Going up?

I have not fallen off the edge of the universe, although it can feel that way at times.

It has been a sort of Mr. Toads wild ride for the past two month. The Casa Mas O Menos, after much delay, is finally underway. This little snafu was due to how much re-bar should be used in the second floor ceiling. It has coast us time and money, with the debate between our main guy Chico, Roberto (land owner) who is on a continual downer, two engineers with very different concepts and us, the wealthy but very ignorant gringos. Language barrier is an understatement! In the end we lost part of our design due to safety issues. This was decided by men who show up to work wearing flip flops, no eye protection or have no safety guards on their electric saws. This has been our life basically since we arrived in Melaque, one step forward and two steps sideways, over the dale and through the woods.

Our roof is amazing and we really like the profile of the building now that the ceiling is poured and the stick forest has been removed. We now await the creation of the second set of stairs so we can easily climb up onto the roof and take in the 360 view, awesome. You can see a long ways across the blue sea on a clear day and that my friends is priceless.

We have had a string of friends come and stay at the Hotel Bahia, a quaint little hotel two doors down from us. Two of John's sisters and their husbands will be flying in at the end of the month plus a cousin of mine and his family will be here over Easter. It's all good, if not a bit tiring.

During all of this my laptop stopped being friendly. We took time out of building and entertaining to drive to Colima (2 hours away), the closest Apple Distributor where my iBook has been for the last two weeks. It has been waiting, like a a liver patient for a donor, for an expensive imported new battery. I have been sharing JT's I-pad and laptop and it's not the same, writing on another persons lap top. I have not been in an e-mail mood.

It is now approaching the last day of Carnival but not to fret, Mexico loves a celebration. The Saint Patrick's celebration begins in a few days and lasts through the 21st of the month; this includes a huge rodeo, several banda music concerts and two weeks of knock out loud non-stop hoopla, OH BOY! We may have to head for the hills for a night or two to save what little sanity we have.

Maz Again

Mazatlan has been on and off our places to visit over the years. At first, way back when, our snob-o-meter poo poo'd the colonial seaport as too gentrified, with it's ocean side high rise timeshares, blockbuster video stores, shopping malls and golf cart taxis. It was just a tad too Palm Beach with a Mexicana flare.

Then one year we were too tired to drive any further and discovered the north end of the bay. Quiet with wide sandy beaches, dolphins dancing on the waves and a few small RV parks nestled between the new high rise condos. Our RV park of choice was a bit funky and we made friends with some snow birders from Washington and Oregon who knew the local haunts. Over a few seasons, Mazatlan became a pearl, a precious white sea gem made up of long dog friendly beaches, old Mexican zocalos (plazas) and New Orleanesesque architecture. I could get my culture fix while still having tan time and the dogs had a vast sand dune as their backyard. Mellowed after a day of sunning we would drive into old town and eat at one of the little bistro restaurants on the square and listen to live music, sometimes good, mostly ear piercing and once in awhile phenomenal.

At one point John and I thought about giving up the camper life for a year and renting a small home or apartment in the historic center of town. We looked in the area near the opera house and central market, images of riding our bikes to our favorite fruit and vegetable vendor every morning and sipping coffee under a portico in the late afternoon danced in our heads.

Alas, one fateful December we over stayed our welcome. It was two weeks two too long during the winter holidays, which last more then four weeks and includes non-stop music, fireworks and a general cacophony of noise and traffic, coupled with a major bike crash that left John bruised and battered nixed Mazatlan off to hang destination. The over socialization mixed with injury sent us down the road looking for less gringoized pastures, never to really enjoy the city except for a quick one night sleep over here and there.

