by Janet Blaser
My moving to Mexico was not difficult. I gave notice on my rented apartment, and I had not owned a car since 2009 when I moved to New York. All my banking was essentially done online. It really just felt like I was going on vacation, the difference being I wasn’t coming back.
In telling friends and family my plans I was met with a lot of resistance. If I had a dollar for every time I mentioned Mexico and got a negative reaction, I’d be rich! “Aren’t you afraid to go there?” “Aren’t there a lot of shootings and drug warfare?” “What about ‘the wall’—will you be able to get out if you want to?” “How can you just go and leave your grandchildren?” (I now had four, what with my son’s children in Portland, Oregon.) I was undeterred. Mexico was my place; of that I was certain. Where to live was the question.
I went in April of 2017 and was happy to be gone from America, where the electorate thought Donald Trump was their messiah. Even now, it’s very hard to read about all that’s happening in the U.S. because of him and his cohorts. The 2016 election was a nightmare for many of us Americans and even now following U.S. politics is very upsetting.
I did find the first couple of months here very difficult. I felt like such an outsider. Even though I speak Spanish, I’m tall and blonde and stuck out like a sore thumb. I first stayed a few weeks in the Roma Sur neighborhood in Mexico City, then went to Playa del Carmen with an eye to living there. In August of 2017 I went to Europe for two months, which had always been my plan for when I was first retired. I came back to Mexico City and tried out Coyoacan, a neighborhood famous for Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, who had lived there. Supposedly it also had a “bohemian” vibe. I found it to be too small and not especially “bohemian.” I then visited San Miguel de Allende, but just to see it, with no real intention of making it my home. Too many expats, too many tourists. I must say, though, that it’s an extremely beautiful town.
Next I decided to book an Airbnb for a month in Guanajuato, as it seemed like a great place to live: a university town, colorful houses built on the hillsides, a yearly international festival of art, music and theatre. But after a week of being there and dealing with the callejones—steep alleyways up to the houses—and feeling it to be just too small a town for me, I came back to Mexico City to give it a second look. There I was captured again by its architecture, variety of museums and endless things to do and see.
I was extremely lucky to find an apartment in the very same building in Mexico City where I’d previously stayed in an Airbnb for five weeks. I’m in a beautiful Art Deco colonia (neighborhood), of which Mexico City has 16. There are two parks here where one can see “dog school” happening on any given day. Generally there’s one teacher and 8-10 dogs all lying out in a row waiting for instruction. The teacher works with one dog at a time. Dogs are very loved and cared for here, unlike in the smaller pueblos.
By this time I’d also been back to New York and to the Mexican consulate and now had my Temporary Resident visa. Moving was not particularly difficult; I gave away, sold or boxed up my things for storage. To this day I still have 33 boxes in storage in Manhattan. Obviously I didn’t need what’s in them but now I do want my books and certain clothes and kitchenware, so I’ll have them sent soon.
In a few years, if I tire of this amazing big city, I plan to move to the beach, to a small fishing village north of Puerto Vallarta.
I’ve yet, in almost two years, to have a visitor, friend or family, come from the States. Old stereotypes die hard. It does bother me that no one has come here to visit me and see Mexico for itself. I have to say most of my friends are younger than I am and not retired, and so they don’t have that much vacation time. And they tend to go their home countries of Haiti, Trinidad and Jamaica. My family members have jobs and kids and other considerations. And since I go frequently to visit them they don’t feel properly motivated to come here, I imagine.
I moved here knowing no one. I didn’t even have any knowledge of Facebook groups here which, by the way, have been very helpful in getting used furniture, finding out about events and allowing me to find new friends. I figured if things didn’t work out, such as if I was terribly lonely, I’d have to consider moving back to the States. I’ve made friends here with both expats and locals, and I’ve also looked into volunteering for two different organizations.
My days are spent shopping at Mercado Medellin or the little Mercado Michoacán near me for fruit and vegetables. I also go every week to El Pendulo, a cafebreria (café / bookstore) with live music on weekends. It’s fantastic! There are four of them in Mexico City, each a little different from the others. I buy books in English and short novels in Spanish. I meet with my Mexican landlord twice a week for breakfast or lunch and we speak exclusively in Spanish. I pay for the meals, as he has been acting as my Spanish teacher to help improve my conversational skills. I also have a weekly piano lesson with a teacher who comes to my apartment.
Mexico is like a dream, with huge plants, brilliant colors and a calm, life-affirming culture, despite the media’s portrayal of the Mexican people. I’m looking forward to traveling throughout Mexico, particularly north to Monterrey and southeast to Chiapas.
I return to the States every three months or so to visit my three children and four—soon to be five! —grandchildren. When I go, I bring Mexican candies, bilingual books and other things. I’m teaching my three-year-old granddaughter a little Spanish, as well.
I’ve never looked back and intend to stay here forever.
