Waterfalls in Yelapa

During my first few weeks in Yelapa ago, my friend Liz and some of my fellow Casa Milagros buddies went on a hike to the second waterfall, a 4 hour hike up river, through lots of farms, dirt paths, rocky climbs and two river crossings.  Getting there was a bit of a challenge if you didn't have good trekking shoes on, thankfully I did.  This was the jungle.  Palm trees, bamboo groves big giant twisted ropes of trees and roots with strange pods and fruit and some with severely nasty thorny bark worse than cactus.  Birds are abundant here and by the river I saw egrets, blue heron, orioles, vultures, hawks and some other beautiful birds I didn't recognize.  The path was rocky and full of silt/dust and donkey dung.  Laundry hung en masse in dirt yards, sometimes pop music or mexican rap would blast from a hacienda, placing me back into the present.  I felt like I was walking past people's living rooms, if you call a living room a dirt floor with a donkey tied to a tree outside.  There were also amazing trees along the rocky paths, some with huge thistles on the bark, mangos, guavas, gondo bushes (like blueberries) and a plethora of sleeping dogs, roosters, chickens and donkeys along the way.  

When we arrived, the waterfall was full and the pool deep and cool.  It was so worth the trek, being able to swim in the pool, hang out under the running water, watch fish jumping, lie on the rocks in the sun and eat lunch and enjoy the beauty of the day.  Near the end of the lunch, Cynthia who has a fantastic voice and Liz (also) started singing, then I joined in and we sang in rounds.  Great acoustics, the enclosed space by the waterfall.

On the way back we stopped at this cool one woman-run restaurant that had tables by the river and fruit drinks.   A fabulous day with friends.  Thanks to Frank, our fearless caballero and only man among a group of women (I think he liked it) to Cynthia who had the foresight to bring a map, Liz, my sweet and loving artist friend, and Margaret, the inspirational woman in her 70's who hiked like a trooper.

Sunday Sushi Nights

The best gig so far has to be belly dancing at Sunday Sushi Nights, under a thatched roof palapa/restaurant on the beach in Yelapa.  It's called The Baracuda, and I was asked a month ago, by my fabulous friends from Tofino to perform for their Sunday night sushi offerings.  I usually get there just at dusk, the place is always packed with people from all over, gringos, mexicans, europeans, and many local dogs.  The sushi is being rolled and the drinks are being served and I plug in my ipod, after changing in the little candle lit non-gendered bathroom.  The vibe is chill and the atmosphere is one of anticipation.  Jai, the handsome bartender gives me a bottle of water as I place my zills on the bar and cool down from the long hike to the beach from my place in Donkey Heights.  There has always been something that keeps me from getting there earlier, but everyone is so cool.  It's Mexico after all.

Paul and Karedwyn are the most amazing people.  We all pitched in a month ago to get the place clean and running and they have done an amazing job considering the many challenges of running an eating establishment in small town Mexico.   The sushi rocks.

The people in Yelapa are now hooked and it's become a Sunday night ritual.   A couple of weeks ago, I gave bellydance lessons to the kitchen staff ladies and Casio, our waiter.  Olga wanted to learn some moves to show her husband.  This last time I asked him how it went and he grinned widely. 

Guess it worked.

I sweep the concrete stage that sits a little above the sand floor, sort of like a pre-show meditation.  I feel like Cinderella without any evil family members.  Everyone pulls together and we get the sound system working, the spotlight and the introduction. While I'm dancing my last couple of songs, Karedwyn takes a kid's pink sand bucket around the audience to seek tips and it magically fills up.   I have my own stage, something unusual for me.  Even thoug I have to dance around some dogs. . .  It's so fun and the people are wonderful.  I love it here.  

Lose your mind and come to your senses

I paraglided twice in the last 2 weeks.  Running off the end of a mountain at full speed, like a torpedo while strapped to guy yelling "go, go, go", might not sound like a sensible thing, but believe me it is so so wonderful. 

 

Yes, I ran off the end of a mountain and then when I was airborne, I just felt like it was the most natural thing in the world to do.  The thing that was most surprising was the silence.  It was so calming and tranquil.  The landing was surprisingly soft on the beach and then we folded up the wing and headed to Juanito's for cerveza.  An awesome way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Thanks to Les and Kurt, my paragliding friends who made it possible.

