800 feet above sea level. A couple miles from nowhere.
Big Jim y amigo
Somewhere, Out there..
Shazbot
I showed up looking the best I could given the circumstances. I was wearing flip-flops, board shorts, and a modified Pizza My Heart tee shirt. I was carrying a tennis racquet and a Churchill fin in my left hand and four small oranges in my right hand. My backpack was filled with all my technology. It was 9:30 in the morning. I rang the chimed bell that was situated on the rod iron gate. Bougainvillea up the kazoo. Pita and Lucy were going nuts.
The kind lady from New Jersey saw that it was me and came right out. She asked if I had made a decision or not. I told her that I had decided to stay and that I was humbled and grateful for the arrangement they were providing. I got down on one knee and quietly began to showcase my pseudo mastery with one of her canines. The nice lady took notice of that pseudo ability. She offered me an ice cold Peligrino in a glass cup. Was there a Trader Joe’s in town that I didn’t know about?
I set my stuff down in my new room and took a half nap. It had been a long couple of days. Puerto had me in the grind of late, and I was in need of some peace and quiet. Most of my belongings were still way up in The Lazaro District, and God only knew when I was going to get them back. I didn’t care. Something poignant was within smelling distance. A new beginning was in the process of flushing my system.
Box of chocolates? Long, strange trip? As I sat alone under an enormous rooftop palapa, high amongst the Coconut, Mango, and Ficus trees, I couldn’t help but think about what was coming next. Seventeen years ago to the very hour, I proudly walked down the aisle in Reno, NV with some young lady I once knew. Today I am existing alone in a three year new custom mansion in the warm tropics with an East Coast Gringo Lady, a brilliant Oaxacan Man, two rescued canines, and one small green parrot.
A Day in the Life
Woke up, got out of bed, dragged the wax comb across my board. Made my way outside and put on sunscreen. Somebody spoke and I attached the keys to the nylon chord that comes inside the pocket of standard board shorts. I put twenty Pesos and my ear plugs in that pocket. I closed the wooden door, unlocked and locked the iron gate, and I was officially gone surfing.
The action was high. Roosters still going berserk. School kids walking to school. Old, well dressed Indian Ladies coming out of thin air. Loose dogs and puppies everywhere you look. I was dressed up as the 3/4 naked, fluorescent Gringo, half whispering subtleties like Whizah, VeunoDia, A Dioooss, Hola Hola, and the unlike. It’s a puzzle that nobody can quite put together. Not even me. The 20-Something Chicas peering out of their concrete holes giggling. Love and laughter was everywhere.
It was now Monday morning, Valentines Day 2011. It was 7:30am. Exercise enthusiasts and bait fisherman up and down the entire beach. I made the mile walk down the beach in about 10 minutes. I rested and stretched by Yoga Antonio to admire his insane postures. While I was out in the water, it appeared as though the half dozen Federalis marching the beach had stopped by YA to do the same.
The waves were small, yet big and powerful enough to where I had to ditch my board a few different times. The wave action at Zicatela happens quickly and in shallow water. My duck dive to wave ratio was about 10 to 1 this particular morning. I made about six waves. The water was very warm. The chilly offshores were in full affect like always.
Got out around 9:30 and ran myself home. The hot sun was out like clockwork. I stopped and bought a couple of fresh goodies from the Swiss Bakery with my 20p. A Chocolate Volcano and a Vanilla Croissant. Hot out of the oven. Thought of my friend Goony G from La Jolla and his abilities to wolf down bear claws apre’ surf. So I wolfed those down during the remaining 300 yards of my walk back to my estate.
Hosed off, spent some QT with Pita and Lucy, and then headed high up to the rooftop palapa. I needed to confirm plans for a mini road trip south to Santa Elena. Confirming anything is NOT something one typically does in these hot tropics. Plans and arrangements mean very little here. I had no choice though. If I played my cards right, I stood a solid chance of absorbing a 100 year old Upright Piano before I was to head back to The States. Went to work.
At 1pm I ran barefoot to my local Jamba Juice. No shoes, No shirt, No worries. My papaya, pineapple jugo and my jamon y queso Torta was delicious. It was also only$2.50 US. I ran home in and out of the shade. I bought a coco de agua popsicle steps from my door. Twenty cents for that cool me down. I took a nap.
Snapped up and caught a Collectivo to Dan’s Deluxe Cafe. Hugh offered me up a cup of coffee as I waited for Dan. It was my only cup of the day. I ate a fresh Veggie Burrito too. It was 6pm and the sun was setting. Dan came home and confirmed the trip to Santa Elena. We were to leave at 6:30am Tuesday morning.
