Turtle Time

Went to the turtle sanctuary, Xcacel, to watch Maricela’s thesis presentation (she's an anthropologist) and to see sea turtles do their thing. Work wouldn’t stop, so we arrived late to her presentation, but at least we caught part of it. While we waited for nightfall (turtle action time), we headed to Chemuyil for supper. The town is so cute we wanted to stay there, but there isn’t a single hostel, hotel, or other such public lodging. We had to settle for just a bit of grocery shopping to procure milk, juice, cinnamon rolls, and a flashlight.

A 5-minute cab ride later we were back at Xcacel. Standing around we ate in the company of a bunch of geckos doing the same on the ceiling. It’s a trip to watch, and a relief to know at least some of the bugs buzzing about weren’t going to get a piece of us. After a while, we stepped outside and sat in a semicircle to hear an introductory presentation. It was perfect: detailed enough to give us a good foundation, but not so detailed as to bore.

Once the first turtle had started her way up the sand, we were led to a spot to do some moon watching, giving her a chance to get her nest ready, letting our eyes adjust, and soaking up the amazing views. Even National Geographics can’t capture the breathtaking reality of a moonlit Caribbean shore. Our experience was enhanced with our guide’s contribution of facts relating to the turtle. Did you know that the sex of a turtle is not predefined, but rather determined my the incubation temperature? Fascinating, right? Maricela’s memories of her experience there as a volunteer in 2008, including the best parts as well as the less charming, added a very nice personal perspective to the conversation.

And then we were called over to see our first turtle start to… well, do nothing. It seems she was a bit confused. After digging her nest, she was supposed to start laying her eggs, cover them up, and head back to the ocean. Instead, she dug a nest and then laid nothing. We hung out staring at her rear, about as confused as she was. Then she started covering her nest again, and headed back to the water. From what we were told, it’s possible she no longer has eggs to lay, but still comes out during the egg-laying season and instinctively repeats the cycle. It occurs rarely, so I suppose you can say we experienced something unique.

Our second turtle had already started digging as the first left, but this first stage is not one we can hang around for, so we settled on the beach for more moon watching and stargazing. After a maybe 45 minutes (The whole process takes about 2.5 hours), we were called over to witness how she laid something on the order of 120 eggs. It was completely hypnotic to watch the perfect little spheres drop into the boot-shaped space she had created with her hind fins. As soon as she was done, she covered her eggs, patting the sand down. While she was busy covering, volunteers measured her and took notes, petting her and speaking to her in the kindest tones, just as if she could understand their every word. It was a sweet interaction to witness.

It was after 1 a.m. at that point, so we decided it was time to go. No cabs were available, not even the one that had committed to returning, but fortunately a sanctuary worker came to our aid. The cab came at 1:30 am, so we decided staying in nearby Tulum or anywhere else was pointless, and we headed back with our friends to Cancun. Just our luck, there were no direct buses available, so we wound our way back in a freezing ride that took twice as a long. I think it was 5 a.m. before we finally fell asleep in our own bed. Let me be clear on this: entirely worth it.   

Signs

Who cares where you are as long as you know where you are going.

Dishes

There's something about doing dishes that really accelerates the nesting process. One minute I'm visiting family on an extended trip, and the next, I'm home.

Back and Forth

Today we’re actually meeting with the owner of the apartment. I just hope that once we have a chance to speak to her directly, the process will get easier.

***

Not sure how to gauge this. The owner came and looked at things, measured the stove, commented on things, and gave her workers orders… but only a few little things got done today. So basically her real estate guy was half working, didn’t communicate well with her and, while we aren’t on square one, we also aren’t much beyond it. Oy.

***

We hadn’t been gone for 5 minutes when we received a call saying the owner was there with the carpenter and needed to take measurements. Argh!

We went back to let her in and let her know that this back and forth was just not OK. This time we explained just how many times we had been called back and forth to open the door, and the 30 minutes to an hour that we had to wait each time. She apologized and assured us that would no longer be the case. I want to believe her, really I do, but what are the chances?

