Preparation – Page 2 – Pat the Expat

A visit to the Doctor(s)

Healthcare is probably concern number one to most expats; here’s the rather mundane story of out latest healthcare experience.

Judy started experiencing knee pain recently: actually, pain in the back of her knee, what we called her “knee-pit.” It seemed to be aggravated by exercise (how convenient!) or a lot of walking, so she cut back on those, did intermittent ice and heat, elevated it, and took over-the-counter (OTC) pain relievers for swelling and pain relief. Sometimes these standard remedies worked, other times they didn’t. Judy did the smart thing: she set a date certain, indicating if the symptoms didn’t go away by then, she was going to contact our doctora. During our recent mini-vacation in Manzanillo, we tried walking back-and-forth in the pool, the kind of low impact activity which should have helped; it didn’t.

So Judy contacted our primary care physician on WhatsApp. It’s a messaging app very popular around the world, except in the US. Individuals, businesses, even doctors give you their WhatApp number, which is just their cell phone number, and you can contact them directly to message or chat. It’s free and very convenient. Our doctora responded quickly that there was no need to come see her; she arranged us an appointment with a local specialist (again on WhatsApp) and we could go straight to see the orthopedista. Cost? Nada.

The orthopedista began the session by asking whether we preferred ingles or español; given this was a medical issue, we decided to stay with our mother tongue to be both clear and understood. He flawlessly changed to English and completed a brief history, then did a physical examination. He quickly identified where and when the pain happened in Judy’s knee; her sudden scream when he slightly twisted it was a dead giveaway! He told us the symptoms were indicative of a meniscus tear, which often will only be fixed by laparoscopic surgery, but the location was odd: it’s not where meniscus should tear. So he ordered up an MRI for further review. Cost for the consult: $1040 MXP or $50 USD.

Wait, wait, I know this one! It’s a knee!

Off we went to the MRI clinic (cost $6000 MXP or $300 USD) and got the results back (in Mexico in many cases, patients retain their own medical records, not the doctor or hospital, although a copy was sent to the orthopedista). The MRI technician gave us a large portfolio with a one written page of results, several panels of still shots from the MRI, and a disk with all the rest of the MRI shots on it. The written results indicated normal meniscus wear-n-tear, but also added there was a jug-handle tear (which would almost automatically indicate laparoscopic surgery). We could read and understand the Spanish diagnosis, but of course the MRI pics meant nothing to us. So we went back to our orthpedista with the results, expecting to schedule surgery.

Our orthopedista looked puzzled, read the text, then pulled out the pictures. He said there is no tear in the images, despite the text. He then loaded the disc up on his computer to investigate further. We waited, and then he resumed explaining to us that nowhere in any of the images is a jug-handle tear, so he wouldn’t know what to cut if he scheduled surgery, nor did he know why the written results did not agree with the images. He examined Judy’s knee again (very carefully this time, to avoid a repeat yodeling contest). He told me the fact that the back of her knee hurt, and only at a point in rotation, and more so with twisting, was “weird.” I concurred. Cost for this consult: $1000 MXP or $50 USD.

He prescribed an anti-inflammatory and scheduled an ultrasound in Guadalajara with a specialist he knew well and trusted. While an MRI is great for looking at harder objects (think bones), ultrasound ignores them and shows softer tissue (like ligaments and tendons). The orthopedista said this would be a final check on the issue of a meniscus tear, while clarifying if ligaments or tendons were involved.

So we tramped up to Guad for an ultrasound (cost: $1500 MXP or $75 USD). During the exam, the specialist told us (in English, which he apologized for in perfect accent and vocabulary) that Judy’s knee meniscus was fine. He spent some time looking at the back of her knee via the ultrasound, and concluded she had tendinitis in the popiletus, a tendon at the back which gives the knee stability. He sent the results to our orthopedista and we prepared for another consult.

Our final trip to the doctor was short and sweet. Judy’s course of prescription anti-inflammatory medication was working wonders: no pain for several days. The orthopedista told us he concurred with the specialist: tendinitis, requiring only more anti-inflammatory medicine, rest and recovery. Judy could start slowly to exercise in two weeks, and come back if the pain returned. (cost of consult: $520 MXP or $26 USD).

