When I retire, my dream will be to do so in Mexico. Family and friends scoff at this. Living in Southern California, most people's impressions of Mexico come from Tijuana, Mexicali, and the party-hardy atmosphere of Rosarito. When people quote to me, chapter and verse about killings, government corruption, and poor living conditions, I smile and ask of which American city are they speaking. In my few visits, I have had fun and adventure, met interesting people from all over the globe and experienced a gamut of cultures in one relatively small area.
Our first visit was to the Mayan Riviera, where we stayed in an all-inclusive "resort". This was a small 27 room complex, and according to many of our fellow guests, was a dump. Call us simple folk, but we loved it! Our room was always spotless, there just wasn't anything you could do about the bugs and lizards. We had a few in our room from time to time, but my theory was that they were there first and if they didn't bother me, I wouldn't bother them!
The pool area was gorgeous, always sparkling and beautifully landscaped, you could lay on a float in a nice clean pool, while looking out onto the crystal clear Caribbean. The best part was the staff. Many of the other guests complained, but my husband and I had no problems, in fact we never had to get out of the pool, as one of them was always ready to get us a beer or water. The food was delicious, but once again, we had to listen to people complain, and we just didn't get it. One woman boasted that she was going to eat all her meals at this particular restaurant in town. We tried it and hated it. Oh well, different strokes and all that!
Our most enjoyable time on that visit was a snorkeling trip. We had booked one out of Cancun, but that one was one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life. Picture 40 people crammed onto a skiff meant for 25, and then being told to put on your flippers when you couldn't see your feet. We learned then and there to avoid Cancun
at all costs. The town nearest our resort is a little fishing village named Puerto Morelos, about 20 km south of Cancun. It was love at first sight! Small enough to be quiet, with just enough tourism to keep most gringos happy. We booked a snorkeling trip with a local restaurant owner, Noah. You have to feel safe on a boat with a guy named Noah, he joked.
Our only free day was Sunday, and even though he didn't do trips on Sunday, he fixed us up with a friend who would take us out to the reef. We showed up at the dock, and in the first of many surprises, found that we were the only ones on this trip. Second, our "guides" were two teenage boys (although you couldn't have asked for better guides, since the reef was their backyard!) who spoke very little English.
Our third surprise was that Noah decided he didn't have anything better to do and was going to tag along. We had a terrific time on the water, one of the boys was thrilled to be showing us "his" reef and we got a personal tour.
Our trip included lunch, which was locally caught fish, as well as chicken and beef fajitas, rice, beans, tortillas, beer, margaritas and iced tea. They just kept bringing food. A couple from the resort came to sit with us, and they began to bring them food as well.
The couple was remarking that it was like being at grandma's house!
There was no doubt that we would go back. The resort was no longer available, as it was up for sale as condos. We rented a house in Puerto Morelos, from a website called vacationrentals.com. Upon arrival in our new home away from home, we simply strolled through the town. The local church was having a fundraising fiesta in the town square and believe me when I tell you that church ladies are no different in Mexico than they are in the states. All they wanted to do was feed us. Well, who are we to insult them? We ate soups and tamales, flan and cookies, chile rellenos and pastor tacos. It was a fundraiser, but still so reasonable in price that we gorged ourselves for about 15 American dollars, all told.
We met a retired NYPD officer, who lived part-time in the town. He recommended a restaurant, asking us if we were uncomfortable with going off the beaten path. This place was really someone's home about a half-mile out of town, turned into a restaurant, where you ate on their mosquito-netted back patio. Fried fish and shrimp ceviche were the only things on the menu, and it was prepared at the back part of the yard, by what appeared to be family members, young and old. They had cold beer for a dollar a bottle, and they made special efforts to make interesting
botanas (appetizers). On our first visit it was chips and salsa and some refried black beans. Another time it was garlic-fried potatoes and marinated cucumbers. Yes, we ate there a lot. One time, they had no fish, so our only choice was ceviche. What a shame! Apparently to make up for it, they brought out more botanas than usual, including a salsa made from green
habaneros, which my husband devoured, much to the owners' delight.
