You have met candidate number 1.
A house I have known off and on for five years. Almost like one of those dates where things have not quite jelled.
Candidate number 2 has quite a different back story. The blind date who once jilted me and is now back on the marriage market.
When I flew down to see property in 2007, I wanted to see the houses I had chosen in La Manzanilla. But there was a house I had recently seen online in Barra de Navidad that had captured my full attention.
A man in Guadalajara had started building a house, but changed his mind. At the time, I was looking for property that would accommodate my mother, my brother, his wife, and me. We were all considering retiring in one compound.
And this property would have been perfect. A large house with three bedrooms, a casita, and a pool. All surrounded by a 12 foot wall. The moment I saw it, it jumped to the top of my list.
Unfortunately, the weekend before I flew down, it sold. I searched it out one afternoon about two years ago. The way you do with relationships you thought held promise. But all I could see was a bit of the wall and casita.
When I returned to Melaque last week and told my friend Lou I was in a house-hunting mood, he told me my dream girl was back on the market.
The next morning, I was in the realtor's office, and we arranged a visit with the current renter.
Let me assure you. I am fully aware this contemporary house is not to everyone's taste. It has a certain early trailer trash-late narco style to it. But it somehow appeals to my baser instincts.
And I have already come close to indulging in the cheesier side of my taste (a moving experience). Remember the Greek villa I almost rented?
When I first saw it online, I had a notion to set it up as a bed and breakfast with the hook tag of "Live like a narco." I would pick up guests at the airport in black Suburbans and whisk them through Barra and into the gate of their protected compound.
But, in person, it had a far more human scale -- with a few exceptions.
The casita is a nice touch. 810 square feet on two levels. A kitchen-living room- dining area downstairs. A bedroom, bathroom, and a sitting room upstairs. I could be comfortable living there.
The main house is 2765 square feet on three levels.
A living room-kitchen-dining room makes up most of the lower level. It would be a pleasant open space except for some bizarrely-placed pillars that chop up the room in odd sections.
There is also a bathroom (that services all of the first level -- including the pool) and bedroom on the first level.
The second floor has a huge master bedroom. With a grand view over the property. My writing space would be in that room.
The bedroom also has a dressing room larger than my current apartment and a bathroom to match. There is another bedroom and bathroom on the second level.
The third level is a screened and covered sun room for the master suite. It is also the access for the water and other utilities.
Like Joseph, this house has had a lot of deferred maintenance. And, because of its size, it would be quite a paint job.
One of the other drawbacks is water. Not drinking water. The water table.
We have had a lot of rain recently. Most of the surrounding property is a former coconut plantation. At the moment, it looks like a coconut plantation in the Everglades.
The road to the house is rather rough -- with raw sewage draining out of overflowing septic systems and sewer lines. But that is an issue that this area of the coast faces.
The list price on this beauty is $229,000 (US).
With all of her warts, I like the place. I fell in love with it online five years ago. And seeing it in person, did not change my mind. Even with its muddy road and scruffy exterior.
But, before I say too much, there will be a third contender tomorrow.
Not as flashy, but with a good personality.
I am in a marrying frame of mind.
Maybe.
Try this for an analogy.
Renting is like shacking up. Responsibilities are minimal. Expectations are low. Commitment is non-existent. When it comes time to pull up stakes, there are no financial or emotional webs. A bachelor's dream come true.
But buying a house is very close to a marriage. You are adding a new entity to your life. A high maintenance entity. One that will suck up every extra peso for the equivalent of makeup, jewelry, and clothes. And when it comes time to part, there are all sorts of emotional and financial complications.
The fact that I rent is no surprise. Nor that I am happy living on my own.
But we all need a bit of responsibility in our lives. And home ownership may be mine.
You all know how the house acquisition mood got started. We can blame it all on Lake Pátzcuaro. And the fact that one of the houses that brought me to this area is just back on the market.