Birthday in Yelapa

It was my birthday yesterday, and St. Patricks Day, as always.  It was a beautiful sunny day as they all have been here in Yelapa.  I was preparing the big pot of hot water on the little gas stove in my kitchen, so I could have hot water to wash in,  and Aurora my landlady popped her head in the half door of my casa (picture of my pad at the top and picture of Aurora and I near the house) "Oye, Sandra," she said in spanish, "I heard it was your birthday today, so I got you little something." It was a beautiful little fabric bag I had had my eye on for some time.  She didn't know this, so it was serendipitous.  "Me encanta", I told her.  I love it. 

 

Then Veronica, her beautiful daughter popped by, wanting to gab and wish me feliz cumpleanos. It was a good way to start the day and I am honoured to be treated so wonderfully by them.  I was invited to breakfast, but had to decline so I could get the 9am boat.

Vallarta was very busy with many Mexican tourists, who are enjoying their easter 2 week holiday.

I did some errands, salsa danced in the street with a handsom stranger, and went for my pedicure.   It was my birthday present to myself.  Walking down donkey dung covered rock paths and long stretches of sand in flip flops two months has not been kind on my feet.

The boat back at 4pm ish was filled up with people, all packed in with luggage.  Even sitting in the middle at the back, I got soaked with sea water, but I talked with and learned a few things from an older american gentleman who had been living off and on in Yelapa for 36 years.

Back to the casita to have a cold shower and look presentable.  My friend with whom I had planned to have dinner wasn't home, so I went to the yacht club on my own, passing Rangel who was at a semana santa gathering at the community hall.  He gave me a bite of his mexican food to try.  I continued on the Yacht Club, feeling a little uncomfortable with the idea of eating dinner by myself.  But of course, this is Yelapa.  I knew five people there and Don, the Canadian drum maker joined me for an excellent fish and prawn stir fry dinner and two of the biggest margaritas I've seen.  He tells me if you use good tequila, you won't get a hangover, so it was Don Julio or nothing.  I must say, writing this one day later with 4 hours sleep:  He was right.

Then the dancing began and as always, when  asked to play salsa, Elena, the owner, chef and dj, did it right away.  Gavin, the Coloradian cowboy/writer, spun me around with his new moves he learned at Judiths salsa lessons, and before I knew it, the floor was filled with people.  The two girls to whom I had taught a belly dance lesson the other day at Veronica's, showed up and we practiced our moves.  They sure didn't need any dance lessons,  since they're already Latina dancing demons.  Felix, my dinner date eventually did show up apologetically, and as I assumed, had had to work a different shift at the Verana resort where he is a bartender.  The thought of leaving here really makes me sad.  I'm starting to know so many more people and locals and being able to speak and understand the Yelapan dialect.

At the end of the night, Daniel my sweet Yelapan/Seattle audio technician friend, spun some more tunes and the dancing kept going with a shimmy showdown with the girls and I.   When Elena found out it was my birthday, it was more tequila for me and then she wanted to party at the end of her long day.  Most everyone else had left.  We had a wonderful conversation and connection and she is an amazing and powerfully courageous woman; one more inspiring person I've had the fortune of meeting.  Plus she used to be a salsa teacher so with the music blaring, she proceeded to spin me around the floor and then:  more tequila and gabbing with Chelo, her hilarious side-kick bartender who decided to bring me the dinner leftovers from earlier that night.  I had to finally physically stop her from bringing us more tequila.  No mas, no mas! 

So much for the fear of being alone on my birthday.  After all, this is Yelapa.

