Some things in Mexico could not be better. Cost of health care comes to mind.
Other things are not quite so good.
Here is one example.
I was chatting with my realtor this afternoon about the legal process for selling Mexican real estate. For someone who teethed on the Anglo-Saxon deed recording system, the Mexican process can cause a few jitters. But it works.
Deeds matter. But getting there does not bother me.
The internet does. In this area, it is incredibly inconsistent. Part of that is the very nature of DSL signals -- internet through the telephone line.
There are three basic packages on offer from TelMex. Up to 1, 3, or 5 Mbps. That "up to" is a dead give away to the variations in speed customers receive.
The realtor was a bit confounded when I told her my internet in Melaque is so slow I cannot run YouTube videos. It did not make sense to her because she pays for the least expensive package, and regularly receives speeds above that.
We did a little speed test. Sure enough. Her download speed was 3.57.
It has been some time since I tried a speed test on my computer at the garden apartment. When I got back, I was surprised my speed was almost as fast as the system at the realtor's office. As long as you knocked off the digit to the left of the decimal point.
0.58 Mbps download; 0.62 Mbps upload. That is only slightly better than the dial up speed I had in the 1990s.
I am going to take a trip out to the prospective new house to see what type of speed the renter gets. If it is not much better, I may call in John Calypso and his amazing bamboo pole antenna.
I may not get what I pay for onthe internet, but if I get sick -- my bang for the buck will be worth of of the other irritations combined.
Life is full of surprises.
And I like it that way.
No matter what you plan, events usually turn out differently than you anticipated they would. And almost always for the better.
Take my house hunting adventure as an example. While I was visiting Pátzcuaro, several thoughts came together in my libertarian mind. It may be time to settle down a bit and own a house. It would be nice to play my music at the volume I like it. It would be even better if I also had a big dog.
The three could easily have been resolved independent of each other. After all, I could have a dog where I am renting now. But not the loud music.
Interestingly, I thought I was planning on becoming a loud music, dog-caring homeowner high above the south shore of Lake Pátzcuaro. But all of that changed when I got back to Melaque.
Even though the heat is often a challenge for me, I have spent four years here building up a network of acquaintances. I realized how valuable that was the first night I came back. And the fact that the house that had drawn me to Barra de Navidad was back on the market seemed to be something more than coincidence.
When I started tapping up some calculations on the computer, I had two potential sources for the purchase price of a house. What I thought would be easiest was taking a loan on my 457 deferred compensation plan. I had heard it was possible to use it as collateral.
What I heard was true. If I still worked and was contributing to the plan. Once I rolled the money over to my IRA, the Internal Revenue prohibits me from using it as my play money.
For obvious reasons. The "deferred" portion of that plans means income taxes have been deferred until I withdraw it.
For most people, the plans are a great deal. Earning the ability to pay taxes at a lower marginal rate after retirement.
But if I withdrew the purchase price as a lump sum, the marginal rate would have been staggering. And if there are tax rate increases at the start of next year, I would have been one of the fish in the barrel.
So, that idea was out.
The other source is the equity in my house in Salem. I own it outright. There was no reason I could not take out an equity mortgage. Until I realized, in addition to the $1000 a month I am currently shelling out to run the house, I would be making a large mortgage payment.
Then the obvious answer hit me. I needed to do what I should have done six years ago when commenter Kim suggested it. Sell the Salem house.
That is what is happening now. My realtor has made a checklist of the few things I need to do to get it on the market. The biggest item is throwing out the accumulations of several decades. Or finding homes for things that others can use.
So, early in November I will fly north to get the repository of my infamous hot tub ready to turn over to a new owner. Someone who can use the place better than I can at this point in my life.
All of that is prelude, of course, to answering the question of which house has caught my interest.
The winner is the house that got the fewest number of votes in my poll. The large white house in the country. The only option that will accommodate both a large dog and big sound.
