Retirement Talk
WHAT to do with the rest of your life? |
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Episode 25
Retiring in
Mexico
– Two examples
This is
Retirement Talk. I’m Del Lowery. This is the second
part in a series concerning a trip to
Puerto Vallarta
and thoughts of
moving south for retirement.
Here are two examples of
folks that did just that.
We traveled to
Yelapa yesterday. You can only get there by
boat. There are no roads or cars or trucks in Yelapa. And for this
reason alone,
it is worth a trip. It is a small village – and a great beach. We
took a local
bus south out of Vallarta for perhaps 10 miles to – Boca. This is
another small
town with boats pulled up on the sandy beach advertising their services
for
travel to Yelapa. Twelve dollars and a thirty minute ride brings you to
this
beautiful, tranquil beach town.
We walked back
from the beach when we left the small boat. I
thought we would find – a road that would lead into the center of
the village.
Wrong. There are no roads. There are small footpaths that lead from
what seemed
like one, small adobe dwelling to another. We felt like we were
constantly walking
through someone’s yard. Figuring out our mistake, we returned to
the beach and
walked towards one end of the beach where buildings came right down to
the
water. A small sign indicated the path to the village led up a narrow,
steep,
winding stairway. At the top was a cobble stone path about four feet
wide that
meandered between small adobe dwellings and a few small shops and
restaurants. The shops and restaurants
were all part of someone’s house; just the shop, or restaurant on
one side of a
room and bed or chairs, table or kitchen on the other side.
It was here that
we met Catherine walking down the path. She
was wearing a loose fitting pink dress and a floppy wide brimmed straw
hat. She
used a long walking stick that appeared to have come from the forest.
She
looked like something right out of an old John Huston movie. She has
retired
from
Sonoma Valley
,
California
to
Yelapa
,
Mexico
. She was a forester
in her
work life. Two years ago she and her husband happened on to this place
and
loved the walking, slow pace of life. They returned to
California
,
sold most of everything they
had. Piled the rest of it in a truck and drove to the beach at Boca.
There they
loaded everything they had into three small boats and moved to Yelapa.
They
rent a small flat for $150.00 – USD.
He writes
mysteries – three books published so far – “Federal
Offense, Imperfect Crimes, and Amateur Hour” (He wrote that one
in the 70’s).
Catherine walks – she walks in the jungle up to a waterfall every
day. She shops in the village at the
tamale
factory which she insisted we visit with her. And she thoroughly enjoys
being a
house-wife fulltime. “For the first time in my life, I am just a
housewife, and
I love”, she said.
I asked if they
travel back to the states often. “No” came a
quick, and strong response.
Followed by,
“No fun”. When they have to travel back to the
states they try to arrange it so only one has to go: wedding,
grandchildren
being born, and that sort of things. When parents die they both return.
They
have no plan to return to the states. I asked if they had bought a
house and
she told me that no one owns any of the houses in Yelapa. She said,
“They all
belong to the community. The many acres in the valley, and everything
in it,
belong to the indigenous people who live here. They can sell their
house – sort
of. But it really belongs to the community. It is all very
complicated.” She says;
ending with, “So we rent.”
We left
Catherine and returned to the beach. Four women from
were sunning themselves in front of us. They looked like three mothers
with
three daughters: mothers - sixtyish; Daughters - twentyish. The mothers
all
wore two piece bathing suits with flowing sarapi that matched. They all
had on
too much jewelry: multiple gold and silver bracelets on each wrist;
hugh rings
of colored stone and sparkling diamond rings.
They were
New York City
,
or so it sounded to our ears. “Where are you
going”, “I’m not watching your bag. You wanted to
bring it, so you watch it.”
“What do you mean I have no right. We are paying for this thing.
Even your
boyfriends. We have every right.” They argued, whined, yelled,
and I think, in
general, were having a good time: disagreeing about which way to turn,
if their
jewelry looks right, or if they should go to the bathroom, etc. They
seemed to
be disgusted by everything in life. I lay back in the chair under the
sun and
when I looked again they had all vanished like a bad dream. Three tacos
and
three beers later we were on a boat headed back to Boca and the land of
cars.
And then today I
met another one. He appears to be in his
late sixties. He lives in Torrecillas a truly primitive spot, yet south
of
Yelapa. It is also accessible only by boat. No roads, or cars, no
electricity,
or phone service. He has been there five years; loves it; claims to be an artist. He seemed a bit
evasive or mysterious. I like to think he is, “on the run”.
He has a little, coiffure,
toy poodle type of dog – in
Vancouver
we call them an “accessory”, or a, “designer
dog”. He laments the fate of
America
– “All
military nowadays,” he says. “And I’m an old soldier,
but it has just gone way
too far. I don’t know why. I guess it is the guys that are making
the bombs and
guns that are making the money. They are probably happy. Guys like
Haliburton.” “I’m
staying in
Mexico
”,
he says and then adds,
“adios amigos”.
This is
Retirement Talk. I’m Del Lowery
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