From Primo's Place Upriver By Janie Bell Burton

“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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.