Yesterday, I found a film called The Mysteries of Lisbon. Directed by the esteemed Chilean filmmaker Raúl Ruiz, it came out in 2010 but is based on a novel by 19th-century Portuguese writer Camilo Castelo Branco. The film truly took me away. It’s strange—one of those stories where you’re never quite sure where you’re being led, but you want to follow.

The idea behind it is unique, though not entirely unfamiliar. Much of the Portuguese literature I’ve read, especially the works of Eça de Queiróz, is filled with twists and turns—mystery, romance, and a blend of France and Portugal in the 19th century. This film carries a similar spirit, but its storytelling is especially impressive. I watched it a second time last night and decided I need to buy it. I had only rented it, thinking, “Let’s see what this is.”

The story follows an abandoned child, whose journey into adulthood is guided by an unassuming priest—a man whose own origins are mysterious. The plot unfolds like a picture puzzle, almost like a 19th-century storyboard, set during a time of complex rules about family, inheritance, and social standing. By the end, you’re left wondering: was it real? Or a dream?

The cinematography is simple and beautiful, evocative of the era. But it’s not just the photography—it’s the vision. The way the story is structured and visually composed speaks to the director’s imagination. At one point, the boy is gifted a puzzle by his mother, and it becomes a kind of symbolic storyboard, hinting at what may come.

Many scenes show private coaches drawn by horses, gliding through a sparse and lovely countryside—especially along the unadorned road from Lisbon to Santarém. That road, clean and open, felt almost symbolic of the character’s mission. Other scenes take place at lavish parties, filled with gossip, intrigue, and treachery.

The acting is beautiful. The story is a brain twister. The entire experience felt magical to me. I loved it.

If you’re patient—and if you enjoy being swept into a slow, mysterious tale—this might be a film you’ll treasure too.

Lately, my literary and cinematic interests have leaned more and more toward Portugal. I’ve long been fascinated by the Napoleonic period through to the World Wars in Europe, which we still call “modern” history, though it now feels quite far away. And of course, my admiration for the celebrated Portuguese poet of many voices Fernando Pessoa continues to shape what I notice and what draws me in.
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That was my question to AI this morning. From the balcony of my hotel room, I’d been watching a tall palm tree—its crown full of large, mature coconuts, and clusters of much smaller ones. I wondered: were those little ones baby coconuts? So I asked.

“Coconuts typically take 12 months to fully mature on the tree from the time the flower is pollinated,” AI responded, along with more detail than I needed—but enough to satisfy my curiosity for the morning.

I went to take a shower, and when I came out, I was startled to see a man climbing one of the nearby palms.
It was an astonishing sight. He wore only chanclas (flip-flops), and with a simple rope looped around his back, he used nothing but his hands, feet, and sheer muscle to propel himself up the towering tree.

At the top, he reached three giant bunches of coconuts. He didn’t cut them—he twisted each one off by hand, tied a rope around it, and gently lowered it to the ground, one by one. At one point, he paused to quench his thirst with the milk of a younger nut.

After collecting the coconuts, he began tearing away the older palm fronds—again, just with his hands. It was impressive: raw, efficient, and quietly brave.

I had just gone through palm trimming back home in Oakland before coming to Mexico. There, my crew needed scaffolding higher than my Victorian house—almost three stories tall. Armed with knives and saws, they carefully cut each frond and lowered it down. They did a fine job.

But so did this gentleman—his ingenuity, courage, and connection to the task left me awestruck. Below, I’ve included a series of photos capturing his ascent and descent.

In defense of my Oakland crew: they did want to demonstrate their skills “Latino-style,” but I refused—fearing for their lives!
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Here in Mexico, it seems you do what you must, with whatever nature and necessity provide.

It’s early Sunday morning here in Puerto Vallarta and I’m sitting on the nice little Terrace of my hotel room looking out over the ocean as the waves gently lap and an occasional swimmer goes out to his boat to set up for the day. The fellows at the restaurants on the beach are sweeping and getting ready for customers but very slowly because it’s still early. 

I have coffee and a little coffee maker here my little kitchenette on the terrace and so I made myself a little pot of coffee and I heated up some wonderful pancakes that I had yesterday at Cuates y Cuetes for breakfast and they came out very well. Just ate one and feel satisfied. 

Yesterday I took a little walk to Cuates y Cuetes on the beach and had those pancakes along with a couple of cups of chamomile tea and then walked on to the market, which has just one more Saturday event, next Saturday,  and then they close for the season. Eduardo Leon , Roberto Falcon and Arron Hernandez were playing some really lovely Gipsy Kings pieces and I sat and listen to them for a while, and then I got myself an agua of orange juice and mango. That was very nice because by this time the sun was out and quite strong. 

I walked on home and realized that it was more walking than I should be doing so for the rest of the day I rested. I really spent it reclining with my foot elevated, icing from time to time, and taking ibuprofen. I read, watched a bit of The Count of Monte Cristo, listened to a book on microbes—over my head but very interesting. 
By evening I felt like Italian food and luckily I have a very good Italian restaurant just a block away from my hotel called La Piazetta so I went there and had a spaghetti alle vongole and a lovely glass of Pinot Grigio from Italy and topped it off with Pistachio gelato and a tiny espresso. They then brought me a special drink such as they serve after an Italian meal, usually it’s Limoncello, but they have their own recipe. It’s quite tasty. I walked the short distance home. 

It was a very, very pleasant day and I think my ankle is feeling better. I was unable to get the massage appointment that I wanted, but I checked AI and got some good advice on some quite simple massage that I can do myself just to get the circulation back. There is too much swelling keeping the fluids down and hence the swelling and pain. 

I have no plans for today. I think it’ll be very similar to yesterday but we’ll just see. Right now I’m sharing my space (or rather they are sharing with me) with a lot of birds, pigeons, some kind of blackbird, little birds, huge pelicans, and those other very beautiful black birds with sharp black wings that I always forget the name of, and the waves. 
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It’s really nice. Very nice. Thank you Puerto Vallarta.
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Yesterday I dismantled the last 10 years of my life. Due to unavoidable circumstances I had to close down my apartment in Puerto Vallarta unraveling a dream. It was bittersweet as I gave up the symbols of a life of adventure, music and friendships built around it.

The sorrow wasn’t about things. I know things are not important, but the memories attached to the things, the way I felt about them when I acquired them. Each brought me closer to the Mexican culture. I enjoyed living close to them and the little bits and pieces of history. The paper maché dolls, close friends that sat on top of my closet reminding me of a past I had always much admired. The perfect clay pottery, many pieces older than I, graced my shelves and evoked images of women transporting water from the community fountains or wells. I relished looking at them sometimes filled with replicas of exotic flowers or displaying, beautiful handmade necklaces the colors of Oaxaca. It was a good time, a rich time filled with life and music. But it was time to shut it down and move on. Significantly, it was the 10th anniversary of my residence at Casa Milagro..
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This was my month of the Lion.

“The Lion spirit is associated with invincibility, self-confidence and bravery. It is the fiercest spirit animal to face all life's adversities and challenges. It has a strong and unique symbolism. Whatever the challenge, the Lion can help you overcome it with nobility and serenity.”

Thank you Mr lion or Ms lioness. It took a lot of your energy to accomplish this transition.