PEEPING TOMASINA

Have we created a monster? Zorra, the smallest and boldest of our feral feline family, now waits for us in the window every morning, watching me cook and demanding treats. The Capt. bought a packet of bologna, and I've been handfeeding her little strips of it through a little hole in the screen. Now she doesn't seem interested in the kibble anymore, just wants more of that bologna. She'll get a rude awakening next week when our friend G. will be here and we'll be in California. G. hasn't admitted it, but I can tell he has no use for cats. He'll shovel a little kibble out the door every morning, as agreed, but no treats.


The Belgian wafflemaker we bought at tianguis last Sunday turned out lovely waffles this morning, which I topped with apple slices sauteed in butter and brown sugar. I had been craving fruit, so last time we were in the market I loaded up on apples, pears and papaya. I made a huge ensalada de frutas, throwing in a mango and an orange, and we topped it with LaLa coconut yogurt, our new favorite (not low-fat, but we don't care). With a cappucino, well, a fancy B&B couldn't have done a nicer breakfast.

So much to do to get ready for the CA trip. We'll be driving two vehicles back, and both have to be insured, but once they're here in Mexico we'll have no use for U.S. car insurance on at least one of them. Companies don't issue policies for short durations. We have a Plan A (drive the '71 VW van back loaded with belongings, sell/give away the rest), Plan B (if the VW doesn't run, rent a van capable of towing it back, and fill BOTH vehicles with belongings), or Plan C (just get rid of everything, empty the storeroom and kiss it all off).

We have officially decided to combine our Northwest and California/Southwest antique guides (our bread & butter) into one big book, Cochran's Collector's Guide for the Western US, to be published in October. We'll spend the summer working on it, since it's too hot to sail anyway, and after it's distributed we'll head south on the boat again, maybe actually get to Zihuatanejo this time.

A ROSIER OUTLOOK

We had a few minutes to spare in Guaymas before my doctor's appointment today, so we drove up to the lookout and climbed the stairs to the top. Yes, I climbed stairs and thought little of it because I was breathing a lot better today. Found a statue at the top (didn't get the name of the gentleman depicted, because there were several plaques in the vicinity). The message on his plinth said, in essence, that for men, as for nations to respect one anothers' rights, is to bring peace. No mention of women's rights.

Dr. Ocampo had to tend to a couple of nuns before he could see me, so we had a long talk with our friend from the Ranchitos, who arrived to serve as translator again. Our friend conveyed my concerns to the doctor, who made it clear that IF I have pulmonary fibrosis, it has only affected a small part of my lungs so far. The dire cautions I read on the Internet, the red flags that went up with words "incurable" and "fatal" were overreactions based on insufficient information and language difficulties. Certainly I can expect to live more than 3-6 years, he assured me after listening to my heart and lungs, taking my blood pressure and hearing me mention I took a walk of over a mile yesterday. But when he told me I will be able to sing again, my cup overflowed. I resolved to take my meds, follow his directions and get on with my life. (Later today the Capt. and I worked out the key for a new song!)

What I thought was a flock of pink flamingos over the Empalme Road Estuary Sunday, was actually a flock of roseate spoonbills. Even better! I've seen flamingos before, but never roseate spoonbills. They were there again today at low tide, and this time the batteries in my camera were fresh. We were on our way to pick up Sophie from the Empalme vet where she was getting groomed, and the Capt. pulled over on the causeway so I could get numerous shots of these amazing birds.



They were hanging out with the egrets and herons (my favorite shorebirds), and I happily snapped away as they "grazed" the mud for their lunch. They have big webbed feet, thick bills with a rounded, flattened end for scooping, fat teardrop-shaped bodies, long necks and a blaze of crimson against the pink feathers on their wings.

I'm hoping they don't spend a lot of time in the estuary, but are just visiting. A friend told me Jacques Cousteau called the Empalme estuary one of the most polluted bodies of water in the world because of the effluent from the maquiladoras. Several maquiladoras have since closed down, but the water quality is still undoubtedly dismal.

It was just a rosy kind of day...at the vet's office in Empalme, we found a dog that could be a younger version of Sophie, dyed bright pink. The other dogs surrounding her in the play yard, being colorblind, thought nothing of her bizarre coloration. "Who you callin' Pinky?"

GOURMET RECIPE FOR LAS CUCARACHAS

The cockroaches at La Casa Cochran get only the best. We mix a heaping tablespoon of boric acid powder from the local drugstore (very cheap) with enough medio crema to make a thick paste. Crema is Mexican cream which comes in a box, carton or can. Its equivalent would probably be whipping cream in the States. We place a dab of this yummy mixture on each of six small pieces of aluminum foil (about 2" square) and tuck them in cupboard corners and a shelf in our bodega (storage room) out of the way of curious feral cats and Sophie (who loves crema).

