Color in the Streets

What fun we had on our one day tour of Los Tres Toñas tequila distillery, a small family owned production on the outskirts of the town of Tequila, 90 minutes from Ajijic. Though I’m not accustomed to drinking tequila by the shot, I am a lover of margaritas. When some of my classmates from Spanish class invited us to tour with them, we did not hesitate.

What does the word “tequila” mean? According to our guide Marcos it means “you’re working on your drink”. Funny guy. To us it meant a delightful circuit of visiting the field of blue agave/agave azul (grown only in 5 states in Mexico), learning about the family, touring the production facility &, of course, doing the obligatory taste testing which in this case included about 12 different flavors.

Turns out that the mother plants have to be in the rich, volcanic dirt for 7-12 years to make it all work. Baby “sprouts” are dug up so they won’t “eat the mother” and put in pots for a year before they’re taken back to the field for planting. The hardest part to hear about was the jimadores, the men who do the back breaking work of cutting off the leaves, creating a “piña” that looks somewhat like a pineapple, then chopping away at the stalk with a sharp rounded blade (coa) to harvest the heart of the plant. Some piñas weigh over 200#. 100-300 piñas per man are expected per 7 hour morning shift. For 100 pesos a day. 5 dollars a day. 5 dollars. Unbelievable. For highly skilled, dangerous work (the sharp coa blade, rattlesnakes and tarantulas) that is passed down to generation to generation. A very different work ethic.

It was fascinating to see the equipment that is used to squeeze every possible drop of liquid out of the agave hearts, the stainless steel containers they are distilled in, the oak barrels they are aged in, the quality checks and labeling/packing of the bottles by individuals (in this small distillery about 1000-2000 bottles per day).

The tasting was entertaining and educational. Really. Who knew there are so many tastes to one “spirit”. Blanco, reposado, añejo, extra añejo, fruit flavors, chocolate, tamarind and chili. Aged a few months to 5 years or more before most, of course, is exported. Our guide complained that “they no longer use the old ways”. Technology is king, streamlining and speeding the process to increase profits. The ultimate goal of sharing of multiple bottles to multiple people, of course, is to sell, sell, sell. And that they did. We all left with 1-2 bottles. Hope they taste as good back home! Learn more about tequila from the following website: https://www.decanter.com/spirits/learn-about-tequila-403851/

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Afterwards, our guides took us to a restaurant (complete with playground) propped on the side of an arroyo for a delicious all-you-can-eat buffet of Mexican specialties where we soaked up some of the alcohol we’d just sampled before heading off to town.

OK, off to town we go. At this point we were all pretty exhausted but wouldn’t admit it so we were dropped off by the Tequila plaza for an hour of exploring. Mostly it centered around, what else, the history and sales of tequila. But the church on the plaza was built in the 1600’s and, to me, gorgeous in its primitive simplicity. We enjoyed a cool drink inside a lovely hotel restaurant, escaping the 91 degree heat. Classmate Claire ordered a “smoky margarita” and we were all instantly jealous as the waiter explained the use of smoked black salt on the rim of the glass, lighting the sprig of fresh rosemary and dropping the smoky twig into the glass at the last minute. No idea what tequila they used, but boy was it good! Thanks for sharing, Claire.

The town museum was quite interesting, even in the heat. We wandered for awhile, soaking up the history, amazed at the amount of work and creative marketing involved.

The ride back to Ajijic was the quietest part of the day as we all crashed from the day’s activities. I was captivated by the similarity of the toll road to US highways, the fertile valleys in the midst of a dry season, the sight of the volcanic (inactive) mountain Tequila and miles of railroads used only for transportation of goods.

It was a long day, but a good one. Lots of laughter, learning and enjoying life! Thank you Claire, Jeanne, Brad and Debra for asking us to come along!

It’s hard to imagine that there will ever be rain again. I’ve never lived in such a dry climate, in fact I’ve only lived in North Carolina, so it’s a revelation to see how dry, brown, dusty, a place can actually be. I prefer green. That being said, the humidity has been higher than usual here lately – the 13% has risen to 44%! You can feel it and see it, for sure. Hopefully it is a precursor to rain.

There is an insect here, a cicada, that gringos call “rain birds”. Their mating call sounds like a buzz saw as they start up and over weeks they become louder and louder. Legend has it that once you hear them you are six weeks away from rain. It’s been a month now. I hope they’re right.

The air is heavy with heat exacerbated by smoke from recent forest (“scrub”) fires, from burning of fields to be plowed for planting, from dust, and from pollen produced by the gorgeous flowers that manage to bloom in the midst of it all. Ben finds it harder to do his mountain hikes now and the heat dictates more time in the house with doors and windows closed. We sneak out in the mornings and quickly run errands after my Spanish classes end at 12:30. By 2:30 or 3 we’re home, under the fans, moving slowly. Next year we will probably go away for the month of May. Like so many do. Now we know why. I leave you with photos from our morning walk. Even in the dryness there is so much beauty and delight to be found.

As I prepare to post this the skies over Chapala and Guadalajara to our east have darkened, the wind has kicked up, and the temperature has dropped. In the local news they say there is rain in the big city. I’m doing a rain dance. Come join me!

Soon after we arrived in Ajijic, a new neighbor asked if I’d been to Foco Tonal. I’m sorry? Oh, it’s this energy vortex and it’s pretty amazing. The name came up again when I joined a Facebook group – Spiritual Friends Lakeside – and connected with like-minded people, reminiscent of my Healing Touch days. Recently we went as a group to see this place. For the most part, Foco Tonal was not what I expected. But, then, this IS Mexico. It is rarely what you expect.

