I am in Mexico and have been here longer than I thought I would be before I posted something in this blog. It was my intention to post daily and to document my first year in Puerto Vallarta. Now, sadly and yet happily, I will return to Portland after two and a half months. The experience to date has been intense.

I had no idea how fragile I was when I left Portland. Sure, I had my misgivings. I mostly wanted to get away from our roommate; I felt frustrated. Perhaps it was me, perhaps we were not meant to inhabit the same space. I won’t go into it here since it is a very private affair, but I was either going to find my own place or move to Mexico.

It had been my dream for decades to retire in Mexico. After some time living/studying here in the 90’s, I had fallen in love with the tropical climate along the Pacific coast. I liked what I knew of the history of Mexico and the culture and had found the people friendly. I had spent a lot of time traveling with the curator of the Museum of Art, Margarite Magdelena. She had taken me to parts of Mexico that I never would have been able to know without an in-depth knowledge of her country. That story has been told and yet to be written. I will however write those experiences later.

So my dream to retire here was based on experiences I had some 21 years in the past. Sure, I had continued to visit Mexico alone and with family and friends throughout the ensuing years as I worked to get my graduate degree in History and Folklore and Mythology. Then as I pursued my career as the Archivist/Assistant professor in the History Of Medicine at the Oregon Health & Science University in Portland, I continued to enjoy trips to Mexico. When I decided to retire at 66 years old, my answers to the inquiries of others about what I would do when I was no longer working was that I would retire in Mexico.

I didn’t know that as I packed up, our roommate was really going to move, leaving Hannah to pay the rent on an enormous house. After two years of him threatening to move, he actually did, as I finalized my move. I had sent the rent and deposit on a house in Colonia Agua Azul; I had purchased my airline ticket; I had packed up my belongings and paid to have them moved into storage. I was set to go and then he rented a place and began his move. Now, as I think back, I was never sure about the move here but thought that it was just adventure jitters. Yes, I would have lost quite a bit of money if I had backed out then… and I would not have known what I know now had I aborted my plans. I assured myself each day that Hannah would be able to find affordable housing and I would be saving on my small retirement money by moving.

The rent for my beautiful Mexican house is $500.00 monthly with utilities around $60.00 monthly. The cost of food is negligible. What doesn’t drive up to the door in fish and fruit and vegetable trucks can be had at the meat store one door down or at the many tiny stores located every half block.

So, not feeling really excited about the move, I did it anyway. On April 27, 2015, I arrived at the PVR airport with five suitcases to handle on my own. I managed to get out of the airport and into a taxi without too much problem. The heat was powerful and the driver had the windows rolled down and the gas fumes and sea breeze and dust mixed into a recognizable sensory remembrance. This is a Mexico I am familiar with. The sweat began to roll into my eyes and gather under my breasts. Though I had expected the heat and humidity in my head, my body reacted with extreme measures.

The taxi driver asked if I knew where I was going; he had no idea where Agua Azul is located; he ran into the airport for a a map and when he returned, I showed him my new neighborhood. Thank you Google maps. Since I had never been there, I tried to describe the route based on my online Google truck experience. We eventually arrived at the house no worse for wear. Rebecca was waiting and as she opened the door, I threw myself at her, grateful that the Craigslist ad and photos were not a scam. The beautiful yellow house was just as it appeared in the ad and Rebecca in her FaceBook posts. As I walked into the house, it was just like the photos posted in the ad.

Rebecca had lentil soup and iced tea ready for my arrival. I felt completely at ease. Here, I thought, is a sister. We drank iced tea and spent a bit of time chatting. I was too damned hot to eat, though I was starving. She took me out into the street and introduced me around to the neighbors, showed me the stores and we oohed and aawed at the many babies being carried around. A family just kitty corner are 5th generation fishermen. We bought, right then and there, a hunk of tuna right out of the sea. The young man, I forget his name, apologized that he had put it on ice. I paid less than $7.00 for about 12 lbs. of meat. Chela, his grandma, makes tacos every night at 7:30 and sells them for $.70 each until very, very late. The meat store one door down has everything you could ever want.

I was overwhelmed and dead tired and way too hot and sweaty. Rebecca and I ate soup and talked a bit more and I went up to bed, full and feeling… I don’t know… lonely, wondering if I had made the right decision to come here… a whole gamut of thought. Most of all, I wanted Hannah to find the right place to live: a place where Ancel could still ride his bike to school, close to Jack so he could help with Enora, getting her to school and back and to help with Yum Yum.

I slept like a log with ceiling fans whirring and the curtains swaying on the balcony doors.