Lost in the Kootenays after Mexico

There are four guitar players, one violin and banjo, 130 people jumping up and down and me, standing in the back of the room on a chair, holding Maddie in my arms and thinking how much Bluegrass music takes me back to my childhood and parties of musician friends, my dad, my brother and me, all jamming in the kitchen.  It's a pleasant feeling, but I do feel slightly out of place in this eco lodge set in the middle of 240 acres in the Kootenay Mountains.  I shouldn't feel out of place, since I don't stand out physically, and I speak the same language and even have the same eye and hair colour as the majority.  Less facial hair than most though.

Maybe I feel out of place because I think of how I could dance Mexican banda to this 3/4 rhythm, and maybe even meringue to some of the fast tunes.  I am thinking how even though this obscure music genre (globally speaking) has even something in common with Mexican farm music.  I also feel out of place because I can't understand the lyrics and I look at all these happy hairy people and wonder "why do they live way out here in the middle of nowhere and what do they do to support themselves?

I don't quite get it, but I am enjoying it.  My hosts dear friend Alan and his business partner Ron have a really cool straw bale lodge/hostel and invited me to hang mid week between their busy times.  Last night Maddie and I slept with 2 other adults and 2 children in a dorm room, and tonight it's just me.  I need to get some peace and just can't seem to be quiet in my home town to where I returned a month ago from Mexico.  Here, the blackness of the night is a reminder of how far out I really am.  This is a concept I think my fellow Mexicans would find impossible to conceive of. Even I am having a hard time with it.  

It sunk in mightily though last night, shortly after I arrived.  Alan and Ron were getting ready for the sold out concert and bbq they put on.   Maddie was right inside the dorm, as I arranged my stuff inside and 2 minutes later, she was nowhere to be found.  I went through the corridor, checking the rooms and calling her name.  Nothing.  Downstairs, people said no, they did not see a little white dog pass by.  Nothing in the kitchen, back upstairs for a 2nd check.  Nothing.  I started to get frantic.  IT seemed nobody really was ruffled by my lost dog and I tried to keep cool and think. One more time upstairs, nothing.  I walked all the way up a path to the west, asking everyone.  NOthing.  Back to take Ron's Rav4 to the east side of the property, along the road.  Nobody had seen her.  Nothing on the miles of road I drove. She isn't used to being nowhere and what if she followed a scent and then got lost?  What if she is not on any trail?  She gets lost in the parking lot at the grocery store.  She is not an outdoor savy dog.  There are bears, coyotes all manner of scary predators. How could anyone find anything in this forest of 240 acres?  It would be a miracle. I should have made more of a fuss. Why am I always such a quiet person . . . I should have made a big fuss. It just didn't make sense, she HAD to be at the house. Dogs don't just disappear in 2 minutes.  Oh why had I taken her collar off?   I started to suspect foul play, suspiciously pegging one of the dormmates.  I didn't know these people, what if one of them was a psycho.  My thoughts turned to horrible things and I franticly yelled out the window for Maddie, as I drove up the north path into the bush. I tried not to imagine the potentially horrible outcome of this experience.  I would never forgive myself. What a stupid idea it was to come out here in the middle of nowhere and not have her on a leash the whole time.  It was all my fault.  I wouldn't be able to live without her.  I deserved to die for my stupidity.  Yeah, I get a tad over-reactive in stressful situations where I have no control.

It was getting dark, I screamed to myself in frantic frustration.  I got into a dense and narrow trail which I had to back out of.  There was a tree in the way - I got out of the Rav 4 to look behind me and gauge the trail and thought I heard a shout.  It was Alan running up to me.  "I found Maddie, she was locked in Ron's room, she's fine."  He came up to me and I hugged him and broke down in tears of relief.  I blubbered that I was so sorry.  I felt foolish but very relieved.  "I'm a dog lover, no need for sorry - I understand", was all he needed to say.  After that, the evening improved.  After the first set of the concert, I snuck away and crawled into my single log dorm bed with Maddie snuggling in my arms until morning.