Since we started placing these treats in our boat in 1997, we have never had a cockroach problem aboard (except the few times we forgot). But they seem to be effective for more than a year.

Lately a few giant specimens have been showing up in the casa. They haven't hissed at us yet, but they're not the sort of company we prefer, so the Capt. whipped up fresh "servings" for them. Although it's not healthy for pets to consume, it's considerably less toxic to have around than the very effective but noxious Mexican bug killers.

THE 5-PESO TOUR OF EMPALME

Drive straight through Guaymas, out past the power plant, onto the causeway over the estero and soon you're in the historic town of Empalme, where the tianguis is the biggest and best I've seen south of Nogales.

Empalme was a railroad town, and there's still a restored railroad engine carefully preserved at the entrance of town. Empalme has its muddy, shallow estero, but apparently no beaches, so it's not a resort destination. No condos, no McDonald's, no Burger King. I didn't even see a hotel. There's a desalination plant here, I'm told, using seawater to make pure water, possibly for industry though I have yet to research it.

Parallel to Empalme's main street is the Sunday tianguis, a giant rummage sale where you can find almost anything you want, if it's clothing, appliances, fruit and veggies, knicknacks and kitchen gadgets, toys... just picture a rummage sale that runs for about six blocks.

A big smile from the fruit lady
All I was looking for was a container to keep my dishwashing brushes and sponges in, which I found right off for fifteen pesos (about $1.50). We could have stopped there, but we were on a roll. I had wanted a slightly larger backpack and we found a new purple one ("when I am old I shall wear purple, but maybe I should start now...") with all the pockets and pouches my heart could desire. The Capt. found a sturdy, shiny chrome luggage cart complete with bungees. Then the splurge of the day: a beautifully framed collection of photos from the movie "Casablanca," about six bucks.

Ever since our friend on "Anne Marie" had invited us over for Belgian waffles in Mazatlan, we'd had the possibility of a waffle iron lurking in our minds, though we'd never even talked about it. Mira! A new Belgian waffle iron was for sale for 180 pesos (about $18) and we immediately agreed to take it.


But the best treats of the day were free. A couple of dancers in traditional (more or less) Yaqui Indian costume were coming toward us. At last I was on foot when I saw these guys, every other time I've seen them (which is often) we've been passing in the car and I couldn't get focused before they were gone. The distinctive Yaqui Deer Dancer is emblematic of Sonora State, appearing on their license plates and welcome sign outside the capital city of Hermosillo. They wear a real buck's head with antlers as their headdress, a mantle over their shoulders (in this case, Mama's embroidered tablecloth), wide hip belts made of what looks like animal bone beads, and leggings made of cowrie shells to produce a satisfying sound when they dance. He's supposed to be carrying two round gourd rattles, but the Tianguis dancer had only one, so he could use the other hand to carry a plastic cup for donations. The rhythm section was a second man in similar costume, without the deer antlers.



On the way back to the car, we passed a wall of vivid murals loaded with anti-drug and religious messages. I was interested in the juxtaposition of Christ, Emiliano Zapata and Che Guevara, next to what looked like Death brandishing a hypodermic and an evil Joker.




The icing on the cake came when we were back on the causeway headed for Guaymas, when I did a double take at the birds in the estuary. It's a wonderful place to see birds anytime... but today a flock of pink flamingos flew across the road and floated to a landing among the blue herons, white egrets and pelicans. That was worth any number of happiness units, appropriate or not!! (Sorry, my camera batteries were down but maybe I can get them next time)

A NOBLE EXPERIMENT

Today I found a blog by a writer who's committed to a year's experiment I'd like to try. No Impact Man describes his plan this way:

A guilty liberal finally snaps, swears off plastic, goes organic, becomes a bicycle nazi, turns off his poqer, composts his poop and, while living in New York City, generally turns into a tree-hugging lunatic who tries to save the polar bears and the rest of the planet from environmental catastrophe while dragging his baby daughter and Prada-wearing, Four-Seasons-loving wife along for the ride.

Twenty-five years ago I published a newspaper devoted mostly to conservation (as opposed to conservatism) and alternative energy, and these subjects are still close to my heart. I'm thinking, if a family with a diaper-wearing baby and a dog can do this in a New York City apartment, maybe I can do at least some of it in Mexico.

