Raicilla Dreams

What, Another Year?

2011-12-30T09:15:00.000-08:00

Time apparently is not waiting for me to get off my duff. Getting ready to head back to Yelapa and I have no stories completed. Lots of promises from you out there, but, no one has actually sent one. Come on! Share some tales with me this year for the blog.

Thanks to Kathryn Hill for sending some photos which I just posted.

Friends of April Jones!

2011-08-20T10:00:00.000-07:00

FRIDAY HARBOR & VALLARTA/YELAPA

Friends of April Jones! And other friends everywhere...Urgent Help Needed

April fell on the street Wednesday and broke her hip and had to have a replacement. We need to raise $8,500 -9,000 dollars quickly. She has no insurance. Please help out with as much as you can. Here is the Paypal address of Harmony, April's daughter in Seattle. You can send through Paypal or Chase Quick Pay to: hamonita@yahoo.com (yes, spelling is correct, no 'r') On Paypal please remember to use the "Personal" tab.

April is out of surgery and feeling good! Yay!

Island people: April used to own the taxi company on the Island. She has helped so many people there and here and now she needs help!

Primo Garcia Dies Suddenly

2011-08-15T20:53:00.000-07:00

We just lost one of my very favorite people in all of Yelapa. Primo Garcia died suddenly yesterday. I don't know what I am going to do without his warm daily greeting. Hug your friends...Kathryn Hill

We said Adios to Primo...The Capitan, Gregorio called him, from the times Primo steered the Cargo boat and all those hippies and veterens would hop on the bags of rice and beans and make the 3 hour trip to Yelapa. One time the storm was so bad coming back, Gregorio said it was amazing how Primo saved their lives, using the anchor to keep them away from the rocks. . I will cherish our last visit which i remember well...sitting on the wall....bye for now Primo...Kelley Chesley

One by one, Yelapa's old guard is leaving us. With their departure we are losing a

way of life (like saying, "hola amigo" on the trail to everyone) that is the essence

of why all of us were attracted to it in the first place. We have to keep those

smiles going...and be reminded of the pure place they came from...Nina Grand

Why Pichon, I asked Reyna?

2011-08-06T19:04:00.000-07:00

He was called Pichon - we were los Pichones. It's cuz we were instructed by my father to stick close so we were following like a dove with babies. Or duck.

We were also inseparable as kids and they'd say we were like pigeons - whatever that means - they were synonymous with doves but it's still a strange thing.

We'd celebrate our birthdays together even though his was in June and while very young I remember a cake with doves on it all over - how strange because my father would not allow us to have any - it was for the guests - all adults there.

Oh, well - now I love dark chocolate and can have as much as I like - (same rules applied to chocolate - only 1/2 of one Carlos IV to share with my bro. I guess it could have been worse and I'd have no teeth now - dentures or something.

Reyna's Childhood Memories

2011-07-16T23:05:00.000-07:00

Today is a laundry day and of course ironing as well as the part of work that I’ve brought home that still needs to be finished.

As I’m changing laundry from washer to dryer I have bits of memory that take me so far away – Yelapa way.

Yelapa things:

Toilet – early toilets were a Nido can with a plastic bag in it – beside it was sand, ash and dirt. A scoop of each for #2 was the habit.

There was another can if you were going to do #1 – it was thrown over the edge. (If you’re wondering of toilet paper, you picked your green leaves before you did your business – no Charmin here – if #1 you drip dry) I have no idea what women with their periods did – Honestly – I’m thinking they were at the waterfall all 5 days – I would have not survived.

It was perfectly normal to see someone peeing on the side of the road – mostly men. Women would be found only if a bush was moving along the side of the road.

Laundry – you’d take a bundle up river and set yourself up near rocks – one good flat one and a stick of soap – yes a stick, long like a stick of butter.

Wet clothes, rub with stick of soap and rub clothes against stone then rinse – twist to remove water and throw over a clean rock

One could only do this in the AM so that in the afternoon one could swing by and pick up the dry clothes.

Or you could have the help take care of it all for you. ( I liked how Basi did our clothes) These were great locations to find out what was going on in town.

Table and chairs – my father had taken a square piece of wood – put two hinges on one side of it and attached it to the two posts that held up the house – a stick that sat in the corner was used to hold it up when it was in use – the rest of the time it remained put away – flat down against the wall. Chairs were Nido cans, the large ones – sometimes with a pillow on them but mostly not.

Fruit and Veggies – You’d only get what you’d eat today or tomorrow – everything was ripe and ready to eat. Bananas were bought in raisimos which were how they grew. You’d have to wrap a gunny sack around it at night so that fruit bats would not get to them. I do not remember ever buying; coconuts, guayavas, guanavanos, mangos, coyules or many others that were in the local trees – you’d climb the tree and get them. Cuastecomates would fall from trees and break open with the black insides – they smelled so nice. My father had the people who lived near the tree make a drink with it that had chocolate and raicilla in it – very good stuff.

Milk – you could get it fresh from town but most just got Nido milk – powdered milk that was not bad if it’s what you grew up on – cow’s milk would be fresh and if boiled would create a thin layer on top that was good with frijoles.

Gas to cook on – Well, back in the day you’d order it from PV, the panga would bring it in and you’d have to have someone bring the large long tank to your house and hook it up. Our first one was interesting because we had to rearrange the kitchen a bit to attach the tank. We used to gather wood to cook until they started bringing the tanks into town.

Refrigerator – There were not any for a long time – we got the first one that was gas – I have no idea how my father found it but it arrived and we had one – small like a crate. It was hooked to the gas tank that the stove was hooked to and it worked great. Basi, our help, loved it.

Drinking water - when we first arrived there was a water hole, up near the waterfall. That one once got contaminated and made everyone sick – they moved it somewhere else. You’d have to go with your bucket and gourd. You’d carry it back to your house on your head. The first couple times my brother and I went we came home with 1/2 buckets each. We learned quickly how to do it properly. My father would boil it and put some stuff in it – cant remember what, and we’d put it in a cantaro with a drinking cup on top of it. The water tasted so fresh and cool.

Showers/baths – You took care of washing up at the river or the waterfall – the river that comes through town from the waterfall was good too – it used to be the in town clothes washing spot back in the day before they put the bridge in. (we’d used to have to walk over the rocks and when the river was high and it could not be crossed, we’d move goods from one end of town to the other through a rope attached to a house on each end of the river. Baskets of goods would be transferred back and forth.

After we got tanks that would get filled with water through pipes that came from above the waterfall, we’d all have bathrooms built that could have real toilets, septic tanks were built and my father had a bucket that had a handle that you’d pull and it would rain on you – that was a fun shower. Mostly there was a large tin container billed with water with a gourd in it and the maid, Basi, would wash us with cold water – it was not cold like Oregon cold, it was Yelapa cold. (not cold at all)

There were no baths. OK, maybe Rita had a bath. Everyone else had showers.

Fresh meat – well, once a month there was a man who owned cattle and he’d kill a cow and sell the meat – we’d all go watch the event, early in the AM. Chickens were easy, you’d just talk to anyone who sold eggs and ask when they’d have chicken to sell. Pork was the same way – anyone that sold chicharron would have pork – we did not eat that so much. Our main meals were of fish and chicken. Mostly beans, veggies, fish and bread. Back in the day, there were only three stores in town – one cantina in town and the boat club in town. A couple of restaurants – the cantina and Steve and his wife’s – that is in town – on the beach were all the restaurants but most of the town if you were going to go eat, it would be in town and not at the beach. If you ate at the beach it was after the tourist left because you’d eat with all the cooks and cooking staff – that was the best of all.

Clothes – well, it’s strange you think that someone would come to town with a very large bundle that they’d open up and you’d buy your clothes from them - or you’d go to PV and the main mercado for stuff. I liked the “Tambache man” he had everything including bras and under wear.

2011-07-15T17:26:00.001-07:00

1 A/B In this picture my father had taken us to PV for what he called a day to be civilized – whatever he meant, no one really could understand – these two combined are the before (when we arrived in PV) and after (the civilized look) as you can see, we don’t even look like the same kids – It’s so funny to think that he thought we were not civilized the way we were.

2 A/B In this pic it was Pichon and Reyna at the campo santo and the other was taken as we played in our front yard – It was our playground.

3 A/B In the last picture we’re at the beach and my father was taking the picture – my brother and I were always together – notice the bathing suite, it’s the one that Rita designed for me and named after me. Honestly, it’s not a new look but I loved that suit – I only had one other that I had gotten in PV I only wore it for about a year before I got this one – I’d started to develop and it was not acceptable for me not to wear a top so it had to match – whatever :) Those were my father's ideas. ..........Reyna S.

Background on Rick the Stick

2011-07-15T17:23:00.000-07:00

My father came from a well to do family from Germany – history said that they made clothes for the Czar of Russia back in the Day.

Anyway, I digress – they became import-exporters and when my grandfather came here (Flushing, NY) to settle he expanded the business. He returned to Germany for a wife and in 1916 my father was born.

Marion, his mother died 3 days after giving birth to him. Willy, his father got care for him and when he was old enough my father traveled with him all over the world – his primary language – German. When he was of age for school, he’d be sent off to Military schools and schools in Germany,

in vacations he’d travel with his father. When the market crashed Willy lost much of his business and hung himself. My father joined the military with much protest of the family back in Germany – some disowned him as a family member for that but he had his own ideas.

He’d gone to school to be an architect but I guess he felt he would do the service for a bit – which turned out to be the rest of his life. While traveling in the military he had a nak for languages – he learned many including Chinese – who’d a thought ha?

Anyway, the German thing was a familial tie, I think. I recently found his cousin’s son in Valparaiso Chile – he could not believe it was me – I guess there used to be much talk of my father and how he’d been disowned by the family. Many have died back in Germany and the inheritance went to those in Chile – good for them – I hope they needed it. Money is not everything, it’s only a small part of our experience here.

Anyway – that’s the story.

More.....from Reyna

2011-07-14T13:53:00.000-07:00

1. First one is of my brother and I at Karen’s (Karina) house – we’d gone to visit and see how the new addition was going – sand had been piled up to continue the construction – while adults discussed things we were instructed to go look at the beautiful view of the bay.

2. OK, this is a strange photo because my mother had sent a large box which included that doll that my father named Peanuts – I don’t know why – we did not grow up with dolls and we did not know what to do with it – so we dragged it around to see what we’d do with it. In the pic is my brother, Pichon, my father Rick the Stick and me, Reyna.

3. In this pic is my father, Rick the Stick, and, I think his name was, Bob Lewis. I don’t remember. I'm sure that my father was having a cup of coffee and his friend was having a beer because there are no pics of him drunk or drinking – must have been his vanity.

From a Child's Point of View

2011-07-13T15:29:00.000-07:00

Please, dear Yelapa friends, go fetch yourself a beer or a shot of tequila and sit yourself down for a most endearing read. This was sent to me by Reyna Schlichter who is the daughter of Rick the Stick, William H. Schlichter. Her remembrances of Yelapa as a child touched my heart and will yours, too.

Here are some things that many don’t know and are not aware of.

My father, Rick the stick, retired from the Army in 1959 and truly dropped out. He was very interested in moving somewhere quiet. You see, after WWII and Korean War and years of military school, I guess he’d had enough. He spoke many languages and he could be very quiet. He met my mother in Puerto Vallarta in 1960, I was born in 62, my brother in 63 and my mother was only 19 when she got pregnant. My father was much older, about 55 or so.

My mother had the idea that she’d married an American and that she’d be on her way to the States in no time. She also expected to have blue eyed, blond hair babies, clearly not what the plan was at all. When my mother realized that that she was not going to the US, she left us with my father, I was 3 and my brother was 2. When my father realized he’d be raising us alone, he moved to Yelapa. That would be 1965. I remember when we arrived, we’d have to gather wood at the beach for my father to cook each meal – it was an adventure. As we grew and more people arrived we had more friends.

My father did not allow us to play with the children in town much, I don’t know why. We were only allowed to play with the children of his friends – The Glumas kids were my first friends. They had a restaurant right near Avenida Fuchi at the bottom of the hill on the left. A small creek ran by their restaurant and house. The Elies kids were older and Daria was in school somewhere else so we never really saw her – Jeff was always fishing or making something. I spent a lot of time with Gloria – she’d let me look at her National Geographic's at her studio – she had a wall full of them. It was heaven and I saw many things that I never knew existed.

We went to the local school only when teachers would come to town and the rest of the time my father would hire the summer visitors to provide us with art, language and history lessons. It was a well rounded education. We learned in French, German and sometimes they tried us in English – we did not do so well in that language. We mostly spoke Spanish around town, French and German only with my father – my brother did not speak much – I was bashful to speak French around Daria and Jeff, they spoke it so much better and much faster.

My father would take us for outings up to one end of the point past Karen’s house – she was an artist that had the last house at one end of the bay – he’d also take us up the river for hikes. They were magical walks because he’d teach us about the plants, the animals and during the different seasons he’d explain how things worked in nature. We would get the same teachings about the ocean. We’d stay up a night just long enough to see the phosphorus in the ocean and see the fish that glowed in the dark come through in particular seasons. Once he hired someone to take us out in a canoe past the shit rock so we could see the whale migration up close.

When whales were ill and they’d come into the bay he’d find a teaching opportunity to go down and touch them, see what animals were attached to the whales and why they were in our bay – he’d explain that they were tired of living and that something must have happened to them so they were here to rest or to die. If one died, it was our responsibility to help them not be messy about their death – they’d be burned on the beach. What a mess that turned out to be, but I guess it was less stinky than keeping them in the water.

