Category: Preparation

So you decide to move to Mexico for the healthy living, but you know that it requires more than exercise, good eating habits, moderation in drink, and adequate rest. It requires good preventive medical care, and if needed, good emergency care. We have been here a few months, so it was time to get started on picking a doctor, dentist, etc.

So the first thing we needed to find was a dentist. We heard good things from other expats about Doctora Candy Ugalde who has a small practice in our town…yes, I know, a dentist named Candy. Anyway, we made an appointment about a week out, and went in for an exam and cleaning. The office was clean with all the usual modern equipment, the staff bilingual and very friendly. We were seen on-time, and the visit lasted about 30 minutes. We did not receive any pressure to get x-rays or

whitening. My dentist, Juan, is Candy’s brother, and he said I will eventually need to get an x-ray, but no rush; when I asked about a whitening, he told me about a discount they are offering, but that was it. Total cost for exam and cleaning for two people: 600 pesos (a little over $30 US dollars).  You can see why some expats bring their grandchildren down for dental (orthodontia) tourism. Overall experience: very good.

Before I get to medical care, first I need to explain something about our health care situation that makes us different from the typical expat. Based on my federal service, we have excellent health insurance, based on the US Foreign Service Benefit Plan.  It is one of the thousand or so insurance programs offered by the US government to its employees, and it continues to cover us in retirement.  This program was initially developed to support US foreign service personnel stationed overseas. As such, it is very familiar in dealing with foreign languages, foreign currencies, and working with customers anywhere in the world. When overseas, the program works on a reimbursement basis (100% for preventive, emergency, and inpatient services, 90% for office visits, surgery, and outpatient services), with all doctors and healthcare providers outside the US considered “in-network.”  Deductible of $300 USD each per year. So while we are responsible for paying upfront for care, our health insurance is set up to immediately reimburse us via electronic document submission and direct deposit.

We decided we needed emergency coverage when we are travelling around Mexico, or around the world. Our Foreign Service Plan continues to cover us in these instances, but we wanted coverage that would give us the option to be medically evacuated at our own request (this last phrase is important). Most insurance, even emergency travel insurance, only approves medical evacuation when it is medically necessary, which is a decision of the doctor and the insurer, not you.  We wanted a service which left that decision up to us. We signed up with SkyMed, which specializes in coverage for expats, covers our medical stabilization onsite in the event of a medical emergency, and leaves the decision to evacuate up to us. Many expats here in Mexico sign up for such coverage, so that in the event of a very serious condition, they can be evacuated back to the States to get care.  Here’s where we differ: we got this coverage so we can be brought back to (drum roll) Guadalajara.  We feel the care here in Mexico is so good, this is to where we would want to be evacuated, if we got sick or hurt out traveling in the wider world.

For our family doctor, we chose Doctora Lupita at Integrity Medical Clinic. We had some false starts here. First, we made an appointment one day for the next morning, arrived, and found no record of the phone call or appointment we made the day before. The office called to postpone our second appointment, because the Doctora was having emergency dental surgery (ouch). When we were finally seen, we each had a nice office call with the Doctora, who ordered a standard suite of blood tests. We had these done at the lab across the street, and got the results by e-mail later the same day. Costs were 400 MXP each for the office visits, and a total of 2500 MXP for the lab work, or a total of approximately $230 USD for both of us.

We scheduled to meet back with Dra. Lupita to review our results, and here is where things got interesting, as they say. Judy’s review went perfect, with all normal results across the board.  I knew I had a few lab results which were out of the normal ranges, but the trouble started as soon as the nurse came to take my vitals. She took my blood pressure/pulse four times, using two different machines. Any time the nurse asks you “are you having chest pain?” that is NOT a good sign. Then she asked the Doctora to come in and do it again. I felt fine: thirsty, as I had salty foods for both breakfast and lunch, and I had worked out at the gym for 90 minutes before lunch, but otherwise great.