Foco Tonal, outside the small town of Cuitzeo, is known for its vortex that causes your voice to echo as if you were in a chamber, rather than standing outside within a low tile wall, on a pentagram. Is it cosmic energy or simply acoustic reverberation? Who knows, but in 1998 a “miraculous” healing took place and the owner of the castle agreed to the evolution of Foco Tonal as a public place of healing and wonderment. It is now widely known as a place people visit out of curiosity or the need to be healed or “recharged”. http://www.cronicajalisco.com/notas/2017/77535.html

When we arrived some of us asked “Is this Disneyland?” I’d expected a serene, simple setting but what I found was a colorful castle that fronts the property, a playful “yard” splashed with rainbow colors and dotted with three tiled areas of concentrated energy. Skirted by a tumble of boulders scattered underneath a grove of plum trees, it is complete with little villages and toys left by ? for gnomes who are sometimes “caught” on camera. Who knows? Who am I to say? Many people visit and many experience something unusual. We spent 2 or 3 hours there, as a group of “spiritual friends”, searching for – common ground? Answers? Lessons?

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The experience was different for each of us, before, during and after. You can indeed hear your voice echo and for many there was a strong sense of being pulled to earth or feeling heavy or tingly. The following day we dialogued about our experience on Facebook and found our experiences varied widely but left most of us initially tired, then energized. For me there were lessons about playfulness and letting go of being so serious.

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After our experience at Foco Tonal we were all ravenous so we headed to the nearest big town, Ocotlán for lunch and a brief tour. It is an interesting place that I hope to explore again. We only had a short time to visit the cathedral and wander around the plaza. This is the second oldest cathedral in the state of Jalisco. Nearby is a statue of Christ that has history with a past earthquake. For me the fascination was the oversized chair. As an 8 year old girl I lived in Thomasville, North Carolina, one of the furniture capitals of the US. There was a huge chair in town right by the railroad station. Lyndon Johnson stood on and spoke from that chair on his campaign trail. I was there. Ocotlán is the furniture capital of Jalisco.

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Perhaps, in reality, the highlight of the day was this. While waiting for my friend at the bus stop, a Mexican man reminded me that I knew him as the security guard at a nearby gated community. Ah, yes! How could I forget this kind man who is always so helpful with my Spanish. The 3 of us got on the back of this heavily crowded, early morning bus together with barely standing room. Hand me your money, he said. No way he could make it up to the bus driver. We watched as he passed our money to the man in front of him telling him to pass it forward. Lo and behold, in seconds our change made its way back to Manuel’s hand, then ours. Amazing grace. THIS is Mexico.

Special thanks to Fabiola Rivera, the lovely Mexican leader of our group, who taught me so much about the landscape and history of the area and the Mexican attitude of joy and playfulness as we traveled from Ajijic to Cuitzeo. And for returning me safely home! Muchismo gracias, Fabiola!

TAPALPA. Pueblo Magico. Climbing the mountain road in our car we finally rose above the smoky clouds left by fields burned in preparation for planting soon, to find the “land of colors.” White washed adobe buildings with wooden doors and beams, sun bleached terra cotta rooftops and deep red (burgundy) trim. Blue sky and emerald forests – oh, I do miss my evergreens back in NC! Two hours from Ajijic…if you don’t lose your way on your first Mexican road trip. Our GPS barely spoke to us. But in the end she took us right to the door of our Airbnb. (ALERT: This is a long post!)

The town is lazy, friendly and calm. Quaint. There are cars and motorcycles and lots of 4-wheelers, practical for the hilly, slow-going cobblestone streets. So much to explore. People to see. Photos to be taken. The evening light hits the door frames and the people inside them and I capture them for future reference.

We head for Paulino’s Restaurante, well known and familiar to us from our first trip here a year ago. Chard tamales, thick handmade corn tortillas, nopal (cactus) salad and white beans. Our waiter Gerardo speaks perfect English though he’s happy to speak Spanish with me if I like. We’ll mix it up. He is from Tapalpa but worked for many years in the US driving trucks for Mayflower. He knows his way around and is so happy to hear we’re from North Carolina. Tar Heels? he says with a big smile. I am a Tar Heel fan! Connected.

We wander off finding side streets to explore – Rick Steves would be so proud! Encounters with locals always thrill me. The lady with the carefully packaged, freshly made cake passes by twice then on the third time she has no cake. “Donde esta el pastel?” I ask. She smiles mischieviously and shrugs her shoulders. Her reply is beyond my current Spanish. Returning to our temporary home we pass by an open gate to the old town chapel. Three generations of Mexican women exit as we pass. I smile at the elder of the three and say Buenos tardes. She returns the greeting with her own shy smile. We follow them inadvertently and watch as they stop to greet an amigo standing in his doorway marked “F. Studio”. The greetings exchanged are sweet and kind. It is obvious they know each other. He is tall and handsome and neatly dressed. Photo op.

In the early morning trucks rumble up the streets while dogs bark and roosters crow. Familiar Mexican sounds. The sun rises somewhere and lights up the day, the horizon edged with pine covered mountains and the distinctive cone of the Colima volcano, one of two active volcanoes in Mexico. Someone has taken a brush and splashed the pale blue morning sky with white clouds. From the terrace I see a neighbor’s laundry hanging under the outline of the volcanic cone. A motorcycle putts by, its driver in full yawn. A sheep bleats somewhere in the maze of humble homes on this hill. Horses clip along. There is contradiction and irony everywhere you turn in Mexico. Our place is ultra modern, created from shipping containers encased in horizontal wooden slats parted by numerous windows and sliding glass doors. The interior is gray and sleek. The music blasting from the passing trucks shakes the very glass of this place. The room darkening shades keep the light out but nothing can harness the noise of Mexico.

The “corn lady” acts like we are old amigas. Elote mirador con chili? Purple corned grilled and served with mild chili powder, salt and lime juice. Yum! The little girl in the window helps her Abuela (grandmother). She smiles shyly and holds a pose as I click my phone camera. Days later, on the street, Abuela will throw me a big smile and ask if I am well. The man across the street stokes the fire for roasting meat for the restaurant he fronts and takes my meager Spanish with a huge grin. He responds in perfect English. Above the plaza in a corner wedge sits a freshly painted restaurante – La Cuachala/Gastronomia Regional. I’m drawn to it immediately and for good reason. Past the juice stand and the clean wooden tables with red plastic chairs are three women behind a counter jammed with Mexican terra cotta pots. Two of them are creating handmade tortillas while the third organizes the counter. A customer who is surely a friend to them waves me in and begins lifting lids, naming each taco-filling mixture as she does. The jugo de naranja (freshly squeezed orange juice) I take away is perhaps the best ever. My quick encounter reveals a sparkling clean, organized enterprise with much to offer. I will return.

