Whizz Bang Pop!!!

‘REMEMBER remember the fifth of November’ I muttered in earshot of Jacky’s dad this morning as I poured myself a coffee.

“Por que?” (Why?) he asked.

Oh, um… because it’s Guy Fawkes night in England.

“What is Guy Fawkes?” he asked pressing further.

Oh god, I thought. How on earth, after criticizing Mexico’s bizarre behavior in celebrating a national ‘Day of the Dead’, can I describe this?

I ended up giving it to him straight.

“There was this man, centuries ago, who tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament. He got caught, and was burned at the stake on a pyre.”

Cue bizarre look from my adopted father figure which hints of shock, surprise and confusion in equal measure.

“We celebrate it every year by building bonfires and throwing a ‘Guy’ effigy… onto the fire.”

Cue further raising of eyebrows.

“But we do let off fireworks too, which are nice…”

“Ah, si si…” he adds.

I think that little dit was lost in translation and he now thinks England is a country of sadistic Satan-worshipping weirdos.

Oh well. On reflection our acts on November  5^th are pretty strange when you actually sit down and think about it.

We celebrate the murder of someone by re-enacting it thousands of times in one day across the whole breadth of the country.

And it’s a real family event.

Here in Mexico Halloween and the days that follow are a big deal.

It’s actually a three-day festival centred around remembering and celebrating the lives of those that have been lost in time.

Of course there is Halloween on October 31st, but there’s also the ‘Day of the Dead Children’ on November 1^st, and the ‘Day of the Dead’ on November 2^nd which is a national bank holiday.

Jacky told me it’s one of the most traditional festivals in Mexico.

Everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE you go there are displays marking the occasion.

Cheery eh?

You go to a supermarket and there, next to the traditional Halloween costumes, sweets and devil forks, are shrines complete with brightly-coloured flowers, lit candles, and food offerings to the gods.

‘Pan de Muerta’ (cake of death) is also sold all over the place.

I’m not sure what ‘death’ tastes like, but these things are good.

Dun dun da... cake of death!!!

This week I've also been practicing my ‘idiot abroad’ skills.

For example, we’re in town and I’m looking for a cashpoint.

I see a sign stating ‘banco’ and amble off to get some money.

It’s only when we’re approaching the building that Jacky starts laughing at me.

“You won’t get money here,” she tells me grinning.

“They’ll take something from you, but they won’t give you money.”

Of course it’s a ‘banco de sangre’ or, in English, a ‘blood bank’.

Hmmmm… that could have been weird…

Clock change confusion

SO the clocks have changed, the nights are drawing in, the heating’s on… wait, no, that’s you guys in the UK.

Here it’s still balmy. Halloween in a T-shirt and board shorts – that was a first.

The kids were trick or treating and knocking at the door, and I had a good mind to give them ice cream.

In truth the nights are drawing in here too. The clocks haven't changed here yet, and when I say ‘balmy’ it’s like 25 degrees as opposed to 40 degrees.

Still pleasant and mild, but you can now feel the winter coming.

But my god, November?! Where did you come from?

The changing of the clocks always gets me.

Spring forward, winter back. That’s right isn’t it? But then, I get my brain all twisted up considering what time everything changes, and what time it is everywhere else.

And this confession of a confused mind is no more relevant than now.

You see, here in TJ we’re eight hours behind (mum and dad) in the UK, and four hours behind (the brother Jon) in New York.

At least we were up until last weekend when the clocks changed in the UK.

Now I’ve had to shave an hour off mum and dad. Brother’s time difference remains the same – at least until “tomorrow”, or so my brother thinks.

He seems to think that the clocks change for NYC and surrounding area tomorrow (Saturday). So they’ll be moving back as well right? An hour?

Last weekend the clocks also changed in Mexico City to the south of us, and next weekend, apparently, the clocks go back in TJ.

But just to confuse things further Jacky claims that apparently the clocks change in neighbouring San Diego a short time later – or before. But not at the same time.

Why? Christ knows.

How weird would that be literally taking one step forward or backwards and being in the future, or the past.

Woah. Confused? Yes, me too.

Can someone not just wake me up when it’s summer again?

Anyway, Hurricane Sandy.

Who comes up with these names? Who gets to ‘name’ a hurricane?! Is there a hurricane-naming committee? Do they draw straws to choose them?

These questions need answers!