The Doctora said my pulse was racing (over 100 bpm), and she wanted to do a ECG right there and then. They brought the cart in and hooked me up; a few minutes later, she shared my results, indicating left ventricular distress, possible a blockage. She said she wanted me to see the cardiologist in her clinic on Wednesday (two days hence) for another ECG and consult. Oh, and the lab results said I probably had a gallstone; her ultrasound could not confirm it, since I had just eaten lunch, so she wanted me to fast on Wednesday and she would have a surgeon follow up on that, too.

To say I was shocked would be a severe understatement; in shock would probably be spot on! Those who know me know I was a lifelong, daily runner, in very good shape, and rarely had so much as a headache. Since we arrived in Mexico, I even lost a few pounds, took up an every-other-day weightlifting/stretching/stationary bike routine and hiked once a week up the mountains. I never felt better. I just could not square the results staring me in the face with how I felt. I had 48 hours to kill until the cardiologist visit, so I dug up my old records and took to the internet.

First I learned that gallstones and even a ventricular irregularity could be asymptomatic; meaning feeling fine was not out of the ordinary. Gallstones, although painful, looked like the lesser concern: some never end up causing pain, and surgery to remove the gallbladder is practically routine. So I decided to focus on my heart’s ECG results. Amazing what you can find on the internet: full descriptions of how to read one and what it means in laymen’s terms.

Probably the most interesting thing I learned was that an irregular ECG could result from environmental conditions, such as an electrolyte imbalance.  I noticed after I returned home from the Doctora’s office that I was very dehydrated, and Doctora Lupita mentioned that some newcomers have poor ECG results due to their heart’s difficulty in acclimatizing to the elevation here (5200 feet). I hung my hopes on this slender reed and  prepared to see the cardiologist and surgeon on Wednesday.

To Be Continued…

 

So yesterday, Judy and I went from “in-process” to owners of genuine Mexican government-issued visas, aka green cards. We were notified by Francisco, who we retained to shepherd us through the immigration process, that our cards were ready for pick up. We dutifully headed to the nondescript INM office in nearby Chapala and joined a gaggle of expats queuing up out front before the 9:00 opening time.

When the office opened, we all shuffled in; we were #16/17 in line. The queue was established by writing your name in a giant notebook at the front of the small office, which looked like every other bureaucracy waiting room in the world. Queue discipline was enforced by a stern-looking gentleman in a guard uniform who called out the names one at a time, kept a stray dog from entering the building, controlled the remote for the waiting room TV (we watched “Hoy!”…you guessed it, “Today!”), and occasionally shouted “Silencio!” when the crowd got too rowdy. We were out in under an hour, after signing for receipt of our cards in another giant notebook. The women who processed our applications did have and use a computer terminal on the counter, but the queue process and receipt were pure analog.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I applied for a residente temporal visa and Judy for a residente permanente visa.  Let’s start with the latter. As the title “permanente” implies, Judy has permanent status in Mexico as a resident alien. She never has to apply for, pay for, or further adjust her status in Mexico (unless they change their laws, but in general, when they do, they grandfather your existing residency status).  She can freely leave and return to Mexico as often as she likes, and whenever she crosses its borders she uses the same lanes that Mexican citizens use.  She cannot vote in Mexico, and she remains a United States citizen. She cannot engage in Mexican political activity (a big no-no), although she could remain politically-active in US politics (but why would she?). She could work in Mexico (but why would she?). She can get a Mexican driver’s license (in addition to her US/Ohio license), buy/sell property, own and register a Mexican car, and buy/keep a (single) gun (but why would she?). One note: as a permanente, she cannot drive a foreign-plated (i.e., US) car in Mexico, so my FJ is off-limits.

I applied for the residente temporal, which has mostly the same privileges and restrictions, except it is only good for a set duration (annual up to four years) and has to be renewed.  I have a one-year visa. One advantage of the temporal is it has lower income/resource requirements (i.e., you have to show you will not be a drag on the Mexican economy if you apply for a temporal or permanente, but the latter has higher minimums). The application costs almost as much as a permanente, but the permanente is a one-time cost, while the temporal is recurring. Probably the biggest single difference is since a temporal visa holder is theoretically only visiting Mexico, the temporal can own/drive a foreign-plated car while in the country. This was the main reason driving us (pun intended) to choose the mixed visa route: I could load/drive down the FJ and take it back to the States later for sale.  I cannot sell the FJ in Mexico: but why would I, as the resale market for FJs is pretty hot back in the States.