The purpose of the trip is to play tennis on Rick’s custom tennis court and scope out his antique piano that he has schlepped down from BC. Dan has gestured that there may be a nice spot in his popular cafe where I’m thinking A Star Might Be Born.
Hopped back on a Collectivo and headed back to my Estate. Took a quick outdoor shower, ate a ripe banana, began some computer chess, and started hydrating. Big day tomorrow in so many ways..
Help Miranda
She caught my eye and I have the reasons. Lots of reasons. We sat rooftop and watched the sun go down each night while I ran the hotel. She asked if I had ever seen the the “green flash”. I said I had even though maybe I hadn’t. Next thing you know the sun flashes green for seconds. Plural. It sent me somewhere else. Miranda didn’t even see it. I was blown backwards by it.
Her name was Miranda and she was from The Yukon. Maybe originally from BC, but once I heard Yukon Territories, I just ran with that. So she’s talking Yukon and 40 below and her NHL father and Gerry Lopez and Tom Waits and her extensive travels through India. We talked about earthquakes, canines, music, and surf culture. I was careful with my words. More than likely, she was too.
She was thin, blonde, and smart. She wore a trucker hat or a skate hat depending on how you look at her. She liked her wife beater with and without a bra, her Dickie pants rolled up to the lower knee, and she went back and forth between $5 flip flops and Tan Converse Low Tops without socks. She wore Highway Patrol Sunglasses or thereabouts. Her poorwoman’s Victoria Secret panties would show from time to time.
She was my age almost to the day, but didn’t look it. She had been to Puerto Escondido many times back in the day, but it had been awhile since. She wasn’t sure she was going to remain at Casa Agua Azul, and had her reasons why. I was hoping my interim presence would Help Miranda YEAH change her mind. This hotel is fit for a Queen. She seemed stoked that I was the new big man on campus. She, like me, is convinced this town makes magic.
Full ON
Tough living. Major updates Only:
Finally went to Super Che. It’s the only big supermarket in town. Air Conditioned. USA style packaging. Had my eye on some baby powder, potato chips, a soccer ball, and various other items.
Had a real scare at La Punta. Caught a bit inside on the outside, and went on a creepy 1/4 mile jagged rock tour all the way in. Freaky ass shit in unfamiliar big surf. Not a scratch. Nada. OMG!
Went in for a shave and a haircut. The Maestro just kills it. Guy gets it so smooth. Left myself a pretty goofy stashe just for kicks. Five bucks gets that straight razor pampering out of the way.
Began some ball work on the beach. Wasn’t pretty, but didn’t expect it to be. Work in the sand can be slow & humbling. When my strength and fitness come home, it should help matters.
Fully saved a hot chics life. Couple of puppies had her neck deep in the soft soot, and were moments aways from the kill. Couldn’t bare it. Surfboard in one hand, Chicken Little in the other.
Had no idea my MacBook came loaded with Chess. Changes everything.
Charles in Charge
There was a knock at door #1 at 7:15am. I was sure who it was. He gave me a lift back to the treehouse and he headed back to his hotel so he could prepare room #1 for the younger brother of the nice Norwegian lad in #2. I set up that deal before leaving. It was Tuesday, January 25, 2011. I was tired. Iggy and I stuck close by the tree all day. Drank beet juice, ate bananas & oranges, napped, and read.
*********
The past four mornings had been surf mornings for me at main beach. Sounds routine enough I know, but that is right about where the plot thickened. So The Big Man showed up unannounced to the tree house this past Saturday morning around 7:30am. Chango was there. Hugs all around. I offered Dude some black coffee. He only wanted half a cup.
While Chango worked around the tree and went ape(pun) over the new 2011 Zeitgeist release, I went surfing with The Big Man. I asked if I could borrow a 1mil of any sort. I didn’t need it, but I sort of wanted it. Actually, I wanted it for every intent and purpose one might put on a 1mil Springsuit in powerful, unfamiliar surf. What a Puss! Yeah OK Guy!!
The Dude put on zinc, and we walked across the warm sand together to have a surf. He rode a big yellow 10 footer. I stayed close to him in the lineup because it’s the right play. It was a small enough day by Zicatela standards. I picked off three waves in about one hour. As I’m not writing home about any of it, I’m just all smiles that I can live to write about it. I was bought a filling $2 breakfast, handed 15 keys on a big round ring, and was given a quick overview as to how the hotel operates.
There was a Canadian woman in #3 and some other fella on the third floor Penthouse. The rest was wide open. Dude Man was off to Barra de la Cruz with the fam to get some of the big swell on the horizon.