‘Sandy’, well… it just doesn’t conjure up images of a devastating force of nature does it? In essence these hurricanes are natural attempted murderers.

Sandy sounds more like a wimpy dog with a sad expression.

Anyhow with much of NYC being without power following the hurricane’s touch down on land, it reminded me of something that happened here a few weeks ago.

You see, we lost power in the house for an hour or so. Apparently there was some fault in San Diego, which crippled the network in a far-reaching area.

At the time Jacks mentioned that the last time they had a ‘major’ power failure in TJ it was out for two whole days.

“People went crazy,” she said.

“They were in a panic and buying all the petrol, the water... the tuna fish…”

Eh… ? Cue confused look.

I couldn’t help but laugh. What she meant was that people were buying as much tinned food as they could, not necessarily ‘tuna fish’.

Still, she got a big kiss for that as it was sweet as hell, and of course it was always going to provide fodder for this blog.

So, the blog’s got a new home on my new website.

Hope you like it. I bought the domain name last year and have been meaning to do something for a while.

Now, it seems, became a good time.

In this modern age I guess a personal website is the same as having a CV, cuttings file or portfolio 15 years ago.

Anyhow, thanks for taking the time to have a read. And apologies about the lack of pictures this time round. There are lots on the website if you're feeling deprived!

Paper trails

IN the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king. Or so they say.

And if you’re one of the few – if not the only – places in Tijuana selling rolling papers, you seem to have a license to print money.

Yes in this blog first there was the search for the holy kettle, then came the hunt for the red sauce, and this last week has seen me go on a quest for Rizla.

Needle in a haystack? More like trying to find a Mexican named ‘Frank’.

Listen I’m not proud of it but hey, I smoke.

Not a lot, but enough to miss it if I don’t have it. A bit like missing out on the first cup of coffee in the morning, or finding out that the cinema has run out of popcorn shortly before the start of a much-anticipated film.

So a few weeks ago I discovered I was not only running out of Golden Virginia tobacco, but also Rizlas, or rolling papers.

I guess there are tobacconists here selling baccie – mainly for pipes – so that’s never been a huge issue. GV is replaceable until I can get back to the UK to buy some.

But without rolling papers you can’t roll a cigarette.

You can’t simply grab the nearest copy of El Mexicano and use the Chinese art of folding.

And I’m sure as hell not buying a pipe.

Sure, I could have ordered some papers online for delivery but I didn’t realise I was running out until I ran out. And besides, if I order now I probably won’t see a delivery before Christmas knowing the postal service.

And so began the hunt for papers.

“No biggie” I thought.

Wrong.

A couple of days after running out I popped into two general liquor stores to ask for ‘rolling papers’.

Well, I say ‘ask’ for rolling papers. I simply said ‘tienes?’ (you have?) and then did the universal finger and thumb rolling action.

The first shop owner shouted ‘no’ and pointed to the door. The second just said ‘out’ before looking over and nodding at a makeshift security guard to assist.

I just as well had been wearing a T-shirt saying ‘Mexi-can lick my b*lls’ for the reaction it got.

I tried a few North American-style corner shops but still nothing.

Even the tobacconists drew a blank, and a frown.

And then it dawned on me why I got the initial reaction.

People over here, and in the US, simply do not smoke roll ups.

So when people see me rolling a cigarette they immediately think I’m rolling a joint.

“Marijuana?!” has been shouted in my direction more than once.

Followed quickly by a look of disgust.

One of Jacky’s friends believes it’s only a matter of time before I actually get arrested.

I was beginning to give up on the search until someone half suggested some downtown tattoo parlour come jewellery shop.

We trekked across town and eventually found the place. I honestly didn’t know whether I was going to get lucky or emerge with a dodgy facial piercing and inappropriate spider web tattoo.

I asked the question again ‘tienes… um…’ cue finger and thumb roll.

‘No’ was the reply.

But then a kind of wink-wink nudge nudge action occurred and I was led through the back of the shop. The owner or manager took out a large set of keys and slowly and carefully unlocked a steel-barred door.

‘What the f*ck have I just asked for’ I thought as I was led into the dimly-lit back room.

And there in the back, displayed almost picture-perfectly on a glass shelf were a few packs of rolling papers.

“Amazing,” I said excitedly.

“30 pesos,” came the response.

Er… nearly £2 per pack?!

Oh what the hell. Money can buy me love.

Mission accomplished.

