The Flaming Conch Shell

My good friend Matt, now known as Mateo, dropped his life as a Seattle software geek, packed up his trailer, and drove down to the lovely beaches of Zipolite, Oaxaca. He has set up a new life down there. Occasionally I post some of his letters, with his permission of course, to remind us all that there is a world out there away from mortgages and 9 to 5 gigs. Here are some snippets from the latest in the Continued Adventures of Mateo series:

I'm swamped with work doing web design stuff. Everybody here suddenly wants websites and I'm the only person who does them. You can see my latest one at www.septimosol.com, not bad eh? The hardest part is working with the people here who have lived in a fishing village their whole lives and have shall we say a different aesthetic that needs to be pleased. And they want me to use the logos their best friend since fourth grade made for them, like the flaming conch shell in the Septimo Sol site which I could not persuade them to let go of. Still, its fun working with people and making a difference in their lives and work.

Also I was thinking today this is ending up being a really good professional experience, as both a designer and programmer, and general systems administrator (because people are now starting to ask me to do all sorts of IT stuff), in kind of a roundabout way... I have been used to doing my thing and getting help in areas that I never had any experience in from other friends or co-workers. Here I'm completely on my own, so I have been forced to learn a ton of stuff that I never would have otherwise and become good at stuff I have always sucked at. Like at the moment I'm having to do a lot of research on how different search engines work so that I can get my clients rankings improved. It looks like I'm going to end up being kind of a jack of all trades computer guy down here. Tell that to Carsten when you feel like seeing a good belly laugh! Make sure he's not in the middle of drinking a beer or something.

Well, I've been thinking of you because today was another deep-should-have-been-here day. It has been raining for 3 days straight and everything is a mess. My house is full of piles of wet clothes and there is not much I can do about it. My road is washed out and I can't leave in my truck, everyone else has been hunkered down as well. Today I had to clean a nasty virus off both of my computers, and the online sync and backup service I'm using... a version of the Brontok virus. Its indonesian but it might be hitting mostly Spanish sites at the moment because a lot of the web documentation is in spanish. So anyway I got mostly through it all and everything backed up, and my registry cleaned up, and I decided to walk down to town to grab a piece of zuchini pie at Francos. Jody was there; my Australian friend who traveled through here last year, never left, stayed long past her visa, lost her passport, and most recently became impregnated by an entertaining mexican hippy called Rasta who hangs out at a local hotel and busses tables in exchange for free room, board, and [mystery substance X]. When either of them need any cash they have to go to the owner and ask for some like he's their father or something. However he is like the coolest guy in Zipol and the place is exactly what they want although it doesn't seem to me to be very conducive to family upbringing. Anyway despite what it sounds like she has a very solid head on her shoulders and is in a great space so she is great fun to talk to. It reminds you that intelligent people choose all different paths. So I spent about an hour there talking to her and my friend Paco, Franco's son, who is training to be a marabarista which is sort of an all purpose juggler type dude. Currently he is practicing all the time with twirly gyro things that seem to stay stuck on string connecting two wands. If you have seen it you will know exactly what I'm talking about, and if not I'll never be able to explain it. We are both supposed to be featured in a Mexican beer commercial being shot here at the end of the month, the rep showed up yesterday and took pictures of both of us without our shirts on and then scribbled down our phone numbers and raced off. Then Andrew the ex programmer nudist also from Australia wandered by, and we went off to go see the lagoon, which broke today. We say the lagoon breaks when the sand barrier between the sea and the seasonal river breaks and the water in the lagoon starts rushing out into the ocean. Its very dramatic because it starts with a tiny trickle and then as it excavates sand away it turns into a raging current and then carves out a big wide (20 meter) opening, and then the water becomes kind of a lake, but an estuary really. Its fun to watch. Plus we almost got to see Armando's little beach bar completely get taken out, but alas, it only took part of the roof and a palapa hut, so we'll have to wait for the big rains in October to make the lagoon break again. Ha ha, I'm becoming Mexican, laughing at the misfortune of others.