The first time I saw a manta ray come into the bay it scared me – it looked like a black school of fish in very strict formation. I got to see one up close once, and they were large. From where we lived, it was a great vantage point because one could see everything even the spotted ray that came through one day. During a particular season there were schools of sardines that would come through the bay and that was fun, because you got to see them shimmer in the water or you could get into the water and feel them swimming past you and between your legs, that was a very interesting experience. There was also jelly fish season, there were all kinds, round ones, blobs and some that were just clear others with black dots on them and tentacles. There were some that stung, some could kill you and others that were harmless – to this day I can not get them straight – best advise I ever got - “stay away from all of them”

There were particular people I remember the most – Peggy – the 20 dog woman. I used to think she had everything at her house, but most of all when we’d go to her house for dinner, we’d always stay the night. We’d sleep in the tapanco or in either the sewing room or the mask room. I loved the sewing room – She only wore huipiles – and native jewelry – I loved that about her. I remember that one day she called my father over because one of her dogs had a big gash and the gash had worms in it – maggots. My father took care of what ever it was that she was afraid of and the dog was fine. He was not a vet but he knew a thing or two about curing things I guess. My favorite memory of staying at Peggy’s house was when I’d stay in the sewing room and she’d come in and open the window for me – she’d say that the moon would cover me in calm rays and that the frogs in the river would put me to sleep. She was very kind.

Ruby near the lake was also someone I remember, she loved to laugh and have us over for dinner. Her house was the best – I loved the garden she had and how she had huts for her guests. She had a lemongrass plant that I loved to smell as a child. She was also a great cook. I remember when she was ill prior to dying. She’d come home from the hospital many helped her to be comfortable in her last days. Daria and I took turns taking care of her so that others who cared for her could rest. It was the least we could do for someone who through the years gave us such joy.

Then there was my father's favorite hang out buddy, Gloria. Gloria was like the mother I never had, she was always teaching me something. I remember sitting under a stump she used to chip away at a block of wood she was sculpting into something. The chips would fall on me while she talked to me in 1/2 Spanish and French as I paged through the newest National Geographic she’d received. I made sure I did not wrinkle the pages because she’d let me see it before she was done reading the articles. She’d sit and read out loud to me in English but I did not understand a word. She’d look at me and let out a laughter that brought out nothing but joy to your heart – she’d rub my head and pull me to her bosom, I just love her.

Then there was Rita, she had the large artifact store with her designs and native clothes. It was the only tourist shop in town and her children were a bit too good for the rest of us. I did work there for a bit, to practice my language skills but my joy was looking and learning about the statues and artifacts she had, you see, I’m an archeology and anthropology buff even to this day. Rita made batik material that she transformed into beautiful bathing suits, she named one after me – the Reyna – it had a front skirt like on the bottoms and a twisted sort of top – it was cute. I remember that I’d watch her when she’d color her hair, I always wondered why she’d do that to herself. She had a couple cats that my brother would sell her fish for, we’d both fish right in front of her house.

The Shapiro’s were another family in town that I thought were the life of all and every party they had. I never knew this until after I’d been here for many years but my father's mother was Jewish and he never knew her, she died giving birth to him. They’d invite us to all the parties they had and we always had a ball – I learned to eat all kinds of different things at their house and the most memorable was the pillow they had that was a “dick”, when you unzipped the zipper on the shaft, it also had a vagina. It was the strangest thing I’d ever seen but it was a pillow. They had the first waterbed in town – wow! Was that fun!!! Their house had a hanging bed that looked out to the river and bean bags that we’d never seen before. It was fun there. I did play with Tali but she was very reserved and maybe older than I, not sure really why we did not click. I remember her brothers and sisters, they had a large family and knew how to have fun.

As anyone in Yelapa knows, people seem to travel through the place. I met two young guys who’d come for a bit and then I never saw them again – Tony and Giles. I don’t remember their last names but they lived up the river a ways – their house had a waterfall in the back that practically ran through the house. The grass in their front area was tall, we’d play Marco Polo there and it was lots of fun. There was a large rock in the middle and if you climbed to the top of it you could see the grass move where people were walking through – it was heaven there.

We once had an American teacher who came with her son to town. She tried very hard to teach us English, I don’t think we did very well at all. Her son, Todd, was always bothered by some thing or another –another words (sic) - a cry baby.

In the evenings my father would play his classical music, listen to the radio news form the BBC and at times read to us in French or in German, only once in English, he had to translate a lot for us. Some seasons brought bugs that would eat his books, some seasons brought bats that would eat the banana raisimos that we had to cover in pillow cases, others brought ejejenes and well, there was always the beauty of the bay and the Macaws that flew around, the Iguanas that had their mating season and of course there was always the boa constrictor that lived above in the tree near our house – it would drop out of nowhere to get an iguana or some rodent on the ground. During army ant season my brother and I would fight bugs, yes – you hear right – we’d get red ants and fight them with black ones. There was always the random question if a cuichi could get away if a large crab grabbed it real quick... It was a child's mind at work in the simple times.

Who could forget the tourist that would wait all day for the boat that my father would tell them would come and pick them up if they waited – at the bottom of the hill in front of Rita’s place – you see they did not want to climb the hill and they wanted another way to get over it. He’d laugh and say how these stupid Americans will believe anything. We’d know when the Princes Cruise was in PV because the tourist would come with their white box lunches and litter the beach – my father always said one day they’d be turning with their trash in tow if he was in charge. He never really wanted to be in charge of anything, I think he’d had enough of being in charge after so many years in the Army - who would not understand.

Ah, the magical days of being at the beach in the morning for a little snorkeling, then a swim around the hotel side of the beach and then lay on the beach for a bit to finish the day around noon to go home, have lunch, a nap for 2 hours then go for a walk to visit friends or do a little grocery shopping.

Some may remember my father as the alcoholic that binged once a year – yes, it’s true – he was a drunk – he’d drink for one to two months out of the year and then be all well and functioning for the rest of the time – people in town would care for us – once we were staying with Don Rogelio’s family for a bit. Another time, a woman in town took us and of course when our caregiver Basi was in town she’d do it. People were incredibly kind and if I could remember everyone who took care of us, I’d say a large “Thank You” because I never really knew them well and too much time has gone by to remember their faces but they know who they are.

Faye – that’s all I have for now – there’s much more but that’s for my book. Thanks, Reyna

Finally....Kid Photos!

2011-07-11T10:44:00.000-07:00

1st pic is of Letty Thomson, my brother Bill (AKA Pichon) and Me, Reyna. Letty, Todd and Pam lived at what was known as the Galeria, Gloria’s old place for displaying her art. It was later rented to people. My brother, father and I lived right next door between the Galeria and Rita Tillett’s shop. We’d gone over to play as we did when kids were living there.

2nd pic is of my birthday (left to right – Tali Shapiro, me (Reyna), Monica and my brother Bill (AKA Pichon). This was the only birthday party I remember as a child – my father was very strict and there was not much fun to be had sometimes. This one was memorable because I got to have soda, we only had one per year and the same went for chocolate of any kind.

3rd pic was one of a party at the Shapiro home which was the place for many parties.

Top row left to right – Shapiro children and at end hired help (sorry, it’s been too long, do not remember names)

Bottom row left to right – Jeff, Todd (teachers son), Bill (AKA Pichon), Daria, Tali, me (Reyna) My father had Kaftans made for the three of us and we all wore them that day – it was cool. courtesy of Reyna Schlichter – Rick the Stick’s daughter

More Ancient Beach Gossip

2011-07-08T08:27:00.000-07:00

The Phil story is as follows...I met him on the beach in 1983 on my first trip with 2 girlfriends and my sister Rita of Baracho Steve and Rita. Phil was handsome and had a boom box with batteries. Hung out with him for few days and we became a beach romance. He was living up behind the beach somewhere that I have looked for many times and never found. He was a psychologist in toronto. When it was time for me to leave neither of us was ready and I went into town, called my mom and she agreed to keep my son a week longer. I went back and he was waiting on the beach...and we had a great time.

When I went back to the states I was in Buffalo in my masters program. Not too far from Toronto. We carried on for over a year. The last time I saw him was in toronto. He and I were both involved with others and we were to see each other in Yelapa just as friends. He knew about Ed and we wrote several times...he was expecting us and was going to find us a house. In the meantime he was living on the lagoon near Ruby's and they had become friends. He had been making and delivering pizzas and therefore his name Pizza Phil.

So we got there and no Phil to meet us. He didn't come to the beach so we went to the house and there was a letter from me on the table with a wine bottle on it and the date circled on the calendar. I went to see Ruby and she told me the story. 3 days earlier he was acting strangely and had been for a few weeks. he killed his cat and told her he was going to pv and would be back. No one ever saw him again. His woman Inca Ada had Interpol come and all they found out was that he had gone to the holiday inn in PV with a man and Phil signed the check. They left together and that was it. I felt him in Yelapa for a few years but then not again. I have always believed that he was killed and put into the sea...who knows?? And why? Another Yelapa mystery. contributed by Penney DeRaps

Rumored Stories Upriver

2011-06-19T13:46:00.000-07:00

Leslie Korn: "Geez this is going waaaaaayyyyy back. Maybe 75 or 76 Ron and Clay built a beautiful place on the river... It's the place that has had successive owners and was one of the first gringo places..they had a couple of big Dobies. ..so the story goes.. (this is like the telephone game you know.Yelapa story + 35 years and voila .. Mythic)
They got into a tussle with a visiting doctor who was hassling them about their gigantic dogs and in their weak spanish they said: 'you kill my dogs, it’s like killing me'. But instead the doctor heard, 'I will kill you.' Voila, he got them kicked out and they were never to return... I heard they ended up in Guadalajara.. But not sure...

Primo had it for a while after that..the Papaya Plantation. He was there with Beth C. and romance bloomed for awhile. Eventually they split up and Tara moved in and then he moved across the path to the other side before his death (self-inflicted).

Birch is the one with the gun thing. He and Lang actually shot at one another until the town intervened. Birch opened the Banana Bar at Ron and Clay’s old place and tormented his poor family. He was taken out of Yelapa. One time was enough for this pueblo and as you notice none are still living here. They got rid of them quickly.

Pizza Phil thing was about 1985. He went to Vallarta then was never heard from again either."

note from Byron M. "WOW!!!!!! yes i think i can help, the dog, was a dane, the

problem was in the misunderstanding of their complaint .They were told OK, stay in yelapa--no problem.
They were next seen by feds in Carlos O'brians--that did it----they then went to guad----illegally (they had been deported. Never had problems, prospered, bought and sold miniature animal carvings---in semi precious stone, both died during the AIDS crisis. i was the caretaker, rented the place to allen helshein , then primo, then birch."

If anyone else can add to these stories please send....or any other tales to tell?

Keep them coming!

Access to Artwork

2011-05-27T17:50:00.001-07:00

Recollections From Leslie Korn

2011-04-21T15:47:00.000-07:00

Some great recollections from Leslie Korn. Match the number to the picture on the left. (for some weird reason, I can't transpose these photos into order...so, just work backwards and check the numbers. sorry)

1. Here’s a photo of Janet and her cousin Danny Berlin at the Zalate....
Janet played conga/bongos and we had a revolving series of musicians including Sean Shapiro. She was a budding sax player under the tutelage of ole sax musician tio Buddy. One summer we were all shvitzing and swatting flying termites (remember? before fans and light at night?) and Celeste was away somewhere and Buddy came over daily for a couple of weeks while they mastered In a Sentimental Mood.

2. Leslie, Janet and Bets Menendez (her back to Camera) 1974. We were the first to inhabit Matildes new house. He had just finished it; all bright white concrete foundation with a crisp palapa, up shit creek. The only other house there at the time was Antonio’s who was building his house in front and Pam Thomson’s further up the hill. And then Elena and Jaime’s up near the upper waterfall. Note the table filled with coffee and cigarettes; this was our pre-purification period. Living up the hill made it easy to quit smoking cigarettes... But alas Betz continued and she passed from emphysema not too many years later.

3. View of the lagoon from the re-built Casa Zalate, following the fire in 1983 during the glorious years when Rita’s house was gone and before Alfonso built his concrete edifice.

The Zalate was perfect for so many reasons and for so many years. Not the least of which was its location so close to the beach. The ocean drowned out all other sounds like the village baile and the church cuetes at midnight, but not the pounding hooves of Don Juan’s bulls being driven through town every Sunday on their way back to pasture.

4. 1980 Janet teaching yoga at the annual Traditional Medicine seminar. We began the seminars in ‘78 and they ran for 25 years at Casa Loma (now Milagros). Aricela (Camerino’s wife) is to the left. Arciela and Camerino were part of a community health group that gathered at the house every week to share food and discuss birth control. In those days the priest would show up occasionally and point a stern finger at our discussions about pills and vasectomies... hmm I forget who was the first man to jump, but soon there was a flood of vasectomies... To the left of Aricela is Janice Dent who attended a few of the Polarity trainings and was a natural born healer and Jaime was in the far back.

5. Building the treatment house at the Zalate, 1979. The first house built on stilts , serving gringo and local alike for 12 years, it provided shelter for many a borracho who fell down the side of the mountain at night and slept underneath as well as shelter and balance above for all manner of malady...

Jungle Living

2011-04-21T15:37:00.000-07:00

Scorpions Spiders Mosquitoes Bats
Gekos Lizards Skunks and Rats
Crickets singing Giant Bees
Roosters sleeping in the trees
Landcrabs Termites Scrawny cats
Donkeys Horses and their craps
Badgers Squirrels and Little Weasels
Mice and Ticks Large Flying Beetles
Armadillos Lots of Frogs
Cows and Bulls and Barking DOgs
Butterflies Fireflies
Dragonflies and Fleas
Ants of all descriptions any where they please
Burning Garbage Burning Gas
Sure hope this trip is not my last.

by Kelley Chesley

Yelapa Happy Hour

2011-04-21T15:34:00.000-07:00

A teeny tiny bug
just flew directly into
the corner of my right eye
bolted out
down my bare back
bit my foot
raced up
my short sarong
then out
into the electric light
fell into my rum and
i drank it...
it all happened so fast

by Kelley Chesley

Springtime

2011-04-19T15:11:00.000-07:00

I returned last week from 3.5 months in Yelapa...the coldest winter ever! Dressed pretty much the same as I do here in Santa Cruz; silk long underwear, sweater, jacket, scarf, socks! What happened? We were all shuffling along in winter gear most of January and February.