Keeping my marriage metaphor puttering along here, I would like to introduce you to the three houses I am considering betrothing. There are some other minor contenders.
But here is the first of the Big Three. I will tell you about about each in separate posts over the next three days.
Even before I knew I was retiring, I had started looking at houses in Mexico. Now and then at work I would open a random real estate site to look at houses in given areas.
First, it was Puerto Vallarta. Then some serious consideration to Pátzcuaro. And Morelia.
Somehow I opened the site for La Manzanilla -- a little village I had never heard of. But the photographs were exactly what I wanted in Mexico. Beach. Sun. No big hotels. Just a view of one of the most beautiful bays I had ever seen.
I scrolled through the listings until I found this house -- Joseph. One bedroom downstairs. A combination living room, kitchen, and dining area.
But it had a marvelous view of the bay.
So, down I flew to La Manzanilla to see it in 2007. I was a bit disappointed with the place when I saw it on that visit. (a travel log in search of an editor). It was about that point that I decided to look for rentals, rather than buying a house.
Then the price of the house started leisurely drifting down to a very tempting level. And I, once again, started thinking about buying. (little at feet on the sand).
So, off I went on Saturday to see the place. The realtor had very courteously had the jungle growth on the small lot trimmed to show off the view at its best.
It was still the same house. Perched on the hill above its garage. And with its 60-some stairs to climb to get what can be charitably called a partial ocean view. But what can be seen is spectacular.
Because it has not been occupied by an owner for a few years, it is in dire need of fresh paint and a very serious scrubbing.
It is the perfect retreat for a writer. The surrounding jungle gives the impression of living in the country even though neighbors are close by. I could easily see me sitting on the patio with that view in front of me and my creative juices churning out prose.
But the sense of isolation comes at a price. La Manzanilla's infrastructure is even more basic that Melaque's. Water is trucked in to the tinaca and then pumped up to the house.
Propane is provided by cylinder. A nuisance of a system -- as anyone knows who has ever wrestled with the cylinders. But it would be possible to install a large propane tank at the base of the stairs.
Living in Mexico is very similar to camping. It is just more so in La Manzanilla.
For most people, the next issue would be a deal killer. This is ejido land where all land must be acquired through a presta nombre -- a borrowed name. Most Anglo-Saxons have real trouble with this concept.
My advice is that if you cannot afford to walk away from the property, you are not going to feel secure with the purchase.
The listed price is $80,000 -- just about the level I would feel comfortable, if the ownership issue went bad, saying: "Sayonara, babe. Have a good life."
With some paint, a shiny new interior, and a new propane tank, Joseph is easily in the running as Steve's next personal commitment. But withhold your applause until you see the next two candidates.
This was supposed to be the morning you would read about the first contestant in the where-is-Steve-living-now contest.
But life has a way of intruding into our plans.
This particular intruder came in the guise of my portable hard drive. The drive where I store all of my photographs.
It had been acting a bit skittish after its Greg Louganis impression in Pátzcuaro. It did not land in water. Just a tile floor. A very hard tile floor.
Hard drives are nowhere near as sensitive as the one in my first PC back in the 1980s. But the drive that took the header was sensitive enough.
I had tried several salvaging techniques to no avail. So, I called on the services of our local Melaque computer guru -- Omar. Together we devised a plan that kept the drive alive long enough to get the photographs transferred to my backup for the laptop.
Yeah. I know if I had done that earlier, I would not have had a problem. But I would also not have had a great tale to tell you.
All of that took about 18 hours. And I am a little tired of staring at this screen.
So, our cavalcade of homes will have to wait one more day.
By then, I may have figured out how I am going to finance this deal.
"The economy and society of Castile was diverse and complex, but the economic ideas of the ragtag colonists were very simple in the main. They were to acquire lands and the labor to work them; such landholding in Spain involved immense prestige as well as wealth."
That is how T.R. Fehrenbach in Fire and Blood describes the Spanish who came in the first wave of settlement in Mexico. Men intent on becoming wealthy through the acquisition of land and the labor of others.
