I'll see your treat sandwich and raise you a treat-wich!

How's that 10:15 am cold beer and chips on your patio treatin' ya?!??!?!?! Oh. Real good. After an early showing of the house with some folks from Montreal, I took a break from my scrubbing to enjoy a nice cold Sol and play a little ukulele while gazing at the ocean. I tried counting waves for a while, but kept losing my spot. How lucky am I to be doing this right now? I'm very thankful, and even though I am working to get the house clean, ready and sold, it's still quite a bit of fun to be here. If you are reading this, and you aren't lame, you are welcome to come visit me for a bit.

Let's talk about good ideas. Let's just say you have a 2-wheel drive Nissan Pathfinder, packed with yourself, another gent, and three older women (one of whom is in a wheelchair). What would you do to make the best of that situation? I'll tell you what I'd do for sure - I'd grab some food/drinks, head out to a remote beachfront property (that I don't own) next door to Mighty Fine (my place), arrive at 5 pm en la tarde, get the suv stuck in the sand, and spend all night trying to get it out/sleeping packed in the vehicle. I woke up this morning to find this exact situation next door to me; the 5 of them stuck right in front of the house next door after spending the night, and I had to drive the massive 4x4 that I'm using over some plants to pull them out. It was so awesome. Diego was pissed, cursing in Spanish at them and probably me, and I'm standing there grinning like an idiot - happy that my knowledge (airing down tires, momentum, etc) solved the situation...plus Negrito got so excited he ran over and tripped over his front legs, plowing into me. What a morning. Take that Yucatan!


Recall the man I mentioned before that helps the poor Mayans? He was in Guatemala delivering toys and the candy I bagged up, and David (his employee) needed help running the shop that sells the goods those same Mayans create. I volunteered to be a warm body, did a terrible job selling, but got to chat in Spanglish with people all day - strumming away at my ukulele in the wide door of la tienda. I met the most awesome young man, Manuel, who must have been about 7 years old. He was captain personality, and was trying to sell Maracas to the passing people (by yelling maracas, maracas, maracas at everyone that passed). First of all, I was sad that young kids like this have to work here, but it looked like he was making the best of it. He chatted to me about everything, complimented my playing, talked about the pretty girls walking by and making ass-grabbing gestures to get a laugh. I wish I was loaded so I could set his family up with funds so he didn't need to work, but I'm the exact opposite of loaded, so I just talked with him. What an interesting kid.

I shared the shop with a trio of Cuban women - the Grandma, Mama, and the daughter, who seemed to run the show.  They made tons of jewelry and clothing by hand, and they spoke a brand of spanish much faster than the mexican spanish I'm struggling to follow.  They were very sweet, and offered to custom-make me a shirt, although they couldn't believe I wouldn't want any pockets on it.  I also saw (and this is without dispute) the cutest little girl I have ever seen, and she was carrying a puppy to make it worse.  She had to be 4, had super dark hair in wavy chunks, the deepest big dark eyes every made, and she was a little pouty.  I didn't have a camera, so I did a police re-enactment in the picture here.  Now, keep in mind this girl isn't even CLOSE to how cute this girl/puppy combo was (the real thing had no unibrow, for example) but you get the idea.  Let's just say, any kid I could hope to have (and I was a cute kid) would be used as rags to line the bed of this girl's puppy to catch pee.  If they had a cute kid contest, where kids would come up and be judged against this girl and her puppy, they would be cast into the abyss like that Monty Python movie with the bridge and the questions.  It was that bad. 

I had the surprise pleasure of riding with the grandma and granddaughter to Merida to look for fabric for my shirt, and then took a sketchy bus ride home complete with that guy on the bus that keeps turning around to look at you thing.  I love that.  What I actually did love, was all the senoritas running around in Merida.  Whoa.  I was warned that I would be in trouble down here (and I'm behaving myself), but there are a lot of pretty ladies.  When I chat with the guys here, they are bored with their morenas, and are after the blond girls with blue eyes.  Interesting how we yearn for the rare.  I'm hoping that the weeping sores I have on my body will keep them at bay.  Later jacksons!