One day I spent an hour + sitting in front of the stove while I baked potatoes so it wouldn't be a complete propane waste. Unbelievable. Living outside is a whole different scene when it's cold! I began to appreciate the level of discomfort the homeless must endure during the winters almost everywhere in our USA. It gave me a new insight, but didn't stop me from complaining.

I loved staying in Jan's house...although it was so open and windy and a tough climb. Once I was there, it was a very sweet place to stay. Those of you that ventured up for a visit know how cardio it was!

I added some photos by Jessica Geraldo Rice and also a poem and link to Susa Silvermarie who does some very nice writing on her blogs. Check them out.

More to come...

It's a bit overwhelming being home. I have a new mattress!!

Oh, for those of you asking....no, I did not find my silver beads at home. I am sure I brought them in my carry on pack...so either they were taken out at security and I missed it or someone took them from the casa. It's very upsetting and costly! The price of silver has skyrocketed and I probably won't be able to replace them!

In Praise of the Sea

2011-04-19T14:31:00.000-07:00

The sea the sea,

its heartbeat on the shore

soothes me so.

Each day when I enter her,

she is silk on my skin,

silk!

The sea from whom I come,

she from whom I am made.

Her salt

holds the salty sea within me

afloat on her surface.

No effort from me.

No resistance.

I lie upon the sea

like a bed I have always known.

My skin, a clever device,

the thinnest of paper

to shape the watery depths of me,

disappears.

I go home to the sea.

All of me

surrenders

to the sea, the sea.

by Susa Silvermarie

http://www.susasilvermarie.com

Returning Soon

2011-01-01T14:47:00.000-08:00

I have been so lame this year...not getting any significant stories posted for you.

People, I know you have the goods....please come tell me this year and I'll write it or do it yourself and I'll help edit. We need your deep dark Yelapa secrets from the past before or just including early 80's. We're all counting on you to keep our memories and photos alive! Help me out, please! I'll be in Yelapa this coming week til April...don't put it off!

The Hourglass by M.A. Robins

2010-09-26T15:28:00.000-07:00

Michael Robins has published a novel about his experiences in Yelapa in the 1970's; it is written in the form of recollections, with flashbacks, of a single week, when he lived in the house that Anton and Chris now have just past the root canal. The book is entitled The Hourglass, by M.A.Robins. It was published by TRAFFORD.COM, and is also available more cheaply on AMAZON.

You'll have fun trying to figure out the characters and it gives you a feeling of Yelapa as I remember it when I first arrived. If you're lucky and you are in Yelapa, I left my copy there for others to enjoy. However, it would be nice to support his talent.

Baja Desert Blooms

2010-08-24T17:33:00.000-07:00

May 1983 Baja; returning home, first time in 50 years there is so much rain in the desert and it is blooming everywhere!

The spinster lay alone, dry, unloved, wrapped in a dusty sandstone housedress.

She moaned as lizards slithered between her thighs and slept a dream of wetness like an orgasm of the sky.

Her silent longing made her cry and as she wept these tears of life tumbled down her withered breasts feeding the growing things inside her as if they had been blessed.

She dreamt of hidden valleys voluptuous with mounds of variegated colors, flowers in between and all the sweet young things of virgin youth suckled as she cried out.

Maidenheads were formed again that night. The desert became a blushing bride.

Fables and Legends

2010-08-24T16:56:00.000-07:00

Be sure to visit the Insider's Guide to Puerto Vallarta where you'll find tons of info about PV and Yelapa. There's a fun chapter called Fables and Legends that goes well with my Raicilla Dreams blog.

http://vallartainfo.com/puerto-vallarta-fables.htm

Changes in Attitude, Changes in Latitude....

2010-08-21T19:52:00.001-07:00

VENIMOS Y PASAMOS/WE COME AND WE GO!

Up the lazy Rio Tuito on an equally lazy day...

Las Palabras: Maestro - master; imigra - slang for immigration; Rancho Naranjo - Orange tree ranch and a very special place; Todo el grupo se despidieron! - the entire group was fired; Un milagro - a miracle; La anima - the spirit; Un lugar de comercio - a place of commerce

These past few weeks I have observed how much we all come and go from Yelapa - sometimes it's just a day trip and other times people return after being away from the pueblo for years. It is a vacation location. It is a day trip on a party boat. It is a one-time visit or a lifetime of visits, winter relief from the frozen north or in a few odd cases, a year round experience stretching over a lifetime.

We (that ole dog, Lucky, that cute dog, Desi and I) all went to Puerto Vallarta to do legal imigra business. My pal, Kate, who lived here for about 10 years met us, along with our immigration maestro, Victor Cueva, who helps most of us here and we all had a mini-reunion. Victor also goes way back in Yelapa memories. He once recalled to me how 40 some years ago when he was a federal policeman he came to Yelapa on an "immigragion" raid and arrested Peggy Mandel....he laughed when he said they had no idea she was a personal friend of the then president of Mexico: Todo el grupo se despidieron!

Later we came home on the panga with Hanna and Ahmed, who return each year for at least one night on the anniversary of their meeting in Yelapa, this year with their son, Justice. In the 45 minute ride, we exchanged news about "old" Yelapa and where everyone was now. I got a long distance hug from Julie...we discussed Susana, who lived here until she died, surrounded by Yelapa friends in hospice in Oregon. Being part of the big Yelapa family, they are in touch with almost everyone who lived here 15 years ago up through today. It was as though no time had passed since we last had a visit.

Just the week before on my walk upriver I stopped at Jarret and Natalia's Rancho Naranjo and ran into another old friend from those old days. We were all so close and more involved in each other's lives back then. After all there was no electricity, phone, internet and only one panga per day. One was not expected to phone before dropping by; hospitality was required and visits were truly welcomed and prolonged and usually included sharing a meal.

Farther back in time the first panga (after sails) to Puerto Vallarta took 2-3 hours via smelly, diesel powered engine. When we did go to Puerto Vallarta there was not much to do. It was possible to do all your chores in one day since selection was so limited. These days we shop at several stores. Pretty much everything else can be found in the pueblo now that we have refrigeration. I've heard a few people even have air-conditioning! Beware, the end is near!

I can only hope the connections formed here among the newer international residents will continue on beyond the current trend toward business ventures. Few people realize they are changing the scene, changing the tempo, bringing a faster, most sophisticated attitude, maybe even interfering with the pueblo's right to self-determination. Well, maybe not. Just yesterday at the playita where I swim I had a chat with a pal, who barely told me how he was, never mentioned how many whales he had seen, who had come for a visit - I barely recall being asked anything. Instead he told me how business was. Before I left an old-timer gringo who was carrying his laptop told me he couldn't be bothered to use dial-up internet; he was too impatient; he needed highspeed-wireless...this from a man who used to fish for his existence here...my, my, my. It shocks me that dial-up is no longer un milagro.

I know there's no putting us back in the bottle. I just hope everyone remembers each unit built must have water, septic, trash removal and creates not only wealth but waste. Mostly remember to be a good friend to the pueblo, take time to make real friends, and keep the custom alive of leaving but always coming back because Yelapa has always been a healing place for la anima as well as un lugar de comercio.

Vamos dejar atras huellas diminutas! - Let's just leave behind tiny footprints!

Maria

http://a-word-from-yelapa.typepad.com/

Birds... January 1979

2010-08-20T10:31:00.000-07:00

Pelicans drifting above cresting ocean

Diving before me in repetitious motion

Occasionally scooping a shadowy streak

In its otherwise amusing most useful beak.

Blue-footed Boobies step in syncopation

Sifting for tidbits with antic gyration

Sooner than later you sight one a munchin'

While searching on sandbars for tasty luncheon.

Up Rio, Egrets cluster together

Flocked on the river, birds of a feather

China white cloud as they burst into flight

Souring together in compadre delight.

Paricos abound in this tropical clime

Verdant, turquoise and radiant lime

Chattering loudly as if in agreement

That paradise suits them far better than cement.

While Hummingbirds hover as if in suspension

Sipping the nectar in every direction

So silent these tiny jewels of the air

Except for their wing songs, you'd not be aware.

Myriad creatures abound in this bay

So grand to witness another Yelapa Day.

Brian Mathson RIP

2010-08-19T17:47:00.000-07:00

Brian J. Mathson, 63, of Grand Marais, Minnesota died February 8, 2010, in an automobile accident in Lake County.

Rabo de Meztisa

2010-08-19T14:16:00.001-07:00

Pepe's Receipe for Rabo de Meztisa

which he prepared for me and demonstrated how to make in his own words...

eggs, 2 per person

Chile poblano, roasted and cut into ribbons

Tomatos or puré

Onion, garlic, oregano, sweet basil, nutmeg

Cream or mild yogurt

Cotija; dry cheese

1. Fry minced onion (plenty) and garlic til transparent

2. Add a good bed of crushed tomatoes or puré let simmer 10 minutes, adding the spices and salt, plus a good pinch of knorr chicken bullion

3. Carefully dispose the eggs in a pattern, on the bed of tomatoes to poach

4. Locate your eggs between slices of poblano (to know where they are) and grate a generous amount of cotija

5. When the eggs are nearly done, cover everything with a layer of sour cream or yogurt

buen provecho!

Learning to Spearfish and then some...

2010-08-19T13:44:00.000-07:00

I make a wonderful new friend. Bob D. and I become bosom buddies and play together for 2 weeks. He teaches me about the sea and snorkeling. Especially, how to use the sling. I hit my first fish right before I leave Mexico in June. I can't believe the rush of killing a fish...my bloodlust surprises me totally. Massage was another thing I learned how to do. There was so much about him I loved - such a good man - a very sweet relationship between us, unusually honest and in that honesty - pure. I miss him.

At a PV medical lab before we split Mexico, we find we both have entamoeba histolytica. However, once back in the states they say there seems to be no sign.

I go ahead with the meds anyway!

To Burn or Not to Burn?....That is the Question

2010-08-19T11:08:00.000-07:00

Last week I started reading old journals and letters from my first years in Yelapa. I intended to separate into piles and decide which might stay and which would go the way of a special burn. Did I really need to keep all these ramblings and letters? I managed to shred a couple...just bad memories....why keep them to remind of something sad? I laughed through most pages and some set me back a bit with hard memories and tough times...put the letters d. wrote in a folder for her...found a couple from Izzy...kept to treasure....one from Peggy M...also now gone who gave me sound advice about an old beau...amazing letters from all sorts of people...

I even found the last name of a friend I have not seen or spoken to in 32 years. I had always wondered what had become of this gentle man that crossed paths with me that first year in Yelapa. Could never find him as I thought I did not have his name..and there it was in my journal. I immediately went to FB and found 4 with his name..I asked if they had ever been to Yelapa and by sheer luck...there he was....we reconnected and I have a new old friend again. He taught me to spearfish.

Most of my poems and notes are corny or overly dramatic..here is a poem I wrote about Yelapa that first year...I was 29 and it had been raining for 3 weeks.

Nothing moves when it rains

even the sea looks calm, unable to rush against the weight of falling water.

Each tree is a dreamy vision

Each palm frond is a memory unmoving locked into position

no longer vibrant with life, no movement.

Down, down the torrents pour encasing all the living,

enveloping all with long cool fingers.

Blurred mist.

I am locked into position unable to escape my boundary

while the cats continue to demand.

Ok, if you can handle that one, I'll publish some more!

What It's Nearly June!!

2010-05-28T14:56:00.000-07:00

It's nearly June and I have no stories written for you. Peggy Barrett sent me these photos to share. Thanks, Peggy.

I can't seem to settle down and write at the moment, please, Yelapa friends, I know you have stories out there you want/need to send me. We're all waiting patiently.

I just heard from my dear old friend Mike O'Hara....he lives in Hawaii now with his wife Karen. When I first came to Mexico, Mike came along, too. We were in love in Omaha, but, in Yelapa it didn't fare as well...one day when Susie and I were swimming in the nude, he crept along the shore and stole our clothes...We could see him perfectly from the water and thought he was hilarious with his sneaky ways.

I'm BAAACK!

2010-04-09T20:06:00.000-07:00

It's April and I've returned from wintering in Yelapa once again. How does time pass so quickly?

Yelapa was so lush and green this year due to late rains. The little creeks flowed the entire time...one next to Pepés and the other past Karina's. It was still moving when I left on Tuesday and I have never seen that in all these years.

There were many wet days this winter and storms blowing everything around the palapa. A mini hurricane had Deeanne, Carrie, and me hiding in the baño. Every couple minutes Carrie would fling open the door to see what was happening...“Are we really going to die together in this baño,” she exclaimed? 3 good friends ending up in the same spot at the same time in the same storm...what are the odds of that? We lived.

I met wonderful new people, lost my flippers and thanks to Conejo they were returned, lost 5 lbs which i don't want returned, painted visors til I ran out, painted painted til I couldn't, made jewelry which Lalo is helping me sell, ate lots of delicious Helschein gourmet meals, won at Rinky Dink enough times to feel cocky, swam almost daily in the yummiest water in years, ate flan at Tacos y Mas, drank Dina's fabulous margaritas, laughed at Penney and Ed's family stories, flirted just a little, danced til it hurt, shot lots of photos, listened to silly gossip, well, I think you get the picture...I am happiest in Yelapa, let's face it.

