Michael and I are decompressing in Puerto Vallarta at son Dustin and his fiance Camelia's lovely home, on our way back to the United States on Wednesday. Specifically, New York.
I'm rationalizing that the transition from Mexico to the U.S. won't be too traumatic since I'm going from rural living to rural living. We'll see.
But here's a short list of what I like about living in Mexico, and maybe a few things I wish I didn't have to put up with in Mexico, before my brain switches gears and I can't remember the details.
What I Don't Like About MexicoScorpions and other biting, stinging, nasty things.
I'm reminded that there's a price to pay for living in the tropics, things that I had glossed over since living on Sanibel Island in Southwest Florida a whole lot of years ago. I forget that there's stinging things in the water, stinging things flying around, stinging things crawling around houses in the night, into your shoes, into the towel you've left laying on the floor. But millions of others have learned how to live with all these icky, stingy things, so perhaps I will figure out how to do it with a little less anxiety too. If not, I'll be the newest resident of a really northern climate, suffering from low temperatures so severe that even the bugs don't like to live there.
Bacteria and other ugly diseases. Some friends who have lived in Mexico for a long time won't eat at the street vendors, not because of the food or the preparation at the open air restaurant is suspect but because the dirt from the street can blow on to the food. And the shop keepers water the dirt on the street with gray water (we hope it's just gray water) and there's nasty bacteria that gets on the food and utensils, which you then ingest.
The good news is that our doctor says he's never had to hospitalize anyone for the types of typhoid and typhus that is down here, but it does require a dose of antibiotic.
Road etiquietteLeft turn signals. It's been very important to our safety and well-being to understand that the left turn signal on a car --- ours or the car in front of us --- doesn't always mean what you think it means.
If we're on the highway and the left turn signal flashes on the car or truck in front of us, it probably means it's safe to pass him. But it could also mean that he's turning left and it's not safe to pass him. Veteran drivers usually stick their left arm out when they
really mean they intend to make a left turn. Making an assumption that you understand what the left turn signal indicates could mean the last poor decision you've ever made.
Passing on two lane highways. I was horrified the first time I was driving to the Manzanillo airport on a pretty good highway and vehicles would pass the car in front of them even though they could see --- as could I! -- that there was an oncoming vehicle in the other lane. What I have since discovered is that there is an assumption that the oncoming car will simply shift over to the shoulder to make way for you, and not just crash head on. Hopefully everyone knows that same rule!
Things I Like About MexicoThe weather. Of course. Isn't that why most of us migrate south? I found myself grabbing the covers in the early morning for a little more sleep when the temperature had dipped below 80. If you don't like the heat, don't come to Mexico in May. But any place I can put on a swimsuit first thing in the morning and not need a sweater or cover-up all day is perfect for me.
The culture. I'm just scratching the surface and I'll admit it could be the equivalent of any small town in America, but I love the generosity of the people, even if they've just met you. We've been included in every fiesta or event. Everyone pitches in to help on a project. You're offered a place to sit, something to eat the minute you enter someone's home. And you shake everyone's hand and kiss cheeks when you first arrive and then again when you leave. I love the comfort of the physical contact. Now my own American culture feels too stiff to me.
The Pace. I love that traditional Mexican families all still go home for the big meal at 2 in the afternoon, then families and friends spend leisurely evenings after sunset visiting together in front of their homes with even the youngest children playing in the street --- long past what I used to consider my normal bedtime. Tiendas, the tiny stores in the villages, are open 'til 10 or later. But don't consider trying to find anything open early the next morning.
A cash economy. I love that you just don't use credit cards, rarely use checks. You pay your rent in pesos. You buy land in pesos. You pay your utilities in pesos. No surprises at the end of the month, unless you look in your wallet and it's empty.
Cultural surprises. We'll be sitting at a lovely restaurant and watch someone ride a mule past us -- and the new Hummer parked in front --- dragging many palm fronds for whatever building project he's working on. A young boy will ride his bicycle through town with his horse on a lead --- who knows why? Exercise? Moving? And the rental store in town delivers the washing machine to its customers by quad with a trailer.
All the street dogs and beach dogs have a predictable route throughout the village each day, depending on which butcher/cook/restaurant has a reputation for generosity. We used to see a small, blond beach mutt hit Palapa Joe's on one end of the village, cruise by Chop Chops, finally swinging by Martin's for the really good stuff. It's just another resident of the village looking for a meal, only it's on four legs. Love it.
The ease of construction. It's so amazing that you decide what you want built, you hire someone to build it, and they build it. Go to the store, buy the materials, find the labor, watch the progress. Few permits, fewer taxes. Just point and build. And now we have the huge, delightful palapa for dinners with friends, places to hang double-woven hammocks, maybe an actual bar to belly up to because a liquor and restaurant permit only costs about a hundred fifty a year. What's not to like?
Any excuse for a fiesta. You thank the workers. You have birthday parties. You give going away parties, welcome back parties. And everyone's invited. The food and drink just keeps coming. You start the party late and you stay late. You don't eat and run, like in the states. You linger. You have dinner, then you talk, you dance, you drink. And then you keep talking, dancing, drinking. And eventually, you go home. I've never made it to the hour where people start leaving and I still feel like such a gringo when I wimp out the earliest.
Maybe next year I'll get the hang of it. It's a goal.
The bottom line is that, all in all, I've been really happy here and sad to leave. I'm just getting the hang of things, just beginning to understand the language, even if I can't speak it yet. I've made friends, started creating community that I can't wait to get back to. Having said that, I'm sure I can also be happy at lovely Seneca Lake as we jettison ourselves into a different but equally satisfying life, beginning on Wednesday.
That's the list I'll be making in late August....
Saying goodbye to Devani in La Manzanilla
I've been hearing from many friends asking 'where are the wedding pics? where's the blog?' So here is a quick synopsis.
Colorado, Evelyn from Boston, the list goes on. 
We rented a neighbor's five bedroom lake house for out of town guest so they would be within easy walking distance of our cottage. We had a big traditional country barbeque one night, including roasting the corn on the cob. We took lake tours on our pontoon boat, we napped and read on the dock. And then Dustin and Camelia got married.
The whole event was a community effort. My cousins and my friend Beth Tucker cooked all the food, my cousin Roger brought out the classic cadillac to deliver Cami to the wedding from the San Felice and take Dustin and Cami for a 'victory lap' around Hector to let everyone know they were married. And later in the evening we sat around the campfire and listened to cousin Brett Beardslee and my brother David play music. My mother's good friend, Tom Fassett, generously agreed to officiate the ceremony and brought us all to tears, especially with a tribute to my mother, who was there in spirit. She was the gardener who had created the greenery and flowers that surrounded us that day.