Then I went to go buy some roast chicken to take home for dinner, and along the way I lost Paca, so I went to Jody's beach bar where Paca always goes when she runs away, because she likes hanging out with Jody. She wasn't there, but Daniele was... a thoroughly delectable Brazilian girl with whom I have struck up a purposeful acquaintance. Try to guess what the purpose is. I had to think quick on my feet and make up a plan to invite her on the following day. So tomorrow a bunch of us are going to Estacahuite to go swimming in the rain and eat Shrimp al Diablo at my favorite Shrimp al Diablo restuarant. Actually every Mexican restaurant is a Shrimp al Diablo restaurant, since that is one of the three dishes that by Zipolite law must be included on every menu, along with Filete al mojo de ajo and Filete Empanado. Anyway hopefully I will be able to snuggle up with her a bit tomorrow.

So I watched the boys play soccer on the beach for a while, and talked to my friend Pedro from Oaxaca city who was trying to steal a little time away from his in-laws on the beach, then I headed home, but I got sidetracked at Geogione's new little cafe, where my Oaxacan friend Alexis who builds cob homes was having a nice toasted foccacia sandwich. I had a bite and it was so good I had to order a couple foccacias for myself to take home, and while you are at Georgione my friend why don't stuff one of those nice italian salamis in the bag, say Alexis why don't you come over for a little glass of wine before heading off on your motercycle? Alexis and I split most of a bottle, and he invited me to his birthday party on friday, we are going to have sushi. I told him I wanted to bring the Brazilian, which was fine, and suggested he also invite our friend English Sarah from Mazunte, the former rock star who made her real fortune in North Carolina selling little ice creams to construction workers in tight shorts. He said, sure she's coming, but the problem is, so is her boyfriend, and her boyfriends wife has also suddenly turned up from wherever she went and is also coming, so he's expecting fireworks. Just another day in Zipolite...

Enjoy the summer in seattle!

The Continued Adventures of Mateo: Fidel Oaxaca

My good friend Matt, now known as Mateo, dropped his life as a Seattle software geek, packed up his trailer, and drove down to the lovely beaches of Zipolite, Oaxaca. He has set up a new life down there. Occasionally I post some of his letters, with his permission of course, to remind us all that there is a world out there away from mortgages and 9 to 5 gigs. Here are some snippets from the latest:

Hey man. Thanks so much for getting back, I really appreciate it. [...] I'm now working with two other Mexican guys starting yet another Mexican non-profit to apply for world bank money to do a deforestation project. This is more Manolo's baby, he worked at the world bank for a number of years and his program was canceled by Wolfowitz. Needless to say he is quite pleased that W got the boot. Anyway he has retained a ton of contacts; I'm helping him prepare English applications and he is helping me find international money for things I'm interested in. The coolest thing, is learning from him.

In Mexico you can't do anything without the support of a local heavyweight. The local heavyweight can be a business leader, a member of an old family, a particularly good fisherman, or even somebody who tells good jokes. It has nothing to do with money or explicit power, it has to do with their personal power, their charm, their charisma, who knows what... Some people have this power [and] people follow them[;] they just know how to talk to all different kinds of people. With them you have a project. Without them you don't, they just take your money and nod. Usually if you go to a small town there are one or two guys who are heavyweights and you will quickly learn who. But one in a hundred, you can take the guy anywhere and plop him down and hell if he can't get everyone behind him in 30 minutes... no matter if they have never seen or heard of him.