This year John's sister and her husband wanted to experience the drive through the wilds of Mexico instead of their usual fly into Puerto Vallarta for a quick surf vacation. They rented a home on the Cerritos end of Maz. and, because our travel time overlapped, we were able to have a private room and bath with a spectacular view of the ocean. The home, which is owned by a couple from Graton rent it on occasion. It is their main residence year round and it feels comfy in all the right ways. There were three couples (John's sister and a brother with their spouses along with 5 dogs sharing a week on the beach). We had WI-FI, a swimming pool, private beach, laundry room, plenty of lounging areas and an upscale kitchen at our disposal. What was not to like? Our routine was loose and soon we were again enamored with the white sandy beaches, evening meals in the local restaurants and family time. We visited old haunts, hooked up with friends, rode our bikes along the malecon and let the dogs rule the sands. Life was a beach!

We are now in Melaque waiting to begin construction on the second floor of our casita and
Mazatlan has once again found a soft spot in our hearts, especially when it is shared with family and friends.

Mexico Prep 2010

The build up towards departure is always a mixed bag. A visceral anticipation of slipping into our flip flops, our white dried out skin exposed to the warm tropical air. Familial farewells and last minute coffee chats with friends leaves me feeling a bit disconcerted. A compulsive anxiety comes over me too. I want all the neurotic care and energy that we put into scouring our home for strangers, something we would not do for ourselves, to remain static. A diorama of 484 Goodman. I desire the weeded garden, refrigerator cleaned and deodorized, all the nick knacks wiped down or stored, scrubbed tile and vacuumed areas behind the furniture to all remain suspended and fixed so that in six months we are allowed to enjoy our home as we left it. No time occurred in our absence. As much as I like to think I can manipulate my environment, mother nature always shows me who is in control. This year there is some trepidation in preparing to head south. Mexico has gotten bad press and we are trying to be level headed about the current events. John follows the news on line, through blogs, chat rooms and off the radar news sources. Our hearts override the gossip in the back news stories. The cartel will not mess with us in broad day light, it’s just common sense; stick to the major toll roads, no night time driving, stay away from the swank disco’s, bars and all places were wealthy narco’s hang and all will be well. We choose this approach rather then toting ammo, camping in Quartzite AZ for the winter or staying in Nor Cal.

Once on the road all our angst and guilt over the remainders on the ‘to do list’ slip and sale past us as we motor down the highway. Sleeping in the camper the first night is a rite of passage. We wake and time is like stretched silly putty, it has little meaning and will be passe when we arrive in Melaque if not before. Stop when we’re hungry, drive until sunset, read, compute. The order of needs and desires are at our whim.

We are number 15 for the day explains the immigration officer at the boarder. It is after 12 noon and there have been 17 of us applying for tourist visas. One Canadian from BC and a very uptight young couple from Austria are in the banjercito office with us. No long lines. A quiet newly resurfaced four lane freeway is outside the glass double doors. We see two motor homes that afternoon, both heading north. Sitting in our truck, AC on, Best of John Prine playing, the dessert stretched before us is placid. Santa Ana is our first stop, refuel, bank, eat and sleep. The family who own the economic restaurant are warm and friendly. The fixed menu is 50 pesos, @ $4.00. We can’t decide on which of the two main courses to order and the very attentive host offers us a ½ and ½ plate. Our dinner comes with soup, rice, beans, salad and tortillas. We each suck down a cold coca cola in a bottle. The next two days are uneventful. People are friendly when we stop to eat or fill up the tank and the roads are smooth as we cruise into Mazatlan. What stands out as different so far is the lack of RV’s. It is still early in the season but for now we are a minority, Americans traveling and camping in Mexico are few and far between.

http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-11/472849/2148051

More from Semana Santa Mexico 09

Today, like all other days, in the Villa Patzcuaro RV park there is an alpine quiet. The air is crisp with pine trees standing at attention. The only chatter we hear is from the birds and the occasional passing car. There are 7 rigs camped hooked up and five of us know each other from Sayulita. Ron and Jill are still with us. They surprised us in Melaque and the four of us plus poochies have been cruising the Michoacan coast and inland towns for the past two weeks. People are starting to move north and the notion is that peace and quiet will reign.

