Moving
to Mexico - No Checklist Needed By
The BajaGringo Column originally appeared in the Baja Times
April 1, 2008 Packing
up the last boxes in the kitchen
of my California home I caught
myself looking around at the
empty walls. It was an odd
feeling and I could sense that
this move was not like anything
I had ever done before...
Life on foreign soil was nothing new to this old Gringo as I had taken
advantage of many opportunities through the years to explore living and
working abroad. So why was this time different I asked myself? The
question stayed on my mind as I finished packing and loaded the few
remaining boxes that I had carefully labeled onto the truck. That was
done and I checked off the box on my list of things to do. With an
engineering background I had become accustomed to always doing my
homework and planning
everything down to the very last detail. This move to Baja California,
Mexico was no different. I had been able to find a company that would
rent me a truck that I could take into Mexico and I ended up with
something so big it almost scared me. Friends had helped me load the
large and heavy furniture earlier in the day and now the loading was
finished.
After closing and locking the truck doors I went back in for one last
look. Standing alone in what had been my living room for many years I
watched the late afternoon sun cast its light across the bare floors and
I could see the distinctive marks on the carpet where my furniture had
been so carefully arranged. My steps echoed down the hallway as I peered
into empty rooms now devoid of all sound and color. This empty house had
been my home but now seemed unknown to me in some strange way. I had
kept a small radio turned on in the background while packing that last
day but now even it was boxed up and packed into the back of the truck.
The silence that now filled the house seemed to change the very
character of the place. With all of my furniture, artwork, plants, rugs,
music and a lifetime of precious junk boxed up into the back of a moving
van it felt as if my life and memories invested into this house seemed
to have packed themselves up as well. Not wanting to give into the
nostalgic moment I took the checklist from the bare kitchen counter and
made sure that nothing had been forgotten. Locking the front door behind
me for the last time I tried to focus on the new chapter that was
beginning in my life. Loading Dakota (my yellow Lab) into the cab of the
truck I found myself wondering what was waiting ahead for us?
Working in some distant destinations like Buenos Aires, San Miguel de
Tucuman, Caracas, Mexico City and Singapore I had developed an innate
ability to adapt to life far from home and learn the local ways and
customs to the point that it had become a part of my nature. So why did
this move to the Baja California peninsula, only a few hundred miles to
the south strike such a sensitive nerve within me? Trying to figure out
how to back this enormous truck down my driveway without destroying half
of the cars in the neighborhood (shouldn’t they at least give us a
driving test before turning us loose with such a huge thing?) with my
car in tow behind was a particularly delicate maneuver that I somehow
managed to pull off, although to this day I still don’t quite know how.
Letting the clutch out in first gear the truck lurched forward and I
watched the house I had long called home slip slowly away. Having lived
and worked halfway around the planet at times I always had one thing to
fall back on. There was always one geographical constant in my life - my
home back in California. Now I was taking everything I owned; every last
plate, bowl, chair, book, CD, lamp, pillow, photo and collected memory
in an oversized moving truck to a small 3 bedroom house in a seaside
community just north of Rosarito Beach. As I shifted trying to find
third gear I knew in my heart that there was no turning back now.
Heading down the 405 freeway I wondered even out loud at times about my
decision. Friends and family had become accustomed to my wandering gypsy
ways but they also sensed that there was something different about this
move and a few even seemed to get emotional about it. I reminded them
that I would be only a few hours away, but they were right. This move
was different and even Dakota sensed it. Like most large dogs she loves
to ride in the front seat and I was hoping that I could at least count
on her vote of support but once the truck started moving forward she
curled up on a blanket on the cab floor. I wasn’t sure if her big brown
eyes staring up at me were wondering if I had really thought this
through or asking if I had the slightest clue of how to drive this big
old truck. Either way she was of no help tonight.
Being the analytical one that I am I spent the next hour of driving
going over all the planning and pre-move details in my head. One by one
I went down the mental checklist. Everything was covered I assured
myself. I had even measured all of the rooms in the house to make sure
that my furniture would fit using a CAD drafting program to lay out the
room arrangements. I reached down into my notebook next to me to make
sure I had remembered to bring the printed room layout pages with me. I
had arranged for a moving crew to meet me at the house the next morning
with enough people and equipment to unload the truck and help me get
everything into the house. I made sure the utilities were on, had
already contracted a woman to help with the housekeeping and notified
friends, family and business contacts of my new address and phone
number.