Meandering along known and unknown streets, poking my head into doorways, peaking through holes, snapping pictures, people grin and reply earnestly when I speak to them. We find the artisan shop with pine needle baskets, rompope, preserved fruits, simple clay dishes, embroidery, caps and scarves knitted from local wool, but the booth we came for, paper mache decorations made by children with special needs, is not open. We wander by a row of simple tourist driven shops and take a side street. More discoveries! The Mercado Municipal, a Oaxacan restaurant, a European style cheese shop. There, propped up against a wall is a poor, dirty man perhaps sleeping it off. Beyond him a Mexican gentleman begs pardon as he steps by us into the shop, but his wife turns toward us. She speaks in Spanish and is obviously delighted with the quaint little town. She understands un poco English, having traveled from Los Angeles. I wish for better Spanish skills as we part. She would be an interesting conversationalist I believe. Un otra tiempo.

Tired of eating so much meat we go in search of vegetables. Funny that they are so hard to find in restaurants when they are so plentiful in the markets. YELP leads us across the plaza to La Villa. We have seen it packed before but at the moment we are the only customers. Alfredo, our waiter, speaks perfect English, having worked in the US for many years. He understands our dilemma and promises to influence the chef! Stir fry with chicken, broccoli and zucchini. Brocheta with beef, apple, plantains, peppers and onions. Oh my. His cafe Americano is delicious, the mugs beautiful. He would sell me one, he says, if only they would arrive from Tonala.

Around the corner of the plaza we find vendors with pitayas. We’d seen them being sold by the roadside in the valley but had no idea what they were. Fruit from the pipe organ cactus, which explains why there were so many cacti growing by the highway. Fields of them. Some 30′ high. Turns out families come from far away to work the farms and sell the produce. The fruits are stunning colors of tomato red, raspberry, and pale lime green, each with its own flavor. The texture is somewhat like a kiwi, complete with small black seeds, and they are reportedly full of anti-oxidants and vitamins. The tough part is getting the spines off before splitting them open.

Friday – another day in the village. We are both smitten. This time we walk past the center of town, finding quiet streets and few people. An old cocker spaniel makes its way to the door of an alteration shop and plops down on the sidewalk while keeping an eye on me. It is the elderly shop owners I want to photograph, but, embarrassed as they step out, I ask to photograph the dog. One lady steps quickly in front of him with firm “instruction” that I interpret as “leave him alone, he’s old” so I click a shot of the two ladies instead and offer my thanks.

So many fascinating, lovely entryways behind slightly open gates. Lovely gardens, tranquil visions of what may lay inside. Contradictions in wood and plaster. Dilapidated tile roofs with solar panels or TV discs on top. Old buildings mixed with new. On a back street of dirt and cobblestone I feel I am home and tears well up. Have I been here before? In some other life?

We stop by La Villa again for coffee. Ben steps away for an important call. I feel something drop onto my leg but see nothing at first. Looking down I see a baby wren, fallen from the nest. One leg obviously broken. The waiter steps over to speak to me and understands the problem. He gently lifts the tiny bird and carries it across the street, placing it the crook of a tree. Perhaps its mother will find it. But I doubt it will live. So sad.

Lunch today is at La Cuachola, the small women’s restaurant in the corner. The language barrier is tough and the young cook is reluctant to use Google Translate. We end up with six tacos and the end of the morning pitcher of OJ. These tacos are the best we’ve ever eaten! Attempting to pay ruffles the language feathers again and Ben calls me in to help. The young woman smiles when I say “Delicioso!” and points to a poster behind her. She is proud that an international hang gliding competition has just taken place here and they too said her tacos were “Delicioso!” She beams as Ben snaps a shot of the two of us.

We continue to wander the streets of the central village, me looking for photo ops, Ben working to get in his daily walk. I step into a brick shop where handmade pavers are displayed with simple outline drawings inscribed in the centers. I ask the shop clerk for a photo and she responds in English! I tell her we’ve come from Ajijic to escape the heat. “But here,” she says with a solemn face, “it is hotter than we are used to. We don’t know if it’s the fires or…but we are very concerned.” It is true that the horizon has been hazy, leaving the volcanic cone of Colima somewhat obscured most days. Is this also a result of global warming?

“Color in the streets” does not come from brightly colored paint and bougainvilleas in this village. It comes from the smiles on the people’s faces, the evening dresses on some women out for special occasions, the “paper malhecho” crafts of the special needs children of the Centro de Integracion School, the open store fronts filled with perfectly arranged jars of fruit; from toys, household goods, costumes and confirmation dresses. Shop doors aren’t rolled up corrogated metal like in Ajijic, but old, highly patinaed wood. Sidewalks are high, walkable, and in good repair. The shiny cobbles of the streets are filled in with concrete and squeaky tires remind you they have been traveled for many years.

We stop at one of the highly organized shops to buy preserves and canned fruit, finding a surprise of homemade arnica liniment in a corner. Ben wanders back to our place with our goodies and I head out to find some gifts. This is Saturday and traffic of people and vehicles has picked up significantly. It’s about two hours to Guadalajara so it’s a popular getaway. The booth of items in the Mercado made at the special school is finally open. The children are taught the craft similar to paper mache to build their confidence and support the school financially. It’s a small booth packed with colorful boxes, stars, butterflies, flowers and silly animals. My eye lights on the largest item on the top shelf – a Balinese style mask adorned with horses and birds. I love it! $22 for 3 items and I’ve helped support the school. And maybe brought a smile to a face or two.

On our last day we decide to find the El Salto del Nogal – Walnut Falls – a 344′ waterfall at the end of a 45 minute, intense hike. BRING WATER! We are lost for a few minutes but eventually find it and start down. About a third of the way we realize it is just too much for us for this time of day. Reluctantly we both give up and head back to Tapalpa. It’s tough to give it up but the 2000′ of extra altitude has taken its toll. My legs feel cramped and heavy. Ben complains of ongoing fatigue. Maybe next time.

