Hildegard gets irradiated

She is positively aglow, and I don't think it's because she's happy we are in Mexico. It was the industrial-strength X-Ray machine.

Both Hildegard (my trailer) and the truck were positively abused Saturday, and this is to say nothing of Melanie and I.

We did manage to slow down the Laredo-Columbia Bridge border crossing however. Not single-handedly, though. We had help. Where else but in Mexico does everything, and I mean everything stop because your printer runs out of toner? With no spare? But it takes only 15 Mexican minutes. Mexican minutes are like dog years. You do the math.

Melanie and I are both a little nervous as we approach the border, but we don't say anything. The first problem is no one speaks English. This was predicted. The second is that it appears the 20-somethings have never before seen two gringos trying to import their household belongings in a trailer that is bigger than some Mexican homes. (OK, that's not fair.)

It's now we learn about some rules that apparently the Mexican Consulate in Toronto has never heard of, or failed to share, and we are invited to pay the tax or drive back and explain to them about their unfortunate error. We decline the latter, and this is when the aforementioned Mexican inefficiency really kicks into high gear.

After the printer failure, we hold up the line further because Immigration and Customs can't agree on how the CANJE document should be completed. They finally wrestle it out, we get our receipts and permits and passports and think we are cleared to leave.

Not so fast gringo. You still have to go through the X-Ray.

In all, we lose almost 4 hours. This puts us into an hour of white-knuckle night driving at breakneck speed behind a tourism bus in order to reach our hotel in Matehuela.

Crossing the Sierra Madre was the more troubling leg. By the time we got to the top at 2180 metres, I thought the truck was going to bust a gasket. But it's Monday morning now. We are rested and relaxed, and on the home stretch.

Cotulla

When we emerged from the restaurant after a long drive and a late dinner just north of Cotulla, Texas, we were rewarded by a sight I had only ever before seen in storybooks: the North Star, hovering over the tip of a crescent moon at sunset. Amazing. The only thing missing was the cow.

Hope

Tonight, Hope is more than a virtue. It's also where we are. Hope, Arkansas: the birthplace of Bill Clinton as it turns out. I picked it to overnight because it is small and the parking lot is big. Sadly the only meal within walking distance is KFC. We skipped that. Also, the house-made labels on the air conditioning unit are interesting.

Fuel consumption has almost doubled with the added weight of the trailer, and we have become fans of Love's truck stops and gas at $2.49 a gallon. But the trailer is riding perfectly. Each day adds to my respect for long-distance truckers.

Tomorrow it's on to Cotulla -- another 910km on top of the 880 we did today. Sunday morning: the Mexican border.

Who calls their town F'ing Ham?

OK, it's probably not the first time someone has made a bad joke of that. We're actually in Effingham, and so far as I can tell, they have nothing against pigs.

The big enchilada today was crossing the U.S. border, and it was sweet. It's impossible to say so as a rule of course, but the U.S. border dudes at Sarnia's Bluewater Bridge are both professional and polite. Detail oriented, yes. Rude and threatening? Not today.

Confused was more like it. I pulled up and turned off the truck. Right away he asked, almost mischievously, "What's in the trailer?" We talked about that and Mexico for a while before he even asked for passports.

It threw me off when he asked, "Why Mexico?" The way he said it was like, why Mexico as opposed to some other country? I was disarmed. I could have said, well why not, no winter, no snow, cheaper to live, have friends there, but no. All I could think of was "I fell in love with the country when I lived there before." That's when he said, I just have to check a few things, and slid closed the door.

We weren't terribly worried, because I knew he was checking us out and seeing all the notes about what happened to us in April. When he finally slid open the door he had a supervisor standing behind him. The seated officer asked, "So when did you live in Mexico?" I thought this was funny because I didn't think they would actually be worried about that. I said when I was 19 or 20. He asked, "What were you doing there?" Going to school in Cuernavaca. I wanted to share with him the courses I took but thought better of it. "And where did you grow up?" In Toronto said I.

This seemed to satisfy him. Seemingly still puzzled though, he asked again, "Why Mexico." I finally said, "We have friends there" His supervisor asked the perfunctory guns and fresh produce questions, and then they both smiled and said, "Have a save trip."

It was effing awesome.   

Go-Day

Today we hit the dusty trail.

