beauty and the breach

Beauty and functionality are uneasy partners.

As I discovered with my Moravian star light fixtures (you don't light up my life).

After renting in Mexico for almost six years, I decided this area of Mexico was going to be my permanent home. And, if it was to be, I needed -- a permanent home.

So, I started shopping around with only some vague notions of what I wanted in a house. I must have looked at close to 30 houses without finding anything that remotely interested me.

Well, there was the house that had first drawn me to Barra de Navidad, but it had passed from being a dream house to a bother. And there was another house I really liked, but I failed to win the bidding process.

I had almost given up looking when I spotted some photographs of an elegant-lined house I had not seen in my wanderings. I set an appointment with Ale, my realtor, and met her in an area of town I did not know existed.

The moment I walked into the courtyard, I was enthralled. The house had everything I wanted -- even though I had been uncertain what it was. Contemporary. Modern. Mexican.

I had spent 15 minutes looking through the house. When I returned to the courtyard, I glanced up and saw what it was that had attracted me to the place. Its lines. Its flat planes created a sense of order and peace. Luis Barragán would have approved.

Within weeks, the house was mine.

I do not recall when we had our first rain after I moved in. It must have been only a few days. With the rain came leaks. Two major leaks.

The former owner who was also the architect-builder of the house, told me she was aware of the leaks and had arranged for the contractor to repair them. At her expense.

The problem was easy to diagnose. Most roofs here are flat. Flat surfaces are conducive to collecting rain water. And if water collects, it will find the most convenient way to drain. That often leads to leaks inside the house.

But this was not just a roof. It was a terrace designed for living space. And it would soon become my exercise track.

The usual solutions are to increase the grade of the roof to facilitate drainage and to apply one of the globular sealers seen on most Mexican roofs. Neither would work on the terrace without reducing its appearance and purpose.

So, the contractor replaced several rows of tile in the hope of finding the weak sisters. I talked with the young man who was laying the new tiles. He did not seem to be very happy. I suspect there was a pay issue.

The fix did not work. It simply moved the leaks.

I had a second contractor try another solution. Same result. Leaks, but in a new place.

That contractor suggested a drastic revision. Pull up all the tiles, change the grade to the opposite side of the terrace, and install pipes to drain into the courtyard.

It was a non-starter as an idea. The terrace would be useless as a walking track and the Barragánesque lines that attracted me to the house would be ruined.
I have now had two additional contractors look at the terrace. I pointed out that the current leaks appear to be coming from spots where the mortar has pulled away from the tiles in the area of the original repair. The contractors agreed the mortar probably was inferior -- a parting shot of spite from the original contractor.

One of the contractors and I agreed on a proposed plan of repair. It would entail a lot of work and be expensive, but it sounded like a good solution.

And then nothing happened. I sent several email and left telephone messages. No response.

It was the same drill with the other contractor. Approved proposal. And then nothing.

Both of the contractors are Mexican, but they regularly work on building projects with northerners. If they were too busy to do the work, I would think they would simply tell me. But this may be another expectation based on faulty understanding of culture.

A friend works regularly with the second contractor. I am going to try to get the three of us together to get this project on the road -- or the roof. Each rainstorm this summer and autumn has been a reminder that Robert Frost was correct. "Something there is that doesn't love a wall." Or roof.

I have enlisted to be the steward of this house and its lines. Somehow, I need to find a compatible marriage between beauty and its elusive mate functionality.