Let slip the dogs of war

The house behind my place has dogs. Lots of dogs. Lots of small, yappy, squeally, really, really annoying dogs. Last week, they got a new dog. It’s yappy, it’s whiney and it doesn’t stop barking. Ever.

Actually, that’s not completely accurate. It usually has some quiet periods between 3am and 5am, but apart from that, it doesn’t stop, ever. It’s starts fairly promptly at 5am, from that point it only pauses for breath. The other dogs join in for the chorus, about every 20 minutes or so.

I have not yet seen the new dog. The other dogs come out and hurl themselves at the gate when anyone walks past; like crazed, rabid, miniature monsters, they crowd at the gate post, thrusting their tiny jaws through the gaps and snarling fiercely. They biggest of them could probably do some damage to my knee... but I reckon all of them are small enough to drop kick.

But the new dog is kept around the back of the house, in the yard... which backs onto my back window. I went up to the roof earlier to see if I could see the little bastard; but I couldn’t. I think he might have sensed my venomous presence though – as he became even more frenzied than usual.

My question is: do you think I could kill it?!

I’m thinking raw meat, generously dusted in rat poison and thrown over the back wall. You’re shocked, I can tell. But seriously, for the last week, it has not stopped barking! I wake up every morning to it’s yelping, and fall into a tempestuous sleep to sound of it’s snivelling yaps.

Ok, so there’s the Karma thing. I very rarely kill spiders these days – preferring to flick them out the door if I can. In fact, I almost blush to confess it, but I even rescued a woodlouse from drowning in my bathroom sink last week. So I’m really not a naturally murderous person. But I think, although I’m not entirely sure, that I could kill this dog.

There’s retribution to consider: If the people who own it, (the boorish slobs who can’t even be bothered to train their own household pets to behave in a socially acceptable way – they don’t live on a farm! This is an urban area, it’s all residential around here, there must be many people suffering from lack of sleep this week) if these people are unhappy about the death of their horrible dog, then they might also be angry with it’s killer. One assumes these are not people I want to be on the wrong side of. Also, I am one of those old-fashioned Brits, who apologises if someone bumps into me, (presumably I am apologising for using the pavement – I don’t really understand it myself, but it’s an ingrained habit), so I don’t deal with confrontations very well.

Of course I could try and appeal to their good nature and ask them to deal with the dog now – to stop it from barking all the damn time. But lets be honest – if they cared they would be dealing with it already! Here’s the thing: not once in the last week have I heard anyone say ‘shush’. Not once. There’s also the language problem to consider. Of course I could sit down with my dictionary and work out how to say, “Excuse me, but your dog is driving me crazy! Please can you stop it from barking; I have to work and need my sleep; but more importantly I am about to embark on the full Yogic Path (stay tuned for that blog post!) for which I will need a calm and balanced demeanour and it’s hard to have that when I wake up every morning feeling persecuted and indignant. Please, help me!” Yes indeed, I could say all that. And they would reply?

Who knows what they would reply! Because they would reply in rapid, incomprehensible Spanish, the same way everyone replies. And I would stand there, feeling bewildered and ever so slightly foolish. Then I would sigh, and nod my head politely, and walk away... and the barking would continue... unchecked and unabated. And then, if I kill the dog, they’ll know it was me!

As I wrote the last paragraph, someone in a nearby flat has started playing some very loud, very angry Wagnerian Opera. That’s definitely a symptom of a murderous intent! Maybe they will kill the dog? Maybe even tonight! But if they don’t... can I?

Cruel or Kind?

Sally didn’t want to go in the water. She’d been nervous in the swimming pool during her lesson, but had (I thought) overcome her fears and by the time we finished she seemed fairly relaxed. On the boat she talked non-stop and I wondered if she was going to crack. When I gave the dive briefing, she seemed brittle, but she was still making jokes right up until she realised it was her turn to go in.

