REGRESAR
They say you can’t go back. “They” surely they never spent time in Mexico.
Not only can
you go back but time seems to stand still in old Mexico.
On the drive from the airport to Lake Chapala, there is a special spot high
in the
mountains that signals you haye arrived. As you wind your way to the top of
the hill there is a
sharp curve and suddenly, there it is - the lake. It is a beautiful sight
with Mount Garcia as a
backdrop and the little homes clustered along the shoreline on one side of
the lake. Whether
this is your second, third or fourth trip back, the reaction is always the
same, a slight lump in
the throat as you catch your breath and unwind. From that point on your life
is never your
own. Mexico has you heart and soul.
The adventure begins when you arrive at the airport. Smiling faces
everywhere anxious
to assist you. My taxi driver had a smattering of English which he gladly
shared with me as
we sped along the highway, windows down to catch the breeze on this hot July
day. As we
turned off the highway heading into Ajijic, I noticed that the local dump
wasn´t as pungant as
I had remembered it. It was the rainy season and the thick growth
camouflaged the little
shacks along the road and seemed to only draw your eye to the huge sunflower
blossoms. All
was well with the world again.
As we drove through the village the word “progress” came to mind. Freshly
painted
houses, newly opened businesses and lots of construction going on and all
after only a six
month absence. A seeond glance told me nothing had really changed Horses,
dogs and
burros still roamed the streets, the open- air markets were everywhere and
the smiles were
evident as everyone went about their daily lives. Nothing to worry about.
Mexico was still
Mexico, unchanged for over 500 years. First stop was lunch at a local
outdoor restaurant. As
I waited to order I was aware of the many flies and birds around the table.
I began to shoo
them away and then noticed that no one else seemed to be bothered by them.
Perhaps my
U.S. uptight mood was still with me and I needed to relax. As my food
arrived and the Pina
Colada started to work, the flies seemed to disappear. As for the little
birds, we shared lunch
and the music that drifted in the air.
No car available this trip. None needed. To walk the village is to truly
absorb the local
color, a friend here, a burro there, like reading a book that has come to
life before your eyes.
Then it rains and the magic is complete.
My week was a flurry of lunches, dinners and good company.
A must was a short visit with my Imelda. She was busy doing laundry as
usual and
leaped into my arms when she saw me at her door. We hugged and cried
together like we
were family. Had it only been three short years that she had worked for me?
After leaving
Imelda , I headed down towards the lakeshore in the hopes of seeing the
Mexican children I
had befriended when I first arrived in Mexico.
It had been over a year since I had been down the road to their paper shack
but they came
running out to greet me shouting, “Margarita, Margarita!” I couldn´t believe
they had
remembered me. No candies in my pockets this day but a few pesos brought
those familiar
smiles back to their little faces. More tears, more hugs as they pulled at
me and I reluctantly
said adios.
The week was gone in the blink of an eye. When the taxi came to pick me up
and we
drove through the town, I knew I would return again soon. After all, like
most of the gringos
who settle in Mexico, I felt ten years younger than when I had arrived. What
better reason to
come back again and again.
So you really can “go back” . . . if the heart is willing.
|