Moving & Nesting

I'm sitting minding my own business at my art desk in my big bedroom when a cockroach flies through the shutters that fell open 5 minutes ago and lands on my chest.  I'm convinced he bit me and now my question has certainly been answered that those fat ugly bastards really do fly.  Despite my palpitating heart after a blood curdling scream and much flapping about,

I am reassured that possibly the three that I have had to squish so far since moving to new downtown digs a month ago, might not be taking up residence but only popping in occasionally to see what's on the menu.  One was munching non-chalantly in my dog's food bowl yesterday like he owned the place.  He was of a size that I could have put a leash and collar on him and taken him for a walk.  The other night, walking my dog, I heard a scuttling and thought someone was coming up from behind on the narrow mexican sidewalk, when I turned to look and saw a cockroach zooming full speed attempting to pass us. I am not exagerating.  It's a bit of an adjustment to say the least.

I have been adjusting a lot lately.  Since moving out of my little corridor with a bed on the flavourful  Calle Aquiles Serdan, I have moved a second and third time (and hopefully final for a while).  The last place had fleas and I felt like I was living in the slums of India, where you could hear people living.  Although it was close to the market, I could get fresh juice around the corner and there was a river and a little garden at the corner, I unfortunately had to leave.  

Now, 2 blocks from the Malecon, 2 blocks from the famous Puerto Vallarta icon Cathedral de la Guadalupe and 2 blocks from a really bad laundry, I am attempting to nest.  It is now officially rainy season and boy has it been raining.  Seems heavy, hotter and earlier this year.  Maddie, my sweet fluffy dog who really needs a haircut, lies in front of the fan, sometimes prone on her back with her pink belly protruding, muy a gusto.  Very comfy looking.  She looks like a fashion model dog; her fluffy hair blowing sideways over her eyes. Her Mexican name is Magdalena; sounds like a fashion model actually. God she is adorable.  She is enjoying the walks on the beach when I allow her to be a dirty dog.  Other times, we walk along the sea wall and I don't need to hose the sand off her; just clean her paws.

I really got this place with Maddie in mind.  The beach is close by, and the sofas are extra low here, so she can jump on them easily from the tile floor.  I am convinced she appreciates it all - especially the fan.

Medicine & Poison

It's 10 pm on a Thursday and a mexican woman i don't know is giving me an injection in my butt.  I am lying face down on her sofa.  "This will hurt for only for a while", she says knowingly.  It didn't hurt much at first, but then it really starts to hurt in about 20 seconds.  But I've had worse pain than that.  I just breathe and try to relax.   "Women were born for pain," she says, again somewhat knowingly.  "It starts with getting our ears pierced, (which in Mexico, they do very early on, as babies,) and then continues with the hits that life is full of."  

Why am I lying on a stranger's sofa getting an injection in my butt?  I have been sick, it seems ever since I returned to Mexico.  One bad cold, bad cough,the normal flu, another cold, then carbon monoxide poisoning from the gas boiler in my small apartment, and another cold that has returned.  I NEVER get sick normally.  It could be stress and lack of good veggies, but my friend Omar tells me I simlply MUST go get an injection.  Here in Mexico, shots in the ass are a normal part of staying healthy.  I am skeptical.  What's in this shot?  Usually penicillin they tell me.   The "doctor", who is no doctor, has a house above the pharmacy.  Omar wants me to feel better.  I tell him, it's a virus, and antibiotics don't work on viruses.  But he insists that this will help me.  He is adamant.  He is taking it as a national insult that I don't trust in Mexico.  I am intrigued. The lady posing as a doctor speaks about me in the third person.  Omar tells her "She speak Spanish fluently".  She continues to talk like I am not present. This happens frequently wherever I go.  Once in a while I interrupt and ask her a question she can't answer, like, what drug exactly is she going to give me. She realizes I can speak Spanish like a Mexican and talks to me directly. "Oh, these are not drugs!" she exclaims, like I had just insulted her.  But she couldn't really tell me what they were.  They're not herbs, not drugs, not chemicals?  Come on now.  I studied latin and know what an antiobiotic's name sound like.  I simply have a hard time believing in blind Mexican faith like Omar does. "But you have a bacterial infection!" she states with impunity.  "You have a fungus on the tongue, just look at those little granitas!"  I feel like I'm in a time share presentation.  "She has a fever too," Omar pipes in. "Well, that means there is an infection!"  She exclaims.  Yeah, a VIRAL infection that CANNOT be cured with antibiotics, I'm thinking.  "You are just afraid", she states boldly.

