Why We Left an Anthology of American Women Expats

by Janet Blaser

  We looked all over the city for a house or apartment to rent, but with our incomes, the places we could afford weren’t in the best areas. We came up with the idea of looking in a small pueblo about 35 minutes from where I worked. El Quelite was a charming place to live, and we were there for almost two years. I became well-known as I was the only gringa to live there full-time, and our house was across the street from the church on the main street.

  I loved our time there. It was an enchanted place, with cobblestone streets, wonderful people and—fireflies! El Quelite is one of Mexico’s Pueblos Magico, a Magical Town. Every morning as I woke up, I could hear the streets and porches being swept; the sound of brooms on the cobblestones became one of my favorite things. However, eventually it became a little worrisome for me to drive the highway alone at night coming back from the hotel. There had been some carjackings. We decided to move back to Mazatlán. To this day I dream of having a vacation home in El Quelite.

  Then, after two years of working at the hotel, I was let go. The owner was listening to the thieving employees, which made absolutely no sense to me. I agree that I wasn’t very effective, because they had blocked me, but he should have let them go! He didn’t offer to bring me back to the States, either. Over time I was able to forgive and kind of forget, because I felt a very special connection to Mazatlán. I felt I was on my correct path, and I still do.

  Never in my life before—which I now call my “other” life—have I learned so much about myself, or about other people or about what’s really important. I felt like I was actually making a difference. Not at the hotel so much, but in sharing my stories in the paper I was working for about what it takes to live in another country happily. I soon had a following of people on Facebook where I also wrote about my adventures. This was before blogging was a “thing.” It sounds really corny, but I’ve always felt that since I couldn’t have kids, the only thing I could leave in this world that would make a difference was my work and hopefully a job well-done.

  Since moving to Mazatlán 12 years ago, I’ve worked various jobs, all for very low wages. In Mexico, at least in Mazatlán, people work for salaries—I’ve not really heard of any jobs paid hourly. That was a huge change of lifestyle for me; huge. I had a massage business, just myself; was an English and Spanish teacher, giving private classes; and worked as a hotel manager, concierge, tile salesman, writer and editor of a local English publication. Then I had the good fortune of being hired by the city, by the mayor’s wife, who’s traditionally appointed as president of DIF (Integral Development of the Family) Mazatlán, as the liaison for the foreign community. I did that for three years.

  If your income drops by like 90%, how does your life change? It’s true that things are cheaper here, so that helps, but things you used to think you had to have—expensive face treatments, make-up, specialty foods, your favorite perfume, brand of clothes and shoes—suddenly become optional. Every couple of months I had to find ways to cut spending even further. I never once thought of moving back, though. I loved it here too much.

  I didn’t have a car; the van I’d driven down belonged to the hotel. Taxis, pulmonias (Mazatlán’s open-air “golf cart” taxis) and buses were the only way I could get around, because walking very far wasn’t an option with my disability (two hips needing replacements, which I did eventually get).

  At one point, I tried to open a tour company with a local Mexican friend and businessman. I worked with him for a year and a half without an income, using up all the cash I did have. The month we finally opened, all the cruise ships were cancelled due to a supposed increase in violence (which wasn’t really happening). I did freak out a little. I had no other option but to find work—and fast. During that time, I sold everything I had, again, including all my gold jewelry, some of which was my mother’s. It was a difficult thing to do, and I still have a mini-panic attack when I think of some of the things I used to have that I had to sell.

  After six years of living in Mazatlán, I’d gotten used to cutting corners to lower my cost of living. By finding less luxurious places to live, my rent went from $5,000 or $6,000 pesos a month to $3,000 and $3,500. Even that was too high for me, actually. I should have gotten a roommate, but I preferred to live alone, so that was a sacrifice, a luxury. I dealt with it.