Manolo is one of those. He looks like Fidel Castro at 50 with [a] gray beard, rides an old horse everywhere, and is shitfaced by 10:30 every day, but he's an incredible community leader. We went for a business meeting last week in the early morning sober hours. We were all in our bathing suits. We drank cheap Nescafe and he smoked cigars that he rolled from a single tobacco leaf at the table. He gave me the names of about 30 different international organizations that fund the work I'm interested in with tips for writing proposals and the names of his personal contacts. Then Filemon came by to borrow his gun to kill his cat, which had developed a [terribly] incurable disease. Manolo produced a small firearm and dispatched the poor cat, after which he announced he needed to take a ceremonial bath to cleanse himself of the bad vibes from killing an innocent animal. But no matter; we would resume the meeting with Alexis and I at the table and him out on the patio naked in a tub of water under the [bougainvillea] and next to his horse, who lives with him in his house. His house is the most amazing place I've seen, a sprawling decaying concrete estate with 180 degree views of the coast that he built himself over the last 20 years.

[...]

Nothing new here really. Things have quieted down a lot, we are waiting for the rain to start. Best to Ameen and the kids. take care, hasta la proxima,

Matt

Photos from Zipolite, Oaxaca in Mexico

Its been a busy, chaotic, stressful and in most ways, rather annoying week since we returned from Oaxaca. This week was a stark contrast to the 3 calm, relaxing, and stress free weeks we spent on the beach. I'm starting to understand why so many people in Zipolite have chosen to drop out of their home worlds.

Well I've finally gotten our photos uploaded, so you can now view them in 2 slide shows by clicking on slide show 1 and slide show 2.

A 5 year old Seattleite's take on Zipolite, Oaxaca

Here's a letter my 5 year old son Nayan wrote (actually my wife took dictation) to his friend from Oaxaca:

Hi Issey,

We are in Mexico and its really hot where we are and Issey there are cactuses growing they are really cool because they have prickles on them and they are really big cactuses bigger than people and and white stuff comes on them that makes them smaller I think its some kind of bug that eats the cactus the white stuff I`ve seen on big cactuses each day I look and the cactus gets smaller and smaller. Issey there is a museum of sea turtles and they are really big. One turtle can lay 100 eggs. Its like India here because you don`t have to wear seat belts.

Issey its really hot. The ocean water is really warm and there are waves at the beach. Really big ones and really strong. Big and strong enough for people to go surfing. People can do snorkling here and my dad is snorkling right now. They speak Spanish here and a lot of Italian! The roofs of the houses are made of palm leaves, the houses are open -- they have no doors or walls, there's no glass for the windows just wood that opens all the way up. And there is no hot water but you don´t need it because its really hot.

Adios,
Nayan

Insane Bush Buddy Freaks All

So a couple nights ago, I was lounging in the restaurant of our place. Its a very relaxing atmosphere. There are virtually no tourists anywhere in town, and few people of any sort. So I've gotten used to having spaces to myself. We´re on a long lonely dirt road, with a few distant human neighbors, but mostly just buzzing critters in the jungle. Its in this serenity, that I started to hear some very loud American-ese. I say American-ese, since its not just english, which is very rare to hear down here, but that obnoxious type of '-ese' that the rest of the world makes fun of, much louder than anything around, and spoken with the air of absolute security that everyone in ear shot is surely interested in all that the source is spouting.

Well, it might not have been so harsh, if it wasn´t for the very short moments of respite between the abundant trails of profanity. So Luna, one of our resident doobers, starts barking like mad. I was of course a bit thrilled, and didn't bother to shush her like normal, since clearly she could recognize an unwanted guest. Well, of course, Sexualos, my nick name for her 3o something sultry self, was arriving to dine at our place. Between the loud profanity spewing, was the 2 person sexual tension type of dynamic that makes most well adjusted people a bit uncomfortable.

Anyway, we (myself and some of the Italian regulars) tried to tune them out for a while. The spewing went through ebbs and lulls, peaked for a while in an odd eye´s filled with tears weeping outburst saying something like: ¨I can´t believe I haven't painted in 18 years, its so terrible. What? Stop harrassing me about it ok? I've known you for almost a month now, why do you have to harrass me about it.¨ The harrassment consisted of a rather innocent statement something like a ¨so why do you think that is.¨ Immediately after the outburst, a hand on leg type of ¨affectionate¨ pseudo-apology.