"I just don’t want to go in backwards!" she said, pleadingly.
"Backwards is the easiest way. You’re just going to lean back and gently drop into the water. Your jacket is inflated, your going to float! You head will only be under for a few seconds."
"Can’t I just swing my legs over and..." she tailed off as she thought about it. "Don’t push me!" she squealed.
"I’m not going to push you Sally, I’m holding onto you, because I don’t want you to slip over. Whatever you decide to do, I think it’s important that you sit down now"
"Don’t push me!" she squealed at the Boat Captain.
"Fabian is holding onto your tank to make sure you don’t slip over" with perfect timing, at that moment she slipped. Somehow, we caught her. The tanks are heavy and fins are not exactly the best ‘deck shoes’. Usually customers move from the bench to the side of the boat in one movement while the Boat Captain holds the tank, to keep them stable. Sally – plump, middle-aged, petulant, unfit, not-very-strong Sally, was standing in fins, on a rocking boat, with a 20kg tank and refusing to sit on the side, in case one of us pushed her in.

After some intensive reassurance she finally agreed to perch. She still wouldn’t sit properly, on the edge. If she had... can I be honest? Yeah, of course I would have pushed her in. She would have thanked me for it later, they always do! But Sally continued to perch. Poor Fabian was still taking the weight of her tank, standing at a very awkward side-on angle, which clearly wasn’t comfortable for him. It was time for a change of tact.

"Sally, of course you can do this. Now take a deep breath, be strong and lean backwards. Remember how cool you were in the pool?" (she wasn’t) "Remember how much fun you had?" (well, kind of) "Well, it’s going to be exactly the same, only better, in the ocean. Now move back to the edge and go in."
"But can’t I just swing my legs over?"
"I raised one eyebrow "I shouldn’t think so," the side of the boat is thigh high, "can you?"
"Oh! I...."
"Sally! Look at me! You can do this. Now come on..."
"But I don’t think... I don’t know..."

This went on for another minute or so. And yes! I was patient! I alternately reassured and persuaded – but neither was working.

"Right," I said. "No problem, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. Sit down over here and let me help you take the gear off. You can wait on the boat. Don’t worry. Diving isn’t for everyone."
"But I don’t want to be the only one who doesn’t go!" she whimpered.

Oh, I see. She wants me to make her do it. Everyone else was in the water waiting. The other Instructor with me pointedly looked at his watch. The more time she wastes on the boat, the shorter the dive is for everyone, since we still have to be back at the Marina at the same time.

Last week I had Karen. Karen also didn’t want to go in the water, but she was persuaded to sit on the side of the boat whilst she thought about it... and then went in quite unexpectedly! Did she over-balance or was she pushed? It’s hard to say! But she said it was easy once she was in. Then, however, she didn’t want to go under. I told her she would be fine and then I took her arm and gently pulled her down with me. She was physically shaking and signaled repeatedly that she wanted to go up. I said 'No'. We got down and after a minute or so she started looking quite cheerful. After five minutes she gave me two 'OK' signals (both hands), which is what I tell them to do if they’re having a good time. After fifteen minutes she gave me a big, overhead 'OK' signal. We use this to signal boats (from a distance) but I tell my customers to use this signal to let me know when they’re having a really, really super-fantastic time! Which, obviously, Karen was! After the dive she hugged me and thanked me for 'the most amazing experience' she’d ever had.

But today it was Sally. She wouldn’t take off her gear, she obviously still wanted to go, but she still wouldn’t sit on the side of the boat.

"You have to decide Sally. If you want to come diving, you have to go in now. Or, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to, you can wait here. But you have to decide"
"But I..."
"What would you like to do?"

She went in. I joined her. Everyone else was impatient to get going. The other Instructor started going down, taking the first three with him. I was left with three: Sally, her ineffectual husband and another guy.