  I had to keep internet access at my home, because I was always translating or working on the internet. Determined to cut my food costs, I started eating less expensive cuts of meat, simpler, common foods, and I only drank water and coffee and a little milk. I was intentionally avoiding processed foods, which for me worked well on a low budget. I used as little electricity as possible, opting for fans instead of air-conditioning, always turning off the lights. In the summer months, when the humidity was high and it was really hot, I would turn off the hot water tank completely, saving on gas.

  I did go out with friends occasionally, but not often. It was just too expensive. It was a little humiliating, honestly, because people knew I was broke, but the benefits of being on the path I’d chosen in Mexico, helping foreigners feel like part of their new home by translating important info for them, or sharing things in English that were hard to find and teaching a little about the culture, made it worthwhile.

  Most people would have opted out. I saw that happen many, many times. When they realized they couldn’t live like they could in the U.S. or Canada while earning pesos, they would return to their own country where they had family or still had a home. I didn’t have a home back in the States to return to, but decided I wasn’t giving up. It wasn’t, and still isn’t, that common to find a foreigner working only for pesos without another income or savings.

  So how can I say it’s worth it? There are many reasons, actually, but first I love the fact that my life is so much simpler. Secondly, I came to realize who I really am. What I mean by that is when you ask most people who they are, usually they answer with the kind of car they drive, a picture of their family, what they do for a living, where they live or where they go on vacation. One day when I was feeling sorry for myself, it hit me that without having all of those things, I know I’m still the same person; a good person, an intelligent, creative, strong woman with a big heart. That’s who I am. I don’t think I would have been able to say that before. I leaned on too many external things to see myself clearly.

  When a new mayor was elected, he wiped out the liaison program started by the previous administration, where I worked in the park, and my job. I went to work for another city department as liaison as well, this time for the local cultural center, which allowed me to keep my city employee health insurance. (Thank the Gods.) But this job was for less money and a lot more hours. It was a big blow to my ego and my pocketbook.

  I absolutely adored the director, but in my particular department, the manager was really difficult to work with. I kept at it though, and tried to just ignore her, staying to the best of my ability on the “high road.” Basically, she was racist. She had certain ideas about what an American woman was like, which was nothing like me at all. I felt accused all the time and she rejected most of my best ideas. She was angry and wouldn’t accept that I had a disability. I needed the insurance the city position provided, so I just tried to do my job and hang in there.

  I’ve seen very little racism in Mexico. It does exist, mostly in ideas they have of us, and just like most people around the world with racist ideas, these generalizations are unfounded. I think I’ve seen it more often than many people because I speak the language fluently, and dive into the culture as much as possible. I believe all negativity comes from fear, so instead of getting angry, I would try to show them the reality of who I was.

  Finally, after a year and a half of looking for a second job or a different job, I found what seemed like a great opportunity. I think the angry department manager thought I couldn’t just quit, but she was wrong. A new city department had opened, the Center for Attention and Protection to Tourists (CAPTA). Maz
atlán is the fourth city in Mexico to open a CAPTA office. I quit right away and started the new job before I even knew how much I would be making because it just felt like the perfect job for me. Again, I had a really clear gut feeling, and just like when I was initially asked to work in Mexico, I knew I was going to do it. I’d already turned down three other jobs that year, knowing they weren’t right. I’m so excited about this new position, as I know this is a place where I can help people and really make a difference.

  One of the biggest and nicest surprises for me personally is that after working in the English-speaking media, then working as the only foreigner for the city as a liaison, I became very well-known to the local community, both Mexican and foreign. I have contacts, friends and new “family” all over town. I feel very loved and supported in my new life in Mexico.

  Many people have asked me how I could take the chance to move to Mexico without a big bank account as back-up, and for a while I didn’t know how to answer. Then a few years ago I read a quote I wish I could take credit for. It said life isn’t about security, but about finding joy. That’s my goal, and although I do believe being happy is a decision, sharing your gift with the world, making a difference, is pure joy.

