I was intimidated. She stood tall and proud in her tattered wrap as she met my gaze with confidence. I turned away but kept glancing back, captivated by how strikingly different she was from my other lovers. There was no escape. She was magnetic, mysterious, and mesmerizing.
I knew I had to get to know her, each and every part of her. And I did, with great pleasure.
Our initial meetings were clumsy as we learned each other’s needs and desires. Slowly and effortlessly she pulled me in, trapped like a bird in a cage. Now our lives are hopelessly entangled, and I spend far too much time and money on her. I live to experience the sights, touch, and aroma of her treasures. I long to explore her every curve and cranny.
With deep adoration and love, she steals my time, invades my dreams, and frustrates my wife.
She is Mexico.
My Story
It’s true that random encounters can shape your life in inexplicable ways. Four decades ago, my life was forever changed by a can of Coke. That moment led me through a meandering path filled with profound life lessons, from a proud family in Mexico, a bargain with a shoe salesman, two exotic women on a ship, a delicious octopus, and pyramids in the fog.
These moments and a hundred more like them are part of who I am today. Without that can of Coke I might still be the ignorant boy I was, instead of the curious and adventurous man I am.
The winds of fate blew me into Mexico’s embrace, and now I’m in love with her culture, history, and people.
Awakening on the Baja
My first taste of Mexico was stepping off a bus in a dusty crossroad parking lot somewhere on the Baja Peninsula, slinking into a store and stuttering a phrase I’d practiced for hours: “Una Coca, por favor.” The man at the counter reached back and handed me a Coke. No problems, no words, just a smile. It was an otherworldly experience for a young man whose most exotic travel destination had been the Canadian side of Niagara Falls.
First impressions can last a lifetime, they say. So far, this monumental minute has stayed with me for forty years, rewound and replayed thousands of times. In my mind’s eye, I see the man, as if standing on a box, towering over me with his shaggy mustache and a knowing smile, holding forth his offering of a can of warm soda. The video ends with the sharp clap of a screen door and a feeling of triumphant exuberance I’ve never lost.
Getting schooled in Morelia
I rented a room with a family in Morelia for three months while taking college courses at a local university. Their only daughter was my age, and the first in their family to attend college – though a different one from mine. They were frugal, and I’m sure my modest payment helped fund Patricia’s college and fill the tank of her beloved VW Bug.
They all worked, Carlos as a laborer and Consuela as a seamstress. Even Patricia had a part time job in a clothing shop downtown. It took three incomes to keep them afloat.
They were a happy family and liked to make fun of my emerging language skills. “Muy bien, Brian,” they would chant in unison as I butchered a simple phrase. We laughed together often, as if we were family. I think that’s what I loved about them the most.
Beans, rice, and tortillas were the staples of our meals. Add scrambled eggs in the morning and chicken in the evening, and every night we slept with full bellies. On weekends they took me to meet friends and sample mysterious meats and sweets. I learned to appreciate their simple life filled with culture and tradition.
They gave to me much more than I paid to them. I learned that time spent with friends and family is more valuable than money.
Shoes of Zihuatanejo
Awakening from an early morning nap on a warm sandy beach is a wonderful feeling indeed. My friend and I washed up in the lap of the gentle surf and drip dried as we explored the town in search of a breakfast burrito and coffee. We had traveled through the night on a roller coaster bus trip through the mountains. Note to self: Never sit in the front of a bus on a winding mountain road at night.
“Hola!” called the man holding a tree of hand-made leather sandals. My flip flops were a mess, but I didn’t have the money to spare. We dickered but couldn’t make it work. “Trade for your sombrero, Senior?” He wanted my prized hat – the one I’d purchased in a market a few weeks back and had worn every day since. It was now an integral part of me, my persona, an appendage.
Day and night, we’d see the man with the heavy tree of shoes, hawking in the square. Whenever he noticed me, he’d shake the tree and call out “Sombrero?” We began to wander through his square on purpose just to check on him and practice our Spanish. He said he lived in a neighboring town and his family hand crafted the shoes he sold. He took the first bus in and the last bus out, every day except Sunday.
The morning of our last day I traded my hat for a fine pair of meticulously trimmed and stitched sandals, and as our bus passed his square on the way out of town, I saw the man standing tall, wearing my hat and beaming.
