A Canadian writer's life

Friday, July 20, 2012

Summertime and the living is easy, Isla Mujeres Mexico!

Buckets of ice-cold cervesa

"How can you live in Mexico in the summertime?"

It's a frequently asked question and has a simple answer. "Easily! It's great. The winds die down, and the temperature and humidity rise a bit, but not as much as you would think."

Living on the Caribbean side of the island, the windward side, we typically have a cooling breeze most of the year. In the summer, it is still breezy, but not windy. The ocean flattens out, and the waves turn into ripples.

Swimming with whale sharks on Isla Mujeres

Summertime is the only time you can swim with the benign giants, the whale sharks, the biggest fish in the world. They migrate here in May and usually stay until late September.

It's hard to get the proper perspective on the size of the whale sharks until they slide along beside or under a 31-foot boat – then you see that they are scary big, reaching up to a 40-foot length.

Large pod of whale sharks off Isla Mujeres

And swimming towards a freaking big fish with a huge mouth that is open wide, it is spine-tingling fabulous! Even Sir Richard Branson, owner of Virgin Air, among other things, has twice produced a TV show depicting his experience of swimming with the whale sharks.

The whale sharks are still hunted in the Philippines for Shark Fin Soup, but not in Mexico. Here they are a protected tourist attraction.

One hundred and twenty Sea Turtle eggs

Summertime is also the only time we have nocturnal visits from the sea turtles.

The females land under the cover of dark, or in the pre-dawn hours on our beaches, digging several holes in the sand until the perfect nesting site is found.

The beaches look like something out of a war movie by the time the ladies have finished with them. Huge holes as if a mortar shell had hit the ground - blowing sand and debris in a wide circle.

During the night, employees of the Turtle Farm patrol the beaches, looking for nests and gathering the eggs for hatching in a safe environment. In late September and early October, the hatchlings will be released back to the various beaches, starting the cycle all over again.

Ciro, Javier, Julio & Miguel play for singer Jen Rae.

And the other fun ways we keep ourselves amused in summer?

Listen to live music at bars and restaurants.

Or buy a delicious Panini sandwich from Barlito's on Hidalgo Avenue to enjoy at home while taking a cooling dip in our pool.

Or gaze at the ocean, watching the fabulous sunsets, while quaffing cold, cheap beer.

Evening sail with Induna Charters

Buckets of these icy little treats usually cost less in the summer as an inducement to patronize the various restaurants.

Or take an evening sailing cruise around the island with Induna Charters.

Or if I really get ambitious, I borrow a kayak from family members and paddle out to the reef in front of our house.

Lynda, kayaking on a summer day!

Grab your copy today!

Friday, July 13, 2012

"Get your butt over here!" Vivian Reynaldo, Isla Mujeres

Vivian, chef and owner of Qubano,

"Get your butt over here! I need help."

Vivian Reynaldo, the chef and owner of an Isla landmark, Qubano Restaurant, chuckles while recounting her first weeks in the restaurant business five years ago. She didn't have a clue how to cook pork, one of the main meat ingredients in Cuban foods. Vivian paid the airfare for a Miami friend to come to Isla to teach her.

She laughs, "I'm Jewish. How would I know how to cook pork?"

Born in Cuba to a Romanian mother and a Hungarian father, she left her birthplace in early 1961, sent to the safety of her Aunt Fritzi's home in Brooklyn, New York.

This was the year that Vivian discovered snow, the biggest snowstorm of the century - 100 inches! Later, after the unsuccessful attempt by United States-backed Cuban exiles to overthrow the Cuban dictator Fidel Castro during the Bay of Pigs Invasion, Vivian's entire family fled to Brooklyn.

Vivian's first excursion to Isla Mujeres was in 1970, with her husband, when getting there was an adventure on its own. The first paved road linking Merida to Puerto Juarez was built in 1954, allowing limited access to the area.