Diana Kurland was born and raised in Southern California. She started learning Spanish in seventh grade and loved it from day one. She has always felt a great affinity for Mexican people and their culture. Diana retired to Mexico in 2017 from New York, where she was a registered nurse. Prior to that, she was an elementary school teacher, and she is now planning to write bilingual children’s books. Her life in Mexico City is full of learning to play piano, taking painting classes and visiting all the sights of this great, metropolitan city including the pyramids, museums, art exhibits, musical events, cafés, shops and restaurants. She visits her family in New York and Portland, Oregon about every three months.
23. “Finding My Heart & Soul”
Judy Whitaker
El Golfo Santa Clara, Sonora
Thinking back, I guess I was in my 30s. (Wow, that seems like a really long time ago!) I’m 69 now, turning 70 this year. I tell people I used to think 70 was old until I got here. Then, I was young and carefree. The world was my oyster (as they say). I was living in south Florida and recently divorced. I’d just closed my first real estate transaction and had the opportunity to travel somewhere for a week.
I’d never traveled outside of the United States by myself so I decided to go to Mexico. I found a travel agency (back then there wasn’t internet to book it yourself) that offered a very scheduled trip to Mérida, Quintana Roo, Mexico. To be perfectly honest, I really had no idea where I was going, I just knew I would see pyramids and that was what I was after. I’d always been fascinated by pyramids and Mexico was the closest, so off I went. Traveling by myself (remember I was in my 30s), I was fearless.
From the moment I landed in Merida I was hooked. Merida is so beautiful, with old, unbelievable churches, cobblestone streets, all sorts of vendors, fantastic street food and wonderful hotels.
I toured Chichen Itza, Uxmal and several other pyramids within a day’s drive from Mérida. I also explored the city; horse-drawn carriages were my preferred means of travel. I found a driver who spoke some English, and I had a little book with Spanish phrases that I used very slowly. I was able to get my thoughts across and everyone seemed amused with me trying to speak their language, especially the way I said “Mérida.” I later found out I was pronouncing it like the Spanish word for “s**t.”
I just felt like I belonged there, in Mexico. There was a peace in my soul. I felt so at peace, so calm, no stress, true bliss. Just at peace.
I later trave
led to Cancun and Cozumel, where I ended up buying a condo in 1982 that I owned for 10 years. I was living in Atlanta, and the three-hour flight to get there cost less than $100 round-trip. I decided then that if I was ever able to, I would retire in Mexico. I knew I had to see more of this amazing country. The people were so welcoming, and even though my Spanish was minimal, it seemed I could somehow always communicate what I needed to. I have found in my travels to other countries, and also within the U.S., that if you mind your manners and are polite and kind, people will treat you with respect. This was so true and easy in Mexico.
In my 40s I lived in Colorado and it was easy to travel to other border cities: Juaréz, Laredo, Matamoros, Nogales. All of these cities were interesting but none of them called to me. The border cities were very busy with so many Americans and lots of vendors trying to make the almighty buck. They all seemed to be moving at the same pace as the U.S.
When I was in my 50s my father passed, and my mother and I moved to Yuma, Arizona. I got my real estate license again and began working 60-hour weeks. I knew I needed to find a place to retire; time seemed to be flying by. Soon I would be 60 and we all know that’s old! So I began to explore the Baja. My mother loved to travel, so off we went. In the back of my mind I thought maybe the reason she and I had ended up in Yuma was because my ultimate goal—to never see snow again and retire in Mexico—might only be a short day’s drive away.
We traveled first to San Felipe. That’s when I found out my mother knew all the words to the song “El Rancho Grande.” I’d never heard that song before but now it’s one of my favorites. One time we ordered tacos and she told me they just weren’t right. “Tacos should have hamburger meat and cheddar cheese,” she said. On the way home from San Felipe we begged the bus driver to stop so we could buy some huge clay pots to place around our pool in Yuma. He humored us and stopped. Trying to get the pots home from the bus station took three trips, because they were so heavy, but they did look lovely around the pool. When people asked where we got them, we would tell our stories about San Felipe and Mom would always sing “El Rancho Grande.” She was a good singer. That was fun.
But San Felipe just had too many people; it was too developed, not the beach I was looking for. A few months later we went to Ensenada. Again, too big, too expensive, not the beach I wanted. (But excellent wine and lobster.) Rosarito had too many Americans and too many trailers. We had lived in a trailer when I was young and I knew it wasn’t right for me.
Mexicali also had so many people that I thought I was in the U.S., plus the traffic was terrible and really scary. Tecate had no beach and was way too cold, La Rumorosa was about the right size but had no beach and once again was way too cold. Puerto Penasco had the perfect beach but lots of high-rise condos. The traffic was crazy and there were too many beach vendors there too.
I was looking for a place like Cozumel was in the early ‘80s. At that time it was a sleepy town that still had unpaved streets. The main industry was scuba diving, so there were Americans coming in to dive. I think once a week or so a cruise ship would dock, but the passengers were only there for a few hours. We all knew to never shop when there was a ship in, because the prices of everything would be higher!
Once you got outside of town you seemed to step back in time. Most houses had no electricity, so no washers or dryers. There was laundry hanging across the yards everywhere. It always amazed me how they could get the white clothes so white. (It still does.)