Total cost for an MRI, an ultrasound, and three visits to the orthopedista: $9540 MXP or $ 475 USD. We may never know why the first MRI specialist indicated a jug-handle tear, but the mistake was caught and fixed. We were quite pleased the orthopedista, who specializes in laparoscopic surgery, did not rush to cut, but rather kept saying he “would not cut unless he knew precisely what he would find there.” Overall, a positive experience at a very reasonable price.

Mexico is Changing

Mexico is always changing, just like everywhere else. The changes here in Mexico seem to be ones which would be most evident to expats, and they involve some of the quintessential things that make Mexico, well, Mexican. And therein lies a story.

Ask people who have visited extensively (or expats who live here) what qualities about Mexico are unique, and you’ll quickly find some common themes: the friendliness of the people, the slower pace of life, or the incompetence of the bureaucracy, for example. And in most of these areas, change is afoot.

Take friendliness. Mexicans as a rule remain eager to help and often greet you on the street, regardless of whether they know you or not. Except in big cities like Ciudad de Mexico and Guadalajara. There, you might greet neighbors you know, but if you start “buenos dias“-ing every passerby, you’ll get a mix of responses from greetings to odd looks to being ignored. The larger cities have imported some of the the urban mindset from elsewhere, where you just can’t talk to strangers.

Put on top of that the curse that is the cell phone. Mexicans have taken to their cell phones wholeheartedly, and it’s not unusual to surprise people–even in small towns–by greeting them when they are walking, face-down in their phones. They will startle and still respond, but clearly cell phones are winning the battle for eye-balls.

The slower pace of life is experiencing some acceleration, too. Over the last thirty years, Mexico has developed a sizable middle class, and with it, widespread automobile ownership. Which means traffic, and the delays that come with it. Now Mexicans normally aren’t in a hurry to be on-time, but that’s changing, so when some hit a traffic snarl, they start driving around it in, shall we say, innovative ways. Like creating extra lanes where there are none. Or ignoring traffic lights or turn lanes or even traffic barriers. Some of that is a carry-over from Mexico’s fundamental lack of concern for laws which appear arbitrary (“I only need to go one block the wrong way down this one-way street to get where I want to go.”). But some is an attempt to hurry-up, which is something new.

Finally, many expats comment about changes in taxes and regulations, with the main theme being more enforcement. Many of the small mom-and-pop vendors in Mexico (which can mean nearly every family) operate on a cash-only basis and avoid taxes and regulation. The federal government is gradually tightening its control of money flows, so as to capture the lost tax revenue. There is an growing web of identification which ties people and their income to the taxes they owe. For many larger or recurring transactions, you need a CURP number (Clave Única de Registro de Población), in effect a Mexican Social Security Number. Once you have that, you may also need an RFC (Registro Federal de Contribuyentes) code or clave, a personal/unique tax identification number. We’ve noticed an increase in information required to directly transfer money to Mexican accounts (for example, to pay for our recent home renovations) that have come from Mexican banks, responding to Mexican government directions. Over time, this results in fewer off-the-books transactions and more revenue to the federal government.

Likewise, expats speak of less flexibility in border crossing and immigration enforcement. For a long time, some expats came to Mexico on the automatic 180-day visitor’s visa and simply stayed. They never left the country, never became a temporary or permanent resident, which requires a payment and has financial eligibility requirements. Later, expats with more means came and went every 179 days, in effect renewing their status and avoiding the costs of legal residency. Mexican immigration officials (INM) have started random checks on mass transit hubs (like big city bus stations), arresting and sometimes even deporting those long-time overstays. And border officials sometimes now ask for a departure date (e.g., return flight?) and only renew another visitor’s visa for a set length of time, much less that 180 days. Deportation remains rare; most overstays are offered the opportunity to legalize their status, but again that requires dinero.

As hard as these changes to the bureaucracy are for expats who arrived in the wild west days of yore, they are part and parcel of Mexico becoming a more efficient country. That means making and neutrally enforcing laws, taking control of its borders, collecting tax revenue and distributing it effectively. It won’t be quick, and it surely isn’t painless, but it is necessary.

Most Mexicans will continue to greet and respond to greetings. Most will kindly let you cut in line in heavy traffic. I firmly believe that even after all these changes work out, Mexico will remain Mexico. After all, it will always be full of Mexicans!