There are promises of more photos and stories to come from you out there! So, get with it folks and send them to me. Beth Coffelt! Finish your story!

Another Year Slips Away

2009-12-28T21:36:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's winter and I am leaving for Yelapa very shortly. I looked through some notes from last year and found I arrived in Yelapa exactly a year ago from the day I'll be coming this time. No plan in that!

If you have stories and pictures to share...please email them or catch me on the trail and tell me your tale.

Until next Spring, then....hasta luego, amigos!

Patty's Tidbits

2009-12-28T21:34:00.000-08:00

I’ve known Patty since I first arrived on the beach of Yelapa, but getting her to share her amazing stories is like pulling duck teeth. I sat patiently while she played scrabble on the beach and pulled little bits out of her like petals off a flower.

Patricia followed her brother Victor Vanderflugt (another story, another time) to Yelapa in 1974. She arrived on New Year’s Eve to the Oceano Hotel where she slept on a bed in a closet as the hotel was full. I know this must be true as I once stayed in a closet during Easter!

She had a dream in the second grade of living in a jungle. Patty said it was a recurring dream til she fell in love. Her dream was like a Tarzan movie living in caves under a waterfall.

She stayed for one month and told her brother that was not long enough.The next time would need to be two months.

She stayed at Casa Emi with friend Janie Larson and used to make challah (braided bread) with her. Janie now lives in New Zealand with her husband Bob. They are sailors and old Santa Cruz connections for several of us..

Patty fell in love with dancing in Yelapa, but worried that she didn’t know how to do it right. Victor told her to dance to the beat of the music, it didn’t matter how. She’s been dancing ever since.

She was married but her husband didn’t want to come to Yelapa. He liked the rain. She tried to get him to come the second year, but it was the same. Eventually she left him for her full time life in Yelapa.

She had wanted to go to nursing school.

Her husband said he’d call off the divorce if she would stay home, but feisty Patty said no, she didn’t want to be controlled!

She met and fell in love with Valentin in Yelapa and now lives behind the main beach year round in her palapa surrounded by her beautiful gardens. Patty celebrates her 83rd BD this year....be sure to stop and greet her and get her to tell you some of those great stories...then come tell me!

Patricia was born in 1927 and has 4 children. One daughter is married to a marine in S. Korea.

Zalate Fire

2009-11-09T09:11:00.001-08:00

Although it's a bit hard to see, here is a very dramatic photo sent by Leslie Korn of the fire to the Zalate.

photo credit: Celeste Greco1982

History Contributed by Leslie Korn

2009-11-09T08:37:00.000-08:00

Soon after Janet and I arrived in

in 1973, Rick the Stick asked Janet if we would teach school for his children. This evolved into a little one room schoolhouse in the Zalate, which we ran between 1974 and 1977. Bett’s children, Drew and Trevor attended every morning for 3 hours, as they lived a few houses up the path; The Robinson kids were there occasionally and Liuba’s kids took the putt putt in from Colimita and landed at the beach when the ocean allowed.

Betts paid us $20 a week to teach her kids, which was just enough to live on. Betts was very committed to her kids and their education. Since I had always hated school (and had recently dropped out of the university) I had the opportunity to teach all the things I wished I had been taught; together we danced to trance music, did yoga, wrote poetry while listening to Stravinsky, spent time down by the lagoon to study frogs, read National Geographic and cooked, baked and shopped at the tiendas in order to learn arithmetic.

Rick died in ‘74 and we never worked with his children, but we came to inhabit the Zalate because Fran, a mid age American Spanish teacher who had lived her adult life with a Mexican husband in Morelos somehow got the house. She wasn’t staying long and like many people she liked the idea of a house in Yelapa more than the reality of it. She asked us to housesit which we did for years until she let us take over lease in ‘77. We re-roofed the house in ’79 and built the little treatment house next door and then did so again after it burned down in ‘82.

I ran into Kathryn Hill a few years back and she gave me this photo of us at a party at Betts and Byron’s. 1977

In May of 1982 Casa Zalate, often referred to as the Casa Juanitas (1975-2002) caught fire from the heat spreading from the fire at Rita Tillets’ house. There were two theories about the fire: one was that the Mexican owner burned the place down so he could get the property back from Rita and Howard who were trying to arrange for Zona Federal, and the other was that in a drunken state one of the Tillets knocked over a candle. Quien sabe?

At the time Airforce Dan was watching our house as he lived in the Galeria next door. He later told me that he raced over to dampen down the house with water with a hose from the watertank, but the ground was so hot that when he got close he could tell that the house was going to erupt from beneath. He said he ran for his life as it exploded.

I was up in Boston in the middle of giving a Polarity treatment when Byron called me with the news. We rebuilt the Zalate and the small treatment house that summer with money loaned to me by my parents.

People in the village brought plants for the garden. Don Juan Cruz gave us free rent for a few years, Buddy Berlin paid for the rock wall to be rebuilt and Saul Kaplan (of Saul and Sandy, who had built their house next to Ratza’s a few years earlier) personally installed the whole water system.

(Photo credits) Celeste Greco1982, gave me this photo that she took of the fire.

In 1997 Rudy was speaking at a conference in Los Alamos at the invitation of Marjorie Bell-Chambers, on the 50th anniversary of the end of WW2. He put some of our Yelapa seminar brochures on the speakers table. After his talk, Kay Harper, 83, introduced herself to him and told him her story about how in 1958 she canoed over to Yelapa with her husband, the Los Alamos Laboratory photographer Bob Harper, and Steve Glumaz whom they’d met in a bar in PV.

These are a few of Bob”s photos of their stay in Yelapa. Later that year, Kay donated her husband’s Yelapa photos and her notebooks about her travels to Mexico, to our non- profit the Center for World Indigenous Studies’ www.cwis.org <http://www.cwis.org> , where we host the online Bob Harper Collection which includes some great shots of both Yelapa and PV in 1958.

Photo Credits: Robert Harper 1958

for more stories and information from Leslie Korn please go to:

https://lekorn.wordpress.com/

SCROLL DOWN TO BEGINNING OF BLOG

2009-11-08T16:43:00.000-08:00

To read all the posts you will need to scroll down to bottom and choose archives found listed on the lefthand side of the window.

2009-11-08T16:41:00.000-08:00

LIAR LIAR 12“ X 12”

you know who you are!

2009-11-08T16:36:00.001-08:00

I just figured out how to post these photos in larger format! So here are some of my recent paintings done in Yelapa.

Little Foxes 12“ X 12” acrylic on board

commemorating the rabid fox scare

that's me in the jungle whistling a happy little tune to keep them at bay...no killing sticks for me.

2009-11-08T16:29:00.000-08:00

Snake Eyes 12“ X 12” acrylic on board

GoTo Websites for PV and Yelapa Info

2009-11-08T16:08:00.001-08:00

BTW readers, there are many good websites on Yelapa and PV, but a couple faves for current information are found at:

http://vallartainfo.com/index.html maintained by JR

http://yelapa.info/ maintained by David

http://www.palapainyelapa.com/ by Brad

What's Missing?

2009-11-08T11:29:00.000-08:00

Native Son

2009-11-07T11:31:00.000-08:00

Guaco has been in charge of the Helschein estate for over 30 years. As my Spanish gets tuned in I learn more from this gentle man and his sweet pretty wife, Elena. She keeps the big house in check during the main season and they both open and close the houses as needed. They are proud parents of three grown children and two grandchildren.

Loriano Lorenzo is Guaco's given name. I tease him that it is a movie star name, but he does not like it and prefers his nickname which has stuck with him since the age of four.

His mother is 93 and gave birth to 14 children of which nine are still living. Families intermarried with other families and Guaco is connected by blood to many in Yelapa. He's always telling me so and so, yes, he's my cousn, etc. His mother was from Chicala so there is family blood connection there, too. She now receives the new social security for those over 70. This has been recently enacted by the new government. He told me he had to take time off to head over to PV with her paperwork and photo to collect her bimonthly small stipend.

Guaco tells me Yelapa before gringos was poor but what they needed to live well was all here. The sea was full of fish, fruits abound on trees and they could grow vegetables. Sometimes the family would paddle to points across the Bay for maiz and other needs trading fish as they went.

Often they would paddle in large canoas (dugouts) with 6 men standing with oars and passengers in the bottom. They would travel at night in the full moon taking 2-3 hours to reach Punta Mita or Sayulita.

Life was simple, the river was clean and basic needs were met. Medicines and soap often came directly from the plants, barks and sap from the mountains behind the village.

Guaco received his nickname from his grandfather who heard him sing like a bird when he was little. It stuck.

Talk turned to the gringo discovery of Yelapa. Guaco felt it was mostly Hollywood connected when the filming of Night of the Iguana took place in the early 60's. The Mismaloya notoriety with its stars Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton brought a new set of characters such as Ava Gardner, Donovan, Jack Nicholson, Candace Bergen and many more to this little village.

To read more about Yelapa History please go to an account based on research at the Bancroft Library, University of California at Berkeley, in 1991 and 2005 by Carolyn McCall, Ph.D.

http://www.palapainyelapa.com/pages/history_project.html

From Primo's Place Upriver By Janie Bell Burton

2009-10-15T20:58:00.000-07:00

“Seeing those old pics and hearing Beth's name made me think of when I was housesitting their place, and a poem written there, yes thirty years ago. went scouring through the archives and found it. So different than the Point.” (janie Bell Burton)

From primo's place upriver

Awakening to sounds of a fiesta in a mountain pueblo

Ay..ay..ay no mistake- voices abounding in zest

a singing Latin love

zinging

men flinging dark senoritas round and round

sparking eyes as she tries to capture his gaze

rapture in the crowd, feet pounding ever-quickening time

Ay...Chingada and a throaty spit

I sit up in my bed,mind floating from the dancing square

Staring; in a trance- realising I’m at home

oo-oo the Spanish love songs

only on the radio of a passer-by

Only a passer-by?

walking on the path and bringing me other worlds

Now shrills and trills of child’s delight

And to recognize a laugh

no disguising that half-man’s voice,

rejoicing in the still morning

adorning the trail with joy.

A boy whistling,keeping pace with his mule

A woman boldly singing

I peep through the trees to see

but no face for this pure song; loud and proud

As she strides along,with a panting dog

Who won’t admit to last night’s cacaphony

As if daylight acquits him of his crime.

Who’s the next star vocalist?

With background harmonies from the Chicken Sisters

and their Crooning Rooster-

it’s grand to see this concert’s free

Wait.

Majesty

Back on Track

2009-10-06T20:25:00.000-07:00

Hi, I'm finally ready to post some more stories and photos. I've had a busy summer fixing up my house...Lorenzo CacaVaca was here painting the outside and a couple inside rooms and living in The Whimsical in my driveway. He's a very accomplished painter in case you want to line him up for next summer. Then I visited Manhattan for a couple weeks and now I'm ready to roll.

Came across some photos taken in the 60's by a spunky lady named Helen. She's the mother of my friend Prudence Masseth. Pru and her husband Kim Tolleson were major volleyball players in the late 70's in Yelapa. I met them in 1978 and later reconnected with them when I moved to Santa Cruz. They were some of my Yelapa connections in this area. Victor Vanderflugt, Rob Holt, and Deeanne Hooker were the others. I bought my house from Kim and Pru in 1980 and still live here and that's what Lorenzo painted.

Pru called the other day to tell me she found some photos of her mother who came to Yelapa for one of her honeymoons! I guess she's had a few others. I'm posting her photos and the descriptions she wrote on the backs. Pru had no idea her mother had come to Yelapa when she and Kim chose to go there. It was just in the blood, I guess.

Here are some of the photo captions Helen wrote of her impressions 40 years ago. She's in her 80's now.

“Our boat coming into Yellapa (sic). The bldgs on beach are Hotel Lagunita all coconut thatch and those hills are full of wild animals. This is really a wild place. Lots of American artists & characters live here. This is all very tropical.”

“This was our hotel room. A bed, a bureau & big mosquito netting over bed. We had armadilla (sic) for lunch one day. Yellapa.”

“Yellapa Mexico. Amazing place. We slept in a cocconut (sic) thatched hut. Ate armadilla drank Ricea. Great.”

“Puerto Vallarta. Josepha in fore ground in bikini & hair to waist. Had wonderful small shop. Everything handmade. Everything embroidered. Hand made silver earrings. Very fascinating. Small shops in background - dress & food. My honeymoon with Bob Lawlor.”

“Puerto Vallarta. Church at end of street is very beautiful inside.”

“Puerto Vallarta. Our honeymoon. Dear Bob.”

Charming little photos may be hard to decipher, but I'm compelled to include them.

2009-08-29T10:28:00.000-07:00

Barbara Eager died last week after a long fight with cancer. She lived in PV for many years as owner/designer of Que Barbara Designs producing custom bathing suits.

A major catalyst in my life and a friend from long ago...we both grew up in Lincoln, NE. Barbara introduced me to Mexico and most importantly to Yelapa. Her son Todd Wagner works and lives in PV. I hope to have more information for you soon regarding the loss of another special expat.

If you have any stories or memories to share please forward them.

2009-08-15T10:47:00.000-07:00

Our friend Ivana Carlson passed Thursday, August 13, 2009 at 10:30 p.m.

Condolences to her daughter Linda Worrell and grandson Blake.

May God Bless Her Spirit and Transition

more information will follow when available

please share your memories of Ivana

Art on Display June 3 - July 7, 2009

2009-06-03T09:03:00.000-07:00

My Paintings

June 3 - July 7, 2009

Seabreeze Cafe, 542 Seabright, Santa Cruz

Hours 6am-2pm M-F, 7am-1pm Sat. & Sun.