“And Aaron, see what you can do to get the nice young lady in #3 to stick around for awhile.”
“What’s her name and what’s her story?” I asked.
“Figure it out Chachi.” The Big Dude Man vanished and there I was. This all felt a bit make believe. The fried banana man blew the piercing steam whistle. Con todo I said.
Bob is my Uncle
For a solid 72, I remained quite close to the treehouse. Chango added an amazing third story w/ an ocean view, and Bob was my uncle. With help from Jorge, we muscled my favorite single bed high up top. PapaC quickly threw together a make shift desk out of scrap, and Bob was again my uncle. As protocol, I bought a new 600 Peso fan. As protocol, Chango dismantled all the safety plastic on both sides. He brought up his homemade bamboo lamp and Ipod docking station, and once again, Roberto fue mi tio.
Back in the Water
I was up real early Friday morning, January 21 2011 feeling better than I had in quite some time. It was 7am and sorta chilly. I put on socks and a long sleeve T and drank black coffee. Chango had already gone surfing. He’s part of the dawn patrol at La Punta. Papa doesn’t surf main beach anymore because it’s no place for old people. He’ll be the very first to say the place terrifies him.
I waxed up and put fins back in my composite 6’6, loaded up on sunscreen, and walked barefoot to the main beach break. It was 7:30am. From the tree, the walk is a little over a mile. I stretched on the beach in front of the surf for about 10 nervous minutes, and then found my crease. It was 3-4 foot and surprisingly manageable. The set waves were still double overhead if you had the right board and the skill set to nut up. I had neither.
There seemed to be no shortage of familiar faces in the water. There did however seem to be a massive shortage of strength in my arms and legs. It was wonderful to be back in these waters. Any waters for that matter. Made a couple waves, had a couple moments. I half jogged back to the treehouse to minimize my time in the hot tropical sun. It was 9:30am.
On my way home I ran into the man with a canopied pickup filled with oranges. He met me at the tree ten minutes later. 25 oranges for 20 Pesos.($1.60) Ate a bunch of oranges and papaya and then went to work around the tree. Papa Chango has me working for some keep. Plenty for me to do around here even though he does all the real work.
He likes having me around I’m sure. I don’t think he has any idea who I really am or what I’m doing. I’m still pretty secret about things.
Stirring the Sauce, Getting the Guns to Jimmy
It was so on. I was still pretty tweaked, but it was on. Kaufman was fixing me up with an inexpensive low priority standby on Alaska. LF began importing every Beatle album ever recorded onto my brand new MacBook. Cruised by Shytowns for a special blend of surf swag. Spoke with Conrad about Wilson and meeting John Lennon. Made time to visit Meisha on the West Side to feel everything Dog. Had a chat with Kevro. Squared up with my anesthesiologist. Ran into Hoover and had a laugh. Picked up the high end sunscreen from Boney. Drove to Merced CA to buy up the remaining 100 gallons of Biowash Natural Deck Oil on the entire West Coast. Handed the house key to Bids and I was off to spend 48 hours with Omar & Milky before leaving the U.S.
Or so I thought. The text from coach sort of caught me by surprise. He wanted to know my availability for Saturday, January 15th. Feeling noticeably better, I texted back the half-word ‘Poss’. Short for ‘I guess it’s possible’. He went on to text that he got word the SC Crew were stacking the roster and if I was still in town and wasn’t too frail, The Rebels were in need.
When the 3B’s are on the pitch together, their record over the past couple of years is like 60-3. Historic-like numbers I know. They had a winning streak one time that was like 35 in a row. This particular Saturday would be no different. Biscuit capped the usual trick while Bruiser took care of everything else. Unfortunately Bird was about as bad as you’ll ever see him. The meter maid must have seen his play through the stadium fence and decided to leave a $43 ticket on the windshield of his 2002 Ford E-250. Didn’t matter to him. We got the W and the going away party was all of a sudden at my house.
On Monday, January 17, 2011, my youngest sister dropped me off at San Jose International for a 7:30pm flight to LAX. I had two final hours to think about what I had forgotten to buckle up. I emailed The Vaird to tell him I forgot to set up his highly anticipated Friday bread delivery. It also dawned on me that I was purposely leaving town without paying my Marketing Manager or the fantasy debt that I owed my Dentist and some kook called MYTH. Their loss. My fragile mind was spinning like a Dreidel.
I left my boards in Puerto last winter, so I was traveling light. I checked in a backpack full of clothes and things, and carried on a smaller pack full of technology. I bought a $12 Vegetarian Burrito and kept to myself as I thankfully and quietly waited to get out of Dodge.