Buying & Selling Homes in Mexico: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Three very important things to remember up front:

The basis for Mexican law

First, stop me if you’ve heard this before, but Mexican law–like the Pirate Code–is more what you’d call guidelines than actual rules. Most people know that criminal proceedings in Mexico are, shall we say, challenging; the civil code even moreso. Whereas North of the Border (NOB) the threat to sue someone can be serious, down here it’s an invitation to an endless parade of hearings and charges and counter-charges and oh, nevermind. The lack of a recourse to legal remedies is something you have to understand before owning property here.

Second, real estate is a growing business, but not a profession in Mexico. There is a realtor association (AMPI) pursuing professional standards of conduct. But there are no federal laws, and only some Mexican states have licensing requirements (ours, Jalisco, does not). So anybody can hang up a shingle and be your agent. Because it is not capital intensive and with little barrier to entry, we have met chefs and restaurateurs and waiters and retired expats and doctors and cabbies and others who are real estate agents.

Third, always remember that things in Mexico happen in three speeds: slow, slower, and slowest. Buying and selling property in Mexico means engaging notarios (who review and effectively “approve”the transaction), banks, real estate firms, home owners associations, utilities, maids, and gardeners, all for the purpose of establishing (1) you are who you say you are, (2) you own what you think you own, and (3) no one else has any claim on said property. All this in a land where cash is king, records are spotty, and the pirate code applies! Add in international money transfers and Mexican holidays and things will be all set mañana.

I just watched a Director’s cut of Sergio Leone’s “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly” so that’s the theme from here on out:

Amazon.com: The Good The Bad And The Ugly Clint Eastwood 1966 Photo Print (28 x 22): Posters & Prints — The Good, . . .

In the end, we sold our house for a fair price and bought the house we wanted for another fair price. Given that we started out by falling in love with the new house (a REALLY, REALLY bad idea), this is what it is all about. Of course, that’s like saying eating at a restaurant is all about consuming edible food containing sufficient calories at a decent price. True, but there’s the menu variety, the service, the presentation and so forth. When we’re talking about the largest financial transaction most people ever make, you want to say more than “phew, glad we survived that!” The other good thing was that the buyers of our home and the seller of our new home were pleasant people; it is always a pleasure dealing with reasonable people! But that leads us to:

THE GOOD BAD AND & UGLY LEE VAN CLEEF ANGEL EYES SPAGHETTI WESTERN PHOTO POSTER | eBay — The Bad, . . .

Many of the things under “The Bad” are structural. Without the possibility of a mortgage, we had to move money around in order to have it ready and waiting for the purchase. Getting no debt statements from the power (CFE), phone (TelMex), and water (Simapa) utilities was pretty easy. But some of these you pay in advance, and others in arrears, so that’s complicating. Then we needed to have our maid and gardener sign statements saying they had no claims on the property, and we needed a copy of their identification cards. As well as statements from the home owners association and the club and our receipt for annual property taxes paid.

At least we didn’t face two other potential “bad” aspects: currency conversion and title problems. The former happens if the other party in the transaction is a local national, since the actual transaction is completed in pesos at the moment of closing. If both parties agree to pricing in dollars, this peso conversion is irrelevant. If the deal is actually completed in pesos (per the Pirate Code), then one side has to convert them back to dollars, which could mean a substantial gain or loss depending on the currency markets (because you’re dealing with large sums, even a small change can mean big money).

The latter (titles) is a big potential problem here, as there are federal land use laws that could block one’s claim to ownership! As I understand it, the notario is responsible for authenticating the documents in the closing sale, but if the title is authentic but invalid, sorry, you lose. Buying property in an established development lessens the risk, as the title issues have probably been worked out, but it pays to do the research yourself. And finally:

GOOD BAD UGLY TUCO TAKES BLONDIE TO THE DESERT | Mapio.net — and The Ugly

These go back to my restaurant analogy: mostly things annoying or head-scratchingly dumb. The waiter spills water on you. Gets the drink order wrong. The appetizer comes with the main course. Your wine glass is dirty. You get the picture: not earth-shattering, but would you eat there again? Not if it’s a high end restaurant.

We had a long list here. An agent asked us to donate the beds in our new house to the cleaning team because “they fell in love with them.” Clauses we wanted in agreements failed to appear, not due to negotiation, they just weren’t there. Other terms–like a rent-back agreement–were similarly misplaced. Names misspelled, documents and data requested but already provided. A counter-offer that failed to mention the original terms, which thus became a “new” offer. An agent telling a client “if you decide not to go through with (buying and) moving here, I want you to promise me now that you will simply re-list the house for sale with me.” A threat to limit access to our new house before closing. A buyer’s agent who blithely commented “if anything minor comes up, I’m sure they (the sellers, us) will take care of it.” All of which just reinforces the point that real estate is a relatively unregulated market in Mexico, so you might encounter some pretty odd behaviors. We were pleased with our agent, but one must be diligent in selecting one.