We have been to visit that town one more time, and during our three trips there, we have snorkeled, scuba dived, rode ATV's through the jungle, swam in cenotes (underground caves) visited Mayan ruins and an ecological waterpark where the iguanas have the run of the place and you swim in natural lagoons full of fish. We have been deep-sea fishing on a large boat off the island of Cozumel, as well as in a 27 foot panga just past the reef out of town. We met a guy who, with his wife, was traveling the world in a sail boat. We met a young man who had "thumbed" his way down to the Yucatan
from Northern California, including hitching a ride on a container ship. One of the local dive captains was American, he looked like a blond surfer boy, but acted and spoke like a local. Our scuba instructor, who was a local, actually trained as an instructor at a dive shop less than a mile away from our own home.
We have been on several jungle hikes, including one with an American who ran a "school" in the middle of the jungle, and with whom we were quite certain we would end up drinking Kool-Aid. We got to this jungle location in an ancient, battered Grand Marquis with Minnesota
plates, while our guide smoked like a chimney.
During a swim in the cenote, he explained how he was only able to experience life by dying every day. He then sank to the bottom of the cenote, and despite being a chain smoker, stayed underwater for nearly five minutes. He also took us to his friend's home, a woman who lived in the jungle, and she prepared a meal for us of chicken and macaroni, with homemade tortillas and Coca Cola.
During our last (but not final) visit to the Yucatan, we went on a jungle hike, where we got to rappel down a cliff and then ride a zip line over a lagoon. During this excursion, we met one of the most fascinating young men I've ever come into contact with. He was a guide at the ruins of Coba. His narration as he guided us through ancient ball courts and past crumbling temples wasn't the drone of someone who has repeated the same lines over and over, but one of someone who wanted to share his amazing culture with us. His English was perfect, with very little accent, but he astounded the Canadians in our group by also speaking French. He was Mayan, born to a large family that still resided in the jungle.
Like most Mayans, he was small and dark, with full lips and a large, hooked, almost square nose, which he showed off with pride. His native language was Mayan, then second came Spanish. Young people, he explained, were often taught English as well, since tourism was the main source of jobs in the area. French, he went on to explain, became a necessity, due to the rise in Canadian tourism to the area. He learned it from a book, perfecting both vocabulary and accent by practicing with the tourists. A French-speaking Canadian couple were simply blown away, claiming his phrasing and intonation made him sound like a native speaker. Our time with this remarkable guide was far too brief.
Last summer, we took our kids to Mexico. Finances, and a desire to keep that little town all to ourselves, dictated that we keep it to a short, local trip. Using the same website, we rented a small house outside the town of Puerto Nuevo, just south of Rosarito and famous for it's lobster. The house had a deck that looked out over the Pacific, and while not as gorgeous as the Caribbean, it was still the ocean, and sometimes, that is enough! We spent lots of time in town, where our kids got to shop. The teenagers had a blast, not only with converting into pesos, but haggling, to them, was like a sport. We ate at one of the many lobster restaurants, and our seafood-loving children couldn't have been happier. The older two each got to order drinks, my son chose beer and my step-daughter, a margarita. They ate and drank, feeling awfully grown-up, which was amusing, since the next day, they were on the beach, building sand castles and catching sand crabs. My youngest son spent as much time as he could in the water, body-surfing and boogie boarding. He decided that we should move there.
So now our kids are as enthralled with Mexico as we are. They no longer roll their eyes at us when we say we want to retire there.
They will be ready to visit us, alot, if we manage this retirement. We may have made a mistake!
My husband and I have so many great memories of our adventures in Mexico, and so few bad experiences, that living there full-time can't possibly be a bad idea. There is still so much we need to see and do!