On the way back home on the outskirts of TJ, it dawned on me the number of pharmacies dotted around the place similar in frequency to the number of Spar shops in the UK.

They are literally everywhere.

Mas barata: 24-hour pharmacies for drugstore cowboys

Of course the reason is that neither Mexico, or indeed the US, has a National Health Service.

Instead they have countless pharmacies, and doctor and dental practices battling it out for business.

Seriously, in the UK the average Boots shop is pretty large but over here they have like ‘mega’ pharmacies with daily deals on pills and potions.

It’s almost surreal to see some boasting ‘24-hour’ service. I mean, 24-hour kebab shops, 24-hour Tesco… 24-hour Superdrug?! Weird.

But I guess when you’re ill, you’re ill.

Jacks tells me that Mexico, specifically TJ, has something called ‘medical tourism’ which is a large part of the city’s economy.

Every day thousands of Americans cross the border into Mexico simply to buy medicine because it’s cheaper than the US.

Anyhow, I’m off for a smoke.

Seasons in the sun

I’VE finally discovered, albeit reluctantly, what it feels like to be cooked like an oven chip.

The last week or so in Tijuana has seen temperatures rocket to somewhere near the obscene.

You know, the sort of temperatures where you could easily fry an egg on the pavement.

For a fairly pale-skinned Englishman it’s been a jolt to the system.

We have no air conditioning in the house so we rely on ceiling fans. Which, going back to my earlier comment, really does make you feel like you’re living in a fan oven without an ‘off’ switch.

By day temperatures have peaked at around 44 degrees. By night, a mere 25 degrees.

Feeling hot, hot, hot... and this was nearly three weeks ago

And the best is apparently yet to come.

Every year this region (Baja California) experiences something called the ‘Santana winds’.

Despite the name it has nothing to do with the legendary guitarists’ problems with flatulence.

It has everything to do with the blustery dry winds which sweep off the Arizona desert and across the region. They apparently make breathing difficult. And just to add insult to injury, you also have to close all the doors and windows because the wind brings with it dust and sand.

The mere mention of the winds brings a look of horror and discomfort to a Mexican’s face.

And seeing as we haven’t yet experienced this natural occurrence, I’m inclined to pull the same face just thinking about it.

For me it’s been strange adjusting to the ‘autumn’ in Mexico.

In England it’s one of my favourite seasons. That feeling when you wake up one day, and you just know, that autumn has arrived. You can sense it in the air and feel it in the breeze.

Well we might as well be living on the face of the sun because, despite the fact it’s now autumn here, it feels like the height of summer to me.

The heat in Afghanistan, where I spent three months mid-summer in 2010, was intense. But we had air con.

Here we literally just cook in our own skin. Even people who visit the beach mostly sit in the shade.

Oh we do like to be beside the seaside (albeit in the shade...)

Impromptu Mexican jam session en la playa

You walk outside on particularly hot days and TJ is like a ghost town. People stay inside until it cools off.

I’m minded to sit outside like a sun-worshipping rock star. But hey, I stand out enough as it is let alone with deep agonizing sun burn.

But hey, when we have ventured out and about, my new home-town is still as fascinating, fun and downright weird as it has been since I arrived.

As I keep saying, things are very different here.

Picture the scene, we’re sat in Burger King one night surrounded by kids with ‘happy meals’, or whatever the king calls them.

All their noise is drowned out by the volume of the large television screen which sits central and imposing in the restaurant.

We tuck into our food, I glance up and ask… “Um, what are these people on the chat show talking about?”

“Oh, the woman is teaching the guy how to control his ejaculation…” Jacky nonchalantly replies.

“Oh, okay…”

I’m loving it.

Only in TJ.

My mum asked a few weeks ago why I haven’t sent her a postcard.

It’s simply really. They don’t sell them here, at least... I don’t think they do.

I can’t imagine that pictures of armed men with blacked out faces standing next to a taco stand would really sell here.

I don’t know, maybe there’s a market there that I’ve just cornered?!

Besides for some reason unbeknown to me the postal service is, well, pants.

A letter takes between five and nine weeks (on average) to arrive here.

I think a postcard from an astronaut on the surface of the moon would arrive quicker.

I wish I knew why. A second class stamp here might as well boast a sticker saying ‘ignore until the moment the sender thinks it’s lost – and then send’.