All’s well that ends well, as Shakespeare penned! Here’s the money shot:

Moving Daze

Some pics to fill the time while moving fills the days:

This is my unhappy dog, Tucker, going fetal because of all the psychic dislocation

Money . . . Get Back!

A challenge for expats anywhere is how to access your funds. This is especially true in most of Mexico, where credit cards may not be accepted or come with a handy processing fee (the same fee usually paid by the vendor elsewhere) tacked on. Luckily for expats, Mexico does have many cajeros automaticos, or as you know them: ATMs.

Expats become accustomed to knowing (and sharing) advice about banks and their ATM machines: for example, which ones have both ingles and espanol options, which banks charge what as a transaction fee, what the various per day and per transaction limits are, which machines “swallow” your card whole versus holding it where you can retrieve it manually (important where power might suddenly fail).

Lately, expats have had to master the bank-managed “service fee” scam called dynamic currency conversion. This is where the bank machine “offers” you to convert your peso request to dollars at the point of conversion (how helpful) but gives you an incredibly poor exchange rate. The trick is the “offer” seems to be like the transactions fee, in that it says you can accept or decline, but most people assume that if they decline they won’t be able to get their pesos (like the transaction fee, which if you decline, the machine ends your transaction). Untrue! If you decline, you still receive your pesos, but the bank or financial institution you use at home does the conversion, usually at a much better rate. This service has been a standard rip-off among restaurants and retailers in Europe for years, but it has recently migrated to ATMs worldwide: avoid it! I would note that if your domestic bank has a really bad reputation for its currency conversion rates, you might be better off using the ATM conversion rate. But you probably would be best off changing banks!

Some expats go the extra step by getting a Mexican bank account and credit cards, allowing them to transfer money from their previous home to here. Mexican banks are, shall we say, picky. Sometimes just opening an account can involve some of that famous Mexican bureaucracy, such as “no, that’s a color copy, we don’t accept it” or “(today) we’re not opening accounts for gringos.” Oh, and writing checks? Every item must be letter perfect, including your full name and day/month/year (not month/day/year) and the spelled-out sum in español, por favor. Oh, and most importantly, such accounts are not federally insured, so there is always the possibility your money could just disappear.

Not all of this is Mexican banks’ fault: Americans should know that the US government applies its own rules to foreign banks, making them responsible for various reporting requirements! Some banks and brokerages–even American ones–now shun American expat accounts as not worth the trouble. If you’re an American expat, you must report foreign financial accounts if (1) you have signature authority on the account and (2) if the aggregate value of all your foreign accounts exceeds $10,000 USD at any time during the year (there are exceptions). The important document to file is called a Report of Foreign Bank and Financial Accounts (FBAR) on FinCEN Form 114. It is only a report: it is not used to check whether you owe taxes, which of course you must pay on any income received via these accounts. And don’t try to get cute by intentionally hedging just below the $10,000 USD limit; one recent court case found such activity to also be against the law! You can see why some American expats never bother with foreign accounts.

What about the need for larger sums that would never be available via ATM, like to buy a car, furniture, or a down payment on a house? There are a growing number of options. Our American bank allows us to do a direct wire transfer to foreign recipients for around $50 USD ($25 for any wire transfer, an additional $25 for international recipients). If the transfer is not going to a financial institution–for example to a private individual–the bank sends us several warnings letting us know it can’t verify the recipient and it is not responsible once the money goes out, which just means we have to make sure we have the account info correct on our end.

We’ve also used Xoom (pronounced the same way as the videoconferencing service), a division of PayPal which facilitates international financial transfers. We’ve used Xoom to pay for some services like home repair or contracting. Most often we have not been charged a transaction fee, and the exchange rates have generally been good. There is a transaction fee if you’re using a credit card, not a bank account as the source. It takes a little time (and info) to add a new recipient, but once “in the system” the transactions are immediate (hours, not days). One extra (and very nice) feature is Xoom allows you to request confirmations (text or otherwise) for both the sender and recipient, so you get a running series of money sent/received notices. Also, if the transfer fails for any reason, Xoom will notify you of that, too. I know there are other international transfer services with similar features, but Xoom is one for which we can personally vouch.

