that they must be in the United States to make money. I’ve been asking friends here about their families. I would estimate that almost every Mexican I know comes from a family that has lost 50% or more of it’s members to immigration or alienation to the United States. Enrique and Emma had 10 kids, seven are in San Jose. Irma and Angel have three of four there. Ana Rosa’s son, Nelson, and daughter-in-law left their three year old daughter with the grandmas. It’s been a year already. My friend, Estela in San Sebastian has nine brothers and sisters, five are in the US. Of her four kids, three are there. Even her father moved there. Her husband is there half the year. She said if I knew I would be alone as a wife, I would have stayed with my mother!! There are many tales of such heartbreak.

Now the newly inaugurated president, Felipe Calderón, made an election speech where he pledged his commitment to making jobs to keep Mexicans home working. A brilliant idea. How? We’ll wait and see.

I see many foreigners in Mexico trying to figure out how to stay here in this tropical paradise. There are many, many hungry time-share salespersons in PV. Others are starting obvious businesses that are lacking. In Yelapa, no one had a hardware store, even a small one to sell nails, until Robin, an American woman, began one. Angel, my landlord, had always talked about it, but ... There are many people who could start a Spanish school in Mexico. I should be working for them!

What’s missing? I think the obvious is a lack of money to invest. I know my personal small successes have been due to a credit union in Canada that gives all sorts of breaks to small businesses. The Nobel Peace Laureate from India who started a bank to advance loans to small business deserved that prize. I’ve seen many Mexican families get computers and very quickly become wizards in their use. They’re bright and very open to innovation, so lack of training would be easy to overcome.

I guess one New Year’s wish would be that many of the young people who leave will return and guide the way for Mexicans who do want to stay in Mexico. I’ll certainly do my best to help them earn a good living.

Have a great New Year 2007 and peace and happiness to all! Thanks for all your support in 2006 and throughout. Drop a line if you've ideas, comments and news (on shoes, or such like....)

If you’d like to check the particulars of my course offerings please see www.talkadventures.com

August 22, 2006

The summer of 2005 I played and worked in Yelapa for three weeks, when July was one of the coolest, friendliest on record. This summer, friends tell me it was the hottest in at least twenty five years. It started with no rain for over 8 months, and the humidity built up daily as the air and ocean heated up. There was no relief with the much-needed rains until late in July. I now know hot humid. But for all the challenges of the climate, it is quite exceptionally beautiful in the summer. Part 1 is the previous entry. Read on.. for Part 2 of my summer in Yelapa.

Las Lluvias Torrenciales (yoo-vias to-ren-sial-es) – The Torrential Rains

There is now lots of rain. The highest daily rainfall I recorded so far has been 60 mm (about 2.5 inches). The waterfalls in the village deserves now to be the major tourist destination that it is. They ride horses from the beach here daily. When I arrived on the 6^th of July, the restaurant owners sent their well-practiced adult sons to climb up the rocks to the top of the approximately 50 ft falls, where they channeled more of the water from the upper pools to cause a temporary greater flow over the lip. The falls would otherwise have been somewhat of a disappointment. NOW there’s NO need for “padding” the falls. We’ve had classes here daily, and enjoyed the fresh cool water in the pool, and the very low-key non-commercialized restaurant at its edge.

Espiridion, or Piri, the gray-haired patriarch of the family who runs the restaurant, has not changed it much over the last 20 years, since I first came here. Most others would have made it a tourist trap, but to his credit he’s kept the restaurant operation small and very family-run. All the family stop in to eat. We practice Spanish with the family over the remains of their daily fish meal during - la comida - the big mid-day meal. Lunch at noon and supper at 6 pm don’t register as important eating occasions. They eat big mid-day and light, if anything later in the evening.

A large group of us rode and walked to - Las Cascadas -the upper waterfalls one hour up the Tuito River with Alejandro Diaz, our naturalist guide. There was more water than I’ve ever seen in the falls. It wasn’t possible to back into the falls and behind the curtain of water, as we’ve always been able to do. It was still lots of fun for all, especially the young kids, Leonora and Sam, who had lots of help swimming upstream.

One Gringo's Rainhat

Not many tourists and very very few “resident” gringos live in Yelapa in the summer. Chris Moses, artist, loves the summers, contrary to some gringos who find life here hot and dull. He grew up in Los Angeles but lived until last summer’s hurricane in New Orleans, and now resides in Alabama. He misses the beaches of the west coast.

