Life in Ajijic-with lots of pictures of flowers - Marge

Here we are, living in Ajijic, an ancient village filled with expats, on a high plateau next to a vast shallow lake ringed by huge emerald hills (emerald! Not hyperbole!) in the central highlands of Mexico.

There is so much color here--pea green gates and midnight blue-and-pumpkin orange walls next to a wall the color of a purple crayon, and dutch blue door frames, and pink and white stripes painted down a wall, and decorative tiles that are lavender and yellow and chocolate brown and a cream colored cupola against the azure sky; and the flowers--so vivid they are almost ultraviolet, and magentas and an orange so perfect against the green leaves surrounding it that one feels a little stab of joy, just for a second; and the brightest sunshine yellows--spilling down the walls and flourishing in gardens and in pots hanging from cast iron hooks off balcony railings.

The village is small, the streets are narrow, all one-lane, paved with rocks and rough, bread-loaf cobblestones, lined with cars parked close against the curb-mirrors turned in, with sidewalks that suddenly slope or descend--trees growing out of them, in places-their leafy branches trimmed into cylinders or squares or cloud shapes; and the tiny tiendas hardly larger than a garage, with vegetables on crates and on cloths spilling out onto the sidewalks; and chicken roasting on a grill, under a canopy, surrounded by customers on folding chairs--occupying two parking spaces; and men rolling wheelbarrows full of tiny fish over the cobblestones, calling out to the women sweeping their steps; and ice sellers dragging wheeled coolers, and trucks carrying propane gas to fill up the tanks on the roofs of all the houses - with speakers mounted on the hood playing a jingle that I hear now even in my sleep, and trucks full of huge bottles of water for drinking--squeezing down the narrow streets; and dogs trotting purposefully by or lying in the sun in doorways or growling down at us furiously from rooftops, teeth bared, ribs showing.

We live in a mostly Mexican neighborhood. All day we hear music in Spanish; into the evening; sometimes through the night. And fireworks, a few all at once in the early morning and then silence; and the bells of the church down the street. Often we see processions-people walking behind a crucifix, or sometimes behind men carrying a statue of a saint, or behind a hearse. Today, musicians came first, followed by riders on horseback, some wearing sombreros, some with a child on the saddle in front, many drinking from a can of beer as they clopped along, reins held in one hand. It was a long procession, many horses filling the street, and behind the horses a line of white cars.

This is the rainy season; with thunder every night-so loud and long that one worries, just a little, that this time it really is the apocalypse; and fireworks in the darkest part of the night as I lie awake (conjugating Spanish verbs in my head)--that sound like gunshots; and-this is the tropics-so we have encountered many new insects and reptiles and arachnids and diseases: the lizard without a tail that lived under the stove when we first arrived, that fled the house, one day--practically bouncing down the stairs in its haste to go, down the stairs and down the sidewalk and away; and the giant black spider in the shower that Eric crushed with his shoe (yes, at my request), and the big black snake coiled in the grass by the lake that Eric saw while walking the dog; and the cucarachas at night, in the kitchen and in the hall; and the gecko that shared our house for awhile; and the many, many mosquitos now that the rains have come--bringing dengue with its fevers and headaches and aching bones; and flies--in the beer and on any food left out on the counter, and banging against the screen.

We have a house cleaner who comes every Wednesday-who speaks no English; we clean too, in the morning before she comes; and we have a gardener, who tends the plants bordering the little strip of lawn where we park the car and the bamboo trees growing in the house by the fountain and the cactus on the mirador and the red flowers in back, outside our bedroom.

I am learning Spanish and learning to be retired. Neither are as easy as I had expected. Without a job to go to, I find that I have turned my goal of Spanish fluency into a job. Don't know how many hours I have spent on Spanish every week-between the many classes, the private teacher, the conversation coach and the homework I assign myself. Have just noticed this about myself and am trying to learn to relax. Am working hard at it.

We have learned a lot since we arrived here: How to get new tires, where to get the car repaired, who to call for gas delivery, where to get a cell phone fixed, where to buy organic vegetables, how to get television stations in English, how to get health care (free for seniors!), how to get Mexican cell phone service, how to get water delivered, who to tip because they receive no wages (grocery store baggers!), how to get products shipped to Mexico, how to pay bills, where to find a great, cheap exercise class (zumba, on the malecon), where to get hearing aids, where to go for half-price dinner on Tuesdays.