Some brokerage accounts (like Charles Schwab) also allow international transfers without extra charges, so that is another way to have money secure in one place but still be able to move it where you need it. There are exceptions, so make sure you read the fine print!

Finally, a related issue with financial transfers (of any sort) could be the need for notarization. I knew of expat friends who were forced to fly back to the States to get notarization of financial documents. We recently had a similar situation, and discovered online notaries who could meet all our requirements for about $30 USD and ten minutes of online consultation!

Some expats get all wrapped up in exchange rates and trying to game when they transfer larger sums to gain an advantage. Sometimes this is because they are on a budget and a few pesos matter; sometimes it’s just the thrill of getting a deal. In any event, there are myriad ways to move money internationally these days, and more coming along every day. While having money is a key factor in being an expat, getting your money shouldn’t be.

A Mexican Driver’s License Test

Having recently prepared for this test, even though I was never asked to take it when renewing my licensia, I decided to make a helpful practice test so you can play along at home. Make sure to keep track of whether you guessed the legal or real answers. Enjoy!

This sign indicates:

Don’t go there
Don’t even think of going there
🎵 Don’t stop, believing 🎵
Don’t stop

The legal answer, and the real answer, is (4).

If you see this sign, you should:

Drive no more than 110 miles per hour
Drive no more than 68 miles per hour
Wonder what the difference between kilometers and miles is
Ignore it like everybody else on the road.

The legal answer is (2), the real answer is (4), but let’s face it, you’ll probably do (3).

You stop to let a pedestrian cross the road; he does this toward you. It means:

“¡Muchas Gracias!”
“Talk to the mano, gringo.”
“What’s the modal finger?”
“If I only had my gun!”

There is no legal answer, but the real answer is (1).

The car in front of you has its left turn signal on. It means:

The driver will turn left
The driver is indicating it is clear for you to pass on the left
The driver is a gringo who turned his signal on in 2019
The car only has one working light bulb

Both (1) and (2) are legally correct, but (3) and (4) are also real. Best to ignore the blinking left signal in all cases!

In Mexico, this is:

Likely to occur on any highway
Why you don’t drive at night
Not going to happen where the sign says
All the above

You already know it’s (4).

You come upon this sign. It indicates:

You are approaching a roundabout
You can’t get there from here
We are all part of the circle of life
You do you.

The legal answer is (1), but all answers are equally real.

If the first image means “right turn” and the second image means “left turn,” the third image means:

🎵All my friends know the low rider 🎵
Slowing down or stopping
Left turn but my arm got tired
Look, I can drive with one hand

Legally, (2), but quien sabe?

If you see this sign, you should:

Slow down because there are topes ahead
Slow down because once upon a time there were topes ahead
Slow down because the road has a ditch in it
Slow down for the topless beach

The legal answer is (1), but for God’s sake, just slow down!

This sign indicates:

You are now entering El Paso
Yield
You’re not in Kansas anymore
You took a wrong turn in Albuquerque

(2) is the legal answer; (3) & (4) may also be real.

What does this symbol indicate?

No hat zone
Sombrero only zone
Inspection site ahead
Can you say mordita? Sure, I knew you could.

The legal answer is (3). ‘Nuff said.

In Mexico, this is:

Exemplary helmet-wearing
HOV-4 compliant
Cheaper than a minivan
Everyday, everywhere

Who knows, legally? All four are real!

If you see this view in Mexico, you should:

Look for the hidden tope
Have gassed up earlier
Watch out for cows disguised as tumbleweeds
Check for the motorbike about to pass you on the right

Only (3) is wrong. Mexican cows don’t bother with camouflage.

The cross street you are approaching is ______; you should ______:

One way to the right; turn right only
One way to the right; turn right if that is where you want to go
real; stop and ask for directions
whatever; do you

The legal answer is (1). (2) is a real answer. (4) is always correct. (3) is a trick: you never, never, NEVER ask directions in Mexico. Mexicans want to be helpful. They will offer directions even if (1) they don’t understand you, (2) they don’t know where you want to go, or (3) they don’t know where the destination is.

This shows:

Room for more riders
Mexico invented ride-sharing
Sear belts are theoretically required
Nothing to see here

Probably (2), and long before smart phones!

