There's thunderstorm rumbling around us as I write, not directly above us but nearby. From our rooftop garden over gin and tonic -- ah, the English influence on civilisation! -- we (us and our new friends Roger and Christina) watched it gather, massive clouds off over the mountains to the west, and the lightning almost vertical. It seems so novel to us, it's actually raining gatos and perros.

We went today to the Tuesday Market, sort of a massive flea market cum vegetable gathering. Beautiful produce which we brought home with us, since we have a nice kitchen here, where we can use anything as long as we replace anything we run out of. Enough shoes to outfit a private army. I bought a cobra, which writhes around my waist now as I write. (see next blog)

The faces here are incredible, much more of a native Indian presence here than in upstart Los Cabos. Jeanne the blog artist will insert a picture of an old woman when I am done. (No the blog artist was not able to do that for you Harry, sorry.) I find I want to take pictures of lots of people, which would no doubt be rude. The town is a fairy tale, and we think that dowdy little San Jose may be a letdown, though there are the beaches and the mountains and the desert. Unlike St Louis Park there are no trains going by at night, and no fire engines as in SLP and SJC. But there are the bells: from all around us at all hours, calling others to church. The town should be called Tintinnabulum, or something equally romantic.