A few weeks ago we went to the dinner party of an ex-pat friend. It was a very fun gathering of about 16 people, and I decided to bring along my guitar. When the host saw this, she announced to everyone that I'd be playing a "concert" (gulp) for everyone after we ate. We all dragged our chairs outside, and I played a handful of my instrumental pieces. It was a great setting, with the Sierra Madres rising up behind us, and I had a lot of fun.

Afterwards, I was talking with one of the few Oaxaquenos in attendance, who plays various types of traditional instruments (including the tiny guitar-like charango) and is a very active musician in the local clubs. He told me about a few places I could play, and invited me to one of his gigs to see if I'd like to sit in.

Though it's admittedly rare for us to go out on the town, as it were, we went out last night to see him play. I left my guitar at home; since I'm not especially familiar with many traditional or popular Mexican tunes, I wanted to listen before attempting to ever play along.

Sadly, we arrived just a few minutes too late to hear the music. However, a couple of the people in his band were heading off to another club downtown, called Son Cubano. They invited me to come along, and gestured at one of their guitars, saying I should follow them to the other venue and play with them for a bit. Though I wasn't quite sure what I'd be getting myself into, I accepted their invitation and Julie and I met up with them after finishing our glasses of typically incredible local hot chocolate.

Son Cubano is a classic-looking type of place, with modest tables and a small stage set off by scrawled literary and popular quotes decorating the wall behind it. There was a trio onstage, with two beat-up guitars and a set of bongos, playing some wonderful, heavily rhythmic Cuban music. We ordered a few lemonades and listened to the rest of their set.

During their break, another musician took over the stage, continuing with the Cuban feel. The leader of the first band came over to me and asked if I'd like to play shortly. I wasn't sure if he expected me to play solo, or with someone else, but I agreed, hoping that he meant solo as I didn't know a single one of the songs I'd heard all night.

Soon I was called to the stage, and thankfully, was alone up there. I played one of my more rhythmic original tunes, and soon was joined by the guitarist who'd just finished, except now he'd picked up the bongos and was playing along with me. It was a nice addition, I thought, and I think it helped my unfamiliar music go over a bit.

After my second tune, the first bandleader came up and whispered that a couple of guys in the audience wanted to come sing a song, and I should play along. I moved over to the second guitar onstage and shook hands with the newcomers. The one closest to me leaned over and told me the name of a song, expecting that I'd know it. I kinda shook my head and said, "Uh, that's a new one to me but I'll do what I can". He looked surprised, but launched into a romantic ballad with gusto, both of them harmonizing beautifully. I played along once I got the gist of it, filling in some of the spaces and taking a solo when they gave me a nod. It seemed to go well, and we played four or five more tunes together, each time starting with a whisper to me with the name of the next song, to which I could only shrug my shoulders again and again, promising to try my best.

I then handed off the guitar to yet another six-string slinger, but soon was invited back to the stage again to play again. Afterward, as I sat down and the first band continued playing, several people stopped by my table with nice things to say. Then the singer who I'd accompanied for the bulk of the night came by, shook my hand enthusiastically, and pulled up a stool. With much gravity, he said that he had a preposition for me, and that he'd like to know if I wished to join his trio. This was certainly a surprise.

I haven't played music with anyone in Mexico yet, and the thought of playing this lovely music regularly sounded fascinating. It certainly would be a learning experience. In this situation, who would say no? I shook his hand and said, why, yes.

He then asked what I'd require to be paid per hour.

That was a tough question. Not only have I never been asked to quote an hourly rate for playing (and I'm used to playing a whole night for peanuts in the USA anyway), but I have absolutely no idea what any musician might be used to receiving here. I mumbled something very modest, to which he laughed out loud and offered three times what I'd said, "If you're serious". This last he repeated several times, giving me a hard look; he was not kidding around. "One more thing," he said, "you have to wear a suit - none of this," gesturing at my t-shirt and camper's hat. I agreed to that, as well. How could I not?

He took my phone number, promised to call soon, and said that we had a gig in two weeks, a function for his job. It'll involve playing four or five hours, and will be "serious", he emphasized again. He went on to say that he worked for the AFI - "the FBI of Mexico", he explained.

"Serious"...yes.

Yikes.

Though I'm excited about this, the first thing I need to explain to him when he doesn't have any mezcal in his system is that it's actually illegal for me to work for pay here. What that means to someone who works for the Mexican intelligence system, I don't know - is he above the system, or wedded to it? - but I think I need to be COMPLETELY honest with him.

Whatever happens, this certainly is an interesting development, and it's a great feeling to take a step toward being part of the musician's community here.