  The culture is definitely different here; not necessarily worse or better. To be happy in another place, you have to keep an open mind and open heart, be open to change and learning about new cultures. If you can’t learn to relax and take things slower and accept that things happen at a slower place here, you just may go crazy and become a nervous wreck. I think the best thing to do is take deep breaths and keep saying, “Mañana doesn’t mean tomorrow, it just means not today.” Now I love the slower pace. I see people come down to Mexico to live for six months, and some don’t adjust well to the culture shock at all.

  I love shopping in the mercado and having fresh seafood at a beachfront palapa. I adore the fantastic music and cultural scene and enjoy helping to promote that. After 12 years, I can converse fluently in Spanish. I also help people translate when they need it: documents, medical info, whatever. Sometimes I also help local doctors and police translate to English by phone, when they need it.

  Moving away from what your family thinks you should be doing and not doing and what society deems “normal” can be difficult. Sometimes family and friends take it negatively or get angry. I think these emotions come from fear; fear that your decisions leave you financially vulnerable or that you’re putting yourself in harm’s way. Sometimes people are jealous that you’re following your dreams. I encourage you to follow your heart to the best of your ability; don’t crack under pressure from family or friends or society. Take the chance.

  I feel very passionate about helping our two cultures understand each other. I think the best way to achieve this is to accept differences with respect and understanding, dive into the daily routine, don’t be afraid to get to know your neighbors, learn the language as much as possible, ask for help when you need it and smile.

  My story might sound like an experience I could have had north of the border, a story about making little money, realizing your dreams, changing your life. But I couldn’t be happier that it happened in Mazatlán, where the people, the language and the culture are so very beautiful. I am many times stronger and wiser than I was before. (And the beaches and sunshine certainly don’t hurt!)

  If you’d told me 13 years ago I’d be living in Mazatlán, doing what I’m doing, I would have asked you what you were smoking. But life is an adventure, and that isn’t just a cliché. Life is short! Do what you think you need to do to be happy. You can do it alone. Take advantage of every situation and bloom where you’re planted! Will you look back at life and say I wish I had—or I’m glad I did?

  Lisa Lankins is an Oregonian, born and raised in the Portland area, but has lived in beautiful Mazatlán, Mexico since 2006. She has worked in Mexico as a writer and editor of local English media for about 11 years, but now works for the Mazatlán city government helping tourists. She has always enjoyed being a liaison for the foreign community. Lisa continues to write and loves sharing information that helps both locals and expats

  10. “Wanderlust”

  Joanna Karlinsky

  Cozumel, Quintana Roo

  I tell people I left because of the election. The disappointment was unsavory. It’s easier than saying I was tired. But, honestly, I left the U.S. because I was tired. Tired of working too hard. Tired of struggling to restart what had been a successful career as a chef and restaurateur. Tired of the tears that came too quickly for every injustice that hadn’t changed in my lifetime. Tired of the rising cost of living in San Francisco. Tired of dealing with cancer and chemo and surgery. Tired from caring for my dying mother. Tired of my 14-year relationship with Justine. Tired of the angry rhetoric being spewed during the 2016 election. I had perspective and was going to keep it. Dammit.

  Cancer gives you perspective. You are forced to imagine the worst: pain and suffering, dying before you’re ready, how others will feel about you dying. Probably more important for me was deciding if I’d be ready to go, unencumbered by regrets if I did die. Others’ feelings have to be considered, but, ultimately, dying is something we all do alone. And I wasn’t about to let anyone interfere with my decisions. I had been willing to fight my first cancer. And again for my second. But enough was enough. Fighting again wasn’t/isn’t looking appealing. Leaving was a good idea, but I didn’t know how.

  The problem with getting perspective is keeping it. It seems most people lose it as soon as their chemo-hair curls grow out. My first cancer was a rare sarcoma, in my forearm muscle. 50/50 to recover, but no stats on long-term. Most people would have had their entire arm amputated. I recovered, after intense, in-patient chemo, a nine-hour surgery, radiation and more chemo, with full movement of arm and hand. Why? Because science. Doctors. Western medicine, Eastern medicine and marijuana. It had nothing to do with faith, though I’ll concede I had “faith” in my doctors! Overall it was exhausting and I was really tired.