I leave Tapalpa knowing I will return. To the slow pace and the gentle people. The evergreens and the deep blue sky. I am a mountain girl in a faraway land, delighting in interacting with this amazing culture. I am a romantic perhaps. Or perhaps I am just in love with those who call this place home.

Sometimes I think that any post I do has to be philosophical or simply about where we live and how we’re doing. We’re doing fine, by the way. Happiness has set in! But today I just want to acknowledge Mother’s Day. I am, after all, a mother. And proud of it. This is my first time so far away from my son on this special day, which makes it even more important to acknowledge how much I love him.

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In Mexico Mother’s Day always comes on May 10th, no matter what day of the week it is. So this past Friday we noticed that some shops were closed and that lots of vendors were selling flowers on the street corners or by the careterra. Yesterday afternoon, strolling back to a friend’s house, we noticed many folks, especially women and children, dressed up and heading to the plaza. I’m not sure what was going on there – frankly, it’s too hot for me to be out much – but you could tell they were on a mission. I’ve said it before, Mother’s are revered here. They deserve a 3 day holiday for sure!

In the plaza there are photographic portraits of some of Ajijic’s elder women – Donas (sorry I don’t know how to do the Spanish spelling on this computer, just know that the “n” is pronounced as a “y”) – posted to remind us of the special mothers, grandmothers, and great-grandmothers in our lives. It is a lovely tribute. Two of those women I have photographed and talked to myself in the past year. Delighted by each other, we ignored the language barrier and kept on talking. They touched my heart and I am always honored to see them in the village.

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Three years ago on Mother’s Day my son introduced me to his new girlfriend Toni. This is it, Mom, he said. We’re going to get married. And you know that grand baby box? Well, you can check it, ’cause we’re gonna have grandchildren for you! Oh, it’s not for me! I exclaimed, with tears of delight. Toni and Japhy have been married for two and a half years now. And my first grand baby, as you know, arrived in January. I don’t know if either of them will ever read this but I want to tell them how happy I am to be his mom and to have her in the family, as daughter in law and mother of my granddaughter Hazie.

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And there was, of course, my own mother, Dorothy Louise Jesson Clark, who died at the age of 86 after years of coping with Alzheimers. In the nursing home where I had been director, she was well loved and well cared for. It was there that my partner Ben asked her to play the piano for him. She had not played in 3 years and neither of us were sure she could do it after so much time and decline. But she did it! And it changed the course of her illness. Within a month she was no longer wheelchair bound but walking freely about in the halls of the nursing home. She spent her last days, months, filled with peace and joy and passing it on to others. I think of her so often. She was strong, loving and talented. Thank you for being such a good Mother to me and grandmother to my son. Bless you!

Years ago I trained in Healing Touch.  A nursing modality.  I studied like crazy; books, articles, websites. I took courses online and in person and practiced my new found craft in homes, massage treatment rooms, hospitals, clinics and retirement communities.  I loved my sessions, my clients. But I often felt that something was missing. Maybe I was just too distracted by work and chores and all the things I felt obligated to tackle, complete and obtain, maintain. Along the way a healer I met told me all my work would be easier if I would meditate regularly.  Meditation competed with exercise time, or time with my partner, or that nap I needed.  The guilt I learned so well as a child kicked in each time I let meditation slip by.  But nothing changed.

About a year ago a friend loaned me a book: WOMAN WHO GLOWS IN THE DARK. It was just a few months before our move to Mexico. I was immediately taken by it. Curanderas. Latin American healers. Healing touch. Fascinating.

Then in looking for books about Mexico I stumbled across THE HUMMINGBIRD’S DAUGHTER by Luis Alberto Urrea. Amazing historical novel about his aunt Teresita in old Mexico. A curandera. Something was leading me.  A thread. A journey. Spirit. Spiritual. Awakening? 

Somewhere along the way the subject of shamanism entered into my explorations. Eventually I stumbled (really?) on Sandra Ingerman and her book SOUL RETRIEVAL. Connected. Felt right, reading her, listening to her. Her words resonate with me. Diseases lost souls parts and pieces to be found.  The Earth  lost. Parts and pieces to be healed. Before it is too late. How can I help?  Her website intrigues me, draws me in.  Web of light.  So similar to Healing Touch teachings.  

In a secondhand store in Ajijic I found TRAVELING WITH POMEGRANATES by Sue Kidd Monk and her daughter Ann Kidd Taylor, soulful descriptions of a mother and daughter unraveling their own spiritual journeys.  Nearly every night as I read myself to sleep some passage in that book rankles my nerves and brings me to tears; processing, clearing, allowing the light in. 

The thread continues. Lunch at DHARMA Restaurant reveals a weekend of healing for the Lake. Lake Chapala.  I long for it to speak to me. But it feels flat.  Lifeless.  Inaccessible.  Distant.  It saddens me.  It negates some of the beauty of this place we live in. Shaman from New Zealand and Jalisco will meet on Scorpion Island (recently named a sacred place for the Huichols) soon.  The Huichol indigenous people have lived in the mountains of central Mexico for 15,000 years, according to the Wikipedia description.  The ceremony  they will hold for healing of the Lake will be steeped in tradition.  All are invited but the way has not been clear for me.  I will be there in spirit.

The drum shows up on Facebook.  Then the massage table.  The pieces of my new life falling into place in their own time.   I am driven to holy meditation on the sheepskin my mother held dear from her long ago visit to Scotland. I nearly left it for sale back in NC but something called me to keep it.  It could be useful. (It reminded me of a stack of them I’d seen in a market in Guadalajara.  Is this just about decor?)

Then I find Spiritual Friends Lakeside on Facebook. I attend their luncheon and find my “tribe”.  Mixed. Gringos and locals. All searching, seeking, finding. Confused, joyful, quiet, lively. I am home. At the end of this month we will visit FOCO TONAL. www.focotonal.com Wearing white on a sacred spiritual pilgrimage.