Fayleece Navi duh

Oh boy!  Let me start this off by saying - I'm really hungry.  Yesterday I had what may be the most fluent and congruent conversation in Spanish with Diego that I've had thus far.  I can attribute most of this I believe to the wine I'd had up to that point, it's amazing how nervous or embarrassed a person can be to speak a 2nd language; to let the words come out.  I think the slight buzz helped.  Diego has decided to let Negrito run free (YEAH!) so he can wear down his nails, get some exercise, and enjoy a little more freedom.  I've seen him get swatted by los gatos, run circles around the other local stray or two that wander through, and chase me up and down the long sandy drive to the street.  He seems much happier now, not that you care. 

I've always been impressed by Rappers for many reasons.  First of all, what a sweet idea to put diamonds in your teeth, no?  Consider the female subjects they choose for the music videos they make - I'm in heaven.  The thing that warms my heart the most is a bit of a combo deal...the way they refer to themselves in the third person ALL THE TIME, and with a cool nickname - "Your Boy" or "Ya Boy" or maybe even "Y'Boy".  For example, Holla at ya Boy, naw mean?!  I'm pretty sure this means, "Hey, get in touch with me at a later time.  Do you understand?" Genius.  The first picture here is Ya Boy en Los Estados Unidos.  The second picture is Ya Boy en Mexico.  I hope you can see an improvement in demeanor, color, eyewear, etc.  I've done this to hopefully quell the worries of those who may be concerned about my well-being / happiness (Mom). 

I spent a great amount of time eating, drinking, and chatting with some Canadians at my place on Christmas.  Sheila cooked up a TON of comida for us.  My fridge is stuffed to the rafters, and Negrito gets some of the dark meat from the turkey (ironic, si?) cause I don't like it.  But I do.  Nevermind.  We all wore little paper crowns, talked about everything and nothing, and I learned a lot about Quebecers and the general attitude towards them both inside and outside of Canada.  Martin, you and I will have to chat at some point. 

Now that the holidays are over, I'm looking foward to really getting down to biz on this house-sale thing.  Actually, I guess after New Years.  Right now, everybody I need help from is either traveling in the States, doing things with family, or high.  I've bleached the patios/decks, trimmed back the out-o-control palms, cleaned the HUGE windows (thank God for the big squeegee), etc.  Now I just need to find a rich Gringo to buy it.  Hasta Luego, Amigos.

Why do folks move to Mexico?

These past couple days have been action packed, mis amigos.  Let me preface the stories with saying that most times, if you ask me what day it is - I don't know.  How odd is that?  I used be very aware of the day, because I'd have to know if I was on phones that day, or if I was doing inputs and monitoring the 1003 email box at the office, etc etc.  This is freedom. 

I think it was two days ago I was invited to dinner WAY east of here by a Canadian lady and her husband.  They have a little place on the beach well past the point where the road drops down to one lane, and I was often straddling the shoulder to avoid another vehicle, cruising along in the grass like a champ.  I hadn't been this far along the coast yet, and I really liked it.  The homes were simpler, the beaches less developed, and I almost stopped in the middle of this little town to hang with the people walking between buildings and sittings on stoops.  No gringos to be seen, but I had an obligation to the white folks for dinner, so I continued on.  When I arrived at the place, I spent a good deal of time talking to the guys working outside about my ukulele and the eye problems the poor old dog sitting outside had - la perla.  I'm trying to chat as much as I can with the locals, but I keep getting sucked into the vortex of english by the foreigners.  I think I understand more why our invaders from the south in the States often live for decades without learning the native language.  It's easier said than done.  As far as dinner goes, the food was great, but she spent a good portion of the time complaining that the interior lights were poorly placed, the shower needed a splash wall, etc etc.  Lady - you live on the water in a two story home.  Stop complaining.

