Jesus dice: Don't Spit Nor Throw Trash.

Dreamer's Log: I have never in my entire life so earnestly and fervently with such desperate and persistent longing desired the permanent and ultimate demise of any living creature ever as such did I feel for one dog who without regard for time of night nor the audible ability of any passer or sleeperby proclaimed his own stupidity for hours without cessation. With such an intensity, peaking with the internal soul-shattering scream, did I desire said offender to be the paint on a 18 wheelers' wheels' palette, to be consumed by the very dirt and poo it was standing in, to be snuffed out completely, for his entrails to become his extrails, for a wormhole to open up and send him to an alternate universe where he would be forever tormented by his own wanton and profligate groanings, cries and otherwise obnoxious noise-making. Having that off my chest, I now feel better.

The prospect of Tortas from Gerardo's stand was beckoning us as we awoke. Our departure was not so hasty as to prevent a bit of blogging and gathering of the things we would need for the bank et cetera et cetera. We boarded the bus and found seats directly behind a decal of a Caucasian Jesus who was bearing a sign asking us to please not spit or throw trash. We rode into town right up to Gerardo's stand. He was not there, but was on the phone with the nice lady behind the counter when we arrived. Zach spoke to him and we were invited to his home after bible study on Friday night. Zach ordered us tortas and coffee. The tortas are a sandwhich made on a big roll with quesillo and meat and jalapenos and avocado and tomatoes. You can choose the meat you have - we both opted for a sort of ground sausage (chorizo). After our brunch we walked to the graffiti wall that presented messages of social well being, one main theme being gender equality and the cessation of domestic abuse. Jose was supposed to join us and he arrived after a bit and we set off to the Llano to pay a mysterious electric bill that appeared on the gate of the house.
After a quick stop at the bank that required a passport to change bills, we arrived at the office of the electric company. They have touchscreen machines to guide you through the payment process, but after scanning the bill we received with the threat of having our electricity shut off for a month, we discovered the bill had already been paid. We stopped by the bus station to see how much a ticket to Puerto Escondido was - something to the tune of 280 pesos one-way (not a bad deal). Jose mentioned there are vans that run daily to a town that is 40 minutes from Puerto and are cheaper than a bus. So we went to the van place which is further past the Zocalo than I have ever been on foot. Kimb was on the prowl for fabric to do some sewing and crocheting while we are here, and Jose pointed out some different places where these items could be had.
We made it to the van place and found out that the trip is about 150 pesos. I can definitely see this trip taking place. Just 3 or 4 days in the sun on the beach, in the surf, eating octopus...
Jose left to see his mom, and we ambled our way back toward the Llano, since we were to meet Jose at the church building at 5 (giving us just over 4 hours to kill). We stopped and at a stand where they had horchata in a plastic trash can so I got a liter. Unfortunately they put cantaloupe in it before I could stop them. Horchata is a sweet rice water drink not normal or traditionally prepared in a trash can. Even though I threw down 3/4, I returned it to the place from whence it came; that's probably the last time I'll drink out of a trash can, probably.
We went into the fabric place and spent an hour (probably more) looking, feeling and smelling the fabric. We got 3 sq meters of flannel for less than $5 with two shirts for me in mind. We didn't find any fabric that Kimb wanted to make a dress out of but we'll keep looking (I've never been so excited about flannel before in my life). We stopped also at a crochet and knitting store and bought a hook and some yarn to make a tam. We stopped for some Michoacan ice cream, Kimb having the cookie and strawberry for me, both of which were good. We decided to go to the Llano and sit on a bench and rest awhile before meeting Jose at the church. It was the most comfortable iron wrought bench ever. About that time a huge limb fell (off of or out of?) from an enormous tree not 15 meters behind us. I'm glad it wasn't above us because I wasn't about to share my iron throne with any amount of wood and leaves.