We have seen, experienced and eaten so much it's impossible to relate it all. The beach scene was beautiful on the drive south. We popped in to most of the surfing spots on the way towards Lazero Cardenas but opted to camp in more organized RV spots. The Rancho Buganvilla is a new camp ground about a mile south of La Placita. The owners are from Southern California and it is a clean friendly place to camp. The draw back, and it is a big one, it is a 5 to 10 minute walk down through the jungle to the beach. It's worth the hike though, the beach is long, clean and deserted. Farther down the coast we pulled into a government owned campground. Tizupan is an oasis on the highway. Swimming pool, ocean, bungalows on the beach, 10 back in full hook ups for RV's and a palapa restaurant are literally situated right on the Mex 200. It was a wacky but wonderful place to hang for a couple of nights. Kind of like a McDonalds play land on a major interstate.

Winding our way through the mountains as we hugged the coast our next stop was Las Penas. Spent a night at a very funky place over looking the ocean, again it was a trek down to the beach but the reward was one of the best mariscos meals we've eaten in Mexico. Enramada Gonzales is the first shack on the left as you enter the beach. The four of us and pups sat at a table sipping refrescos, chatting and watching the full moon on the water while waiting for our two appetizers. There was more then enough camerones with all the fixings plus civiche to create delicious tostadas and leave us all rubbing our tummies as we sauntered back up the hill and into the hammocks that are hung on the terrace.

Critical mass hit on Thursday; we witnessed in Playa Azul a continues stream of traffic coming down from the mountains and spilling onto the sand faster then you could say Semana Santa. It was time to head for the hills. We drove a beautiful toll road up to Uruapan, set up camp in the parking lot of an upscale resort, let the dogs run for a while and then got a taxi and hit the town. The main square was set up with an artisan crafts fair that only takes place during Easter. I love it there; strolling and looking at all the wares, the variety of food and the mix of people is a welcome change.

On Easter we took the truck and the four of us drove up to Patzcauro; a bit like lake Tahoe but only tropical, It sits at 7,000 ft above sea level and is a colonial town much like Carmel or Santa Barbara but with out the high prices and tourists. We had a lovely walk around the small square where we found a street side cafe. Sipping a latte and nibbling on a cookie we all agreed that Patzcauro is a tranquil place. When we returned to Uruapan the canons were still going off in honor of Easter and there was a huge party in the hotel with music that could be heard all the way to Mexico City. Snap decision, we packed it up and high tailed it back to Patzcauro and into a simple little RV park outside of town which is now our home for a night or a week. There is lots to see, laid out like any European city with quaint streets leading to big public spaces, cobble stone alleys that open onto a garden or patio with little shops we are keeping very entertained. The big open mercado, cafes and a mix of people make for a wonderful change of pace from bathing suits and flip flops.

Ron and JT have both made mention how nice it would be to wake up on the beach. I feel there is change in the air and we will be driving down the mountain and back to the sea very soon.

We will be in the Patzcuaro area another night or two which means we have wi-fi with pretty decent connection then it's hit and miss until we're back on the beach.

The last photo is of Frida B and me taking a siesta.

From Semana Santa Mexico 09

It feels like we will be driving back to the beach in a day or two. I am ambivalent about moving back down to the ocean. It will be easier on the dogs; having endless sand and surf to run on is much nicer then a leash walk and then a long lead tied to a pine tree. Our skin will soften, nasal passages will clear and no more shortage of breath when we walk up a long street. The waves will once again lull us to sleep and we will have a lot more living space.

On the other hand, there is something about a southern interior Pueblo that for me is quintessential Mexico. Narrow cobblestone calles with white washed buildings, low hung red tile roofs supported with large wood beams is ubiquitous with Mexican colonial architecture. Set against the Spanish city scape are the indigenous peoples. The men, though physically different from the European stock, wear western garb and blend with the Spanish Mexican men. It's the woman; still caring their babies in the traditional blue and black striped rebozo's, swaying in their wide pleated skirts, with pink, orange and deep blue ribbons tied in their long braided hair that add color to the scene. They dawn their white blouses that have vibrant roses or other flowers hand stitched along the collar and sleeves easy, not like us ex-pats who wish to look the part but fall short. There are a few gringos a foot but not as many as in Puerto Vallarta, Mazatlan or San Miguel Allende. It is a purer Mexico, set up for the wealthy tourist from Morellia more then for the gringo from Montreal.

