Author: ChrisClark

Strangers in our house. No option except managing everything myself. And I couldn’t. Not physically or emotionally. If I’d had a nervous breakdown or injured my back, what then.

Ben spent 3 weeks in the 5 bed Assisted Living/Nursing Home facility and was clearly miserable. But he needed that time to strengthen his body, his legs especially, to prepare for the rigors of chemotherapy. And I needed that time to gather my strength and prepare for the hard physical and emotional work that I instinctively knew was coming.  I knew from the start that we’d need help at home and thankfully he could afford it.

It isn’t easy sharing the intimate space of the act of dying with the person you’ve shared everything with for 20 years, or, for that matter, with the strangers you so desperately need there. Somehow, for the most part, you blend into each other’s spaces while at the same time setting some boundaries. “I’m very tired” I told the 21 and 25 year old paramedics rotating 24 hour shifts. “Please don’t wake me at night unless it’s an emergency.” I knew sleeping well was the best medicine for me. The one thing that would keep me going. I knew they were capable and willing. They respected that need for space and only awakened me once in the 4 weeks Ben was at home. One night I tried sleeping in the twin bed next to his hospital bed but he had a restless night and we both suffered through it.

(I realize while I’m writing this that my geriatric and hospice nursing experience taught me that caregivers MUST take care of themselves in order to take care of others. And it’s true. Don’t ever doubt it.)

Sharing space in this situation required sharing space with new stuff, moving from beloved treasures to IV poles and hospital beds, to drawers emptied out only to be filled with medications and medical supplies, emotionally moving in and out of wanting to remain in this space, this beautiful, comfortable house, and wanting to leave it behind to move on to a simpler space, a simpler life without pain and heartache. I think we both felt that.

It isn’t easy sharing space with grief, allowing it, allowing the “stages” as you float in and out of them. It is truly a process (and not a linear one) that takes patience and time as you let go of the past and move toward acceptance while remaining, as much as you can, in the moment.

Ben and I spent 20 years sharing space, 16 of them in Hillsborough, North Carolina, and just shy of 4 here in Mexico. Tough sometimes, especially during Covid. Both of us independent and set in our ways. But over time we figured it out, often retreating to separate rooms to read, write, or touch base with friends and family. That changed a bit when Ben fell ill, before we knew how ill he was. Looking back now I see that all those interruptions at my door were pleas for filling the space, the empty, frightening space…to relieve his loneliness, his fear of what I now believe he intuitively felt he was facing. “It ain’t right, Honey,” he’d say in a silly voice, attempting to downplay his angst. “Somethin’ just ain’t right.” Or “Thanks for all you’re doing for me,” he’d say. To which I’d reply in earnest, “Your turn’s coming”. Clueless at times, regardless of my training.

We just passed through Día de Los Muertos here with its jumble of gaiety, sorrow, ritual, and promise. Again sharing space with others experienced in loss. There is much to learn from the locals who routinely share their space with loved ones who’ve left this earth. They are practical, loving and wise, lingering in the “thin veil” of their departed loved ones for only a few days each year, to honor and respect them before moving on to the tasks at hand.

I found myself in that space this week as I attended, with friends, the lighting of the terra cotta plaque with Ben’s name engraved on it, mine beside it. He now shares space with all the others honored on that wall in the village. He is now part of the space of Mexico, a land he dearly loved.

It’s up to me now to find what/who I need to share my space with. Right now it is our pup, grieving in his own way, wanting his space to be filled with the sound and movement of other pups and people. And it is space shared with a rumbling of ideas and hopes and dreams, of finding who I am now as I pass out of the sharing of life with men for over 52 years, to learning to be alone in the spaces I occupy. (Something I’d not intended or imagined so soon.) Right now I share that space with the cool evening breeze, the crisp blue skies, the fields of glowing yellow Mexican “sunflowers”, the people who continue to support me, and this house and its memories, as well as its possibilities. Sharing space is not always an easy thing. Yet it is the gift we are given as we experience the human side of life.

Keeps the apple away??? Ok, so it’s been a confusing couple of years, right? Though everything is relative for sure. Others have had/are having it much worse. Still, a tough enough year (since last April) that I’ve found it quite hard to sit down to write. Anything. Not only did Covid put a hold on socializing and motivation, but Ben has been dealing with multiple health issues, bringing pretty much everything else to a halt for a few months. 

Navigating the medical system here, especially compared to my comfort level with the US system (even its foibles), has been a major learning curve. People always ask when they find out we’re here – How is the medical care? It’s a 3rd world country, right? So how could it even be decent? But it is. In fact I would say the only thing they lack in some cases is organization. It’s been frustrating to go in for an appointment only to be told you were down for tomorrow, not today. Even when you have the card they wrote on to prove otherwise. Computer scheduling systems don’t seem to exist. Or does it?

But mostly it’s been ok. 

The toughest part I’d say is dealing with specialists who come only once or twice per week from Guadalajara. Sometimes appointments book fast and you’re left with either waiting weeks or traipsing into the city of 6 million, hoping your GPS works accurately. (Ours didn’t recently and we were 45 minutes late for an appointment. “No problem” the doctor himself said when I called to let his office know. “We’ll wait. And I’ll send a map to your WhatsApp”. Would that ever happen in the States?)

WhatsApp is a big deal here. For all kinds of businesses. It’s the best way to communicate with some doctors, though busy as they are they may be slow in answering. In a recent encounter the doctor let me know that she only reads her messages in the evening and we need to call (WhatsApp) if it is urgent. Links to office information and directions are often done on WhatsApp when Guadalajara is involved. In Ajijic and the surrounding Lakeside area phone calls and sometimes emails suffice.

Lab results are emailed to you and your doctor usually in a timely manner though there are times you have to remind them. Delays are sometimes blamed on computer issues which can certainly happen with an overload on local systems. Diagnostic test results are handed to you within minutes. Colonoscopy, CT scans, etc. You pay your bill and leave with results in hand. It’s up to you to follow up with the doctor who ordered the tests.

In hospital you are not discharged until your bill is paid. Some accept cash only, others (higher end) accept credit cards. Your IV remains in your arm and your medicines stay in the nurse’s drawer until you return to them with your stamped receipt.

