XV. Desde Antiguo Hogar de Nuevo

From Old Home to New

Awakening the morning of our flight at an impossibly early hour, we had a friendly shuttle driver from the soulless airport hotel to the terminal's passenger dropoff. We humped our luggage onto two $5 carts up to the Alaska counter where the first word was that AeroMexico would only accept one bag each instead of the two that were sitting heavily at our feet. That sweaty contretemps taken care of without explanation, our flight into Guadalajara was uneventful.

Inmigración at GDL was a breeze! Upon seeing our temporary residence visas the engaging agent exclaimed, “We’ve been waiting for you!” Customs—which we had been dreading with our several hundred pounds of stuff in six hefty bags or boxes—was not bad at all. There were plentiful, free baggage carts, and only one other flight was doing its duty. We got the random green light to go through without inspection, and our driver was waiting with one of those he-must-be-important signs announcing my name. 

The porters at GDL all wear uniforms that give them the prosperous and colorful appearance of a combination ranchero and mariachi. Ours was strong, friendly and had great teeth. He seemed pleased with my propina which was less than I paid to rent one baggage cart in the U S of A.

Our driver for the 40 miles (I’ve got to learn the metric equivalents) from the airport to our little village on the lake was not a talkative sort, but I did obtain some animation after I noticed him adjusting the little stuffed comic turtle on the dash. “Tortuga?” I questioned my translation. “Si,” he confirmed. “Cuál es su nombre?” “Tugy,” he answered with a smile; the turtle was his daughter’s.

Happy crowds stroll, sit and gambol about the plaza every Sunday.

We capped a grueling travel day with the ending we were looking for. There was a happy crowd in the plaza across the street from our funky little hotel. Portable loudspeakers vied for musical primacy. Vendors sold all manner of food and trinkets. From several directions we heard the televised sound of an important soccer match, with accompanying cheers. Couples danced around the gazebo to Latin brass, kids gamboled happily about the garden; families, old folks, gringos and locals sat or strolled and chatted and ate. 

We had the local version of a Cubana sandwich (pulled pork on top of hamburger on top of a split hot dog wrapped in bacon squished between melted cheese on large Bimbo buns with the works), with cervezas and margaritas. Then it was back to our colorful but most-things-electrical-on-the-blink room to battle that too-tired-to-sleep feeling and the aftermath of over indulgence. Buenas noches y gracias a Dios!

XIV. Más? Sí, Hay Más.

More? Yes, There's More

All morning and into yesterday afternoon, was a time of noxious fumes and harsh chemical cleaners, hauling trash to the dumpster, and making new, more meaningful, piles of what we will keep. The main thing, though, was preparing for inspection by the crazy landlady.

We try to always leave our house or apartment cleaner than when we first moved in. But it seems to never quite be up to what we like to think of as our standards; there's always some little thing not completely scrubbed. 

Really sweet shipping guy, Steve

Everything, though, was pretty much spick and span when the fellow from Pay-Through-The-Nose Shipping arrived to hand truck two 75 pound boxes out the front door. See you in Mexico, kitchenware, linens and tools. 

Hard on his heels was a colleague from work who had come to remove our remaining furnishings, including the futon which did admirable duty for two nights as our bed. This saved us the hassle of sale or disposal, and she got some decent furniture for free. 

Only minutes after saying goodbye to our friend and former workmate, The Odd One arrived and we were pleased that the inspection went painlessly and we got a complete refund of our damage deposit.

Empty. Clean.

We were then pretty much left with only our increasingly manageable baggage for the plane. We laid everything out on the faux marble floor, and as each suitcase, bag, or box was provisionally packed, I’d hop on the scale, weigh myself, and then pick up the luggage and take the combined weight. We were aiming at 50 pounds max, after which the airlines tack on a hefty additional fee. With some exchanges from one bag or box to another, we made it. 

After last night in a local hotel, and one of the best complimentary breakfasts we’ve ever had, we went back to our truly nearly empty apartment and the experience reminded me of what it’s like when you break up with someone with whom you’ve long been intimate—you suddenly are on the other side of being as close as you can be.

All packed on the faux marble floor

So, there’s the emotional thing, and there’s also the exhaustion after yesterday’s adrenalin-fueled push to get out. Today we are having a hard time speaking coherently—as words try to form in our mouth, several different thoughts vie for primacy in our brain. That, and the over-thinking: “Let’s see, do we want to park here or there? If we park here we can get out more easily, but if we park there we don’t have as far to walk, but since you don't really have to get out at all, maybe we—blah blah blah?”

One more night in the local hotel, and tomorrow Sweet Second Daughter will arrive to follow us to Money Saver Mini-Storage where Eddie, the faithful Hyundai, will be parked for the nonce. Then onward for a final hotel stay near the airport whence we depart early Sunday morning.

XIII. Casi en el Posado

Almost in the Past

No caption needed here.