"Right Sally. I’m with you. Are you ready? Put your breather in your mouth and get ready to deflate your jacket. You’re going to be fine, we’re going to take it nice and slowly..."
"Don’t leave me!" she squeaked.
"I’m going to be right next to you the whole way. Now put your breather in and keep it in please"

I gave the signal and took Sally’s hand; the other divers deflated. Sally did not. I reached over and deflated her jacket. She fought hard to stay on the surface, struggling to keep her head up and I could see she’d taken the breather out. I signaled to the Ineffectual Husband and the completely unsympathetic and slightly irritated man who was annoyed at having been stuck with these two, to stay on the line and don’t move. I put my head back up.

"Sally?"
"I can’t do this, I can’t do it!"
"Of course you can. You’re perfectly safe, I’m going to be with you the whole way."
"But... but..."
"Sally, do you want to go diving?" there was a pause.
"Yes"
"Then you need to put your head under the water"

She put her head under the water, but was still kicking to stay up. I gently started to bring her down, but it was no good – she launched herself out of water, squealing "No! No! No!" and started swimming frantically towards the boat. I signaled to Fabian to put the ladder down and he helped her back in.

After the dive I went to speak to her. I told her not to worry or feel bad, that lots of people get nervous; that she should try again sometime.
"But I wanted to go diving today!" she whined, and she glared at me, petulant, full of self-pity... and slightly accusing.

[ps] Welcome to two new readers! Thanks for stopping by!

[pps] I am referring, of course, to my newish "My Readers" space, located just to your right. They have all stood up and been counted (eight, I counted) – will you?! ;-)

A little faith

So I’m all settled in with my laptop at the Coffee Shop – I have a proper Cappuccino at my side (properly hot and not too frothy); Xtorrent is quietly downloading a movie in the background; Limewire is locating some more Café Tacuba and I have Facebook at the front – but none of my friends appear to have done anything interesting recently! There’s a friend request from someone I haven’t seen since 1993 – isn’t it a funny old world? A few years ago, these people would have been nothing but fading memories and smiling faces in an album that rarely saw the light of day. However these days everyone re-surfaces on Facebook eventually – looking suspiciously like an older and fatter sibling of their former self... but then they probably say the same or worse about me ("I knew she never amount to anything!" Yeah, well, we all knew that!)

I hoping a friend will 'show up' online for a Messenger chat, but first, I have a conundrum: I need the bathroom.

What to do? Do I pack everything away and take it all with me, potentially loosing my seat (and my coffee)? That just seems so unnecessary and petty for a two-minute pee.

So then do I assume that this is a civilised place (it is) and that I’m far enough from the exit (I am) for one of the staff to stop someone trying to stroll out with my laptop? I’m only going to be out of my seat for two minutes after all. On the other hand, am I really going to leave my most beloved and treasured possession (my laptop – yes it is) sitting on a seat, unattended, in a coffee shop? Even for two minutes? One can imagine the reporting the theft to the police:
“So you left the laptop on the seat? Do you think that was a good idea? Really? But you’re insured obviously?”
"Errrrr, well, no actually..."
"But the computer was backed-up?"
"Well yes... I have backed it up... a while ago... I really must do that again actually..."

So perhaps it would be better if I ask someone to watch it for me?

Who? The 20 year old, with the large lotus blossom tattoo – the lotus blossom is a yoga symbol – if she’s a yogi then she must be a good person, right? Yogis don’t lift laptops from coffee shops. Is leaving my laptop in the care of someone, purely based on their choice of tattoo a good idea? But then what should you base an instant personality evaluation on? Clothes? Attitude? Age? At least tattoos are permanent.

Or how about the young, skinny waiter with the artfully styled mohican. He seems very sweet and very hard-working. A decent chap. But then I know what waiters earn around here... perhaps a laptop would be too tempting. On the other hand, I’m broke, and I wouldn’t steal someone’s laptop. I don’t usually tip much. Will he remember me do you think? That women who doesn’t tip much - so why take care of her stuff. Goddamit, you should always tip well – when will I learn! I have 10 years experience behind the apron – I should know better.

