Mexico, Round Tres, Parte Dos

... And so there I was, a ruin of my own creation, sitting there beneath the angel in the square, feeling a very long way from home or anywhere. Just then my angel of sorts arrived. A Frenchman named Stefane who I'd met at the Rainbow, and somewhere else, prior. He gave me a few pesos to check the net and try and find Soph, fed me tomales and shouted me a couple of beers and gave me a spot on his floor to roll out my sleeping bag. It was a nice night, the year was at it's end, and I was feeling O.K. again. We didn't stay out for the countdown though. When the fireworkswent off outside, I was lying in the dark, staring through the roof, reflecting on the year that was, and the serious changes I had to make in my life. New plans, new beginnings.
The next day Stefane the saint gave me a bag ful of fruit to get me going and I took my leave and headed out to the beach to try and find the cabanas Sophie was supposedly hiding out in. I wandered down to the beach, and there it was -- the Atlantic,  the Caribbean. The sea was blues and greens, the sun was high, the sand so fine and white. It smelt different to the Pacific, tasted different, too. I was pleased, splashed around. A new year, a new ocean. I stashed my bag and had a wander up and down the beach looking for Soph --  no luck, so I spent the reast of the afternoon reading Vonnegut beneath a coconut tree. As the afternoon waned, I decided to walk back to town and check if she'd been on the net at all. About halfway there, and there she was, by the side of the road, trying to hitchhike back the other way. It was a sweet reuinion, lots of screaming and hugging involved. We got a ride back to the cabanas in no time, where I met the rest of the gang and shared in a huge cheese platter and pirate rum. Home at last.
Spent a few days chilling with the gang, chilling with Soph; reminiscing on high school days, old people, etc. Plenty of good food was eaten, plenty of swimming. It was lovely. They all got on the road south five days later, bound through Belize to Guatemala, where they'had managed to line up gigs with a volunteering program. The owner of the cabanas had come around and the accommodation was no longer free. They'd been there close to three weeks already, time to move on. Since I had neither the money for the road to Guatemala, or for rent at the cabanas, I elected to take my gear out into the forest behind where they were situated and roll out the mat while I continued the wait. I chose a nice little spot in a beautiful grove beneath a patch of open sky so I could see the sky and stars. 
That little spot became my home sweet home for three weeks. I got myself into a routine, and it was here in the bush alone that I began my rebuilding process. By the end of last year, a great deal of what I thought I knew about myself and the world had been dashed to peices and all my faults and failings were stark and apparent. I'd lost it alleverything, my mind was a mess, my heart and faith in serious trouble. So I settled in, started asking questions. Now that I really didn't have anything to do, anywhere to go, anyone to talk to, I had no choice but to get settled in to living in the bush and answering the problems in my life. My routine went like this, usually: I started by getting up before the sun and going for runs, swimming, coming home and eating a breakfast of noodle soup over the campfire, excercising with a cinderblock for a bit; then the 2 hour walk to the shopping centre and back to check the ATM. In the afternoons I did whatever I felt like: whether it be swimming or going for a walk or sitting down and meditating, just listening, always thinking, writing a bit, etc. I usually ate dinner at about 5:30-6 and went to bed not long after. I had a lot of dreams always, often waking in the wee hours and just lying there thinking, thinking. I began to feel better mentally, patience creeping back in. My health and strength improved, too. I learned to accept my situation a bit better. I was obviously here for a reason, and I knew I needed to be there. It was where I deep down wanted to be. Out in the bush, with solitude, and surviving. Nothin' better on, anyways.
Sometime after midnight on my twentieth night under the stars, a big rain blew in. It had been coming for some time. I screamed and cursed and threw a jacket on and all my shit together in a hurry and trekked through the bush back to the bungalows for shelter. I arrived soaked to the skin. Tired and wishing I had a tent. I sat on the porch and watched the rain bucket down until it cleared sometime around morning. Mostly I was annoyed because it was going to be difficult to start a fire. It rained on and off over the next few days, basically cementing my move back into the cabins. But, at least now I had company. This company came in the form of an Englishman called Alex. A builder-gone-mystic, in Mexico on a path to follow his dreaming, and learn how to be a healer. Right from the get-go we became mates easy. To tell the truth I was thankful for the company. We shared a campfire and stories and cooked up some real spicy food. Have to hand it to Alex for the best and hottest salsa I'd ever eaten. What a beauty. A week went by before Alex's girlfriend, Manuela came and joined the party. We had a few blow ins: a couple of Argentines and a Mexican-born American and all-round-good-bloke, Tony. Transitional times for us all, formative times. And, through the means of fire and meals are converations shared across it, we all helped each other out and through each other we got to know ourselves better. It was a beautiful time, that campfire time... Keep an eye out for the final round, III, coming soon enough. Thanks for reading, kids. Sorry nothing ever happens around here. I never know wat to say about all that happened. I can't even convey it. Words seem superfluous almost, maybe I've just lost the knack for it, who knows. But anyways, I'll keep at it slowly and hone my skills better when I go back to school later on in the year... PAZ!