A local B & B-Villa del Angel-holds open house and I go with Ben and friends to reconnect with the owners we met last year. I felt a kinship there and kept in touch a bit. Facebook has its uses. (She & I will now be Spanish study partners. Turns out we are neighbors.) The place and the people there resonate.  Finding peace.  Finding place.

Moments of joy and pure delight come frequently, often bringing me to tears. A new experience, a new book, a new friend. There is time now. I am not blinded or overwhelmed by the list of Have-to’s, Should-have’s & Musts. There is time now to create sacred space. Both inside my being and out.

Healing Touch this time will be done with MY Ideas and comforts, with no obligation for note taking or specified structure. It will be mine. It will be drumming & bells & rattles. It will be essential oils and hand & foot massage.  It will be about SETTING INTENTION THEN TRUSTING it.  My “old” business name – Wings of Light – rings true again in this place filled with birdsong, this place where I am now. This place “circled on a map” for me.

I am retired now and beginning to understand what that means. I can say NO. I can say YES. I can find my spot in the world and devote myself to it. Relationships. Giving. My confidence grows with each door that opens on this threaded journey I am on. Spreading my wings. Finding my place, my Light, in this new country. Growing in unexpected ways. I had no idea I would become this person I am today.  This little Light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine…

We’ve been here 5 months now and our lives have finally begun to take on a rhythm of repeated patterns. A lot of it has been unsettling and difficult – the financial stuff, changing addresses for important information, figuring out where to shop for what, finding the missing items we needed to set up house, etc. For awhile we both really struggled…what have we done to ourselves? We didn’t expect it to be so hard in the beginning. We moved seeking a simpler life. There is a rhythm when you live somewhere as long as we lived in North Carolina. In the US. Switching countries was crazy-brave and we knew there’d be issues. But I don’t think we realized how much we took for granted in terms of managing day to day life. Some things are harder here. But mostly they’re just different and you have to find your way around for awhile.

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We’ve both been sick or injured several times since we got here. The food didn’t set right. The broken sidewalks took a toll. But it seems to be settling now. Hopefully. Ben hikes twice a week and sometimes joins me on my walks through the nearby neighborhoods. Spanish class happens twice a week for me. I love it and enjoy my classmates. Painting and drawing classes 2 days a week are a new pleasure for Ben. It’s fun to see him so excited about a new venture. For once he’s shopping more than me!

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On Tuesday mornings I go to the organic market while Ben hikes then wait for him to pick me up on the way home. It’s too hot now to carry a heavy load on foot and there are always friends to talk with while I wait. Wednesday morning after my class we meet up and walk to the town market (tianguis), visit our gringo friend Dick who’s a jewelry vendor there, pick up any fruits and veggies we missed on Tuesday, then head to lunch at one of our nearby haunts. CHOPSTICKS is run by an Asian couple who’ve been here for 18 years. Their 2 teenage sons were born and raised here. Or we might head to the secondhand stores before eating at CAFE NEGRO (best veggie burrito!) or TACO FRIDA (best vegetarian tacos!). Thursday mornings our wonderful housekeeper Chayo comes so we head out for a walk and breakfast at the nearby PATISSERIE FRANCAIS (best croissants and Americano coffee!). We have our favorite ATM now (remember, it’s a cash economy), our favorite fruit vendor, our favorite health food store. We check in with David for a fresh pressed juice and a quick Spanish lesson on the corner near our pharmacy. If we’re in town at lunch time we’ll often stop at MACHI MA or CHILI VERDE, then hit the “dollar store” for any small household items needed. (We tend to avoid Walmart – I’m not driving that far yet and don’t know when I will. Even Ben admits driving is crazy around here.)

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I’ve come to love going to El Centro – “downtown” – for special events. Palm Sunday, Good Friday, the indigenous fair. Or just to mill around and be part of the community. I try to do this once or twice a week to continue to feel the rhythm of the village. Taking the bus at least one way. It keeps me connected.

There is finally a rhythm to our comings and goings now. There’s a rhythm to buying and disinfecting the produce, paying the bills, doing the laundry, things that were commonplace back “home” but initially seemed daunting here. Even the thumping of the tires on the cobblestones has its rhythm, though that may take a little longer to get used to.

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Before we moved I began reading about shamanism and curanderos (healers in Latin America) which brought my attention to drums. At the indigenous festival I was repeatedly drawn to the table of handmade drums and rattles but kept stepping back. This week I opened up a local Facebook page to find a hand drum being sold by a friend. Fortuitous I decided. It is now in my care and reminds me daily of the rhythms of my heart, the rhythms of my life here in Mexico as we move forward, grateful to all those who have helped us along the way.

Ben and I were here last year at this time and experienced our first Ajijic festivities. This year I felt more invested and just had to see what was going on. My friend Judy and I walked down the street (calle) known as Ocampo where the parade would begin and ended up in the midst of it all. Delightful! (I know some of you are not interested in Christian traditions. For me this was just about Mexican traditions. Hope you’ll enjoy!)

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The plaza was alive with color, music, food and people. Families smiling and laughing together. Dressed in their best attire. Interesting that the only disposable products used were plastic forks and spoons. Desserts were served on banana leaves, corn husks or stiff paper. Dinners were served on real plates and drinks in real glasses. You simply handed your dish back when you were done or left it on a table to be bussed. Love it.

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The street to the nearby cathedral began filling so we knew the procession was coming. We crowded into a little niche that gave us a good view and managed to get a few decent pictures. People took it pretty seriously and the noise level dropped as the crowd pushed serenely toward the cathedral, walking on green limbs of garbanzo plants thrown down (in lieu of palm fronds) to point the way and cushion the path.

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Those following and some from the plaza made their way into the cathedral courtyard for an open air mass. My friends and I did not attend but were glad to see the event leading up to it. A few families were intensely creating palm frond souvenirs for sale outside the cathedral entrance. Unbelievable how fast they worked. Each cost 12-15 pesos – around 60-75 cents.

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I insisted on checking out a bread shop on the main street when I saw the words “Gluten Free”. It’s a big deal now with so many gringos requesting it. The sweet clerks proudly explained all about their processes – oat flour, beet root sour dough starter, etc. – and I left with a small but incredibly delicious piece of GF cake for Ben. I realized on my way out that the loaf of bread I considered was $12!!! I’ll pass!