Last night we slept half in the middle of our nearly empty living room's cool faux marble floor, on a futon. Our muslin-covered easy chair hunkered in the corner--the only other furniture in the room. A pile of boxes off to the side. Echoes. No curtains, bare walls on which a bar of streetlight slanted through the blinds of a different window.

Tonight it will be more of the same. It's our last night at home--the next three we'll be spending in local hotels. We feel tense about what is coming up. Uncharacteristically crabby with each other.

Today, first daughter and I chatted and shared a final visit before the move, while Eddie, our Hyundai, was bled, cleaned, filled and lubed at the Grease Monkey in Ballard, the Seattle neighborhood where we used to live. Daughter and I hugged goodbye at her favorite coffee bar.

Two hundred years ago around here the natives lived in cedar longhouses and followed food you hunt and gather. Then the Swedes came to fish and build sawmills. Then we came here and grew up, and now we're moving to Mexico.

As I lie tonight under our familiar duvet on the unfamiliar futon, it registers in my mind that in just four nights we will be laying our heads on a pillow in Ajijic. My mind retreats from this thought--it is too much of a change to fathom.

XII. ¡Dios mío!

My God!

Gallo de estaño (tin rooster, center right) has been charged with watching
over things here in the jam-packed 5'X10' storage locker.

Regarding the move today: Oy vey! At least it all fit!

Our next door neighbor, The Young Man, was a brick—shouldering 60 pound chests on his shoulder, and following my directions carefully. The well-planned maneuver went without a hitch...well, almost. The mattress, on its side, occupied more space—due to gravity—than it did when lying flat. This occasioned a little shuffling.

All these belongings, which were—until yesterday—the comfortable and comforting material of our life, will be stored in this anonymous steel locker for the next 12 months. We hope it all bides the time well.

XI. No Más!

In the Staging Area: about one-third of everything we'll put in 
storage. This is nearly everything that will go on top of the 
chest, bookshelf, desk, and dresser. And that's about it!

No More!

We’re in the final final FINAL days of getting rid of, organizing, and packing, and we had a setback this past week when sweet suffering spouse endured a health problem and the side effects of some serious antibiotics. And then we lost our internet connection for nearly four days.

The question is: What will we take with us on the plane to Guadalajara? That trip is only eight--now, seven--days away, and the question is still up in the air. 

It will cost nearly $1000 to ship four boxes. That sticker shock led us to seek alternatives. 

We figure we can cut back to three big boxes, and we can check one or two of them as excess baggage on our flight. That would halve the cost. But that leads us to the question of how much hassle it would be for us to wrangle 4 or 5 pieces of luggage each (plus carry-on) through airports in two countries, plus customs. Add to that getting it all on and off the rides to and from the airports, the latter about 40 miles from GDL to Ajijic, in a foreign land.

My perfect desk: four sturdy
pieces with a work surface 
of 32"X54".

It can be done, but at what price to sanity? "Plan ahead, be scrupulous and relax," is the best advice I’ve been given, on one or another of El Rinconcito’s gringo webboards. We’ve been frequenting these online forums lately, asking questions as they come up, and getting mostly good counsel (Where to schedule reliable airport transportation? Luis y Francisco Miramontes, por seguro), along with the few inevitable busybody postings that allow bustylady2 and 66leadmetowater to spout off and show how much they know.

As far as today goes, my balls-to-the-wall wifey, who’s storming through the kitchen now—driving every unattached object before her—was just heard proclaiming, “If it’s not something we’re putting it in our mouths in the next five days, or using to fix something to put in our mouths—it’s history!”

I’m using the same sweep-like-the-hands-of-a-clock strategy in my office. Today is the day I dismantle my well-used Ikea desk. The office is no more; now officially, it's "The Staging Area".

UPDATE: Two days later, and TOMORROWS's the day The Young Man (our well-mannered, weightlifting next door neighbor) and I take bed, desks, chests, dresser and TV (plus all the boxes, totes and et ceteras pictured in the Staging Area, above)—take it all to the outer suburban Money-Saver Mini-Storage, where the moving truck comes free with the locker rental. This means that TODAY is the day for final bubble-wrapping and taping, staging, and prioritizing the truck packing. I've finished most of that; now I'm taking a wee beer break.

X. Sólo Veintidós Días Más

Only Twenty-One More Days

In the past few days we’ve broken through an invisible barrier of moderate angst. My wife and I have each gotten a good handle on how we will complete our respective tasks for this move. I’m organizing how we’ll get most of our belongings into storage; my forward-thinking spouse is putting together everything we’re taking to Mexico. 

Except for a few—mostly essential—things that are being given to a good home in the country on our final day in the apartment, nearly everything we are getting rid of is now gone. 

Having this plan will help maximize our use of this space
and guide us to the most efficient packing and unpacking
strategy.

