Puerto Vallarta Journal
Hurricane John
August 30th, 2006
There's a bloody great Hurricane heading our way! If it hits us, it'll be some time tomorrow, and at about a class 4. I'd always thought the idea of hurricanes was kind of neat- that is, until Katrina- so I have to admit that I'm just a bit excited. I know it's silly, but Puerto Vallarta is in a well protected location and historically hasn't been affected very badly by hurricanes. Still, we have enough food and water to last us for a while, and our building is solid. Dave pointed out that the fact that the locals are just going about their regular business is comforting as well.
Having said that, if you don't hear from us for a while, you'll know why. I just wish that the one hurricane I am likely to experience in my life had a more interesting name than "John".
The Sports Arena
August 28th, 2006
Dave is taking a break from writing so I'm going to take over today.
Our neighborhood is called Colonia Lazaro Cardenas. It's close to downtown, and right beside the public outdoor sports arena which has a free running track. The track is quite lovely surrounded as it is by all kinds of beautiful trees, but it is especially so in the morning, when you have a clear view of the sun rising over the mountains.
The first time I went there was- as first times tend to be- the most memorable. There is a small square at the entrance to the sports arena, with a large flagpole that is usually bare. On that day, however, a crowd of people had gathered to witness a flag raising ceremony. Half a dozen men in uniform were carrying a very large flag over to the flagpole amidst a chorus of trumpets. They raised the flag to half mast, and an important looking fellow in a suit took centre stage and began what was to be a very long speech. I paused to admire the rising sun gleaming off the white and brass uniforms of the trumpeters, with the monolithic Sheraton Hotel rising like a sandstone cliff behind them, and after a moment continued on to the track.
Unlike any running track I have been to in Canada, populated solely by the young and frighteningly fit, this track was full of all kinds of people: young and old, fit and otherwise. Some were there to simply stroll and enjoy the morning, others walked briskly or jogged slowly, while a group of young men who obviously train together were taking turns to sprint at full speed around the inside track.
I was there for about an hour, and each time I passed the entrance where the ceremony was taking place, I looked over to see if anything new was happening. Each time, the important looking fellow was still talking, but there were fewer and fewer people in the crowd. By the time I was ready to go, the crowd was almost gone, but he on he went, determined to finish his speech. As I was leaving a group of children in red t-shirts had magically appeared at the arena. They seemed to come out of nowhere with no goal other than to be everywhere at once and make as much noise as possible. I left them to it. I hope at least that some of them listened to the end of the important man's speech.
New Roommates
August 26th, 2006
It looks like we have a new roommate in the apartment. Well, he's not NEW per se, since he was probably already here when we moved in, but that's beside the point. The point is we just noticed him. He's a little yellowish lizard that Danielle has dubbed Little Mister Gecko Man.
We first spotted him on our bedroom wall, where he was watching over us while we slept. He has an uncanny ability to scurry away (and he's so cute when he does it)!) when he knows you're looking at him, so we only caught the briefest glimpse. Other sightings had been pretty similar, until yesterday when he made a wrong move and got caught behind a cupboard with nowhere else to scurry. So I took a picture for all of you to enjoy. Checkmate, Little Mister Gecko Man!
Goings-on
August 23rd, 2006
Well then. Sorry it's been so long since our last update, but we've been working away at our respective projects for the last week or so, and there's not an awful lot to write about when we're in our apartment the whole day! Well, not entirely I suppose, but it's difficult to stretch what does happen into a whole little story.
There are a few things we have noticed as we've been sitting inside and listening to the goings-on outside our door. The first is that our upstairs neighbor-- well, the whole block, honestly, but upstairs is the worst-- has the most frustratingly monomaniacal taste in music. He'll listen to ONE song over and over again for hours on end, and always at absolute peak volume. And then he sings along with it, just as loud. Fortunately, he has a pretty good voice!
That's nothing compared to the gas trucks, though. At first we laughed when we heard them, because as they drive down the street they play little jingles that indicate which gas company they're with. We quickly grew familiar with all of the different varieties, from "*honk honk* FlooooGAS!" to the more musical ones. They're annoying, but in truth not as annoying as top-40 ringtones in Canada. We didn't realize it at first, but the gas truck drivers are apparently free agents here in Puerto Vallarta, and therefore are always playing their little audio loops as loud as possible, trying to stir up customers. We're not exactly sure how this works. Do people come running out of their homes to flag down a gas truck, like a grown-up version of the ice-cream truck?