I had everything taken care of. STOP WORRYING, I kept telling myself...
About that time my daughter Olivia called me on my cell phone to see
where I was at and to tell me that she already missed me. I think that
she was just checking up on me as she probably knew that her dad had no
clue on how to drive this monster truck some rental company had the poor
judgment to entrust to me. Right about then I was starting to wonder why
I hadn’t considered contracting one of those cross border moving
companies available. Accepting that it was too late to change anything
now I focused my attention on trying to keep this thing in the right
lane and avoid running over some small compact car that I couldn’t see
in the side mirrors that seemed to be 20 feet above the road. One thing
for sure, I had gained new respect for truckers who drive these things
for a living. I made a date with Olivia on the phone for her to take the
Amtrak down next week. I would pick her up at the train station in San
Diego and I was already planning things for us to do together.
It was dark now and as I passed San Clemente I was able to catch my
first real glimpse of the ocean. The moonlight was glimmering across the
Pacific and suddenly I was reminded of why I had made the decision to do
make the move in the first place. Growing up in Southern California I
had learned to walk the fine line between the teasing lure of its miles
of coastline and the knowledge that I could never actually afford
to live close enough to enjoy the view. My earning power grew every year
but was far outpaced by skyrocketing coastal property values California
was famous for. I figured it was just one of life’s cruel jokes. My
professional life had reached the point where I was able to control more
of my time and the vast majority of it was spent in front of a computer
screen. While checking my email one morning over coffee I realized that
the answer was right in front of me. High speed internet allowed me the
luxury to work almost anywhere and I knew my productivity had to
increase living near the beach. At least I knew that I could never find
a nicer work environment. I had spent many vacations enjoying the
northern Baja coastal areas and the affordable property values, close
proximity to San Diego and its perfect year round weather made my
decision a quick and easy one. The only question at that point was why I
hadn’t thought of it sooner. I was moving to Mexico and needed to find
where along the Baja peninsula I would stake my claim.
And so I began the process. I started my checklist.
Gearing down as I exited the off ramp in San Diego I took out my map and
was able to find the rental yard where I would drop off the truck the
next day. Part of my plan was to leave my vehicle in tow parked at the
drop off location so I would have something to drive back to the house.
Finding the rental yard office I could see that every parking space in
front was filled with rental trucks, vans and trailers. With no other
alternative I unhooked my vehicle and parked it in the street. It looked
OK and the area was well lit so I locked it up and got back up into the
truck to continue my journey. Soon after the freeway signs began
notifying me of the approaching international border and I knew that the
San Ysidro crossing was near.
Right about then I was feeling pretty good about my decision to make the
move south and was even losing some of the fear of this multi axled
beast beneath me. Part of my planning included crossing the border late
at night so as to avoid having to drive this massive truck through
Tijuana traffic. A few hours of driving was not enough to prepare me for
such a task and so I thought this would be the perfect time. You can
imagine my surprise when the Mexican customs agents at the San Ysidro
border crossing rushed out, arms waving to stop me. Large trucks were
required to cross at Otay Mesa and the truck crossing was now closed
until the following morning.
That wasn’t on my checklist.
The customs agents were kind enough to open a gate leading out west
through the old commercial crossing area and helped me to maneuver the
truck around and back out into San Ysidro. I had to find a place for us
to spend the night. It was almost midnight when we found a motel that
accepted dogs and where I could park the truck. Setting my alarm for
4:00 AM, I figured that we could get to the Otay border early and be the
first in line. First in line is first to cross I figured. I was used to
operating on little sleep and something that I must admit that I even
liked to wear as some sort of badge of honor or something. I had even
calculated how many extra years of life I was going to be able to enjoy
out of bed by sleeping fewer hours per day. With Dakota already snoring
loudly on her blanket next to the bed I turned out the light and quickly
went to sleep. It seemed like only minutes later that the alarm clock
was going off. I peered out of the corner of one eye to make sure that
the clock wasn’t wrong and debated whether or not to hit the snooze
button. Pulling the covers back I set my feet on the floor and turned
the light on. Dakota covered her head with one paw and groaned. I
understood what she was feeling and I was almost tempted to climb back
in bed myself but then I remembered the checklist that I had worked so
carefully to plan and prepare for. Time was ticking and we needed to hit
the road.