Insurance. Some take Medicare Advantage plans for emergencies. We haven’t experienced that yet. We’ve paid out of pocket for everything. Consider that a colonoscopy costs as little as $390. Doctor visits run $17-50.

We bought a MetLife policy here through a local agent but it requires obtaining facturas, an official receipt that office staff are totally annoyed by. Good luck convincing them to get it to you. And if it’s from last year – or even last month – forget it. We finally realized we were drowning in papers trying to make it all work so we made an appointment with our agent. Why didn’t we call before? Looks like – we’ll see – they’re going to do most of the work of tying it all together and submitting it. Of course, then you have to wait and hope for approval. (Last year when Ben needed a procedure, approval was taking too long. The doctor himself told us to meet him in the ED of a specific hospital in Guadalajara then insurance would HAVE to pay. The doctor and the hospital were paid on the spot. We’re still waiting for reimbursement for tests, consultations and medications.) If you forget to get each receipt, medical order, lab and diagnostic results, good luck. There are no connecting computer systems here that I’m aware of. Now, after the fact, I’d say collect it all in a very systematic manner. Organize. Organize. Keep good records. Keep everything. Ask for help along the way. Someday maybe we’ll get the hang of it.

Most doctors here are trained in top notch medical schools in Guadalajara or Mexico City. They speak excellent English (though the accent can be a problem if you’re hard of hearing-take someone with you to interpret), treat you like an equal, and for the most part are adept at explaining everything, including costs. You definitely don’t get much of that in the States.

We have friends whose doctors have actually taken them to Guadalajara facilities for tests. Friends whose doctors have made house calls to administer IV fluids. Our GP came to the house last year to test us for Covid after we’d been exposed. Hospice doesn’t really exist in this area. Families take care of their elderly and doctors handle palliative care in the home. I’ve recently learned of a home health agency for the gringo population and a large “continuous care” facility is well underway nearby. This is a retirement community and everything revolves around that. If you have the local government insurance here (similar to Medicaid), you are eligible for government run hospitals. We’ve been told that you must take food, blankets, and a companion for those hospital stays, as well as purchasing things like wound care products and sometimes even surgical “parts”. Lines and wait times can be quite long.

As a former nurse I’ve wondered what wages are here. A recent conversation with a radiologist was a bit shocking. For “half time”, as he called a 7-8 hour shift, 5 days/week, he earns 30,000 pesos per month or about $1500. The result is that professionals add extra duties (like coming to Ajijic clinics and working weekends) to increase their income. I have no idea what medical training costs are or if they have loans to be repaid as in the US. Mexico is pretty much a “pay as you go” country. I asked my dermatologist this week if medical training here is expensive. “I went several years ago,” she said, “and I think I paid the equivalent of $100 US dollars per year. And the training was excellent.”

As for routine care, there is a wide variety of GP’s, some Mexican, some not. There’s also a small hospital in the center of town that acts as a clinic. We’ve had diagnostic tests done there (again, can’t leave til you pay) and checkups for sinus infections, minor injuries, etc. Adequate, thoughtful care in a simple, clean facility.

The private hospitals in “Guad” are generally very nice, even hotel quality sometimes. Two privately owned hospitals have been built here in Ajijic since we arrived. Targeted for gringos. Like Anywhere USA, reviews are mixed. There is a functional medicine doctor here now and an acupuncturist or two. GP’s are somewhat versed in herbs and vitamins and happy to recommend according to your interest. (My gut issues have recently been soothed by guava leaf tea on my doctor’s advice.) As more gringos come to town demand increases and services arise to accommodate. It is an ever-changing world. In more ways than one.

I wrote this several months ago. Since then our interaction with the medical system increased dramatically. The biggest barriers were language and insurance approval. It’s a long story. Perhaps for another time. I will only say that in the end, though the medical care was topnotch and – according to a close friend and Physician’s Assistant in the US – right on target, Ben succumbed to Multiple Myeloma on July 3rd in our home surrounded by friends and caregivers. The last 3 months of his life were incredibly difficult but the support we received was, and is, overwhelming.

The pre-hispanic Olmec, first major civilization in México, created some of the earliest known painted “wall” art in Central America. Enter the Spanish and Catholicism and you have a widespread venue for religious teachings. Add to that – a “readymade platform for the politically motivated” – and Voila! the birth of the Mexican mural movement.

México is well-known for its “Big Three”, its most famous and popular muralists commissioned by the post-Mexican Revolution (1920) government to begin “a new era for Mexico and its newly empowered people”. The “Big Three” created a variety of large scale murals all over México. The new government wanted a new identity and a way to offer its people a sense of pride and cultural beauty. Murals appealed to and educated a mostly illiterate population.

The most renowned of the “Big Three”, Diego Rivera, husband of popular artist Frida Kahlo and subject of many murals himself, began his depictions of the “noble and glorious” working class with the first commissioned mural in Mexico City at Escuela Nacional Preparatoria (where Frida was a student). Diego visited and lived in the United States several times, painting commissioned murals in California, New York City and Detroit, where his unexpected inclusion of Lenin and symbols of Communism offended the Rockefellers who had commissioned it. The work was covered over and Rivera returned to México. Diego died in 1957, leaving behind a wide legacy as painter, political activist and womanizer.

Jalisco-born José Clemente Orozco, a caricaturist and illustrator (illustrating John Steinbeck’s book The Pearl two years before his death in 1949), portrayed mankind’s suffering and the horrors of war in his murals and frescoes in government buildings of Guadalajara, and in colleges in New York, California and Dartmouth. Like Rivera, Orozco spent time in New York where he witnessed the 1929 stock market crash. Combined with his traumatic experience during the Mexican Revolution and the rise of fascism in Europe, Orozco’s work took on a dark, ominous look that left him “Mexico’s not-so-favorite son”.

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(While writing this I came across an article about muralist Orozco in the latest Guadalajara Reporter, April 2-8. Orozco Metafíasco, a tribute to his work and the 100 years since the start of the Mexican muralist movement, is showing in Guadalajara’s Museo de Las Artes until May 29th. Closed Mondays.)