His hat tells a story of ingenuity in the tropical rains. He uses Cuban cigar labels, easily acquired here, and Pacifico beer labels, even more easily acquired, weaves them in the gaps in his straw hat, and lacquers the works. Is it art or eccentricity?

La Virgen de Abundancia

Although I had no students who wanted to study in the cool, tall, green mountains of the Sierra Madres at San Sebastian this summer, I did make the trip a few times myself. It’s a short 70 km from Vallarta. It has colonial architecture and is distinctly Mexican devoid of foreigners.

At the church, there was a mango tree full of pendulous lush mangos. To see them reminded me of my friend, Maria, who was told 20 years ago that she was a – mango madura – “ripe mango” by a Mexican admirer of all women. The mangos here in Yelapa are infected with some bug or fungus that make the mangos fall off before they’re ripe. I have a yard full of fallen guavas and mangos most of the year, not edible and full of insects. So to see this tree in San Sebastian begging to be eaten was too much of a temptation. But of course everything hung too high to be picked. I scavenged below it. No luck.

After a cruise around the main square, I came back to take a photo of a statue of the Virgen, with the mangos in the background. “La Virgen de Abunduncia” the Virgen of Abundance, I dubbed her. Just as I was about to leave, she threw a huge mango from the tree at my feet. Well, that’s my imagination, but the mango was real.

Cakes – Tortas or Pasteles

I had bought a recipe book of cakes or pasteles, that I thought might give Rosita, the town cake baker, some new ideas. She baked a small “test” cake one night. It was flavourful, but dry - definitely not her usual magic. We met again at Rosita’s for another celebration. It was the end of the week, and the first Friday of their new satellite dish – any excuse for a cake. I recalled a low-fat low-sugar pineapple yogurt upside down cake Rosita made last summer. - Dicho y hecho - (dee-cho ee ay-cho) Said and done. She redeemed herself as I knew she would when left to her own instincts. We ate many, many large pieces.

I ordered a “Tres Leches Cake” from Jaime at Pollo Bollo. It’s a rich treat, often served at weddings. Tres leches means “three milks”. It’s a 5-egg white cake which is, after baking and cooling, soaked in 3 cups of 3 different milks (whole milk or evaporated milk, sweetened condensed milk and cream). Then topped with another cup of whipped cream. Add a bit of rum for fun!

The origin is uncertain, the end result divine! Although it’s very popular in Nicaragua, where some believe it originated, the recipe might have come from a label of evaporated milk. Or was it a local tradition usurped and made popular by good old Carnation? An easy recipe found at: http://mexicanfood.about.com/od/sweetsanddesserts/r/treslechescake.htm

The group around the cake grew at every house I visited. We all had at least 2 pieces, I quit counting at three. It was a nice send off to one family study group – the Holmgren parents, Patti and Jorge, hijos “sons and daughters”, Travis and Terra, and friends, Nan and Ina, from Seattle, and Merrianne from Montreal. We sang lots of songs, ate lots of great food, even studied some Spanish and I waved them off loaded down with calories for the boat voyage out with “buen viaje” (boo-en vee-ah-hay) – have a good trip.

Now in Spanish a cake is “una torta” except in Mexico. Here a torta is a sandwich made with a “bolillo” or bread roll. In Mexico, a cake is “un pastel”, which elsewhere is a pie. Here pie is “pay”. We’re witnesses and culprits to the Spanglish that evolves here.

Arañas

One of my students, Ina, arrived with a spider phobia. She was ready to check out first day. But she was working to overcome this fear. Her partner wore a huge spider t-shirt. I thought it best NOT to show her the spider in my kitchen cabinet with a body that measure 3 inches long, with a leg span of 12 inches!! I’ve been told recently that this “scorpion spider” which kills scorpions, in not truly a spider at all, but a relative of the crab. I’ve never heard word of them biting humans.

I have no phobias but I freaked upon seeing a very wooly, thick large spider on my bathroom floor. I instantly killed it with a broom. I thought it was a Tarantula. Wrong - they have smooth bodies. Mine had enough “fur” on its big body to make a Canadian trap-happy. I left it out to identify later, but the fire ants got to it first. I had my chance again Friday night as I prepared supper. As I stepped toward the radio an even larger one blocked my path. The 2^nd spider fatality of the week. This one I stretched out and photographed. It was unbelievably big, the length of a Bic lighter. I could see how one might develop a phobia.