There is, of course, a book in the works to sweeten the couple's future prospects. A good thing if you've taken Al Gore's "An Inconvenient Truth" to heart and would like some nuts-and-bolts advice on how to change your day-to-day habits. When the year is over they can be free to return to their old ways if they like, but maybe some of what they've been doing this year will stick with them, even if they give up their more radical sacrifices. They are only four months into the year, for one thing. How are they going to survive a New York summer with no air conditioning and candles for lighting (that's going to get hot!)On the other hand, how will they stay warm through a New York winter?

They buy nothing new except socks and underwear. They don't use toilet paper (read the blog for how they get around that. They buy only locally-produced foods. She uses a scooter and he uses a bicycle to get around, even in snow. Will they survive? It should be interesting to see whether they do, or whether the book and the blog end up fading away with a lame apology...

By the way, April 14 is National Day of Climate Action. If you think Global Warming is scary but feel helpless to do anything about it, maybe you could start there.

INAPPROPRIATE HAPPINESS? BRING IT ON

I have been spending a lot of time in Guaymas lately, for a chest X-ray, blood test and a doctor visit. My doctor doesn’t speak English so our friend from the Ranchitos came along to translate. For the past three mornings I've been coughing into a cup, and delivering the resulting sputum samples to a lab.

Dr Ocampo looked at my X-ray, heard about my history and told me I apparently have Pulmonary Fibrosis, or PL. My particular brand of PL is called Idiopathic because it has no known cause. Something in the air...

I found an online brochure for PL patients from the Pulmonary Fibrosis Foundation that really made my day. The phrases “incurable” and “fatal disease” got my attention, along with the reassuring note that patients diagnosed with PL have an average life expectancy of three to six years.

I have been short of breath and, especially when in San Carlos, have been coughing a lot since November. When I take a deep breath, I feel a burning sensation deep in my lungs. This hasn’t gone ignored--before we sailed south in January I saw another doctor who decided I had an allergy and prescribed Claritin and a pricey inhaler. Wrong.

We took off on the boat and although I had more than the usual amount of seasickness, bruised ribs and a bite that made my foot swell up, during the two months at sea I seldom coughed. The day we got home, I had a violent coughing fit.

Twelve years ago we were living in rural Petaluma, CA across from a “free range” chicken farm, when identical symptoms landed me in the emergency room at Kaiser. I spent two weeks in the hospital including a couple of days in ICU, after months of misdiagnosing and misprescribing of various antibiotics. X-rays didn’t show much, but then they don’t in about 15% of the cases of PL. I had seen a series of doctors, as my regular physician was out of town, and none of them took me very seriously until one glanced at my chart and realized I needed my blood checked for oxygen. It took three months of oxygen and Prednisone to get back to semi-normal, after a lung biopsy showed I had scarring damage to my lungs. Information about the cause and the future prognosis was vague to nonexistent.

This time I have a name for what ails me, something to Google, learn about, fret about and wonder about. A mixed blessing, I suppose.

Pulmonary Fibrosis is the name for a group of more than 300 diseases all involving the hardening of the alveoli, the tiny air sacs in the lungs that provide oxygen to the blood. Dr. Ocampo showed me ghostly white threadlike patterns at the bottom of my lungs on my XRay, which he said indicated developing fibrosis. Imflammation caused by exposure to certain kinds of dust, farming chemicals, asbestos, rotting vegetation can lead to PL, or it can be genetic. It's not contagious.


Some people with PL get "clubbing" of the fingertips, which may make it more difficult to hit those tiny buttons on their cellphone. I'm watching mine for signs...

So I’m back on Prednisone, or a version of it called Meticorten--two a day for five days, then one a day for three weeks. I looked up side effects of Prednisone on the Internet and was tickled to find one of them is “Inappropriate Happiness.” I also can get depressed, sweaty, dizzy and weak. My eyes may bulge, my hair may grow faster and I may lose sexual desire. I may also develop a cough, but since that’s already the case how would I know?

I also got two inhalers, one of which, called Spiriva, Ocampo says I must take “permanently.” Also a ghastly-tasting cough syrup called Histiacil I took once and haven’t touched since. This stuff isn’t just nasty at first taste, it has layers of vileness that continue after you’ve swallowed it, shuddering and chased it down with a glass of water. I know Dr. Ocampo will be disappointed in me, I know I need to get out that spoon and gulp down my Histiacil once a day. Maybe I’ll get to it today, during my next attack of inappropriate happiness.

The good news is that all these tests, the doctor and the meds, have so far cost me less than $250, without medical insurance. I wouldn’t want to even guess what it would cost me in the States.

Stay tuned.