David Alfaro Siqueiros (1896-1974) was a young radical, blending his bold and optimistic view of the Mexican Revolution with his visions of science and machinery. His work was guided by use of equipment, materials and techniques he discovered while studying in Los Angeles in 1932. His early days in the army exposed him to the culture and daily struggles of the poor and working people of México. He also traveled throughout Europe where he was heavily influenced by artists both past and present. He was a Communist who famously led an attack on Leon Trotsky’s house in Mexico City in a failed attempt to assassinate him. (See Wikipedia for more information.)

The Muralist movement (1920-1970) rejected the traditional venues for production, showing and selling of art. The painting of walls throughout the country was inspired by indigenous Mexican materials and techniques. Over time a proliferation of street art arose throughout Central and Southern America. Blank walls became showcases for images of Catholicism and indigenous Mexican religions, as well as political statements. They became ” a vehicle for education and the improvement of society”.

These days street art projects proliferate throughout many areas of México, inspired I’m sure by the earlier Mexican muralists. Websites and blog posts showcase the results. Social media/Instagram spread the word. In 2015 Las Palmitas, a low-income neighborhood in Pachuca, México, came together with artists to turn the hillside barrio into a grand colorful mountainside mural, painting facades of over 200 homes in bright candy colors that extended 16,000 sq. ft. into the barrio’s narrow streets, bringing people together in community spirit. (theguardian.com)

Ajijic is the proud home to two internationally known local painters who continue to brighten our streets with murals symbolic of the history of our area. Efren Gonzales is now director of our local cultural center. He is well known for his paintings depicting historical symbology and typical scenes of the Lakeside area (ie., the markets). Jesus Lopez Vega has spent the past 13+ years studying the history of Ajijic and is working on a handwritten/painted book about his findings. His murals depict mystical “visions of the ancients” and native traditions.

Another government program that continues today is known as Pueblo Mágico, a five year work program geared toward attracting tourists, thus increasing revenue to the small towns (pueblas). Towns nominated must be an example of beauty, historical importance, or natural wonders. The designation is similar to UNESCO World Heritage Site declaration. In December 2020 Ajijic, Jalisco, (where I live) was awarded Pueblo Mágico status and the work began. Walls began turning colors. Faces, animals, landscapes, and geometric designs started showing up everywhere, turning Ajijic into a most colorful place to live. Murals are part of México now, a welcome and expected part of the “color in the streets”!

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Hard to believe that 3 years ago this morning we were serenaded by a brass band at 6:15am. Well, maybe not serenaded because as it turned out it was the day Mexicans here in Ajijic celebrate their construction workers and there happened to be one right across the street. But we didn’t know that, of course, so we smiled with delight, standing on our terrace in the drizzling rain, while the band played on.

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It took about 10 months to go from deciding to retire and move to actually landing in Guadalajara then taking a taxi (drivers there don’t know Ajijic very well and rarely speak English) to our little pink Mexican casa. During that time I resigned from my nursing job, Ben shut down his jewelry business, we visited the Mexican consulate in Raleigh 2 or 3 times, made numerous phone calls, tried to explain to my son, had a big gathering/potluck to explain our plan then sold 85% of our belongings, including our 3 vehicles. We worked our tails off to make it happen. We were motivated, psyched. This blog was born of that effort in an attempt to share the logistics, feelings and in’s and out’s of our big adventure.

A lot has happened during that time, of course: we bought a car, got our Mexican driver’s licenses, took Spanish classes for awhile, became permanent residents, moved from a noisy construction project right beside us to a lovely modern home in a small gated community 2 weeks after the Covid lockdown hit (and all that entailed), learned the ropes on paying bills, buying food, driving through the country, explored places like Oaxaca, Pátzcuaro, Tapalpa, visited the indigenous villages and artisans nearby, began making a new group of interesting friends, and so much more. It has indeed been – and continues to be – a big adventure.

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There’ve been a few health issues to deal with. That plus Covid slowed our hopes of traveling widely. But the places we have been, on toll roads and backroads, have shown us the beauty of this country. We have felt safe. We have grown to love the Mexican people who are so much more than the US media would have you believe. They are kind and friendly and quick to smile, quick to help you with your Spanish, quick to help you with just about anything.

Part of life here involves stepping up to help those less fortunate through food banks, employment with a decent wage, helping with medical bills, etc. Recent torrential rains clawed tons of mud and debris from the mountainsides, devastating many small Mexican homes and businesses. The local government, neighbors and gringos stepped in to offer immediate support. The annual Feria held in November generates a year’s income for artisans brought from all over the country. Canceled for 2 years now due to Covid. Our local “gringo” organization that provides so many resources for those of us from the US and Canada – the Lake Chapala Society – has stepped up since protocols have relaxed (masks and gel required) to provide a venue to sell small amounts of crafts easily shipped from the artisans, giving them at least some income.

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In May of 2020 we adopted our 20 lb. mini schnauzer Tumi, thinking it might be years before we could travel. He is high energy and high maintenance but has brought us so much joy. We have no regrets…except when lightning booms or cohetes (fireworks) pop. Like many other dogs, he hates the noise and hides shivering until surrounded with loving arms. We’ve made new friends walking him through nearby cobblestoned (not as romantic as it sounds) streets, both human (we talk) and canine (he “talks” to them). Can’t imagine life without him.

The architecture of places like Guanajuato, the variety of the geography, and the craftwork of artisans, the numerous celebratory rituals, and the glorious weather (no, México is not just desert and not just hot) are reason enough to be here. And we have barely touched the surface. We have friends visiting over the next 4 months. After that we’ll plan trips to Mexico City, Chiapas, and other places of interest. We don’t want to miss a thing. So the things we thought we’d settle into, like painting classes, major hiking, Healing Touch and aromatherapy, have all been set aside for now. It’s a different time in our lives. We don’t want to waste a minute of it.

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Postscript: The hardest part of all this has been leaving longtime friends and family behind. My sweet granddaughter Hazel Grace was born 2 months after we left. Covid put a crimp in seeing her regularly but FaceTime has kept us in the loop as she grows “like a weed”. Much love and many hugs go to my son Japhy, my daughter-in-law Toni and mi nieta Hazie. I’m not sure they’ll ever understand why we did this but I hope someday they’ll come visit.