Knitting in Mexico

They can embroider and crochet up a mean doily or a border on a tortilla cover cloth, and even an enticing see-through bikini. But when Christina arrived with a simple knit pattern for a scarf and worked some simple stitches with her needles, they were totally perplexed. It would be an interesting project for any of my future students to bring some yarn and needles to teach them to make some winter sweaters for kids, which really ARE needed here for the chilly December nights.

The Mother of all Storms- maybe - August 15, 2006

A really big storm moved through last night after 3 days without any rain. I got up to the raucous sound of explosions and a light show that would easily put any man-made pyrotechnic event to shame. I draped plastic over my new door to the balcony, and put a wash basin where the one known leak was from this balcony to my downstairs desk. I surveyed the downstairs and placed a few more pots. Miette, the cat, was very wide-eyed and edgey, so I held her through the loudest thunder. I convinced her that the safest place in a thunderstorm was a dry bed, and without fuss we headed under the dry cotton sheets.

I turned off the lights, lay my head down, and “SPLAT” big rain drops smacked me hard on the forehead. The palapa roof could not handle the volume of water of this storm. A meter of the crown above the bed was dripping steadily, and solid thick drops fell, splashed on the bed, on the bed supports above, slid down the electric wiring, and dripped horrifyingly from the bare light bulb. So much for my shelter from the storm. I raced for more tubs and plastic sheets to drape over the bed.

When I stemmed the tide, I joined the cat for a comforting snack – in my case a taco from Ramona’s movie “theater” – a double car-port sized concrete bunker where locals can view two movies a night. In my minimal night wear for this heat, I was soon a target for the tiniest no-see-ums or “gegenes” (hay-hay-nes). In the column of light below the bulb (not still dripping water, gracias a Dios), there were hundreds of these microscopic vampires hovering above the table. Draping a pareo (pa-ray-o) or shawl, around my shoulders, pulling up my knees into my shroud, I sat and read Joseph Conrad’s the Heart of Darkness. I could see how someone could be driven to madness in the depths of the jungle. There’s one summer insect, a cicada perhaps, that cheeeeeerps SO loudly, that the eardrum buzzes. It hurts. Can you imagine thousands of them at once?

Palapa Insulation

I finally broke through the roof of my house. Really, it was the side of the upstairs topanco or loft. The palm leave roof is very thick, so it’s a great insulator and resistent for many years of tropical rains (except for the crown, see above). Each rib of each compound palm leave is split,and then each rib is stacked tight against each other. The leaves of one row go right, the leaves of the next row go left, etc. So that there’s great breathability, and yet immense resistance and insulation. It took an hour to saw through with a hacksaw – not easily destroyed.

From my new door, I have a little patio on the bathroom roof, with stars to count when I can’t sleep, whales and birds to watch during the day. The raccoons haven’t yet discovered the new playground. Miette, the cat, is still surprised to have a new door, since for years she’s been jumping up on the “window” and walking on a narrow rib ledge to jump down onto it.

Gato Amarillo (Yellow Cat) or “Extra”

I’ve had a cat living on my patio for over four years. She arrived when I first opened the school on the hill. Maulliando (mow-yan-do)– or mewing mucho (a lot!). I had many cats in Canada and didn’t want another. I tried placing her to many new homes, but she always made her way back. I reluctantly named her, not wanting to form an attachment. Extra. She has sat in on every class and should be the best trained Spanish student. She certainly has the best attendance record. When I go away for a few months at a time, she suffers terribly. No one else will chop up pork chops, or feed her tuna, or homemade eggs and brown rice and she doesn’t like dry cat food. This spring she refused the fresh fish and chicken Irma and Angel fed her! She was a skeleton when I returned.

Enter the hero – the new travelling vet, Roberto Alvarado, comes almost daily from Vallarta. He has been filling the gap left by Pamela, who is working in Vallarta for the summer. I told him my starving summer cat dilemna and he graciously adopted her. He named her Ripley, after a horror movie about aliens. Those of you who know Extra might wonder about the comparison. She’s charming, playful and very suitable for adoption. She’s always had some skin or other condition to make it tough to export her. So Extra fans will be happy to hear she’s getting top of the line Science Diet food and the best of care. She even lives with a puppy who she has trained to stay in line.