The days of re-weighing and balancing have finally paid off in a combined gross weight that meets spec, and my new weight distribution hitch almost makes it feel like there's nothing behind me. Almost. But we're dead rock-solid cruising at 102 km, and passing at 110.

Kind of funny that our last meal in Fergus was sitting in the truck at the Zehrs parking lot. You just can't start a road trip without the proper beverages chilling in your cooler, and by this time it was 4 pm and well past lunch, so Home Meal Replacement it was.

Tonight we are in Sarnia, and our Just Married sign on the back of the trailer has already got us a few smiles and breaks on lane changes. The small print below reads: Elora to Ajijic.

Tomorrow: The Border. We'll see if their sense of humour has improved.

Trailer Trash

The nicest benefit of having your departure continually and involuntarily delayed is that you get to see and say goodbye to family over and over and over. I don't think they're getting completely annoyed about this yet. But they do seem a little surprised that we keep showing up at their door.

Self-trailering your furniture and personal belongings to anywhere is not for the feint of heart, and I cannot recommend it to anyone. It only matters a little that the distance is enormous. Even if the distances were smaller, the calculations are the same.

I was so happy last Saturday when I found the drive-on scale in Mississauga, and confirmed that both truck and trailer were well under their maximum spec. Good to go! Unfortunately, I had not fully considered the gross maximum combined weight of truck, trailer, all passengers, all payload, and a full tank of gas.

I did know all along what that number is. I had just never fully considered it.

So, trailer trash, as it turns out, is all the stuff you thought you could never live without but now will do so anyway. On the whole, the stuff is not all that important, with a couple of exceptions, which we invariably discovered were packed into the same boxes as all the less important stuff. The saving grace is we have a manifest, so we know where stuff is in two languages.

When you have to pack under pressure, this is the point at which you start unpacking those selected boxes on the front lawn of your Mother's house, as passersby ask whether Mother is moving. I just say no, it's us. Trailer trash.

But we are done with that now. (Probably.) I have graduated to looking at alternate routes, with stops at motels that have big really parking lots. Wednesday is Go-Day. Maybe.

Weighing in

That's what they do before a competitive fight. Check weight. This is ostensibly to ensure the fighters are evenly matched. I am feeling a little over-matched by my trailer.

On weigh-in day, Hildegard tipped the Toledos at 4140 kg. In my weight class, that's a mite more than I'm regularly accustomed to. So today I purchased something called a weight distribution hitch, which 24 hours heretofore had been totally unbeknownst to me. It pays to ask questions.

A good result will be even better. And I will know the result for sure on Monday morning, when my newly installed and stabilized hitch hits the pavement for the 4200 km ride to pay dirt. I think any reasonable person would have run like hell some time ago. I have to admit I never felt a strong need to be accused of that. (Yes, this makes me an idiot.)

Tomorrow, I hope to weigh the truck. It has a new cap, which gives me some added headroom. Mother almost didn't recognize me when I pulled in her driveway. Then I rolled down the window.

"Oh. You again?"

I'm totally kidding. She really does love me.

Pressure Drop

Today is the first day of relative normalcy in almost two months. It is Sunday. We are in Toronto and heading out for brunch with the Mums. The apartment never felt so good.

What I hope was The Final Deadline came yesterday. I had thought The Final Deadline would be June 29, the day the house closed. But it was July 4, when a small seasoned group of very smart friends helped to reason through and reload the trailer, which Guelph Super Movers had completely screwed up the week before.

A truck and trailer combo like mine has a maximum tongue weight of about 1000 lbs. When I checked our portable scale and it read 2100, I cried "Halt". The movers truly had no idea how to balance a trailer, and when I told them they had to start over they were a little peeved because they wanted to go tubing. Consequently, a number of things were broken, and will not be making the trip to Mexico.

So, last week, we unloaded, weighed every box and sorted them into three piles, then estimated the weight of the remaining furniture. After weighing in at Belwood at 4040 kg, we are right where we want to be -- about 1000 lbs underweight, and smooth sailing at 100 kph.

There is still some mopping up to do at our temporary Riverwood B&B headquarters, but it looks like we will be on our way in about a week. Fingers crossed. At least we are done with deadlines.

So long, and thanks for all the fish...

Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has long been a favourite book of mine, the fourth of the trilogy. And right now I am feeling a little like Arthur Dent. And I appear to have lost my towel. Knowing that the meaning of Life the Universe and Everything is 42, is not very helpful right now. However, God's final words to His creation... "Sorry for the inconvenience"... do ring appropriate.