There’s a stack of boxes and totes in my office so I can visualize how big a storage locker we’ll need to rent, and how everything will fit inside. Suitcases and duffel bags line a bedroom wall allowing my hard-working wife to begin packing what will go with us on the plane. What remains of this Jalisco-bound mound, she’ll pack to be picked up by Pay-Through-Your-Nose Shipping. With whom I’ve lately been exploring an online relationship.

Early next week, I’ll travel to the outer suburbs to rent and measure a storage locker and check out where I’ll soon be saying, “Hasta la vista” to Eddie, our little red Hyundai. I’ve made a floor plan for the locker that is measured to the inch and includes up to four levels. Which means I’ve been striding around our virtually empty rooms, slapping a fluorescent Ultralok tape measure on desks and dresser, etc., and coming back to the graph paper where it’s a ratio of one inch equals one foot. I’m pretty proud of what I came up with, at the same time being a little sheepish of its anality.

I know I’ll need help with the move, so last week I ran into Miguel, our garden apartments’ handyman. We arranged for one of his crew to give me a hand. The irony was not lost on either of us that a Mexican who recently moved here will soon be helping an American move to Mexico.

So. Closing out the US of A chapter seems well in hand.

A week ago we were discouraged, but now we’re feeling more sanguine about exactly where we’ll live once we’re down there, in Ajijic. People are being helpful.

Interesting, but I think I might be in danger, here,
of overthinking.

Jaime, of the Aces Ex-Pat Couple we’ve made friends with, sent us a recommendation for a very nice casa that will soon be for rent. He also suggested we contact a certain rental agent—the girlfriend of a guy he knows. This is the same woman I first heard of as the ex-girlfriend of a fellow I hiked with last summer: an example, perhaps, of the kind of inbreed relationships that become common knowledge in small communities.

I had already contacted this lady, and she just recently became more active on our behalf, as did another ex-pat friend who sent us a rental listing she saw on Facebook and thought we might like. 

Finally, I received validation for a our on-the-ground plan to find, what we call, Casa Delicia, whose 19—and counting—desirable attributes this Virgo has ranked and weighted. Both Jaime and Canuck Bob say I’ve got a good strategy, one that’s well thought-out. More about that in the next post.

IX. Intranquilo

Uneasy

The word “unanchored” comes to mind when I try for a one word description of my mood lately. Add “anxious”, and you’ve got a pretty good idea of the way we've both been feeling.

It makes sense. We’ve removed most signs around this household that have connected us--for years--to our whims, pleasures, and values. Gone, and either packed or given away, are the pictures and cards, fountain and plants, all the books, most artwork, meaningful rocks and pieces of wood. Gone even are a few mainstays of our modest and mismatched furniture suite.

I guess we could have waited another couple of weeks or so to start the sorting and packing, but once we'd made flight reservations--well, it was hard to hold back. We're both perfectionists, for one thing, and don't like to be rushed. Doing this work consciously also feels kind of like a mitzvah, and as my forward-thinking wife would say, "That's just the way we roll".

All packed, soon to be moved out of bed-

room into office staging area, there ready 

to be moved to a $69/month storage 

locker...Bye-bye nice stuff, stay safe.

Daily to-do lists brief us on how to complete the task of deconstructing our once comfortable home. Boxes and totes, that will soon occupy a storage locker in a facility somewhere behind a filling station or in an industrial park, are now propped in corners and at the base of walls throughout the apartment. Our rooms are beginning to echo when we walk, talk, or rustle in and through them. All this does not make for a settled feeling.

It’s not only shedding pounds of unneeded objects and useless sentimental fat. We feel—or it seems we should feel—lighter and more free for doing that. But it’s also about this long process of further deciding, among the objects we keep, those that we absolutely must take with us, and the vast majority of things that will go into storage. And then there is the final, seemingly irrevocable step of sealing each box, by which action we signify that all objects within will remain unseen and untouched for at least a year.

This coming week will see more sorting, and packing for either storing or shipping. Each iteration of this exercise leaves us leaner and more discriminating about what we’ll keep, but it’s also a reminder of what we’re leaving behind. Even our faithful, gracefully aging, little red Hyundai GT will soon be covered and parked behind a fence.

Work in progress:  big Home Depot box 

will be filled with linen, duvet, and 

favorite pillows and shipped to Mexico 

to the tune of $200/box...What to do 

with Scrabble game?

Add to all this is the Always In the Back of Our Minds knowledge that we have no specific idea exactly where we’ll live next, except in the general sense that it will be VERY unfamiliar, and a long way from the area we’ve called home for nearly half a century or more. As it gets closer to the date we embark (on what we swear will be--at least--an adventure, and one that we still choose), the uncertainty about where we will settle, and the fear that our choices will be limited to Not So Bad, and I Guess We Can Stand It For a Year complete this recipe for stress.

In the next post I'll write about how we are coping with this last aspect of our move, slated to begin in exactly one month.