Less Than Exotic

We have a visitor! She came on a charter flight, great for inexpensive options, but also for unexpected changes. We misplaced her for a while, but found her with the power of Google—although I think it was actually Opera.

The first order of business was a beachfront dinner. Night or day, the ocean here is beyond gorgeous. Unbelievably, we ended up at Chili’s. Sacrilege, I know. And it gets worse, but I’ll get to that. As for the very non-Mexican fajita banquet, the real point was food on the Caribbean, so I forgive us.

That, however, was not our friend’s only completely non-Mexican experience on her first day. This part, I’m not sure is entirely forgivable. You see, after dinner, we played on the beach and looked at the stars. It got late. Real late. Yesterday had been so busy. We needed an extra set of pillows. And we were out of milk. No other place was open, really! And our friend was tired from her trip. So tired! How could we send her to bed pillow-less and sans milk? So, ashamed though we were, we did it… we went to Walmart.

It’s unbelievable how different today was not. LOL

A 2D Day

What a long day! I worked a million hours with a three-hour break to eat, walk, and reintroduce my body and mind to three-dimensional space. It’s been a mad dash to get a large translation out in time to take a three-day weekend. Right now my head is fuzzy and I know way to much about the inner workings of conveyor belts, but it will be entirely worth it in the end. We're getting our first visitor tomorrow. :-)

We Now Have a Dining Room

Today was sunny and gorgeous. Normal day number two, but I still have a funny bit to share. As it turns out, the landlady decided she would provide a dining room, not originally part of the deal. It seems she had purchased a new one for the home she uses and got a better deal by purchasing a second set for her rental. Lucky us!

So she arrives with her son to delivers said dining room. Despite our previous agreement, she didn’t call or anything, which was fine. Well, fine for me; less so for her. Hubby wasn’t home and I was busy on a project, so she and her son were on their own own with some pretty heavy pieces. After a while, it seems odd to me that they hadn't come in, so I peek. The front door is closed, so I poke my head out… and they are gone. All the furniture was crammed in the hallway just outside our front door.

Odd behavior, to be sure. Hauling it is no problem—had she given us some warning, we would have happily helped—, but I wonder why after a downpour, with the strong possibility of a second rain she would she choose to leave her upholstered chairs and wooden table just lying around like that. Her mind is the center of a tootsie roll pop; the path to understanding it is something the world may never know.

Home Office... Check!

Monday was a normal day like we haven’t had in a long time. Well, I say normal, but we’re just not sure what that means since we’re barely starting to get into a routine. Today’s hassle adventure was getting Internet up and running. It meant standing in lines again for about an hour, but we walked away with fully functional USB Internet connections and two local cell phones. Ahhhhh. Finally ready to work from home.

I like having a coffee house to go to for days I just need to get out, but not having a choice to stay or go was starting to annoy.

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First Beach Day

After 13 days for me, 5 days for hubby, we finally made it to the beach. It's been a long week, so we swam for about 30 minutes and flopped out. Just as we were thinking of getting back in the water, I felt a drop. During the rainy season there is a three drop warning before drenched-o-clock. So there was just enough time to protect our Dallas cell phones. 

We got to find our way home in a delicious warm downpour. I love tropical rain. Of course, catching a cab was a challenge, but one finally took pity on our dripping selves. A soggy evening watching Mr. Bean with the family made for a perfect end to the day.

It's a Miracle!

Finally! The fridge and stove turned out to be real, solid, three-dimensional objects. They arrived on time; early even! The fix it guy is actually FIXING things. It’s a miracle on the order of the parting of the Red Sea! Only this takes longer (damn these guys know how to lollygag), but who cares, we can finally cook!

It’s official. We have an honest to goodness home.

People Take Their Time... And Yours... And Mine

AM

Today we’re actually meeting with the owner of the apartment. Perhaps once we have a chance to speak to her directly, the process will get easier.

PM

Not sure how to gauge this. The owner came and looked at things, measured the stove, commented on things, and gave her workers orders… but only a few little things got done today. While we aren’t on square one, we also aren’t much beyond it.

