Colin and Roberto live in a small house that sits about 60 feet from the high tide line (though there appears to be only about a six-inch difference between the low and hight tides), where they will stay while their permanent house is being built, just up the road.
Colin showed me another house in town similar to the one that they are building, and it is quite nice. Typical of local architecture, it is two floors, neither of which has very many walls – just railings since it never gets cold enough to demand full shelter. It will be built mostly from kasha, a dark hardwood. I’m looking forward to seeing it after it is finished and they occupy it, in January (hint, hint).
The temporary house is typical of another type of local architecture: a one storey house with wall, upon which security bars are fastened over every accessible access point, including the doors. Petty theft tends to be a bigh problem here if precautions are not taken, and everyone has bars and dogs. Had Martha Stewart been given the choice of a womens prison or this, she probably would have opted for the prison, but I find it perfectly comfortable.
Colin and Roberto have three dogs – a black one of indeterminate breed but that looks like a Labrador-Whippet cross (just imagine THAT copulatory scene!), and two seven-week old puppies (Rottweiler-Husky cross). The puppies are very cute, but require much patience. Despite my reputation for a consider lack of that quality, I am bearing up admirably. In fact, along with the babies-on-the-bus experience, I’m behaving quite out of character. The puppies pee and crap everywhere, so a trip through the kithcen is like a game of Central American hopscotch. Various new-puppy ailments have all of us running around inspecting canine droppings for quantity and consistency, excitedly reporting back on the developments in the yard. What’s become of me? Even more remarkably – what’s become of Colin? I haven’t seen him this excited about a new acquisition since he went tschochke shopping on Commercial Drive. Oh well – variety is good, and it’s a change from force-feeding pills into cats in Toronto.
C&R are great tour guides and are very generous with their time. They have been touring me around the area and introducing me to all sorts of eccentric ex-pats. I keep expecting to run into Ernest Hemingway at a local bar. I feel so welcome here I almost feel like I could live here (hint, hint).
There is a cafe in town called “El Cafe Rico” where Colin and I have been taking tea every afternoon after our hard days stirring in sugar, and breathing. This vacation is considerably different than my last one – I can almost feel my leg muscles beginning to atrophy. My only trauma is a blister on my elbow. I’m not sure if I got it resting my elbow on the table while holding my teacup, or if it’s a fabric burn from the hammock.