Since I couldn't get away from the scene, and there is little to do for entertainment around here, I figured I'd do the next best thing, and pay more attention, so I'd atleast get a good blog entry out of it. Well eventually, they started talking about the Iraq war. I should say, her friend, seemed like a decent fellow, a rastafarian type of guy with a thick British accent and a sweet demeanor. Anyway, she started screaming pretty loudly, ¨well someone had to do it! Someone had to deal with Saddam. I´m sick of %&%&$$%$ everyone hating America. I´ve never felt as *?%&/$· patriotic as I do now! We need to bomb the hell out of folks so we can save the world.¨ Similar statements in reaction to pretty mild ¨well I don't think that's quite the full story¨ type of comments. The regular Italians and our lovely hosts were all doing that thing people do when they can't say anything, and are a bit frightened, raise their eyebrows, pretend they don't understand english, and smile in a I'm scared and embarassed for her type of way.

So last night, we´re down at the beach at another restaurant, and sure enough, Sexualos shows up w/ a different guy, and of the 30 or so empty tables, sat down next to Ameen, the kids and I. Once is a novelty, twice is a bit much, and the profanity is something I shield my kids from.

In any event, I blame the US government for just willy nilly handing out passports. I mean really, we spend millions on ad campaigns trying to convince the world we aren't jerks, and then one woman goes off and convinces an entire town that we're all really insane. I've started putting the pressure on my friend to run around telling everyone he's American as the opening to every conversation so the local's only image of us isn´t so frightening. Another option is to team up with the local drug dealers and get some lithium swapped into her weekly prescription.

Mo Critters Buggin'

So the other day, I woke up, wandered outside, well we're always outside here, there really is no such thing as inside, but anyway, I wandered across our outside kitchen to our outside bathroom. I should note here, we, in our naivete, assumed since everything is outside, there really is no point in closing doors. Well it turns out, volleyball sized frogs, can´t jump up through the always wide open windows. So to my surprise, in my sleepy and glasses-less morning haze, a big lump on the wall started to wiggle about. I ran back in our room, put on my glasses, and returned. The largest frog I've ever seen was happily lazing in the shower. I ran to get Ameen and the kids so they could come check him out. Along the way, Ameen noticed a nice black scorpion the size of a silver dollar sitting happily in Ananya´s orange bucket she plays in all day. Turns out, after some investigation, the scorpion, while poisonous, can't really kill you, just cause a volleyball sized swelling. And the frog, is a known resident of Las Casitas - perhaps he realizes he´s safer with the Italians since their diet is not as hip to the amphibious hoppers as the native neighbors.

Art post

I'm not sure how long this idea of having a separate art blog is going to last, as its a pain to cross post. In any event, I just posted to my art blog at deep-art.blogspot.com an article titled: The Quest for Subject Matter in Zipolite. Here is a snippet:

We sort of slacked off in packing supplies, bringing only the most basic of items. In part, this was due to the blur of activity that led us to the airport, and in part it was because we assumed we'd be able to dig up some local materials, which we are usually able to, but here, this has proven a more difficult task. In addition, it seems our little one, Ananya, has gotten much larger, and more importantly, faster, since our last art/trip. We're staying at a place which is not exactly a toddler sanctuary - lots of rock drops, few guard rails, no closed walls in our cabin, etc, which means Ameen and I spend a fair amount of time simply helping Ananya avoid collisions. We did manage to find a local village girl who will serve in the collision avoidance role so that should free up some time.

In any event, there is much to look at here, and be inspired by. It is called a jungle desert, and they've just come off the rainy season, which means it is very lush. While the greenery is visually stunning, the colors are even more so. Lots of exotic flowers in bloom, crazy colored birds, gigantic black lizards, and of course, bugs galore. I've been snapping a fair amount of pictures on a hunt for subject matter; there's a lot to capture: ram shackle huts, trucks hauling crowds of people, bright clothing, flowers, shattered Italian mosaics, the list goes on. I tend to paint from assemblages of photos, atleast for my more representational work, so it is always nice to have stacks of photos and sketches to work from when I get back into the studio.

