A Papaya and a Mini Split
really being happy with small wins
If this adventure has taught me anything, it’s that we are promised nothing.
This may seem drab and straight from the desk of Captain Obvious but one of the biggest differences of living in Mexico in a non gringo populated town, are learning to appreciate the little things. The real little wins in a town that doesn’t cater to rich expats or tourists. Root beer is back in stock at the tienda. Today it’s 102 but not as humid so the AC can keep up. No one poisoned a dog this week.
To be clear, I bring no shade to the San Miguel de Allende dwellers out there, there are days that I would love to get some crusty sourdough and a decent organic latte and some caldo de pollo from a kind and traditionally dressed abuela with indigenous weavings hanging on ochre washed adobe walls. Some traditional blue corn masa tortillas hand made with real lard and not industrial “manteca” (crisco) and fresh, sunset ruby grapefruit slices on a terrace above a cathedral on the plaza. I spent years traveling and romanticizing Mexico like that and it really helps feed the creative soul and for sure it inspired my culinary career and many design choices. The arched doorways and indigo washed shutters of the stage set of my made up life. It’s fun! You know you’re in a NEW place and this is FOREIGN and this is a JOURNEY. There may be an urge to wear all of your turquoise jewelry at once.
You’ll re-find yourself in the ancient history, the pre-Colombian traditions and culinary artistry of centuries past. The cobblestones and narrow streets in Tepoztlan or the overload of sights and smells in a Oaxaca Mercado with chiles and crispy grasshoppers piled to the rafters and the luxury of a real hot chocolate steaming in the morning light or the clang of the bicycle bells for the orange juice vendor guy. It’s a wonderful rhythm to the day and part of life and definitely not something we get in the States. Do you have a permit for that? And down goes the OJ guy.
But sometimes life has other plans for you while you’re navel gazing and thinking that you’ll find yourself around the next corner. This chapter of life decided that I could no longer see Mexico (or life) as a
series of architectural moments or vignettes. It wasn’t a Color Story or where I’d have a steamy affair with another dark eyed, canela skinned muchacho on a Mezcal tinged paseo. I have been stripped of all artifice, the Turquoise is all in a ziploc bag in a dusty suitcase, I’ve been wearing $7 flip flops for 3 years, my van was destroyed and I cannot leave when I get bored. If there are abuelas here they are wearing bike shorts and a neon green tshirt that says I LEFT my HEART in PARIS or TIKTOK from some yard sale bazaar on the weekend with used clothing from Texas. Even the dogs have chewed holes in my signature head scarf turbans. I cannot order things to be delivered, I can order and have them delivered to someone else in a city 3 hours away and then wait for them or someone else to courier them here. And most stuff I can order online is not worth the waste of time and money. Those low quality boxy tshirts of crappy polyester from Amazon suck even worse when you wait 3 weeks for them and pay a delivery guy and then donate them to a neighbor. I just go without.
I was quite comfortable in Veracruz for an extended stay. It was just me and one old dog, Brady, and then we rescued River from Tlacotalpan and that was charming town but I felt the need to explore. The food was great, it’s super affordable, Veracruz City is like Cuba/Miami in the 70s and seafood and fruit and tropical music is abundant. Let’s keep going, this is not QUITE it. I’ve had Goldilocks Syndrome my whole life. It’s a 10, but there’s mosquitoes in July. It’s an 8 but there’s no Italian food. This has everything but it’s too modern. And on and on we drove until the mano de Dios reached out and flipped my van over in the middle of nowhere and said. There. You will stay there.
I would never, I muttered, even stop here for gas. And likely couldn’t because the mafia routinely blows up the Pemex station or deliveries don’t arrive. I waited for the body shop to call. I sat on my suitcases for two weeks in a rental a block from the Sea of Cortez. Where is the food? Where are the arched doorways? Where’s the OJ guy and the abuelas? I walked and walked and looked for signs of My Mexico in this deserted remote regular ass place in a border state that sees zero gringos. No traditional garb, no handmade blue corn anything, tons of hotdog signs and Bimbo bread. No traditional mercado, no spicy mole, no taxis or colorful buses. Only small fishing boats that went out and packed the catch on ice and shipped it right out of town the same day to places where people had money and restaurants. There’s canned tuna here by the pallet. Speaking of pallets, that’s what most houses are built of. The Mexico most of us fall in love with, is not the Mexico for Mexicans. There are plenty wealthy Mexicans, but they don’t live here.