These paintings were created the last 2 winters in Yelapa, Jalisco, Mexico. I have been going there since 1977 and during the winter months I live in the jungle. There is constant sound as I have no doors or walls. My surroundings are the sea, the sky, and the jungle. I live outdoors.

I carry my brushes and acrylic paints south each January. The masonite boards are sold at the tiny local school supply. I bought a stack and began painting retablos about my life in the jungle and visions the winds brought me. Some boards have stories written on the back.

Art supplies are scarce, the boards not cut evenly, bugs land in my paint, the wind flips them across the casita covering them with dust and frass. These imperfections became part of each painting.

Stop by if you're in the area and have a delicious breakfast or lunch at this Santa Cruz institution...and see my work.

More On Nicknames

2009-05-21T09:29:00.000-07:00

Pepe himself was known to some villagers as "Ladeado" because he kept his head always tilted to one side.

There was Beautiful Gary and Hollywood Cary. To some, Peggy was called Pegamundo. There was Pablo The Rapist---maybe the same as your Pablo the Pigfucker.

To the villagers I was Don Miguel, but to my friends---or enemies?---I was Raicilla Mike. The latter resulted from a session Jerry Roberts and I had with a gallon jug of the good stuff, starting at the Yacht Club and ending in a gulch somewhere. Jerry made it home at dawn with multiple lacerations, while my liver has never completely recovered.

Steve The Beachcomber, a wonderful man. Gave me my first shot of raicilla as an innocent tourist in 1967. Let's not forget Emmy, grandson of Ralph Waldo. Lived in the little house next to the trail down to the beach. How about Santa Claus---Howard, who launched fizzy rockets at night, once burning down the roof at Hotel Lagunita. Give me time and I'lll think of others. Buddy used to invent hilarious nicknames for sundry characters----my favorite was "Anana, Banana and Papaya" for certain ladies.

Of course, there was IS. She was terrific---and she didn't "depend on what your definition of is is".....courtesy of Michael Robins

Nicknames Being Added

2009-05-18T11:42:00.000-07:00

OK, I think this nickname thing could get out of control...

How about nicknames that stuck! Most everyone used them...

Pizza Phil, Rick the Stick, Filipino Chris, Rolex Jeff, Mosquito Woman, The Nose Flute

Comments & Tidbits

2009-05-13T15:32:00.000-07:00

For Yelapa historians. Thank you Faye, thank you David Berlin.

HOWEVER: another subsequent field for primary research would be who NAMED
the nicknames, and what avatars they have attended throughout the years.

Byron would be an excellent source. I will make sure he got this blog and
get him to add and correct.

MEANWHILE:
David is, understandably, the authority on the Point and the Root Canal, but
yes, David, there is an upriver - pretty sketchy there.

--Cadillac Ed! Primo named Cadillac Ed - he said that Ed looked like
somebody who had worked hard all his life in order to finally buy a
Cadillac, and in this case, Yelapa was Ed's Cadillac.

Primo and Jaime
together Yclept Pablo the Pigfucker, truly a legendary character and
deserving of having his name fully spelled out.

--Hammock Jerry is a self-awarded euphemism for Jock Strap Jerry. But they
are the same lovable jerk.

--I take credit for No Neck Frank.

--Primo was called Primo not because he was first in anything or anybody's
cousin but because he used to go around in an old Primo (Hawaiian) Beer
t-shirt.

--Upriver Pegge, Upriver Gail. The Cacahuate Woman. Nurse Christina. Ratza
(her name was really Shirley). And - last but by no means least - Sailor
Bob.

Sailor Bob was renamed after housesitting for Lang and, while there,
throwing all the household appliances - washing machine, TV, etc. - down the
hill in a fit of something or other. His name then became "Housesitter Bob."

Reno Dick was also known (by me, anyway) as Las Vegas Dick. He was a very
funny guy.

Now we need stories about all these people. Who's first?

.....contributed by Beth Coffelt

Nicknames

2009-05-13T08:54:00.000-07:00

One - Eyed Luis

Caderas, Guerillillo, Pajuelas, Bollilo,

Mal–Hecho, Treco, Ronco, el Gordo

Chino, Chuy, chino, Chico, Tepo

Nacho, Jejin, Guero, Lobo, Vaselino

Betio, El Bollo, Panchito, Gallo, Guaco, Faymouse

Pipeline Jim, Silent Jim, Yoga Jim, Captain John, Sailor Bob

Rick The Stick, Bongo Rick, Bonger Don, Miramar Kadafi

No Neck Frank, Scamananda, Ron Devous,

Crazy Charlie, Orange Charlie, Charlie Chichara, Indian Charlie, hammock jerry

Michael Tree, Murph, Pizza Phil, Muffin Tom

Fast Eddie, Eduardo, Cadillac Ed

Up river Nikki, Icky Nikki, Ratza, Nancy La Fruta, Little Dawn,

Jaimola, Primo, Fonzi, Tulin, Piri, Ronco, Big Al

ChiCha, Gallero, Seldom Seen Bob, Nirmalo

Alejandron Upper Hank, Lower Hank, Emi, Pan Bimbo

Dr. John, Dr. Gary, Alaska Jack

Mom Tom, Sheena of the Jungle, Sarge

Uncle Monkey, Count No Account, Borracho Steve

Pancho, Black Pablo, Pablo The Pig Fucker

Captain Wally, Conrado, Pichon,

Rainbow lightening, Felipo, grunion, reno dick

Jock Strap Jerry, Riff, Raff, MunMun

Flakesly, Cacaca, Jose Cuervo

Pina, Conejo, Chabela, Chayote, los ganchis.

Por Seguro, Cuate, Blind Maggie, Zorro, Che, Chayo

......Courtesy of Dave Berlin

Still Catching My Breath

2009-05-10T15:07:00.000-07:00

Thank you all for being so patient. I haven't had a moment to sit down and reflect on Yelapa from the Present, let alone the Past. Times are changing in Yelapa and yet everything is so much the same. When I look at the pictures you send it really takes me back to a more simple life before electricity; less people, less houses, less of everything. Was it better?

Thanks to all who have helped me by taking the time to scan photos and send them along to me. I have photoshopped, cropped, dibbled and dabbed them to present to you as best I can.

Beth Coffelt, we're still waiting for Part II of your story! I promise I'll add more from conversations I had with Patricia, Allen, and Guaco very soon, in the meantime, please enjoy all the new photos sent by Oliver Sturtz and David Berlin.

Keep them coming!

ISABEL JORDAN

2009-04-23T08:37:00.000-07:00

I returned last week from Yelapa. I'm sure most of you know the sad circumstances of Isabel Jordan's passing. I can't quite grasp that I won't be seeing my friend again and share the condolences to her family with all of you. For those of you that might not have seen her obit in the Santa Cruz paper...

Isabel Jordan died January 18^th in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico due to complications from a fall. Born Isabel Nesbit Riddle in Passaic, New Jersey on October 17^th, 1927, she was raised on a farm with her parents Isabel Daley and Raymond Riddle in Wilbraham, Massachusetts.

In 1945, at age 17 she married Jules Lynn Jordan in Springfield, Massachusetts. They had two children, Gail Marguerite and William Thomas. The new family moved between California and Massachusetts as Jules studied to be a chiropractor.

During her time in Santa Cruz, Isabel was reunited with her daughter Susan who she had given up for adoption 22 years earlier. She had searched for her for many years and once found, Isabel orchestrated an elaborate ‘accidental’ meeting. They became best friends and had ten years together when tragically Susan was killed in a bicycle accident.

In1966 during the construction of the campus, Isabel began working at UCSC. She became the Assistant to the Provost in 1969 and the first woman in the UC system to hold the position.

However, it was not meant to be. In 1970 she traveled to Mexico on a vacation for one week. She returned the following summer where she met Pepe Diaz, grandson of Porfirio Diaz, president of Mexico during the revolution in 1876. She returned home, quit her job, sold her house, took a crash course in Spanish and moved to Yelapa, a small fishing village with no roads or electricity. Isabel lived in Yelapa for 38 years. She created a wildly beautiful jungle compound to which friends and travelers flocked each year. It was here that Isabel belonged. She built rock walls, battled army ants, kayaked everyday she could and hiked the ever-failing water lines. Several times a year she would leave her ocean village and travel into the Sierra Madre to trade and celebrate with the Huichol Indians. She published the books: The Huichol of Mexico and The Huichol of Mexico: The Shaman with her friend Peter Collins.

In 2007, on her 80th birthday, Isabel gave herself the gift of Bali, where she traveled alone for five weeks, teaching English and eventually sponsoring the education of a young girl, Yan Ayi.

Many of us have said that Isabel was the most amazing person we have ever known. Isabel traveled the world, burned at BURNING MAN, jazzed in New Orleans, and listened intently to everyone she met along the way. She will continue to inspire us all.

A celebration of Isabel’s life will be held on March 22 in Yelapa, Mexico and in Boonville, California in May. She was preceded in death by her sister Mertie, and Brothers Bill and Ray. She will be missed by her son Bill (Joey) Jordan, daughter, Gail (Bill) Meyer grand-children Scarlet and Russell, brothers Don, Jack and their families, almost-daughter Dee Hooker and by her pueblo Yelapa. And a zillion others. She was 81 years forever young.

Back to Yelapa

2008-12-14T21:19:00.000-08:00

I'm getting psyched to head back to Mexico early January. Starting to gather my essentials and think about what I'm going to do this year. I want to bring a little recorder of some kind so I can get more stories from all of you for my blog.

Think about what stories you might want to share with me and all the readers of Raicilla Dreams. I can hardly wait to hear what you have to say.

I'll return to Raicilla Dreams next Spring with new inspiration and ideas. Please send photos and stories along when you can. People enjoy seeing them.

Thanks to Liana for sending some wonderful pics I just uploaded. Look how young and innocent Victor V. looks! Yes, we were all beautiful babies once.

Wishing you all a Safe and Happy Holiday Season and a Healthy New Year.

Also, I came across some photos from Evan Ravitz on another site and posted several for your enjoyment. Thanks to Evan.

Adios hasta la primavera!

Veech Vay To Da Vaterfal?

2008-11-21T19:09:00.000-08:00

This is a true story told to me many years ago by Barbara Quimby. She lived up at the Rock House just before the Helschein's place with her Mexican boyfriend Felipé. He was the Jack Sprat to Barbara's apple shape on skinny legs and they made an amusing unusual couple. She was (and still is) an artist from New Mexico and was always coming up with something new. I believe she was sculpting with wet chamois cloth and letting it dry into human shapes which she glued onto boards.

Anyway,to make a long story short, one day Barbara was lying out on the front portico suntanning in the nude. She had her knees up and legs spread apart. She didn't worry about nudity too much as that house is not close to town and the porch faces away from the trail on the ocean side of the house. No one just dropped by.

There she was on her back with everything exposed, her round belly poking up and her feminine wiles revealed to the sky, when she heard a man's voice she did not recognize.

“Veech vay to da Vaterfal?“ he shouted as he stumbled upon the bare Ms Quimby! She gazed between her bent knees and to her utter astonishment stood a tourist with lederhosen, a hat with feather, and a walking stick. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, LEDERHOSEN!

Needless to say, they were both surprised by each other and the screaming Barbara chased

the lost traveller away! That must have been a sight for a wayward tourist. I'm certain he has not forgotten her image to this very day.

If you remember Barbara, you might recall her wonderful giggles which she let loose often. She had a humorous view of the world and could easily laugh at herself, too. I can still picture her in that compromising position with the stout lederhosen fellow framed between her spread thighs! Glory Be!

Bozo the Clown

2008-10-19T18:54:00.000-07:00

When I first started coming to Yelapa, you were lucky if you ever got your mail from the states. A telegram was even more exotic and usually just floated around the PV post office never to see the light of a Yelapa sunny day. Apparently, my family had been desparately trying to reach me to no avail. There was a telegram somewhere in Mexico that was yet to find me. How I found out what happened was quite by accident.

There was a guy named Spence from Half Moon Bay who wanted to buy a fishing boat back home. He talked me into flying up with him and checking it out. I buy, he fishes. I still had some pesos back then. While in CA, I decided to call my folks to say hello. No one answered the phone. I tried my sis and she was not in NY. No one was where they should be. Finally, after many attempts, I phoned my X and asked him to check this out for me.

Tragically, it turned out my brother-in-law died unexpectantly after a long illness which I knew nothing about. I tried to get a plane to NE, but United was on strike that week and that was the only airline that flew into Lincoln back then. I was stuck. After a week up North waiting for the strike to end, I finally made it home and saw the emotional wreck my sister had become. A month of sadness and worry and 2 sets of Jewish parents lamenting every second had been her life for 40 days and nights. Her young husband had died and she was like a pinball pinging around inside the family house in the middle of a Midwestern winter.

I grabbed her and flew her down to Mexico to spend a month with me. She was really out of it and in great shock. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, but she slowly and eventually came back to herself in our little jungle town. Nelo, Conrad and Sara's son, was about 5 then, and we ran into him on the path one day. He looked right at her like kids will do and called her Bozo the Clown! I was stunned and worried she would just fall apart, but we looked at each other in shock and then started to laugh hysterically. Sam had finally broken the wicked spell she was under and began the healing of her heart. Nelo was just a little boy but he helped Sam begin to recover with the candid observation of a child. Thanks!

