San Pancho Vida

On With the Show

I had a few questions from my treasured readers about that "circus tent" from last week. 

"What the heck is, it?" for one.

It is the skeleton of a palapa, which is a common construct in these parts and other parts of the world where palms flourish. Someone long ago realized that those big leaves would make real good roofs. It always tickles me to wonder about things like that. Who thought of it first? Not that this idea wasn't fairly obvious. It wasn't on a par, for example, with the first person who decided to eat an artichoke or jump off a bridge attached to a rubber band. But I digress.

First, you take some sticks...

which you put on top of some tree trunks.

 

 You tie them all together with some jungle vines. 

Then, you gather up some palm fronds. They should be quite dry, so that the bugs have mostly vacated the premises.  

 You weave those palm fronds in and out of your stick frame.

  

Before long, you've got a regular little hula skirt thing going on. 

When you're all done (which he's not) you have yourself a palapa. Palapas come in all shapes, some of them quite fantastical. This one is going to be an oval, which I find to be a harmonious shape, and will be right beside the pool for shade, and also for the simple decadent joy of sitting under a palapa. 

Nearby, along the lower edge of the house and over the top of the studio and other lounging-by-the-pool space, we're building a palapa eyebrow. The room faces south and will get a lot of sun, so the eyebrow is for shade and protection. Today we decided how shaggy and long the eyebrow should be. I opted for a peek at the sky so as to prevent claustrophobia, so Palapa Guy will shorten the length of the poles and palm fronds. 

 
 Notice the nail belt?

I suppose it would be fair to say that a palapa is right along the same lines as a teepee--only you don't have to shoot and skin any deer to make one. 

On the way upstairs, Lupe's is still at it.

  

 

He's working in the kitchen, too, finishing my stove. That Lupe is a milagro.

Rather than buy a normal stove, I decided to build one from scratch. The burners will be built directly into the concrete countertop. We found burners at a gas supply store in Guadalajara, in three different sizes. Manuel, our installations whiz, will plumb them with gas lines and we'll add some heavy old-fashioned grates and stove knobs we found somewhere in Puerto Vallarta. Why be normal when it's so much more interesting to be abnormal? That's my motto.

Next door, in the outdoor living and dining room, Julian is laying tiles like a madman.

 

 

He uses a giant squeegee to smoosh on the grout...

 ...then mops it off the tiles.   

We had another tile trauma this week when, as the floor tiles begin to show themselves, we realized we'd been sent #2 tiles instead of #1's. Now, one of my tricks for keeping costs down (sshhhhhh) is that I'm using #2's in much of the house. Number twos are those that come out of the kiln with a little defect: a crack or a heat mark or a slight bow, or some other quirk. Given that I wanted the house to be rustica, I actually preferred the quirky ones. But we'd decided to go with number ones on the main floor because we're using larger tiles and I'd been told that the #2's could be too uneven.

Anyway...we received twos, or maybe one and a halfs. Miguel called his long time friend and tile supplier, Fernando in Guadalajara. Fernando was mortified. He offered to replace them all immediately. I, being a cheapskate, did not wish to pay for one installation, one removal, and another installation. Plus...I kind of liked the way the tiles looked. So good old Fernando offered to refund me the difference, which was a nice chunk of change and a pleasant ending to another "emergencía".

I did request (nicely) that Julian change out a few of the tiles that were more than quirky, which he did not complain about at all. I probably would have.

I think it'll look pretty good when it's all cleaned up, how about you?

Meanwhile, the plumbing and wiring are coming along nicely.

 

Francisco Carpenter Guy is installing windows and doors in the casita with his son, Francisco Carpenter Guy, Jr.

And all in all, the circus is in full swing.

I'm going into Vallarta today with El Arqui on another exciting adventure, this time to buy tub drains and hinges and order toilets. Wow. I guess it beats cleaning up after elephants.

See you next week!   

Building a House in Mexico: A Menagerie of Maestros

"One week it's clowns, next week it's anarchy. What do you do for fun?"   Denny Crane

Come one, come all, to Casa Luz de Luna! We have marvels, we have sideshows, we have extravaganzas to amaze and confound you! We even have a tent going up.

Welcome to the circus.

 

We have acts high in the air... 

...and down on terra firma.   

 

 

We have a giant with stilts...

...and a disappearing man!

 

This week was...well, a circus. We had some more bean trouble, and had to have some crooked ones replaced.

There were the twenty-eight boxes that arrived of the wrong wall tile; the workers with car trouble and brother-in-law trouble; and the usual and unusual power struggles.

Then some money from the States got hung up at the border, so I had to settle for less than I'd hoped for with the house water system.

 

We needed some fun. I tried to sketch the fountain on the wall with a charred piece of wood from a cookfire so the plumber would know where to plumb...

...and the workers made some much better art of their own.

But the real reason the circus came to town is this: the structure is complete enough that finish work of every ilk is underway. The time has come for the specialists to arrive on the scene and begin their prestidigitation.