After this initial meeting, we hadn’t been gone for 5 minutes when we received a call saying the owner had returned, this time with the carpenter, and, of course, she needed for us to come back and open the door for her... again. While yes, I am certainly glad she's actually working to resolve things, it would have been nice if she had at least mentioned she planned on returning the same day or something.

We went back to open the door and politely communicated to her that this back and forth was just not OK. This time we explained just how many times we had been called back and forth to open the door, and the 30 minutes to an hour that we had to wait each time. She apologized and assured us that would no longer be the case. 

So I've decided to believe her... and lower my expectations anyway, just in case :-P

Tourist Syndrome

It was a taco stand kind of evening. The outing took me to Luna Av across the street from the California, where I once live. It was odd to be there, not so much because it had me remembering a distant period of my life spent there, but because it had grown so much that I hardly recognized anything beyond the actual complex. It makes me feel like a tourist.

And you know, in a way I like that there are so many new things to discover. But in a way, it irks me to feel less at home than in years past. On the one hand, it adds a sense of adventure, something I very much wanted and did not expect to have coming here. On the other, its one of my home towns. I have friends and a doctor and a dentist here.  I'm no tourist!

We spent another night at dad’s, since we still have no refrigerator and a busted, rusted stove. And in a way, staying with dad helps alleviate my tourist syndrome.

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His Majesty, the Plumber

Plumbers are their own species, and none of them anywhere seem to feel any urgency what so ever. I guess when you are the one standing between a client and water, you get to call all the shots. 

The plumber arrived 45 minutes late without apology—clearly none was necessary, since he has graced us with his presence. We left him to his work and hit the coffee house to get some work done. Oddly enough, his majesty locked himself out barely after he’d started working, and rather than call someone to request the door be re-opened, he simply left early.

At least he wrote out the apartment fix-it list (again), though we’re still not ready to live at our place full time just yet. The lovely aroma of paint and the inability to cook has delayed things a bit. Soon. Maybe even tomorrow.

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Home, Sweet Home

Today I went to pick up a copy of our apartment contract and fill out a rent application. Then it's off to the notary at 5pm to sign it. Unbelievably, the notary was ready on time as was the real estate guy. I'm still in shock. I almost didn't recognize him, since I was expecting to sit and wait for his ever-tardy butt for at least 20 minutes to an hour.

Afterward we walked the apartment and I got my keys. So that should be it, right?
It took looking at the apartment three times, exchanging phone calls and emails, and going to three meetings to deal with paperwork to finally have a place for us. Somehow I suspect this isn't the end of the back and forth. But hey, we have our own place! Yay!

Where Am I Supposed to Keep the Milk?

Saw the apartment again and took pictures of everything, just in case. And I negotiated a fridge for us. Amazingly, the owner was happy to rent a semi-furnished apartment with no refrigerator… in a Caribbean town. Why?

Frankly, I think it’s easier to live without a bed. With the heat, unrefrigerated fruit actively competes to see who rots first. Not good. And where am I supposed to keep the milk? Downing a gallon or even a liter at a time sounds entirely unappealing.

In other news, poor daddy threw his back out, so I get to continue the back and forth of getting settled on my own. Oy.

I Have a Jedi Master

Heard back from the real estate guy, and we went back and forth a bit. Fortunately for me, my dad is an old pro at haggling. I’m descent at it, but he’s a Jedi master. He predicted the real estate guy's actions and reactions every step of the way, completely unsurprised. It was like watching a professional game of chess. Conclusion: the deal is on! I’ll have the keys on Monday.

The only disturbance in the force is a lack of World Cup on my screen. How do the TV folks decide which games to show, anyway? The semifinal--SEMIFINAL--is not on, so we have to follow the Germany vs. Uruguay game on the radio, Internet and rumors. Poor form, TV world, poor form!

