San Pancho Vida

Building a House in Mexico: Change in the Wind

If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies.  ~Author Unknown

 

When we arrived on the job Tuesday morning, Lupe was not happy. 

 He is a perfectionist, a condition to which I can relate. He had mixed the perfect color for the cement countertops, but when he went to apply it, he discovered that the concrete slabs installed by the workers in the casita and the studio bathroom were imperfect.

He knew why: they had used scraps of old wood to form them. They were not quite square. The bottoms were ragged. It was taking extra time for him to shape and finish them to his standards.

He simply could not, would not, work like this.

Although El Arqui uses the word "emergencia" more than I'd prefer, this actually qualified as one. Lupe is a good man, a good friend, a treasured maestro. We called a meeting with him and Benjamin, our wonderful construction supervisor, and Lupillo, our daily on-the-job-every-minute-of-the-day supervisor.

Lupe presented his case. His arguments were sound. Benjamin (behind Lupillo on the left) agreed.

He assured us he would buy new wood for the forms and told Lupillo to consult with Lupe as the rest of the counters were formed and poured. 

Nothing nicer in my world these days than a happy maestro.
Mollified, Lupe installed the sink in the casita baño. It's a Talavera sink in a pattern called pavo reál, which means "royal turkey", which means peacock.I bought it in Tonala for twenty-three dollars.

Meanwhile, the plumbing and wiring are coming along nicely.

 

A few days ago, Francisco P, the carpenter, stopped by to measure for windows and grin his wicked gold-toothed grin. He's another maestro, a craftsman who has worked for many years with El Arquitecto. He's a hoot. One of these days we'll take a field trip to his sprawling woodshop, which is out in cow country east of Puerto Vallarta. But, for now, watch as he and his crew create a template for the arched window in the living room:

 

    

Perfect.

He is already building the casita windows and doors. We're still waiting for Salvage Guy to get it together to ship the old doors down so Francisco P can use some of them as interior cabinets and prepare the one that will be the door to the baño.

Now that Lupe's finished the casita countertops, Julian the tilesetter will arrive to lay the casita floor. First, though, they have to pour the cement floors in the terrace so they can move all the boxes of clay tile out of the casita to give Julian room to work.

But before they do that, they have to chip out all the hardened cement that's already on the terrace floor that's left over from mixing cement for other places and that doesn't belong there any more. Don't ask me--that's the way they do it.

Whispered aside: when I return in August, I plan to move in to the casita (knock on wood).

One day this week, I climbed the stairs from the studio to this transformation:

Primer!! So much for leaving the walls gray. Sorry, Allen and Dee. It's over, as they say down here.

 

 An hour or so later, I came down the stairs to discover some guy I'd never seen before chipping huge holes in the wall above the terrace arches. Seeing the look on my face, Arqui said, "Those are for the beans," which is his charming word for big pieces of wood one puts overhead to hold up ceilings and such.

"Nyuh-uh," I replied. "Those beans are in the wrong place." And they were. Of course, due to the fact that they're constructing this house like a freaking fortress, these beans are decorative, not structural. But still, they can't be just any old where. So now they have to patch the giant holes and replaster them and reprimer them and then chip out new giant holes, but that's how it goes more often than you'd probably believe.

For a full half hour, five of us remeasured and refigured and divided by nine and then tried eight, and finally we determined where to put the new giant holes; so, in the end I'll have fewer beans farther apart, which is how I like my beans.

I went back upstairs. The sky was blue as the sparkling sea, our persistent overcast of the past week gone for now. The ocean breezes flowed and swooshed through the rooms. Palms danced, framed by every arched window. I walked out onto the bedroom terrace and watched two big yellow butterflies tumble past on a river of wind.

I stood there, grinning like a carpenter.

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Next week -- How about we venture up to Ajijic and see what's up with Tracy Guadalupe?

P.S. Still posting every Friday! Don't forget to RSS or come visit. 

Building a House in Mexico: A Few Words on Collaboration & Evolution

(Yes, I know most of my readers prefer looking at the pictures, but occasionally you’ll have to let me ramble. And vent…)

 

Long ago, when El Arquitecto and I were working on the aborted house plan for the lot in the jungle that never happened, he made it clear that he had not built a “square house” in twenty years.