How did you do? If you tried to keep score, you have already failed! In Mexico, scores are arbitrary and you have missed the point. If you guessed (most of) the real answers, consider yourself ready to drive here.

“Licenses? We ain’t got no licenses. We don’t need no stinkin’ licenses!”

Passing a final test

As we’ve now lived here more than four years (how time flies under a facemask!), Judy and I have experienced most of the peculiarities of expat life in Mexico. And by peculiarities, I mean those little distractions, annoyances, or absurdities that make you go “what the . . . ” before shrugging your shoulders and finishing the thought with “solo en México” (only in Mexico).

There was the driver’s test–on computer–wherein it didn’t matter how we answered, we still passed. The time that we got a red light at customs and got to unpack our entire luggage, one item at a time, and explain what it is and why we have it, which of course coincided with my wife importing a year’s supply of make-up. The time the government refused to reimburse the temporary importation visa for my US car, and wanted me to prove I still had the car in the US, when it had never entered Mexico.

As you may have noticed, these events all involve government bureaucracy. Now, we have had many good stories to tell about visas approved, licenses renewed, taxes paid. But those stories are boring; the fun ones involve the trouble. So many went smoothly, some went poorly . . . and then there was SIMAPA.

SIMAPA stands for the Sistema Municipal de Agua Potable y Alcantarillado (de Chapala), that is the municipal water and sanitation authority. And in my opinion, they are the gold medalist in the bureaucratic olympiad. Before I explain why, it is fair to note that water has a history in Mexico, and that history plays a part. Being an arid country, water has always been a scarce resource. Those who had access to water often used it to control the poor, to seek advantage over rivals, or simply to lord it over those without access.

So as Mexico went through its various wars of independence and revolution, access to water came to be seen by the people as a fundamental right: and so it is, in the Mexican constitution. It is so fundamental that access to water cannot be totally shut off even if the recipient does not pay for it. Water bills are sometimes paid collectively by a home-owners association, and talk to any HOA board and you’ll find stories of owners who haven’t paid water dues for years. You can reduce the flow to some small amount, but you can’t shut it off; and that goes for the government, as well.

Likewise for sewage. If you’re hooked into municipal sewer lines, there’s an initial fee for accessing, and a yearly fee. But here’s the rub: there’s no way to shut the sewage flow off. So again, non-payment is a problem.

Our condominio (roughly, our development) has its own well, so we don’t use SIMAPA for fresh water. But we are hooked up to the municipal sewer lines. Our house was built in 2012, and round about late 2019 our condominio received notice from SIMAPA that, “hey, y’all are hooked up to the sewer lines, but you haven’t paid anything, so please do so.” My wife dutifully took a copy of the e-mail down to the local SIMAPA office, where she explained (in Spanish) that we needed to pay. The ladies working there looked at the e-mail (in English), looked at our address, then explained we didn’t have an account, so we could not pay. At that, they went back to their busy desks. One might assume a municipal authority would be interested in receiving seven years of back payments; one would be wrong (in Mexico).

Time passed and the quarantine hit, and since our sewage kept flowing away, we sort of forgot all about it. Finally we talked with a neighbor who reminded us we were supposed to go to the SIMAPA office and ask to “start an account.” The magic words (in Spanish) were not “pay a bill” but “start an account” and we needed a copy of our identification papers and a copy of our deed. We collected the pesos (in cash, naturally) and all the documents and copies and went back to SIMAPA.

Round Two began as a replay of Round One. We said we needed to start an account, but the SIMAPA ladies checked their online records and assured us we didn’t have an account. Yes, we knew that, but we produced our documentation and they threw up their hands and called the supervisor, who spoke English–up to that point, we had engaged in Spanish. The supervisor reviewed our deed copy and explained it was not an official copy, so we would have to return with an official copy in order to start an account. One might assume a municipal authority would be more interested in collecting now nine years of back payments, and was there really a problem in Mexico with people showing up to fraudulently pay OTHER PEOPLE’S DELINQUENT SEWAGE BILLS? One would be mistaken.

Weeks later, we collected an official deed copy, the pesos, copies of every bill and identification we could muster, extra copies of all these, and went back to SIMAPA for Round Three. We entered the office and cheerfully greeted the SIMAPA ladies; Judy even complimented one woman on her embroidered blouse (smiles all around). We explained that we did not have an account, but we needed to start one and pay our arrears. The SIMAPA ladies quickly checked online and confirmed we did not have an account (*sigh*–an unsettling déjà vu descended on us).

