Another Day, Another Puncture

A week ago Friday, I came out of the Oxxo convenience store at the Plaza and two taxi drivers were standing on either side of my bike where I locked it to a street sign on the corner. Odd. Their taxis were parked two spots away with the doors hanging open. They acted so casually, just hanging out, having a conversation, it looked damned suspicious. They were the worst actors, practically whistling when they saw me coming and walked back to their cabs. It must be hard to look innocent when you've been a total weasel all your life. You have no reference point.
My instinct told me they must have been up to no good but I've been teaching modal verbs of probability lately so technically I would have to say they might have been tampering with my bike. By the time the slow leak they started flattened my front tire completely, it was a "must have been" situation.
The leak was so slow I didn't bother about it over the weekend, just pumped it up every three hours as necessary. On Monday morning, I had to stop and pump it up four times on my way to work. It's a fast downhill ride to town from school so one pump up might have done the trick if the entire thing hadn't exploded with a bang that the security guards had no choice about investigating. I heard them coming and let them know it was me just in case they had their guns drawn. My 5 minute bike ride was now a 30 minute walk at the hottest time of the day.

The journey begins here. I thought I'd better carry the thing to protect the wheel and managed to draw blood with a slam to the shin with the pedal. Shins are more valuable than wheels. Even better, I took this outstanding opportunity to walk on the wide park like median with shady trees. It begins immediately after UMAR and it's the first tangible sign to travellers that they have arrived in a different, modern and well maintained, world. I always ride on the edge of the road on my way to work and this long green park always looks so inviting. People pull over to the side and have picnics here.






The green sculpture at top of the hill is the logo for Fonatur, a government agency responsible for keeping Huatulco beautiful and that's all I know about it except I pay a water bill to them every two months. Just past it is the final hill, a fast plunge into Crucecita, where you get the first small peak of the ocean.
The mechanic at the bike shop had me fixed up in five minutes. They really know their stuff there. The bike was cheaply made to begin with but every time something breaks, I leave the bike shop with a stronger bike than I started with. I took a look at the old tube. I don't know if the mechanic noticed the source with the exploded rubber ripped right up the seam being so obvious but I checked out the nozzle and sure enough, there was a nice slit just beneath the nozzle where the taxi drivers had jammed a small knife through the gap by the nozzle and slit a hole right underneath. The beauty of a cut like that is that it can't be patched. The tube is trashed forever. Whether the mechanic saw what I did or not, the tube he gave me has a protective nut at the nozzle's base to prevent sabotage. Maybe he did.
Trying to turn a bad day into a good one, I decided to visit Al's restaurant for lunch. Al is a proctor here at UMAR and he runs a great little restaurant in Sector U2 near Mike and Rowena. The reviews are good and I've been meaning to look for it for some time. I couldn't find it so i tried to get out of U2 and ended up getting lost. I followed the canal road looking for an exit but there was nothing but dead ends. I saw a highway overhead at one point and figured I could get to it if I went cross country through the woods but it had a bridge so it wasn't the right one. This was the road to Salina Cruz. All I could do was backtrack before I was late for work.


I found Al's restaurant the next day. Mike drew me a map. It was excellent. Good restaurants are a bit sparse in this town. Most charge tourist prices and the portions are small. Not at Al's. He calls them tacos but he serves huge things like burritos on fresh homemade tortillas that he fills with the specials of the day like "pollo tinga" "mole" or "calamari". Ten pesos each, less than a dollar, and two will carry you through the day. I felt like I'd stepped back into real Mexico again. I call it Al's restaurant but it doesn't have a name. Take the main drag into U2 by the ADO station, pass the market, cross the canal bridge with the pink railing and look for the place in this picture.


What a difference a day makes. We still haven't seen a lot of rain this season. It must have been a strong breeze that knocked this big branch down overnight.