So who then? How about the middle-aged man with the very serious face. He’s using one of café’s computers. That means he doesn’t have his own and he might want his own. But he’s middle-aged, and smartly dressed and serious – people like that are reliable aren’t they? Or the rich, older man with the very young girlfriend? No, definitely not: no scruples and no shame.

Ok, so I could ask the waiter to watch my laptop. Now what about my bag? My bag is cheap, but what about my purse? If I take it with me I am clearly stating to the waiter that although he can’t walk off with my laptop in the middle of his shift, he might consider lifting my purse. He’ll definitely hate me then. To be honest the only thing I care about is my laptop, so if I’m leaving that, why worry about the rest?

Do I have faith in the decency of my fellow human beings or should I be an arch realist, assuming the worst? Obviously it feels better to trust – but if I loose my laptop?

Oh well, I can’t put it off any longer - it's decision time.

Overheard in the Dive Shop

"Are you a certified diver or a beginner?"
"What does that mean?"
"Are you certified? Do you have your certification, your license to dive?"
"I don't know... how would I know?"
"Well... have you ever taken a diving course?"
"I don't know"
"You don't know?"
"If I had done the course, what would I have done?"
"You would have learnt how to dive"
"Oh right, then no, I haven't."

Sparkling White Bright Light

"Lean against the wall" she said, "because we’re going to be here a long time. In a moment you’re going to see a Sparkling White Bright Light spiralling around your body, think of it like a plunger – just as you" (she motioned) "pump a block sink to get all the bad stuff out, so this Sparkling White Bright Light is going to enter your body through your nose and remove all that you don’t need."

'Just because I don’t need it, I still might want it' I mused to myself as I adjusted my position, trying to imagine what might be comfortable for the next hour of total stillness. Yes, I attended my first Meditation Class this week. The teacher was a slight, blonde woman with a mid-Atlantic accent. My guess would be Home Counties via California. She seemed nice in an intense, hippy-dippy, oh-so-serious kind of way. But when she told us how long she’d be teaching (nearly 20 years) I realised that she was much, much older than she looked and I am oh-so-impressionable by women who have, somehow, managed to hold back the onslaught of time (my yoga teacher is another) – for these miracles, I will happily do as I’m told.

I closed to eyes and tried to imagine a spirally bright light. Catherine wheels and sparklers, toffee apples and bonfire night at Godswell House with a massive bonfire; fear that there might be hedgehogs inside it (I’d seen it on Blue Peter) and my mother assuring me there was not. How did she know?

"Feel the light moving down through your lungs and all the way into to your body, focus on anything you want to get rid of... anything that made you worried or uncomfortable this week..."

Oh that horrible awkward silence on the bus. Why couldn’t I have sparkled then? I should have been wittier. "L’espirit de escalier" they call in it in France: the spirit of the stairs – all the interesting and amusing retorts that you think of just as your are making your way towards the exit. Damnit. If I’d been wittier I bet he would have called me...

"Now I want you to imagine a golden light and as the Sparkling White Bright Light is released from your body, a Golden Healing Light is going to enter..."

Oh yes, I’d forgotten about the light. Sorry, what colour are we on now? Oh yes, releasing the sparkly stuff... my neck hurts, what about if I move a little. Oops, I opened my eyes... that girl over there looks weird, why is she leaning so far forward like that? She can’t be comfortable – do you think she’s asleep? I wonder if she’ll fall over and crack her head on the floor...

"and the golden light is going to fill your body, like a warm syrup..."

I’m not buying any chocolate on the way home. Some rice and cauliflower and that’s it. No chocolate and no cookies... I really need to eat more vegetables. Did I buy oranges yesterday? If I did, I didn’t eat any of them... again. What?

"You might have strong emotions as a result of this session, you might feel very vulnerable, but accept that people who make you vulnerable are teaching you something about your own strengths and weaknesses and appreciate them for that..."