I had just read that section of his book when I walked past this house in Pátzcuaro. You can either rent or buy it. I don't know the financal arrangements. But it has nine bedrooms and 4 bathrooms.
At least, that is what the sign says. I did not bother to look inside -- even though, it is probably about 400 years old.
Back in 2007, I started to look for houses exactly like this. I had this romantic notion that I would move to an ancient house in Mexico with as many staff members as there were bedrooms. And all of my family and friends would flock to Mexico to be part of my dream world.
Of course, it did not turn out like that. And, in talking wth other expatriates, variations on that theme seems to run through a lot of people's minds. In its rawest form, it maniffests itsef as the hacienda in perfect condition that costs only $25,000.
And now that I have let the buy-a-house demon out of Pandora's box, I need to keep some sense of reason. The lord-of-the-manor syndrome is liable to make a reappearance.
You will see what I mean at the start of next week as I parade my three options before you.
It should be a fun trip.
"What is up with you?"
I am accustomed to the question. But usually there is a certain tone of exasperation and chiding in her voice.
Not this time. She simply sounded confused.
"First, you give everyone the impression you are moving to a house high above Lake Pátzcuaro. The next thing you are talking about buying a house at the beach. Something you have said for four years you would never do."
She was correct, of course. I did fall in love with the elevated view of Lake Pátzcuaro. It even put me in a house-buying frame of mind.
Then I returned to the beach. And re-discovered all of the things that caused me to move down here from Oregon.
On my second evening at the beach, I joined my friends Lou, Wynn, and Scott for dinner at the recently combined Mexico Lindo and Seamaster. The new operation has an exotic "dining-on-the-pier" feel.
The food was fine. But conversation with friends in a memorable atmosphere simply cannot be replicated. It can only be appreciated.
That was reason enough for me to switch my house-buying search to the Barra-Melaque area.
And then there was Thursday's night's pre-sunset light show. I do not get to the beach often enough to watch these heavenly grace notes. But when I do, it is certainly worth the effort.
The photograph is exactly as it came out of the camera. I simply stood in awe as the sunlight traced its laser lights across the clouds.
So, there you are. It may not be very logical. But I am going to lead with my heart on this decision.
I have looked at two houses that interest me a lot. I see a third on Saturday. I will give the full scoop when I see the last house.
And, who knows. I may just throw this open to a poll. I have not posted one of those in a long time.
And as for what is up with me?
I am just enjoying the cards I have been dealt.
At the end of August, my blogger chum, Gary Denness over at The Mexile, offered a free post card.
His blog post was about finding fun in art. Something near and dear to my heart.
I requested the card. As fate would have it, I was first in line.
He mailed it to me on 8 September. International mail being what it is, I did not expect to see anything in my mail box until well after I had returned from the highlands.
But when I opened my mailbox on Tuesday morning, there it was. It had been patiently waiting for me since 29 September.
That is not a bad mailing time. Three weeks transit to get from London to my little burg on the Mexcan coast.
Gary had included an interesting little note on the card. "I did chuckle when you called dibs on the card."
I chuckled, as well, when I saw what was on the face of the card. Gary is well aware of my republican leanings. I do not have a monarchist bone in my body.
Like most Americans, I was pleased when Mexico decided to get rid of all three of its monarchs. The Spanish one in whose name Mexico was conquered. The home grown one who reached a little too close to the sun.
And, of course, the Austrian archduke who got snookered by his French sponsor, but gave us all a chance -- perhaps, with the exception of the French -- to celebrate Cinco de Mayo.
On the face side of the card was a picture of the woman who now occupies the British throne.
But not the photograph at the the top of the post. That portrait of the Young Liz in her Disney princess gown hangs in one of my favorite eateries in Melaque. Roosters.
The little piece of fun art I received was a bit edgier. And far more whimsical.
