I thought we had dismissed the idea of buying the little house on Calle 68 when I left there the morning after I saw it, but I called yesterday from California and found that it was still available. I called after pacing around the house feeling like I should have acted on it by extending my stay to try to put a deal together.

It seemed like I might make an offer from here, then go back to put together all the documentation for the bank trust and sign the contract papers.

But tonight I talked for about an hour with someone in Merida we met during my first trip there about five years ago. He had just arrived from Belize, and was looking for a house. He found his house, fixed it up into a real showplace, then sold it for a nice profit when he found his most recent place - a really palatial colonial former school that is now an elegant home for him, in the final stages of restoration and refitting with modern systems.

He advice led me to conclude that we should move there and live in a rental until we find the RIGHT house before investing and commencing the grueling process of renovtion to whatever degree is required. How great it would be to look together at houses and neighborhoods.

Also, it doesn't make sense to invest all the effort and expense in a place that isn't really just right for us. I'd hate to get burned out doing over a "starter house".



Goodby mango and banana trees and hibiscus and oranges in the backyard...

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I never got around to posting an entry with a photo of the winner of this visit's Worst POS Car - the one I selected (above) is actually second place. The true winner was one I wasn't quick enough to photograph when it appeared on my last afternoon. It made the pile of junk above look like a showroom model. There was a large - maybe 15" - bullhorn-style loudspeaker mounted on what was left of the battered roof, and the sheet metal was so tortured and rusted (what was actually left bolted, welded, or tied with twine onto the chassis) that I couldn't even discern a make or model. I asked a companion what the garbled message was blaring from the speaker horn. "Ah, es panadero", he said. Oh. A motorized bread salesman. When you hear the ruckus from his un-muffled engine and his distorted amplified pronouncements of baked goodness, you rush from your casa with a few pesos for fresh bollilos to make tortas with.

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Below is a repeat appearance of last year's winner of most atrocious vehicle.

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Some contrasts really struck me when I returned to the San Francisco airport this time.

In Merida, anywhere people congregate there will be a profusion of food carts and drink vendors. All sorts of snacks and refreshments, with people lounging around enjoying each other's company. Families with kids, affectionate sweethearts, Mayan ladies in traditional dress, old people alone and stylish teens in packs.

Arriving at the airport after my flight via Houston, I was hungry and thirsty, but anxious to get to the BART station for the trip to the East Bay. I probably should have stopped at one of the terminal food vendors, but I was a little stunned by the prices and the glitz of it all.

When I arrived at the BART station it occured to me that I had passed up all opportunity for a drink or a snack. I'd say the BART platforms and station were sterile, antiseptic, and inhuman, but I don't want to make it sound more warm and inviting than it really is.

In case someone had somehow managed to smuggle in food or water from elsewhere, a recorded threat looped now and then reminding the dull herd of waiting riders BART and the stark little mini-BART that runs between terminals are NO eating NO drinking areas. Not even a water fountain could be found (God forbid someone might dribble a little on the cold concrete floor after quenching their thirst). The entire long platform provided one little hard round bench to sit on. I needed to sit down, but when I made my way to it, the only remaining space was next to a suited businessman where he had laid his briefcase. I reached to scoot it into the center a little so there would be space to sit, and he grabbed it roughly and set it on his lap without looking at me. In Mexico I would have approached and asked "Se puede?" (May I?) and there would have been an exchange of pleasantries and a quick "Por favor, sientese!" (Please, have a seat!)

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What a strange, strange trip it's been, as they say.

I´ll call it a success, because the idea was to come and get a renewed sense of possibilities. In balance, subject to reflection back in the States, I think the magic outweighs the fear and loathing (and the depression that either causes or results from it). There are a lot of things to factor in - the logisitcs of getting here, the climate, the end of wage slavery, finances. All will be sorted out soon enough.

Now it is Patrick's turn to come and experience all the ups and downs, the turmoil and delight and frustration. If he is on board I will be, but I will accept whatever he come back with. I know he would do the same for me.