Hiking Adventures – A LONG Short-Cut to Las Juntas y Los Veranos

I’ve been visiting some of the local communities nearby these last few weeks. One is Las Juntas y Los Veranos. Las Juntas are the union of two rivers. Los Veranos are the alluvial plains along a river. The word actually means summer. It doesn’t exist as a geographical term in any dictionary. It’s another traditional word that Rosita and other locals who grew up in these mountains seem to know. And coincidentally lots of local Mexicans spend much of their summers cooling off in the river here. I approached Ramon, my friend and YESI guide, about a hiking trip from Yelapa. He claimed it would take about 4 hours. I added another hour at least to his estimate to be safe.

Ramon and I and Beverly headed out early. She’s another intrepid Canadian who has lived in the wilderness of northern Canada (I don’t mean 1 hour north of Whistler, either!) with boat-in access only, eating moose meat as a staple. The trip to Las Juntas is incredibly beautiful and not difficult since it’s mostly gently rolling river banks and only one stretch of uphill. There are endless crossings of wonderfully cool rivers to soak in. We saw chicle trees, the tree which produces the sap used to make rubber, and saw evidence of past tapping or “milking” of the tree. No surprise where “chiclet” comes from. All went well, very well, even the one uphill climb to the height of land between here and there. But the hours wore on. After we broke down a few times and lay in various pools and snacked on all combined food energy treats, we finally made it to Las Juntas and Los Veranos – 7.5 hours later. Not a casual hike.

Bev, who I credit as having the only pair of truly happy feet I’ve ever seen, walked the whole way without shoes. Ramon and I put shoes on for the long stretches of upland. But these were very few and far between. I have not been toughening up my feet. At day’s end, my feet were very sensitive, mostly at the tips of the toes and the heel,where my feet and shoes collided against each other. I might go totally descalzo “shoeless” the next time. I soaked my feet in hot water, poured the rest over me and massaged arnica cream into my knees. I happily survived with great memories. Ramon chose an hour massage from Bev over cash as payment for his guiding services.

The Orcones River in Las Juntas offers several great swimming holes, jungle surrounding, the town has a few nice restaurants, and two canopy tours or "zip" lines. For those of you not familiar, these are cables hung from platforms suspended from the trees, fairly high up. They were developed to do tree canopy research by biologists in Costa Rica. The recreational use was quickly marketed and there are now several in Vallarta. “Canopy Tours de Los Veranos” has one cable that’s 1/4 mile (about 400 m) and at least 30 m above the river bottom. Muy emocionante. Very exciting. The designer who laid out the course was an extreme skiier and it's built with thrills.

I'm not a thrill seeker. The course was fun and exciting, and handled with such expertise and precise timing by the professional guides that we were finished before I had any time for doubts. Christina and I enjoyed the experience, including the handsome guides, and followed it with play time with the numerous monkeys in their "petting" zoo at the restaurant afterwards. The river is super swimming and basking in the sun. A great place to spend the day.

Yes, we have Frogs and Crabs

I had one student arrive during a power failure. She switched accommodation thinking to go for the “luxury” at the Hotel Lagunita. She booked out of Yelapa on the first boat the next morning, with a brief explanatory note; “There are frog and crabs in Yelapa”. Yes, there are frogs. The toads are on the road. They aren’t a disincentive to most people. I arrived home the other night to have something hop onto a garbage bag on the floor. I pulled the bag, something hopped on me. I jumped and threw the garbage bag. The cat raced for the exit. The greenest bug-eyed frog flew onto my bright blue wooden chair and hung there for most of the night, mistaken in his concepts of camouflage.

The Crab Migration

The onset of the fierce summer rains bring on the crab migration to the sea. The many thousands that annually head downhill didn’t appear this year; some say because of the long dry spell. To hear the story told by some summer visitors, the crabs cover everything – the roads, the walls of your house, and drop off of buildings. Apparently it’s a Hitchcock movie to be made.

This year it didn’t happen, but there are certainly still crabs everywhere. Daily I chase at least one from the sink with my soup spoon. One morning I went to grab a hair clip from inside the mosquito net where I line them up nightly - a red, blue and a brown one. I realized too late the brown one was a crab, waving its angry tentacles at me. I knocked it off its grasp of the net, and it fell on the sleeping cat, Miette, who raced out of the safe shelter looking back at her - poca loca – “little bit crazy” human companion.