There are certain people who believe that the queen is behind world-wide illegal drug trafficking. Maybe that is the reason for the dark glasses. Or, perhaps, the glasses are necessary after watching whatever recent video Prince Harry has inadvertently starred in.
If you look closely, you can also see why I know the arrival date of the post card. Apparently, someone with a rubber stamp in the post office is a more ardent republican than yours truly.
This must be Britain week in Melaque. I stopped at the local tour office (Mex-Eco Tours) run by two young people from England to pay fora Day of the Dead tour at the and of the month. Dan had just returned from a trip to The Other Side with a treat for me.
When I lived outside of Oxford in the 1970s, I developed a real taste for pickled onion crisps. I am not very fond of sweets. But give me salt and grease, and I am in heaven. Especially, if the salt carries some peculiar flavor.
Dan had brought back a packet of pickled onion treats. In this case, Mega Monster Munch.
It was pure ambrosia to my England-deprived tongue. Mexico should toss the chili-lime flavored snacks, and pick up some really interesting flavors.
About two months ago, I gave a Mexican acquaintance a salt and vinegar flavor potato chip. I thought he was going to be ill. For that reason alone, I doubt I will ever see pickled onion anything around these parts.
Maybe the queen will stop by and deliver some to me.
After all, she is a public servant. At least, in republican eyes.
I got lost in the shower yesterday morning.
Well, not so much lost as spatially disoriented. I could not quite remember where I was.
You have probably had the same experience on a trip. You wake up wondering just where the strange bedroom you are in is located.
My confusion is understandable. This has been a rather busy travel year so far. In addition to Melaque, I have been in Salem, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Beijing, Shanghai, Atlanta, New Orleans, Nassau, Cartagena, Malaga, Granada, Valencia, Barcelona, Alexandria, Cairo, Aqaba, Safaga, Dubai, Bend, Myrtle Point, Powers, Diamond Lake, Lake Tahoe, Reno, Morro Bay, San Miguel de Allende, Morelia, and Pátzcuaro.
My mother sent me an email yesterday welcoming me "home" to Melaque. The quotation marks are hers. She knows "home" is merely the space I occupy at any moment.
But her email started a thought avalanche. I spent a good deal of time in Pátzcuaro dreaming about living high above the lake. At one point, I had similar dreams of living in Barra de Navidad -- the town on the east end of our bay.
Barra was my third choice for real estate. The first was Puerto Vallarta. Friends told me how inexpensive housing was there. "They are almost giving away beach houses."
It turned out their idea of "giving away" was $600,000. I had forgotten their idea of house prices was formed in southern California during the bubble.
The second choice was La Manzanilla. The prices were more affordable. And the views were stunning.
But the complications were immense. The houses are built on ejido land, and the regularization process was -- well, let's just say, Mexican.
Then I discovered Barra de Navidad. On the beach. Not a gringo stronghold.No ejido issues.
I drove through Barra on Tuesday morning. Just to see if the dream of owning land near the beach is still alive.
The first thing I noticed was the number of "for sale" signs that have sprouted during the summer. And I am not certain what that means. It looked as if the landed class was planning an evacuation.
Of course, it may reflect a perception that the real estate market is starting to rise from its tomb. That is the optimistic view.
A view with a patina of cynicism (which is just another word for "realism) is that some expatriates have simply given up on the Mexican dream. Either for reasons of health. Security. Finances. Or to avoid the inevitable rise of ocean tides that will turn their dreams into a trip to Atlantis.
Just how serious people are about selling is another question. Some of the houses are grand affairs. With jaw-dropping price tags.
But there are also what seem to be some nice bargains.
I looked at this house when I first moved to Melaque. It is small. And well-situated. Even though it does not have a view.
When I first looked at it, it was extremely overpriced. But in the four years I have been watching it, the price has gradually declined. Something that does not seem to happen very often in Mexico.
I am going to take another look at it.
If, for no other reason, than to see if it is possible to buy love.