The first location of Qubano Restaurant on Isla

Travellers were faced with a long, arduous bus from Merida to Puerto Juarez, then a ride on the Sultana del Mar, the original and very slow passenger boat.

The streets of the island were carved into the sand. Sand that drifted with the wind, piling up against buildings, causing havoc for the rare vehicle on the island.

The new location on Hidalgo Avenue

The main area of habitation on Isla Mujeres was a sleepy little fishing village, with no amenities and a couple of hundred permanent residents.

She fell in love with the island, returning often and in 1978 with two young children, aged three and five, in tow. Ten years ago, she finally built a permanent home on the island.

"Why," I asked, "did you open a restaurant?"

"Because my friends liked my food. They kept telling me, "You should open a restaurant. So I did."

Vivian's first location was on Abasolo Street in Centro. A cozy, colourful, little place that could squeeze about a dozen patrons inside.

A few months ago, she doubled the seating capacity, moving to a new location across from Angelos Steak House on Hidalgo Avenue. It is just as cozy, warm, and colourful. And the food is still yummy!

Lawrie's Sliders & my Vivian's Salad

Lawrie is a fan of the little Hamburger Sliders.

I am an admirer of her special Vivian's Salad recipe that she created over forty years ago.

We haven't tried any of the pork dishes yet. But I'm sure that Vivian's Miami friend did a great job teaching her how to cook pork.

We're glad she listened to her friends' advice. "Open a restaurant."

Hasta pronto

Lynda & Lawrie

The Famous Fries!

Grab your copy today!

Come join the adventure. Available as e-books on Amazon, B&N, Kobo, and iBooks. Also available as paperback on Amazon, Jenny Penny Beach Boutique on Isla, and from me, Lynda L. Lock.

Friday, July 6, 2012

How strange we consider a foreign country "home."

Isla Mujeres garbage truck when it was newer.

At six in the morning, I can hear the tired engine and the loud exhaust sounds of the muffler-less municipal garbage truck.

The crew operating the garbage truck are currently only two houses south of ours. I have to hustle to get the can out on the street before they pass by. The guys wave and holler a greeting as the truck slowly rolls up to our curb.

One worker tosses the full can high into the air, towards his buddy, who is perched atop the myriad of reeking plastic bags and cardboard boxes. Our can is emptied, and carefully placed back on the street right-side up with the lid affixed. They laugh, joke with each other. One guy sings bits of a song that could be ribald, off-colour, judging by the way it makes the others giggle.

It's good to be back on Isla.

At the Eiffel Tower in Paris

During May and June, we travelled for six weeks through Dieppe, Vimy Ridge, Dunkirk, the Loire Valley, Paris, southern France, Cinque Terre, Tuscany and Venice before returning home via London.

We mangled several languages, speaking a combination of French, Spanish, and English with the odd word of Italian tossed in the mix for that truly continental sound.

We ate delicious food, but missed the 'heat' - the spice of Mexican foods. Apparently, our palates have adjusted to Mexican food better than we thought.

Spaghetti and Mussels in Italy

We drank different wines and beers, enjoying Belgian beers and French wines a bit more than German beers and Italian wines. We dealt with crowded underground transit systems, high-speed trains, city buses and commuter boats. And the crowds.

Line-ups to see museums. Line-ups to get on the trains. Line-ups everywhere!

The sights, the sounds, the smells - all different. New. Exciting.

Cinque Terre area of Italy

Now, sitting on our street-side balcony, we watch friends speed past on their motos or golf carts. They yell hello, welcome back, and wave as they speed past. Sue Lo, on her daily walk around the airport, stops to chat - recounting her recent adventures in Machu Picchu.

My sister Joann dashes up the street with her laundry bag in hand, coming for a morning coffee and to do her laundry. She has misjudged the intensity of the scudding clouds and is soaked with a warm deluge as she arrives at our house.

Motos are often used as trucks.(M.Watt)

A motorcycle slowly putts past with two adults. The woman is clutching onto a little one, so small that one tiny foot with a yellow bootie is all that is visible.