So with our newly-minted green cards, we’ll next undertake our single largest purchase since arriving in Mexico: a new car.  I will update y’all on how that compares to the “thrill” of car-buying in the States in a future post.

We woke up quite refreshed from our first day’s drive in Mexico and feeling pretty good about ourselves.  Yes, we only had intermittent Waze access, but Google maps seemed to work ok and coincided with the written instructions we had from other expats, and the drive was uneventful.  We had a great breakfast at the hotel, and only about six hours of driving to “home”…or so we thought.

Leaving Matehuala, all we had to do we re-enter the highway, drive south by southwest around the towns of San Luis Potosi and Lagos de Moreno, and we would soon be on the Macrolibramento (Outer Beltway) around Guadalajara and home to Ajijic. Since the previous day went so well, I let my guard down and as we approached the first bypass for San Luis Potosi, where we had to make a decision.  Google maps showed us going around to the north, but our written instructions were very clear: take the southern bypass labelled “Guadalajara.”  We came upon the exit at speed (about 80 kmh) and I said to my navigator (Judy), “I’m going with the digital directions; at least they are ‘live.'” With that we headed along the northern route. I thought about the line from the Steely Dan song “My Old School,” “Ohhh, no, Guadalajara won’t do!”

At first, we seemed to be on another bypass, and I thought, “hey that worked out well.”  But next we were on an a I-395-like highway right through the middle of SLP.  Still not too bad, and we cleared the city with only about 30 extra minutes of drive time.  Then we found the road changing from an divided highway down to a four lane local street and

finally a two lane country road. Better still, one side of the road was a cliff straight up, and the other (our side) a cliff straight down.  The Mexicans say “Vaya Con Dios” or “Go with God,” and they mean it, because there was no shoulder and no guardrail.  Even my dog stood up in his tiny back seat space and began to pant in my ear.

The road swerved along a series of ridges for 30 kilometers or so; in many places the switchbacks were so severe you were headed back in the opposite direction every hundred meters. We survived it and breathed a sigh of relief when we finally rejoined the Cuota (toll road) to which the other bypass lead. Now we were an hour behind schedule.

I committed to following the written instructions, and luckily Waze began working and confirmed our choices. We made it around Lagos de Moreno and headed onto a Carretera (main highway) toward Guadalajara.  We had about 150 kilometers of high desert plateau to drive through, straight as an arrow and no towns, so it seemed like we could set the cruise control and “go.”  But we had another Mexican moment coming: all of a sudden, all the traffic on our side of the four lane, divided highway was collapsing into the single, left lane.  Up ahead, we came upon a car with flashing emergency lights driving slowly in the right lane, and then we passed a group of bicyclists following a flatbed truck with a religious shrine to the Virgin Mary on display in the back.

Seems today was the day of a bicycle pilgrimage south of Lagos de Moreno, and every mile or so for the next hour, we passed another set of pilgrims gamely riding bicycles up and down the same mountain road we were driving. Only in Mexico.

This too passed and we were finally approaching Guadalajara’s outer beltway, which is a toll road and still under construction. We started down our exit and came to a small toll booth. As we pulled up, I asked the young lady “Cuando?” (how much) but she responded with a “no” and a stream of Espanol that immediately exceeded my limited capabilities.  So we sat there at the exit, with a restraining arm between us and the road home, and looked at one another and thought, “what now?” Judy asked if the the girl spoke English, but no, she didn’t.  Luckily, no one was behind us, but we were stuck.  The girl spoke again, and Judy heard “Chapala” and correctly guessed she was asking us where we were going.  We cheerily shouted “Lake Chapala” and like a magic password, she raised the arm and let us through. Why does the Mexican government pay to have someone asking people where they are going on a limited access, toll road?  Quien sabe?!