THE 5-PESO TOUR OF GUAYMAS

Driving through Guaymas, the bustling city 20 minutes from San Carlos, is not for sissies. I often spend the entire ride holding onto the “panic bar” in our Nissan, the other hand gripping Sophie by the halter in case of sudden stops, swerves and potholes. But today I was determined to take along my camera in hopes of capturing some of the landmarks and curiosities that have caught my eye. There’s much more to Guaymas, but our travels today mostly took us down Serdan Street past the Cathedral and Plaza. Watch this space for more.


Guaymas Plaza has one of the prettiest bandstands I've seen, with its lacy white ironwork.


Iglesia San Fernando is the main cathedral in Guaymas, very traditional in design, overlooking the well-maintained, shady Plaza. A statue of Christ stands over the main entrance and a clock (with the wrong time)




A block from the Plaza stands the Municipal Palace


Perched on the bluffs above the city is a fort-like Lookout Post


My favorite example of Mexican kitsch decorates the building of Camas y Mas (Beds & More) on Serdan. La Senora in her curlers lounges serenely in bed awaiting her esposa, in his sombrero, skivvies and boots, who's diving in to join her


We weren't in Guaymas for Carnivale, but we got a glimpse of its grandeur. Remnants of the parade have been piled up in a vacant lot just outside town, looking a little sad. What happens to the winged horses, giant Jack-in-the-boxes and mythical creatures now? Anybody need a 15-foot Neptune?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BENNIE!

Benito Juarez

We're winding up a national holiday weekend in Mexico, and I Googled the date to see what we're celebrating. Que sorpriso! It's a double holiday! First, it's the birthday of Benito Juarez, Mexico's first Indian president, called"Mexico's Lincoln" (1806-1872), with parades and fireworks. And today all of Mexico observes the Expropiation of the Petroleum Industry by President Lazaro Cardenas in 1938. Somehow I doubt the official name of the holiday is Expropiation Day, but quien sabe?

We didn't notice any celebrating at the Pemex stations, but stores and offices are supposed to close today.

The Capt. anchored outside the city named for Lazaro Cardenas two years ago, on his way north from Zihuatenejo. Appropriately, it's a big oil refining center, wrapped in its own thick layer of smog and smoke. Not a pleasant anchorage, with oil tankers passing hither and yon, but a big money maker, I'm sure.



Mornings have been knockout gorgeous here in San Carlos and we have been taking daily walks to the Marina to check out boat designs. Saturday we strolled up to the Sun Dial and I got this shot of the waterfront. Behind the Capt., the masts of sailboats at Marina Seca (the drydock and workyard) are bristling. After Easter, there'll be quite a few more masts, as the snowbird yachties haul out their boats, put them "on the hard" for the season and head north.



The Capt. has been busy cleaning our "back yard" today, a 10.5-foot wide strip of concrete where he has his workshop and I hang the laundry. On a piece of Hypalon from a long-dead inflatable dinghy he found a cobweb "tent" about the size of a flattened orange, where a spider was laying eggs. Normally, he'd catch the it in a jar and release it elsewhere, but this one was snug inside its nest, probably laying eggs, not so easy to remove. Fat, swollen green body, hairy brown legs...don't know if it could jump. Obviously I haven't conquered my arachnophobia--I had to ask him to place the quarter next to it for the photo.

SPOOKY ST PADDY'S

Blame it on Barbara Sher.

For those who haven't heard of Barbara Sher. She's a self-improvement coach (oh, ugh, one of those!) I first discovered 20 years ago when I read Wishcraft. Actually I most related to I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was -- it's all that Gemini in my chart. Anyway, Barbara has a newsletter I've been getting for about a year.

I was looking at one of Barbara's old newsletters and came upon an email which led to a link which led to a blog by a somewhat wacky 30ish English teacher in Japan who just acquired a 45' ferrocement boat. Here's where it starts getting eerie: her boat is drydocked here in San Carlos!? and yesterday she left Japan to start a new life on the boat here in San Carlos. She was posting on her blog all day, from the airplane, from her hotel in LA, from who knows where? She responded to an email I sent, about an hour ago, and said she'll be working on the boat in drydock for a couple of months. On a previous trip she sailed the Sea of Cortez. Good on her, I say.

The Capt. and I are stuffed with corned beef and cabbage, topped off with obscenely huge slices of pecan spice cake provided by Debbie the restaurant owner, to help celebrate our 15th anniversary.

St Paddy's has always been the biggest day for us: we met in an Irish bar in Petaluma on St. Paddy's. We married on St. Paddy's, three years later. We bought our Morgan 33 on St. Paddy's.