During our otherwise peaceful sitting siesta. I noticed a young girl ride by on a bike. 10 minutes later an old man rode by on the same bike. My first thought was, "What a crooked old man to steal a bike from a little girl!" but then a bit of rationality kicked in and I assured myself that he somehow knew the girl; that's when I came to appreciate the old man. Here I don't use the phrase old man as to denigrate or sentimentalize a person, this person who has seen so many years because as I watched him ride this kids-sized bike he smiled, and weaved, racing around trees, up small ramps, and around the park, he rode in circles, with one hand, enjoying the breeze of movement and the movement of life. It was here I was reminded that "it's just like riding a bike." He hasn't forgotten, and though he may have been a faster, more daring and better balanced bike rider one day long ago, it doesn't matter because he is a master bike rider. Even now he shows his skill not in some need to prove his worth or ability, that has been done, but to enjoy the simple pleasure of one more ride. I marveled at this man long after he and I were both gone and wondered if ever I could, in some way, be like that. Yet, he astonished me further. Having returned the bike, he walked alongside a young boy with a skateboard/scooter. It was a small skateboard with a pipe and handle extending from the front so one could ride it like a scooter. The old man did not ask to take a ride on the expansive flat surface, no the light in his eyes, visible from 30 meters, and the bounce in his step carried him to the top of the ramp. Now don't here overestimate the old man it was a handicap ramp not over 6 inches tall, dropping over a distance of 4 meters, but do not underestimate him for this was his first ride and he put much at stake to do so. He bravely mounted the board and took a light kick-push down the ramp, he wobbled having both feet on the board and had to step off and stop to keep his balance but he made it down the ramp, a champion. I think it is one thing to compete against other people who are willing to do the same thing and win, and it is completely different to enter an arena none other would and come out victorious. This man, old man was the latter. I couldn't believe it.
We met, not Jose, but Miguel at the church who turned us up the street to meet Jose and company at the pool hall. En route we passed a restaurant owned by a woman from the church. She invited us in for a cool lemonade which we did not pass up. After a short sit we continued up (literally) the road and came to the pool hall. Jose wasn't there, but his cousin was. We started a game without him after hearing he was on his way. The good ole stripes and solids. Five or six or maybe seven games were completed (Jose showed up after the first) and by this time it was nearly 7:30. We walked with the gang back to the bus stop (by McDonalds - the only one I have seen in this area) The guys waited for a bus back towards their houses while Zach and I boarded a bus to Cafe a Pan. A coffee shop on the way to Tule where we wanted to buy beans from. We were there just a few minutes before 8 and glad to see that the shop was still open. We bought a Liter (or maybe a kilo?) of beans for about 11 dollars. Almost the price of a ticket to the beach... Then we walked a short clip to the Tlyuda lady and enjoyed a meal and fresca. We managed to hail yet another bus to Tule. We were really pretty chilly at this point. WEATHER NOTE for all you interested in that sort of thing. It has been barely 80 degrees here each day, and gets down to the low 60's at night. It rains maybe one little storm each day, but apart from the first few days, we have had a good bit of blue sky and sunshine. It is really wonderful - we will be very spoiled coming back to the muggy 90's. (thats an interesting thought in relation to the era...) Anyway, the sun had already set, and as we waited for the bus it was pretty nippy. We boarded and I had my first adventure moon walking. At least thats what I assume it might feel like. Lifting one foot to take the average step (what 3.5 or 4 feet) and instead covering a distance of half-a-bus-length. I practically flew to the back seat and was thankful no one had already occupied it. We sat chatting about nothing at all, giggling (at least I was...as usual...even though Cade isn't here life is still pretty funny) and suddenly a man two rows in front of us puts up his hand as if to wave to us. He gestures (with a full hand - no lone fingers) twice - smiling at us and then turns away. A few moments later we realize he is trying to assure that we pay attention to the stops so we don't miss Tule. Zach is very good at navigating the city and we haven't been lost yet, so I don't worry, but am thankful for the nice gestures of this man.
I can't imagine being here without Zach. It is interesting the dependence and trust I am learning. It is one thing to trust someone when you have confidence from a previous knowledge or completion of such a task as that you are entrusting to someone else. But when you have zero confidence, experience or knowledge, it means something entirely different to trust. Zach is a brilliant man. His mastery of the language is something I am both astounded by and very thankful for. He has been excellent at not only getting us where we need to be, but translating for me, communicating for me, and ensuring that I do not feel alone in this strange tongued land. I am blown away by the variety and broadness of the Kingdom of God. To think that this entire world made of millions of tribes and tongues and nations is all his. Thanks be to God for the reminder of how big this world is, and how vast his Kingdom.
We make it home safe and sound, and get some laundry started while we wait for Jose to come. Our plans had been made for him to spend the night so we could all go hiking in the morning. He comes after not too long. He and Zach sit on the small couch and talk while I journal and continue the laundry. Jose is a good friend with such an earnest heart. I am encouraged listening to his thoughts and so honored hearing my husband listen and pour from his own heart and thoughts. It is a good night. One we try not to make last too long - as we are excited for our trek in the morning.