We left the toll road, drove up the pass over Sierra San Juan Cosala and arrived at our house, 90 minutes behind schedule. Bu then again, what’s a schedule? “Schedule, we don’t need no stinking schedule.”

 

 

 

The actual move process began on Friday, January 27th, when my dear wife and I had our appointments with the Mexican consulate in Washington DC to apply for our visas.  You say you’ve never had to get a visa to visit Mexico? Well let me explain.

Mexico has three different kinds of visitor visas.  The first and easiest is Tourist, which allows you to stay in Mexico for up to 180 days, and its approval is automatic for US citizens.  You do pay a small fee (I think around $35 USD) which is included in the price of your airfare or cruise cost if you travel either of those ways.  The second is Temporal, which is designed for longer stays (1-4 years), costs around $170 USD, and requires you to show some form of secure resources (income or investments).  The third is Permanente, which costs around $250 USD and requires proof of even greater financial resources.

I was applying for Temporal and Judy for Permanente for reasons of the different rights which apply to each.  We had read horror stories from current expats who told of Mexican officials refusing to grant status “just because” or asking detailed questions and requiring extra proof. Well, the DC consulate was not at all like that.  We arrived early for our “appointments” and there was no one else there. The young

lady behind the counter glanced at our paperwork, took it, told us to have a seat and we’d be done shortly! We had to be photographed, fingerprinted, and pay a small application fee, but we were both out of the building in under 30 minutes with our approval to cross the border.

On Saturday we started a round of goodbyes with friends and family, and then packed out the FJ.  As it turns out, we still had about one and a quarter FJ loads, but only one FJ.  We hastily repacked, decided on what we could leave behind until we come back to the States next August, and tried to get some sleep.

Come 6:00 AM on Sunday the 29th, we gunned the FJ down the southwest route via Chattanooga to Tuscaloosa, Alabama for our first night. We experienced heavy fog and light snow, maybe for the last time. We continued a torrid highway pace via Baton Rouge to stay the second night in San Antonio, Texas.

Day three (Tuesday) was the big enchilada: get up early and drive to cross the border at Nuevo Laredo. Just as we crossed the bridge over the Rio Grande, our Waze app conked out.  Waze is absolutely the best way to get directions and real time traffic info, and we really needed it as we crossed the border because we had to go to a specific building and get our visa stamped and find out if our car was approved for entry. Lucky for us, the Mexican government must have gotten tired of gringos wandering around Nuevo Laredo lost, for there were good signs leading us straight to the admin building.

The parking lot was nearly empty when we arrived at 10:30.  We had no lines and no trouble as we got our visas stamped, paid an entry fee, and got TIP approval to (finally) bring the FJ into Mexico.  All very smooth. We left the building and headed on the bypass around Nuevo Laredo, knowing there was one more customs stop about 20 kms down the road.  This too proved to be nothing more than a large facility where all traffic was routed into a single lane, passing by a bored-looking young man in a booth waving us on!

So all that worry about the car’s paperwork, the dog’s paperwork, our paperwork: for naught.  We rolled on through the Mexican countryside on their Cuota (toll roads) to the small town of Matehuala, where we had hotel reservations for the night.  As Judy & I sat down (with our dog at our feet) for dinner at the hotel restaurant, we knew how Andy Dufresne must have felt when he saw Zihuatanejo!

In rereading the last several posts, I don’t want to engage in rose-colored glasses history. There were several times things went wrong along the way, and could have derailed the whole process. Here are a few of those, to even out the story.

My employer, the US Government, required me to report all my dealings with foreigners. It never occurred to me this might include buying a foreign property.  I had already put the money down on the house before asking for permission.  So I submitted the request, said a prayer, and it came back approved. Similarly, I changed property managers and failed to notice my new manager was Canadian (who asks such questions, right?), so I had to go back and make another official report on that, too.