His vision for the jungle house was curvey and swoopy and mostly beige, with a top palapa the size of an airplane hangar--a form of design we here call “Art Gecko”. It wasn’t what I had in mind.

 

By the time the new lot in the pueblo came along, we knew each other a whole lot better. My vision was more traditional: I wanted arches. A big outdoor living and dining area. A spacious kitchen that worked, tile roofs, and colors. 

 

I drew a floor plan, and it was square. I sent it to El Arqui to design a house around. It came back with a palapa on the roof the size of an airplane hangar. I whited it out and designed a simple tile structure instead. He added a curved Rapunzel thing in front for a wide interior staircase.

 

I got dibs on the kitchen. Mine mine mine. I love designing kitchens and knew just what I wanted. I put in panoramic windows in the far end, a sort of bridge-of-the-Starship-Enterprise effect--I always wanted to be Kate Janeway.

I had to have a campana (or, as we so much less-romantically call it, a range hood) of plaster. I drew it while the maestro looked over my shoulder.

 

I planned a pass-through window from the kitchen to the outdoor dining area. El Arqui found a great huge hunk of wood and bought it on the spot for the counter on the dining side of the pass-through.

 

Arqui knew of an unusual tile called ‘cebolla’ (onion) and brought me a little piece. I loved it. We’ll use it, along with a decorative tile I found in Bucerias. I’ll add a big armario, a plate rack, iron racks for hanging pots, and a tall desk to take in the eastern view.

 

He added dozens of nichos all over the house. I removed half of them, then put a few back. He added curves to the tops of interior walls, the perimeter wall, and every corner in and out of the house. I liked that.

 
I also liked his huge curved planters under nearly every window, imagining the voluptuous spill of flowering vines festooning happy walls.

  

We agreed on wood exterior windows and doors. High maintenance, but so beautiful. We bought more old doors for inside from Salvage Guy. 

When the engineer struck rock and recommended increasing the depth and height of the lower arches (behind which we'd planned a modest art studio), the art space had grown into a studio plus assorted storage rooms plus...something more. Then one day--voila!--I looked at it and realized it had evolved into a place to rest and read in the shade beside the pool.

 

We bought more old doors from Salvage Guy to fill those arches…

...and added a palapa eyebrow for more shade.

Yesterday, on my way up the outside stairs, it occured to me that the pool palapa might block the view. Palapa Guy held up a tall stick as a measure, and El Arquitecto and I decided to make the palapa shorter. Arqui explained the redesign to Palapa Guy, who speaks no English at all.

 

This process--the scribbled drawings and discussion of options, the tweaks and additions and subtractions, the give and take--still happens daily. I know how fortunate I am to have found a Mexican architect who treats me as an equal. We truly enjoy working together.

 

Then, last week, we had a fight.

 

It wasn’t a knock-down drag-out. It was more a sniper attack. It was all about colors.

 

As I mentioned, Arqui likes beige. And off-beige. When he walked into the studio and saw the pallette of sample colors the painter had brought for me and put on the wall, Arqui paled visibly. He looked sort of...beige. 

 

I’ll spare you the conversation, but it deteriorated into a passive-aggressive bicker. He hates my colors. I hate his. I am fed up to here with beige and mushroom and taupe. He thinks corals and reds and golds are tacky and flamboyant. Those are the colors they paint houses of ill-repute. What? This is Mexico! I’m using Mexican colors (grrrr).

None of this was actually said outright. It was all implied, or insinuated in questions and comments to the people around us. As I said, passive-aggressive.

 
We parted coolly. I paced. I knew this was coming, but now I had to face the real challenge of collaboration between two strong-minded designers: the segue out of collaboration into “I’ll take it from here”.

 

The trouble is, I can’t just stop and say “go away”. There’s much ahead for which I need and want his help--with supervising the maestros, with structural issues and available choices of finishes, with translating and shipping and managing the builder. 

 

On the other hand, I am passionate about colors and gardens and tiles and lighting. This casa is my canvas and I fully intend to give it life.