I thought I’d be writing about Día de Los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, for this post. About how it was different from two years ago. But, honestly, I just didn’t enjoy it much this year, not after the magic of 2019. Color me spoiled. I didn’t go to the cemetery because they were only allowing 10 people in at a time to celebrate with their loved ones. The usual all day celebration with food, drink, and music was banned so I figured local folks needed to be in that cemetery a lot more than I did. Still, I suspect that’s where the true celebration was happening. That and the lighting of the wall of candles after dark. But we were home by then, not willing to stand in the narrow space between the church and the wall with a crowd.

Streets that were honored with numerous ofrendas (altars) in 2019 saw few this years. And the tapetes de aserrin – sawdust carpets – that graced the streets below the plaza in 2019 were sorely absent this year. Instead there was a solemn parade of Catrinas on the ciclopista (bike path) running parallel to our main street. We managed that crowd by moving frequently and leaving quickly.

The Friday and Saturday following that Tuesday celebration were honored with crafts from Mexican artisans at sales held at Lake Chapala Society. LCS, as we call it, is a local organization sitting on property near the lake donated years ago by an adventuresome woman named Neill James. But that is a story for another day. LCS offers classes, information, events, medical screening, a library and a second hand book/DVD store, among other things. For many of us who move here it is a lifeline.

Two years ago I posted a blog about the Feria Maestros del Arte, an amazing annual event held in nearby Chapala each November. Many of the 70-80 artisans, coming from all over México, made their entire year’s salary at that event. Covid, of course, put an end to that for now. So LCS stepped in to offer a space and time for “mini ferias” to be held. Artisans cannot afford to come for such a small event (two 4 hour days) so local LCS members volunteer to man the tables of crafts shipped from distant areas of México to be sold. At this latest of three events a few ceramic artists came from Tonalá, a craft community on the outskirts of Guadalajara, about an hour away. All the money from sales goes to the artisans. Ceramics, fabrics, toys, jewelry, and paintings are among the items available. Many of us miss the annual event and appreciate the opportunity to support the artisans in this way.

Other events are coming up in December and January. I imagine they will be smaller than usual also. Meanwhile, I’m enjoying fall in México. Ben is in North Carolina for two weeks where it’s cold and gray and often rainy. I’m gloating a bit as I walk Tumi each morning, capturing the feeling and colors of fall here in the Central Highlands. Cornstalks dried from the intense sun rustle in the light breeze. Most have been chopped down with machetes, fragments left as fodder for horses to enjoy. Poinsettias are coming into full bloom while morning glories wind their way through Mexican sunflowers and bougainvillea.

The rainy season ended just after our traumatic floods a few weeks ago, floods that left many with partially or completely destroyed homes and roads damaged and impassible. It was heartwarming to see how the gringo residents kicked in to help those in need. An opportunity to give back, to be part of the larger community of what we call Lakeside.

The air is dry now, with dust kicking up from car wheels and lush green foliage turning to shades of gray and brown. Most of us here like the rainy season best, but even now Nature is still in bloom, still filled with birdsong and gorgeous sunsets of pink, blue, and lavender clouds over the lake and mountains. The nights are cool in the 40’s-50’s but the sun when you live at 5200′ is intense by late morning.

We’ll settle in for the winter now, well, until we go to the beach next month. Meanwhile a few friends will gather here with us for Thanksgiving and we will be grateful for them, all we have around us, and the opportunity to be part of another culture.

I’m thinking it was our 4th trip to Patzcuaro, this trip we made last week. It’s comfortable, we know it, we feel at home there now. On arrival, greeted by Hotel Casa Encantada manager Luis, we were invited to upgrade to the “Gran Sala” since our requested room (Ángel) was still occupied. We’re picky. We hang out a lot. So we always ask for a sofa. The Gran Sala has a beautiful great room that looks out onto the street, along with bed and bath. And sofa. Gorgeous! Proprietress Victoria Ryan obtained the property in 1998 and has spent the past 23 years turning it into a charming art-filled Mexican getaway preferred by many, like us, who visit the town. With the plaza a 5 minute walk away it is a perfect location.

After some tacos and a brief look around we headed back to enjoy our room. Our entry into the town had been a bit traumatic for me. Shortly before we hit the main street we encountered a double line of young people wearing hats and a few, masks, 1 or 2 of them pretty scary looking. They were so close together we could barely pass between them, shaking “rattles” and calling out loudly. (Turns out they were students “begging” for financial assistance to continue their education. Whew.) As I was trying to collect myself from this minor trauma we were stopped by 2 policemen, obviously detaining white SUV’s. No English. “I’m not getting out. No español”, I told them nervously. One checked the VIN number on the windshield and the other came to my door motioning to look under the carpet beneath my feet. He wiped a metal plate clean then looked at his partner and said “They’re good.” His partner looked at us with a grin and in English said: “OK. Thanks. You can go.” If he only knew how many horrible stories I’ve read about cops stopping you and making it tough. No pictures on that one.

The next day we wandered out again, heading to the huge plaza that is always buzzing with activity, but not before meeting 2 interesting folks, gringos living in Guanajuato. That’s what I love about Hotel Casa Encantada. You always meet interesting folks. Nancy and Mike asked to join us for breakfast and we were so glad they did. They have friends in Ajijic and considered living here at one point. A great new connection.

It’d been 2 years since we’d visited Pátzcuaro, thanks to Covid, and we saw right away that the place had grown, as had the crowds. Luckily most people wore masks and gel was provided in most business doorways. This plaza is one of the best people-watching places I know of so we wandered through every day and every evening we stopped at the helado (ice cream) vendor and found a bench where we ate our fresh strawberry treat, literally the best I’ve had since childhood hand-cranked days. Though signs tell people to keep off the lush green grass, children (and dogs) are allowed. What fun to see them frolicking, enjoying themselves. I doubt many have that luxury at home. Grassy yards are not commonplace in México except in gringo communities.

This plaza, Plaza Vasco de Quiroga, is one of the largest in México I’m told, a large square with crisscross walkways to a center fountain, surrounded on all 4 sides by rows of businesses, new and old. El Cairo Papelería opened in 1913 and this was the first time I’d found it open to customers. El Asadero had just opened when we visited 2 years ago and we were happy to see it going strong. Simple Mexican food, cafeteria style, offered up by 2 young sisters and their staff. We saw no empty store fronts, only familiar Mexican craft stores, municipal offices, restaurants, etc. Business was booming.