The Freedom to Roost and Roam

In the states there is a lot of talk about all of these freedoms we have. Often it's in the context of freedom to start a business and make a fortune, freedom to own a gun, freedom to undue search and seizure, etc. Whenever I'm in another country with supposedly a lot less freedoms than we have back home, I always find it ironic how free I feel. I think there are so many little freedoms that we don't realize have long since been discarded in the US.

My wife and kids and I typically hop onto the backs of these little trucks to get wherever we want to go here in Oaxaca. Its an incredibly cheap and simple system. You stand virtually anywhere on the side of the road, and a little Datsun pickup truck picks you up. There's usually a bunch of people in the back that are very happy to see us. They all make sure not to wake the baby if she's asleep in her stroller. They lift the stroller up into the back. We all hop in, and off we go. The wind blows through our hair, the sun is shining, we can go anywhere we want to, and all for about 5 pesos (50 cents), and thats for the whole family. This little piece of freedom could never happen in the states. The truck doesn't have seat belts, its rarely loaded within its weight capacity, and there is no official access for the disabled, though I'm sure anyone in a wheelchair would be treated as well as us with our stroller.

Here's another case: my friend Mateo leaves his house to go to the local pub. A few hours later his dog randomly shows up in the bar, happy to see Matt, but clearly here at the bar for his own social or snack-induced reasons. Obviously, another no go - few dogs in the states live life as free as Paco. Perhaps due to myriad lawsuit driven laws - things like health code violations, the fear of rabies, roaming deranged Pit Bulls, etc. etc.

At the same pub, there is no roof in certain places, the chairs are delapidated, wires are all strewn about, and clearly the owner got this business off the ground with a pretty small up front investment. Nonetheless, the place is packed, everyone knows everyone, and its a real charmer of a place to hang out. In addition, the bar owner's wife and 2 year old son are lounging about, many bar goers are playing with the baby, and there's even a basonnette for the baby to sleep in when he gets tired. There is no oppression against the baby - he obviously loves the attention, no one is stammering drunk, its more like a dinner party type of atmosphere. Obviously here's another notch against freedom in the states. The freedom of the bar owner to start this place up on an incredibly low budget, the freedom of the bar owner and his family to run a business without spending a fortune on day care. The freedom of the baby to roam at will, and see his parents all day and night long. And my freedom, as a patron, to hang out, enjoy the atmosphere in a NON age segregated environment.

And yet another: we go to the beach, sit at a restaurant, and the kids can just roam free. Ananya hops up onto the swing at the bar - swinging back and forth blissfully, Nayan is kicking his beach ball in between all the tables and chairs, the bartender's daughter is playing with Ananya. There is no wall separating those priveleged to drink alchohol, and those not. There is no traffic to be concerned about. There are no social faux pas' causing us to worry about our kids annoying people. Everyone loves kids here, and if they don't, they have the freedom to leave.

Not all freedoms involve the government, and not all are those the news thinks matter. As many freedoms are lost in the states, or virtually any western nation, due to social pressure. In Ballard, maybe I do have the freedom to keep a rooster at home, but I'm sure my neighbors would hate me if I did. Okay, this is dragging on too long, and its unbelievably hot in here. My sweat is dripping into the keyboard.

Blood and Bugs

This morning, while preparing breakfast, the innevitable happened. Ananya fell off the rickety stairs to our loft and bit all the way through her lip. Blood was gushing everywhere. Fortunately we were able to quickly stop the bleeding with a diaper (a clean cloth one), and Ananya was anxious to return to her maniacal roaming ways.