 

The next morning, a Sunday, he called--to apologize. We talked. He said he is not confident with color and hoped to learn something. I said I constantly appreciate his depth of knowledge and instincts. We touched on the idea of separation of purview and agreed we had more to discuss. When we hung up the phone, we were friends again.

 

And so the collaboration continues. This morning, we redesigned a big window and approved the colored cement finish for some floors and countertops. Arqui showed the plaster maestro an edge that needed softening. I called the painter and made an appointment to see four more colors tomorrow morning.

 

None of them is beige.

 

Back to Work

"What work I have done I have done because it has been play...The work that is really a man's own work is play and not work at all."         Mark Twain

Or a woman's, I might add.

I arrived in San Pancho to find the construction site swarming with workers: electricians and plumbers, plasterers and nicho-makers, diggers and cleaner-uppers. We are in full swing.

Laborers are leveling floors to prepare for the cement base for clay tiles. Plasterers are smoothing arches so the carpenter can measure to build windows and doors. Showers and tubs are taking shape, followed closely by the crew of brothers who are installing tub and shower valves inside the walls.

Guys are running hither and thither with stubby pencils and rolls of plans, with battered plastic buckets of water or cement or jumbled tools. We squeeze past each other on the stairs and in the halls, between wet plaster and the bones of scaffolds. There are a lot of 'con permiso's and smiles.

 

  

 

I'm loving this part of the construction. There's so much to look at.

And that's not all.

 

 

 
 

 

  

The sounds of a Mexican construction site are different from those of the frame construction I'm used to. There is no constant scream of power saws and pounding of hammers upon nails.

Instead, the occasional reverberating bongg of a hammer striking rebar. 

The rythmic scrape thump of cement being mixed by hand. 

The tap of chisels (and lately, the teeth-jarring cak-cak-cak of a mini-jackhammer) furrowing into concrete for wires and pipes. 

And always, laughter and music. 

 

 

(I got a call from a friend and neighbor at ten o'clock last night informing me that the crew was still at work. The drill...the shouts...the lights...the music...yikes. This morning I made the necessary firm request to shut it down earlier.)

 Photo by Curt

As I wander about taking notes, measuring, gawking, and shooting photos, the workers signal or shout to one another to stop! tossing water on that wall; stop! throwing plaster on that overhang; stop! chipping that channel until I pass. As a result, most of the time I am not splashed, plastered, or dinged with concrete shrapnel.

I try to move quickly so as not to hold up the progress.

At first, they were a little wary of the camera, moving out of the way whenever it appeared, but now they are used to it, and even take a moment now and then to model. 

Well, not El Arquitecto -- he's always ready to model. 

So that's what's going on in San Pancho. Next week I will have more. I'm choosing colors with Mauricio, inspecting Lupe's polished cement samples, and re-designing windows with Francisco so that they can be washed on the outside (thanks, Franny).

Don't you think Tracy Guadalupe wishes she weren't in Ajijic?

   

A Change of Place

Hey, I have an idea. Since I'm traveling back to San Pancho this week and have so much to do, how about we go to....Las Vegas!!

Let's start with a drive down the Strip.

So you might wonder, what brought this on? Vegas?? 

Well, it all started with an offer Dick and I got in the mail to stay at the new Wynn Encore almost for free. We don't know why we got the offer...but we jumped at it and planned three nights at the end of March. Our son had time to drive up and join us, and the room was plenty big enough for three, so we decided to celebrate his birthday in Sin City. He's turning 24, so you can just suspend your judgement and not call Child Services just now.

You can do lots of things in Las Vegas. You can visit Paris...

 ...or Venice... 

 ...where you can eat great Italian food in St. Mark's Square...

...and have gelato for dessert, just like in Chapala.

You can go shopping. I checked out the swim shop in the lobby of the Wynn Encore, conveniently right across from the pool, and saw this simple little one-piece suit...

 ...with a price tag of only $440 USD. Right.

You can buy some lovely gifts... ...or not.

You can meet giant frogs...

...or eat giant candy apples.

You can gamble, of course. The table stakes were way too high for me, as it was a weekend and Las Vegas was surprisingly busy. So I checked out a few slots, but they're not nearly as fun as they used to be. No more buckets of coins, no more clamor of silver dollars or hundreds of dirty nickels spewing into metal troughs. Nowadays, they're all electronic computer-chip machines.   