And the postmen in TJ don’t wear uniforms. It’s like giving your post to a random guy in the street on a motorbike hoping that he is who you think he is.

This place is indeed fascinating and I guess, that’s what makes each day so captivating.

Thanks for reading.

Oh, and ‘привет’ to my Russian readers!

Reflections and home comforts

HOLA! So apparently I missed the greatest summer that the UK has ever had in the world ever?

The Olympics, The Paralympics, Chelsea winning the Champions League, Bradley Wiggins winning the Tour de France, sun for four days, Andrew Murray, Wimbledon... the list – as I have been constantly reminded – seems endless.

I have to say, watching bits and pieces online and on the Mexican state TV channels, I felt proud to be English.

But I quickly grew sick of it. Maybe it was the part of me who secretly wished I was at home enjoying the blanket joy and warmth among my fellow countrymen. Jealousy perhaps?

I’m not sure. You just kind of knew it was a temporary thing, a glimmer of hope, before it all turned to sh*t again.

And so it did.

The hotly-anticipated Indian summer quickly washed away down the drainpipe and of course, the even more hotly-anticipated Olympic-sized economic lifeline failed to materialize.

Our Olympians are great role models, and I hope the event will leave a lasting legacy.

In the meantime you can always rely on John Terry to add some entertainment until Christmas brings back the nation’s smiles.

Having now spent nearly four months living in Tijuana, I still can’t say I miss too much about the UK.

The weather? Yeh right. You’ve only got to log onto Facebook or Twitter to realize how gloomy the climate is, and always is, in the ‘Great’ Britain.

Here, despite the fact that we’re nearing October, the temperature has been around 29 degrees for weeks.

I’ve seen a combined total of about 30 minutes of rain in the past 15 weeks. Hardly enough to warrant me packing my rain coat and hoodies.

Of course I miss the friends and family I’ve left behind but hey, with the advances in technology it’s difficult to lose touch.

Skype is an amazing tool. It’s staggering that you can have a face-to-face conversation with anyone with an internet connection.

It’s also fairly easy to fake the ‘oh you’re breaking up’ line when you don’t want to talk to that person any more.

Bizarrely the material things I miss seem to keep popping up every now and again when I’m in need of a home comfort hit.

For instance, I’m in some Mexican equivalent of Poundland a couple of weeks ago and what do I see sitting proudly on one of the aisles? Tommy K – or Heinz Tomato Ketchup as it’s also known.

Mexico has taste!

Now, nothing and I mean NOTHING quite beats a bit of Tommy K on a bacon sandwich. Right?

That discovery made my week. The fact that a large pouch of it set me back about 10 Pesos (48p) only made me smile more.

Surrounded by aisles and aisles of weird bottled sauces and condiments – the labels of which are 99 per cent in Spanish of course – at times it’s difficult to know whether you’re likely to spread strawberry jam on your toast, or industrial-strength chili paste.

Considering that most Mexicans have never had milk in their tea, English breakfast-style tea bags are also a rarity.

Thankfully my mother realized this at an early stage and has been sending supplies.

My language skills are improving too. I can now haggle the price of a taxi with its driver, rather than insulting his pregnant wife, and I’m getting to know my way around TJ.

Thankfully Jacky and I and her family are based in the hills above the badlands so we’re away from the crazy parts.

That said though I was awoken a couple of weeks ago by three gun shots. Once you’ve heard gun fire (as I did a few times to say the least in Afghan) it’s easy to distinguish it from a back-firing car.

Hearing that put me back in the mindset I had in Helmand, so I spent much of the night on high alert. Jacky simply slept blissfully unaware of my anxiety.

Admittedly it has been a little while since I last blogged.

A lot has been happening this end but I can’t really talk about it as things are in the hands of lawyers.

I’m talking of course about a job offer.

First rule of Fightclub and all that jazz. Hopefully in a few weeks I will be able to fill in the detail about what could be THE most exciting thing that has happened to me in a very long time.

But for now I should really keep schtum. Fingers, toes, hair and everything crossed!

Hopefully these pictures of puppies will suffice for now.

Here are the three – as-yet unnamed – additions to the family household.

They’re only a few weeks old and they’re already trouble...

They’ve just learned to walk, and last week I caught two of them at the top of the stairs whispering to each other.

I’m pretty sure I then heard someone – or rather something – whistling the theme tune to ‘The Great Escape’.

"I'll create a diversion, you take out the main gate..."