Hopefully we won't both be unsure after this round of visits.

At this moment (less than 12 hours before my morning return flight) I am still considering cancelling the return home and making an offer on a sweet little place near La Ermita (church). Probably won't happen - need to discuss with Pat in a half hour. We think he needs another visit before this kind of commitment- even though it is only $35,000. A fixer-upper of course.

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I spent a little time with our friend Enrique, who now works in the ancient hotel San Jose just off the zocolo. It is a place where you can get a room for maybe $15 a night (or less with baño down the hall). At the front desk, which Enrique is in charge of evenings six days a week, there is no computer. Everything is noted in pencil on ledger sheets. In the lobby are old yucatecan style rockers and simple tables for food service or beer drinking. There is a little basin in the corner with a sign - "Recuerde a lavarse los manos antes de comer" - Remember to wash your hands before eating". Always a good idea here, and more important than which food stall or restaurant you select.

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Yesterday afternoon as I walked to the zocolo from casa San Juan, there were two old gentlement sweetly playing alternating parts of a bolero on trumpet and saxophone. That would be in the magic category.



This will be my last blog entry from Merida. Maybe there will be some follow-up thoughts from Alameda later in the week.

Yesterday as I was walking near the old rail terminal that is being restored, I heard some Strauss waltz music coming from an nearby old massive colonial municipal building.

I wandered into the interior courtyard, and there saw a bunch of childen with a teacher guiding them in dance. Seemed like a LOT of children for the single teacher, but maybe kids are more managable here.



While I was there in the building, I noticed a poster for the Buenas Inteciones group I mentioned yesterday. Apparently they are planning a rally of some kind in a big park near the market area. Wonder if Yuctan is really ready for this?



In the same building I was admiring some neat tile - now and then you see a pattern that is really unusual. It is typical in most houses and public buildings here to have different decorative and colorful patterns in each room. This one had a sort of Mayan look - usually they are floral, or geometric. I have also seen teacups and monkeys though.



Before I continued my walk, I asked an old Mayan man sitting in a hallway if there was a baño nerby I might use. He asked "Necesitas orinar o otro?" (Gotta pee or other?) while making a little weenie holding motion with his right hand. I used one of my few Spanish/Mayan phrases on him "Me estoy wixando" (I'm about to wet myself), at which he smiled and gestured with his thumb to an area outside a nearby open door. Guess in my case a bush was recommended.

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I stopped to chat with a guy who owns a little business selling computer stuff, and fixing sick PC's. Doesn't sell many new ones, as his neighborhood isn't upscale enough for such luxuries in many homes.

My visit left me thinking a little about my career - or lack of one at the moment. I miss the routine a bit. The income for sure, and the satisfaction of accomplishing things. Being appreciated for contributions. Some work friendships. Solving problems creatively.

On the other hand, finding meaningfull work that doesn't detract a lot from life seems to be an increasingly remote possibility. Employers in my field these days seem to demand a large array of skills outside my core of Cisco networking (like the Microsoft technologies). Acquiring these skills does not appeal to me and it is hard to get motivted to do stuff you really don't like working with. Also, in the Bay Area commutes can be hideous experiences of mingling with sociopathic drivers in for long periods daily on crammed ill-maintained freeways.

Well, this line of thinking is going nowhere so time to end this post.

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Patricio me dijo que - oops, Patrick told me that I should have a good time and snap out of the funk of the first few days, so I am. I am nothing if not cooperative.

After I had my third siesta today, after I picked up the laundry at La Fe (see below) Lavenderia on Calle 64, I showered and walked up Calle 62 from San Juan to Teatro Merida for an early evening showing of an Argentine film called La Ciénaga (The Swamp). Aptly named - Argentina looks like a very depressing place (depression being something I know about). I enjoyed attending a movie at the Teatro, but left after about a half hour to go to the Internet cafe and begin catching up on the blog.


I stopped at the Paleteria on the zocolo for a scoop of helado de cafe (cofee ice cream). It was the best I ever had.