Arriving at the Otay truck crossing before 4:30 AM we quickly discovered
that we were not the first in line. We weren’t even in the first fifty
but the good news is that by mid morning we were pulling up to the house
and I was thinking how nice it would be to just go lie down on any floor
in the house and pass out. I was tired but I also needed to get the
truck dropped off by the end of the day back in San Diego so I knew I
really needed to get the truck unloaded. It was then that I remembered
that the moving crew was supposed to be there by 8:00 that morning and
looking at my watch I could see that it was now past 10:30. I had spoken
with the crew foreman a few days before to confirm the job, the address
and the time. Thinking back I recalled that his phone number was
on a business card. I looked through my wallet, notebook, and up and down
my checklist. No business card and no phone number. I couldn’t even
remember his name. A feeling quickly took over me. Most people would
call it panic!
Surely they had already come and gone when they saw no truck, I told
myself. I knew that there was no way I would be able to unload the truck
myself and the house had two sets of stairs that would have to be
navigated. I was in trouble, my heart began to race and I felt myself
break out into a cold sweat that late fall morning. Looking around the
neighborhood I could see a Señora sweeping the sidewalk in front of her
home and some small children riding their bikes down the street. An
elderly gentleman sat watching me in silence from his front porch and
nodded his head with a smile as I looked his way. He must have been
amused at this dumb Gringo standing there with his dog trying to figure
out how he was going to unload an entire truckload of furniture by
himself. The cold sweat was turning into large beads now running down my
temples. I was all by myself in Mexico with a big problem on my hands.
My checklist, so carefully prepared was of no help right now.
Walking over to the elderly man on his porch I asked him in my best
Spanish if he had seen any workers at my house earlier. I explained that
I was expecting some men to help me unload the truck. He said that he
might have seen someone there earlier. Or maybe that was yesterday, he
added. Maybe it was the guy reading the electric meter. He wasn’t sure.
I had no idea what to do or who to call for help. It was a cool morning
yet my shirt was glued to my back from the perspiration right about
then. I was beginning to feel ill and it must have shown.
The old man offered me a chair and said that I should sit down and have
some fresh squeezed juice. I felt like I was in a desperate situation
and he wanted for me to sit with him on his porch and drink orange
juice! He definitely didn’t understand my precarious predicament and the
last thing I wanted to do was waste more time than I had already lost
that day! I continued to argue but the old man ignored my protests,
guiding me by the arm to the chair he pushed forward and where he
insisted that I sit down. Having little strength left to fight I
relented and took the chair for a moment. I told myself that I would
give in for a minute or two just to be polite. Then I would excuse
myself to get
back to the real problem of how I was going to unload the truck and get
everything into the house. There were more pressing matters at hand and
no time to lose, I reminded myself.
Sitting down in the soft cushioned chair and allowing my muscles to
relax for a moment did feel good, I had to admit. The hard springs in
the seat of the truck had left my posterior numb and the vibration of
the truck’s diesel engine still had my teeth chattering a bit. Sitting
back in the chair I allowed myself for the first time since arriving
that morning to look out and take in the fantastic ocean view before us.
The cool ocean breeze that crossed his porch felt so soothing right then
and you could even hear the sound of the crashing waves on the distant
beach below. With each sip of the cold juice I felt my pulse start to
slow and my blood pressure begin to drop.
My breathing regulated down to a more measured pace and it was then that
I allowed myself to open up and share with this kind old man the story
of my move to Mexico. He listened and we laughed together as he shared
some of his own experiences when moving his family here from Jalisco.
His wife stepped out onto the porch and asked me when I had eaten my
last meal. Thinking about it for a moment I remembered eating a
hamburger that a friend had brought by the day before while packing. I
also had some peanuts on the drive down last night I added. The Señora
became so upset that she was scolding me after realizing that 24 hours
had gone by since my last meal. She insisted that she would prepare
something for me to eat immediately and before I could even tell her not
to bother she was gone inside the house.