The supervisor reviewed our official deed, then used it just to provide our address to the woman at the keyboard. She began the (apparently) laborious process of opening a new account. Now everybody should have an account, but one felt like this was the first time an account had ever been opened. There was discussion about how to enter the address, how to print the bill, and even (no kidding) how much to charge us. The supervisor even asked us if we had an e-mail from the condominio stating what the charges were for this year! Wasn’t SIMAPA the ones who determined the charges, I thought? I told him “no” initially, but Judy checked her account and did find it.

They proceeded to develop a receipt, but I could see the supervisor and the lady on the keyboard were a little concerned by the size of the bill. It was, after all, for many years, and I am sure they have had some surly customers come in and go ballistic over a large bill. I told them they had approximated the bill for us once before, so we were ready for it, which seemed to alleviate their concerns. I even joked that we only wanted to pay our bill, not purchase all of SIMAPA (I got a little smile for that Dad-joke).

Finally, we paid the bill, got signed originals of the account statement, and went on our way, safe in the knowledge we were no longer sewage outlaws.

Solo en México.

Frames of Reference

Ever take a good hard look at your frames of reference? By that I mean the experiences, education, travel, lifestyle and intellectual pursuits that are not necessarily unique to you, but frame how you process and make sense of what’s going on around you. Some might call them your biases, but I think that’s a little too pejorative: we all have them, so why automatically think of them as negative?

For example, I grew up in a small town in the Midwest. I had a frame of reference that people were basically honest and friendly, schools were competent, the local authorities honest, and opportunities abounded. Americana 101. I also believed large cities were dirty, and people there were rude or potentially violent. Their schools were ramshackle. Their police might entrap you. Their government was corrupt.

I eventually lived in or near big cities, where I confirmed everything I previously held about them! I also learned the big cities were cosmopolitan, held cultural treasures, and had even more opportunities. And small towns could be somewhat provincial; imagine that!

The entire concept of generational cohorts (think “The Greatest Generation” or Baby-Boomers, Gen-Xers, Millennials) involves frames of reference. People who go through the same major events (say WWII) at around the same age tend to develop a common way of thinking. It’s not universal, but it is useful as a way to generalize about them. My grandmother, who survived the Great Depression as a young woman, always kept on hand a large supply of canned goods and other things, and retained a profound distrust of banks. Those characteristics were common among her generation, and persisted long after the cause for them ended: for example, when banks became federally insured.

What about your unconscious frames? If you grew up in the States, you most likely imbibed an English cultural frame. Which does not mean an understanding of English History; good heavens no! Most Americans think The War of the Roses was a 1989 divorce flick. No, I mean an English view of history and culture. France and the French: weak, decadent, presumptuous. Spain and the Spanish: corrupt, untrustworthy, nefarious. Germany and the Germans: autocratic, efficient, and of course Nazis. China and Chinese: inscrutable. India and the Indians: Servile. England and the English: indefatigable, educated, and enterprising. Hmmmmm, one of these things is not like the others! Where did Americans, who originally had little contact with many of these countries, get these stereotypes, some of which were contradicted by early American experience (France and Spain sided with us in the revolution against England)?

Frames are hard to identify simply by introspection; new experiences–or encountering other frames–make it easier. As an expat, I often laugh at some aspects of the US history I once learned: all about Plymouth Plantation and the English colony of Jamestown. Only after living in Latin America did I stop and reconsider that the Spanish settlement of St. Augustine, Florida, was forty-two years old when the English got to Jamestown, and the only reason Jamestown survived was the Spanish decided not to attack it.

As an expat, you bring a lifetime of frames to your new home. Expect police to be well-paid, well-trained public servants dedicated to the rule of law? Government to be efficient and transparent? Law to be impartial? Depending on where you land, maybe, maybe not. The reverse is also true. Where you once might have experienced people judged implicitly by their skin color, you might find those judgments applied to shades, or accents, or even facial structures!

Whether for good or ill, frames exist and affect us everyday. For expats, identifying your frames may be critical to whether you can ever fit in your new community. Change in cultural frames happens slowly, and almost never by external forces (I’m thinking the pacification of Germany and Japan as exceptions that prove the rule). When you come from somewhere else, you’re free to observe, to comment with courtesy, but most of all to respect the new culture. It may welcome you, but you sought it; it didn’t seek you.