Once again we heard the clacking of wooden shoes on the plaza sidewalks and turned to see a troop of hombres doing La Danza de los Viejitos (The Dance of the Old Men), a traditional Mexican folk dance and favorite scene of mine. This time some little guys were included, increasing crowd approval and photo ops.

It was not uncommon this time to see riders on immaculately groomed and outfitted horses prancing through the streets surrounding the plaza, even one pulling a rose adorned carriage carrying a young woman most likely on her way to the local basilica for her quinceañera mass. The quinceañera is a most important Hispanic tradition of presentan 15 year old girls into local society as adults. The special young woman presents at the cathedral in her carefully chosen dress with her Court of Honor composed of friends of her choice. Following the mass a reception is held with the young lady often performing a specially choreographed dance. Muchos pesos are spent for this big occasion. In fact this was the first of 2 young women we witnessed, the other already at the basilica with a few young women and a line of young men dressed in matching suit jackets. A fine band stood playing outside the church along with a tall young bride-to-be, smiling nervously as she awaited her turn for entering the sanctuary.

On Friday we met our friend and tour guide Jaime from Animecha Tours. Jaime is an encyclopedia of Mexican history and crafts. One of his primary tours is visiting artisan studios and store fronts in small villages surrounding Lake Pátzcuaro. Two years ago we spent 2 delightful days with him meeting many artisans and making many purchases. This time we had specific stops in mind, the first being a workshop in Santa Clara de Cobre where Napoleon and his brothers are third generation prize-winning coppersmiths. Ben had commissioned a piece from them on our last visit and he was anxious to see what new pieces they’d created. He was not disappointed. With a background in metal-smithing himself he understands the effort made to create an award winning piece. This time he came home with just that.

You just never know what you’ll see en route…

From Santa Clara we backtracked around the southern tip of the lake making our way to Ihuatzio, a village dedicated to creating a variety of items with reeds, arte en chuspata, harvested from the boggy edges of the lake. Several years ago an artist from Mexico City taught the artisans here how to weave over metal frames, making each piece more durable. After scoping out 5 different tiendas, in one of which I spotted the exact small table I’d hoped for, we headed back to the first and largest one run by Florencia and Samuel Morales where I sat in numerous chairs looking for comfort and craftsmanship complete with headrest. Bingo! Florencia herself carried my prize to our van.

We moved on to a small ceramics shop with some unusual red clay pieces. We’d originally planned to visit Cocucho, the mountain village specializing in the tall hand-built red clay pots burnished by hand and sporting black spots from the the firing process. But a 2 hour ride one way just didn’t suit us this time. This shop wasn’t quite what we were looking for but was fun nonetheless.

Circling back toward Pátzcuaro Ben asked if there are still any wood carvers around. Of course Jaime would know so on the outskirts of town we pulled up in front of a mass of chunks, trunks, and carvings of wood in front of a taller (workshop) run by el Señor Salvador Vargas Molina. We wandered through room after room packed with “treasures”, supplies, tools, piles of beads, paintings. Unbelievable. One wall was covered with painted wooden hearts which caught my eye as Ben discovered a frame stuck between some, well, I’m not sure what. El Señor and his sons do the carving and daughter Gabriela does the painting. We chose one item each and when Ben asked if they would sign their work, Gabriela disappeared momentarily, returning with a ballpoint pen and signing for both of them. A fine conclusion to our day of travels.

Heading toward the hotel we passed a group of seated protestors sitting under a shelter next to the railroad tracks – note that the train is only used for transporting products in México, not for people – with large signs hanging from the overhanging rooftop. Back at the hotel Luis explained that these were teachers, on strike due to withholding of their pay by ?. Let’s leave it at that.

We decided to look for new restaurants. Dang, veggies are so hard to find in Mexican restaurants. Ben found positive reviews for Verde Limone located not far from the Plaza Grande. A delight. Seemingly run by a group of young women with a sleek modern theme and classy food. Our friend Sydney (in Nebraska!) directed us away from town toward the embarcadero where you can catch a boat to the only island in the lake, Janitzio. (Next time.) On a side street a 50 minute walk from the hotel we found a jungle-like entrance with no sign. This was Tiendita Verde, an organic restaurant and store. Another delightful find.

Before heading out we decided to try a different way home, through the Nahuatzen mountains, indigenous land of the Purépecha people of Michoacán, catching the toll road at some distant point. We wound our way through some of the very artisan villages we had visited with Jaime then moved farther into the lush green mountains footed by fields of pink, blue, yellow and red wildflowers. A sight to behold. It reminded us of our mountains back in North Carolina, the very ones I had grown up in. Michoacán is truly a beautiful state. We’d heard in the past that we should avoid Uruapan due to cartel traffic but that is no longer an issue according to Jaime. Two large craft festivals take place in the state, one during Easter week (Santa Semana) in Uruapan and one in Pátzcuaro for Day of the Dead (Día de Los Muertos). Many festivals were put on hold all over Mexico these past 2 years but we’re told Pátzcuaro will once again hold its festival November 2nd though there may be some restrictions.

From the town of Zacupa, altitude 6500′ and population over 55,000, through the Cerro del Tecolote mountain range, we found our connection to the cuota (toll road), continuing the beautiful drive home. The tolls are not cheap (maybe $40-$50 each way) but the roads are well maintained and safe with gorgeous campo (countryside) to boot.

Home again, with our new prize possessions, we wonder how we could possibly manage any more “stuff”. But then I remember that this is not typical “stuff” and that supporting the handmade craft artisans of México is part of the reason we moved here, having been part of the artisan community in the US. So I know there will be more trips to the villages surrounding Lake Pátzcuaro and other areas of México we’ve yet to visit. And that’s OK.

It was Ben’s birthday so we headed out for a long promised day trip to the small village of Mezcala. Our first stop was the Colibri Gardens Cafe just outside of Chapala where bakers Georgina and Peter serve up a fine cup of coffee and a pastry – even gluten free! Then off to explore Mezcala.