"I'm not afraid", I respond defensively.  I'm just skeptical.  "Soy sceptica es todo". She didn't know what that word meant.  I am sure I am using it correctly.  "it's just that I am not sure they are going to work."  They are after all, NOT cheap, about 26 bucks for one injection.  The hard sell is wearing me down.  I stop trying to figure out what it is and just  go upstairs.  After I get my shot, Omar gets his and he is a bit of a baby about the pain.  That's when she tell me about women and pain.  "Men are less strong in matters like this." continues the so-called medical sage. Meanwhile, she is trying to upsell us on a full package of shots over the course of one or two years that will really benefit us and we will never be sick again.  Sure, and a good way to ensure monthly income so she can pay for all the alcohol in her fully stocked bar, I think to myself as my eyes scan slowly over all the specialty tequilas and other strong stuff in her house.  She also tells me that I shouldn't bathe for 3 days because if the skin is cleansed, the injection will come out through the skin and it won't work as well.  Hmm.  wish I had had a bath before I went for my shot.  I don't believe any of this.  Also, we shouldn't drink anything cold or frozen, and avoid drafts, and don't eat pork.  Okay.  Mexicans have a thing about drinking anything cold when you're sick.  No chills, no wind, no cold.  I mean, part of it makes sense. but it's so damn hot in this part of the country, it makes me grumpy.  I plan to drink all the cold drinks I want. And pork is the national meat here.  We'll see how I feel tomorrow. 

Tomorrow:  Well, I have had no miraculous recovery, but I do need a bath and soon.  I've been cleaning fan blades and all the surfaces of the huge wooden table and chairs that are taking up space in this house I'm renting. I don't think anyone has looked under them for a decade; probably because they're so damned heavy they could rupture a hernia.  Maddie got fleas yesterday and that put a wrench in an otherwise sleepy day of rest. Flea powders, sprays, etc. are lined up on my counter. When they say you shouldn't inhale it or touch it with your hands and to keep away from children and pets, it makes me wonder why I am thinking of putting on my dogs skin. One more war to wage.  Early this morning my friend Julie texts me to say there's a flu epidemic in Mexico City that's killing off people. Coincindently this is where I had planned to visit, tomorrow, in fact for a week.  I told her to stop watching the news.  Good thing I had that miraculous injection.  

Later that week:

I postponed the trip to the Capital and I think I have won the flea war; nothing like a good vacuum cleaner as a weapon.  I broke down and got a mini shop vac and have been sucking up a storm after reading everything about them on the internet. Scary. The place is in shock.  I think a good title for a book I must write will be:  Cleaning up Mexico, one apartment at a time. Forget the war on drugs, Sandrina has her vacuum and she knows where you live.  By the way, the location of the shot in my ass promptly turned dark purple, had a raised hard and painful bump for 6 weeks and I did not feel better any quicker.  But Omar swears it cured him.

My Birthday & Other Stuff

In this little domicile, on Calle Aquiles Serdan, Col. Emiliano Zapata, the door opens directly onto the street.  At dusk I hear the sounds of kids playing out there, running and running past the door.  I like to catch pieces of their spanish; they speak more clearly and loudly than most people I talk to.  I guess if I was trying to sleep or concentrate, all this noise might be annoying but I

am  just putting groceries and stuff  in the tiny kitchen, trying to find room in the mini fridge.  Even the dog constantly barking next door, has become something got used to.   That and the constant sound of someone's music playing in the background and noisy vehicles rumbling by over the cobblestones.  It just seems to be part of the ambience. But my favourite sound is the man who sells bread:  "Pan y boliiiiiillooooos"  -  "Bread and Bunnnnnsssss" he sings in his beautiful tenor voice.  He carries a super big and shallow basket on his head along with a little foldable wooden stand like the waiters have and when someone wants his bread, he flips open the stand, places the big basket on it like a huge serving tray and voila.  I can hear every transaction taking place on the street. There is really very little privacy  here. The windows are usually always covered by my collection of sarongs, but when it gets really hot, I draw them open to let in the breeze ( and the dust and the insects).  And yes, cockroaches do fly.  I nailed one with the egg lifter the other day, but it's too much trouble cleaning the egg lifter, so last night I shooed the second on out the door and onto the street before my dog got ahold of it.