I shrugged my shoulders and commented to the old man that it was no big
deal to me. I was used to going a day without eating at times and even
operating on little sleep while working on a pressing project. I told
him that it seems to have become part of the “American Way of Life” for
many of my colleagues north of the border. The old man listened to my
reasoning and justification in silence, all the time rocking in his
chair and staring out over the sea. Smiling, he then turned to me and
put his hand on my arm. Thinking about his words before speaking, he
then told me that I had come to Mexico for a reason. Everything happens
for a reason he told me and life had brought me to Mexico because there
was something I needed to learn.
I had no clue as to what this kind old man was trying to tell me nor
could I comprehend how true his words would become. I was caught up
worrying about the truck full of furniture sitting there. Dakota and I
shared that meal on the front porch and then thanking my new friends for
their hospitality I walked back to the house to figure out what I was
going to do. It was now getting close to noon and the truck wasn’t going
to unload itself. I needed to have it back across the border before
6:00PM or have to pay a hefty penalty. That wasn’t in my plan or on my
checklist. Seeing no other option I began to unload what I could from
the truck. Boxes, chairs, lamps, pillows and whatever I could carry. I
hadn’t even gotten through a quarter of the truck and looking at my
watch it was now 1:30 and I still had so much left to go. Setting down a
box of dishes in the kitchen I felt myself beginning to feel desperate,
knowing that I could never finish this by myself and without a clue as
to what I was going to do.
It was at that moment that I was reminded of something my mom would say,
“It is always darkest before the dawn” as I heard voices outside the
front door. I let out a sigh a relief thinking that the movers had come
back and would help me finish unloading the truck. Running outside I
felt the air go out from my sails as I was to find only the elderly
couple who had graciously offered me their front porch and lunch just a
few hours before. They asked how things were going and I showed them the
small extent of my progress. They surely saw the despair in my eyes and
then asked if I would be upset that they had already called their
grandson telling him to bring a few of his college friends over to help
a neighbor.
Within a short while I had nearly a dozen young men helping me to unload
the truck and move everything into the house. I had a hard time keeping
up with them just to direct the traffic and tell them where everything should go. I was still
trying to follow my checklist and CAD drawings of room layouts but it
reached the point that just getting the truck unloaded and everything
safely into the house was an achievement I could live with. Within an
hour the truck was empty. It would have been almost perfect except for
the fact that with all of my analysis and planning I had neglected to
measure the space for the refrigerator. It was an inch short.
The Señora tried to wash some cups and asked me if I had water in my
pila. What was a “pila”, I asked? So much for checklists and perfect
planning.
The boys were now sitting on the back of the truck and on the front curb
drinking juice brought down by the Señora. I offered them each twenty
dollars for their hard work. They had practically saved my life (OK, a
slight exaggeration) and it was a bargain in my eyes. The old man
quickly stepped forward and pushed my hand full of cash away. He
reminded me that I was a neighbor and that neighbors help other
neighbors. The more I insisted the harder the look on the old man grew
and I accepted that it was an argument that I would not win that
afternoon.
I then offered to throw a barbecue for everyone once I was settled in.
That offer was quickly and enthusiastically accepted and we all shook
hands on it. Making my way back towards the border the truck was much
lighter and easier to drive. I felt as if the trucks cargo was a load
taken off my shoulders and I even turned on the radio to a local
station, my left elbow hanging out the open window and humming to the
ballads that played. A feeling of being almost light hearted came over
me. I don’t even remember the traffic and somehow I avoided running
anyone over with the huge truck as I made my way to the Otay crossing
that afternoon. Heading back towards the rental yard I could only think
about getting back home and putting some order to the house. There was
still so much to do but I also knew that I felt so very tired. At least
I would find the box with the wine and pour a glass to celebrate, I
thought to myself.
I felt a small relief to get the responsibility of the truck off my
hands as well as some sense of pride over the fact that I had managed to
get through the entire ordeal in one piece. My move to Mexico was done.
Climbing into my own vehicle I was about to turn on the ignition when I
could see something under the front wiper.
It was a parking ticket.
Normally, that might have been something that would have upset me but at
this point I just stuck it into the overhead visor without giving it
another thought. After what I had been through for the last 24 hours it
seemed so trivial at that moment and instead I just turned on the same
Tijuana radio station that I had been listening to in the truck. Making
my way back down through afternoon traffic and driving south across the
border I felt something different as I crossed into Mexico this time. I
was no longer coming as a visitor or as a tourist. I was coming in as a
resident. I now belong here. Mexico was now my home and in the weeks and
months that followed I would come to understand what an important and
changing impact on my life that would be.