Speaking of Pigs

2008-10-19T18:15:00.008-07:00

I just got home from 2 weeks in Manhattan. The Big Apple is def the antithesis of Yelapa. Could there be anything more opposite? Uno momento....while waiting outside a theater in Brooklyn (Dumbo) I spotted 2 little pigs coming my way! First, I thought they were little fat dogs, but as they got closer to me, I realized, “Hey. those are pigs!” The little porkers were collared and unleashed casually trotting down the city street as if they'd done it dozens of times. As they got closer to the crowd waiting to enter the stage show, their owner got a little nervous and called them back by name. I couldn't hear what she called, but witnessed the two porcine pals turn around upon her command and trot back without a second thought. Well behaved, obviously well trained, I thought they'd be the perfect pet to bring to Yelapa, but I'd hate to see such a tasty little friend get stolen, grilled and then presented at Pollo Bollo next to a pile of chaote! PS: No lipstick!

Doberman Pig

2008-09-01T13:15:00.000-07:00

I miss the family cerdo tied up with a simple rope in front of the casas. Photos like this really make me feel nostalgic for the more simple life we had in Yelapa. Yes, it's cleaner and probably healthier now, but honestly, don't you miss those grunts and the little piglets along the paths?

One night rumor had it that there was a party taking place up behind the old cantina way above town. Deeanne and I decided to venture forth and try to find said party. I don't remember whose fiesta it was, but it was at the first gringo rental in an area we weren't that familiar. There were still mostly just Mexican families living up here so we weren't savvy to the paths.

We stumbled up the dirt path in the dark with our little flashlights, laughing and having fun trying to figure out where we were..not certain which way the path should take us and there were no helpful signs along the way. Suddenly, we heard a monstrous snarl and the biggest blackest wild creature ever on planet earth lunged at us. We must have jumped 10 feet into the air! Surely, we were being attacked by some wildebeast in the dark. My curls went straight and Deeanne dropped her flashlight in sheer terror. We had never heard anything like this before.

Luckily, the huge PIG was well-tethered and we were safe, but we never forgot that Doberman Pig. El Cerdo was probably just as frightened that night by the stumbling, bumbling gringas as we were of him!

Dave the King

2008-08-30T20:50:00.000-07:00

Just ran into Dave King in town the other day. I told him about Raicilla Dreams and a story about him to go with his picture. I thought maybe I should run it by him first. I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable with what I say in the blog. Dave has given me carte blanche to say whatever I want...since everything has already been said about him.

Today Dave is a respected real estate broker that stands at least a head taller than most. I mean that literally, he's a big, tall guy. When I met him, he was more the hustler type. He worked as a union iron worker off and on and had lots of shall we say “outside interests”. Like many of us from the 60's, he had his finger in many pies and his pinky in a corner of the underworld. He survived.

Dave has beautiful identical twin daughters with his X, Shannon. They were born prematurely in the early 80's and were the tiniest little creatures I'd ever seen. He could hold them both in one of his big hands. Now they are grown women.

In Yelapa he would find pretty girls on the beach and offer to rent them a room in his casa...like many folks did and still do to help out with the rent. Nothing wrong with that! However, Dave figured out a way to have his cake and eat it, too. He took on his “tenants” as occasional lovers, meanwhile letting them pay the rent! Clever boy. I used to think that was really nervy, but it certainly worked out for Dave. He had a lot of chutzpa!

Dave, I salute you for sticking with the program and making such a success of your life! Did you know we all knew about your little paying love trysts?

Cracked Nut

2008-08-07T18:56:00.000-07:00

I was enjoying a few uninterrupted moments in my hammock at Casa Cynthia when some friends dropped in.We were joking around and being all casual when the ropes suddenly snapped and I fell straight to the floor. Only it wasn't just a floor, it was a little rock wall and the back of my neck smacked it pretty hard. I lay there for a minute or two stunned...checking my fingers, my toes, everything seemed to be moving as they should. I wasn't seeing double and although I was a bit dizzy, I thought I had survived the impact pretty well. We laughed it off and decided to head down to the beach. I don't remember getting there but the next thing I knew there was a drink in front of me. Someone had ordered me a coco loco and then things started getting interesting.

I was a little confused, but apparently, it wasn't that much different than my usual confusion and no one seemed concerned, least of all me. I don't remember much, but at some point I just fell over backwards off my stool at the hotel bar where we were all sitting. Victor helped me up and I stumbled over to the baño to pull myself together.

When I came out there was no one around. Everyone had just disappeared. I wasn't really even sure if there had been any people in the first place. Well, I wasn't going to be looking stupid...I just acted as if that was perfectly routine and I had just been there alone the whole time. I sat back down and went on as if nothing had happened. Eventually, my friends reappeared laughing hysterically. They thought hiding was hilarious. What they didn't know was that I had a mild concussion and I wasn't just wasted at the beach. It took me 2 or 3 days to get right.

From then on, I always checked my hammock ropes before climbing in. I was lucky that day.

New Stories Coming Soon

2008-08-07T08:35:00.000-07:00

Sorry, friends, I've been too busy remodeling my own little place to sit down and write some new posts. I haven't forgotten you!

Isabel promised to write some stories and Joanna wants to tell a tale or two. Please feel free to send me any memories you might like to share and I'll post them.

FYI...There is a Yelapa North Party Potluck in Santa Cruz on August 17 at Frederick Street Park next to the Upper Harbor. I'll try and find more info and post.

A Day At Casa Primo

2008-07-21T09:57:00.000-07:00

Yes. Well, my first task of the day, as a houseguest at Casa Primo, was to get out of bed while it was still dark, creep down to the banana plantation, and, with the aid of a tiny muffled Maglite, check around the roots of the banana trees to see if the delivery from the mountain had yet been made by Clemente, the FedEx man. Had that been the case, much commotion would have ensued, but on this particular day to which I refer in my title no such hubbub awaited. The day stretched before us―calm, limpid, its silence broken only by the pneumatic protestations of the donkeys across the river, the remonstrations of roosters attempting to herd their hens into more bug-infested pastures, the Dopplar-enhanced symphony of many boom-boxes passing on the trail playing the indigenous lays and chansons of the region, the famous pack of Fifty Barking Dogs of Yelapa, and always one or another of the village caballeros shouting imprecations at his runaway horse while beating the air with his machete and screaming further curses at the pursuing schoolchildren vainly attempting to earn a few centimes by catching the fleeing animal.

But the day did not truly commence until the moment that Primo, emitting an acoustic band's worth of assorted sound effects (for that read Spike Jones or The Kinks), rose from his bed, scratched his head and then gave certain other areas of his body the same treatment, and almost instantaneously began the first of several Plans du Jour by which we were to occupy ourselves for the rest of the day. Had we―or shall I say I―but known, on this unforgettable occasion, what was to come, my natural sanguinity would have fled, and very possibly I would have fled with it. But at first there was no indication that the day would come to―what it did, with its agony of fear and trembling a la Kierkegaard. Or worse. I watched a flock of egrets swoop up and down the river like a great broom of white feathers, gazed wonderingly at Primo as he sat, sunk in thought as one of the great Rodin “Three Shades”, found my place in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and settled down to savor my tranquil existence. But I had neglected to remember what the Three Shades were contemplating in their pensive postures―it was the torments of hell that they pondered, the agonies of the damned.

(To Be Continued when Beth returns from a 2 week Yelapa sojourn)

An Aside

2008-07-19T21:11:00.000-07:00

Donna looked at your site, and was suitably amazed. I don't know if she will contribute, but she did remind me that somewhat before both Nico and Matthew were born, Sara and Conrad had a little girl, Marina, who was born in Yelapa, summer of 1970. That time it was Esperanza who mid-wifed the birth.....Michael Robins

Story Contributed by Michael Robins

2008-07-16T17:08:00.000-07:00

David Berlin is not quite right. The first gringo kid I know of born in Yelapa was not Sunny Day, but Matthew, Jerry and Mary Beth's first, in 1971. I know this because my own son Nico was born in Vallarta a few months before, my wife Donna having decided it was too risky to stay in Yelapa. Sure enough, when Matthew came—aided by Peggy Mundel and Esperanza the midwife—a problem with the afterbirth occurred, so they sent for Donna late at night, because she had been an obstetric nurse.

I stayed with our son, of course, sleeping in his mosquito-net-covered hanging cradle—at that time in the house of Ponciano, one of only two up and across the creek in the village—waiting for hours. I tried to stay calm, puffing a little weed but abstaining from raicilla, with a breast-fed infant liable to awaken hungry at any moment. Finally, she returned with the news that Mary Beth had insisted on waiting for nature to do the job without interference; on the next day we learned that it had emerged at last and all was well. I've never been able to decide whether Mary Beth was courageous or foolhardy. Perhaps both.

Leapin' Lizards

2008-07-15T18:42:00.000-07:00

We were all gathered at a Valentine party on top of the hill at Karina's folks' house which I had rented one winter. Everyone was laughing, talking, eating and entertaining themselves however they might. Lots of delicious food, a little tequila and raicilla goes without saying and maybe a little something to smoke.

Suddenly we heard a rustle in the tall palm in front of us and watched with unbelieving eyes as a large iguana fell from the tree and plopped onto the ground way below. It was a long fall as our collective eyes followed the lizard in slow-motion as it twisted in mid-air and disappeared from our view. We all sat quietly for a moment and then burst into laughter bonding in the knowledge that not everything was perfect in the jungle after all.

Crossed Stars

2008-07-13T18:55:00.000-07:00

I was a few hours away from living on the trail. The casa I had rented was still not empty. Someone named DeeAnna was living there and NOT leaving on time. I was getting very frustrated as I waited impatiently for this princess to get o-u-t of my next living space. Finally, I heard she was going in an hour and I found myself face to face and being introduced at Chico's on the main beach. She looked up at me with those knowing eyes of hers and casually greeted me. I could hardly wait to see her leave! Nothing personal, mind you, I just wanted to move in to the house. That was our first meeting and subsequently, we met again the following year and became best friends. She later told me that she thought I had dark energy and mentioned this to Isabel. She wasn't sure about me but Isabel assured her that I was just fine. I guess my vibe about trail sleeping was too negative and Dee picked up on that.

In this photo Dee is painting one of her famous colorful T-shirts. DeeAnna of Yelapa had figured out a way to survive in Mexico and sold them at Rita Tillet's Gallery Shop and venues in PV. You might even have one of those originals tucked away somewhere. Today DeeAnn is a well-known artist living and working in Santa Cruz and still one of my closest friends. Visit her website at www.dhooker.com .

True Stories

2008-07-01T19:42:00.000-07:00

Sometimes there isn't much to do in a small town. Yelapa in the 70's was a lot like a rural village anywhere in the world. I should know as I was raised in Nebraska. For the gringo residents, and we thought of ourselves that way even though we were just tourists who had stayed, we were constantly looking for fun and something unusual to do. Some days just had more hours than others.

There was no electricity, just a restaurant or two on the beach, and how many times could one walk to the waterfall? Two boats, the Paladin and Sombrero, came most days from PV like circus boats bouncing and weaving their way across the Bay, OOM PAH PAH OOM PAH PAH speakers blaring loudly across the sea. They arrived relentlessly on schedule with fresh recruits for our little practical jokes. This day I believe it was the Sombrero.

“Hey, let's go!” Peggy B. encouraged us, “it's almost canoa time at the beach.” As a habit we would arrive and plunk ourselves down in the sand right in front of the spot that was used by the boatmen to unload tourists. There were NO piers. As each boatload of newbies reached shore, they would stare ahead, mouths agape, not sure what to do with their high heels or nicely tied leather shoes. “Jump! Jump!” the canoa guys had learned to shout in English. The shocked tourists would fall into the water like sausages in a boil. Some would just get feet wet and a few would lose their balance and topple into the waves. We thought this was hilarious. When I think back to these times, I can't say I'm proud of our actions and we probably looked every bit as silly as these folks getting out of our first canoa in a big wave. Yet, a laugh was a laugh and there we were taking advantage of someone else's foibles to get one.

Sooner or later, this activity got a little boring, too. One day a new friend, Bongo Dick, often folks with more common names must be given an identifier of some sort, and Peggy B., the Canadian party girl and myself decided to play a little joke on the tourists. Nothing like entertaining yourself in the jungle.

It was to be a threesome; a couple who had come to visit Yelapa with a philandering husband who just met a new island lovely. Peggy and Bongo took the parts of husband and wife and I was to play the charming beach girl. “I have to go to PV today anyway,” Peg offered, so, we prepared for our great drama to unfold and take place on the open sea. Bongo dressed in his finest shorts and sport jacket and arrived at the beach carrying a suitcase. The couple waited in line to board the big boat. “You, bastard!” Peggy screamed for all to hear, “I saw you flirting with that gringo slut on the beach, I hate you!” Everyone turned and looked at them while trying to look aloof, but completely engrossed in the unfolding personal drama.

“Honey, it's nothing, really, she was just trying to sell me a necklace,” he explained, “look, I bought it for you.” The fake wife slapped his hand backwards and the necklace of shells flew across the sand.

“Why, don't you just stay in this disgusting place with your new little bimbo, you perve,” her mouth squirmed in an ugly shape.

Everyone watched but dared not interfere. Finally, once on the boat, the fighting couple apparently escalated the argument, when suddenly, the husband, Bongo Dick threw his empty suitcase overboard and leapt to the top of the rail and jumped! From shore, this was my cue. As the jilting new lover I came running, waving and throwing kisses to my new love as he swam back to shore to live happily ever after....

We watched the entire boat of tourists move to the leeward side when Bongo jumped overboard fully clothed. They had fallen for our dramatic performance hook, line and sinker. All of us were delirious from laughter and when he reached shore in his soggy suit grinning from ear to ear, I ran to his arms. We embraced and kissed passionately and waved Peggy on to her ride to town. Mission accomplished and entertained for another day.