Melanie and I are the long distance runners. It's the last mile of our Marathon, and the struggle now is not to win, but to finish. The online auction has started, and of all the things I am annoyed about, one of the biggest is not having had time to write about it. It's a journey to relish, and to share. I just really wish we could get on the road already.

Three days until load-the-trailer day. Two days until China Syndrome. So happy we have fond donkey memories!

20 Days

"Cleaning is the least of our problems." This is what I said to Melanie when she just exclaimed, "look at all this dust."

There is no time like the immediate past, because this is where all my recent memories are stored -- the ones I haven't have time to write about and never want to forget. People came to our home to buy stuff this weekend. Friends and family came from the city to help us prepare. Ron and I picked up the trailer on Monday. She is sweet -- I have to give her a name.

Melanie and I are discussing this naming of the trailer. I want to call it Pricsilla. It needs a girl's name. She wants to call it Butch. As in Butchart, which is the name of my future dog, but I digress. Melanie thinks the trailer is a boy-toy. OK, yes, but...

It has to be a girl's name. You can't call a trailer Butch. I'm thinking, Lola (after my ex-Mother-in-Law, and I mean that in a good way). So I am open to suggestions.

Twenty days. That's all we have left until the whatever-happens-next thing. The trailer looks really big on the outside but somewhat little on the inside. After this weekend's Estate Sale (George Loney keeps asking me, Who died?), we have decided on the online auction option, so stand by your device and share with all your friends.

So much to declare, so little time. As I was photographing the trailer between edits tonight, her name came into my mind. I will call her Hildegard, in honour of an old friend. She will bring us blessings on our journey South, I am sure of it.

Switchin' to Glide

After one of the funnest, most one-of-a-kind days of my life, it's a wind-swelled sail to the finish from here.

That's how it feels anyway, because this weekend was the highlight – the first wedding I've ever been to with Mariachis, donkeys, a piñata, and where invited guests were able to bring a refreshing adult beverage to the ceremony. And that wedding was mine! OK... Melanie was there too, so technically it was ours. It's going to take some getting used to, saying that. Not that anything is really so different. Except for the thing on my left hand that still feels a little like a bandage. The bride hasn't quite got the hang of that yet either.

A wonderful day, with wonderful friends and family both present and apart. For me, the only stress there was came between 8:00 a.m. and noon, a time during which I learned that making decisions based on radar imagery is nothing I ever want to do again. The best thing about Sunday morning was I didn't have to check the weather when I got up. The after-party brunch of huevos rancheros for 24 was also pretty fun.

So from here, it's a gentle glide down, into the move, the drive, and the new life in Mexico. There are certain to be some thermals on the way. But like the song says, Energy can be directed. Harmony's the sweetest sound. Switchin' to glide.

Donkey Love

Well, the final countdown to the wedding is on, and with just 24 hours to go, I have managed to secure a donkey! The bride is not entirely in favour, but I think she is getting more sold on the idea. It's a miniature donkey, so this makes it almost alright. Sophie Hogan, our photographer, seems pleased.

I am told the animal likes people and is not spooked by Mariachis, which is good because we have some.

Now all we have to do is dodge the rain that's in the forecast. Who doesn't love wet donkey smell...

Timeless

I'm sitting on my upper deck on the Saturday evening of the last long weekend I will spend in this place. The firepit below still smoulders from a morning of burning 10 years of expired documents. The grass is freshly cut. Leonard Cohen sings in the background. The sun still has a month of north-westerly migration before it hits the height of the solstice directly in front of me. The robins and bluejays are having their evening bug feast and the cardinals are flitting around me. The river flows and glistens, as it always has, as it always will. It matters not whether I am here as witness. I have no effect on these things. All I can do is memorize every detail. I will miss this timeless place.

Ron Burrows, Trailer Whisperer

My good friend Ron came over today and we went trailer shopping; a couple of old guys on the hunt for guy stuff. I think he was as excited as I was. Ron has many years experience handling trailers at speed; I have none. This makes him my choice as trailer whisperer and backer-upper instructor.

Before we head out, I once again web-check the weight and towing specs for my truck, and show him my volume calculations for the stuff I can't part with. This gives us a good point of reference, but it soon appears the stuff will not comfortably fit into the nearly 1.8 million cubic inches of a 20-foot trailer. I know that sounds like a lot, but it's not really.