Mexican Expat Myths #5: You don’t need to learn Spanish

This little gem gets trotted out lakeside from time-to-time. Someone will ask on social media “do I have to learn Spanish before I retire to Lake Chapala” or “can I get by with buenas this-and-that?” A few starchy old male expats in t-shirts sitting on the terraza harrumph back with why one must speak Spanish or why it’s only polite or just “stay out of my country” (that last one is always a little confusing).

It is absolutely true that lakeside, like the tourist havens, has plenty of English-speaking local residents. And plenty of bilingual expats to help out. The tourist sites actually prefer you speak English, because they have gone to the trouble of hiring bilingual staff and the one thing they want is a great customer experience (and review), not one that recalls the time your high school Spanish failed you and the mesera almost slapped you when you asked her if she was embarazada after spilling your drink (look it up, if you must).

Lakeside has many English-language amenities: churches and newspapers and clubs and the Lake Chapala Society and restaurants and drivers and tour companies and body shops and a special mercado and lawyers and real estate agents and bars and nightclubs and delivery services and all of them cater to English-speaking (only) expats. So it’s easy to believe you’re in some part of borderland Texas, or California, or even Florida where you don’t really need to speak Spanish.

But it is limiting. You see, the English-speaking veneer at lakeside is just that: a thin covering. Drive a few miles outside it, and try your “can you understand me if I shout?” bilingualism and you’ll get smiles and stares. People will try to help you, if they can figure out what you want. And that’s ok. But if you wander into a real Mexican restaurant, they may not understand your pantomime for less-spicy salsa. If you go driving around the many cultural or historical sites of Mexico, you might not understand whether the attraction is closed for an hour or for the day. Your legal documents are in Spanish with an ingles translation, and only the español is authoritative. If the police stop you, or you need an ambulance away from home, well, you get the point. You can travel (with a guide). You can go shopping (with a bilingual friend). You can attend the government bureaucracy (with a fixer). But you’re limited by what you don’t know: Spanish.

Which is not to say there aren’t a sizable number of expats who know a few Spanish words (the polite ones) or none at all and they still enjoy the expat life lakeside. It limits your travel areas, your circle of friends, your lifestyle. But there is still plenty to experience here.

Final judgment: You don’t need to learn Spanish: this is a tough one. How best to nuance it? You don’t need to be polite, either, but wouldn’t you rather be?

Mexican Expat Myths #4: Mexicans never say no

Expat version of a Dad joke:

Expat (to Mexican amigo): “Do Mexicans ever say ‘no’?”

Mexican amigo: “¡No!”

Sorry for that, but it had to be said.

It’s a common observation among expats that Mexicans don’t like to say a flat “no.” They consider it a bit rude, and it leads to cultural friction with gringos who are more accustomed to direct language. It all goes back to the importance of being educado, which can mean either educated or well-mannered (the latter in this case). Ask a Mexican amigo if you’re invited to the party, and you’ll find yourself invited to the party–even if it was a family-only affair before. It’s just the polite thing to do.

In some instances, this avoidance of “no” leads to unusual outcomes. For instance, order a beer at a restaurant and if they find they are out of stock, they might not come back and tell you “no,” they might send someone down the street to the liquor store to buy that beer for you. In other cases, it’s just frustrating. We contacted a local smithy about a metal frame artwork we wanted done, and he told us yes he could do it, and then came out and took measurements. And then . . . crickets. No response, no estimate, nada. Maybe he was too busy, maybe it was too hard; we’ll never know, except we never heard “no.”

The one exception which proves the rule is Mexican bureaucracy, where “no” is a common response. As in “no, a color copy is not acceptable” or “no, you don’t have a full copy of your CFE bill including the pages that are nothing but advertising” or “no, the written amount on this check is hyphenated incorrectly.” The French may have invented bureaucracy (and remember, it was an improvement over previous forms of administration), but Mexico has made it its own. If bureaucracy was an Olympic sport, Mexico would always medal.

Sometimes “no” comes out as “yes.” Sometimes it comes out as a reluctant “yes.” Sometimes it comes out as “maybe later” or “maybe never.” But it rarely comes out as “no.” As an expat, you can get annoyed about it, just accept it, or embrace it as charmingly polite. But it won’t change.

Final judgment: Mexicans never say “no.” Mostly True.