La Fe Lavenderia. Wash, dry, and fold five days' laundry for $3.75

Then, I decided to walk over to the place of Buenas Intenciones, the local equal-rights group. Saturdays are Parents discussion night apparently. I had a nice chat with several folks there, then got a ride back to Centro. Their place is WAY over past the rail yards (on what is clearly the wrong side of the tracks) between C.44 and 46 on C.53. I felt a little uneasy walking over there past the closed up mercado, but they assure me it's not dangerous.

On the way to Centro, we saw two other folks from the activities waiting for a bus on a corner - a rather large blond transvestite (transexual?) and her dear little mama. You know I have seen a lot when I tell you I was more bemused by the effort at blondness than the, uh, other thing. Well, our driver was in front with his mama, and I was in the back of this itty bitty whatever it was car, but we stopped to offer a lift, and I was quite literally wedged between my door and la hija, who sat in the middle. You just never know what will happen.

One of the guys at Buenas Intenciones told me about a hangout at the mercado called Jorge´s where local guys hang out. He kind of sniffed disapprovingly when he dispensed this information, so naturally I couldn't wait to check it out.

The place was really jumping, in a trashy lower-working-class kind of way. Some of all types, you could say - from marica to macho - and all seemed quite at ease with the mix. Looked like a beer-only joint, with little saucers of botanas (snacks) or bunches of limes with little piles of salt and chile. You take a lime chunck, dip it in the salt and chile, then squeeze it into your beer. Que bueno.

I only had one beer and made four or five friends when they started stacking stools and chairs for a ten o'clock closing. I especially liked the little wiry guy with all the gold teeth who signed everything (deaf I guessed). Sweet and smily.

Entonces (then) I walked back to the zocolo on my way to find a late snack and do this update. Several streets were closed off for live music (diferent bands on each street), which gives the local restaurants an opportunity to place a bunch of tables outdoors and sell more food and drinks. And that brings me back to here and now (for a change - no smart remarks from you, Mona and Pat...)

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Yesterday I walked a lot to check out several properties that were for sale - places that looked like they might work for us. I wasn't really supposed to come here for that purpose. This trip was supposed to be an opportunity to see if I felt that we really could live here and adapt. The heat, humidity, the cultural extremes.

As you may have gathered from the first post after arrival, this question wasn't very well answered initially. Now, after a lot of painful denial and self-doubt, I will say yes.

Yes, we can. Yes we should.

It will not be easy. There will be more depression and lots of anxiety. I still don't know how we will find a place. I do know I will have to come and repeat this experience (OK - it will be a DIFFERENT experience, maybe even a BETTER experience) in order to actually focus on the home purchase. There are number of things we can do to make this work better for me when here.

Better phone-home arrangements for whining and water-works sessions. A cell phone for wrangling the wily realtors here. Advance email schmoozing with all the afforementioned agentes de bienes raices (realtors). Flexibility with travel dates. Staying at the best affordable place, where gracias por dios I finally relocated to hoy mismo.

Tengo que volver a Merida pronto. Dios en cielo y su hijo, ayudame por favor.

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Here is one house I looked at. I wish it had been the right house, if for no other reasons than the neighbor (see the sign for his home business below), and the fact that it is just down the street from one of the historic sixteenth-century arcos that mark entries to the old city from different directions.

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Here we are now more than half way through, and as usual the culture shock and intensity of the experience made the initial experience, uh, grim.

For anyone who has stuck with me so far, there´s going to be a lot more content from here on to the conclusion of the visit and beyond.

This happens every time here - there is a horrific dread surrounding the immensity of what we´re trying to pull off, and I don´t cope well ("Oh really?", you say) with being away from home and the lonliness of careeening around here in Mexico That Is Very Different. I get to the point of incapacitation, often exacerbated by dehydration and the heat, despite my efforts to take precautions.