We have learned a lot and we have a lot to learn because building a life in a new place takes time- especially when the place is in a different country with a different language and different culture and different money and even different measuring systems-kilograms, kilometers, centigrade. Some days I feel that we are living the dream; just like all those happy people on House Hunters International and in International Living Magazine; enjoying the low cost of living, the interesting food, the many welcoming people, the new friends, the beautiful country, and great health care; getting to spend more time doing fun things with Eric, having more time for art; and all the wonderful opportunities for learning and helping and appreciating life that Mexico offers.


Sometimes, though, when my Spanish runs out and I still haven't explained my problem, or when I see the dog with long, matted fur that I still haven't rescued (waiting for a chance), or when I find myself yearning for the taste of some food  I love but haven't found in Mexico, or feel a sudden stab of longing for a family member or friend left behind, I realize that, though I wouldn't trade my life now for the life I left (I would still be working--a 60 mile commute each way!), there is, and probably always will be, some bitter with the sweet.







**** I took the pictures of flowers on this page on various walks around Ajijic recently. ****

Welcoming guests to Puerto Vallarta - Eric

Janice relaxes very briefly on the beach

With guests set to fill up the empty bedrooms in our Ajijic home soon, it's instructive to look back on our attempts at hosting in Puerto Vallarta.
When you live in an international tourist destination like Puerto Vallarta, people visit you.
We hosted our four guests all within a four-week window. It's interesting to note the varying vacation styles.
First up was Marge's beloved sister Janice from New York City. She's a speech language pathology teacher in an inner-city high school: Works all the time, Extra duties at school in the evenings. Draws up daily individual lesson plans for each student into the early morning hours. Etc.
Ah, Puerto Vallarta would be the ideal decompression spot for her: Watching the sunset from our deck with a pitcher of margaritas. Lounging on the beach. Luxuriating in a relaxing massage on a grassy spot jutting out into the bay. In short, a total rejuvenation week.
So we picked her up at the airport about 5 p.m. after a long flight from New York, which included a layover  in Chicago.
"Show me the city," she demanded. We drove her on a circular path through Puerto Vallarta.
"Are there interesting places outside the city?" she asked. "Where are we going now?"
Marge replied, "We're going to our place. We thought you'd want to get settled in after your flight. We'll put a roast in the oven."
Janice retorted, "I didn't come to Puerto Vallarta to eat beef roast."
It  became instantly clear she was going to vacation as hard as she worked.

So began the Janice Grand Puerto Vallarta Tour.
That night we ate dinner at a restaurant on the beach and walked the malecon, Puerto Vallarta's famous boardwalk.
On Tuesday, we toured the Riviera Nayarit area north of the city, including the beach towns of San Pancho and Sayulita.
On Wednesday, Janice and Marge shopped in El Centro and then we went up river to El Rio for BBQ ribs and classic rock from the Zippers.
On Thursday, we took a boat tour of the estuary, ate at an authentic Mexican restaurant and watched the sunset on the malecon.
On Friday, Janice and Marge went on a taco tour, then we drove to points south and ended up eating at another beachfront restaurant before walking on the Los Muertos Pier.
On her final day, Janice finally sat on the beach briefly while Marge did a photo shoot of her in a new swimsuit. (Sports Illustrated has expressed interest.) We ate dinner at a restaurant that, surprisingly, was not on the beach.

Eric, Todd and Marge at Senor Frog

A week later, my son Todd came to visit. He didn't have a specific itinerary. He figured we lived here and knew where to go.
But he had already toured the hot spots of Mexico and the Caribbean with his cousin Thomas so he wasn't easily dazzled: Especially not with parent stuff like walking the boardwalk, listening to an oldies band or seeing where 1960's movie stars Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton lived 50 years ago.
Senor Frog was the solution. Senior Frog is a Spring Break magnet for the younger set. To give you an indication of its focus, there are about a dozen Senor Frog souvenir shops but only one restaurant/bar in Puerto Vallarta.
Wanting to be a good host but grumbling that this was like visiting San Francisco and eating at Applebee's, I agreed to go to the Senor Frog restaurant.
We ordered huge strawberry and banana margaritas, the young servers flirted with Marge and, somehow, we spent way more money than we had planned. In all fairness, I have to admit the food and drinks were surprisingly good and the portions were large.
Todd said he enjoyed his visit and it was really good to see him.
He left on Friday. Margie and Jean arrived on Saturday.
I surprised myself by how well-behaved I was with the urban and urbane couple, Marge's long-time friends from New York: No pointing out the restaurant where El Chapo's son and associates were kidnapped. No stage whispering that we were taking them up river to be disappeared on orders of the cartel.
But, Marge!: Going on and on about cocodrilos (crocodiles) and boa constrictors and scorpions, oh my!
They were really good sports as we took them on dusty, bumpy back roads, showed them giant cocodrilos, let our dog spray sand on them while digging under the restaurant table and made them use a primitive restroom where they had to scoop out a bucket of water to fill the toilet.
Margie and Jean didn't get to  eat on regular non-sand floors except when they escaped from us to enjoy their all-inclusive hotel meals or ate with other friends at a classy restaurant.
Despite all the indignities, they claimed they had fun with us. They even  checked out real estate listings and said they would consider moving to Puerto Vallarta.

