But that is the problem of La Punta. Every single corner of the town has an abundance of cocks and dogs. And every single cock and dog greets the sun (and the moon. And the stars. And each other. And the vagabond yoga teacher from Colorado who just wants to eat her banana in peace) with excessively enthusiastic doodledooing and bow-wowing.
Come on, guys. Relaja la raja.
I roll out of bed and stumble directly over to the coffee machine.
This is how a day should start. Con cafe. Con cafe con leche. Si.
Sometimes Pepe takes me to see the sunrise.
"The world can end," Pepe says as we watch the sun. "I have a daughter. I have a house with an ocean view. I have this sunrise. I could die tomorrow."
Sometimes we just sit around the checkered table and enjoy our coffee.
I slow down. I breathe. I relax. It's impossible to move quickly in Pepe's jungle treehouse (as is evidenced by the construction that's been going on for ages. "I'd wanted it to be done before the holidays," Pepe wrinkles his forehead. "But I guess now we're just early for spring break. This is Puerto time.").
"Should I get another banana for breakfast?" I ask Pepe once we finish sharing the banana I'd saved from yesterday.
Pepe winces.
"I was thinking more along the lines of a real breakfast. Not a Sanctuary breakfast."
It's my turn to wince.
"They ruined me, didn't they?"
Pepe nods.
I sigh.
I nod.
"I'll go get some eggs."
Pepe hands me some money and I walk down the street to the frutas y verduras shop. Where they also have eggs, tortillas, beans, cheese and many other staples of the Mexican diet. The owner of the shop recognizes me as the awkward woman who always buys one banana for a peso and is slightly disconcerted when I purchase dos tomatos, cinco huevos and ask whether or not she tienes aguacates.
The woman did not have avocados.
This is Mexico. I didn't know that running out of avocados was possible. I thought it would be like running out of mountains in Colorado.
"Do you want to impress me with your cooking skills?" Pepe asks as I gingerly place the bag of eggs and tomatoes beside the outside stove.
"Definitely."
We sit around the checkered table, pour Valentina over our eggs and scoop them up with tostadas.
I'm still getting accustomed to this lack of fork business.
"The quesadilla lady knows that I'm still figuring out my fingers," I confided in Pepe as I picked a piece of egg off my leg with a servilleta. "So she always brings me a fork. I lose Mexican points every time I go there."
I drain my coffee cup and settle back into my chair.
"Okay, let's pretend to do some work," Pepe stacks the plates and carries them to the outdoor sink. "You cooked so I'll clean."
I grab a plastic bag, a small hand rake and some gloves. The result of having a jungle treehouse is lots and lots of leaves to pick up. Every day. But having a jungle treehouse is totally worth any amount of leaves to rake.
"Have you seen the broom?" Pepe asks as I look up from the trunk of a palm tree.
"Over there," I point to the outdoor kitchen. "By the sink."
"Ah. Another Mexican saying from my mother. "No la viste torque no tine falda." It means, you do not see it because it is not wearing a skirt."
Pepe sweeps the path and rakes the road in front of the hostel.
"This is my meditation."
anything in this space is a meditation. It's just so stinkin' peaceful. Even with the roosters.
In the afternoon, I sometimes go to Amoki. I sometimes go to the beach. I sometimes stay at Pepe's checkered table and Skype friends whilst reading Tina Fey's Bossypants and working on my blog.
Wipe Out passes out on my legs.
For the entire afternoon.
Yes.
This?
This is life.
This is how we roll at Casa Kei.
We make full breakfasts, pretend to do work and nap with kitties.
This sort of day suits me just fine.
I teach a yoga class at Akumal Hostel in the evening.
For which I get paid. Enough to support my blossoming tlayuda habit.
Pepe gives me a Spanish class in the evening.
Yo pienso que -- I think
El regresara en un ratito -- he'll be back in a little while
El rato -- similar to mañana. Very important for Puerto Escondido
Que tipo -- what kind?
No entiendo -- I don't understand
No me chingas -- give me a break
Pepe usually makes a drink after the dinner.
"Want a pińa colada for dessert?"
"Absolutely."
Yes. De Sol a Sol (from dawn to dusk). Life at Casa Kei is something I enjoy. Every single moment.
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