Why We Left an Anthology of American Women Expats

by Janet Blaser

  I’ve also found I don’t need all the material things I seemed to need in the U.S., like big box stores, four Walmarts within 10 miles and gas stations on every corner. I’m trying to be a minimalist now. My wardrobe is down to just black and white—it just makes things simple. Flip-flops are my shoe of choice; they go with everything.

  I eat lots of fresh produce now, no processed food, and fish caught fresh from the ocean, before it ever hits the fridge. My health is better than ever. Stress is a word that’s not in my vocabulary. I haven’t worn a watch in years. Until last week I didn’t even have a cell phone, just my house phone. I bought one just to take pictures.

  I live by myself, and I do find that sometimes I’m a little lonely. I solved that problem though—I now have two tiny Chihuahuas. They seem to always agree with me and they have no political views.

  So I guess I really did find my soul here. The beach is my “happy place.” I especially enjoy the spectacular sunsets. I’m at peace, with a smile on my face every day. Todo es bueno! “It’s all good!” (My first Spanish phrase.)

  Judy Whitaker is retired and has lived full-time in El Golfo Santa Clara since 2006. She was a real estate broker in Florida, Colorado, Nebraska and Arizona. Judy now enjoys days on the beach, her passion of cooking, video games and catching up on T.V. shows she didn’t get to watch while she was working. She also has two teacup Chihuahuas that entertain her on a daily basis. Judy has a daughter and granddaughter in Atlanta, which she calls home.

  24. “Home Is Where The Heart Is”

  Carole Muschel

  Guanajuato City, Guanajuato

  & Mazatlán, Sinaloa

  It was the year 2000, almost the millennium. I was doing paperwork at a desk in an Oakland, California hospital NICU and met a nurse-midwife doing rounds. We started to chat, and when I told her I was going to Guatemala, MaryBeth said she’d just returned from there. She described a small shop in Antigua where she’d bought some beautiful writing pads and asked me to bring her some more. This was the beginning of a long, close friendship that has continued across borders and for many years.

  MaryBeth’s clients in California were Spanish-speaking, so she spent a lot of time in Mexico taking immersion classes to learn the language. She encouraged me to travel around Mexico to discover what a vast, interesting country it was and consider it as a potential place to retire. My husband and I decided to follow her suggestion as we always knew that we wanted to experience living abroad somewhere.

  Although we were both successful in our careers and had a good quality of life, originally in New York state and later in Northern California, we felt disconnected from the pace of life in the U.S. We’d even lived for 15 years on an off-the-grid “hippie farm” in Mendocino County, just to get away from the treadmill of city life. That was a special time for us. In that simple, bucolic environment, we discovered our spirituality, and were introduced to sweat lodges at the Native American reservations that surrounded our farm.

  We made multiple trips to Mexico to see if life there would meet our dreams, visiting the Yucatán, Mexico City, Oaxaca, Puerto Escondido, Puebla, Mérida, Veracruz, Puerto Vallarta and Zihuatanejo, searching for “our” place. We even had one suitcase filled with kitchen supplies: an electric fry pan, electric steamer, spices and implements to do our own cooking as we traveled. We still had the mindset that we needed these things to maintain our mostly vegetarian U.S. diet routine.

  For some reason I’d been enchanted with the word “Zihuatanejo” and thought I wanted to live there. But once we got there, I didn’t like the town; it wasn’t what I’d dreamed about. Plus the rental we’d booked didn’t have our reservation and we had to wander the streets looking for an alternative; not a good start. We ended up in a small rooftop penthouse with laundry hanging everywhere from the other units below.

  I can’t tell you how disappointed I was. While in Zihua, we befriended several other Americans who were also unhappy with the town. Since we were heading to Mazatlán next—our last stop on a month-long trip—they asked us to keep in touch and let them know if we liked it, and then perhaps they’d visit next year.