As we wander through the village in our car we note the lake to our right where we find 2 parking lots. A Mexican man with a big smile and a messenger bag waves us in to the first one. An older man with a cowboy hat leaves his bench outside the little tienda (store) next door where his wife and daughter (?) sit and follows us in. “I’m a tour guide” the man with the tattered bag calls out. Ben baulks, “Tell him we don’t need one.” The guy spoke English. He got it. But as we walked toward the water he followed us anyway smiling and spewing out a nonstop history lesson. Jose was pleasant enough, with a big smile and obvious pride in his town and the famous island offshore. As I hand him 100 pesos for his time he touches the bill to his lips with a prayer, grateful.

At the end of the abbreviated malecón I see a family of squatters in a makeshift shanty by the water, a fat piglet tied and scraping in the mud nearby. Within minutes 3 different locals holding menus approach us urging us to come and eat at their restaurants there by the malecón. There was no one in any of them. No one. And I admit that with what I saw around me, I would not eat there (though I’ve read that the fresh fish served is quite good). But it was quickly apparent that the people of Mezcal are quite needy. “They’re hungry,” Ben says, hungry for business. Maybe hungry for food as well. He noted as we walked that no one was selling (though the stores were open) and no one was buying. Except for a workman and a young man in a nice car (go figure!) who bought snacks from a vendor by the plaza. There were very few cars, mostly “rattle-traps”, and no handy gas station, though I noted a PEMEX station on the main road on the way in.

When a mother and her young daughter stop to coo over our pup Tumi and ask to pet him, 3 other little girls nearby are smiling, hopeful, so we stop to let them pet him as well. He doesn’t mind and they are thrilled. Along the way I note an absence of elderly and pregnant teenagers, common sites in some areas of Lakeside. There is also an absence of masks.

The Parroquia de Nuestra Señora de la Asunción (Church Of Our Lady of the Assumption) on the plaza, the empty plaza, was built and dedicated in 1971. (Where is the original church? Did we miss it somehow?) An antiquated stone cross and figure of the Señora stand in small patches of grass in front, the only signs of the ancient history quoted by Jose earlier. “Our town is old, very old.” Mezcala was in fact settled by the Coca Indians around 1400 AD, over 100 years before the Spanish conquest.

The Isla de Mezcala holds the distinction of being the site of the last battles of the Spanish conquest, battles won over 4 years (1812-1816) by the native people with slingshots and sticks, enraged by the treatment of their people. But we’ll take that tour another time.

https://www.chapala.com/lakechapala/the-battle-of-mezcala-island/

A small black dog lies curled up on a plaza bench. He looks peaceful and healthy. Gazing down at him I notice his chest is not rising/falling. He must’ve died peacefully in his sleep. I wonder who’s missing their pup and who will find him there. And when.

Outside the village pavement narrows to wheel size trails (blocks?) with virtually no shoulder, just above the lake. We pass buses, dump trucks, vans and cars, moving carefully to the side each time. Drivers wave and smile. No gringos here. Tucked by the upper roadside are rows and rows of chayote vines, complete with wooden produce boxes waiting to be filled. Under one patch of vines sits a table with several pyramids of chayotes, and in front an old red bicycle, both waiting in dappled sunlight. The mountains here remind us of some of the mountains of North Carolina. We are not surprised to learn that the locals have been fighting to keep their land from developers since 1999. They do not want another Ajijic. They do not want an invasion of foreigners. Theirs is “common land”, collective property, and they want to keep it that way.

In 1999 a wealthy businessman from Guadalajara “confiscated” 25 acres and built his “rest home” (vacation home). He soon had the locals to answer to, causing him to surround “his land” with armed guards. The people of Mezcala took it to the government, a government that declines to declare the Coca as an official indigenous tribe since they have lost their native language and trajes (costumes). Lost in the battles of the Conquest. In 2018 the Coca won the right to keep their land, but the businessman had a few months to contest the ruling. I’ve yet to find the latest information. Did Covid halt the battle? And what happens if the Coca keep their land? I feel their pride but can they thrive on the maize, nopales and chayotes they cultivate? A double-edged sword.

https://www.theguardian.com/global-development-professionals-network/2017/apr/04/the-american-expats-moving-into-the-mexican-riviera-and-breaking-up-indigenous-communities

On the way back to Chapala “Los Mangos Restaurante“, a large pumpkin colored sign by the small highway, screams to be discovered. Tucked in a back street fit only for 4wheelers a middle aged Mexican woman smiles as she stirs a big pot, tending a wood fire as her early teens granddaughter with the striking face and budding figure runs past us smiling. Maybe her restaurante is the best (only?) one around but the nurse/spoiled gringa in me says no way will I eat in this poor, broken down village without knowing more. Not with my sensitive stomach.

“Mow-knee!” the young boys called out with expectant faces as we drive by the tiny unremarkable plaza of the unnamed village. “Mow-knee!” I wish now that we had stopped and paid them to let me take their picture. We found the tiny village after following a dual track road looking for the “Jardínes Agua” announced by the tall, faint road sign.  We found Los Mangos instead. We wave and turn the car around climbing back up to the pristine highway.

Coming and going we encounter smiling “weed whackers” by the roadside holding scythes and waving a red cloth, urging us to stop to add change to the propina bucket secured with a red tie to a broomstick that is topped with another red cloth. Unpaid road crew. Volunteers? Wish we’d stopped.  

On the way back we search for the tall skinny pole that holds the road sign for Tomahawk Steakhouse, an unassuming building.  We keep hearing how good it is so we wander in and encounter great service and mesquite grilled meat and veggies. We’ll be back. 

The main street through Chapala offers up a line of vaqueros (cowboys) and a young woman riding sidesaddle in a long white gown headed where? No time for a picture but it registers that this is not a scene common in the States. And less common here since Covid.

As the day ends the music down the street from our house softens, the neighbor’s dogs are quiet and the bugs (crickets?) buzz their lullaby. I lay my head down and am grateful for another day (finally) of discovering the charm of México. 

It has been TWO years since Covid smashed into our lives and changed everything. Two years that the Mexican people have been told they cannot gather to celebrate except within their own families. I expect we’ll hear fireworks (cohetes) and some loud music from nearby tonight. But the parade and public gatherings are once again on hold. The plaza may be decorated but mostly empty. So below is an excerpt and photos from my post just after that last public celebration of Mexican Dia de Independencia in 2019 since there is little to photograph today.