Dinning on any square or zocalo, is an open invitation to continual intrusion; hawkers try to chum you into buying everything from a hand forged machetes to chicalets. JT and I have bought both the saber and gum and much of what is in between. The mercados are a feast for the eyes, ears and nose. Mango's, 2 lbs for a dollar. Handmade tamales, tortillas, pastries, nuts, seeds and unidentifiable things are artfully displayed. Row after row of chili's in varying hues look like the perfect composition for a Zuberan or Vemeer. I want photograph it all and capture the faces and colors but I'm too busy eying the wares, trying to pick up the dialogue between the old man selling woven bags and the mama with her baby yammering for something across the aisle, and skirting the guy running through the narrow stalls with a hind quarter of beef on his shoulder.

The handmade crafts range from pure unadulterated schlock to a blouse or shawl that is a cross stitched work of art. The prices are shocking considering the time that has gone into some of the items. Many things would sell for hundreds of dollars back in the US and here they're asking $20.00. We knew we lost our minds when JT pulled out his tape measure and started taking down dimensions for a hand made double copper sink for our kitchen. No, we came to our sense's, but to dream is to enjoy what the mountain towns have to offer. Hand carved furniture, tin and tile mirrors, table clothes and pottery until it's coming out of your ears are interwoven into the towns store fronts and spill out onto the streets.


This is in the market square in Uruapan. It is known as the Mercado Antejitos or food court

This is one of many shops in Tzintzuntzan, a village outside Patzcauro that is known for it's wood furniture.

One of the larger streets in Patzcauro.

So, that's about it from here. Our little pop up is loaded down with all our new treasures and my camera as well as our bellies are full. Guess IT IS time to return to Sayulita.

Written since sitting in the mountains:

We left the high mountains on Sunday, not sure were we would lay out heads that night; end up south west of Guadalajara in the little oasis village of Villa Corona. VC is known for it's thermal water parks. Chemulco rv & agua parque is located on a beautiful lake and there are three of us camping here. The park is open to the public from 9 to 6 and then the place is all ours. JT and I got up this morning and were the only ones to take a soak in the clean pool. Yesterday was one of the busiest days for this area. It was the last weekend of the Easter holiday and the crowds in the park were staggering, note the photos above.

After two wonderful days in Villa Corona we are back in Melaque and on the beach. All is well and the pups are over joyed with sand and endless freedom. Tonight it's a short walk into the main square for some tacos and then to bed early, ahhh the sound of the surf. There's nothing like it.

Harris Ranch

All is well with our world......



John's sitting at the dining table writing a response to an e-mail from his daughter in West Hollywood. Jessica, plus half of John's siblings, have been expecting us to pass through SO CAL Since mid-November. Being now the beginning of December and we are less then 300 miles from home. Last night we parked at Harris Ranch on Hwy 5. So, at this rate, if we average 200 miles a day we may make Sayulita by December 10TH. To give a little perspective on rate of travel, we have several friends who live in BC Canada and will drive form Vancouver to Sayulita in 6 days. It takes us two days to drive to LA! I'm sure we will pick up the pace, we are very much like our camper, slow and bumpy to start but once on the road everything settles into a nice smooth rhythm.



We are not speed demons on or off the road. Not only do we cruise between 50 and 55 down the freeways, we can go faster but because our camper and tow car are weighted down with cases of wine, books and our entire kitchen; we choose to take it slow for safety reasons. In preparing for this trip It takes us days and weeks to clean our small home, hours to decide what pots and pans to bring and we prune the trees in the backyard and hit the used book store the day before we plan on leaving.



Every year we think we will be on top of it, do a little bit each month so this last minute hip hop dance we do doesn't happen. Next years WE WILL be more organized. Sure.....




