Hard at Work

As most of you know, none of us down here have a job. I guess we are all a bunch of lazy lima beans.

That's not to say we are without responsibilities though. While we spent a good chunk of our first week relaxing and letting the lazy flow like a busted sewer pipe into the Pacific, eventually we will start spending some time actually doing something that perhaps might resemble productivity. While some may say it's a shame to spend even a minute on anything other than hardcore vacationing, it's not fair to call a lot of what we do here "work."

One of the beauties of working for yourself is you work when, how, and on what you want. This allows you to work at a higher level than what is possible when work is shoved into a cubicle at a typical nine-to-fiver. Not only does this generally yield higher quality, but higher productivity as well. And besides, we've got the best office around.

Escorpion

With Joya's arrival we have now moved to the second floor of the building. It's quite a bit more spacious and has two full bedrooms at the sacrifice of not having as much outdoor space under palapa roofs. One night just before we left and as Eric was going to bed he commented that he had found a scorpion skin in the bathroom. Although we knew they could be found around here, we hadn't seen any signs of one yet. I went to check it out and sure enough it looked like the carcass of a scorpion moving up in the world, but I thought just maybe I saw it twitch a bit. I quickly nudged it with my finger and it was off, starting to scurry about. This was hardly a large specimen, but they do say the smaller they are the more dangerous, so we made sure to give it its proper respect.


In the end we used a door stop to put it out of its misery like the overgrown bug it was. All this served a nice reminder as to why flip flops are the footwear of choice here, as scorpions can't go hide in them at night for a morning surprise.

Another one bites the dust...

And so it comes about that I too have fallen victim to the inevitable Mexican ear infection.  I awoke to a throbbing ear "headache", with the occasional "someone is stabbing me with a needle" pain.  After Eric had his recheck at the doctor this morning, we decided that I would be diagnosed similarly, and we bought a spare set of his antibiotics and ear drops for me.  Unfortunately, later that afternoon, ear aching persistently causing me to whine incessantly, I visited the doctor.  Surprise, surprise - I should take the same drugs as Eric!  Good thing I had already started them this morning.

Welcome to the circle of love Jen...

Palabras

After one stomach-wrenching lurch, the plane landed in PV. I was finally here and after the events from the last couple days (quitting a toxic job to try working on my own...from Mexico for the next couple weeks), I was feeling pretty good. I stepped through the sliding "exit" doors, tinted white, to be received by a throng of taxi drivers and tourist officials, clamoring for my business, any business. "You want a taxi-I give you good price" "Where you going, pretty lady" "You need a bodyguard, senorita?"

I smiled, No gracias. Pienso que estoy bien.

Creo que si. Buenos suerte y buenos tardes, senorita.

I wait for the bus and practiced chatting in Spanish with the man who guessed I was headed to Sayulita and very formally wished me a "most magnificent time", in carefully practiced English. As we sped past crumbling bulidings, new construction and pickup trucks full of dusty laborers, I practiced talking to the woman who sat down next me after I smiled to her and carefully said, Este asiento esta abierto." I practiced talking to the man with a portly Corona-belly, who reclined in a lawn chair in the middle of the road, halfway up the steep hill I'd trudged up, searching for the Casa Suenos Del Mar. He pointed up further up the road to a woman who spoke English. Together we pieced together some direction that involved me descending and climbing up another hill. There I practiced talking to a man who pointed me in the right direction, all in Spanish. Again and again I stop, confused by the nameless streets that force me to trade palabras with people of all sorts. Perspiration drips from my forehead by the time I arrive at the house where my friends are staying. Hot, sleep deprived, lost -- but happy. I made a lot of mistakes, but I revelled in the beauty of a language shared, even if it takes a couple (or 14) tries to get it right. The simplicity of shared smiles amongst strangers, as we fumbled to put words into sentences that could be understood and passed around.

Somewhere in my head, tumbles the words of that one poem I learned in 10th grade. Now I can only remember the first couple lines in Spanish, en el muro calor, paloma de cemento, sin embargo, tan vivido... The last couple lines I could only paraphrase, "Isn't it time we started thinking that just being alive demands something of us, big things maybe, or perhaps some simple thing would be enough...words for one thing, household words well worn with warmth."

Jen makes two plates of delicious nachos, piled high with manchego and guacamole (made from perfect avocados purchased for $.20 that morning). Mechanical fans swirl, mariachi blares from a passing car, we talk about nothing in particular as the sun sets and tiny, tan geckos end their day by scaling the ceiling above us to congregate, within the terracota light shade, near the warmth.

That big package from the store.. Jose's Fed up Too

You might think we are joking as to the culinary delight known as our tasteless crackers, but we are not. To prove our point further, we present you Jose, our starving Sayulita begger dog, who now refuses them also. He'll take them in his mouth and just stare at us with a look in his eye which says "Really? This is the best you can do?". Sometimes he breaks them up a bit, but in the end very little gets eaten by our canine pal, so we really have to start digging into your suggestions.