We are currently in negotiations. If it turns out that we cannot come to a deal, I will be no worse off. I will be rid of the Salem house and I will still have a place to live on the laguna.
And no matter which result, life is going to just getting better and better.
In all the excitement of talking about new houses, campaigning for contenders, and polling your opinions, I almost forgot there was another election wending its way through the American consciousness.
That is, until I went to my postal box on Saturday. The only piece of mail was an important one: my ballot from Nevada.
I knew it was about to arrive. On Friday I received a very nice letter from the Washoe County clerk explaining a proposed constitutional amendment to allow the legislature to call itself into special session. And informing me my ballot had been mailed to me.
But, on Saturday, there it was. The real deal. My proof that I am still a citizen of an American state. That the people of Nevada do not work for the government. The government works for the citizen. And we can hire and fire who we want.
Sometime on Sunday, I am going to do just that. My pen will join those two little arrow segments together -- saying I want this guy for this job. All the others can look elsewhere for employment.
And I will be so bold as to project that the federal government will have a partisan split. That is a pretty safe bet. All the polls show that the houses of Congress will be held by different parties -- even if the spread is closer in both the House and the Senate. As for the White House, it seems to be a closer race every day.
Will my preferred candidate win? I have no idea. I think he may.
By voting in Nevada (one of the swing states), my vote will have far more weight than it did in Oregon. However, not as much weight as it had in 1984 when I was a member of the electoral college.
I was a little concerned that I would not have enough time to mail the ballot back to Reno and have it arrive before election day. But the forward-thinking state of Nevada has my back. I can either fax or email my ballot to the clerk.
When I have drawn the appropriate arrows on Sunday, I will scan the ballot and my certification -- and email my choices north.
As for who I am voting for (as if most of you could not guess), I may leave that revelation until I tell you about my Mexican living decision.
At some point this week. Let's just say plans are a'brewin'.
This blog is better than psychotherapy.
Parts of my past come out that I had completely buried. Even the recent past.
If it had not been for our group discussions about houses, I would have forgotten that I was almost part of the RV crowd. Well, the junior branch of the RV crowd.
Back in 2006, I had considered cutting my living expenses by selling my house and moving into what I thought was a relatively classy RV -- a Rialta. One of my co-workers used the adjective "classy." At least, I thought that was what he said.
What he said was "Class C" -- part of the labeling system used in the RV caste system to designate my new love as being one step up from converted van. The equivalent caste in India would be "untouchable."
But I had great plans. I would sell my house, get rid of all of my stuff, and Jiggs and I would hang out in or near my employer's parking lot. Living the life of luxurious gypsies.
This is where the Class C designation hits home. We would do all of that in a 22 foot RV.
No library. No hot tub. Fewer clothes than I stretch to last for a four-week cruise. And a bathroom that needed to be pulled out to form a shower space.
At least, it would have been good training for my living conditions in Mexico. Camping with a twist.
I was such an amateur that I did not even consider details like water and sewer hookups. So much for roughing it in an insurance company's parking lot.
And when I researched the cost of hooking up at an RV park, I discovered I would have been paying the equivalent of what it would cost to rent a comfortable Salem apartment.
Jiggs was relieved. And another of my little dreams was strangled in its crib. The fact that the dream looked a bit like Rosemary's baby probably made its early demise a not very well disguised blessing.
So, I came south with Jiggs to a beautiful beach house.
I thought of the garroted dream yesterday as I was walking around my neighborhood. What had once been a series of bucolic lots was now the site of a massive construction project.
A speculator is betting that the RV crowd would like an additional park in our hook-up happy villages. This one has 21 spaces. A swimming pool. And what looks like a community center, but I am not certain about that.
Generally, it looks rather classy. With one exception. The registration window looks as if it was borrowed from one of the local no-tell motels.
Jiggs and I could have a great time there. The RV park, that is. Had it existed a mere four years ago. Me in a baseball cap. Jiggs in a lounge chair.