About two and a half years out, I wondered why my dear wife Judy wasn’t starting to sort things out so we could sell our townhouse and move to an apartment.  Finally, I sat down and asked her about it point blank; she indicated she knew it had to get done, but it was emotionally too hard to start, so she kept putting it off. It was difficult to sort through a life’s collection of stuff, and preparing to move is never easy.  That set us back about six months, and we ended up dealing with simultaneous rent and mortgage payments for several months, so we could get our house sold and get exactly the apartment we wanted.

About a year out, as I surveyed what we wanted to bring/ship to Mexico, I got the bright idea to do a trial run to Lake Chapala and take a load down in my Toyota FJ truck. I thought it would be a good practice trip, and give us an extra load of carrying capacity for the overall move.  Now if you’re driving your car more than about 25 miles over the Mexican border, the Mexican government requires you to get a visa for your automobile.  It costs about $400 US dollars, and you are reimbursed this cost when you drive back into the US.  In effect, the payment is a bond to ensure you don’t take your car to Mexico and sell it there. [It all goes back to NAFTA.  Americans will recall the “giant sucking sound” people in the US were afraid of: that US jobs would go to Mexico (many did!).  Mexico was worried that entrepreneurial Americans would start driving their cars across the border and swamp the Mexican auto sales market, so they put this restriction in place.] You can get this visa, known as TIP for Temporary Importation Permit, when you cross the border, or you can apply online. Trying to save time, I dutifully went to the online site and applied for my visa in advance, and I received it in the mail a few weeks later. It all went so smoothly, I should have sensed trouble!

You see my employer, the US Government, decided it was too dangerous for any federal employees to drive across the border, so they disapproved my trip. I was irritated, but it was only a practice run and single carload, so who cares?  But what do I do about my auto visa?   I looked online, and the websites were unclear about what to do. It was still two months before I was supposed to travel, so I figured I would send the visa back to the office which issued it and ask for a refund.  They responded a month later with a very nice, very long letter full of the most untranslatable Spanish bureaucratese.  After much Google translate review, I determined that they insisted I had to prove my car was not already in Mexico. You see, in their minds, I could have already driven the car to Mexico and sold it!  I could prove I did not do so by presenting my car at the border for them to inspect, or by sending them a notarized, apostilled letter from my local police department.

Meanwhile, my dear wife had found an online form to request a TIP cancellation, so I tried sending it along with a copy of my current car registration; I figured, well, it’s a government document, it shows my car is in the US, and I had it both notarized and apostilled. Most people know what a notary does, but may be unfamiliar with apostille.  It serves as a second check of authenticity, and is recognized outside of a given country.  In my case, the Commonwealth government in Richmond had to apostille my notarized documents. By the way, explaining to a notary what this was all about was entertaining to say the least. I guess the Commonwealth office was used to it by now, because I just mailed them the material and they returned it to me.  

About another month went by, and I received a second long letter full of references to Mexican Federal law and explaining why my attempt to send them my registration was insufficient. I was NOT driving to the border and crossing it just to turn around and drive back: that would have cost more than the 400 dollars I was trying to recoup.  But the second letter had a surprise in it: they also mentioned that if I did not resolve this matter to their satisfaction, they would place my car’s Vehicle Identification Number, or VIN, on their list to prohibit me from ever bringing it into Mexico.  AGHH! My car was now in danger of being placed on the Mexican automobile equivalent of the TSA No Fly list! I wonder if the list is called “No-Va”?

Anyway, being as how this was the SUV I planned to use for our one-load move to Mexico, things had gotten very serious, very fast. I contacted the Arlington County Police’s public outreach office and scheduled an appointment.  A very polite Sergeant agreed to meet with me, and I told her my sad tale of woe.  As I recounted the various letters, notaries, apostilles and Google translations, I could almost hear Arlo Guthrie describing the “27, 8×10, color glossy photos full of circles and arrows with a paragraph on the back of each one” from the classic tune “Alice’s Restaurant.”  Luckily, there was no Officer Obee in sight, and the Sergeant dashed off and signed a letter testifying that on that date, my car was safely in the good ole US of A.  After the customary notarization and apostille, I fired another volley off to Mexico City.  