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On our way out we tripped (almost literally) upon a dance troop. We had a back seat view but it was still delightful to see these well trained young people so exuberant in preserving and displaying their native dances.

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What a wonderful experience! I so loved being in the middle of it, milling around with my new friends and supporting the local culture. This Easter weekend promises to be busy, crowded and loud. But I’ll try not to complain. I am a guest here and am honored to witness their joy and spirit.

I love walking through the sleepy village

as it awakens….

Rattle trap buses with expert drivers (look out NYC!) clanking over cobblestones

rooster crowing

dogs barking

clack-clacking of the tortilla machine spitting out perfect circles of corn

Sleepy faces smile – Buenos dias!

Old leather faced ladies peek from doorways

Store clerks with buckets of soapy water

thrown onto sidewalks outside their shops

brooms in hand…pride of place

Smell of hot, yeasty loaves & rolls fills the air

the bread man delivers

Coffee roasting nearby

fresh squeezed orange juice in clear plastic cups

to go – para llevar, por favor.

I love these people – this town – as it awakens

Time for class…enter the gate…sit in the chair

with doors open & light breeze blowing

spicy chilies on the comal next-door

Hola! Buenos dias! Adios! (Go with God!)

Bienvenido a Meh-e-co! Welcome to Mexico!

I’ve waited for this festival for months. Recognizing indigenous peoples of Mexico. Although it was not as comprehensive as I’d hoped, it was still a lot of fun. Dozens of Mexican families mingled with gringos enjoying street food, music, crafts, and each other. The plaza was hopping!

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Following the opening procession surrounded by the sweet smell of rare copal resin, we wound around the plaza, stopping to raise our arms to the four directions. Aztec tribesmen danced in the gazebo, praying for blessing of the weekend event. Let the fun begin!

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Sunday morning was a delight of sacred Aztec tribal dancing by the lake.

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Very few people attended this event. To me it was the highlight of the weekend. The energy of the one hour performance outshone the sun. I met a couple of the dancers later who spoke to their experience of Spirit and prayer while performing. Heartfelt and rendered.

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Nearby on the Malecon, the weekend performance of the Voladares took place, with daredevil swirling from top to bottom, upside down, wrapped in rope that is first wound around the pole. As the Totonacs (from Veracruz) lean off the rotating platform, the rope unwinds and they begin the wild spin downward, attached only by one leg. Atop the pole the remaining person plays haunting flute music. Movement slows as they reach the ground and prepare to repeat the process. Legend has it that the performance originated as a ceremony asking the gods for an end to drought. The Voladores ritual has been named an Intangible cultural heritage by UNESCO in order to help it survive and thrive in the modern world (Wikipedia). Today it is performed at festivals and tourist areas for donations to help fund travel, costumes, etc. Such fun to see something you’ve only read about and anticipated.

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It was a busy weekend, ending with a long walk home in the heat. Yes, it’s dry and hot here now. Which leads me to understand why many Mexican homes are concrete and tile, with few windows. And siestas take place mid-afternoon. Changing routines is not just about retirement!

Home at last, home at last…thank God Almighty, we’re home at last!

Going from this:

to this:

…was tough. But we got it done. The best part was seeing dear friends and eating in great restaurants. Thanks to all who took time to be with us, share with us. You are all so dear. Make no mistake – we DO miss you.

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It took me two days to realize not every waiter/waitress wanted to hear me practice my Spanish. But in Cocoa Cinnamon I found a home! Including great Mexican inspired coffee and chocolate drinks like “La Frida” and “Tenochtitlan” (I did not realize this is the ancient name for Mexico City).

We finished our two weeks off with this:

And landed back in Guadalajara on Saturday 3/9/19. It was so very hard to walk away from my family. But I’m so happy to have seen how devoted Japhy and Toni are to sweet Hazel Grace. And so happy that Ben and I were able to spend quality time with them, holding little Hazie close (and whispering to her en espanol!). This child is well loved and well cared for.

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First night out. New (to us) restaurant. The young chef and his staff ring a prayer bowl over each plate to bestow a blessing before serving. I was quite impressed. Is that why my salad tasted so good?

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Back to warm, sunny weather. Back to the quirkiness of Mexico. Back to neighbors and bus rides and frequent shopping for necessities. Hopefully we can settle in now and figure out who we really are as retirees living in another country. I am ready to write and read and enjoy friends. Ready to stop trying to “get organized” and just live my life. Ready to strike up spontaneous conversations and explore neighborhoods. Explore Mexico. I’ll miss my 50 year high school reunion. I’ll miss my sweet granddaughter and her parents. I’ll miss how easy it is to find things and take care of things in Los Estados Unidos. All part of peeling back the layers of the onion. The many layers of letting go. I thought I’d done all that. Now I know it is a lifelong lesson. Surely more concentrated in this era of my life.

That’s what Thomas Wolfe said. I didn’t believe him when I moved back to my home town of Asheville, North Carolina, in 1997 to take a job and fell in love with the place all over again. This time we’re talking Ajijic, Mexico. My town of 3 months. We leave in a few days for Charlotte, hoping for one more glimpse of baby Hazie & her parents. Early Saturday we’ll head back to Mexico. Will it feel like home?

This trip has been strange from the start. Trying to coordinate with new parents and old friends and business associates. Making calls. Calculating expenses. It’s all been tough. The gears are not in sync. The planets are out of alignment. Exhausting, expensive, cold/wet. One car. One key. Two schedules. Ben’s been sick but pushing forward. It worries me. Thank you to the friends who have gone out of their way to help us manage this. And those who offered but we had to decline to (try to) keep things simple.

Somehow in the midst of it all I’ve found clarity about what direction to take when we get home. I know I need dedicated time to seek out blogging topics and to write. Dedicated time to study and practice Spanish. I need more sun than gloom. Maybe it’s just the newness of it all (is that so bad?) that makes me feel alive and motivated. After all the moving as a child and young adult, maybe I’m just acclimated to changing scenery periodically. I knew as soon as we came back this time that it is not where I want or need to be. Always a dreamer. A romantic. “I live in Mexico.” “You do? That’s so cool!” Can’t help it. There’s a bigger world out there. Sometimes your box just feels too small. Am I trying to be something I’m not? Or am I trying to be the best I can be? Time will tell.