What surprised me is how quickly it was built. Obviously, it must have had very good financing. Most projects do not spring up quite that quickly around here.
It is right around the corner from another new establishment. La Oficina (now headquartered in Barra de Navidad) is opening a bar-eatery before too long. All of thse RVers will have a spot close at hand where everyone knows their name.
For all of its real estate problems, this area continues to grow.
And I keep finding parts of my life that I did not even know were there.
It's now up to you.
You have heard each contender's pitch. So, pull out those electronic pencils and help Steve Cotton settle a portion of his indecisive life.
There are four choices. Each with advantages and disadvantages.
Because I am one positive Joe, I will accentuate the positive for each of our candidates.
Number one: Little Room with a view -- That vista over Tenacatita Bay is worth twice the price. Cozy. Easy to maintain. Perfect for the writer who wants to get away from it all.
Number two: White House South -- Without the headaches of That Other Place up north. Plenty of room. A bedroom that would please the Sultan of Brunei. A small municipality to itself. Perfect for a big dog and big sound music.
Number three: Casa Mia Not Yet -- The coziness of option #1, but on the flat lands. Urban. A walking place.
Number four: The Beloved Garden Apartment -- Shade. Breeze. Garden. Laguna. Crocodiles. Squirrels. Birds galore. All at a renter's price.
The poll is to the right. And will stay open until the end of today (Friday).
My future is in your hands. At least, to the extent I put it there. Think Mexican presidential elections in the 1980s.
Today was supposed to be election day.
The day when each of you could narrow down the three potential houses I should buy. At least, the house you like best that you think I should buy.
But Mexpatriate is a dictatorship. A benign dictatorship, mind you. But a dictatorship, nonetheless. Ruled by a first cousin of Plato's philosopher king.
And the dictator says we are all to hold off on voting until an additional candidate is added: the option of continuing my rental arrangement at Casa Nanaimo -- where I have lived blissfully since 2009. The ultimate status quo candidate.
I do not need to add much more than what you already know about my little duplex by the laguna. For the past three years, my photographs and prose have centered around it. If you like, you can look back on the poll that led me to these fine walls at we have a winner.
Voters always whinge that they never have enough choices. Well, choices there will be.
But that is tomorrow.
And, as Scarlett O'Hara so sagely said: "Tomorrow is another day."
Joseph has a snazzy view.
The Barra compound has a visceral sexuality.
Candidate number 3 (Casa Mia) is just a solid plain girl with a nice personality.
My brother and I looked at the house when we drove down in 2009. It has a pleasant look from the street. And there was something about the lines that I found enticing.
I was not the least bit surprised when I discovered this is one of the first houses designed by Alejandro -- the premier local architect.
The house is the most urban of the three. It is within steps of Barra's commercial area. I would need to drive my truck from the other two houses to buy anything. From Casa Mia, I could walk to fulfill most of my needs.
I like the house's personality. It is built on one level, but in two sections. The front part of the house includes the living room, dining room, kitchen, and utility room.
The second section includes two bedroom-bathroom suites. Divided from the rest of the house by a shaded patio.
When Darrel and I looked at the house, we tried to figure out where the best site for a hot tub would be. I have sorely missed my hot tub these last few years.
I have now asked the realtor to check with Alejandro if the roof would be capable of supporting the roof. Without the hot tub ending up in the living room -- along with a slab of roof concrete.
The house is compact. There is no wasted space.
But I do feel a bit claustrophobic in the patio. That is undoubtedly because I have become so accustomed to the wide expanse of my current garden.
Even though it is just a couple of blocks walk to the beach, there is no ocean view. Not even standing on the roof.
I periodically drive by the house and check the price. It has come down over the years.
Currently, it is listed at $158,900.
So, there you have them. My three prospective brides.
Tomorrow, I will ask you to pull out your electronic ballots to recommend one or the other to me. I am also including a rental option. Just in case you feel as if my heart is not in this.