(whoops, I meant to post this weeks ago. Sorry, my friends.)

I KNOW it's been forever since I've updated here. Most regretful. Thing is, since June we've been gone at least part of every month (which has been true for Julie since the very start of the year). A friend just asked me in an email, "Are you sure you live in Mexico?"

But now we're back and, after one more quick trip for me next week, we're going to be here for the foreseeable future. The house progress has, definitely, suffered for all of our travel, and now it's time to make up some ground. After applying some pressure (and a bit of cash) before the last trip, three things which we've been asking her about for well over a year have been installed. The water heaters are in, the cistern pump too, and most surprisingly, the drywall in the foyer (though the walls are concrete, sheetrock is used occasionally on ceilings to cover up drainpipes) . The last especially has been a particular thorn in my side as the excuse always was that it was a "quick thing", so why the hurry? After having heard that ten times, it was a real relief to actually see the false ceiling in there.

Next up is paint. We've picked out colors and we had a painter lined up, so thought we were good to hit the ground running on that. But the painter has been a pain to deal with, even before we've signed a contract. He first gave me a proposal back in March, and ever since then he hasn't let up on pressure to get the job started. Even after I told him time and again that I'd be in touch with him when we were ready, he'd continually call or drop by unannounced to discuss the job and insist that he get started ASAP. The final straw came during our last trip. Before we left, I'd told him clearly that we'd be gone for a couple of weeks, and at some point after we got back, I'd give him a call. But sometime last week, he came by to try to find us, and when we heard no response after endlessly ringing our bell and banging loudly on the garage door (according to our slightly peeved landlady), he started going around to our other neighbors and asking them where we were. This failure of communication and, it seems to us, basic interpersonal skills doesn't bode well for what needs to be a very close working relationship, so we're going to look elsewhere.

The first person we're going to approach is our architect. Though I know that contracting her to do anything additional at this point probably seems like madness, at least working with her has the advantage that we know that she'll follow through on the work, even if it may take forever. Our experience with the windows installer, where the work wasn't entirely done to our satisfaction but we didn't have a lot of recourse, makes us lean towards dealing with a known quantity (what is that quote about the evil that we know..?) instead. And we do have a quote from the original contract back in 2005, which needs to be expanded to accommodate for the changes in house design but at least we have a starting figure for the work.

It feels like the final work on the bathrooms has been the only thing happening for the past six months. That's not altogether true, of course - the entrance road was a great addition, and now we have an entrance gate..!

(Not quite done all the way...surprise, surprise).

But really, besides those things, it's been all about the bathrooms. Getting the tile done, the tub put in place, and the proper handles properly installed has been epic. At this point, still, none of those things are completed. The tile is very close, just the tub steps need to be done. But last week, I visited one day (I'm trying to go out there just about every work day now) and noticed how badly the very expensive glass tile border in the shower had been installed - there was an overbite of at least a quarter of an inch compared with the tile surrounding it. As with so many other things, I figured we'd have to live with it. But I mentioned it in an email to our architect, just to poke her a little bit if nothing else, and to my surprise, the next day our rather chastened-looking worker was ripping it out. It looks really good now, but we lost a few days to that.

As far as the tub, we seemed very close two weeks ago, as the base seemed finished and the tile around the upper edge had been done enough so that it seemed as if the tub itself could be placed on it. But then we looked a bit closer at the base, and noticed that the tub would be resting on...Styrofoam. There were a handful of concrete blocks in the center, but all around were huge blocks of white packing material. I'm all for creative re-use, but normally one doesn't think of the plastic squeaky stuff as a building element. Our architect claimed that it was to reduce vibration from the whirlpool motor, and looking online I found some examples of people actually using this in their own homes with Jacuzzi's, but it still seemed a bit weird and I questioned her about it. The next day, to my surprise, a full concrete base had been poured. However, as yet our pricey tub itself continues to sit in the middle of the bedroom, gathering dust and scratches.

I thought we finally were ok with the handles. We found a decent alternative to the ones we really wanted, and they looked really good when they were installed last week. But - there's always a but - now we notice that they turn the wrong way. These handles are long-armed handles, which normally are off in the horizontal position, and one pulls both the levers down in the direction of the floor to turn them on. However, with these, the cold turns up while the hot goes down. Sigh.

When I met with the architect three weeks ago, we agreed on some dates. The first milestone was the 27th of August, at which point the bathroom was to be completed as well as the gate. Sad to say, that's not going to happen. But I'm going to be on her case, I promise you, to get it done before another six months goes by. It's getting embarrassin'.