I am about to bite the bullet. Pay the piper. Dance with the girl w'at brought me.
When I started my move to Mexico, I knew my first stop was going to be temporary. My house sitting gig was for six months -- with a month and a half extension option. After that, I had no idea where I was going to go.
Well, the time has come to start making a decision.
The summer months are not the most pleasant months to live on the Mexico Pacific coast. The heat index is high enough to melt you like a Nazi in an Indiana Jones movie. And what does not melt off will be harvested by the plague of bugs with their day-long bloodlust.
You know all that already. And you know there are some fascinating reasons to live here -- even in the heat. My time is my own. The ocean is beautiful and relaxing. The sunsets are better than any film.
Having spent the summer months on the beach, it would be rather silly to go traipsing off to another area of Mexico for the winter. Rather like eating a big bowl of creamed corn and then skipping the bowl of cherries.
I have decided that I am going to stay in the local area through at least April. But that means I need to start looking at a place for those five months of sybaritic living.
Tomorrow I will get to play Michael Douglas in A Chorus Line. An estate agent and I will look at three houses to see if they can pass muster.
My needs are simple. I need at least two bedrooms with a ground level entrance. Professor Jiggs must be welcome. And, most importantly, I need a kitchen with a stove that is somewhere above Coleman camp site. Strange enough, that last requirement is causing more trouble than the others. I am not certain how Mexican cooks -- cook.
A beach view would be nice, but it is not necessary.
I will post some photographs later in the week of some of the auditioners. But not all.
Apparently some homeowners are not avid about letting their neighbors know their homes are on the rental market. And I always love a good secret. One of those professional traits I find it hard to abandon.
My bullet is bit. My hand is in my pocket for the piper's pesos. And that purdy young thing is in my arms tangoing, not in Paris, but on the playa of Melaque.
When I started my move to Mexico, I knew my first stop was going to be temporary. My house sitting gig was for six months -- with a month and a half extension option. After that, I had no idea where I was going to go.
Well, the time has come to start making a decision.
The summer months are not the most pleasant months to live on the Mexico Pacific coast. The heat index is high enough to melt you like a Nazi in an Indiana Jones movie. And what does not melt off will be harvested by the plague of bugs with their day-long bloodlust.
You know all that already. And you know there are some fascinating reasons to live here -- even in the heat. My time is my own. The ocean is beautiful and relaxing. The sunsets are better than any film.
Having spent the summer months on the beach, it would be rather silly to go traipsing off to another area of Mexico for the winter. Rather like eating a big bowl of creamed corn and then skipping the bowl of cherries.
I have decided that I am going to stay in the local area through at least April. But that means I need to start looking at a place for those five months of sybaritic living.
Tomorrow I will get to play Michael Douglas in A Chorus Line. An estate agent and I will look at three houses to see if they can pass muster.
My needs are simple. I need at least two bedrooms with a ground level entrance. Professor Jiggs must be welcome. And, most importantly, I need a kitchen with a stove that is somewhere above Coleman camp site. Strange enough, that last requirement is causing more trouble than the others. I am not certain how Mexican cooks -- cook.
A beach view would be nice, but it is not necessary.
I will post some photographs later in the week of some of the auditioners. But not all.
Apparently some homeowners are not avid about letting their neighbors know their homes are on the rental market. And I always love a good secret. One of those professional traits I find it hard to abandon.
My bullet is bit. My hand is in my pocket for the piper's pesos. And that purdy young thing is in my arms tangoing, not in Paris, but on the playa of Melaque.