A young girl, standing in the footwell of a motorcycle, turns to chat with her dad as he drives her somewhere special.

She is wearing a pink and white polka-dotted dress and a matching bow in her hair. Her happy smile is wide and loving as she looks at him.

Parisian woman on motorcycle (K.Lock photo)

The contrast between the Isla motorcyclists and the Armani-suited motorcyclists or the beautiful fashionistas riding bicycles in Paris is startling to say the least.

In the evening, we sit on the east side of the house, wine glass in hand, staring at the turquoise ocean, aware that we missed this most of all.

The colours. The sounds. The smell of the water.

We will always be proudly Canadian. But Mexico is home.

Hasta pronto, Lynda & Lawrie

Grab your copy today!

Friday, June 29, 2012

Living in Mexico is like going back in time!

My sisters, one of their friends. I'm the smallest kid.

"Make sure you are home in time for dinner!"

That was rule number one when we were growing up in a small gold-mining town located in the coastal mountains of British Columbia, Canada. We got up, hurriedly spooned down our bowl of porridge sweetened with brown sugar and reconstituted Pacific-brand evaporated milk. Maybe we slowed down long enough to snag a piece of toast and peanut butter before heading out the door on weekends.

Accompanied by our willing, but slightly dim Cocker Spaniel, we ran up and down the dirt streets exploring our neighbourhood, swung out on rope swings over rocks and blackberry brambles, and fooled around on abandoned bits of mining machinery. During summer vacation, once mom and dad were able to afford a rustic summer cottage on a nearby lake, we were turned loose to explore the shorelines and hillsides. At sunrise, my third-oldest sister would drag me out of bed to go fishing in Dad's canoe. We'd troll up and down the lake for several hours, finally bringing in enough Rainbow Trout for breakfast. Rule number two was "clean and eat what you catch."

Lawrie's first bike, before the 2-wheeler.

Lawrie's childhood memories of growing up in the City of North Vancouver are similar. From the time he was old enough to ride a two-wheel bike, he frequently rode eight to ten miles a day exploring the surrounding city. Or he and his friends played cowboys and Indians in the nearby forest, once tying his hapless sister to a tree as their captive.

Hours later, when he returned home, his mom asked: "Where's your sister? Oops!" His forgetfulness earned him a spanking. Other times, Lawrie and friends would try their luck with fishing in nearby rivers, using a simple hand-held line with a wooden handle.

He explored from sunup to sunrise, coming home at dusk, hungry, tired and happy.

We were free to roam. Free to explore. Free to do as we wanted.

Friends out watching the release of baby turtles

That's what Lawrie and I really like about Mexico. The children are out doing things, playing, and exploring.

Not many of the local children have electronic games or televisions that would keep a North American child spell-bound and house-bound. The older siblings let the younger ones tag along, no quarrels. It's their responsibility to look after the youngsters.

There is a large group of young ones living just down the street in the Colonias. Once the nearby North American home owners have left for the summer season, a group of five, six, seven, or a dozen youngsters will explore various swimming options before invading a pool - clothes and all. If they were a touch more stealthy in their approach, no one would be the wiser. However, the gales of giggles emanating from the pools are always a dead-on clue that something is up.

An intense game of Foosball

Other groups of children, made up of various brothers, sisters, and cousins, play in the surf with an older sibling keeping an eye on their antics. There is a little 'tienda' in the Colonias that has an outdoor foosball table set up on its veranda. The local kids spend a few pesos for hours of raucous fun.

And when the storms bring the Soisin fish close to shore, a group of three brothers and a sister will cooperate and fish together, reeling in dozens of fish for a family dinner.

For us, living here is like stepping back to a more innocent time to when we were kids.

Riding double on a bike.

The one improvement over mom's rule number one: "Make sure you are home in time for dinner!" We can go out for dinner, or eat in. Our choice. We're all grown up now.

Hasta pronto

Lynda & Lawrie

Grab your copy today!