Beauty of old Cancun
The erupting storm kept most of the tourists away from the afternoon party-boat cruise, but we were there and determined to get our money’s worth of rum. Two beauties in short skirts stood across the deck from us, sneaking shy glances. We stood our ground until they ran out of rum and had to come over to our bucket to refill.
Their English was as miserable as our Spanish so we sputtered and pantomimed stories about ourselves as best we could. The rum had a firm grip by the time the cruise was canceled, so we grabbed a cab and squeezed into the back like herring. We partied all night through a series of downtown nightclubs, dancing to American disco hits, finally collapsing exhausted in their room at dawn.
They were college roommates from Mexico City on a short vacation hop before finals. One was taking secretarial classes and learning English, an essential skill for most customer-facing jobs. The other was pursuing a degree related to human resources.
We spent most of the next two days together, mostly in the Old Town tourist-free zone where frivolity turns to reality. They took us to restaurants where the food was authentic. We met their friends who worked on the tourist side and joined the sedate rituals of their daily lives, families, and faith. When one is deep into the party scene, it’s easy to forget that the people serving us are just like us – regular people with families, jobs, hardships, and triumphs.
When you take away the crutch of a common language, everything around you comes sharply into focus. Mannerisms, expressions, and body language spoke loudly to us. Taste, smell, and vision were acute.
I hope our friends have successful careers and happy lives, because my life is a little bit richer from spending time with them.
Expatriates of Ajijic
We met the chatty duo at an adjacent table while enjoying a delicious garlic-grilled octopus in Ajijic. The town with the mysterious name is well-known to expatriates as an inexpensive and engaging place to retire. Over 20,000 foreigners call this beautiful mountain lake their home.
Three years ago, Randall and Pat retired, sold their Virginia home, banked the equity, and live on Social Security income alone. They pay $700 a month for a small cabin in a gated community on lake Chapala and average $25 a day for everything else. They dine out often, hike, swim, watch movies, socialize, go boating, and crawl the local clubs for great live music. Both dress nicely, are educated, and well spoken. Best of all, they’re as happy and carefree a couple as I’ve ever seen.
The next day we explored the small villages of Chapala and Ajijic. It was like walking into a European melting pot with a bustling mix of languages and mixture of local and foreign faces – all talking, drinking, walking, and dining together. Scattered in the grid of crisscrossing streets we discovered an eclectic mix of restaurants, stores, and services that contrast with more traditionally Mexican towns we’ve seen.
Retirement planning is looming near in our future, and if it’s on yours, this is an area you should investigate. Mild weather, three hours away from the tourist beaches, inexpensive, and most important: friendly.
Uncovering Mayan Pyramids
Deep in the jungle, in the early morning dusk, I sat on the top step of the Temple of the Inscriptions. Beneath me was a thick blanket of fog, obscuring all but the tips of the tallest cedar and mahogany trees. I was the sole inhabitant of a vast city-state the ancient Mayans called Palenque.
I watched as the fog slowly dissolved like a gossamer breeze, revealing a patchwork of magnificent stone structures. The view was astonishing, breathtaking, and I imagined life here as a Mayan citizen 1,500 years ago. I would have tended crops, hunted, and cared for my children. I might have been a warrior dressed in hardened leather armor, prepared to repel the invaders or attack on command. Maybe I was a high priest who sacrificed lives in a cruel gambit for divine benevolence. I was certainly grounded in the superstition and tradition of the times.
It is likely we’ll never know everything about the early days of Mexico. Clues to the lives of the ancient Mayans, Aztecs, Toltecs, Olmecs, and others are sparce. We have only the pyramids, glyphs, and pictograms to study.
This rich and mysterious history is one of many reasons Mexico has such allure.
Mexico
Mexico is nourished by the rich soil of its heritage and the blood of its battles.
We, as individuals, grow from the experiences of the people we meet.
In my travels I’ve met Mayan descendants, people of Spanish and Castilian heritage, disabled beggars, ship captains, and foreigners from every continent. All of these people are Mexican. And Mexico is all of these people.
It’s easy to disparage her tattered wrap and her blemishes and turn away. But the soul of Mexico is defined by the breadth of her people and the diversity of her character.
I am unwittingly and irreversibly changed by her beauty.
Mexico is my mistress.