I found a beautiful green baby bird yesterday.  It was sitting on the sidewalk near my door, sleeping with its little head tucked into its wing.  Very tiny and too young to fly and had one bad leg.  I know I should know better but I just couldn't leave the thing to get eaten by a cat.  It was a lovely green and yellow, it's feathers hadn't reached their full potential of colour yet.  I found a little plastic bag and used it to hold him and try to feed him some water.  He hopped around fine and looked okay, but just kept wanting to sleep.  I placed him in an open shoe box after he started to look poorly, his head was pulled back and he was struggling to stand up.  I said a little prayer for him and told him how beautiful he was and then he just stopped moving.  So perfect in his stillness.  

There are lots of parrots wild here and many in cages as pets.  Also I see lots of canaries, (surprisingly not all yellow either) for sale in cages at one of the vets, probably not expensive, and they sound so lovely.  But I don't think I could keep a bird in a cage.  It's just sad.  Or maybe I could be convinced if I knew it had been born in captivity and couldn't survive without being taken care of. . . . I could sleep at night knowing that it needed me.  When I get a place with an outside, I dream of having birds singing there.

The other day my dancing buddy Omar took me to a section of town where it seems all real people live, it's a neighbourhood called Pitillal, named after the river that runs near it, and instead of a neighbourhood, it's more like a little city within a city.  Everything is much cheaper and there is everything there; services, shops, church, etc.  There was a fair going on for the last eight days in the Plaza and we walked through the markets, eating food and me going crazy for comfortable flip flops (finally!) inexpensive underwear and cool knock off  sunglasses each for less then 6 dollars.  A man selling sweet bread tried to rob me of 50 pesos, thankfully Omar made a point of counting back my change.  He also made a point of bartering with every vendor.  At the sunglass stand, he was having a challenge convincing the seller to go down from 75 to 65 pesos.  "Okay, I'll make you a bet", he said to the vendor.  H took out a coin. "If it's heads we pay 75 and if its tails we pay 65! Whaddya say?"  The vendor, bored I'm sure and perhaps wanting something fun to do and after all, being Mexican and never refusing a bet, said okay.  We won!   At midnight they would light the big pyrotechnic castle we saw them working on in the street, all made of wood and fireworks.  It would be spectacular, but we couldn't stay that long to see it burn.

A few days earlier on my birthday, I was treated to a lovely dinner under a huge palapa called Muaritius in old town.  There was only one other table occupied.  The waiter did everything to serve us impeccably and before I could finish my appetizer, two singers with guitars showed up and sang me Las Mananitas, plus two or three other very lovely Mexican ballads.  I had to choke back tears, because truly, the words to these songs can hardly be translated, but they are so full of heart.  Dinner was an exquisite meal of steak and prawns.  And when my surprise birthday cake arrived, the most perfect chocolate cake in the world, the staff all came and sang Las Mananitas again.  I love this.  Then the tradition is to have you take a big bite out of the cake, with only your mouth. "Que le muerda, que le muerda!" " Bite it, bite it!" they all shout, and you do it, and hopefully nobody shoves the cake into your face.  I cut a piece for the whole staff; they were all so nice.

So, a big birthday.  I spent the afternoon having my hair done; my mom's present to me.  I got many emails and a couple of phone calls and in general it was perfect.  After the lovely dinner, I grabbed the leftovers and went salsa dancing. 

Flavours of the Hood

The thing about living in this Mexican neighbourhood is that even though it is rarely quiet, it still has a calmness to it, especially during the lazy part of the day about 3-4 pm.  It is then that I smile. I hear the music of some kind

 

of truck selling I'm not sure what yet, but one day I will find out  - to anyone who runs out to the street.  It is a happy piano tune that is so joyful sounding that even if you were having a siesta and it woke you up, you could only smile and tap your foot to the goofy tune.  It is not annoying, it even has a b and c section before returning to its chorus.  Later I realize it is the ice-cream wagon.