Yesterday; let's call it "yesterday" because I have no reference to name it by (and I'm way too lazy to drag my mouse to the corner of my screen to get the date to pop up), I went hunting for a shop owner down in Progreso with an interesting past.  Apparently, this guy was HUGE in the pot smuggling business 20 years ago in the southeast U.S., but had turned his life around by starting a legitimate business here, and donating a ton of his time and money to the poor Mayan people.  (When I say huge, I mean they brought him to an Air Force base during the Reagan administration to grade the pot the government was buying with "scratch-n-dent" paper money in Columbia and bringing in on cargo planes, to see what price they should SELL IT FOR.  Yikes.)  I'm trying to learn more about the history and current sitch with the Mayans, and there are a ton of ruins close by to visit as well.  I'm sure I'll be the only tourist there, maybe I'll go early on a tuesday or something.  I ended up helping this fellow and about 8-9 other people bag up about 200 kilos of candy in bolsas chicas, so he could toss on a Santa suit and deliver them to poor kids locally and in other cities near by.  Apparently, this guy does so much to help the poor in Mexico, several years back the president wrote a letter to the local authorities to help him in any way they could.  This doesn't sound like Mexico to me, but who knows?  As we worked, we talked about all kinds of things.  The young Mexican guys with us said that the wealthy Mexican people, almost entirely, have nothing to do with helping their own poor people.  They claim it's usually the gringos that end up giving any kind of money or labor to improve the situation of the poor here.  This is consistent with what I've heard thus far about the division between lower and upper class.  I know Americans often come across as ethnocentric (what people aren't?) and wasteful and so on...and maybe we are.  However, I would be willing to wager the lion's share of the charitable work and funds for such comes from the hearts and pockets of Americans.  I'm not positive, but I'd put money on it.  More research on this to follow. 

I met this guy through another interesting chap from Liverpool named Andy.  This young man had backpacked across Canada and the States and down to Progreso, hoping to hitch a ride back to England on a racing sailboat and surprise his folks for Christmas.  He had been sleeping on the beach/people's homes/etc and had run out of money a while ago.  He timed the boat ride back poorly, so he ended up arranging for a ride to cancun and taking a cheap flight home his parents sprung for instead.  When he found out my goal was to Peace Corps it up (one day Lord!) he suggested I go meet the Philanthropist-Pot-Dealer.  He showed up at the candy-bagging to say goodbye to one and all before he took off on the bus to cancun, carrying his ratty backpack and a little bag of dulce for the road.  Tamarindo!  Turns out, a couple candy-baggers work on a volunteer basis teaching young kids english, and doing exercise programs with the old sick folks at a nearby nursing home.  They have been looking for a male to help out with the men at the home, and when they resume activities after the new year - I'm their man.  I can't wait to get in there with los viejos enfermos, moving arms around to get the blood flowing and speaking spanish/other dialects.  I think I can maybe entertain with my ukulele and guitar as well, I know nursing homes back home are full of people looking for any kind of stimulation (even if it's off-key).  

After the morning treats, I headed off to the big city of Merida, which is about 30 minutes south of Progreso.  I'm told there are about 2 million people living there, and it's the largest in the Yucatan.  I got myself super lost with a large vehicle on tiny side streets, but eventually made it to my goal: the historic plaza/district.  Domingo en la noche hay muchas personas en la plaza.  There are artists, people selling crafts and clothing, musicians, and a ton of local food.  I spent about 8 hours in total here, just watching people walk and talk and interact.  A fat man named Martin spent a good hour talking to me in spanish while his fat family walked around and explored - I mention their weight because he wouldn't drop it, making jokes left and right about comida y las gordas.  He was cracking me up.  I'm not sure what kind of birds these were, but huge flocks of them would set up in the trees above and make the most interesting noises, it sounded like I was in the jungle.  Were they trying to take back the forest, one crapped-on-head at a time?  There was an enormous cathedral with ceremonies (Navidad related?) on one side of the plaza, an art museum with a contemporary art exhibit.  Let it be known - contemporary art all over the world is crap - not just in San Diego.  What a waste.  As I'm dealing more with people that speak only spanish, I find a smile and good attitude goes a long way to fill the gaps of my vocab.  I managed to hang in there with Martin, order food and explain I wanted it to go, but I didn't need a bag or wrapping, etc etc.  I got my fill of the night life there in Merida, and found it much easier to make my way back home.  For those of you that hung in there through this entire lengthy entry, I made this all up, and the pictures are from a pay site I found that sells pictures of Merida that other tourists have taken for a hefty premium.  Cheers!

Oh yeah! It's a treat-sandwich!