...and I’m going to do all my Spanish Homework tonight, I’m not going to leave it till tomorrow and I’m going to read through all my verbs and I’m going to switch my phone back into Spanish... oh? Have we finished? Oh right.

"Thank you so much, that was very interesting. Yes, of course I’ll come next week! Thanks again!"

I wonder how old she is really...

Sunday Morning Coming Down

I woke up Sunday morning with a filthy hangover. Drinks the previous afternoon had ended well into the early hours of the morning and during the course of the night I had rediscovered my love of Caribbean Rum. I had a moment’s peace, thinking I might just stay here all day without moving... then I remembered! I had to be somewhere in... oh no! Forty minutes! Because we were going out looking for Bull Sharks!

I hadn’t given much thought to where we were meeting, but was surprised when I realised it was Downtown. Still, I found a place to sit and patiently waited for my friends to arrive and wake me up again. J had his truck, which was fantastic, so our tanks were carried down to the beach whilst we staggered. All but two of us had been out the night before, so we made an odd, reservoir dogsish, kind of crew: swaggering down the street in dark wetsuits, dark glasses and self-pitying grimaces.

Arriving at the beach we geared up and started walking to our entry point. I can’t tell you how hot it is inside a 5mm rubber wetsuit, walking on soft sand, carrying a 20 kilo tank and full gear at 10.30am in the tropics, with a hangover. I have rarely been so happy to finally get in the water. And it was only once I got into the water that I really paid attention to where we were. Basically right out the front of the main beach in town. We swam along to Pier to get to our dive site. For the first part of our surface swim we were accompanied by excited children, but not for long. It was a good half-kilometre to our dive site. Which is a long way.

But finally we got there, and after a quick wave and head count someone shouted “are we going then?” and we quickly slipped beneath the surface. It was clear and cool down there, and as always, all became right with the world. If you don’t dive, then I cannot explain to you the feeling of absolute tranquility that comes over you as you drop gently beneath the waves. It’s still my favourite thing to do, ever, anytime, even (and in fact, especially) on a Sunday morning with a filthy hangover.

Photo from Cancun Aquasports

It didn’t take long, to find what we were looking for. Within five minutes we came across our first Bull Shark. They’re fat, monstrous, medieval looking sharks! With large mouths and a fabulous sinuous swimming motion. They were very relaxed that morning; just cruising the area and we were able to watch them for some time. The nearest coming within three metres of me, and at one point we were watching three at once. I don’t think any of us wanted to come up, even on our safety stop we could see the sharks circling below us! Once we reached the surface, after many excited squeals, and ‘oh my god”s and ‘how cool”s and ‘how many”s’, it was W who finally said, “We should probably get moving, it seems there are sharks in these waters!”

And so began the long swim back to the beach, needless to say, the hangover kicked back-in fairly quickly. When we finally reached the shore, I was reminded of Amityville Island and felt a bit reluctant to answer when a young father, with bucket in hand, asked me what we’d seen. But R was too excited and strolled cheerfully back along the sand shouting, “Sharks! Sharks! Lots of really big sharks!” to anyone who so much as looked his way. I couldn’t help thinking the holiday spirit was slightly dampened by our presence.

After carrying back, breaking the gear down and rinsing, I felt my last ounce of energy slowly drain away. I waved my goodbyes and was back in bed by lunchtime.

New Year Resolve

1. Blog more often

Yeah, that was a Resolution last year too... did I stick to it? No, not really. Certainly not for the last two months. Sorry about that. So why the Radio Silence? Well, basically I’ve been sulking. Mexico is great, I like it here... but things have not really been going to plan. Why can’t everything always be easy?! But I am sticking it out – I am not packing my bags and saying "sod-it I’m outta here" as I would have done at any other time in the last 10 years – nope – I am settling in and making the best of it. Because I am a grown-up and that is, I believe, what grown-ups do (growns-up? groan up? hmmmm).

2. Stop sulking

Because grown-ups don’t do that, do they?