But just when I am ready to curl into a ball and completely withdraw from the scene, around that magic half-way point, I will find some reserve and go after some activity and WHAM - there is magic everywhere you look. In a few blocks, there will be scenes of incredible beauty, and indescribable human pathos and drama. Tableaus of exquisitely rendered chaos of colors and forms and objects and printed words - the kind of thing that makes National Geographic seem so very pedestrian.

It takes my breath away.

For someone who wants to paint, to render these images into something that other people can experience in the filtered way that I might portray them, this place cries out for chance to be the source. There is an urgent appeal from the surroundings at times like these - this is where your creativity is going to be awakened - this will be your best chance in this life to rise above tedious wage slavery and a lifetime of creative frustration and limited expression.

You can see a hint of it in my photographs (yes, finally, a break in the depression to allow the camera out of the bag with increasing frequency). But I want to render these things on canvas, in vibrant oil colors.

I'm going to make up for the past few days of no posting to do several here. Are you still with me?

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Well, if anyone is checking in to see what the latest is, I don't have a lot to report.

I'm here. It isn't fun. I wish I hadn't bothered. I wish I was home. It doesn't resolve anything. I'm sooooo tired of messing around with the whole concept.

It could still be great. It could be an alternative to whatever we might piece together in the states now that our old life is dissolved. I just have no idea how to proceed. I do know I don't take any pleasure in coming here and traipsing around looking at the same things over and over.

(Comments added three days later: Wow. Depression can cause blindness. See post above for how breaking through the logjam reveals a world apart.)

I don't even want to pick anything apart specifically...that's part of what has grown so tiresome.

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I'm at the Internet cafe off on the main square. Outside there's a boxing ring set up in the middle of the street, and the matches have drawn a big crowd.

Ya know what...the keyboard on this system is even more hosed and screwed up than the usual Mexican layout and I can't do any good formatting or special characters, and I don't really feel like doing travelogue anyway.

Hope you enjoyed the happy travel update. Do people actually travel for fun?

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San Francisco, CA (SFO) to Houston, TX (IAH) on Tue., Jun. 21, 2005
Houston, TX (IAH) to Merida, Mexico (MID) on Tue., Jun. 21, 2005
Merida, Mexico (MID) to Houston, TX (IAH) on Tue., Jun. 28, 2005
Houston, TX (IAH) to San Francisco, CA (SFO) on Tue., Jun. 28, 2005

This reservation has been eTicketed and confirmed.

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I'm beginning to understand that when we try to hide out from the things that make us uncomfortable or frighten us, we risk creating the conditions for them (and additional things) to scare us more, or increase our discomfort. Our world can grow smaller and we can become pretty isolated from others and whatever the world might have to offer us. In pursuit of safety and stability, we may deny ourselves the equilibrium and comfort of belonging in the world that contributes to what we really value most of all - peace of mind.

In view of this belief, and wishing to overcome some of my own hesitation about tackling difficult situations, it looks like I will be going to lovely Merida after all. I don't expect the trip to be without anxiety or frustrations of various kinds, but I just can't figure out any other way to build confidence in my ability to adapt and keep moving forward.

Since the contract recruiter didn't call back after I debriefed her on Friday, I guess I am free to travel, and checking out Merida with a renewed interest is the next logical step in our saga. Sort of ironic that one of the deal-breakers for that contract was my stated reluctance to travel for the job.

But hey, this is our future we're trying to figure out.

I'm trying to go with no expectations - that I will be attracted or repelled strongly by any aspect of what I encounter. Well, it's OK to be attracted or repelled momentarily without creating high drama (would I do that?). Just trying to experience everything with openness and some measure of calm. After a week of plodding around the house here in Alameda I'm certainly ready for a little variety of scenery and experience.

We'll be fine if Merida doesn't prove to be the ultimate destination for us. What's important to me now is making the effort to go and find out if it still might be.



Look at this Merida guy. His legs don't work any more. He had someone build him a tricycle with a hand-crank.
Does he look discouraged?