POST SCRIPT: A few days ago I felt myself a victim until I found a poster hanging on a restaurant wall. What timing. It grounded me for what happened next. I spent Tuesday morning at my doctor’s office, visiting with former coworkers and having my annual exam. A friend picked me up for lunch and took me shopping for a few things not available in Ajijic. Seconds after she said – Haven’t we had a nice relaxing afternoon? – a white construction truck came from out of nowhere racing to get in front of us, maneuvering through the tight space between us and the nearby lane of rush hour traffic. In a split second he smashed into our car as he roared by, nearly forcing us off the road into the nearby trees. Mary controlled the car like a champ and moved forward trying to catch up with him. No way. He was GONE. A retired lawyer, Mary maintained calm and made all the necessary calls after pulling off into a parking lot. Uber to the rescue after Officer Cox left. Riding home with Ben every passing car sent a jolt through my system and the smell of burning rubber lodged in my nose. Lavender oil, arnica pellets and Tylenol helped me through the night. Today I’m sore and tired (Mary’s doing well.) and baffled by someone’s willingness to “hit & run”. Having trouble staying grounded. But at the same time feeling grateful and blessed that it was so minor. No one stopped. No one pulled over to check on us. I don’t understand. This would not happen in Mexico. It’s strange to be hurt or sick in a country other than your home. You want your bed, familiar surroundings. We’re 3 days from flying back to Mexico. I’m ready to go home.

Conexiones. A circle of friends. A group of persons who are connected. Before. During. After. The Move. It all started over two years ago when we looked into going to Portugal. Nope. Too expensive. Ben knew Danny Cameron from Chapel Hill had moved to San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. Connection #1. We visited “SMA” in January 2017. We were smitten. Mexico. Dust on my heart. Go figure.

Back home a switch flipped. Time to retire. Time to move. Mexico. Climate. Lower cost of living. Culturally rich. The people. Time to look at textiles of Mexico. Find a tour guide. There it was. Oaxaca Cultural Navigator – oaxacaculture.com – Norma Schafer. With a home in Durham as well as Oaxaca. Connection #2. Norma invites us to dine with friends who spend several weeks in Ajijic each year. Debbie & Steve. Connection #3. It goes on and on. That’s life, right?

Two weeks ago Norma came to visit us in Ajijic for a few days. It was fun showing her our town & the textile venues there. Nothing as rich in design & craftmanship as she is used to but it provides, in my mind, a connection between us. We wandered the village, went to the thermal springs, shopped the markets, cooked, ate, laughed, met up with old and new friends…Debbie & Steve. Mariann. Lovely. So lovely to have this woman I greatly admire & respect in my home, my village. Thank you, Norma. See you in November.

After Norma left there was an annual Chili Cook Off in Tobolandia (no idea), the local water park. I’d heard there’d be craftspeople from Oaxaca there so I decided to go meet them. Norma would probably know them. Found them in a back corner. Two lovely young women – Sara & Nadi – selling handwoven bedspreads and tablecloths as well as hand/machine made aprons. (OaxacaBedspreads.com) I showed them Norma’s picture after a brief introduction. They smiled. They recognized her. I bought an apron (mandil). It made my day. Connections.

Off to North Carolina. Time to meet our granddaughter Hazie in Charlotte. So excited even though our time will be limited due to the newness and stress of their situation, which became clear on our arrival. But first, let’s make connections. This time I’m talking flight connections – the meeting of planes or trains for the transfer of passengers. Atlanta. 2 hour layover. I look up and there is Helen, daughter of my good friend Shelton in Boone. I haven’t seen her in years! She’s connecting from LA where she works and lives with her boyfriend Joshua, a flight attendant for Delta. Love seeing this beautiful young woman I’ve known since birth. Still has that lovely smile and soothing voice. We take the same flight and end up in baggage claim at Charlotte-Douglas airport (aeropuerto) where her mom, my friend Shelton, is waiting. Hugs. Smiles. Connections to my past.

Five minutes after arriving at my son’s house he places little Hazie in my arms. I can’t describe how I felt. I’ve never felt it before. She has so many people who love her already. She is and will be surrounded with family and friends all her life, I’m sure. But to me she is the one and only. Blood of my blood. I hope that someday it will be OK that I live in Mexico. I’d love to help her learn Spanish. Tell her why Mexico is important to her Abuela. Only time will tell. Her parents are smart and strong and dedicated. And smitten. She will have a good life.

Norma has loaned us her condo in Durham. It is a beautiful place in the Warehouse District. Walking distance to town. We’ve spent a little time with our friends Onja and Bill who visited us in December. We’ve gone to a couple of restaurants – my favorite being the old, funky COSMIC CANTINA. Never knew about it when I lived here. Crazy. We’ve checked on Ben’s property & taken care of business. We’ve visited friends. We thought we’d have time to twiddle our thumbs. But we don’t. Next Friday will be here before we know it and we’ll be headed back to Mexico. It’ll be tough leaving Hazie & her parents behind. They aren’t happy that we’re so far away. How do you explain that you also have your own life to live after being tied to a career for over 30 years. The timing stinks. I love them anyway. I hope they’ll understand some day. We are, after all, connected.

That was the name I gave to my dream business when I lived in Boone, NC, many years ago. It was a counteraction to the pat one swoop method of interior designers. Buy something you love, use it, move it to the place that feels right. Add the next piece or two…in other words, let your surroundings evolve as you live in them, as you see how you function in your space. I thought it was brilliant! It was how my own place evolved. It is how this place in Ajijic, Mexico, is evolving. In a way it is how my life, my spirit and emotions, are evolving…slowly, by design.