3. Speak Spanish

It’s all about Spanish. With Spanish I can get a better job. With Spanish I can meet more people. With Spanish I can join in the conversations and jollity amongst The Beautiful People at work. With Spanish I might even be able to get my Boiler fixed before the end of the year ("Which one?" you ask, with a wry smile. "Oh bugger off, it’s not funny", I reply sulkily.)

4. Stop being intimidated by The Beautiful People

I work in a posh hotel; I work next door to the Entertainment Team. It’s like working on the set of Baywatch, the Latino Version. I like to think of them as Redcoats, it makes me feel slightly less intimidated. But it doesn’t change the fact they’re all beautiful, vivacious, speak several languages and can dance, sing and flirt for Mexico. Which is good, because that’s exactly what they’re paid to do. They do kayaking and biking in the morning; water aerobics, rifle-shooting and Name That Tune at lunch time; they teach Tennis, Pottery, Pre-Hispanic history and the Merengue in the afternoon (if you’re imagining a Latino Johnny Castle – he’s here) and in the evening they put on a Cabaret. At about 11am they mooch about, complain about the tips and attempt (with increasing exasperation) to speak to me Spanish. They’re very nice, but they scare me a bit.

5. Learn to love chillies

They put chilli on pineapple! They put it on rice pudding! They put it on cucumber, melon and chocolate cake! They even put chilli in their beer! Seriously! In beer!

Ok, the pineapple thing actually works really well – but beer! I went out for Christmas Drinks with my work colleagues last week (to a local bar on the highway: a windowless shack in perpetual gloom, decorated with faded sepia photos of men with extraordinary mustaches. The house band started at 4pm and had a combined age of 130. There were two of them. The waitresses had a combined weight of about 700 lbs. There were three of them. I tangoed with our Mayan Boat Captain, to Mexican ‘Om-pah’ music, played on an electronic keyboard and full sized drum kit. The beers were cheap, the food was delicious and the service was beyond compare. Our Mayan Boat Captain also danced with each of the Waitresses in turn – it was like watching a tugboat manoeuvring an oil tanker. At the end of the evening our Mayan Boat Captain told me he was going to ‘take the stars from the sky and give each one to me’... or something along those lines. He told me in Spanish and I didn’t understand much. One of our Divemasters translated and getting quite emotional, with moistened eyes, he exclaimed,
"If only you could understand what he is saying to you! It’s so beautiful, I think I might be falling in love with him!" Suffice to say, it was an excellent night.) But there was a point to this story! Really there was! When they bought our excellent bar snacks (ceviche, grilled chicken, and some other stuff that I didn’t recognise but ate a lot of) they also bought Salsas. There was a green one. As I dipped my corn chip, more than a few pairs of expectant eyes rested on me and I guessed it was going to be hot. I tasted it. Carefully. Seventeen seconds later my head exploded. But I handled it well, necked my cold beer and lived. Whilst I coughed, spluttered and explored the inside of my mouth with my tongue, wondering why I couldn’t feel anything, I watched one of the Instructors, take a spoon, spoon a generous dollop onto his tortilla and eat the lot in one mouthful without a flicker.

6. Move house

Because sadly, I can’t afford my current place. It seems Meanwhile Time Flies has also been Credit Crunched and, alas, there just aren’t enough tourists to go around. So it’s time to tighten the old belt here in Mexico too. But if I packed my bags, where would I go? I spoke with a tourist earlier today; he was berating the Mexicans and us foreign workers for being "oblivious" to the troubles that the USA is currently undergoing. I informed him that I earnt US$100 for the last 2 weeks work and that I’m making more than many of my colleagues; I reminded him that everyone here works for commission-only, so many days it actually costs us money to come to work; I pointed out that since tourism is the only industry in this area, there are no other jobs. I assured him that nobody here is, in any way, oblivious to America & Europe’s economic woes and then I asked him how he was enjoying his holiday? Bastard didn’t even tip.