There are also the singing voices of men on foot selling things in the street  . . . eveything from water, to fresh flowers, strawberries, baked goods and more.  What I find lovely is hearing a musical voice from a great distance and waiting for it to get closer and then listening as it fades away again.  "Agua" never sounded so good.  I pick the man whose voice I like best.  There are a handful of water trucks, but I wait for that voice that I recognize.  I want to ask him if perhaps he sings at night at a second job.  One fellow whose voice made me smile was selling accessories for stoves and he let you know just what kinds of things he had . . . stringing the words along in a musical interlude.  Long drawn out words at the end of sentences.  "  . . . por tu estooooofa."  The strawberry truck is less appealing because it's being driven and it's not really poetry, but still has its charm.  Fresas con crema, Fresas por hacer agua, etc.  The wife and kids sit in the back of the pickup, which is full of strawberries.  The same system is used for corn, for other fruit, etc.  but I prefer the walking poets.  They are what gives this street its flavour.

That and dog shit.  But I do not find the dog shit charming at all.  I have spent many hours cleaning my flip flops with soap and bleach, scraping them clean.  I have flip flops for inside and others for outside.  Doggie doo is everwhere along the dirty dusty cobblestones, but especially it seems,  in front of my door.  A malodourous breeze blows into my place all day and night.  I try to scoop them up when I take out the garbage, but it's a full time job.  I have taken to placing bounce sheets in the doorways so I might smell something better or at least different.  A considerable amount of time is spent cleaning my dog Maddie's feet after each time she goes outside.  The other day she stepped in chewing gum.  Quite a process to clean up a furry foot.  Then 3 days later I stepped in gum and it was of a flavour I would never want to try . . . mixed with - you guessed it:  dog shit. 

When I first got to Mexico, it was a given that my dog would go anywhere she wanted and nobody in their right mind would deign to pick up after their dog.  This is mexico, it just dries up and blows away.  But I cannot do it.  Why would I want to  contribute to the amount of doggie doo in the street?  I'm sure I am viewed as the crazy white chick who picks up after her dog, but no matter what I do here, I will probably always be the crazy white chick, so I just go ahead and do whatever.  The garbage collectors who come by every evening except Sundays, often spill a lot of garbage into the street because they are either sloppy or the people are sloppy about tying up bags.  The mess stays there and blends in with the cobblestones, but not really.  The collection point is a certain lampost. I was out the other night, very late so I wouldn't be seen, picking up stray garbage.  Crazy white chick.

A Hellish Eden

The day didn't start off so great, although I tried to keep positive.  The ex roomate was leaving town to get away from the crazy roomate he couldn't deal with anymore.  She was the reason I left the nice house in Colonia Buenos Aires to live alone in a very hot, overpriced and small, dusty little ground floor quartito with charming window grates with a view of the street..  No, he couldn't meet for coffee, no he didn't have my rent money to refund me, and no he didn't bring my 20 dollar hair conditioner I had left in the very sorry shower cubicle of my former residence.  Can you call it a residence if it was only for two nights?  I was going to have to make a trip up there and possibly deal with a psychopath; the pathetic but definitely crazy post menopausal witch that made me hightail it out of there.  I told him I wouldn't be giving my keys back until I got my rent money back.  He seemed okay with that.  I wonderered if I would ever see my 2000 pesos again.

But today was the day Danielle and I had planned to go the river and some wonderful touted place called El Eden where there were waterfalls.  So, I called her to say we could leave earlier than planned, since my coffee meeting was cancelled.  We stopped at a charming art shop where the artist had whimsical prints of Vallarta for only ten us dollars.  Then we were off in my Toyota Sienna van to deal with my forgotten hair conditioner.  By some miracle, the crazy bitch was gone and so I got in, got what I needed and left again, towards the south and over some very rugged terrain.  Thirty minutes later, we were in what I would benevolently call a tourist trap, and luck of the luck wouldn't ya know it, but Tuesday was a busy day because of the cruise ships docking in town.  Oh boy.

Danielle was expecting some eco nature reserve like in Costa Rica.  I was expecting something a little less full of (no offense to my US friends) obnoxious american cruiseline clients.  But it was full of them, and it was a tourist trap.  The fish was tasty for 13 dollars and I ate the remnants of Danielles quesadilla and chichen fingers which she ordered from the kids menu.  I swam in the river amidst the stares of all the wait staff, zip line staff and other tourists.  But not before breaking my favourite Walmare flip flop (yes, for those who remember a past blog; I did bring two more pairs back to Mexico with me this time.) Damn. . . I am now down to one pair.  Well hiking was out of the question now.  Good thing it happened after lunch and after our trip to the Zoo a few days earlier.  That was an awesome day and the animals were delightful.