“Every year in September Mexico celebrates its independence from Spanish rule. A long weekend is filled with festivals, parades, contests, dancing, special food, and the battle cry for independence. Raised in 1810 by Miguel Hidalgo, the battle cry stirred the citizens to fight for freedom in a war that lasted over eleven years. All over Mexico the recitation of Hidalgo’s speech occurs at the same time on Independence Day Eve (September 15th): delegados, mayors and even the country’s president recite the famous battle cry known as “El Grito“. Crowds of Mexicans gather in plazas around the country to hear the famous words. Es muy importante para Méxicanos!”

Even with celebrations minimized there are still dozens of cars on the only street (carretera) connecting the villages by the Lake. Guadalajarans flood the little towns, enjoying a holiday getaway. From the perspective of living here (gringos and locals alike), it feels like they “take over”. They are city folks and not always as polite as the local people. Nonetheless, restaurants will be open and decorations are for sale by the street. Here in Mexico the locals take things in stride, smile, and make the best of whatever takes place.

It’ll be Ben’s birthday next week and we’ll celebrate with two other folks at an outdoor restaurant. Luckily we have many here. The rainy season is ending now so we’re soaking up the visions of emerald green foliage and ever-changing clouds, preparing for months of dry weather. I’m hoping that next year will be different and we will all gather in the plaza to sing and dance and applaud. Viva Mexico!

Old friends, old friends/Sat on their park bench like bookends…Can you imagine us years from today – sharing a park bench quietly – how terribly strange to be 70…OLD FRIENDS…Paul Simon of course. I’ve always loved that song and having just turned 70 last month, it has even more meaning. Visiting “old” friends was certainly part of the reason for my trip to North Carolina.

Like “bookends” my 2 nervously anticipated flights, my first since Covid, and 2 long delayed, long awaited visits with my granddaughter bracketed the beginning and the end of this journey.

Flying during Covid. Not enjoyable. Many people were without masks or wore them pulled below their noses even though mandates were clear. The flight to NC was packed and it was impossible to keep any distance in the Guadalajara airport. Rules were announced but not enforced. A woman beside me (where Ben would’ve been had he not had to cancel) wore a mask but coughed and sneezed throughout the flight. I wore 2 masks but held a scarf up to the side of my face for extra protection. I was glad to land in Charlotte where there was more space to distance myself. I’m glad to say that my taxi and Uber drivers throughout the trip were compliant with masking.

After 2 years away…I wondered if my 2 1/2 year old granddaughter, last seen in person at 6 months of age, would know my face from weekly FaceTime calls (thanks Toni!)?. “Look Hazel. It’s Abuela,” my son spoke softly. After a moment of consideration her smile cracked open as she reached for me with open arms. “Bela!” she called out. I melted…Ah, the wonders of modern technology.

Hazel is amazing of course so watching her, hearing her speak sentences, holding her, was a delight. Super active and high spirited, keeping up with her in the midst of jet lag and 95+ temperatures was challenging. Holding her while we watched Disney movies Frozen, Moana and The Good Dinosaur, even for a few minutes at a time, was the highlight of my visit with her. (Lovely messages and incredible visuals.) We also managed a few minutes of outdoor water play and some indoor watercolors, 2 of her favorite activities. Along with eating. Apple crisps & “peticots” – apricots. This child can eat! And loves most everything.

As I mentioned before I’d just turned 70 and my son turned 45 while I was there. Thanks, Son, for the little celebration! So happy to be with family!

The cost of a rental car for 2 weeks has doubled in 2 years so I opted for Uber to take me to (and from) the Charlotte Amtrak station to travel to Durham. I’ve loved train travel since I was a little girl and in these times find it safer. Masks are mandated and trains are filled to less than 50%. Seats are comfortable with plenty of leg room.

Once in Hillsborough I was blessed to have a loaner car the whole time from our dear friend Christine, who also gave me her apartment for the first week while she was away. In between lunches with “old friends” I soaked up the quiet time that respite afforded me. My acupuncturist and friend Robin brought me essential oils and took me to Ixtapa, the Mexican restaurant where our friend Gladis first started coaching me in Spanish. My friend Judy picked me up in her husband’s new Tesla and took me to lunch and then to her fabric studio in the old River Mill. I met my friend Mary at Timberlyne in Chapel Hill for lunch and caught up on all the news from Carol Woods, the retirement community I had worked in. My dear friend Shelton from Boone traveled down from the mountains to visit me for the day after 4 years of not seeing each other. Neighbor Blair gave me snacks and an old suitcase to carry my purchases back in as we talked about life in Hillsborough. Blessed!

Next I drove to Durham to spend the rest of my time in central NC with our friend Onja. Along with our friend Bill we enjoyed breakfast in a French restaurant followed the next day by a necessary shopping trip with friend and former coworker Cherry who graciously drove me anywhere I needed to go. A trip to the Apple store did NOT result in the new phone I’d hoped for. The high price and uninterested sales clerk took care of that. Somehow it has ceased to matter for now.

Onja and I spent hours talking and laughing. It’s been years since I’ve watched JEOPARDY. So much to learn! I got a lot of reading done while she worked during the day, as well as running some errands in the loaner car. Talked to my friend Charlene who was being cautious about Covid (thank you!). (It hit me full force during these 2 weeks that I am no longer tolerant of closed doors and windows, air conditioning and spending most hours indoors. I missed the breezes coming off Lake Chapala.)

As a belated birthday gift Onja took me to Durham Salt Cave, a room built of Himalayan salt bricks standing on a floor of pink salt. While you lie in specially designed loungers (“sound chairs”) music tuned to the chakras plays as a fine mist of salt diffuses through the air. Incredibly relaxing and detoxifying. Abrey and Bruce have obviously put a lot of loving thought into creating a special experience for their customers. Durham has surely changed in the last 10+ years. So much going on.

Amtrak took me back to Charlotte after my time with Onja, where I spent 24 hours with my son and granddaughter before heading home. I shared old photos and my baby cards I’d rescued from Ben’s studio with Hazie. Though I’d told her only the names and relationships of relatives in the photos, she gathered them up and spread them on the windowsill announcing “This is my family!” Unprompted. Smart cookie. Of course. How very hard to step away. When will I see her again?