We visit three dealers in the course of the day, and settle on one unit that is 8.5 feet wide by 24 feet long and has a road clearance of 105 inches. I have to tell you: standing in front of this bad boy, you feel humbled. It is big. It dwarfs my truck, and I thought my truck was big.

Still, all the specs say go. The extra 360,000 cubic inches seem suddenly huge, and the price is right. It has a tandem axle, a ramp door and pretty lights. I am about to learn a great deal about loaded trailers and transporting them cross-country over topés and Mexican potholes.

Now the problem: where to park it. Another of my good friends, George Loney, rightfully reminded me that my house is on a hill. I have thought about this, and it's times like these when I wish the Township would have seriously considered my proposal to lower South River Road while it was recently being rebuilt.

Sadly, movers will be walking uphill. But only for half of the time.

We Visit the Mexican Consulate

Melanie and I are now full-flown, legalized residents of Mexico. Melanie went for a permanent visa; I applied for temporary (just in case I don't like it.) "Temporal" residents are allowed to own a foreign-plated vehicle for up to 4 years. "Permanente's" are not. For now, I need my truck. Tomorrow I go trailer-shopping! Residence status is not the same as citizenship.

We arrived at the consulate bright and early for our 9:00 a.m. appointment, after overnighting at the apartment on Mother's Day. The waiting area quickly filled behind us but we were soon called to present our documents to the able, bilingual and multi-tasking receptionist. I had downloaded the visa applications from the website the day before, and had followed the instructions precisely. I even entered the text via computer rather than block printing by hand, because I wanted everything to be perfect.

The first thing she pointed out to me was that the two-page stapled document needed to be a single page, printed double-sided. (I almost laughed out loud.) She pleasantly handed me two clipboards with two new forms, which we dutifully copied out on our knees, from the information on the original. As I have said before, following the Mexican rules is not the problem: it's knowing what the rules are.

After that, things went smoothly, though leisurely. Others came and went. We presented our passport photos and then were photographed again. I was fingerprinted for the second time in my life; (the first was by my Mexican lawyer.) Then we were called, separately, into a nice office with a friendly official to be interviewed. This was mainly to confirm that we were in possession of adequate funds so as not to be a burden to the Mexican social system, a requirement to which we apparently gave adequate attestation, because we were accepted. I think.

They kept our passports, so at this moment we can't go anywhere. But we bought an Expresspost envelope so they could be mailed back to us, with our shiny new certifications. Once we get to Mexico, we will have 30 days to appear before some other official to declare our presence, fill another form, pay another small fee, and then we will be, well... living in another country.

Life is a highway.

The Wedding Planner

So I got a little worried when Melanie started watching "Say Yes to the Dress". But then I got hooked. I was watching it even when Melanie was in Toronto! I know, it's embarrassing. But I was trying to understand what it was that was driving these girls. I'm not sure I gained a lot of insight. In the end, Melanie managed to buy the dress she will be wed in in Ajijic, with friend Lynda offering advice. I haven't seen it yet. She told me it's bad luck to peek.

I bought a few shirts there too, one of which I will wear. We'll toss our sombreros into the river, the thought of which offers a brief opportunity to reflect on this past week. I never believed I would again be preoccupied with thoughts of how a wedding day would go, least of all my own. As I have often said to friends who announced their decision to wed a second time: "What was it about your first marriage you didn't understand?" Now that comment applies to me. I have no answer.

After 12 years, both of us should know. Fortunately, this time has also informed our discussion about wedding day decisions, which were all made in about 12 minutes and in virtual complete agreement. I am not quite settled with the menu yet, but Reina and Janette at Van Galis are offering great Mexican-inspired suggestions. The Mariachi band is booked.

So yes, I am the Wedding Planner. The good news is it is not taking all my time. The other good news is, it's kind of fun. We never wanted to host a wedding at the B&B in spite of many, many requests. On May 30, I am making an exception.

The Piñata Mobile

The Piñata-mobile is home and parked back in the garage. Melanie and I left Canada in her VW Passat, and came back in a Mexican car. It's still the same car, but now it looks like a Mexican car. Which is to say, it has been christened.

It has a scratch and what looks like a bullet hole in front of the right wheel well, which was likely caused by a shopping cart with something sharp sticking out of it -- we really have no idea. The rear  fender has a scratch and a chip (my bad), and the front windshield has a stone chip. All that in two weeks. This is why everyone tells us, don't bring a new car to Mexico.