Several months past, and I received a large envelope from the Distrito Federal, or DF, which was the name of the Mexican Capital region much as the District of Columbia is for the US (they just changed the name to La Ciudad de Mexico, or CDMX). In it was another bureaucratic masterpiece, which took two pages to say “OK.”  Attached was a quite stunning, multi-color Cancelation document which dwarfed the original TIP.  Included in the letter was a warning that whenever I tried to enter Mexico with my FJ in the future, I would have to show this document to prove my car was not ‘on the list.’

I never found any reference to a rebate, and friends have since told me there is a separate process to get the money back: I will probably just consider it a donation to the bureaucratic gods. How will the story end?  Will my car be confiscated and sent to Guantanamo? Will I transfer my carload to donkey and set out across the Sierra Madre? I will let you know in my next post.

Colleagues and friends must have been so weary of hearing the tale of our impending retirement in Mexico. For the next four years, it seemed like everyone we met wanted to know how we made the decision, when we we going, why, etc. I started a day count at work when the number fell under 1000, and dutifully could recite the new total to anyone who asked.

We developed a plan for how to conduct the move. At the time, we owned and were living in a 2200 sq ft townhouse in Alexandria, Virginia. We still had several rooms of excess furniture and even clothes and things left behind by our daughters as they graduated from college, got jobs, moved away, got married, and started having children of their own. We also had all the memorabilia a couple collects in 30+ years of marriage and establishing various homes. And we knew that the furniture, which was mostly European, would not fit in in our new casa, and would be prohibitively expensive to ship. We had to give many of the furniture pieces away.  While it was well-made and imported, the company that ran an estate sale for us told us it was “big brown stuff” that no one wanted, even for bargain prices.

We decided to sell our townhouse at the two year out point, to get out of the volatile DC housing market and to eliminate any further maintenance requirements. We found a nice apartment in Arlington, which reduced our commute, had a parking garage, walkable neighborhood restaurants, and zero maintenance (they even replaced the light bulbs). That move was a great opportunity to start the overall downsizing process.

We took turns opening boxes, reviewing the contents, and asking the hard question: what do I need this for? In many cases, we identified things we had not used in years, but we had kept “just in case.” We also had many items of memorabilia, which we had to ask “what are we going to do with this in Mexico?” At first, we put many such things back in the box, unwilling to make the break. But with each subsequent review, it became easier to say “adios.” Our toughest question always was: “what do I intend to do with this, and what will my kids do with this when I’m gone?” There were several things that had obvious answers to both questions, so they were “keepers.” There were a few which the first answer was “I don’t know” but the second was obvious, so they were kept, too. Many things got put in the charity or trash piles.

By the time it came to move out of the apartment, we had culled the items to ship to Mexico down to a single international shipping unit (7’x 7’x 4′, as I recall), along with a single carload we would drive down.

Now just to execute the plan!

While we waited on our return flight out of Houston, we called our financial advisor and explained we needed some TLC.  We needed to know how to rustle up more than we had planned for the log cabin, because we were considering buying a house in Mexico, where they (at the time) did not use mortgages. Since we were funding new construction, we had a full year to come up with the cost.  So we asked our advisor to determine IF we could pull that off, and how.  Second, we asked him to re-run our retirement plan, based on the different cost-of-living (full time and only) in Mexico.  We sent him cost of living documents provided by Focus, and told him we had about a week to make a decision.

The next week was a muddle of getting back to work while wondering how the “Mexican retirement” issue would play out.  Finally our advisor called us back and scheduled a weekend meeting.  He told us first “yes,” we could put together the money to secure the house over the course of the next year.  It would not be easy, and we would have to do some juggling, but it was doable.  Next he addressed the cost-of-living data; he told us that it was way too low, and he didn’t trust it, so he ran the numbers twice: once with the numbers we gave him, and a second time at triple those numbers. He said “either way, it all works.  Further, we can accelerate your retirement. You can skip the 10 years working as a contractor and simply retire at age 56.” Judy started to tear up, and I was shocked.  I had just bought back 10 years of time!

We executed the offer paperwork and bought our retirement casa in Mexico.