Heading home rendered numerous delays related to severe storms. The line to reschedule was unbelievably long. Saturday morning Ben called to see if I’d check my email. (I was too busy enjoying Hazie!) “Your flight’s been canceled!” Surely not. A new and undesirable experience. But 2 lines down was another email asking me to confirm rebooking on a nonstop flight (yeah!) arriving in Guadalajara by 9:36PM, 2 hours earlier than the original flight. My son ordered an SUV limo driven by his friend Mina from Egypt to take me to the airport (Thanks Son). Charlotte airport is huge and there was plenty of room for distancing as I waited.

Luckily my flight was not canceled though it was delayed several times. This time the plane was only half full and I was allowed to take a seat by myself. What a relief! Eventually we landed in Guadalajara around 11:30PM. I managed to hit the green light button on exiting which meant they would NOT go through my bags and delay my time getting home. How happy I was to see my friendly driver Salvador waiting outside the door to help me with my bags – 4 is too much for 1 person to handle! By 1AM I was home. Thankful to arrive safely. And torn between 2 countries…I miss my friends and family in the States more than I can say. And being back with Ben, Tumi, and friends here is good.

Every day is different, but April 1st brought an unexpected turn of events.

Over the past few months Ben began having decreased energy and shortness of breath. With a history of asthma + a higher altitude he decided to see a pulmonologist. One test led to another and ultimately to cardiology. People always ask how the medical care is here. The docs we’ve seen are world class, trained mostly at the University of Guadalajara with residencies in the US and other parts of the world. All speak English. The biggest difference I see as a former nurse and family member is often a more personal approach. You are a partner in your own care, a human being, and caregivers are welcomed.

An echocardiogram showed a large blockage in one of Ben’s coronary arteries so surgery was a future probability. But on the day that he experienced chest discomfort for several hours in a row we decided to go back to the cardiologist. We could no longer wait. That was Tuesday, March 30th. “We can go to Guadalajara today,” Dr. Briseño said. “Or we can go Thursday. It’s the beginning of the Easter holiday and traffic will be lighter. The hospital won’t be as full.” In a city of almost 6 million people, this was a plus.

We spent the next day finding a dog sitter then letting family and friends know we’d be away for a day and a half. Packed clothes, gathered meds, reading material, etc. On Thursday morning our driver delivered us and our bags to Hospital Terra Nova emergency room just in time (even after encountering a roadblock set up to divert traffic away from bicyclists going into the city!) to meet Dra. (feminine title for doctors) Ashley, Dr. Briseño’s partner. The admission process was quick since they were expecting us and within 30 minutes Ben was in surgery.

Dr. Briseño had told us that the hospital wasn’t fancy and the food wasn’t great. Right on both counts. But Terra Nova was clean and quiet, the staff was friendly, and he had the staff and equipment he needed to do the best job. Many of the nursing staff spoke at least some English. Some spoke none. Younger nurses whipped out their cellphones and used Google Translate along with apologies for not knowing more. Heck! I was impressed. It’s their country after all. But I was grateful for the amount of Spanish I know. It definitely helped. And the experience motivated me to learn more.

Ben went through the cardiac catheterization and stent placement fine. Leaving the next day looked good. Then the unexpected turn of events.

When I woke about 6AM Ben looked miserable. He’d been in pain all night. Staff was in and out while I slept in spurts on the couch provided (more comfortable than his bed). When I awoke it took me a few minutes to realize that he was truly in serious pain, stating “something isn’t right”. We called the nurse and tried to explain. Shift change. We told another nurse. In a little while she returned with a shot for pain. It did nothing. Again we asked for help. She’d call the doctor again. After what seemed like an eternity Dr. Briseño arrived and saw that Ben truly was in distress. “Can’t send you home today. I’m taking you back into surgery to see what’s going on.” “Knock me out this time”, Ben told him. Experiencing stent placement with “conscious sedation” was just too strange.

This is when it hit me that we could be in serious trouble. The nurse in me went “out the window” and this partner/caregiver burst into tears. Being there alone was tough. The worst case scenario passed through my mind in a flash. Not a thought to hold on to but I steeled myself for whatever might happen.

Within 45 minutes Dr. Briseño arrived and sat face to face with me to explain the outcome of the second procedure. Luckily the stent was in place and functioning correctly. “If this resolves in the next 24-48 hours we’ll know that everything is OK, that it was just a stress response to the procedure.” Placed on IV fluids and medications we watched closely over the next 24 hours. And things did indeed begin to improve. It was Saturday, a day late, but we were going home! New medications and restricted activity for a week. But home.

I should say, before we leave the scene, that though the food was not very good, the kitchen staff was delightful. A couple of times I roamed the lovely urban neighborhood and found a specialty food store, a nice deli, and a sweet coffee and quiche shop to fill in the gaps. It was good to be outside doing a bit of exploring.

It was interesting being in a different medical setting after my years of nursing. I see more clearly now from the perspective of a family member, especially in a foreign country. The limitations of language were difficult. Being the patient advocate was still priority, but tougher to accomplish. I hope there are no more “unexpected turns” of this kind. But if there are we’ll know more about how to manage.

There’s a huge difference in the discharge process from a hospital here. Your bill must be paid before you leave. In fact, in some cases it must be paid before you’re admitted. Though Mexico is a cash economy some of the hospitals do take credit cards. The problem is that if you use insurance – we’d purchased a Metlife policy here – you must present “Facturas” to the insurance company for approval before you can leave. These are government forms, official receipts that no provider likes to complete. Once all insurance requirements are met nursing sends you to the checkout desk with a piece of paper to be stamped Pagado (paid) before they can send you home with medications and discharge instructions. We’ve heard horror stories of people waiting up to 20 hours for this process to be completed! After 5 we’d had enough. Ben’s energy was waining. Luckily a phone call to our rep speeded the process and we were soon in the lobby waiting for our driver. Two hours later we were home. Exhausted.

The support we’ve experienced here has been amazing. I let it be known that food would be an issue and food arrived, including through NOB family members. A neighbor walked the dog. Friends called and wrote daily. I spent a good amount of time on Facebook and email during this whole process. It did make things easier. Even now, when I’m walking Tumi on our usual route, other dog walkers and neighbors ask how Ben is and wish him the best. Sometimes he’s with me now, after weeks of being unable to manage the climb, cobblestones, and distance. He’s on the mend. Slowly but surely. This unexpected turn of events classifies as another adventure in paradise!