Any day now, I’ll be leaving. I spent the time looking for fruit and pulling ticks off stray dogs and boiling pork legs and soaking rice and paying little kids 30 pesos to bike eggs back to my house so I could make dog food. Six weeks later the body shop apologized but an older Toyota van would cost too much to repair and so they’d have to total it out and give me the cash. Adios. If I could get to Hermosillo maybe I could find another minivan and buy it and have a local Mexican register it in their name. Sure, that sounds super easy in a place where I know no one. Or you could fly back to Tucson and buy something there and drive it back in with another $500 import permit, yea but the dogs…?
So I waited and figured someone would pass through or there’d be a car for sale or a solution. There was not. I moved to a house not a block from the Sea of Cortez but closer to the tienda for food and hauling. And with a fence. I found a vet who drove into town occasionally to help the dogs in the pueblo. I found an old metal table in the back scrap and made a surgery table for spay and neuters and stitches and minor surgeries. More dogs came. More ticks were pulled. Another Saturday spay and neuter clinic set up. More dogs, more ticks, more meds, more kibble.
It’s been two years. Same flip flops, same sneakers with the tongue chewed out, same ill fitting now saggy yoga pants and some cargo shorts and a sundress. There are no cultural events, art, food markets or mariachi singers but there are large loud live music Banda parties down at the beach where people get tanked off cheap beer and where a lot of drugs are sold. There are dune buggy races and loud mufflers and mostly teenagers running the place like Lord of the Flies. There are no restaurants but a tacos de carne asada cart, 5 hotdog vendors, and a place that sells chicken fingers. There is no coffee. There is, obviously, no Italian food.
It’s just a regular place. Regular working class Mexicans who are either employed by the power company and live on the other side of the wall, or are retired engineers or fishermen who get a pension and drink until the money is gone. The balance are smugglers and current fisherman and there’s likely 2000 people in total. Everyone on this side of town is poor. Me too but for some reason I think that I should have access to things. I’m still walking around looking for fruit. They bring in GMO apples from the US and have the same crappy bananas, onions, white potatoes you’d see in any food desert inner city town where the poor are made to eat processed trash. There’s an underground network of ladies cooking stuff in their homes and posting vaguely on WhatsApp. If you time it right on Fridays there’s a place that will deliver a rotisserie chicken for $10. And some lady called Lupita resells pies and cookies she gets at Costco in Hermosillo for a 20% markup but people will pay anything for Costco goodies.
Yesterday I eyed a ripe, fresh, papaya sitting alone next to some jello and I snagged it like a magpie. I saw the gold wrapper of LaLa real butter and pulled 4 sticks of that too so I wouldn’t be exposed to the indignity of margarine. I pirate the odd bottle of olive oil that comes through and I know I’m lucky to have water and two cisterns and a good amount of pressure.
I’m happy to note that currently there are no active cartel territory disputes. My clothesline is in the right spot and I can dry an entire load and sheets in 15 minutes. My rent and utility bills are cheap even though the dollar is losing value here. There is nothing to buy, nothing to covet, nothing to want. No wine tastings, no cheese unless it’s yellow, no tequila/mezcal or otherwise. They like vodka or whiskey here. And also who has money for tequila? That’s become a gringo drink. I do not drink here.
It’s weird what I didn’t know about Mexico and I was in such a heady love affair for so long. I still love her, I just have matured and love her even when she’s not in her Pueblo Magico costumes. And we’re friends now, I’m not probably going to get married. I still have my bags sort of packed, should another property with a yard and a better town and a shuttle appear. I go into a tienda sometimes and walk around and walk out and the cashier will say, What are you looking for? And I’ll say, oh, something. Nothing.
The art of poking around and seeing what strikes your pleasure…”marketing” like in Europe or a trendy farmers market is not a thing here. Some fresh flowers, a small bite of something wonderful. A loaf of bread that won’t last until tomorrow. You need what you need, you get in and get out. Super glue, cell phone charges, hair dye, avocados, chicken breast, cheap smelling soap is all at the same counter with 100 other things. But everyone says Buenas Tardes when you walk in the door and the shop owners call me by name so I take what I can get. It’s not an indulgent lifestyle chapter. Some days I’m a little embarrassed that I’ve been so spoiled and careless with all the perfect food I’ve shopped for, cooked and sold in my life. Oh, another gorgonzola + browned butter sauce on sweet potato gnocchi with roasted pumpkin seeds? I’m not in the mood.