I miss the old one-armed bandits.

But my favorite thing to do in Las Vegas is to see what Steve Wynn has been up to. I will always hold a soft spot in my heart for him for putting his art collection on display a few years ago, as he began to convert the old Desert Inn into his new extravaganza. He charged $5 for Nevada residents and $7 for the rest of us to visit Manets and Picassos, Monets, Gauguins and Matisses. There were maybe ten people in the gallery the day I was there, and the guards were kind and not intrusive.

I cherish the memory of standing three feet away from Vincent Van Gogh's "Peasant Woman Against a Background of Wheat", uninterrupted and in a teary reverie, boggled at the beauty of the brushstrokes. 

I'll close with these images from Steve's new resort.

 

 



   
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Next week I'll be writing from San Pancho. We'll take a look at the progress on the casa. From the many lengthy phone conversations I've had with El Arquitecto, sounds like there's been a lot going on!   

 

Cloud People and Stone Dancers

The Cloud People--the Zapotecs--called the place Danipaguache, "The Sacred Mountain of Life". Much later, the Spaniards renamed it Monte Albán, "White Mountain". I like the Zapotec name better, but Monte Albán, wouldn't you know it, is the name that stuck.

The Zapotecs established Danipaguache high on a hill above the Valley of Oaxaca in 500 BCE (that's the historians' way of saying 500 BC). Two thousand five hundred and nine years later to the day, Travis and Allen and Jaime and I caught a bus to go see it (okay, maybe it wasn't to the day). 

Some of us studied for a little while first, since we arrived at the bus office not knowing when the bus left. The rest of us kept an eye on that guy in the background.

Soon enough, we were shepherded around the corner and into a big van (or small bus) with some other people, and driven up a steep and winding street with several stops along the way to pick up and drop off still other people who seemed to be neighbors. Eventually, the bus stopped in a parking area from which we trudged a block or so uphill toward the entrance to the ruins of Monte Albán (which we'll call it from now on so as not to confuse you or your writer).

There were vendors all around, and it was hot and sunny, so we went hat shopping first.

I bought a swell hat for 30 pesos (that's around $2.50) which I later decorated, but that's another story.

Then we climbed the steps to the gate, just outside the museum. As luck would have it, we were approached by a young fellow who turned out to be the best possible and most well-informed guide we could possibly have wished for. We hired him on the spot.
He gave us a quick history lesson first. For nearly thirteen hundred years, from 500 BCE until sometime around 800 CE, Monte Albán was the center of Zapotec culture and worship. The Zapotecs were a sophisticated culture, with a numerical system, two different calendars (a 260-day sacred calendar and a 365-day solar calendar), complex knowledge of astronomy, and probably the first writing system in Mesoamerica. The city itself was home to priests, nobles, farmers, astronomers, artists and craftsmen; and in its golden age had a population of 25,000.

 

The ruins have been (are still being) meticulously restored, using original materials wherever possible. For the sake of preservation and study, many areas are closed to the public, but we were free to roam and explore quite a bit. We were even allowed to crawl into one of the 107 tombs. We didn't stay long enough to take any pictures.

 

 

I was captivated by the arrowhead shaped building in the next photo, romantically titled "Building J". It is also known as "The Observatory" and appears to have been built in aspect to astronomical bodies or phenomena. Our guide explained the importance of the sun, the moon, and certain planets and constellations to the Zapotec culture.

 

Still mysterious are the Danzantes--the figures carved on stone stelae and given the name "Dancers" in the 19th century. Archeologists now believe they are testimony to slain enemies--maybe sacrificed and disemboweled enemies.

Most of the original glyphs and carvings have been moved inside the beautiful on-site museum, where we gazed to our hearts' content, read stories and history, used the nice clean new bathrooms and then went outside to the pretty covered patio and had a cerveza or two. 

I found this website while I was refreshing my wobbly memory. Do take a look if you want to know more. I especially recommend clicking on the Historic Timeline for a good quick overview of 2500 years.

More About Monte Albán

➣I believe T. Ashby took the first two photos. Thank you.