Now that I am only a month or two away from moving away from the tiny Mexican pueblo – about an hour away from Puerto Vallarta – that has been my home for the last seven years, the anticipation I felt at returning to live in the United States has been replaced by a general feeling of dread, a kind of malaise of the soul. All I can think of is how much I will miss almost everything about this town: most especially, my warm, welcoming and easily communicative neighbors, none of whom speaks English. They have all been tremendously patient with me as I chatter away in my amusingly broken Spanish (although it is far better than it was when I arrived with five years of long-ago language schooling and little practical experience speaking it).
I am flummoxed as to why in the U.S., Mexicans have received an undeserved reputation as being lazy; it is my experience that nothing could be further from the truth. In addition to witnessing how hard they work, I have also come to greatly respect their sense of reverence for family – extending quite literally from the cradle to the grave. I have been fortunate to have been invited to baptisms, quincinieras (a huge party for a girl’s 15th birthday), weddings and funerals over the years, and always, I have been treated with respect even though I am clearly not a native Mexican.
The picture accompanying this post is the view from the roof of my house; the vacant lot next door is home to a couple of cows and an obviously nocturnal donkey who serenades us often in the middle of the night. Chickens and dogs wander freely, and herds of goats and cows traverse the town’s small and perilously uneven cobblestone streets. Horses are mostly used for transporting tourists curious about our unusual bucolic existence. Young children safely walk unescorted through the streets; traffic is light, drivers are cautious in town, and everyone here knows each other, which enhances a feeling of safety as well as community.
Elsewhere in Mexico, there have been reports of rampant violence related to drug cartels and/or high unemployment. In Puerto Vallarta, the cruise lines imposed a moratorium on cruises into the are which lasted almost a year. But the violence which Bad Karma wrote about in his article on San Miguel de Allende (12 hours away from here) has, thankfully, not affected us. There have been an increase of break-ins in a wealthy nearby enclave, but no injuries or deaths as a result.
Fortunately, the word has gotten out that this area is a relatively safe one, and the cruise ships and tourists are back in force, sampling the various Mexican delicacies – from taco stands to high-end restaurants – sunning and surfing on the glorious beaches and shopping at the tianguis (outdoor bazaar-style stalls), locally owned shops or expansive malls. This is the best time of year, weather wise – it is absolutely ideal – and many tourists come to seek brief refuge from their inhospitable home environs. A friend of mine just regrettably returned to Chicago after two weeks in paradise. Her response upon returning home was a terse “I don’t even want to talk about it.”
After living in such a friendly, open and free environment, my concern is that living back in the U.S. will feel stultifying to me in comparison with the liberation I’ve been so blessed to experience here. My hope is that the friendships that I form (and re-incite) when I return to America will encourage me to continue being as warm, kind and open as my Mexican neighbors have inspired me to be.