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Well, anyone who plowed through yesterday's entry will be able to imagine how disappointed I am today that the two-month contract seems to have gone to some other lucky fellow or gal. Seems the client was keen to have a frequent flier type who could jump on an airplane on short notice to service the distant emergency du jour.

That would not be me.

So all that fuss for nothing. Or maybe some insight can be gleaned from it - like virtually everything that pushes buttons hard enough with alarming results. I'm working on it.

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El vendador de las plantas has lunch at Sonny's cocina economica on Calle 62.

I've been feeling pretty bad about my decision to abort the trip to Merida on Tuesday, and was on the verge of rebooking this morning. Then Pat expressed some doubts about the way we were renewing the plan, and I hesitated. We decided to discuss it after work.

During the day I worked on some paperwork that had piled up in various places, and made arrangements for getting Mexican Power of Attorney documents so either of us could transact property down there on behalf of the other - if an opportunity ever presented itself.

Then, this afternoon, I got a call from a technical recruiter who spotted my resume online. She had a client with a two-month contract in Alameda, just down the street from the last place I put in time. Requirements sounded like a match to my skills and experience, so I granted her permission to submit my resume and waited for the expected call to do a phone interview. They needed to hire someone by the end of the week for a Tuesday start, so I knew it wouldn't be long before they responded.

Since I live in Alameda they asked for me to skip the phone interview and come in - which I did. Even shined my shoes, which sort of misrepresented my lack of enthusiasm. Remember, I could have been laying out by the pool in Merida - and it was raining here.



I interviewed with three people, and heard a sampling of all the horrors that comprise IT shops these days - the frenzied pace, the tight resources, the incessant demands, the arcane, intricate, and fragile technologies. I felt my stomach constrict and my throat become raw. My answers to questions and volunteered comments sounded like they came from a person with the tiny lungs of a sparrow.

I remember when I used to interview and sit anxiously hoping I would receive an offer. Now I am overcome with dread that I will be offered a position.

When I arrived home I was just numb. All I could think about was how if only I had gotten on that plane Tuesday, an entirely different path could have unfolded. One that went somewhere.

I heared the briiing of an IM coming in, and sat down to chat with my Dad. I filled him in briefly on the work situation, and when he expressed enthusiasm for the earning potential I told him about my little Mexican day of the dead wooden coffin containing a grimacing black-suited skeleton with a plump money bag on his torso.

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After Pat arrived home I tried to be philosophical but started down the familiar path of regret and remorse for bad decisions made, and this went on for a while with increasing intensity (see last blog entry for why this is not a good thing).

The phone rang. I didn't answer it because I was in the kitchen throwing away the burned dinner I had tossed in the oven and forgotten about while I lay stunned on the couch with my arm over my eyes.

I knew it was probably a close friend calling, who has been upset for a few days with family problems. I checked the message and it was her, with a long and very distressed message about the day's developments. I was still drying my eyes and nose from my own distress, and here she was sounding equally or more traumatized by her own demons.

She said in the recording she would be shutting off her phone and trying to get some rest, but I picked up the phone and tried her number anyway and she answered. I said nothing of my day, and asked her to tell me about hers. This she did, and I was amazed at the depth of her despair as she attempted to cope with the anxiety and confusion recent events had swirled around her.

We talked for a long time, until I feared the wireless phone battery would expire. She was so grateful that I had called, and that we had an opportunity to talk. It occured to me that maybe this was a good reason for me to be here and not in Mexico at the moment. I mentioned this to her and she agreed with great conviction.

She asked me how I was doing. "Oh, OK", I said. When we ended the call a short time later, I did feel OK. Not well, really, but OK.

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"Now is the only time. How we relate to it creates the future. In other words, if we're going to be more cheerful in the future, it's because of our aspiration and exertion to be cheerful in the present. What we do accumulates; the future is the result of what we do right now."

Acharya Ani Pema Chödrön

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Here's something a little different. This is mostly for dear sister Mona, but I will share it with anyone looking in who tracks events that occasionally find their way to this blog. It may provide context for some of what is to come.