We're not leaving to get the boat tomorrow. Once again the plan is to go at Semana Santa, in order to escape the mob scene that holiday week brings to San Carlos. Easter may have been the biggest religious holiday in Mexico a generation ago, but apparently now it's like Spring Break, complete with misbehaving drunks. The place to be is some quiet island off Baja, says the Capt.

LIFE AS AN EXPAT

ExpatInterviews.com is carrying an interview with me about living in Mexico.

Compared with most of the other interviews, with people living in far more exotic locales than San Carlos, my comments seemed a little...um...ordinary. But it was a thrill to be included. The interviewees aren't all Americans, but also Brits in Bangkok, Canadians in Holland and Belgians in Japan. I begin to get the idea, reading others' interviews, that in comparison I've had it easy.


Fifi (mostly white with a huge black tail) and Zorra (black and white) are all grown up now, and (reluctantly) expanding their social life to include a stranger.

Our feral feline family continues to turn up at breakfast and lunch every day, and today a new all-black, amber-eyed kitty bravely attempted to join them. There was a Mexican standoff over the food dish, with Fifi and Zorra on one side and the Nameless One on the other, staring each other down. She has been here before and I hope eventually they'll make room for her, as there's plenty of kibble for everyone.

Tomorrow's our 15th wedding anniversary! We'll have our traditional corned beef and cabbage dinner at JC's Restaurant. Last year they helped us celebrate with blueberry cobbler for dessert--corned beef and blueberries are extremely rare in Mexico. Then we'll come home and watch "The Departed" which garnered a few nominations at the Oscars this year.

Then early to bed, so we can leave at the crack of dawn Sunday for Mazatlan to retrieve our boat. Sailing conditions have improved immensely, with flat seas and light southwesterly winds, so we're anticipating a more or less easy trip, with a crossing to Isla Partida, up the Baja coast to perhaps Santa Rosalia, and then another overnight crossing to San Carlos. We both miss the boat and look forward to casting off again.

BACK TO THE LAND

And you thought the Mini was cute. Here's the snappy little Mercedes Smart Car owned by one of our neighbors in the El Cid Marina. She says she gets 55 mpg in town, 60 on the highway. They can't be bought in the US yet, but will begin braving our SUV-choked freeways beginning in 2008.

Nine hours on the road and we arrived home Friday, just at sunset. That was the good news. The bad news is that the folks who were housesitting our place hadn't moved out. That is, there was no trace of the wife's belongings, but the husband had left his stuff scattered everywhere. The bathroom, the fridge and the floors were dirty. It didn't feel much like home.

"I spent three days cleaning the place for them before we left!" I lamented.

I felt so disappointed that when he finally showed up at almost 11, surprised to find us here, I couldn't talk to him. For me, probably the most difficult part of dealing with someone who has let me down after promising reliability, is that I can't think of anything to say--until he's gone off, thinking he's handled that situation well. Then I lie awake all night thinking of what I wish I'd said!

We had arranged with them that we'd be back March 1, and emailed them several times, but he said he's having trouble with his email. Yesterday they both came back and finished hauling out their stuff. They've moved up (literally) to a big house in the Caracol, the high rent district of San Carlos located on a hill overlooking the marina, where they'll live rent-free through the summer.

The Capt. vows we will not have housesitters again.

We arrived home just in time for yet another swap meet, and this time it was my turn to score. I found a sewing machine, the German version of the Sailrite, which is designed to handle heavy fabrics such as canvas and sailcloth. Of course, I'll have to get serious about my sewing projects now. The woman who sold it to me, also German, has been hiring out for canvas work for quite some time. Wish I could pick her brain on some designs and techniques but she's sailing Friday for parts unknown.

After the swap meet the Capt. and I spent the day cleaning, unpacking, cleaning, looking for things and cleaning.

Enough whining. After two days, I'm adapting to a bed on terra firma, no longer being rocked to sleep by the motion of the water. We've visited our friends in the Ranchitos and their dog Max was especially delighted to see me.

After a frustrating few hours during which we couldn't get our Vonage phone to work, the Capt. figured it out and I had a very satisfying conversation with my son.

I did the laundry in my own washing machine and bought vegetables and fresh bread from Tony, my favorite veggie purveyor.

Our feral feline family, now all grown up, still frequents our backyard eatery. Zorra (yes, we're now convinced this one's female too) meets me at the back door and talks to me when I come out to serve their daily kibble. "What took you so long?" she says huffily. "The service in this joint is deplorable!"

I'm once again reminded of what I like about San Carlos and living on dirt.


Little Max, our friend's Akita pup, is almost all grown up now and his tail has turned into a beautiful plume. It's easy to see he's proud of it