Carlito's Way II: A Beginners Guide To Almost-But-Not-Eaxactly Squatting in Mexico

"I dropped him off at a truck stop near Chester about two nights ago, said he planned on sleeping there. He told me 'All a man needs to sleep is a bench to lie on and a cold one to nurse him to bed.' I said it might be a little dangerous alone, but he said he was carrying his butterfly knife and had just got his green belt in Tae Kwan Do." - Rob Earle, Truck driver describing Former Vice President Joe Biden hitchhiking to the Democratic National Convention in Charlotte, NC (Source: The Onion)

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 It occurs to me that several of my posts have mentioned my somewhat unorthodox living situation here in Nuevo Progresso, but there has been little in the way of detail on the day-to-day practicality of living in the remains of a very nearly abandoned taqueria. A few of you, my tens of dozens of readers have had questions about our (Tessa, my beloved feline companion on this and many other adventures, and myself) living in a situation such as it is.

[[The first bit of art I hung at Carlito's Cafe. Seemed appropriate.]]

So in an effort to "give the people what they want" this particular edition of 'Dispatches from The Mayan Empire" will focus on our lush accommodations in this strange little border town. I feel I should forward this post by saying, honestly, that no matter how much of this comes off as bitter complaining I, we I should say, are most grateful for this old building we temporarily call home.

[["Do you like Hughie Lewis &. The News? Their early stuff was a little too 'New Wave' for me, but when 'Sports' came out in '84, I think they really came into their own. Commercially as well as artistically."]]

As far as squats go, and I refer to it as a squat only because its an old commercial building not set up specifically as a place of residence, and thus far any sort of rent we have paid has been me working at the strip club and keeping the property secure and free of characters even more shady and nefarious than myself or Tessa. Those of you who know my cat know just how shady she is, she started carrying a tiny switchblade because I trim her front claws.

[[The main room, more or less, the most usable portion of Carlito's Cafe.]]

I've not hung much of the considerable collection of weird art I brought with me. Most of what is up used screws/nails that were already in the walls. There is no guarantee we will be here long enough to worry about proper decor. Some is necessary however, personalizing the space is important for a certain required level of comfort in the "home". One should always strive to make the place you live comfortable, with  a degree of familiarity. Its vital, at least for my damaged psyche, to be able to call a squat/house a home.

[["The Bar", right next to my laptop. A shocking revelation no doubt.]]

Two thirds of the building lacks most amenities we grow accustomed to without realizing it. Insulation, windows, locks on doors or windows that are merely mix-matched bits of particle board covering where a window once might have been. When I moved in most of the doors and "windows" in those sections of the building were very easily accessible from the outside. A combination of bungee cords, a kilo of steel nails, scrap wood found in and around the building, live and poorly insulated electrical wiring, and a bit of ingenuity have greatly enhanced its security.

[[And whats behind Door Number One? Lit by the lantern I've had since I found it in the basement of my place in Forest Hills.]]

I'm not saying I set traps at the points of ingress, but what I will say is if anyone decides to enter Carlito's illicitly they will find themselves quickly in need of serious medical attention. For those of you who know me well this will come as little-to-no surprise. I like feeling secure in my home, no matter where or what it might be.

[[One of the 'back doors' in the disused sections, though not entirely visible my mods would make Angus MacGuyver proud.]]

Tessa seems to have claimed the unused portion of the building as her own personal domain. Partly because her new litter box is in there, and partly because there were some shelves that allowed her to climb all the way into the ceiling to explore. After fetching her from there three times I decided to remove those shelves. Something she has yet to forgive me for it seems. Its cold as fuck in there, hence the hanging of curtains between the main area and "Tess's Domain'. Still, despite her inability to get into the ceiling she still seems pleased with having her own area of the place. 

She has always enjoyed having somewhere in which we live to call her own. The fact that the area seems to attract the odd rodent pleases her as well. She is a vicious little predator after all, and canned tuna can only sate her craving for raw meat for so long.

[[The rest of Carlito's Cafe, now claimed by Ms. Tessa for her own uses.]]

Though I offer no photos of it, there is a bathroom. It works and everything! Well, the toilet does. The sink is hit or miss, and there is no shower of any sort. I was told I could shower at the strip club, but that happened exactly once. They have a tiny tiled room with a barely functioning toilet and no actual shower. The janitor fills a large bucket and puts some sort of electrical device inside to heat it, from there you wash yourself in the shower stall with the luke warm bucket of mystery. 

So that was my first and only experience "showering" at the strip club. I can give myself a proper "whores bath", tops and tails as it were, right here in the cold comfort of Carlito's Cafe. At least here I can get hot water from my electric kettle. 

[[The kitchen/appliance section. Mr. Tiny Ceramic Heater and Mr. Electric Kettle.]]

[[The exterior of our humble abode. Still advertising culinary delights long since vanished from this place. The glass front door is covered by a giant sheet/print of Van Goughs 'Starry Night'. Nothing wrong with adding a little culture to ones squat.]]

And finally we come to the boudoir, the sleeping area where Tessa and I make our nightly effort to keep the chill night at bay. We have insulated the holes in the other two sections as best as can be expected when working with plastic bags, and the double curtain helps to cut the cold as well. Thankfully between the pile of blankets I brought (I've lived in the desert before, I know what winter nights are like here) and our new friend Mr. Tiny Ceramic Heater, we usually find ourselves rather cozy. Cozy enough that when I was sick the last few days I slept right through 3 alarms. The second day I missed work the manager came looking for me. Once I opened the door he took a step back and told me to go back to bed, so I'm guessing I didn't look well. Can't tell, the bathroom doesn't have a mirror.

[[A pile of blankets, swanky leopard print pillows, and a deflated air mattress, what more do you need? Not pictured; warm, fuzzy cat that insists on sleeping next to me every night.]]

[[Tessa, making every effort to ensure I am a productive writer. As usual. She is so... helpful. Yes, that is the word. Helpful.]]

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