I have been using some of my down time since the employment contract ended to catch up on some Buddhist teachings by a wonderful western woman, who as a Buddhist nun is known as Pema Chödrön. In addition to books I already had, I recently obtained some video tapes and audio CD's of her teaching at various places. The fact that she resembles my dear departed mother adds a certain ethereal quality to listening to and watching her.

I had a disturbing experience over the past few days (I'll get to that), and have been unsettled as I try to figure out what to do next. Yesterday I listened to one of Ani Pema's recorded talks, and while I try to be attentive, I sometimes wonder if I miss the essence of what is there. This afternoon, I was trying to recall one point, and seeking clarity I re-played the section where it had been brought up.

It was about the way the property of joy was taught by Ani Pema's teacher, Trungpa Rinpoche. In Buddhist teachings, there are four properties that help address the woes of the human condition when incorporated into one's practice and life. Loving kindness, compassion, joy, and equanimity - they are know as the Four Limitless Qualities.

Trungpa Rinpoche taught that unlimited joyfulness was available to us as we begin to develop a sense of our basic goodness (inherent in everyone). As we tackle and reduce the influence of negative emotions, our bravery and good heart can provide a great happiness - an inner strength and unshakable trust in our true nature.

The Buddhist approach to developing this great and limitless joy is to train (as in meditation) in being present, staying with the present moment - being with ourselves, our thoughts, our emotions - without judgement - without always needing to say yes or no, for or against.

There is a great trap that can snare one when negative emotions appear in life and are not dealt with at the onset. One wants to recognize the thoughts or events that set off the negative reaction and emotions, and deal with the vulnerability that is touched at this early stage. It can feel like a constriction, or closing down - I'm guessing we all know this well. If not dealt with at the onset with some compassion and insight, negative emotions can just sort of run away with us, getting stronger and stronger and stronger, until that's all you really experience - this strong aversion, or dislike, or disdain.

As you might expect, this can be a bit of a drag on the joy and peace of mind that is our birthright.

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On Monday, I found a great fare to Merida from San Francisco the very next day, Tuesday. I booked it with some excitement and nervousness. We have been talking about coming full circle to the idea of buying a house there and picking up at some point our plan so hastily dismantled a year ago. Some of the unexpected results of that deviation from the Merida plan are well known to anyone who follows the occasional meandering of this record. Needless to say for those familiar with the situation, this has the potential to be a sensitive area.

Within hours, I was recalling all the difficulties I perceived from previous trips and began dreading the imminent departure. Small negative thoughts grew large, and blossomed into big negative emotional turmoil. Until that was all I really experienced. By morning, I was ready to cancel the trip - and did.

Well.

So now on Tuesday I am hanging around the house, which I just hours earlier had perceived to be such a refuge and zone of safety - and just felt foolish as hell. I watched the times come and go for the flight and connections, and eventual arrival in Merida. Today again, rattling around the house aimlessly, I imagined the day dawning in Merida and contrasted the uncertainty but potential of that situation with the familiarity but limiting existence of life here in the big rental place.

I napped. I walked the dog. I made tea. I vacuumed. I napped. I discussed the whole messy situation with Mona for a while and got her usual helpful view.

And I listened to Ani Pema - which is why I ended up posting this.

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It occurs to me I should attempt to set up this trip again, and soon. I just need to let it happen without expectation or judgement, and not get carried away with any negative thoughts that float by about it. Monday evening I was telling Pat how much I did not want to go, and how it used to be fun anticipating trips like this.

As he correctly pointed out in his usual understated way, it really depends on how you approach the situation.

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I've been meaning to drop in a photo and a few words about my friend Leon and his recent graduation from UCSF with a Masters degree.

Leon and I have been friends since shortly after I arrived in the Bay Area over thirty years ago, and he is one of the few survivors among those I met in those early days. It is good to see him achieving academic success and contributing so much toward the welfare of others in his work with veterans.

Congratulations Leon.

I'm glad we are still close in our way, and grateful to have a friend like you who shares some history with me.

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