I was selling real estate in Yuma, and a Mexican friend I worked with, Eduardo, told me about El Golfo Santa Clara. The locals in Yuma had been going there for years, and everyone seemed to know about El Golfo. They said to go to San Luis, Arizona, 10 miles south of Yuma, go through the town, cross the Mexican border, then south to the end of the highway. I had my doubts, though, since I’d never heard of this small village.
For the next few years I was working a lot and I really didn’t get the chance to travel much. I spent a week in Hawaii; it seemed like just another island. Then, two weeks in Paris. I have to admit I do have a soft spot in my heart for Paris, but it was just too expensive.
It took me a couple of years, but one weekend when my daughter was in Yuma we decided to see if we could find the town. In 2002, El Golfo was not on any maps. The trip was long, with really bad roads. I later found out it was only 90 miles from Yuma, but it took 3-½ hours. When we drove into town, we could see the ocean from the highway and my daughter looked at me and said, “This is it, isn’t it?” She’s been to Cozumel many times when I owned the condo there. I said, “I think it might be.” We both laughed.
El Golfo’s streets were unpaved, with no traffic lights and just two stop signs. We would find out there was no cell service, no ATM and just one gas station. A couple of very small markets and one OXXO provided everything we needed for the beach, i.e., beer and chips. After looking for a long time, we finally found a tiny hotel with eight rooms. Ours looked right out to the beach. It felt amazing. We listened to the surf all night long.
In 2006 my mother passed, and that seemed like a sign for me to move on to the next chapter in my life. I sold my house in Yuma and bought a house in El Golfo. Buying a house in Mexico was a bit of a challenge but I got through it.
I was lucky enough to meet another single gal, Teresa, who had lived in El Golfo since 1995. We became fast friends. It really was nice to know another woman who was living on her own. I didn’t feel like I was such a “wild woman.” She owned and operated a cantina (a bar), called El Capitán, and everyone seemed to know her. She helped me with setting up my electric and other services. She had also moved from Yuma and we found that we even had some mutual friends.
In 2006, Americans didn’t need a passport to go back and forth to the U.S. from Baja. When that rule changed, lots of Americans stopped coming to this sleepy fishing village. Now you have to have a passport and apply for a Mexican visa to stay in Mexico. I find just getting a tourist visa for six months is my best bet.
El Golfo does get very busy during Semana Santa, the week between Good Friday and Easter. Tourists and visitors raise the population as high as 40,000, up from the regular head count of about 4,000 (which I always say includes dogs and children). We have 30 miles of virgin beach, and ATVs, four-wheel drive trucks and sand rails drive and camp on the beach. It’s truly unbelievable. The first year I was here I didn’t know what to make of all the people. Now I stock up on groceries, lock my gate and stay in my little compound. I guess I’ve become a bit of a hermit.
Twelve years after I moved here, El Golfo now has two gas stations, three OXXOs, several grocery stores, paved streets, street lights and most everything I need. The trip from the border only takes 45 minutes on the new coastal highway, which goes from San Luis, Mexico to Puerto Penasco. El Golfo is halfway in-between. I’m easily able to go to the U.S. for any shopping or doctors, since I have Medicare now.
Although El Golfo is only 45 minutes from the border the weather here is so different from weather in Arizona. My friend and I always watch the outside temperature in her car as we drive back home from Yuma. It can sometimes be 105 degrees at the border and we watch the temperature go down as we get closer to El Golfo. We’ve seen it be up to 20 degrees cooler here because we’re at sea level and the ocean breezes cool everything. It’s just amazing.
The cost of living is so much less in Mexico with the exchange of the dollar to pesos; right now it’s almost two to one. My electric bill last month was $21 dollars. My water and trash costs about $10 a month, for as much water as I can use. I run my air conditioner at night right before I go to bed, then turn it off and only use a fan. I buy most of my groceries at a local market and if I want something special, they’ll order it for me. They also let me run an account that I pay once a month (when my Social Security check comes in). I can also use my debit card there so it’s really quite easy. I must admit gas is more expensive here, but then I really don’t go anywhere. Instead
of driving I often ride the bus; they’re very comfortable, with WiFi and TVs.
I have many friends in Puerto Penasco, so when I feel the need to go to a resort I can always go there and live like an American on vacation: swim in the big pools, relax in the jacuzzi and enjoy the night life. They in turn come over here to get away from it all: All that beautiful beach, lots of seashells and no people.
It took me a long time to slow down. In the U.S. we’re all so used to living on a schedule and moving very fast compared to Mexico. I’ve now lived in El Golfo for 12 years; I think that makes me a local. Maybe the only difference is that so many of the locals seem to be related. I do have family who think I’ve totally lost my mind, but they’re the ones who never leave the comfort of the U.S. They think Mexico is nothing but drug dealers and murderers. Not in my town.
I now live day to day; I never know what might happen tomorrow. I just know it will be peaceful and happy. I guess I’m on Mexican time now; everything can be done mañana, tomorrow. As the saying goes, “Don’t worry, be happy.”
I don’t think Mexico is for everyone. I hear people say they have to have something to do, that they could never completely retire. Maybe I’m the exception. I’ve found great satisfaction in just helping my neighbors and Mexican friends however I can.