Driving down the toll road I could see the late afternoon sun behind the
Coronado Islands and I pressed forward, wanting to witness my first
sunset from my new home. Once back in the house and in my kitchen I
began tearing through the boxes until a bottle of Merlot, a wine glass
and corkscrew were found. While searching through the boxes I also found
the small radio I had listened to while packing the day before. Turning
to head down into the living room I saw the checklist on the kitchen
counter with a few items that still remained unchecked.
I wadded it up and threw it into one of the open boxes. I was tired of
checklists.
I pushed an overstuffed chair and ottoman in the living room to face
west out towards the back in full view of the quickly approaching
sunset. I poured a glass of wine and turned on the old radio I had
placed up above the fireplace. I set my feet up on the big ottoman and
let the moment sink in. The ocean view was spectacular and closing my
eyes I could hear the wise words of the old man, my neighbor and new
friend, reminding me that life had brought me to Mexico. There is a
reason why I came here. I wasn’t sure what it was that I was supposed to
learn, but whatever it was I remember that it was feeling pretty good
right at that moment.
My moving to Mexico experience became one that I would remember well in
the years that followed and taught me to accept that not everything in
life can be planned and that you can over-analyze things at times. I now
revel in the “sabor” of three good meals a day, preferably shared with
family, friends and loved ones. I have found the wisdom in learning to
let go of the “small stuff” and not stress over things that days later I
could hardly remember what it was about anyway. I make time to share
with those closest to my heart, even if only to sit out on the porch and
enjoy a cool afternoon breeze or a classic Baja sunset, always with
music in the background and a glass of wine or spirits when possible. I
have also discovered the true and blissful joy in a good night’s sleep
and I have surrendered myself, body and soul to this wonderful place,
culture and lifestyle on the Baja California peninsula. Today I embrace
the “reason” life brought me here to Mexico and cherish every single day
as a new adventure waiting to be discovered. I feel that time has turned
back the clock and granted me new life, feeling at least ten years
younger today than when I first moved here. At this point in my life I
couldn’t imagine living anywhere else on this planet.
I had no idea what I had gotten myself into nor could I have imagined
what the future could possibly hold that first day, sitting in my
overstuffed chair while taking in my first Baja sunset from “home”.
Dakota and I would quickly discover how large a circle of friends and
family we were blessed with as our guest bedroom was frequently
“reserved”. I had to keep a calendar so as not to “over-book” the room.
Many of our house guests discovered for themselves what brought me here
in the first place and have since staked their own claim here in
northern Baja. As neighbors now, our friendships have taken on a new and
even deeper meaning.
My daughter Olivia developed a special love for
Mexico and on her frequent trips down we would share many fun and
special adventures together discovering what a special place this truly
is. Tomorrow is only the promise of what might be and life gave us no
warning that her days on this earth would be cut short. In the nearly
four years now since she left us I still thank God for the wonderful
memories I cherish with her and the time we spent together on the Baja
California peninsula. I cannot walk along the beach below our
home now without seeing Olivia and Dakota run out into the surf. It’s a
memory burned deep into my heart. When the emotions seem too much and
overcome me at times Cristina is now there by my side to offer her hand,
love and support. She is the most beautiful reason I was to learn and
discover in my move to Mexico.
Life has its reasons and I remember with great detail how it seemed
almost magical as I watched the late afternoon sunlight dance across the
shimmering water below that first day in my new home. The house was
still a mess with everything out of order and needing to be put away. I
finally accepted that those were tasks that I could worry about later.
“Mañana”, I whispered to myself. For that moment all that seemed
important was sharing that very special moment with a good glass of
wine, a comfortable chair and Marco Antonio Solis playing in the
background across the airwaves. It became immediately obvious to me why
so many are drawn to this special place. I let myself succumb to the
moment, slowly drifting off into a deep sleep, knowing only that my life
was changing. It was changing forever. Mexico was now my home and I was
here to stay, anxious to discover what life was preparing for me on the
road ahead. It felt like a healing hand on my shoulder. This old Gringo
had much to learn.
I believe that life has a reason for all of us. One thing is for sure,
it’s not to be found anywhere on a checklist… BajaGringois Ronald Hoff,
eMarketing and SEO Consultant.