People had to wonder why the drivers did that to my bike when I told them the story. Lots of potential answers. Number one: they were miserable guys with litytle conscience. It could have been a racist thing; revenge for telling them off one day when they cut me off on the road (that happens a lot around here unless the traffic cop is around and then everyone starts acting like human life really does mean something to them; boredom; or they thought I would call for a cab as soon as my tire was flat, thereby earning a whole twenty pesos. All of these come under one umbrella; they were jerks. To people like that, others just don't count. If i could have proved it, I would have called the cops but I couldn't. I wouldn't even recognize them again. Very average looking young guys.
Ah well. had a great walk through the park and I found Al's restaurant. In your face, taxi drivers.

Come and knock on my door

One of the issues that kept me hopping on my free time was the apartment. The first one just wasn't working out. For a lot of reasons. There was a toilet tank that constantly dripped water into a bucket. Every 24 hours that bucket was full. The kitchen sink wouldn't drain. I tried industrial drain cleaners. No good. On Thor's recommendation, I gave Alka Selzter tablets a whirl. That worked a little but the problem wouldn't go away. They spray this town with insecticides but standing water on the coast is still a serious health hazard. People tell me that, yes, you can catch dengue fever twice and it's worse the second time. Worse!!?? That can only mean you die.

I forced myself out of bed last Saturday morning and went looking for a better place. Found one. Quite a few more pesos but what a place. Sure, it has it has flaws but it's a big furnished luxury palace to me. Great features. I have a huge frost free fridge cold enough to keep ice cream. There's a high end gas oven and stove that needs no matches. Gas flares up at the touch of a button that sends an electrical spark with a snap. I am afraid of the oven though. The electric charge doesn't work below and I ended up with my right hand in cold ice for two hours last night after a minor explosion. Whoomp.




The shower! Yow. I have one of those high powered shower heads like they use all over Guatemala only without the scary corroded electric wires. Turn this thing on full blast and you can drown under it. I have a hot water heater and mornings can be chilly but I rarely use it because I need that refreshing jolt to get moving some days. It's a small act of courage to turn the tap but once you're in, you're in. I love my shower.

I had all my stuff moved in after five bicycle trips from the ghetto and spent the afternoon cleaning and arranging what I could. I wanted to get as much done as possible because Mike was coming down from Miahuatlan to do an apartment hunt of his own. I kept hustling, expecting a call any minute, until it was dark and my productivity was in decline. I tried to call him and that's when I figured out I'd given him, and almost everyone else, the wrong number. William picked up and I could hear Mike and Richard in the background. They were just about to knock at the door I woke up behind that morning. It was fantastic. Instant house warming party with good friends and alcohol. Richard even made us all a yummy pasta.

Next day we were off to Arracito, a tiny beach near Tangolunda and a high end condo neighborhood. Great snorkelling. Richard has one of those snorkels that automatically shuts off when you dive. It holds your breath for you. Strange sensation. I saw a nice sized oyster shell at the bottom that now serves as a groovy ashtray. Good weekend. This one is almost over. Yesterday was nap day. I felt the energy depleting all week long. I needed more sleep. I had a fever. Gone. There was a night time Chinese New Year celebration at Arracito I couldn't make. I wondered if I'd be able to sleep after a whole day of napping. At 9 o'clock, I gave it a whirl. I was under in 3 seconds

Everyone agrees the new place has a "Three's Company" vibe. It's so 70s. Makes me want to listen to Peter Frampton and Supertramp. Iv'e been overdue for a haircut for about a month so the apartment really suited me. But I was tired of the 70s hair and finally squeezed in a haircut on Thursday.

This is what happens when you're overtired. You fall asleep while someone cuts your hair and wake up with one of the most conservative cuts of your life. I was out of the sun. A soft cool breeze blew in from the street and I was out like a light. The lady was very meticulous. I probably napped there for a full half hour. Once in a while she would make a noise and my eyes would open. Holy smokes. I thought, "Stop. That's enough. Put some back, would you?" but I didn't say a word and fell right back to sleep. Everytime she took a brush or the buzzer for touchups, I thought,"Ok, that's it." and then the scissors would come out and she was back at it. What could be left? I have very short hair but at least it beats that Sgt. Rock cut I got in Mexico city before leaving for Korea. Plus there was that horrible cut the girl gave me in Panajachel. I think she was trying to give me a faux hawk because you saw that stupid cut everywhere there. So this lady had a lot of damage to undo and probably had to go that far down to get life back to normal.