In our defense, John was summoned for jury duty and he did promise Sam he would help out with the Subaru business while Sam had some major oral surgery done. The weather has also been really enjoyable in Sonoma County. Cold mornings and evenings but clear sunny days have made it perfect for my girlfriends and I to walk our dogs along the creek, watch the geese fly south and have one more opportunity to meet with my dad and help him set up his new laptop.



Today we will make LA and then soon we will be parked in our favorite campground in Mexico, surrounded by friends, the sound of the waves, and the smell of the ocean.



We have a blog spot that we will post our where abouts, photo's and other tid-bits.




Hope all is well and peace reigns.



Love,
Michele

Many Days

We flew into Luxor on Saturday. After three days in Cairo; the warm wind and swaying of palms is a lovely change. Sunday was one of those travel days that the experience is so personal it is impossible to relay, at least for me.

Memphis (ancient capital of Egypt) is not much more then a ruin the size of a football field. There are a few scattered pieces of sculpture but nothing to show this was once the great city of the Pharaohs. The bus ride out was what I wanted; mud brick homes, women selling carrots on the side of the highway, donkeys, camels and the humans that use them as their only source of transportation were far more colorful and interesting then the limestone fragment of Ramses II.

Our next stop was to Saqqara the home of the oldest pyramid in Egypt. It is step shape; more like the pyramids of Mexico then the great ones of Giza. Driving through lush vegetation of papyrus, date palms and the reeds along the smaller canals of the Nile lulled me into believing that I was in a tropical Africa. The sudden, and I mean one side of the road green and verdant and the other a vast open dessert is no exaggeration, took me a back. The line between life and sure death CAN be drawn in the sand.

Dzojer's step pyramid is situated in the Sahara; which means desert in ancient Arabic, hence it is redundant to say Sahara desert. something I've always done. The sand dunes undulate and the camel riders sit on the crest of a hill looking like something out of 1001 Arabian Nights. If you take there photo, which is why they are there, you must pay the baksheesh/tip/bribe..... It is 75 degrees at 8 in the morning and no shade to be found.

By 1 in the afternoon we are on the plateau that over looks the last remaining monument of the 7 wonders of the ancient world. It is a zoo of tour buses, postcard hawkers, stands to pay for a ride in the desert on a donkey or camel. Below, quiet, brown on brown stand the Pyramids. The sky is huge; bugger then life, bigger then Wyoming, Colorado and Montana sky combined. AWESOME!!!!!!!

So in one day I have to absorb all of this and it is not possible.

Our boat is an oasis. The call to prayer is heard from afar. The speakers hung on the minarets of mosques in the back waters of little towns drone and echo off the Nile. Dry, parched, no green except for the reeds on the bank of the river I sail with the feeling that these views are as ancient as any monument. This is a different world, mind set, sense of how life works. Most people are openly warm towards us; we are the infidels and you see that and also that their warmth towards us is genuine. The men, not all, but many have a permanent bruise on there forehead from the years of kneeling and touching the ground above their brow five times a day ever sense they can remember. I believe it may hold them to this place. It is so in the art of these ancient people; there is this steadfast static unmoving quality.

I love the sailing. Spending time on the open deck and taking in the full moon and knowing people have traveled this water for over 5,000 years. It suits me, the hot dry climate, the eggplant, rice and dates. I'm also keenly aware that I enjoy it because I can leave it. I am free to view with out taking part. My mom and I have been blocked by a group of men from entering an elevator that we pushed the button for. The chef refused to make eye contact and had to use every ounce of energy to serve this foreign, unveiled woman. He glowed and openly smiled and spoke to the man next in line behind me. I have never felt so invisible. What a feeling of humility and loss and yet there is something moving about this place.

This is our last night in Aswan. We flew early this morning over the high dam to view the temple of Abu Simbel. Again, how do I describe the monumental feet of the original design, construction and art AND the ability for us to move a mountain 240 meters up hill as not to loose it when the waters flooded the valley and gave Egypt a chance to enter the modern world.

Back to Cairo tomorrow for another two nights and then on to Paris.

Home is just around the corner. I can smell John's BBQ in the back yard and here Frida and Figaro's excitement when I pull in to the drive.