Early days on the ground have been hectic after making the drive from Nashville to Elora in one day. The border crossing back into Canada was hilarious. At about 8:30 on a Friday night, there is no car traffic on the Ambassador Bridge and we pull right up and hand over our passports. He scans them.

Canada Border Services Agent: "Where do you live?"
Me: "Elora."
CBSA: "How long have you been gone?"
Me: "We left on April 8."
(Pause.)
CBSA: "Total value?"
Me: "About $200 Canadian."
(Pause. He returns passports.)
CBSA: Bye-bye.

I love this country.

Nashville

We've taken a break from the road and stayed in this city for two nights. The first was a bit of a write-off because we arrived so late from Dallas. But you can't go to Nashville without trying the blackened catfish, so that is exactly what we did.

This morning we did the backstage tour of the Grand Ole Opry, which has been beautifully restored after flooding immersed it in 4 feet of water in 2010. Opryland is a massive complex, with a shopping centre the size of a small suburb, and a major convention hotel.

A highlight was lunch at the Aquarium restaurant, where food is served at tables surrounding a 200,000 gallon tank enclosed by 7-inches of acrylic. In it are thousands of fish and dozens of species, including various large and small rays, eels, barracuda, grouper, sharks, tarpon and many smaller types. There are only four of this kind of restaurant in the world.

Daryl explains dessert

After a visit to Nashville, and especially the Country Music Hall of Fame, there is no way you cannot be a country music fan. The influence of Nashville exploded into other genres when Bob Dylan decided to record Blond on Blond here, and became close with Johnny Cash. After than, everyone thought, well, if Dylan can do it.... So artists from the Byrds, to Neil Young, Leonard Cohen, Simon and Garfunkel, Gordon Lightfoot, Mike Nesmith, Paul McCartney and many, many others from the non-country mainstream discovered the musical talent of Nashville and brought it to the attention of the industry and world. Up until then, it was always about the Grand Ole Opry.

And it still is. Tonight we attended a performance at the Ryman Theatre, which for many years was the previous permanent home of the Opry. Every show is still broadcast live-to-radio. The spotlight performer tonight was to be Loretta Lynn. She is now 83, and disappointingly, was a no-show due to ill health.

Her stand-in, however, was Crystal Gayle, who it turns out is Lorretta Lynn's younger sister. Her long hair was as stunning as the performance -- half-a-foot longer and she could have stepped on it.

Walking down Broadway after the show, virtually every storefront is a honky-tonk bar. Every one of them is packed cheek-to-jowl; every one has an amazing live act. One more off the bucket list.

Reckless Abandon

I have long thought that the notion of doing something with reckless abandon involved a sense of joy. This is not true of the drivers of Monterrey, although I confess — I cannot see their faces so they may, in fact, be feeling some twisted form of glee. The only thing they appear to be recklessly abandoning is their natural instinct to survive.

This need to drive to the very edge of extinction of self and others is apparently not limited to Mexico either. Electronic signs on Highway 35 between Austin and Dallas remind drivers that texting can wait: 782 people have perished in Texas traffic fatalities this year, and it's only April.

We need not have been concerned about re-entering the United States at Laredo Columbia today. The border officer asked a few leading questions to which he already knew the answers from scanning our passports; then took one look at our piñatas in the back seat before waving us on without further incident. I believe I am right, though, about the fact that our initial difficulties in Detroit have come back to help us. He already knew we had a house in Mexico when he asked us whether we had two houses. This will greatly smooth our path.

The Mexican officials themselves are very sweet, in a likeably dour kind of way. They go about their business stamping and photocopying things, speak virtually no English, but we manage to communicate what needs to be done through a combination of broken tenses and hand gestures. Surrendering our tourist visas, vehicle permit, getting reimbursed for said permit, paying the toll and passing through US customs took less than 30 minutes. It was high-fives as we flew down Hwy 255 with nary another vehicle in sight.

End of the Beginning

Melanie and I checked out of Don and Lynda's casita this morning for the start of our journey home, a temporary end to a new beginning. We have decided to throw a Mexican wedding, so, in addition to starting a search for Mariachis, we decided at the last minute to go on a piñata hunt.