Wastin' away again in Raicillaville

2008-06-30T18:20:00.000-07:00

Jimmy Buffett is going on annual tour again, yes, it's been 40 years of touring for him and his band! I just read this in the Sunday news yesterday. I've never really been a fan of Buffett, however, one of his big hits was the foundation of many a musical night on the playa. Who hasn't sat around a full moon fire with friends and sang offkey with all their heart and not just a little tipsy: “wastin' away again in Raicillaville” (Margaritaville), and, one of his 1977 hits, Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes. This was hardcore Yelapa entertainment, folks. According to the newspaper, the name of the upcoming tour will be: The Year of Still Here and just maybe that should be the name of this blog!

“At 61, the poster boy for laid-back living is in the middle of a 28-concert tour, filled with third-generation fans. No, Buffett says, he isn't tired of it. And if you haven't seen thousands of so-called Parrotheads acting like sharks-with hands clasped above their heads-all singing, “fins” moving in unison, you've missed a cultural phenomenon.” quotation from interview with Buffett by Ann Oldenburg in USA Weekend.

I can't believe I'm as old as Jimmy Buffett. But does he feel old? “No,” adding, with a twinkle in his eye, “I'm certainly not acting my age.” Now that's a Yelapan attitude!

A Proud Moment

2008-06-22T22:05:00.001-07:00

One afternoon I stumbled upon a large turtle laying on its back in the middle of the playita near the Yacht Club. At the exact moment I spotted it, coming from the opposite direction toward me was my friend who shall go unnamed. I could see that he was as stunned as me to find a turtle that was going to become turtle soup. Turtle steak and turtle soup were served at the Yacht Club often. Without saying a word to each other, our knowing eyes locked and we met at the turtle that was trapped upside down by its own shell. It was obvious a fisherman put it there for safe keeping til he could kill it and sell it. My friend and I looked around quickly and not seeing anyone nearby picked up the poor creature and ran to the water's edge with it as fast as we could. We heaved it into the sea and heard it take a huge gasp of air before it disappeared beneath the surface. Then we disappeared. No one ever caught us and we never talked about it to anyone, but it's one of the proudest moments in my life.

story contributed by David B

2008-06-15T20:58:00.000-07:00

I first met Allen the summer before I turned 14. I had been spending all of my summers in Yelapa since Buddy, my dad, had moved back there from Zihuatanejo in 1969. That sixth summer, like the previous five, was spent diving in the morning, home by one, put away gear, clean fish and myself, chill for awhile with lots of books in the hammock looking across the bay at the changing light on the beach. Buddy would drink a coffee and flip through a book, Kenneth Lo's Art of Chinese Cooking or Tales From the Mullah by Idris Shah; some Foo Chow Fish Soup and Side of Parables with jazz playing on our stereo. At that time the stereo was still a big novelty and, I believe, jazz may still be a novelty.

We had a Blaupunct car stereo hooked up to a car battery and once a week we would go across the bay to Hotel Lagunita where the battery would get charged by their generator, the only power in town. Dad would exchange it for one he left the week before, now charged. My first step of pangero apprenticeship was dropping him off at the beach, doing a few laps around the bay, then picking up Buddy holding the charged battery.

Anyway, when the afternoon breeze picked up at around 3:30 or 4, he would go next door to Ratza at Casa Vieja. This would require going over the seawall around the canoas that were tied up above the little playita that separated Casa Bari (the Mexicans could not pronounce Buddy, and, so, called him Bari or more specifically, Don Bari) or the Blue Note (for the Blue floor in our kitchen and the constant jazz drifting up the trail from the palapa. Years later

Maria Von Big Tit, as Buddy called her, took over his house and it is still there now bigger and presumably better with a watsu pool and another owner. That is another story.

Over at Ratza's, people would gather every afternoon when the breeze kicked up and in the summer, right before the rain would come down. Ratza, by the way, was not her real name. I guess it was as real as any name people take on, but her given name was Shirley. She took on Ratza when she and my dad's then girlfriend Ruth (sister of the first Nurse Christina mentioned in earlier blog) had briefly followed a guru of dubious repute.

There was a smallish wooden table off the kitchen under a piece of blue lamina that would let in light, but, as dad constantly observed, would heat up the kitchen in those late afternoons like a sonofabitch. Ratza would sit facing the ocean with her back against the trail towards Juana, the pie lady's house. To her left was the sink and beyond the window the root canal portion of the trail. My dad would sit there with a chairback to the ocean and another facing that trail.

Ratza would make pot after pot of coffee using a French Press, which at the time was the most technologically advanced gadget in town other than Eliadoro's Juke Box at the cantina! Ratza would lead discussions about higher consciousness and she would use certain phrases over and over. I would tag along with Buddy and if we were early and there was room at the table I would sit and learn that there are no accidents and what Jung would have said about this or that.

Ratza was like Yelapa's own Yoda. With her head tilted down, she would gaze up at you with her huge Betty Davis eyes (I swear) a joint in her hand and tell you something like Good God man, you need to wake up! Raise your consciousness...or some other shit to a kid like me. Somewhere between the second joint and the first toss of the I Ching coins more adults would show up and I would be bumped from the table which was fine, because , like my dad, I didn't really like that many people.

Some people I liked because I thought they were cool like Jim and Georgia Stanley, Casa Vieja regulars until their first child, Sunny Day, was born, the first gringo kid born in Yelapa. Jim was a professional gambler so I was impressed. Others were fake, full of shit and smelled weird, so I was relieved when I was relegated to the hammock where I could still hear Ratza, the thing of it is...and I could keep an eye on Las Palmas where my novia Emiliana would soon be making her way down to the playita in between Panchito's house and Las Palmas.

Emiliana lived in the white brick house above Panchito's brick house on the water. Panchito was a fisherman like all his brothers except Ramon who became a mason. The Mason. What these brothers had in common was their wives were the first pie ladies; Augustina and Juana. Las Palmas was the grove of Cocos with nice boulders for sitting that was in front of what is now Ronco and Ana Rosa's home and apartmientos.

Ana Rosa is Emiliana's aunt and when my family first moved to Yelapa in 1963, Ana Rosa, then 12 years old, became our maid and my nanny. I am honored that her first son is named David, mi tocayo. In those hot summer days, where the pier is now, all the young cousins in that neighborhood would go swimming in the afternoons to keep cool. Meanwhile the parents would sit in Las Palmas knitting bathing suits, doing needlepoint and swatting jejenes gnats.

I'd sit and watch for Emiliana walking down to the water. I could see her looking over her shoulder in my direction to see if I was coming and I would follow after a minute or two. I'd slip out of the hammock, jump the seawall, and be in the water swimming toward the pangas moored in front. I knew the adults were watching, so I'd swim up to Santos or Carlos or any of her other cousins and talk about what fish we caught that day while the girls would talk about boys while giggling and splashing each other.

Eventually one of us would drift off, dive down and end up on the windward side of a panga where the adults could not see us from shore. I would hang onto the panga with one hand with my feet pressed onto one of the ribs that run the length of the bottom of the boat and Emiliana would sit on my legs. My free hand on her back, we would talk about what she did that day or what fish I'd caught and so on. She would correct my Spanish and make fun of me and after about two hours of this there was an unseen signal and it was time to go. We'd have one quick kiss and that was it.

And so it was day after day with little change. All of my gringo friends lived on the other side of town or up river and if I went to hang out with them I would usually stay over night or until dark. This was before the Water Taxi, so, if I was upriver I was staying. There were lots of gringo kids. Tony and Giles, whose parents built Rancho Los Naranjas were my best friends and in the small world category, the brothers who built that house would later build the Rancho at the Point (now part of Verana) for Buddy's girlfriend Celeste's sister; Sara. This casa

was eventually occupied by my wife Josee, just long enough to give birth there to our oldest son Nico.

My other close friends were Tali Shapiro, Pichon and Reyna, Rick the Stick's kids and Todd and Letty, Ratza's grandchildren. Jeff and Dariah Elias and Monica Tillet and her crazy brother Marco were there, too, but they were older and we'd only see them occasionally at the beach or a gringo party.

One of those afternoons was different when we got to Ratza's. There were new people there at the table. There was a large man sitting to Ratza's right, facing the trail and a womann with her back to the ocean, facing Ratza. I held back and my dad went and sat in his chair by the sink. I went straight to the hammock, too early to see my girl but I could look out and pretend not to eavesdrop while I scoped out the new guy. Her was a big guy, tall with long dark hair and a big mustache. He looked like a pirate or Doug Henning. One would be cool, the other would be lame. I hadn't decided which he was yet. My dad sat down and there was some chitchat. I was deciding I didn't like this guy when my dad called me over. I got up and grabbed a chair by the door and pulled it over to the table next to this new guy across from my dad. As I sat down, I got my first glimpse of Susie Helschein. I had to look away because she was so pretty I blushed immediately. Damn, it was hot in here! It must be the lamina roof overhead.

I don't remember what the topic was that day, but I do remember Allen talking about what he did, something about diamonds. Yeah, right, whatever is what I thought. Who is this guy anyway? I was pretty much deciding he was full of shit when I took another glance at Susie. To that point in my young life she was the most beautiful person I had seen up close. She wasn't talking much but sat there with her serene look, occasionally gazing lovingly at her man. He was a total asshole in my eyes now. He didn't deserve, no, couldn't deserve her. No one could. I remember Susie's profile and her skin and her little mole. I don't know or remember how long I was looking at her and it wasn't until my dad kicked me under the table that I realized I had been staring at her.

I don't remember seeing Allen or Susie again until six years later when they met me at the airport after I was released from the PV jail. (another story altogether) Allen had come up with the money to get me and crazy Alan Curry out. It would still be a few more years until Allen and I became best friends. I love him to death but it took me that long to realize he is a pirate, not Doug Henning and, therefore, not lame.

Well, it is now 32 years later and I still stare at Susie, one of my best and most loving friends. Allen now kicks me (with his remaining good knee) when I need it, taking some place of my dad who has since passed away. Looking back, the best thing about the day I met Allen is that it is the day I met Susie!

The White Prince of Reggae

2008-06-15T14:49:00.000-07:00

Josh Mills came sailing into Yelapa and my heart on his boat the Silverheels from Sausalito, CA. He was a wild musician that carried his axe around the beach and played all the Bob Marley tunes and other current expat songs of the day. Josh was popular on the beach as there was always a crowd waiting to embrace any decent musician, just like today.

We met and fell for each other instantly and I was his top groupie for a few months. He lived on his anchored boat with his partner Dave. Each night he rowed to Isabel's beach, pulled his dinghy up onto shore and made his way to my palapa where I waited with open arms. I'd hear him shout my name and run to greet him with a ready kiss. How I loved that man! One time the ocean was full of fluorecsence and I could see his oars paddling diamonds across the sea each time they dipped into the water. It was so very magical being surrounded by sparkling black water when my strokes broke the surface while swimming out to him. I'll forever cherish the beauty of the sparkling night seas.

He had a cigarette ready at the head of the bed for his morning ritual. I've never seen anyone smoke so much before. If it wasn't a cigarette, it was a joint, but I didn't care what he did as long as he was mine. I had just been in Yelapa for a few months. During that early time, I just hung around the beach, but didn't talk much. I watched and listened as I was still shy and unsure of myself after my separation and overindulgence in pharmeceuticals back in the Midwest. Josh brought me out of my shell and I'll forever be grateful to him for that.

He would sail in and out of Yelapa and my life during that first year. When I first came to CA looking for a place to live, I found him in Sausalito on a houseboat. He had a son named Thor and a wife! I was shocked and saddened, but she seemed to know her man and took me in stride when I appeared. Shoshanna was a very nice person and I had no intention of stealing her man once I knew the score.

I can't help but picture him when I hear Marley tunes like On the Rivers of Babylon and Get Up Stand Up. Once I found a note on my door from Josh. It was signed The White Prince of Reggae!

Chicharra

2008-06-15T14:24:00.000-07:00

Orange Charlie was another eccentric character in Yelapa. He always wore orange-colored clothes and drank orange-flavored Fanta. Rumor had it that Charlie had taken one too many tabs of LSD, but that could probably be said about many of Yelapa's early gringo residents. In my mind, Charlie was a harmless character. He always carried a clicker that made the sound of a cricket or chicharra (cicada) which attracted the village children. He would click above their heads and offer a prayer and then give each child a small square pscyhedelic sticker. He was the Orange Pied Piper of Yelapa.

When I first came to Yelapa, I only knew how to count to 15 in Spanish. That was my limited vocabulary. One time I went into PV to do some shopping. I wanted some dyes and other art supplies. Obviously to me, chicharra was the word for orange. I went to several shops and asked for chicharra only to be met by blank stares. I finally pointed to the box of dye colored orange and was informed by the clerk that word was naranja!

Great Beauties

2008-05-31T13:00:00.000-07:00

Ana Rosa along with her sister Irma are two of the great beauties of Yelapa. Ana Rosa is married to Ronco and have several children now grown up. I remember her as always smiling and happy and she was friendly and nice to me, too, although I probably had more of a relationship with her sister Irma in the early days of my Yelapa adventures.

One year Irma, who is married to Angel, decided to open a little hamburger place along the path in town below her house just past Eliadoro's Cantina. It was right below where their apartments are now. That year I brought vintage jewelry to try and sell. I had been part of an antique collective in the early 80's in Santa Cruz. I set up a little stand at her “fast food” place along the trail and she sold jewelry for me. One day she came to my palapa and handed me about $70 dollars which was my share of our enterprise. I was shocked that we earned so much. Even girls in Yelapa liked the rhinestone glitz! I gave her my portion of money to put toward the youngest daughter Jasmin's education. She lives in San Jose now.

We were always connected after our negocio and then Angel came to Santa Cruz to find work along with his brother-in-law Ronco. I tried to teach them some English and over the years they became very skilled stone masons working on some beautiful homes and businesses in my town. You can see this great work at the Shadowbrook Restaurant in Capitola and Angel's sons are still here doing excellent work with their own company.

