Mexico

Friday Aug. 20th

We've been on the beach and there is a pattern. The vendors of the restaurants set up early, around 9-10 a.m. Then, the tourists are driven in by water taxis. Around noon, the beach begins to either crowd or heat, or both, depending on the season. After a while, the obnoxious tourist from Canada or the U.S. arrive, and they get the gringo price at the restaurant palapas, which I'm sure I'm almost getting. After 6 or 7, the clouds begin to roll in over the mountains. They're definitely rain clouds. Steph and I lounge while the other non-Mexicans clear the beach. She is asleep in a lounge chair while I write. The locals begin to fish by throwing a spun wire with a bob attached to it into the shallow water from the shore. The men working the restaurants are dragging in the chairs and umbrellas while the unknowing tourists wait for the torrential rain.

The mountains are covered with dark clouds and toddlers are sitting on the shore allowing the ocean to lap over their clothed bodies. The sun-stricken, sand-walking vendors of jewelry and other paraphernalia are finally packing up and an old lady with missing teeth asks for help. Pesos. We do help.

Around here, I am grateful for my life. I am fortunate. I have never been stung by a bee.

Mexico

Thurs. Aug. 19th

Now I'm sitting in a bedroom in a beautiful house in the jungle hillside village of Yelapa, a remote fishing town only accessible by boat, just south of Puerto Vallarta. After having arrived in Boca de Tomatlan, the jetting off place to Yelapa, where water taxis are the only transportaton, I find it has grown since my last visit two years ago. The small cove's beach is covered with umbrellas and sun chairs. We are immediately approached by vendors trying to sell us rooms for the night. "Cheaper, cheaper" they say.
We walk waist-deep in water with our bags to follow a man who shows us his "nice, cheap house". Through the muddy trail, under lush woods and flowering bushes, we arrive at a palapa. The concrete structure below supports an open upstairs flat with wooden beams and a thatched plam frond roof. A woman and her child are above, just up the tree house-like stairs. But everything is open and we decide to move onto the road to find another location.
Walking, following a stray dog's nose, we are led up through the hills to an inviting path of algae-covered stone steps, to this house where I'm now renting for the night. The stairs are exhausting! When we reach the top, a nice old woman comes out of her screen door to greet us and quote a price. $25 per night, together. We take it. Our room has tile floors, a dresser and table with a chair, two walls of widnows, one of which is only a screen, no glass. There's a fan and a view of the beautiful bay of Yelapa, fishing boats bobbing and blue ocean water mixing with the brown river that divides the beach from the town. Outside the window are native grasses, flowers, palm trees with unusual-looking orange balls the size of limes. The whistling of birds is drained out by the humming of the fan and the squeal of the cicadas. We walked down those steep and numerous stairs, through the town, across the river and onto the beach. We spend time there until it begins to rain. We again, were drenched by the pour, something of which we're beginning to grow quite accustomed. Our cliff-perched villa with balcony awaits, and the panoramic view of our little fishing village, which in the distance, awaits our private photo session.

Mexico

Wed Aug. 18th

Steph and I landed in Puerto Vallarta, greeted by a lush mountain backdrop and cloudy warm skies. We quickly found our little hotel on the beach and put our things down to hit the streets in search of food.
We happened upon Bacalao, a somewhat pricey sit-down restaurant serving mostly seafood. We ordered smoked marlin tacos and spicy octopus tacos. They came in a corn tortilla with an avocado slice on top, folded into a small wavy metal tray whose grooves fit the tacos like a glove.
We then headed to the beach, run with Mexican tourists and vendors of marionettes, jewelry, tatoo books, blankets and shells. The vendors ranged anywhere from six years to seventy or eighty. These elderly women with their colorful skirts, gray hair pulled back into a pony tail, weathered skin, walking on the beach are strong. I have a lot of respect for someone who has to work into old age.

It starts raining and our sheet and purses are getting wet so we head to the main beach boulevard. We're greeted by a "hey, where ya'll from? I'm from Texas! And my wife and I sell tequila". Steph looks at me with a "what the hell, why not" expression and we go into this man's store where there are shelves of all grades of tequila, mostly 100% agave. We taste 6 or 7 little sips of everything from smokey to fruit-infused. His home-blend is mango, peach and guanabana-infused. After many of his attempts to sell us his blend, we decide to tip and leave.
Making our way around town, we pass shops with pottery, blown glass, jewelry and leather. The men are outside beckoning for our business with "hi beautiful ladies". Some shops were far from souvenier shops. There's often a simple domicile with the woman of the house cleaning, folding laundry or cooking while her children watch TV on a lace-covered couch in an unlit living room.
Then, it begins to really pour. We are running through the streets, soaked, laughing as we wade through the rivers that form on the cobble stone intersections. The rain was a sweet retreat from the sweltering humidity of this dusty town.

reaching chapter 7 in my book

and have 3 editors waiting to read it. this book on living in brazil covers the people, the food, logistics of living there, the lifestyle, the history and the culture, of course. it will include illustrations from my travels and will provide inspiring and useful information about what it's like for a solo female to live in brazil.

what separates it from eat, pray, love is the illustrations and the fact that it is also a guide to living in brazil in addition to a memoir.

my new muse

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8ckfho3e4o&feature=player_embedded

roommate pees in bed

this morning i came home and to see him sleeping on the floor. nothing too unusual for him. then i looked at his bed, which had been disrobed from it's coverings. alas, a huge ring of wetness.
i asked him, when he woke up to declare he was still drunk from last night, if he had actually peed in his own bed, to which he replied, "yes, that's how bad it was".

glad i'm not his partner.

deer steals man's wife

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fVWUaH2mCt4&feature=player_embedded

periodic table of cuss words

http://s3.amazonaws.com/data.tumblr.com/tumblr_l6khp0levA1qz7lxdo1_1280.gif?AWSAccessKeyId=0RYTHV9YYQ4W5Q3HQMG2&Expires=1280933582&Signature=W1jXopnfig6%2B4en04sCGRrjX21o%3D

i'm partial to OGB and CFB