  When we arrived in Mazatlán, late at night, we were totally exhausted from all the hours of traveling by bus. Our first impression was of the Zona Dorada, the busy, crowded hotel zone. We’d planned to hail a taxi from the bus station but didn’t see any. Finally we asked someone how to get a taxi. He pointed to what looked like an electric golf cart, called a pulmonia, and said these were Mazatlán’s unique taxis. The driver had a difficult time finding our rental casita in the dark but finally we got there.

  The next morning, when we ventured out to the main street, we were shocked to see a concrete jungle with high-rise buildings that looked like they could be anywhere. It didn’t feel like the Mexico we were looking for. Instinctively we got on the first bus and headed downtown. When we found the Centro Histórico, with its beautiful old buildings and charming shops and restaurants, right on the beach, we decided to explore the area more. Encouraged by the fact that at that time Mazatlán was a three-hour, non-stop flight from San Francisco, we began to think it might be the ideal location to begin our life in Mexico.

  The following winter we returned to Mazatlán and rented an apartment for four months at the Villa Serena, near the Plazuela Machado. We discovered a diverse expat community, and we met many others like ourselves, which was comforting as we all spoke English and were trying to learn Spanish.

  As the financial markets in the U.S. crashed, we watched our savings dwindle. We decided it would be a good time to take what was left of our savings and buy a home in Mazatlán in case the country continued on its downward spiral. We contacted a real estate agent and told him we were looking to buy a house, but after seeing the options, we instead spontaneously purchased an apartment. It had two bedrooms, one bathroom and a balcony overlooking the ocean, and was the second building in from the beach in Olas Altas, in the heart of the Old Town. The apartment was fully furnished and turnkey ready. We didn’t investigate the neighborhood or what it took to live in Mexico—we just followed our hearts.

  As we slowly retired, we spent as much time as we could in our future home. I retired first and was able to spend four to five months each winter in our Mazatlán apartment, but my husband was still working full-time and could only vacation a few weeks a year

  We made new friends, many of them “snowbirds” from Canada and the U.S. Our small apartment complex was mainly Mexican Nationals, and we gradually developed close friendships with some of our neighbors, which has greatly enhanced our love of Mazatlán. We’re delighted by the greetings of “buenos dias!” we hear as we walk on the oceanfront malecon each morning, by the “buen provecho” said to us at restaurants, and by the many children’s activities we see happening at the plazas, while parents stroll around shopping at the art vendors or eating al fresco.

  When my husband finally retired, we realized that Mazatlán was way too hot and humid to stay in for many months of the summer and fall, so we began a search for a more comfortable climate. I had long had a desire to visit Guanajuato, so we took a 12-hour bus ride to check out this historic city in the mountains. Again we spontaneously fell in love with another beautiful Mexican city. There was something about the mountains and views there that reminded us of our idyllic life on our farm in Mendocino. It also seemed like a perfect complement to our coastal home in Mazatlán.

  Guanajuato is a very cultured city with a famous university, an international music festival, many beautiful old theaters and interesting museums. There’s so much history here and the residents are so proud of their city. There’s also a much smaller expat community than we were used to, which was fine. We felt like this would be more of a “real” Mexican experience.

  Our first rental was up one of the many callejones (alleys), in the center of downtown. Our driver stopped at a small plaza and parked, unloading our many suitcases. He directe
d us to start climbing up a nearby alley, each of us loaded down with luggage. We huffed and puffed up the steep street. Callejones are for walking only and most are unbelievably steep and uneven underfoot. No vehicles travel up these streets, only people and burros—yes, burros—that are still used to transport heavy items. And the altitude of almost 7,000 feet had us out of breath as we climbed up to our house. On the way, we encountered an elderly man with his dog slowly ascending alongside of us. We later learned he was 92 years old and had lived on this hill his entire life.

  As our house manager rapidly chatted away at us we just stood there puzzled, realizing we needed to greatly (and quickly!) improve our Spanish. Guanajuato has fewer English speakers than our other home in Mazatlán, where we were “spoiled” by so many people speaking English. But we were both excited to be in this very Spanish-speaking city. Acquaintances recommended a university student named Luz who taught Spanish on the side, so I contacted her after we settled in. She now comes weekly and gives my husband and I separate one-on-one lessons.