Jean, Margie and Eric at the marina

Welcome to Ajijic - Eric

Now for something completely different.
Our first four months in Mexico were spent in Puerto Vallarta, an international tourist destination city on a saltwater bay. Since June, we've been in Ajijic, an expat-heavy village on a lake in the central highlands.
You might say Puerto Vallarta is for vacationing while Ajijic is for living.

Ajijic malecon in the evening

My introduction to Ajijic was a little rough.
Ajijic is 5,000 feet above sea level--2,000 feet higher than Snoqulamie Pass. I had to adjust to the altitude. One way to describe it is that I felt like I had been rode hard and put away wet. In other words, my get-up-and-go got up and went.
Not helping was a series of accidents, including backing into a parked truck with our car, getting stung by a bee and jamming my fingers in a sliding door.
Oh, and I took a header off a steep driveway ramp onto a cobblestone road. Head vs. rock and the rock won. I looked pretty bad at the time but the scars have healed.
No concussion. And I didn't have a concussion, either.

Head vs. rock and the rock won

At least, it wasn't the usual expat ankle sprain caused by a misstep on cobblestones.
But now that we are somewhat acclimated, the challenge is to make a good life here. As time goes by we will gain more friends and activities. We  do pal around with Robin, a Trump refugee from North Carolina, and her poodle dog Agatha, a champion licker.
Marge has been focussed on learning Spanish with several classes a week and numerous tutors. She is scaling back somewhat, but I still think she is aiming to become an interpreter at the U.N. She is also having great fun taking photos for blog posts and art projects.
I walk Otto on the picturesque malecon (lakeside boardwalk) every morning. My other big activity is "Film Aficionados." This guy shows great foreign and U.S. movies for free on Thursday afternoons at the Lake Chapala Society, a great resource center and sanctuary for expats. Living in this village in the middle of Mexico I don't know where he gets these movies, such as an Iranian film that was banned in that country and only shown in the West at two film festivals.
I guess that's the idea--come to Ajijic and find your own niche. Another guy produces a 20-page email list each week of live performances in the area. With so many retired gringos, there is an amazing array of good restaurants and bars--many with live music throughout the week. My favorite duo includes the winner of the Mexico "Rebecca Dare Look-A-Like Contest." They play Peace and Love music from the '60s and '70s. (Rebecca is a friend from Burien.)

Aquarius Duo every Thursday night at LaBodega

I'm happy to report our house is lizardless now. When we first moved in, there was a lizard living under the stove and another in the living room fountain.
The stove dweller was surprisingly large. When we entered the kitchen we would sternly tell it, "Now you get back under there" and it would scurry back to its temporary home. It eventually relocated to under the couch and then fled outside.
Technically, the fountain lizard was a gecko, like in the insurance commercials. Marge took it outside but it reappeared. Upon a second ejection, it left permanently.
With just the two of us plus Otto, it's kind of embarrassing how big our house is. Besides the master bedroom on the first floor, there are three more on the second floor and an outdoor balcony.
Up another flight of stairs is a rooftop terrace (mirador) with a sweeping view of the lake and surrounding hills. We occasionally have wine on the balcony before dinner. We used to have our coffee on the mirador in the morning. But it's kind of hot on the roof, even early. Also you need to drink two cups of coffee to get enough energy to walk up all those steps. After you've already had your coffee, why bother?
With all those extra bedrooms and an Ajijic housing crunch, we might be tempted to sublet the second floor for more than our rent. But we couldn't get away with that because our cleaning lady is also the property manager. We'll fill the bedrooms temporarily when company comes in August
In life, there are always trade-offs. Our house is close enough to walk to the lake, village and Lake Chapala Society.
But there are more mosquitos near the lake and more noise in the neighborhood.
It can not be overstated how much mosquitos love Marge and Otto hates sudden noises. Marge has devised several strategies to combat the bites, including various poisons and duct taping her pants to her shoes. Not all all attractive to the pests, I have callously suggested she wear a burqa.

'Get back under the stove!'