Ronco put the stone in for my fireplace so many years ago and recently I watched him put up a new wall in Yelapa...still an excellent craftsman.

That's Mary Ann in the photo, too.

Pesos?

2008-05-31T12:44:00.000-07:00

If you've spent even a minute on the main beach you have probably met this woman. She wanders around with her palm extended and a gap-toothed grin. Some people think she is from a wealthy family and just likes to beg for pesos. However, I think she is somewhat poor and really needs some extra money. I think her family is a little embarrassed by her constant begging and maybe ignores her needs. I don't really know. Her name is Agripina (please correct me on this if I'm wrong) and she looks exactly the same just add 30 years on to this photo. Sometimes she wanders out to the point and I can hear her shouting from the path at the top of the gate. She is persistent and along with pesos is always looking for some type of handout. She's friendly and seems to have a good sense of humor through it all. Agripina wants a hug just like the rest of us! If you have more information about her, please email me.

True Blue

2008-05-14T22:13:00.000-07:00

When I showed up in Yelapa in 1977, I was a mess. I'd been going through separating from my husband of 10 years. Along with that, I'd been dabbling in pharmaceuticals that left me too thin and too crazy. Yelapa saved my life. The most wonderful part was the new friends I made that didn't judge me, condemn me, or lecture me. I met many unusual characters there that first winter and some are still my closest friends today. I was healed in the tropics and I still feel very safe there. I can just be myself in Yelapa.

One of these kookie characters was MaryAnn Day from Ketchikan, Alaska. MaryAnn was really an easterner with a heavy accent and strong opinions. She was a beautiful buxom blonde that didn't take shit from anybody. She worked on a ship as a burser and came to Mexico to relax every winter. MaryAnn had a younger boyfriend with curly hair and he was part of the pubheads consisting of me, him, and my sister Cris. Cris is a Canadian of Italian descent and had been travelling with a girlfriend Catherine all around Mexico. She was 10 years younger than me, but we hit it off at once and have been friends for life. We pretended we were sisters with the same father and that we coincidentally found each other in Yelapa. We had quite a story about our heritage. Since we both had dark curly hair and I could pass for Italian it didn't seem that far-fetched.

Cris was quite the little actress and over the years we pretended we were exotic dancers, French girls, hookers, and many other fantasy characters. Once in Victoria, we went to a bar where her husband was meeting with his running team for a round of drinks. We dressed very provacatively and sat at a table near them. He pretended not to know us whle we flirted and sent him drinks and notes to make the other guys jealous!. His mates never found out that was really his wife.

When we were the French girls we ordered pie at a restaurant. They asked what pieces we wanted and in our fake French accents we said we wanted ze whole blueberrry pie! The waitress finally believed us and brought us a pie and Cris dug right into the middle of it as if that were the most natural thing in the world. Another time we pretended we were hookers on the street in Gas Town in Vancouver, but we realized people were taking us a little too seriously and we were afraid we were going to get arrested and hauled down to jail. We cut that ruse short. I still think of her as my other little sister even though she's a grown woman with a family of her own now.

I met two guys that also met each other on the same day. They became lovers and are still together 30 years later! You might know them as Lalo and John, but when I first met them the dark handsome one was called Lawanda. He had long beautiful hair and a beard and was so dramatic and very creative and fun. His new boyfriend, John was blond and more athletic and a great swimmer. We spent many hours on the beach perfecting our tans and ogling all the new guys that came to the beach. The 3 of us were inseparable and spent many years in close harmony in Santa Cruz. Now they live in Mexico full time and John still swims across the Bay daily when he's in Yelapa. The stories we could tell!

The Scorpion Incident

2008-05-13T11:40:00.000-07:00

One day I was visiting Allen who lived at the Point in Fuller's House, which became Allen Singer's House, which now is Chrissy's House. It was a screened in house...like a summer porch in the Midwest, but on the waterfront. A scorpion appeared and I had never killed one before and knew very little about dealing with them. I just knew they meant danger.

Al proceeded to show me how to kill a scorpion. First, he got a huge kitchen chopping knife, then he cut off the tail, scooped it up onto the knife blade and proceeded to jump up on the table rather flamboyantly! He pulled out some matches lighting one and started a little fire to burn the tail in a special brass bowl. He told me this is what you have to do to kill a scorpion, chop off the tail and burn it! It was quite a little complicated ceremony! I hoped I'd never see one on my own as I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to chop off its tail so mercilessly. Some part of me really didn't believe this demonstration, but Allen had a way of convincing saps like me to believe his crazy stories. He calls it being playful!

My only other scorpion incident up to this moment was living in the little school house near Christina Woodruff. My boyfriend Josh, the White Prince of Reggae, insisted on putting it into a jar of alcohol and for several days that poor scorpion suffered at our hands. I never forgot that and vowed not to kill one unless I absolutely had to do it and no more slow torture, it had to be a quick kill of some kind. The negative energy coming off that little jar is still vivid in my mind and those that insist on putting scorpions in alcohol for medicinal purposes are being cruel in my opinion. They should at least kill them first.

The day came that I saw one crawling in my clothes on the closet shelves. I was living in Casa Cynthia then, which is now Casa Sol on the water. Old John Williams (Cynthia's dad) was my landlord and he lived in the Crow's Nest above me. That house is called Casa Estrella today. I freaked...I had no big chop knife anywhere near me at the moment. I screamed for John to help me. He ran down from the top house, pulled off his flipflop and gave the critter a hard slap killing it instantly.

I realized Allen had punk'd me that day and, thereafter, I knew I could dispose of the next scorpion when necessary.

In the Jungle, the Quiet Jungle...

2008-05-09T14:31:00.000-07:00

I had never slept outdoors except in a tent or cabin. Christina's lovely little palapa was OPEN to all elements of the jungle. As it started to get dark at sunset, I realized we could not see anything out there in the dark. Once candles and lamps were lit, eveything could see us! It was something to get used to for a Nebraska city girl.

Christina kept a candle going at all times. She had a little container with straw and sticks sitting near the starter candle to use as kindling for lighting the stove and lamps, so as not to waste precious matches that often were too wet. It was eerily quiet upriver with the dark surrounding us like a wooly blanket. I felt like I could poke holes in it. We seemed so vulnerable in the middle of the jungle like that, with no walls for protection. I could hear animal sounds that I did not recognize and it made me jumpy those first days there.

Barbara and Christina were somehow involved with an exotic black man that strolled the beach with a staff and white clothes. He called himself Nejemiah and said he was from Sierra Leone. Nejemiah loved attention and one way he got it was by riding a white horse along the beach. He was mysterious and loved beautiful women. It seemed to me that he often managed to get them to support him in one way or another. He had a scary vibe, a strong accent and he was beautiful to watch from a distance.

One night he told Barbara he was coming to the house to be with her even though she told him no. We all climbed up into the topanka so he would not find her alone. His energy crept all around us in the dark and we knew he was there somewhere, but we lay quietly holding hands, hoping he would not try to come upstairs. It was one of the few nights I was ever afraid in the jungle. I'm not sure what we thought could happen, but the vibe was negative and intense.

Later on that winter his younger brother arrived..Isaiah from Chicago. He was just the opposite in personality with a friendly and light way of being. He did not have the accent of his older brother either. One day I heard them arguing when they thought they were private. Nejemiah's accent was totally gone! I thought he was a major hustler and eventually he left Yelapa. I'm sure a lot of unsuspecting women had loaned him money which was never returned. Later in life, I found some men used women that way, but this was my first experience of a bona fide hustler. Does anyone know what happened to Nejemiah?

Sailing to the Old World

2008-05-08T17:05:00.000-07:00

The tourist boat was a crowded rocking party...literally; loud music, drinking, dancing and carousing and me green around the gills. It took 3 hours to get there! I almost died as an infant crossing the Atlantic Ocean on a ship, so I was hanging on with bare white knuckles. I needed to get off that boat soon!

I will never forget my first glimpse of Yelapa from the Sombrero deck as we came around the last rocky point. I later learned that rock was affectionately called shit rock because Pelicans perch on it and did what I had been doing for 3 weeks at the Hotel Marsol. It was surreal and not unlike how I felt many years later when I first saw Venice, Italy from the water; beautiful, exotic and strange all at the same time, more like a dream than reality.

I was still mareado from the boat ride when we had to step down into wooden canoas and get rowed to shore in small groups. Having lived on flat land my entire life, jumping in and out of these canoes was anything but easy. I simply did not understand moving objects on waves. The first time I visited Santa Monica, CA as an adult, I went to the ocean's edge and tried to stand in a little wave. It knocked me over. Between Yelapa and Santa Cruz, I get it now, but, then it was all very foreign and the power of the ocean was alarming. The truth is I was ready to jump into the ocean and swim just to get off that pitching boat, so, I was more than happy to leap into the dugout and head for shore. Of course, it wasn't that simple...the boatman needed to time the olas and try to get us in without swamping the boat. I would find that challenge very entertaining months later when I no longer considered myself a turista. My Spanish vocabulary increased moment by moment.

My friend Barbara and her young son Todd and I were to stay at Christina Woodruf's palapa upriver. That was to be my first landing and home in Yelapa. I recall looking across the full lagoon bewildered and wondering how was I going to get across this body of water. It was the most primitive place I'd ever seen. It was hot and sultry and the lagoon was deep and we needed to cross it.

Several small young boys approached us and offered to help us for some pesos. They took our packs and put them into a tiny canoa banked at the river mouth and motioned for us to follow or get in, I don't recall now. Those enterprising boys were Javier, Jorge and Juaquin Rodriguez! The biggest handled the money and split half between the other two brothers! He was very much in control of the situation and an aspiring capitalist. Today Juaquin runs Jack's Taxi (boat) Service and the other brothers are well known Yelapa entrepreneurs with rental apartments and other negocios of their own.

Trapped at the Hotel Marsol

2008-05-06T14:22:00.000-07:00

My body is aging while my heart stays young...one forgets how you may look to others without a mirror or window in Yelapa. Sometimes, I think I am still that bubbly young woman from the past when I scamper across the rocks full of energy, but when I catch a reflection of myself, I am stunned! Who is that strange wrinkled woman looking at me so intensely? I know I'm not on acid....so, it's something more insidious. An imposter has taken over my body! My own Night of the Living Dead!

I try to remember how I felt 30 years ago when I first landed in Mexico. I was newly separated from my husband of 10 years and pretty spunout. Nevertheless, I was a fully formed human. My mind had been made up about things. I thought I knew and had felt everything. I was in for a big surprise! Soon I would meet someone from Yelapa that would help jumpstart me on a woogie path of change. Goodby Toto, Goodby Kansas or in my case...Goodby Nebraska.

I came directly to PV from the flatlands where I had lived since the age of 3. It was 12 degrees below 0 when I left Lincoln in leathers and hightop boots. I had never been to Mexico and when I exited the plane in PV it was 88 degrees. I was stunned by the heat. It only took a couple days in PV for me to sink to new lows as I got hit by the wall of Montezuma's Revenge! I was chained to the Marsol Hotel for 3 weeks solid. Unable to move. Weak. Smelly. Not charming.

It was in this horrid space that I met one of my first Yelapa characters. He reminded me of a swashbucklling pirate, or an Omar Sharif with a delicate butterfly tattooed on his shoulder. He was acquainted with my friend that had invited me to visit her in Mexico. I was there with a Nebraska boyfriend who was a talented eccentric artist, but felt out of place in Puerto Vallarta. I had loved him madly back in Omaha, but here in Mexico it didn't feel right, but that's another story. Al came to greet us but he got more than he bargained for that day.

We still laugh about our meeting so many years later...bonded at the Marsol Hotel with stained sheets and a broken toilet. The staff reported that we broke it, but it wasn't true. We were too sick to complain about the leak. The bill cost extra for the broken john...honestly. I tried to complain but the desk clerk threatened to call the police! Was I ever naive. I paid the bill and learned 3 new Spanish words...roto, policia, and lardon!

Eventually, my body began to acclimate to Mexican biotics and I was ready to journey across the sea on the Sombrero. I didn't know I could get so seasick. I learned one more Spanish word...mareado.

Mexico; The New World

2008-05-05T20:03:00.000-07:00

Coming back to Yelapa after more than a 10 year absence has been like experiencing an old dream with new characters. I recognize palapas although house names have been changed. I still know a palm tree or two and nod in recognition as I walk by. The rocks that are left on the paths still carry my name. I've either stubbed a toe, tripped while carrying groceries or fallen under the influence at one time or another. There aren't that many rocks on the path left that haven't been touched by new cement.

I thought I'd miss the kerosene lamps and washing my clothes by hand. I worried about TVs and extra noise now that electricity had arrived. By some enchanted miracle, progress has not ruined my beloved other home in the world. True, I hardly knew any gringos when I came back last year. New faces, new restaurants, ice cream, and home-made granola. I don't have to go to PV to get practically anything I want. Tomas brings fresh muffins. Massages are plentiful. I can even get my hair colored if I want. I want. A class for this, a group for that...there is no end of possibilities to be entertained.

I meet strangers on the trail that have come for the first time since the Sunset article. It feels like a boom town. I'm learning to love it all over again. When I returned home in early April, I found my slides from 1977-79. I spend hours scanning them into digital files to share. Yelapa seemed more quaint. Less people. We all knew each other. Funkier houses. Fewer chairs on the beach. We were the young hot bodies.

The heart of Yelapa has kept ticking without me. The Mexicans have produced new generations. Those generations have produced more generations. The pie girls pictured are abuelas now, but still recognizable and the pie tastes just as delicious as 30 years ago.