Right behind us is Honali, a new bar, wildly unpopular with the neighbors. The reason is noise. Weekends feature music, very loud and late. Nobody can sleep. Except us.
Though we are closest to it, our thick cement walls block the noise almost totally.
Honali does have some positives though. The building itself is quite interesting architecturally, different from anything else in town.
And a darling pot-bellied pig lives there. Anna first met him when he squealed at her from his wobbly dog crate. She gave him her banana peel and gained a friend for life. We pass him every time we leave home. Often, he is loose, rooting around the property.
A word about the corner lot on which Honali sits. Two years ago we watched the transformation from a lovely stream running through pretty jungle to dirt pile rising above the dry stream bed. Now the lot features a sunken pit, containing tables and chairs surrounding a huge bonfire. All I can see is rainy season, with chairs, tables and charred logs swirling around that pit.
Of course, we are forbidden to patronize the place. But, having been without internet again for several days, I dropped in to surf the net. I was hoping to connect to them permenantly, by-passing our unreliable connection. And, of course, our landlord Lili biked by and spotted me immediately. I defended myself by saying I was doing undercover scouting of the offending business. I did photograph the license, which permitted liquor from 10 AM to 2:30 AM. Lili pointed out that it expired that very day AND was from another, closed restaurant.
She had met with the owner, stating the neighbors' concerns, but could tell from watching Lie to Me, that the owner was lying from the git-go.
Guess we'll have to wait to meet Miss Piggy.
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