Bruno, our lovely Italian host, drove us, all disheveled in our early morning state, to the "hospital" - well actually it was a bunch of huts for the disabled who were instructed by a sign to "live life free and happily"; anyway the place does have a doctor on call. We got there and did what one normally does at the doctors office -- we waited. Fortunately Ananya's teeth were so sharp they made a nice "perfect" clean incision. The doctor said there was no need for stitches and that it should heal quickly.

While we're on the topic of medical issues, the mosquitos here are hardcore, and for some reason the kids' bites get all huge and puss filled. Innevitably they scratch at them until they pop and gush goo all about. We have been obsessively applying lotions and spray like neurotic western parents do when newly arrived to the tropics from a bug free zone. Last night a Swedish couple arrived at our place with their 3 year old daughter. They have been here for 2 months -- both Ameen and I were horrified yet slightly comforted (since our kids look totally tame by comparison) by the sight of their daughter's arms and legs -- completely covered in huge red bites. This reminds me, I've never quite understood why westerners so idealize the tropics. I can count the number of bug bites I've received in Seattle in the past 25 years of life on 1 hand -- a number that's an order of magnitude larger here in less than a week. Ah well, our days in Kerala, and nights huddled in the mosquito net, are coming back to us.

More Evil Eyes

If I ever drop out of life and go back to grad school, I think it will be to study cultural anthropology with a dissertation having something to do with the nearly universal presence of the "evil eye." For those of you who have been reading this blog for a while, I wrote a bit about the evil eye and its presence in India.

In Punjab we do things like put little black marks behind our kids ears so "nazar na lug ja ve" (they look doesn`t get them). We have some Greek friends, who will spit (well sort of a fake spit) if anyone says something like "wow what a beautiful child you have." The theory goes, in Punjab and I suppose in Greece as well, that you have to do or mark something ugly to ward off the presence of the eye whenever the temptation of vanity is near. Well interestingly, here in Oaxaca, they seem to have an almost opposite tradition. Instead of protecting a child from the eye, the "looker" has to be protected.

We were lounging at a local cafe on the beach when a nice gentleman from Oaxaca city remarked on how cute our kids were. I was waiting for Ameen to spit, or one of us to grab a black pen. Neither of us moved due to the heat and comfortable positions we were in. I did manage to mutter something in my mind (I don`t realy believe in all this, but I figure the cost of complying is so low, and the even remotely hypothetical cost of not complying is, well, so high). Anyway, this man went on to explain that in the local tradition, if they see a cute child, they have to touch the child, otherwise, they need to go to a local witch doctor, and have him swirl some eggs (I think thats what I heard) around in circles and do something else I couldn`t understand but I think it involved smoke. Of course we granted him permission to touch the kids so as to spare him all the witch doctor effort.

Nayan played along well enough, but Ananya started screaming and ran under the table. We all laughed. Since then, I´ve noticed a lot of roaming beach seller types smile at me and tap the kids non chalantly on the head.

Yoga Man Sensations, Positive Vibrations, Yeah

Well its a big day in blog-land. It seems Blogger has finally upgraded me to the new Beta. I have no idea if it will work, since everything in this computer is in Spanish, and as everyone may know by now, my Spanish is non existent. Nonetheless, my blind clicking seems to have lead me to a new interface.

Today was an interesting day. I woke up, wandered down the beach a few miles, in search of ¨The Yoga Place.¨ I should mention some qualifiers. I´m not much of a yoga guy. 7 years ago, my wife dragged me to a drop in yoga place in the U-District. We were waiting in the sweaty-feet-stenched hallway with a naked, except for a leopord skin speedo, yoga man with a big afro stairing at me from his safe paper poster home. The site of this poster freaked me out. Fortunately I was able to concince Ameen that proceeding with the whole yoga thing was clearly a bad idea in light of this horrific oppressive image. Ever since that day, I´ve been leary of yoga types, with their tight stretchy pants, and perfect posture. So anyway, after Ameen booted me out the door, to ¨go fix my back¨ (I´ve been whining about it for years) while wandering down the beach, I realized I had no idea where this place was. In my early morning wisdom, I started to follow stretchy-pant-perfect-posture people that arrived out of no where. Sure enough I made it there.