And so the maestros converged, in all their motley glory. In they strutted with their retinues of sons and helpers, like so many ringmasters.

Lovely Lupe, Master of Stonework and Colored Cement, you have already met.

Plaster guy (Eusebio is his name) has been around for a few weeks and will stay a while longer, as there are a number of misplaced bean holes to patch, among other things.

 

Julian the Tilesetter Guy has already finished the casita floor and begins today on the main living area. He's on the left, chatting with Carlos, Lupe's son and assistant.

 

Manuel is in charge of the electricians and plumbers. He has been working in the field for thirty-two years...since he was eight years old. He's been on our job for months, but now is stepping in to help with some advanced design and installations.

 
This fine fellow is Mauricio, Painter Guy, possibly the most patient man in the universe.

Palapa Guy, Salvador, arrived to oversee his crew of two, whom you saw above, building the "tent".

And last, my own Tweedledee and Tweedledum, Francisco Carpenter Guy and Francisco Iron Man.

Now, these Guys are masters of their specialties, and they all know it. Most of them have the slightest tendency towards prima-donna-ishness. One has to be careful about criticism, for example. They don't much like to be edited. One has to...suggest.

If a problem arises--such as an incompetent helper or a misplaced beam or a (heaven forbid) design change--one must approach the issue with some care. One has to kowtow or one must charm. I don't do obsequious at all well, but charming I can do. So far, so good.

Then, there are the relationships among the maestros. Even though most of these Guys know each other and seem to be on very friendly terms, each of them is certain that his particular specialty is more essential and more artistic than the other guys'.

The carpenter will not install the windows until the painter has painted. The painter will not paint until the palapa guy has installed the beams. The tilesetter will not set until the plasterer has plastered the beam holes. The colored cement can not be applied on the campana until the tilesetter has set the trim tiles, which can't be done until wrong tiles are picked up and the right tiles delivered, but the delivery guy can't take the wrong tiles because the colored cement steps aren't dry enough to be walked on by some delivery guy.

Are you cross-eyed yet? I am.

But you know how some things are just worth it?

 

 

 
 

And so this ten-ring circus goes on. 

Be sure to get your ticket for next week's performance, as many of the things you've seen started today will likely be finished--or not. Better come see.

"Keep the circus going inside you. Keep it going...don't take anything too seriously. It'll all work out in the end."   David Niven

A Tiny Taste of Tonala

On the hottest day of the year so far, Allen and Travis and I drove from Ajijic to meet Salvador, who manages the restaurant and bar at Quinta Don José, my favorite place to stay in the town of Tlaquepaque. Salvador is also a shopper--a guide to the adjacent town of Tonala, which is the mecca of furniture and accessories seekers in this part of Mexico.

In the center of Tonala, two main avenues meet in a T. They are lined with shops, most of which sell the same things over and over: glassware, chairs, hand-painted Talavera pottery, assorted folk art, and some of the worst knickknacks you have ever laid eyes on. But hidden in the drab and dusty back streets are the fábricas, the workshops where families make furniture of wood and leather; where glass is blown, lamps are formed, and iron is forged. The thing is, these places are nearly impossible to discover on one's own.

So I'd made arrangements to get an overview with Salvador, who turned out to be a very nice guy but something of a novice in the job. Fortunately, the excellent staff at Quinta Don José--who regularly host hosts of new homeowners and visiting shopkeepers from all over--knew of a place that made tin lamparas, which was my real focus this trip.

I'd also mentioned in passing that I was looking for something to use as a dining room table. So the first place Salvador drove us was here:

Nope, nothing I wanted. I was back in the car in ninety seconds flat.

We meandered through a few narrow streets looking for an address which turned out to belong to this little shop.

We cast sidelong glances at each other. We were all pretty sure that I was not looking for a suit of armor, although the ax had a certain appeal. Salvador approached the young ladies sitting and chatting behind a little desk. One of them waved her arm apathetically out toward the street and down-the-block-ish. We trooped out the back door and in through another door and found this:

Let's put it in the category of "Now, That's More Like It!"

This is the fábrica and warehouse for the small front shop. The owner -- who talked on his cellphone the entire time we were there, even while on the ladder -- proceeded to take down each lamp I pointed to and carry it over to show me how it looked lit up. I wish the photo I'd taken of this procedure had turned out, but it didn't. Let me just tell you that he used a light bulb in a socket attached to a wire with no prong on the end--just two stripped wire ends which he poked into the two slits in the outlet. Looked a tad bit risky to us, but it worked well enough. 

I didn't choose this one, as the green was too garish for my tastes when lit up. It looks even more so as it is standing upon a mirror. I don't know why. Anyway, I did like the punched pattern in the tin sides and I may have him make it eventually with amber glass, which will probably take him around half an hour. 

He just laid the ones we liked right there on the floor.