Buenas tardes, interweb.  Once again I find myself staring at the wide back of this gringo lady in the internet cafe, who finds it wise to plug her laptop into the router directly for a "better connection".  I'm wondering if this is the source of my "worser connection"?  I had to endure her on a conference call the other dia with some chaps in the states, it was the biggest load of corporate-speak I've ever heard.  She would talk for a minute straight (loudly on her headset) and I couldn't tell you one thing she actually meant to convey.  I almost had to circle-back to the bathroom and touch base with the action-item coming up from my stomach (which I appreciated and would fast-track to the toilet).  Okay!  Done complaining, let's move on to insane dogs and poor plumbing jobs.

I love Negrito.  He's thin, he's scabby in spots, he's out of his gourd.  What's that Negrito?  You're barking at inanimate objects again?  Great.  Oh, you want to hump me/claw me with your super-long nails from behind while I'm building you a little shelter to keep off the rain and sun?  Have at it.  Knock yourself out.  

I had the pleasure of working on the garbage disposal today, which was super bien - trust me.  It won't run, and I think it's jammed.  Why, you ask?  Could it be the shells and rocks someone apparently tried to grind down the drain some time before I arrived?  Could be.  Es possible.  I borrowed tools from the Canadian/British bloke a km or so up the way, and after I started working on it, I realized that the shells are just the beginning.  The PVC drain pipe looks like it was just shoved into another slightly larger pipe in the wall, and then lightly plastered up - you know, just for kicks.  Smelly water pouring from the wall at the slightest pressure placed on the drain pipe?  Yeah, give me 6 of those in a bag to go!  Long story short, I think I need a plumber.  Creo que si. 

On the book front, I've already burned through one book and I'm halfway through another - Three Cups of Tea, I think it's called (thanks Kim).  Great book, it's about mountain climbing and helping poor kids in Pakistan.  I'm digging it...but not as much as I'm digging rocks out of the garbage disposal.  Yeah!  Hasta luego, Caballeros!  Vayan con Dios!

El dia de los gringos

I built a little palapa for Negrito today.  The wind and rain hit last night like a crazy lady, and the pobrecito just sat out in it and shivered.  I thought I deserved a beer and some yard tools, so I'm in Progreso right now having both.  This particular bar is gringo central, but I can get a beer and free internet, so I suffer. 

The place I'm staying in requires constant cleaning, the humidity is out of control, and there are a couple geckos that kindly remove bugs but leave little turds ( I call them turditos because that's AUTHENTIC ).  I sweep like it's my job, because in a way, it is.  I've almost got the beach cleaned up how a good beach should be, and I'll start bleaching the patios and power-washing the exterior walls soon.  It's so easy to fall asleep here randomly, the heat knocks you out if you lay down for even a few minutes on a couch or rock or whatever.  This works well, because the mattress es como oak planks.  I miss my tempurpedic. 

I've been here a week today, and I don't know where that week went.  I looked under la cama and in my ear, but I can't find it.  It's amazing how time flies even though you don't have a job or kids, etc etc etc.  Last night I tried to learn some sufjan songs on the guitar.  I start writing some great lyrics when I'm out with the wheelbarrow or walking down some random street sweating, but I don't carry anything to write with.  By the time I'm in a spot to record my thoughts, they are gone or now seem like rubbish.  I've also noticed a shortage of black women here, which makes me sad.  Guess what?  I just wasted 4-5 minutes of your day, depending on your speed o' read.  Hasta luego!

antes que nada

I hate the word "Blog".  I just wanted to get that out of the way.  I'm sweating while typing this, but I do it because I love my friends and family.  A few of them want to keep tabs on me, so here you go.  For the record, I am eating well and I still have my  head attached.  There is a lot to do around the house / property,  and I brought a couple instruments to keep myself occupied otherwise.  The people here have been very friendly, but I don't see many during the day unless I go into town.  The homes around me on the beach are deserted for the most part, waiting on rich gringos and Mexicans to come air them out at some later date.  This is what I do when it is really warm mediodia.

I'd also like to set the record straight regarding eating fried fish fins - yes, I ate one.  Yes, they taste like a potato chip (easy on the potato, heavy on the fish).  What more can I say at this point?  I think I've covered it all.  Stay tuned for MORE MORE MORE.