So to the uninitiated, yoga pretty much sucks. It involves all the pain of climbing your mountain bike to the top of a peak without the added bonus of an hour plus lush single track adrenaline rush filled descent. Not only do you have all this pain, but it´s in particularly bizarre parts of your body. Apparently the woman here is some sort of Dutch yoga-God that attracts foreigners from all over the planet. Sadly for me, this meant I was the only clueless one in severe pain. I was determined to never come back, but alas, yoga-woman walked over to me and by simply looking at me for 10 seconds, proceeded to detail the location, cause and solution for my back pain, hand pain, neck pain, and every other geek-posture induced problem from the past 10 plus years of my life. She also ordered me to come back every day I´m here so she can correct the wrongs the modern-evil-computer-life has given me. Between her and my wife, I´m afraid I´ll probably be back.

Cabanas in Zipolite

Life: After an all night plane ride with stops through Thanksgiving-crowd filled airports, we finally touched down in lovely, inviting, and most importantly -- sunny and warm -- Huatulco airport. We left Seattle in the cold dark of night with snow in the forecast, and arrived here with sweat-on-brow and many layers of clothing to peel off.

My friend Matt (locally referred to as Mateo) picked us up at the airport. Its a very rustic town with the distinct Bohemian hippy vibe of places I´ve travelled to like Dahab in Egypt, Arambala in Goa - most traveller types have seen similar towns. There are no ¨normal¨ tourist types or infrastructure anywhere, in fact, with all the tension in the capital of Oaxaca city, there are very few travellers of any type. Nonetheless things are peaceful here, and we´re settling into a daily routine of meeting Matt´s many friends, playing at the beach, sipping local beverages, and most deliciously, savoring the very fine Italian cuisine here.

There are many Italians who have settled in Zipolite, and hence, there are many tasty wood fired pizzas to savor. According to a woman that hangs out at our hotel place, this (the presence of many Italians in Latin America) is because Italians grow up getting sent to the beach with their relatives as children and they identify with a Catholic country. Not sure exactly how all that stitches together, or whether I understood it all through my reliance on 8th grade Latin and 12th grade French to understand the blend of English, Spanish and Italian communicating it, but it sounds like the basis for an interesting theory.

Hopefully I´ll be able to upload some photos soon. Unfortunately we have no electricity at our cabinas, with the exception of a few solar powered bulbs, and my laptop battery is now dead since we stayed up watching Shrek last night all cuddled under the shelter of our mosquito net.

A Day in the Life of Mateo

My friend, whos adopted name is now apparently 'mateo', is having a hoot down in mexico. Since my life is far less exciting these days, with his permission, I'm posting a recent email he sent me. this one is titled: Prepare yourself for verbal diarrhea!

Life continues in the land of the sun. At the moment I have a bit of a cold, I think I got a chill last night because it was suddenly cold and I had the fan right on me all night. Its wierd to have a cold in a super hot climate. However its very mild and the old digestive system is running like a champ.