The Llama Song

Here's a llama
There's a llama
and another little llama
Fuzzy Llama
Funny Llama
Llama Llama duck

Llama llama
cheesecake llama
tablet, brick, potato, llama
llama llama mushroom llama
llama llama duck

I was once a tree house
I lived in a cake
but i never saw the way
the orange slayed the rake
I was only three years dead
but it told a tale
and now listen little child
to the safety rail

Did you ever see a llama
kiss a llama
on the llama
llama's llama
tastes of llama
llama llama duck

Half a llama
Twice a llama
not a llama
farmer llama
llama in a car
alarm a llama
llama duck

is that how its told now
is it oh so old
is it made of lemon juice
doorknob, ankle, cold
Now my song is getting thin
I've run out of luck
Time for me to retire now
and become a duck

Almost There

Thanks to daddy’s contacts, we looked at several more apartments, which were nicer, this time locate where I wanted them and still within my price range. I guess who you know will always matter. In this case, yay! We’ll have a home soon; I know it.

Adventures in Renting, the Cancun Chapter

My fourth day in Cancun and desperation has set in. Or is it exasperation? Fortunately, I have a nice plan B that involves a beachfront room. I will say, though, I’m ready to have a home. It’s so insanely complicated down here! It would be less exhausting if I weren’t still adjusting to the heat and humidity.

Let’s start with a reminder that the economic recession is a worldwide phenomenon. The great Golden Age of Cancun (yes, that’s how its known around here) has passed. Real estate agents and proprietors have to offer good deals and earn a client’s business, unlike in the early eighties when people were so excited and desperate to buy that sellers could even pick and choose who to sell to.

Given this reality, one would expect that real estate agents would be available and even accommodating. Well, one would be wrong. Most buildings do not have an office, and when you call the number shown on the building, about a third of the time there’s no answer, a third of the time the number does not exist, and the other third you get an answer.

The response to an inquiry on a property is equally variable. While some answer politely and show an interest, many are flat out defensive. The fear is that you may be another real estate agent. Why that is a problem, I still don’t know. Is it not better to share a commission than to have an empty apartment and no commission? Guess not.

For the buildings with offices, one must understand that posted office hours are nothing more than decorative elements on the door. It doesn’t at all mean that anyone with actual information or knowledge will be there. Heck, it doesn’t even mean they’ll actually be open.

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Sunday with the Fam

Happy fourth of July, USA. Here in Mexico it was just another Sunday sans fireworks. We spent time with one of hubby’s many uncles. His family is huge. We hung out for hours talking, watching movies, eating, and not doing much of anything at all. They’re both fun and relaxed people that are very easy to be around.

Unfortunately the uncle was sick. It must have sucked to cook and grill only to watch everyone else eat while he took his medicine. Kudos to him for being such a great host despite it all.

I loved their apartment, though it’s all but ADA compliant. The steps have a rail on one side and a drop to the abyss on the other. Vertigo, anyone? And the elevator is available from the second floor on. An odd architectural choice to be sure. It was interesting getting my father in law up and even more interesting getting him down. For all the piggyback rides he must have given hubby, he finally got one back.

Back to My Concrete Jungle

Returned to Mexico City with my cousin. On the way I chatted with my neighbor. Nice lady. We talked a lot about food, of course! This time, I took a cab to my in-laws, rather than having hubby come get me. In this concrete jungle, I was quite proud to have found the way home on my own. It’s quite a feat for me in general, much more so in one of the largest cities in the world. And I made it in time to hit the tianguis with my in-laws for barbacoa and eggnog gelatin.

At night we went to hubby’s high school reunion and had a blast. I took pictures all night, we had a bit ‘o cheese (yum), a few drinks, and danced like crazy. The cake was impressive and totally worth mentioning. The icing included a ribbon that looked like 35mm negatives, but with a positive image, each of which was the face of someone in the graduating class. It was truly fabulous.

The lead singer of the band, however, was not. Never mind his atrocious pronunciation—half of what he sang was his little secret or a private dialect known to him and only him. And as the evening progressed, his capacity to hit the right note simply evaporated. Somehow I think that wasn’t water he was sipping on. Mercifully, the woman in the band was good and progressively took over as the crowd got restless. She probably saved him from getting tossed off the stage.

The way home was interesting. Female cops were constantly pulling people over and giving breathalyzers. We were pulled over and released immediately on account of our obvious sobriety. All and all, a great day!

The Hunt Begins

I stayed another night in spring paradise, though kind of bummed that everyone left. But I worked and read and hung out with my uncle, arguing about politics and history again.