Plastic fan blades for a propeller

Friday, June 22, 2012

Escape From Cuba!

Home-built boat for Cuban refugees.

The wooden hull scrapes on the coral, stalling in the shallow water. Men scramble overboard, pushing and pulling the small wooden boat to shore - allowing the others to disembark. Voices whisper softly in Spanish, shushing those who speak too loudly. Scrabbling over the rocks, they swiftly change into dry clothing, discarding the wet pants, shirts, and shoes on the sand.

Pirates invading Isla? No, they are Cuban refugees arriving on the east side of the island in the pre-dawn hours of the night.

We, and the two watchdogs that sleep in our driveway, peacefully snoozed through the night, completely oblivious to the excitement happening a few hundred feet away.

Naval officers investigating

In the morning, Lawrie noticed two naval officers plus two heavily armed enlisted men walking purposefully along our beach.

Naturally curious, he popped his head out the door to see what was happening. The group had stopped in front of the neighbours' house, peering over the rocky ledge to the beach. Lawrie raced upstairs to our bedroom patio for a better view and spotted the boat pulled up on the sand beneath the ledge.

A few minutes later, camera in hand, I wandered down to the beach to chat with our neighbours’ handyman, José. He said that the boat had arrived sometime during the night, and that he had reported it at seven in the morning to the Navy officials.

Discarded wet clothing

José thought there were around 20 people on board, judging by the amount of wet clothing left behind along with space-blankets (thin aluminum sheets that are used to retain body warmth) and the number of empty water bottles in the bottom of the boat.

José said the eighty-five-mile trip would have taken them at least five days, even accounting for the easterly winds.

It was a primitive, open boat, with no shelter from wind, rain or sun. Their only means of propulsion were two long homemade wooden oars and a tiny motor outfitted with a plastic fan blade for a propeller. Fortunately for the refugees, the weather had been mild for the last few days - overcast, windy, not the strong storms that can occur in the winter.

The next night, during a driving rainstorm, we could hear loud banging and bashing noises coming from the direction of the grounded boat. In the morning we discovered the abandoned carcass of the boat had been picked clean. The local people had recycled all the wood, the motor and most of the wet clothing. What was over-looked were the two long wooden oars. These now decorate our living room wall. Our little bit of recycling, otherwise known as beach scavenging.

Cuban oars as wall decoration

A quicker, but vastly more expensive, way for Cuban refugees to arrive in Mexico is via fast sport-fishing boats, powered by two or three 250-horse outboard motors. These boats are typically stolen from coastal American marinas and taken to Cuba, where the operators sell passage from Cuba to Mexico at approximately $10,000 US per person.

The operators will then make the drop-off somewhere on the Mexican coastline, hoping to avoid detection by the Mexican Navy or Coast Guard cutters. Not all escape detection. There are currently about forty boats moored at the Naval docks on Isla Mujeres. They remain here, year after year, rotting at the docks, mired in a legal battle between American insurance companies and Mexican officials.

All of these boats have been intercepted by the Navy

Spanish-speaking Cuban refugees can assimilate quite readily into the Mexican population, but for the most part, they eventually try to make their way north to the US border. When researching on the internet to see how many refugees attempt this crossing, I found an interesting news item. It described an incident in June of 2008.

A group of armed men "kidnapped" thirty-four Cuban refugees who were being transported by police to a detention centre. The thirty-four refugees had been detained by the Mexican navy on a beach near Cancun. They were turned over to the immigration department and were to be transported to the refugee camp at Tapachula near the border of Chiapas and Guatemala. The article suggested that the kidnapping was likely a rescue operation by either friends or paid associates, preventing the forced return of the refugees to Cuba.

This journey is not for the faint of heart.

The next time the wind blows from the east, the sea is calm, and the moon is bright, we'll be keeping our eyes open and listening.

Listening for the arrival of refugees. This journey is not for the faint of heart.

Hasta pronto

Lynda & Lawrie

Grab your copy today!