Si despite being lured into a trap called El Eden, we did find a nice out of the way place (meaning no tourists) on the way back where we could swim in the river and sit by it and gab.  The road back was full of construction and that must have been where I picked up the nail that punctured my tire.  The nice older englishman who stubbornly flashed his high beams at us indicating the flat, was also kind enough to stay with us and see that all turned out well.  He used to be a corporate person and now he works as a gardener to the rich. The 5th lug nut would not come lose, even with the special key that fit into the tire iron.  I am not impressed by this stupid Toyota feature.  I didn't know shit about changing a flat, but Danielle assures me that it would have been a cinch if not for the stupid lug nut.  Karl, our knight in shining armour, took us to a lllantero just a kilometre up the road.  He came back and he couldn't get it lose either.  So he broke the thread.  He assured me 4 lug nuts would be fine.  Hmm.

As if this wasn't enough, the hatchback on the van suddenly stopped working and it was impossible to open up the back of the van.  Not good since we needed to access the spare tire screw on the floor to release the spare underneath the carriage.  What else could go wrong i wondered, standing in my barefeet in dirt and ants and asphalt.  I secretly counted the blessings I did have; and they would be enough to get me out of this mess.  The tire man said he would just take it back to his shop right now and fix it, no need for the spare.  So one more time into Karl's Nissan with the tire man in the truck bed and within minutes the tire was fixed and back on.  Two hundred pesos and almost two hours later, we were back on the road.  First thing I did upon arriving home after Maddie attacked me with love and affection, was wash my feet.  The second thing; count my blessings.

Leap Year at the Zoo

Leap Year.  The last day of February already.  Time seems to pass at triple speed since I returned to Mexico.  How did December and January just disappear like that?

Yesterday I walked along the beach with Maddie.  Earlier, while I was washing some clothes in the kitchen sink, the 17 year old neighbour girl who loves my dog,  poked her head inside the grated iron front door of a my small abode in our very Mexican neighbourhood. She didn't have any college classes so we walked down to the beach together.  She seems and acts older than her years and we had a nice time chatting while watching the sunset on the Malecon.  The Puerto Vallartan street vendors were prolific.  We ate elote,which is corn on the cob cut off the cob and placed in  a plastic cup with powdered cheese, crema (sour cream) and then a myriad of salsas, salt and lime.  It is really good.  Maddie ran along the beach at full tilt, enjoying being a dog after having been cooped up in the house for a time.  She dug and then grabbed a tossed away giant skewer, previously  laden with grilled shrimp and ran with it, both sharp ends poking out of each side of her mouth,  hoping that we would chase her down.  She met other dogs on the Malecon, running around and playing with them.  She walked at least 6 blocks to get to the ocean where we walked for about two hours and was so tired on the way back that she sat down stubbornly and wouldn't move. I carried her a little ways.

Sandy Estela, is a voluptuous and lovely young college student, studying food prep at the big university in La Cruz, just on the border of Nayarit and Jalisco.  She takes the bus twice a day for at least an hour and a half.  She is young enough to be my daughter but we talked like girlfriends.  She told me about about her boyfriend, her family and why she lives with her grandma, who I thought was her aunt.  Sylvia can't be much older than I, but it is so hard to tell.  She is full of life and friendly, inviting me to sit with her on the sidewalk outside her house, while I was taking Maddie out one evening.  That's when I also met Sandy.  They were so curious about what my place looked like that I asked them in to see it, even in its unorganized state.  They were shocked when I told them what I was paying for it.  She said she would help me find another place, much less expensive.  Apparently she has a niece in real estate.