Today, the hunt for our home in Cancun begins. We have one guaranteed option in the hotel zone, living on a resort. It sounds great, except that I’ve been there and done that already. Frankly, I want to live in more than just a room. Still, it’s nice to have options.

Living On Vacation

You want to watch a bizarre and very French comedy? We just saw Combien tu m'aimes. Not a new movie at all, it was released in 2005, but it’s one we had never seen. Movies are usually a night thing, I know, but as I’ve mentioned before, this was traditionally a vacation spot for my family. So, I can’t help but take on little vacation habits, like popping in a movie at 7:30 in the morning.

We are not, however, on vacation and Hubby had to head back to the city. After dropping him at the bus station, I walked over to a closed neighborhood to visit grandpa’s old homes. Convincing the guard to let me in camera-in-hand was tricky. Fortunately I remembered enough details and a name or two to convince the guard of my intentions.

One of the homes I couldn’t recognize. I identified two possibilities, based on the lot location, and came to the conclusion that it had either been excessively modified or fully abandoned. No point in taking pictures of a building that I don’t feel connected to in the slightest.

The other house, though, brought a tidal wave of memories. I found myself sighing, laughing, and crying as I walked up and down the sidewalk. It was hard to take pictures discretely, as the guard stressed, but a managed to get a few. What I wanted to do was scale the walls and run through the garden like I had done so many times as a kid. That was not the agreement, though.

On my way back to the gate, I tried to speed up my pace a bit hoping the need to breathe more deeply would help me stop bawling. Everything about that street was so familiar and distant, so overwhelmingly joyful and desperately lonely.

When I made it back, despite having dried my tears, I surely looked a mess because the guard looked at me with real concern. As agreed, I scrolled through the pictures I took for him to approve. My eyes filled again despite my efforts to smile and nod casually. I guess I saddened him because he suddenly mentioned the house was up for sale. He even told me the name of the owners and their real estate company, and also gave me the number to the family’s advisor in charge of selling the house, in case I was interested.

The walk home was long.

Deadly Pear

Today was a calming rainy day. We were in the high sixties, so Hubby was perfectly content, and I was wearing socks and a sweater—we’re a mixed marriage. All was peace and tranquility, until it was time to visit my cousin at the military academy.

As we climbed the mountains, the fog seamed to swallow the peaks. The trees along the highway popped against a completely white backdrop. A few tall ones further back appeared and disappeared like ghosts. At 3,000 meters above sea level with our ears completely clogged while driving basically through clouds, I get to hear all about the pear-shaped La Curva de la Pera, a famous and very dangerous curve that we are headed toward. Nice, right?

I’d say the greatest relief was arriving at the military academy to visit my cousin, but no, oh no. No such luck. After a great visit full of anecdotes and family affection, we got back in the car and started the death ride home.

Our first clue that this would be a less than normal drive was the sudden loss of window control. But hey, it was cold outside, so not being able to roll down the windows didn’t really seem like a big deal… until the headlights decided not to work… at 8:30pm. On any highway, this is bad news. On a mountaintop, it’s a little worse than that. And in the fog it’s something of a nightmare.

We pull over and my three men get out of the car to poke around under the hood. They get back in and we continue, now with working fog lights. A few minutes later, it starts to rain. As my uncle turns on the windshield wipers, the lights go out again. So we pull over again, and again the men tinker with the vehicle. The lights come back!

They get in the car and off we go in the rain, with lights and no wipers, straight into the fog. My poor Hubby’s hand almost got crushed as I sat silently in the back seat with him, trying to hold a supportive smile that said, “I trust everything will be fine.” Of course, it probably looked more like an eyes-popped “Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God! ” But I did what I could. Then headlights go off and we're back to fog lights.

Just as I was about to bend over and kiss my butt goodbye, the headlights came on and the windshield wipers are functional. We got past the crazy Pera curve again, and as we descended, both the rain and the fog were left behind. It took twice as long to get home as it had taken to get to the Academy, but we made it. As far as I’m concerned, I’m getting my uncle a mask and a cape. Today he is my hero.