Not much new to report. Today was an excellent day, I got up at around 9 and went over to my friend Jerry's house around the corner to see if he could help me fix my moto, which hasn't been running since I got here. Instead he had to install a window at another friends house, an odd job he was doing, so we went over there instead. There we bumped into my friend Alexis who had dropped by to pick up some tiles for his house that Tony had bought for him, so I offered to help load them into my truck and carry them up to his house. Then Tony shows up and we hang out a bit and talk about his indian neem tree in the back yard and he shows me a plot of land next to his with a great view of the beach for 8000 dollars. We discuss possibilities. I read the introduction to "Rebel Sell" which I find very interesting, the premise is that the dominant counter-culture paradigm today is the "Matrix" like concept that we are all being manipulated by "the establishment", and the accepted leftie way to fight it is, like Nemo in the Matrix film, to refuse to accept the established world as is and pursue personal pleasure, since the ultimate act of rebellion in a media orchestrated world is to identify and pursue goals that you yourself want rather than the goals society sells you, (the book suggests that this paradigm is flawed and efforts to subvert the establishment simple serve to strengthen it) I borrow the book, we go visit Alexis's observatory he is building out of cob with a homemade thatched rotating doom roof for the telescope, we take some grass cuttings to plant at Jerry's house, there is a nice variety of grass Alexis is growing that is very strong and requires little water, then I drop back by Jerrys house, he invites me in for some leftover minestrone (Jerry is an italian who is opening a restaurant here in 4 months), I have a chance to flirt a bit with Ciara the sexy italian who is camping on Jerry's land, we eat the minestrone, a little bread, buon apetito, saver the local plant life, have some coffee, plan to go camping in the desert with the witch doctors over Semana Santa which is Easter, plan also to go to the big waterfall by Huatulco to go swimming next week, I ask Jerry for the email of a mexican friend who went back to DF, he looks for a while in a big pile of little scraps of paper and finds lots of things he forgot about but not my friends number, I remember I was supposed to help Coenraad and James build a cob pizza oven down in Arroyo 3 for the community center but am glad I forgot becuase the work site is in full sun and its nicer to just sit at jerrys house, outside under the shade roof he built, and look at the beach stretching down below only 200 meters away. So much here is homemade, if you want something like furniture you make it yourself or you get a friend to make you something. It occurs to me that during the whole day I never had the slightest idea where I would be or what I would be doing 30 minutes ahead, and that this might just be the best definition of freedom that I could come up with. Then I went back to my house for a liittle nap, afterwards I talk to the mexicans staying in the room next door, they tell me they come from a town in the mountains where mineral water comes out of the tap. I tell them they should post a big Welcome to -- sign outside their village announcing that the place is so great they even shit in mineral water, they think that is so funny they about fall out of their chairs laughing. My spanish is really coming along, you can measure it in terms of comic timing. Then Christopher and I go play soccer with the local team, 5 on 5, lots of fun, after sunset I come home shower and get sucked into a stream of consciousness email that is interruped by Karrie and James who stop by before walking down the beach to try Guille's fruiti di mare pasta at the last palapa hut on the beach. I read out the first half of my email and Karrie gives me her email address and asks me to send it to her as well. We agree to meet at the local watering hole in an hour for a drink. That's convenient because Luigi is bound to be there after his two day trip to the mountains for a little fresh air, and we have to talk about the company we have decided to start together. Mexican law requires that a company have at least 2 founders. He wants to build small scall water collection and maintenance systems here to sell to locals to improve local water usage and quality, which fits in well with my ideas. However Coenraad has suggested an idea I might have to coopt, which is to open a cafe that rents guitars to travellers on an hourly, daily, or weekly basis, and provides 15 minute starter lessons for anyone who wants to learn a few chords while they are hanging out on the beach, and in the afternoons you host a bob marley jam session for anyone who wants to play extremely simple songs and feel like a rock star. I think its a pretty good idea.

Thats pretty much what my days are like around here, when I'm not building cob or looking for land. I thought I found something pretty good but my latest feeling is that I could probably hold off and wait for a really good deal and keep my money for future projects... There are lots of deals to be had and I am reallly not in a hurry...

Hope you are well! By the way, I met a really great artist here who runs a restaurant, quite gourmet, probably the best restaurant in town, from Mexico City DF, you'd like his place. Ameen, your pictures look great on my wall by the way.

Ciao! Hope you are riding some snow once in a while for me. I'm currently listening to Sowehto's Where its At by Charlie Hunter, you know the song? Its so good, my latest favorite, not counting Come up to my Room by Princess Superstar which my dad would dismiss as "lower chakra stuff". You should play it at work once in a while. By the way I'm being turned on to lots of good music here. When I come back for a visit I'll have another hard disk full of stuff I think.

Matt (currently Mateo)