Explaining this sudden change in plans to our extended family and grown children was NOT easy.  They had not gone through the process we had, done the research, visited, run the data.  Additionally, when we left for our first visit, they expected my wife Judy to be the voice of reason pulling us back from the ledge.  Instead, we returned and she was more convinced than I had been. So we had to patiently explain and re-explain that:

• No, we weren’t renouncing our citizenship; we still pay US taxes, and vote in US elections.
• While drug violence is a problem, it is concentrated along the border, along certain trafficking routes and in big cities, and is generally avoidable.
• Health care was excellent, and in fact many grandparents host their grandkids for dental vacations to get braces at cents on the dollar.
• We lived only minutes away from an international airport, with easy connections to anywhere in the US.
• Since we were not working anymore, we were free to come visit for as long as they could stand having us, without having to de-conflict three or four work schedules.
• The weather was great year round, so we could welcome visits any time they cared to come.
• Yes, you could get by Lakeside without learning Spanish, but why would you want to? We planned to do immersion language training once we moved there.

Our family members’ responses ran the gamut from implied concern to outright “are you nuts?” Over time, most simply admitted they just couldn’t fathom making such a move, but wished us well.

Around the end of 2012, the house was completed and we visited, with my father in tow, to take possession.  We really enjoyed having Dad along, and he was able to report back on how nice the weather, the people, and the food were.

So here we were, owning a vacant home in the quaint Mexican village of Ajijic, but still working in Washington DC and waiting for the calendar to roll over a few more times, to 2016.

Our Focus in Mexico days were all similar: the presentations started after a late breakfast in the hotel.  Each presentation was led by a local expert on some subject of interest to an expat (tax implications, property ownership, immigration laws, culture, health care, insurance, driving, etc.).  There was plenty of time for breaks and to have individual discussions with the presenters, to ask those “only me” type questions everyone has. The net effect was very even-handed; this was in no way a sales pitch.  Speakers talked about the nitty-gritty aspects of moving to Mexico, and were very clear about the positive and negative aspects.  Some examples:

• While the cost of living is generally less than in the US or Canada, if you insist on buying only the same products you had NOB (north of the border), you’ll quickly find your costs escalate.
• Electricity is fairly cheap, but you’re expected to use relatively little; exceed the norms, and your rate can quickly triple and hold at the higher cost for an extended period.  This is especially troublesome for Americans used to leaving all their lights and appliances “on.”
• Buying or renting a house among the locals can save you a ton, but then you need to understand the challenge of dicey on-the-street parking  or frequent festivals (which can involve loud bands and fireworks into the wee hours).

We broke for a leisurely lunch at different local restaurants, then returned for more presentations, some free time or siesta in the afternoon, and then got together for dinner and/or something cultural in the evening.  Anyway, the net effect was to show that expat life in Mexico is not for everyone, but it was not as exotic as one might surmise, and to provide some tips on how to succeed.  There wasn’t anything magic about the presentations, and you could find all the information provided on your own: but here it was, gift-wrapped and presented to you with ample opportunity to digest and interact.  Probably the best aspect of the Focus program was the network of instant friends and relationships it fostered.

By the third day, the weather, friendliness, good food and wine was having the desired effect on Judy.  As we sat in a presentation about opportunities to volunteer and do charity work locally, the speaker mentioned a local orphanage run by nuns, which always needed volunteers to come and hold babies.  Judy leaned over and whispered in my ear “That’s it, I’m in.”

The last day of the program included an optional tour of different houses for sale/rent in the area, to show what your dollar would purchase.  It turned out that both Judy and I had been eying the same hacienda-style model in a new, gated community just outside Ajijic.  We had agreed, half jokingly, before we left on the trip that WE WOULD NOT BUY ANY PROPERTY while we were in Mexico.  And here we were, seriously teetering on the edge of doing so.

If you lived here, you’d be home now

We did draw up the papers to purchase, but put the actual offer on hold until we could consult our financial advisor back home. And we might have to tell the kids, too!