Fireworks and Thunder

For years I’ve run from loud noise. Yelapa’s perfect – no cars, and other than roosters, barking dogs and mules and loud Mexican music occasionally, all of which is balanced with the masking noise of surf, insect and bird calls. EXCEPT for the “cuetes” (coo-ay-tes) or firecrackers. Actually, they’re rocket bombs that violently explode. They’re meant to be alarming. The Priest is the culprit. Five years ago I first heard the announcement for morning mass and thought we were in the middle of a war zone. One cuete, after another. The priest was relentless. At Christmas and New Years, we were treated to a half dozen or more.

Everyone’s cats and dogs vanished into the hills. It’s common to see – Recompensa – or Reward signs posted for lost “gringo” animals. This could be a fund-raising technique if the priest wanted to get more church building money. Scare the dogs, find the dogs, collect reward money.

In 2001 the priest and I conflicted on “this charming Mexican tradition”. My cat, Miette, fled to the hills and didn’t come back for 5 days and nights. I went out searching day and night, until I found her – very weak and sick with a respiratory infection that was fortunately cured. I subsequently went to the priest and told him - no es un acto de Dios, es un acto de terrorismo! – It’s not an Act of God, it’s an act of Terrorism. He was surprisingly unsurprised by my announcement. - Tienes que respetar las tradiciones de México- You have to respect the traditions of Mexico, he said. The battle went on for the season. If people didn’t respond to the two rounds of about 300 peals of the church bells, I didn’t think they really wanted to be in church. But he insisted the rockets were needed to wake up those accustomed to the bells. I promised I’d buy an alarm clock for everyone in the village. I was desperate. Some villagers actually said they were not bothered by the noise, a few admitted they liked it.

My objections were even discussed at a Friday evening mass. The priest’s intentions were good obviously – he wanted people in the church, especially the young teenagers and young adults. Drugs were becoming a problem and he wanted them to rally around the church. He even brought a live religious rock bank and had them play one weekend in the church – full volume. At least he didn’t use the rockets that weekend!

My situation was discussed by the dear old ladies in town. Eva at the little “hardware odds and ends” next door to the church would greet me with - Juanita, va a estar cuetes hoy- “Jeannie, there’s going to be rocket bombs today,” she’d taunt me and laugh. And I’d go ballistic. All the ladies downtown then knew how to goad me. I learned to laugh about begrudgingly.

Now other to town have begun to react. There’s a 10 day Virgen of Guadalupe fiesta here in May that is non-stop morning cuetes from 4:30 a.m. on and at various times throughout the day. By all accounts it’s not a restful period. Tourists stay away in droves.

This summer I was witness to some wonderfully amazing electrical storms. The thunder was so loud, my cat of course wanted to run. But it came from everywhere at once. There was no clear direction for an escape. I’ve come to believe that perhaps the Mexican love of loud noise (this extends to much more than cuetes) comes from their indigenous roots and their close ties to nature. The amazing thundering noises of the storms, imitated by the thundering noises of the drums, imitated by the thundering noise of the cuetes.

So, today I read in the Puerto Vallarta Tribune - “Mexico Wins International Fireworks Festival in Vancouver, Canada”. My home town hosts a competition of pyrotechnic wizards “The Celebration of Light” . This year it was Italy, China, the Czec Republic and Mexico. One evening per week for 30 minutes, a country lights up the skies, and sets the show to music. It’s phenomenal. Some might wonder how China, the inventor of dynamite might possibly lose to Mexico. I personally am not surprised at a Mexican victory – all the priests were probably behind it!

Election Results

New developments daily on the Mexican election results. The votes from over half of the election polling stations are being recounted. Many of them are in Mexico City, which has about a third of the population of the nation. Lopez Obrador and his Partido Revolucionario Democratico is staging a one day manifestacion (ma-nee-fes-ta-tion) or protest demonstration for the 16^th of September – Mexican Independence Day. Many Mexicans are digusted with electoral fraud, many don’t want any trouble. Some locals I have consulted want Felipe Calderon under PAN to rule, as was decreed after the initial count, simply to allow the country to move forward. My friend, Piri, who runs the Cascadas Restaurant in town, says that Mexicans have grown used to democracy under 6 years of PAN leadership and now will not accept fraud. It’s a growing nation of people and I look forward to see how they resolve the split situation. What’s very interesting is that they are NOT accepting a stolen election.

A lesson learned.

Hope to see you for the next winter season beginning November. Mimi's teaching classes for YESI school until then. I'm headed back to Canada to lie in the first snowfield in the alpine I find.

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