Today while reading on my bed enjoying a cup of tea, I got a call from Danielle, a young woman in her mid thirties whom I met at a presentation last week on staying positive in difficult times.  Danielle is sweet, full of love, been hurt and is at a big turning point in her life.  We have a lot in common.  We went to the zoo today and it was so much fun.  Way better than I expected from a Mexican Zoo.  I recalled the pathetic zoo in the Caribean island of Isla Mujeres I visited last May, and how I wanted to set all the monkeys free.  This one, as well, could have had better environments for most of the critters, but what was impressive was the sheer lack of security and easy access to get VERY close to the animals.  How many people can say they touched a giraffes tongue?  All the animales had all learned to beg at the chain link fence, and were very good at it.  Most were gentle.   Black jaguars, tigers, lions, leopards, white tigers, black bears, giraffes, wolves, camels, monkeys, and all sorts of beautiful birds.  I had never seen a Toucan or a Red Macaw; and didn't even recognize a few amazingly colorful and iridescent birds.  They were stunning.  We watched two tortoises mating; the male even making noise.  I had no idea tortoises had such ample appendages; but it would make sense seeing that he'd have to be large enough to get under that shell.  I was mesmerized watching them and then felt I should look away and give them their privacy.  The black jaguars also were "making out", but I think it was mostly for play.  They have three litters a year, mostly only one, but sometimes two babies. To see giant cats like that within 4 feet of me was amazing. Even two male monkeys were acting more like a couple.  I guess Spring is in the air.  Through the fence you could touch any animal if they got close enough.  And they did.  I swear they tried to smile and act goofy to get more food.  We had purchased bags of veggies and nuts to feed them.  One Zebra was a clown for the camera, although he wouldn't' stay still very long.  I finally got a good shot of him before my batteries expired.  There were baby animals all over; rabbits (big surprise) little pigs, goats, tigers and jaguars.  For 100 pesos, my friend Danielle got to hold a one month old baby tiger in her arms.  I took pictures.  They were both adorable.  

We had dinner in a touristy place called  Chico's Hideaway with an amazing view of the river, some waterfalls and lots of cool rock formations.  It was a great day and possibly worth getting some of the insect bites.

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A Morning on the River San Cristobal

Peddling quietly off on our bikes at 5:30am, with Maddie in the pack, we went to meet our 4 new friends and then walk all the way to the end of town.  It was quiet except for the odd person, up at this incredibly early hour, sweeping the streets or digging in his garden.  We passed a huge mango tree that was absolutely deafening with the song of grackles and their variety of sounds.

There were more people out than I would have imagined.  Shopkeepers starting their day as the dawn light was just bright enough to see.  Just past the bridge, Abrahim and his ponga awaited.  He took us out on the river and we spent a good few hours viewing the banks of mangroves, spotting the odd egret and then once we got up the river a bit, the bird life was stunning.  Our driver, a young fellow, sweet and very knowledgeable and obviously in love with this river, pointed out and told us the names of all the birds.  There must have been six types of herons, all kinds of birds I'd never heard of or seen; some nocturnal, some huge.  Black eagles, buzzards, ones that sounded like monkeys, others that sounded like tigers, seriously.  When the sun finally hit the mangroves, we warmed up a bit and then we couldn't keep up with the amount of life we saw.  We headed towards the flood plain to the pink flamingo nesting grounds and upon approaching it, realized its grandness from afar.  Every year the pink flamingos come back to nest on this bit of island in the middle of the flood plain at the end of the river.  We navigated carpets of water hyacinths as fish jumped in the water in front of us, sparkling streaks of silver in the morning light.  Maddie was intrigued and although it was her first time in a ponga, acted like she did this everyday.  Eventually she just lied down and rested, comfortable in the company of everyone.

The flamingos were stunning; they say they are pink because of their diet of shrimp.  All I know is that they are so beautiful and share their nesting grounds with storks (very funny looking) and black ducks, who make a very quick repetitive throaty sound, like Buddhist monks chanting in a hurry.  It was a flurry of activity as the young flamingos continually bobbed up and down to show their mother how hungry they were.  You could smell the ammonia from the guano depending where the breeze was blowing from.  There was nothing but an island of birds, bright morning sunlight, the sound of Abrahims paddle plunking through the water and everyone was speechless and taking it all in.  Sweet.

On the way back, we must have seen 18 crocodiles, about 4 of which were very very large.  They usually shot far deep into the water as we approached, but some were lying on the banks and were eerily prehistoric looking.  We spotted some tortugas aslo.  In fact the whole scene could have been the setting for a movie set in the mesozoic period.  

After the river, we went off to the beach and acted like crocodiles, doing nothing in the sun.