I am amazed every day by what we’ve done, by how in the past several months our lives have changed, evolved, morphed into something so totally different. By design. Virtually nothing is the same, except our kitchen stuff. (They were right to say bring it. Quality here is poor.) Even our clothes change as we realize what works here and what doesn’t-keeping travel to other climates in mind. We bought a car, another Honda, but driving here is VASTLY different. I found myself finally exhaling with relief yesterday when we went to an Auto Zone (!) for a windshield screen. The store looked nearly identical to the ones back in NC (except for the signs in Spanish). Finally something familiar!

We slowly add an item here or there as we realize what we need, what might work. There’s no doing anything fast here-it took weeks to find a set of shelves for Ben’s office and after hitting 6-8 stores we still have no stand for the (giant) TV waiting in the box behind my chair. Now and then a delight like the special Oaxacan rug in a consignment store, or the wonderful handmade/painted jewelry rack Ben found at a recent studio tour, shows up. The den looks better with the rug in it. The corner reserved for my scarves and necklaces has come together-a vignette pleasing to my eye-and functional as well. But the “dream” of creating a Mexican style decor fades to the background, no longer important considering the effort and money it takes to make it happen. That realization in itself is an evolution.

In the midst of it all my mind and spirit evolve as well I hope. A visit to a nearby estate sale last week sent me into tears and depression. Why??? It took a day or two and the support of distant sisters/friends to see the tie to a childhood lived with mother and brother who always felt cheated, always felt they should’ve had more, been more. Looking at my own brand of discontent I detect that in this case it is the need for more useable outdoor space here at home that beckons. Something comfortable to lounge in-an evolution of space. Part of it-that discontent-will take a lot longer to figure out.

Ben and I laugh (on a good day) at the realization that on some level we thought our troubles would drop away at the border. There are old stresses and there are new ones as we “evolve” in our new surroundings. I suspect we are here for reasons we never dreamed of. Letting go of material and emotional “stuff” continues to drive us toward being the people we are meant to be. Finding our place here, finding our new selves here, will take time. There are so many possibilities-classes, groups, activities, volunteer work. I recently asked the assistant at the Lake Chapala Society (the organization that offers invaluable support to the gringo community here) what volunteers they might need. I’m a nurse. I could take blood pressures. Or, she replied, you could do something you haven’t already done all your life! Now there’s a concept! Perhaps we could even choose just to BE.

LEARNING curves, that is. The past several weeks have been full of learning curves. All the logistics of putting a household together (or taking one apart!) barely apply here in Ajijic. Everything is slower (I’m told mañana actually means, when I get to it) & more complicated here. Which is a good thing for someone like me who wants to spend less time/money buying stuff. (Read my earlier blogs to see my feelings about that.) But tougher when it comes to things like buying a car (& being an impatient gringo).

Our first effort at buying a Honda CRV, Ben’s choice after much research, was thwarted by a gut feeling that the car we looked at/drove just wasn’t quite right. Most likely it had been in the heavy rains in Puerta Vallerta & was brought here to be “dumped”. Getting our downpayment back from the guy who’d been recommended to us created some bad feelings so we decided to look elsewhere. But before we did we followed that person’s advice to set up a Mexican bank account & get an “RCF” number (akin to a US social security number). The bank account set up took weeks as we consulted with the local banker & followed the steps she laid out for us. Each step required another visit to her office. Move money from a US account to the Mexican account & wait for it to clear. Return to her office to apply for checks & a debit card. Return to her office to pick them up….

Meanwhile, we found another local person recommended for his honest car deals. We liked the white CRV on his lot & talked to him at length before putting down a small amount of money to hold it. (There was actually someone in the driveway who planned to buy the car right then if we decided not to.) Turns out Rafael flies to Merida where his family lives then drives the CRV or RAV 4 for many hours to Ajijic to sell it. They don’t sit on his lot long. Short of this, or the one “gringo” car lot in town, folks go to Guadalajara to buy a car. Not ready for that yet. Fingers crossed.

So next you write a MEXICAN check to the dealer & go to the bank…oh, wait. First you have to call the bank 2 days ahead of time & tell them how much cash you need (& why) so they can GET IT from ??? Then you go to the bank, write the check to the dealer, he takes it to the teller who then verifies the transaction & gives THEM the cash. (OK by me). THEN you can take the car. You go buy insurance. You take it back to the dealer so he can take it to Chapala for local tags. Then he takes it to Tonala to check the VIN numbers, etc. Then you go pick it up again the next day & pay them more money for the tags. Then, & only then, you wait in line for gas because the Mexican Presidente known as AMLO has slowed distribution to a trickle to try to prevent theft/crime by… We have our car now but the next step is to go for an emissions test in Chapala, though that may have to wait based on the last letter in our license plate & the corresponding month. What???

All that being said, I must tell you that for the most part I did not want a car. Especially a nice car. I believe that it sets me apart from the local people. That it makes me another gringo living in Paradise. It seems like gringos speak/wave to me now & Mexicanos do not. Now I have to worry about-or do I?-the nice car getting beaten up. Because with narrow cobblestone streets that’s what happens. We paid a lot of $ for that car. How does that first scratch/dent feel??? I miss the bus & taxi rides where I learn so much about the people & their language. The plus side is that we have already seen areas we would’ve had to pay a driver to take us to, if we’d even known about them. And we can gradually extend our exploration to nearby mountain towns & the coast. And my shoulders don’t ache from carrying heavy loads of groceries up our hill from the market. OK, I’ll adapt.

You can drive here on a US license. Nonetheless, we’ve signed up to get our Mexican licenses. (Can I drive in the US on that license? Don’t know yet.) The car dealer’s wife pointed out exactly what papers & tags to show to a policia if they stop us. She is Mexican & was followed by the Federales on the highway from Guadalajara, for no particular reason. Trafficos (traffic cops) rarely speak English & love it if they give you a ticket & you pay it on the spot because you don’t speak Spanish & you don’t know what else to do. There’s a sticker gringos have created here for your car that tells the cops you will take your ticket & go, thank you, because you don’t want to pay more than you have to. My joke about driving here is-There is no road rage in Mexico. But there is also no hesitation. I haven’t driven in over 2 months. Not sure when I’ll start. Pull far right to turn left if you’re in a line of traffic??? Whew! Learning curve.