The Rain (The back story)

Since the rains returned, there’s a palpable release of tension. The uncertainty which accompanies the month of June relates to the timing of that arrival. Once June begins, the village has been without rain since the prior September, eight months. Average humidity begins at 40%, skin and eyes remain moist, and womens’ hair explodes into frizz. There’s a reason why they refer to this belt on the globe as The Tropics.

Walk back with me to the first week in June. The village is upbeat as the certain arrival of inches of moisture will brighten the greens of the jungle even further. The lagoon, fed by the Tuito River, warehouses small frog laden pools of water which shrink daily. Week two arrives with anticipation heightened based upon a history that by the end of this particular seven day stretch, our weather lives will be altered. Week three follows and a discernible depression stalks our pueblo’s pathways; still no evidence of rain. Afternoon clouds roll in and embrace the ridgelines but nary a drip is dropped. Worry lines reside across the foreheads of the elders. All conversation is monopolized by this single topic. Week four begins: day one-nothing; day two-a twenty minute sprinkle; day three-a two hour moderate rain complete with the requisite lightening/thunder dynamics; day four—all hell breaks loose with twin two-hour bursts. The associated lightening/thunder crafts a world class show. 

Engorged creeks surge to join the Tuito; the river angrily attacks its banks. During the night, this anger drives the flow over and later thru a twelve foot tall sandbar which remained undisturbed for the past eight months. The river’s hue producing passenger, tons of silt, is re-deposited by early morning turning the entire bay a creamy coffee brown. It is not a pleasant sight just another testimony to the furor of Mother Nature. In a pair of days it clears.

Audible sighs ascend like tiny dialogue bubbles above the roof tops of our village. We all shift into Plan-R (rain). Those pangas sans bilge pumps must be hand-bailed succeeding each deluge, day or night. One or two will sink while tethered to their moorings. They always do. Socializing, erranding, shopping and dining revolve around afternoon/evening downpours whose timing is inexact guaranteeing the full spectrum of personal wetness. Wash will hang on makeshift lines, and hang, and hang, and hang.

An aura of contentment returns. Village life embraces seasonal certainties: humidity, heat, power outages, tempestuous seas, water running everywhere and soon to arrive, everyone’s favorite (NOT) multiple crab migrations. (A future blog posting will address this singular event.) While these components won’t define the perfect get-a-way for much of the traveling public, they will define the parameters of life in Yelapa for the ensuing three months. The village draws comfort from these norms. It was uncertainty which birthed their anxiety. No doubt, a cultural universal, wouldn’t you say?             

Commercial Break

I’m still on the playita everyday, rain or not. Consider me something akin to a blend between the Ancient Mariner and your  post man only on a kayak. Also great news, I now have a new cell phone, same number 322 146 5064, so you can always reach me to check availability—(kayaks, not mine). Happy paddling.