  The second cancer was Stage 3 uterine, which started less than three months after the last chemo for the sarcoma. Not a good sign. My first oncologist’s office replied to my inquiry of the likelihood of another cancer by saying it was a billion-to-one shot. But yeah … that’s me. Many months later, after the actual diagnosis and going on a treatment plan, I had gene testing done. It showed lynch syndrome, a gene disorder that makes many cancers more likely to grow. I suffered again through chemo, in order to make the 10-year survival rate increase. I left the U.S. because I wasn’t going to spend the next 10 years working my ass off and struggling just to find myself with cancer … again.

  In between my two adventures with cancer my mother died. Her companion dog had died in old age two years prior. She was almost distraught. It was of no matter how in touch with her three adult children she was, after her dog died, she’d given up. She was frustrated, having memory lapses and dementia-related episodes. I spent most of her last year with her. Burying a lot of hatchets. We admitted to not knowing how to talk to each other. We had some fun and made each other laugh. I made her ride on a carousel and chase sunsets. We told stories about my long-dead father, sister and brother. We looked at photos from her life, Face-Timed with her sister, niece and nephew and friends. And we let go of a lot of anger. She did the best she could and it was okay. It was time for her to go. I got more perspective.

  Before the cancer and mother-dying adventures I had spent a not-so-good three years trying to jump-start my career, but being over 40 in my field sucks. I consulted with others and I applied for chef and restaurant management jobs. Unfortunately when you’ve been your own boss for many years you’re not likely to be a good fit for someone else’s restaurant. You’ll always want things done your way. I was no exception. I blew through savings, wondered if I was cut out to do anything else. (I’m not.) Airbnb was very helpful. Justine, my soon-to-be ex, and I listed our guest room. People from ar
ound the world came to stay. A map with red dots showed all the places guests had come from. I loved it. The world came to me while I was going through chemo. Perhaps when I recovered, I thought, I would go see the world.

  After the second cancer ordeal there was anger to let go of: Why did I survive? I’d already spent a lifetime battling mental illness and abusing drugs and living on empty. It had been a wild life, full of adventures and great loves and hard work and good deeds. I was over 50, without kids or a career, about to leave my girlfriend. It would’ve been okay for me to go. But no … I had to watch people half my age, with little kids, new careers and long bucket lists die too young. I’d never been good at self-care. Taking care of myself seemed a good first step to recovery. Moving on seemed a good second step. Trying to find a new purpose a third step.

  Planning to travel seemed a good place to start. I’d never had a bucket list. I’ve done so many things, have experienced so many emotions that it seemed trite. So I made a list of some things I’d “like” to do.

  Bungee jumping wasn’t on it.

  Whitewater rafting in Costa Rica was.

  Hiking the Appalachian Trail? Not with my arthritic knee, so all hiking was off the list.

  See the Louvre? Was there 30 years ago. Been there, done that.

  Travel to Japan? Not enough money.

  Actually learn Spanish? Yeah.

  See the countries my employees had come from. Why not?

  Learn to scuba dive? YES!

  Learn to play poker! Check!

  Take a road trip? Yep!

  With a new friend? Absolutely!

  My neighbors rented their in-law apartment to a young couple: Eric, who I immediately clicked with while bonding over New York City (where both of us were born and raised) and his Polish girlfriend, an over-achiever finishing at university. Most of my friends were busy with their lives while I was suffering through chemo, but Eric seemed to come and go at weird times. Eventually I invited him up and we talked. At 32 he told me stories of hitchhiking and camping his way through México, Central and South America. I told him about my limited travels. And about my high-maintenance lifestyle: To sleep I need my cervical pillow, my beanbag pillow for between my knees, fuzzy socks for the first hour of sleep and I can’t sleep on sheets because I can feel every crease—only a soft fleece blanket spread tight will do. And a fleece blanket on top, but it must be the correct weight for the temperature. Eric laughed and told me to “get over myself.” I told him I was trying!