Hortensia the Butcher

Hortensia hauls two plucked chickens with fatty yellow skin out of the cooler.  Their feet are still attached which makes me feel a tiny bit queasy, though I am not prepared for what is to follow.  "My employer has asked that they be chopped up please", I instruct her.  Without hesitating, Hortensia, who is la duena of this grocery/convenience store,  grabs her big knife, set the chickens on top of the cooler, thinks better of it, and brings them to the front wooden counter upon which she had just placed a thin sheet of butcher paper.  She plops the two chickens in front of me.  The front counter is a place upon which everyone leans, touches, places things, exchanges money and gossips in front of.  It also holds many things for sale, like sweets, or trays of Hortensia's out-of-this-world homemade cake.  Now it is acting as butcher block.  "How small do you want the pieces?", she asks me, showing me samples.  "Como asi"?  Like this?   "Yeah, that looks fine", I encourage her, watching in awe as she wields that knife through flesh and bone, whacking away.  Luckily there isn't a big line-up behind me; it's still early in the morning and I had just received the call from Eric, who I am working for this week,  giving me the list of groceries for the day.  He and his wife Linda are running a Compassionate Listening workshop at Casa Isabel and he is the cook.  I was hired as his kitchen assistant/runner.  It is a long and arduous climb over several rocky paths to get to Isabel's place, perched on a mountain overlooking the pacific, especially arduous carrying heavy sacks of groceries.  We try to buy enough food for just two days at a time.  I've come to know all the store keepers by now; there are several tiny tiendas and each one is good for something but there is not one that has everything.  "Why are you buying your chicken from me"?, asks Hortensia. "Because I hear your store has the freshest and best ones," I honestly answer.  I see her smugly smile.  I inform her I am working at Casa Isabel for the week for the conference, which satisfies her curiousity and goes far in good relations between the gringa hotelier and the local store owner.

By now the whacking of Hortensia's knife has accomplished its goal but in the process has chopped up the butcher paper and all the chicken  blood is now seeping through onto the wooden counter.  I reassure myself by thinking how she must be going to disinfect or spray this afterwards but also worrisome is the fact that the germs from the wooden counter are certainly getting on the chicken.  I suppose once it's cooked it won't matter, adopting a more Mexican attitude.  Hortensia places the chicken in clear plastic bags and I ask her to please double them, as I have a long walk and more groceries to buy.  I try to push away the image of raw chicken busting through bags as I hike up the hill.  She nods and grabs more bags and ties them up.  The wet and cut-up butcher paper is still lying on the counter in front of me.  Finally the owner comes over to the front with the bags, hands them to me and sweeps up the soiled butcher paper with her bare hands, sort of scraping the blood along with it, like wiping a table then chucks it in the garbage.  . . wipes her hands on some paper towel, and bids me adios. Part of me wants to stay there to ensure she disinfects that counter.  Part of me is in shock thinking she might just leave it like that, and part of me really wants to leave.   I listen to the last part and make a mental note to never lean on or touch the front counter when I am back at Hortensias next week buying a piece of her fabulous cake.

My Yelapa Casa

Was just downloading these pics from Yelapa and wished I had taken one of my bathroom in Yelapa.  It was one of a kind.  Here is my living room, the kitchen with the sought after gas burner that heated my water and the evidence of what I spend half my time doing during the week: laundry & cooking (yes, I did and thank god for green salsa and tostadas)  The chido rooster often hung around my front stairs.

My House in the Jungle

I'm awake inside my mosquito netted bed on the upper portion of the casa that is mine for a month.  It is wooden planked floor with a half wall open to the outside with a view of the Bay of Yelapa.  I am facing northeast, so the sun rises up from the hills on my right and floods the room with light.  Even when I sleep with earplugs in, the roosters, chokalakas (a type of wild turkey) dogs, and early morning workers make it impossible to have peace & quiet or sleep in.  These are the sounds of this little part of Mexico.  Off the beaten path, my place is next to the very last house (almost) along the big dirt road which continues its climb to eventually connect to the only back road out of Yelapa, requiring a 4x4 trip through the jungle. 

I see dirt, lots of dirt.  The powdery kind; polvo, that gets into all my footwear no matter which kind.  Even though the climb up here from town is partly cemented, partly cobblestoned, it's still a footwear challenge that I've so far been able to take on with simple walmart flip flops.  At anytime on the walk, there's a great potential for a long, limb-threatening skid.  

Yesterday, the hens were nesting in the little garden bushes with the rooster, who is very proud and ultra chido (cool) There are one hell of a lot of roosters here.(Un chingon)   Must be happy chickens.  I'll have to find some eggs.  There was a donkey outside my window the other day, eating part of the banana tree.

Photos are view from my gate, my bedroom, and view from the bed.