It all started innocently enough:  “Honey, what would you think about retiring outside the US?”

“Sure, where?”

“Mexico.”

“Mexico, as in narcos-chopping-off-heads Mexico? Count me out.”

I would retreat for several days and try another approach:

“Dear, I found a place to retire with nearly perfect Spring-like weather year round!”

“Spring-like as in warm but not hot, not too humid? Where?”

“Lake Chapala. A bunch of Americans and Canadians already live there.”

“But where is it?”

“Umm, uhh, Mexico”

(Silence) “Seriously, what is it with you and Mexico?”

“I keep researching this place, and no matter what I look into, it comes up positive.”

(Long silence)

And so it went.  Judy conceded that I had convinced her that security was not an issue, based on the fact that I worked that issue for a living and had a good handle on it.  I mentioned the low cost of living, and she asked what about health care?  I told her about the good, US-trained and English-speaking doctors, and she wondered how we would get back to visit the grandkids.  I showed her the reasonable airfare to/from Guadalajara International airport, which was only 40 minutes away from the lake; she countered with our lack of Spanish.

It was close to the time to shop more seriously for the vacation log cabin, so I tried one last gambit: I told Judy we shouldn’t buy the cabin until we settled the “where do we ultimately retire?” question.   The Focus on Mexico site I mentioned had a week-long familiarization trip at a reasonable rate. They would put you up in a local hotel, give presentations about being an expat, and introduce you around the community. I asked Judy if she would go on such a trip; she agreed, if only to shut me up about Mexico.  It was scheduled for January, 2012, so we could experience the so-called Spring weather for ourselves. I opined that if nothing else, it was a nice little vacation. Judy committed to go, and I agreed that if we both didn’t love it, Mexico was off the board.

We had an uneventful series of flights through Houston to Guad (as the expats call it), and were picked up by the Focus team and driven toward the Lake.  As we drove down the highway, the Focus team leader pointed out of the van window and said “look, there is the lake.” Just off the side of the highway was a dumpy little lake that looked more like an overgrown drainage pond.  As my blood pressure spiked, I heard the team leader burst out laughing saying that is was just a joke, the real lake was over the mountain.  As we crested the mountain pass, a beautiful vista of a long, thin lake spread out in the valley beneath us. You could see a series of mountains which seemed to hem the lake in on all sides; the mountains make the lake look smaller, but it is really almost 15 miles wide and over 50 miles long. You can get a sense of the vista by looking at the header picture to my blog, which shows the view as one lands at the airport.

We arrived in the town of Ajijic (pronounced “Ah-Hee-HEEK”) and checked into the Real Chapala, our hotel for the stay. Ajijic is a picturesque little fishing village nestled on the north shore between the lake and the mountains.  If it hadn’t been discovered and rediscovered by expat artists and US army veterans back in the 1930s-1960s, no one would have ever heard of it beyond Guadalajara.  On one hand, the expats support art shops, nice restaurants, and a Walmart (no kidding).  On the other hand, it’s a 10,000 person Mexican village where burros might be grazing in your backyard.  Our first note of difference was the Focus team leader reminding us to use the large bottled water dispenser in out hotel room, even for teeth-brushing, since the hotel’s municipal water supply was not considered potable.

On Sunday, the Focus team took us on a tour of Guadalajara, and we got back in time for a nice little welcoming dinner where we got to know our colleagues in the program and the program staff.  That evening was the first time we could catch our breath and just talk alone.  I asked Judy to join me on a stroll through the cobblestone streets of La Floresta, the residential area surrounding the hotel.  The weather had been clear and warm, almost 60 F, but now the sun was setting and it was dropping into the 50’s for the night.

As we walked, I prompted Judy what she thought so far.  She said “I’m just not feeling it.” Half in jest, I responded: “What didn’t you like?  Was it the inexpensive meals and drinks?  The pleasant weather? The friendly people?” Judy shook her head, “ I just don’t feel a sense of community yet.” “Well, that’s fair,” I added, “but we’ve only been on the ground for 24 hours.  Let’s see what the rest of the week brings.”