Not that red octopus thing--we didn't choose that. But the piece in the front is a treat: a votive candle holder with an assortment of appeals one can make regarding money or travel, health, partnership, and other hot topics. You'll find it hanging behind one of the old doors in the casa someday...along with a can to put your coins in and a match to light a candle.  

I bought eleven ceiling lamps. He put sockets in them for me for a buck apiece. Given his wiring (or rather, non-wiring) behavior, I'm not sure that was such a swell idea. We'll see. He wrapped them up (still talking on the phone)...

...and we loaded them into Salvador's van.

It was time to pay the bill. Now, when you shop in pesos, everything has an extra zero on the end. You'd think I'd be used to that by now, but I'm not. So when people start with "three thousand...", I always get this little panic pang. Then I remember. Then I have to try to divide by 12.5. With that fairly decent (but not as good as it was) exchange rate, I paid three hundred dollars for my eleven lamparas. 

And another $13 for the votive candle wish-granter.

Not a bad price, if it works. I'll let you know.

÷    ÷    ÷

It's been a busy week, plus I have two of my favorite distractions visiting, so I'm cutting this short. Lots going on up at the casa--I'll fill you in next week!

The Adventures of Tracy Guadalupe, Part 2

Tracy Guadalupe was just the weensiest bit antsy. Sure, she had a pretty good gig going: no rent, nice house, and she never had to lift a manicured finger. Still, she was about ready for some new action.

Then one evening she heard the garage door open and the limo drive away. An hour or so later, her housemates, Tyrone and Albert (or something like that) came banging into the house, laughing and chattering with someone. The someone turned out to be that goofy-haired woman who had first rescued Tracy from certain-death-by-boredom in her past life. (See "The Adventures of Tracy Guadalupe, Part 1", over there in the February 2010 archives.)

Tracy figured she probably owed this woman a little gratitude. But really, she came breezing into Tracy's room and settled right in like she owned the place, strewing around a suitcase, a handbag, a computer and about twenty pairs of reading glasses. 

From her perch on the dressing table, Tracy watched warily as the woman unpacked. Pretty ordinary stuff, not much color--but at least she owned a pair of leopard panties and a box of earrings.

 

Now that she thought about it, it might be okay to have another female around the house for a while. Anyway, this one was way too old to be any kind of competition, leopard panties or not. 

And sure enough, Tracy was right. She awoke two mornings later to the ring of one of her favorite words: shopping!! That's more like it, she thought, primping a bit in the mirror, envisioning a slick and sprawling mall with shoe stores and glitzy shops and food courts. The name of the mall seemed to be Tiangy's.

Tracy was tucked gently into a big airy bag with a beach towel in the bottom and carried out the front gate. The three friends began to walk...walk?? Wait a sec, guys, what about my limo!? demanded Tracy. They didn't seem to hear.

Moments later, they had arrived, apparently. She figured out from a conversation with two big strangers that they were at some podunk experiment called the Ajijic tianguis. The first thing she saw (oh, gross!) was this:

The second thing she saw was even worse. Barf!!

This was SO NOT what she had in mind.

Things looked up just a tad when she was introduced to Domingo, who had a very cute smile (kind of like Tracy's) and who sold...jewels!

She cheered up even more when she was serenaded by a roving rock star.

Then she spotted these way cool rhinestone-trimmed jeans...

...and matching sunglasses!  

Okay, thought Tracy--it's no supermall, but maybe this tianguis thing isn't as bad as it seemed at first glance. 

She saw some other girls there, but they didn't have much to say.

So she had a chat with a nice couple passing by.

She heard a guy call "honey!", but it turned out he wasn't talking to her.

 

Some people just seemed to be hanging out...

  

 ...while others were all wrapped up in their own thing and couldn't pay her the attention she deserved.

 

 

 

So she decided to just look around in case there was anything else she totally had to have. The food looked good, and she thought about buying some, but then she remembered that she didn't eat.

 

She considered picking up a few little things to decorate her room...

 

  

...but decided to look at clothes instead. She saw some stuff she kind of liked...

 
 
...but it was all too big for her. Until, suddenly, hanging right over her head, she saw the cutest dresses ever!

And then...how lucky can a girl get!?

 

Tracy batted her eyelashes at the rock star as she and her companions strolled back through the market. All in all, she thought, her outing hadn't been a total drag. Maybe, one of these days, Ted and Alex would take her on a REAL shopping trip. Until then, the Ajijic Wednesday tianguis would have to do...and she guessed a pretty girl could do a whole lot worse. 

After all, adventure is hiding all around us, and often in the unlikeliest of spots.

♡    ♡    ♡

Tracy and her housemates (who patiently contributed their time to help create this article) live in Ajijic, Jalisco, a swell little town about 45 minutes south of Guadalajara, on the shores of Lake Chapala.

Next week we'll go with a real live shopping guide into Tonala, Jalisco, on a search for some hanging lamps, a table top, and who knows what else. Later!