Aside from that, we've had some fun scares with lighting, which has hit so close a few times that we were sure we could hear not only the loud boom, but the sound of something sizzling in its wake. And then there's the always-present sound of children playing everywhere. That last one kind of makes up for any annoyance or fright of the other ones. It's an excellent soundtrack to work to, if you ask us.
Art Supply Follies
August 15th, 2006
We've taken pretty quickly to making lists of things when going out shopping. Speaking only a tiny bit of Spanish is all well and good for something like going to a restaraunt, or going shopping for clothing and such in Centro, but when it comes to buying things for around the home, or especially art supplies, we've discovered that you need to know in advance what a thing is called.
Some of the most embarrassing examples of this seem to have happened at the paint store. The first time we went in, we were looking for a plastic dropsheet. It's a common enough item in Canada, which you can just pick up off the shelf of any hardware store or paint store. But shops like this work a little differently here. First of all, you don't pick up anything off the shelf. You tell the person at the counter what you need, and he (or she, but usually he) goes and gets it for you. Most of the people we've encountered working in a shop with this type of arrangement speak little to no English. Our Spanish is so far limited to butchering simple phrases like "do you know where the bathroom is?" (more commonly truncated to "bathroom please?")
As you can imagine, this poses a problem. Especially with many of our art supplies, since we had no clue what most of them might be called in Spanish, and the Spanish-English dictionary we bought seems to have all the most obscure words and phrases imaginable, with the exception of any we actually happen to need.
We got lucky the first few times. One of the things we needed early on were sheets of plywood to stretch our canvases for painting. We were wondering how we would find some, since plywood isn't quite the crutch of the construction industry the way it is in Canada. Pretty much everything here is plaster, brick, or concrete.
While we were pondering this one day, we just happened to be walking along one of the streets near our apartment. As we rounded one corner, we noticed in large letters on a wall the word "madera" (wood). Oh, I wonder if they have any plywood here? As we looked in the door, we could see into a huge yard full of lumber and partially constructed furniture. Well, I guess the sign doesn't lie.
So, simply enough, we walked in and tried to find someone to talk to. Not knowing what 'plywood' was called specifically, we hesitated a moment. Very quickly though, we were able to spot some shelves in the back with large sheets of plywood on them. Perfect! So we pointed, and told them how big we needed, and that was that. This was going to be easier than we thought! Well, except for getting them home. Two six foot by four foot plywood boards don't exactly weigh next to nothing, so after a few Three Stooges impressions trying to balance/carry/maneuver the boards in various unsuccessful configurations, we finally settled on carrying the boards balanced upon our heads. Sure, we needed to stretch ourselves out thoroughly to regain our necks once we got home, but at least we had our plywood.
But the paint store, oh god. That was another matter entirely. The first time we went to a paint store, we were looking for a dropsheet. Danielle asked the guy behind the counter if he spoke any English. Nope. Darn. Ok. I reasoned, if I ask for 'something to cover furniture for painting' would get the point across, right? So I tentatively began: "Busco... um, algo cosa por cubrir... muebles... por pintura?" and received the most depressingly blank stare in reply. "Pintura? Cual color?"
"No, no pintura. Algo cosa por cubrir muebles y piso... uh, while painting. So no... er, drips."
Another blank stare. It's at this point that the thought occurred that maybe such a thing didn't exist in Mexico. It's conceivable, since everywhere we'd seen had little drips of paint all over (well, not everywhere, but it's clear that stray drippage is something of a pandemic). But no, it has to exist. Danielle ventured a guess that maybe "rollo plastico" might be of some use.
A light went on in the store fellow's eyes and he ran back into the maze of shelves, coming back with... some kind of floor mat. No, not quite, we explained, but getting closer. I tried phrasing my question a few more different ways, and had the poor fellow under the impression that we were looking for furniture finish for a while, but we were no closer to a plastic dropsheet. It was a little like being in an Abbot and Costello routine.
Finally, another more senior-looking employee walked out of the back room where he had evidently been watching this sad display for the last few minutes, and asked us, in passable English, what we wanted. We asked, in English, and inside of a minute we were leaving the store with a (rather expensive, it turned out) plastic dropsheet. On the front of the package it said "cubre todo," prominently listing "muebles" as one of the primary things it was made to cover. What, was it the WAY I said it?