  I was so nervous at my first class, thinking that after 12 years in Mexico I should know more, but when she was sitting across from me at my kitchen table, her friendly, easy, manner calmed me. She said we’d begin by communicating, just making small talk. She switched back and forth between English and Spanish so I could follow her questions. One of her first questions was, “Why did I pick Guanajuato to live?”

  I tried to explain there’d been a strong pull to see Guanajuato ever since I first heard about this beautiful mountain city bursting with Mexican history. It took nine years of curiosity while we were living in Mazatlán until we decided to come and see for ourselves. When we finally emerged from the bus at the station, we found ourselves in a very industrial area surrounded by hotels and businesses. It looked nothing like the jaw-dropping beauty we’d seen on YouTube videos.

  But our waiting driver, the manager of the house we’d rented through Craig’s List, said we were outside of the actual town. We drove over rising hills for about five minutes, then descended into a maze of stone tunnels built under the city many years ago. When we came back out into daylight, I suddenly saw the magnificent views of the city of Guanajuato. Downtown was barely five streets wide in a ravine surrounded by high hills. The hillsides were decorated by colorful buildings stacked haphazardly up every possible side. The views were everything I’d imagined—Guanajuato looked like photos of Italian mountain towns I’d read about in travel magazines.

  As we wandered around the main street, we discovered a good coffee shop, a produce store and many health food stores. We fell in love with the winding streets, the European architecture and the many lovely plazas. I didn’t need to travel all the way to Europe to live in these magical surroundings. In Mexico there are designated Pueblos Magicos, “Magical Towns,” and Guanajuato is justifiably one of them.

  We decided to make more of a commitment to living here so we began to search for a long-term rental. We’ve met many expats who have their home base here but are world travelers. This appeals to our lifestyle, so when we found our new rental home up on the panoramica, with magnificent views looking down at the city and across at the opposite hills, we were ready to settle here for the summer and fall months.

  Now, almost 13 years later, we have two residences in our adopted country, Mazatlán and Guanajuato. Our U.S. family and friends have begun to visit us in both places, so we stay connected to our loved ones. We feel so fortunate to have developed a full life in Mexico. Last winter we became permanent residents, fulfilling our dreams of experiencing daily life outside the U.S. Each time we visit the U.S. we can’t wait to come back home to Mexico!

  Carole Muschel’s curiosity about other countries was established at a young age because of her father’s constant traveling for work. After receiving her nursing degree and getting married in upstate New York, she moved first to “The Big Apple” and then to Northern California and the Bay Area, where her self-esteem blossomed and she discovered creative talents she didn’t know she had. Carole received a master’s degree in creation spirituality from Naropa University in Oakland, and for her thesis combined cognitive behavioral therapy with the Tarot, which she continues to use for inspiration. After many years of traveling throughout Mexico, she and her husband realized their dream of living in another country by retiring to Mazatlán’s Centro Histórico in 2006. For the past two years they’ve split their time between the coastal beauty of Mazatlán and the magical mountain town of Guanajuato.

  25. “How to Trip & Fall Gracefully”

  Linda Laino

  San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato

  I fell in love with Mexico on my first trip in 1989. I was on my honeymoon and travelled around by bus for a month with my new husband. Mérida in the Yucatán was our first stop, and when we arrived, it was a blissful sensorial shock to my system. The language fell melodious into my ears. The smells flowed through and out my pores. The vivid color threatened to burst my retinas. All of the “foreignness” intrigued me and I absorbed it like my sweat-soaked tank top in the jungle of Quintana Roo.

  My month-long initiation prompted me to dream, If I ever get the chance to move to Mexico, I will. My “chance” came in 2012, in the form of a job teaching English language arts at a new high school in San Miguel de Allende, the colonial jewel in the heart of the country. For most of my life as a visual artist, I had sustained myself in part by teaching. Coincidentally, my mother-in-law and her husband, both writers, lived in San Miguel for 15 years. Long known as a mecca for artists and writers, I visited them there twice in the 1990s. The charming town worked its famous magic and it felt meant to be that I should be offered a job in that very same place.