We were in the grocery store again today and I still spied an alarmingly large supply of the giant cracker bags, so someone, somewhere, must find these palatable.


PS. We actually found out a few days ago that Jose's real name is Max. Apparently he followed some of the renters on the ground floor to a village a few miles away. Upon arrival the locals of that village knew Jose/Max and that he was from Sayulita. We still prefer calling him Jose, perhaps for the same reason the villagers prefer calling him Max, he just seems more exotic with a foreign name.

Two Down

I had my own visit to the Doctor today due to some nagging ear pain that was getting worse instead of going away. My ear canal far too swollen for a diagnosis, I have been relegated to anti-inflammatories and a mess of other pills. Worst of all is the request that I too keep my head above water and I'm not allowed to drown my sorrows with any alcohol. So, now begins stage two of my vacation trying to enjoy Sayulita sans surfing and cerveza. I think my goal will be to try my best to match Joya's photographic prowess about town. Perhaps in a couple days I will try and venture back out in the water for a bit with the help of some ear plugs.

If nothing else, I will enjoy sitting on the beach watching my travel-mates tear it up on the waves ;)

Playa de Los Muertos

Thanks to Nic's aural injury and Jen and I growing weary of our own brand of surfing, we spent some time exploring a neighboring beach to the south of Sayulita. We found directions online and also got some pointers from our neighbors on how to get there.

However, that didn't seem to squelch our touristic ability to get lost. Well, lost is probably a pretty strong word considering the Pacific Ocean is always within walking, and to a lesser extent hearing distance. Along the way we got to see a bit of the underbelly of Sayulita. Apparently all the homes aren't has plush and comfy as the one we are renting. In fact, many don't even have walls. We were able to witness a second floor kitchen conversation between a mother and child due to the lack of a western wall on their building. This definitely caught my eye, and if not for already feeling like I was intruding on their privacy by just walking on the road, I opted to not raise my camera.

In the end we found that our wrong turn simply amounted to walking two to three times the distance necessary to arrive at our destination. Somehow after multiple forks in the road we managed to take a path leading directly to Playa de Los Muertos or Beach of the Dead. If that doesn't sound like a good vacation spot then I don't know what is! This beach earns it's name by the cemetery that lies northeast of it. One thing Jen pointed out on our lengthy bus ride from Puerto Vallarta to Sayulita was the number and condition of the cemeteries along the way. She mentioned that it looked that more effort has gone into housing the dead than the living. However, it's fair to say that a number of the cemeteries aren't in that great of shape.

The cemetery itself is nestled into the hillside in it's own private section of jungle. This provides for a beautiful setting for some of the sites, but at the same time the growth and neglect gave me concern for the others. Between the erosion from the extremely heavy rains and the lack of growth control it would not have surprised me to see a limb or two unearthed. While I was careful where I placed my feet as I walked through a cemetery which clearly did not lay out "plots" for its inhabitants, I noticed a lot of trash strewn about. Along with the trash were a lot of weathered decorations and underwater candles. The cemetery definitely felt lonely as if its been a good while since anyone has come by.

After a little bit of research the unkempt feel of the cemetery could very well be the remnants of last year's Dia de Los Muertos (Day of the Dead). In Mexico, the first and second day of November mark days of remembrance and celebration of the lives of those who have passed on. During this time, the family members left behind decorate the graves of their loved ones. Since it's September, that means 10 months have passed since the last celebration. You can imagine what 10 months in the jungle will do to a wreath or bouquet of flowers. Perhaps this is why many of the flowers left are artificial. In some cases, altars to the deceased are created in their former homes and are adorned with candles, skulls made of sugar, and for some their favorite food or drink. They are also known to have fresh water to refresh the weary soul. This could explain the jugs of what we assumed to be water on some of the graves in the cemetery. While most in Mexico commemorate the day of the dead, there are customs for honoring the deceased that are highly localized. I don't imagine we could fully understand everything about this cemetery without conversing with a local familiar with it.

Unlike the maintenance of the cemetery, much care has gone into the creation of some of the grave sites. The headstones are typically ornate and embellished with cherubic statues. Most every grave site is adorned with a crucifix. Statues of Mary can also be found and they take the form of the Mexican rendering of her likeness that you are likely familiar with.

On the other side of the cemetery lies a secluded beach which is excellent for swimming. Rock formations jutting out on both ends of the beach create a protected cove and a sense of privacy for the handful of people that are willing to abandon the glorious surfing to the north. We spent some time floating in the 80 degree water (don't worry, Nic obeyed his doctor and kept his head above water) and appreciating the new scenery in the much calmer waves. This also gave us a chance to hone our synchronized swimming routines and practice our Ariel impressions.