  When I informed my then-85-year-old mother that I would be moving to Mexico, she asked, “Why in the world would you do that?” To my way of thinking, “the world” was the reason. Since I am an artist, I have often looked to other cultures for my muse in color, pattern, inventiveness and traditional craftsmanship. My mother’s question was no doubt motivated by losing her middle daughter to great distance, but living in another country was always something that intrigued me. I never quite understood where the desire came from, as I certainly did not grow up with any sort of travel in my childhood. Aside from one trip to Disney World with my family when I was 12, the Jersey shore every summer was the only destination that took me out of my native Philadelphia. My father, who travelled the world as a young marine, however, often dreamed of travel in his later years. He always encouraged me to wander, and unlike my mother, he reveled in my decision and gave me his blessing. Even though that initial teaching job turned out to be not what I wanted, it allowed me to move to Mexico and continue the love affair.

  After that initial visit in 1989 and perhaps laying some unconscious foundation, back in the U.S. I began to study Spanish. This endeavor was accelerated after I made the decision to move. I was fortunate to find a native Spaniard who gave small weekly classes in her home. She helped me approach this seemingly daunting task with discipline and enthusiasm. Learning a new language has been challenging but undoubtedly has created new pathways in my brain (and heart). I also firmly believe learning the language is essential to begin to understand the culture in earnest. How could I learn about Mexico, if I couldn’t speak to its people? My observation is that if you can speak the language, or at least attempt to, you’re treated more as a welcome guest. The language keeps me on my toes and gives me great joy. I’m constantly fascinated to compare how two languages can express the same thing so differently.

  When I first moved to San Miguel de Allende, I kept a diario that turned into a newsletter I sent to my friends and family. I was intent on capturing my observations and reactions in order to more fully understand my transition. Newness was everywhere and I was navigating sola, so that aloneness needed to be processed as well, and writing was my way in. Most of this diary took place during my first few weeks here. These short vignet
tes offer a glimpse into what it feels like to be an extranjera. And here I have to acknowledge that it doesn’t feel strange anymore. Like the hot chilis I regularly enjoy, Mexico has permeated a few layers of me and continues to lodge itself deep under my skin. Having said that (and because this is beloved but unpredictable Mexico), I continue to adapt and sometimes be baffled by many things. I try to never forget that I’m a guest in this beautiful country and to have respect for the customs and way of life, however inconvenient they are at times. Finding humor in all situations is a helpful tool for survival here.

  Everyone talks about the same things that drew them to Mexico, and in particular, San Miguel de Allende: the people, the climate, the culture, the food, the beauty—not to mention a lifestyle mas económico. I, of course, second everything on that list and more. But those of us who’ve lived here a little while understand that in the end it isn’t about the things on that list, but what happens around all of those things. In other words: the experience, the exchange, the connection. And this Mexico has in abundance.

  Reviewing these excerpts of writing from my current perspective reveals states of mind that were sometimes naive, sometimes stressed and sometimes awed in those first weeks. There’s a thread of patience woven throughout. They also allow me to see how since then, I’ve not only adapted and survived, but grown and thrived in some very real and profound ways.

  August 11, 2012

  After many trips around town—there have to be many because I can only carry so many things at once—I landed in my new apartment, which I tried to begin to see as a friendly place. Without a car, I’m at the mercy of strong arms and legs and fortitude. Every day seems to be a mission of finding things. Yesterday, I found la papelería, a place to buy notebooks and a binder that I so desperately needed for school. But did I buy the binder I so desperately needed? No. This is the other conundrum about finding a store that has what you need. It’s not always convenient to buy the thing when you’re there because then you must carry it around to the rest of your errands, or have to make a trip home to drop the thing off. Is it beginning to be understood how much time everything takes here? Have I mentioned that in general, I am not a very patient person? This will become part of my practice: Not only want less but get used to waiting for it. As Vero, one of my cheeky new colleagues, said yesterday, “If you don’t develop patience in this country, you will shoot yourself in the head.”