We got lucky almost immediately. After walking about town and asking a few mangled Spanish questions, we arrived at two his-and-hers piñatas (tiara included), which were very funny and just about perfect, except they were small and kind of chessy-looking. We purchased them with great glee, got the bank machine to cough up some more pesos, bought gas at a buck-20 a litre and off we flew with sandwiches from Tango leftovers, hard-boiled eggs in a cooler bag, chilled water and tonic. A perfect road trip.

Outside San Luis Potosi, Melanie suddenly exclaimed: "Piñatas!" on the opposite side of the divided highway. We found a Retourno about 3 kms down and went back, where we bought a fabulous star-shaped piñata that barely fit in the car. I can hardly wait for tomorrow when the US border patrol asks what's inside them and sends them all through the x-ray machine. More on that in 24 hours.

After that, through the beautiful mountains and onto the Monterrey bypass, a city I have already explained I never want to visit again. Sandra, Melanie's wonderful TomTom GPS device sadly knows nothing of this, so she guides us off the toll road and back into the heart of the city to where she thinks the hotel is located, and where there has been a major accident. (She does warn you at time of programming that some information may be incomplete.)

After 3 hotels that are full due to a University student sports tournament (this is a Monday), we manage to get to the Airport Hampton by Hilton, which immediately fails to meet expectations, details of which will have to be read in a separate Trip Advisor review.

For a while we thought we night have to sleep in the car. But the car doesn't have Wifi. 

Birds in Paradise

Melanie's favourite flower has always been the Bird of Paradise, and remarkably, I was able to point one out to her today, growing in her own garden. It was quite a happy surprise.

We drove to Chapala after laundry and readying things for departure, where we ordered ceviche for lunch and were cheerfully informed that the first margarita is free. While considering our options, I looked up what the second margarita would cost: it was 25 pesos. That's 2 bucks.

A table of six soon sat down next to us, all young and very handsome Mexicans, and they kept an ensemble of Mariachis busy performing for a good half hour. The lead couple, who were clearly in love and surrounded by their friends, held hands, while the young man happily sang along with great gusto and talent to every word of each song. Gringos often think of Mariachis as a cliché. But it is the Mexicans who cherish them, and who know the songs, especially here around Guadalajara, where Mariachis (and tequila) originate.

We met the neighbours today, who expressed some relief that we were "normal". (Little do they know.) They are from California, and we will get along well.

The bank machines here, however, are quite a different story. It has been a test of technology to acquire the cash needed to pay for services purchased in what is essentially an all-cash society. For a while we thought we weren't going to get out of Dodge.

Still, we are a couple of happy birds.

Rosemary and Time

This is the first moment in nearly two weeks I have had time to stop, sit down, breathe in and absorb the Mexico that surrounds me. It is peaceful and quiet now. No painters, no contractors, no gardener or maid, even no Melanie. She is off in Ajijic, girl-shopping with Lynda.

I am smelling the scent of rosemary. It is coming from directly below, from a cluster of growth which, if left untended, could qualify by its trunk size alone as a small tree. In its present form, it would take four people, arms outstretched, to encircle it. The steeple bell rings in the village of San Juan Cosala below. The consistent, cool breeze is blowing off the lake. This is one of the moments I will remember.

Painting is done for now, except for one patch which is giving Jose and Jorge no end of trouble. Here, nothing is made from wood and drywall; it's all brick, concrete and mortar. And the paint will simply not adhere to one particular area of a freshly repaired wall. It's a first-world problem.

Monday morning, bright and early, we will hit the trail for Nuevo Laredo and home. I'm looking forward to pulling into my driveway and opening the front door. Soon afterward, pandemonium will prevail.

Guadalajara

The Costco in Guad is almost exactly the same as Costcos in Canada. They don't have the Montreal Smoked Meat on a Bun at the snack counter, but the hot dogs are the same. There are also some nice lunches with a Mexican twist.

The store is rotated 90 degrees sideways so the orientation seems confusing for anyone who is familiar with the standard planogram. Some things are more expensive, mostly foods like US Grade A+ beef, good cheeses and even some seafoods. Vegetables and fruits are almost free. Gringo garden furniture and electronics cost more, appliances and good bathroom fixtures cost less, and someone will wash your car by hand while you are in the store for the equivalent of $3.

The Home Depot experience just down the road felt like, well, home. Checkouts are slower but nobody cares. There are no self-serve check-out aisles like we have in Canada, which I refuse to use in any event. Drivers in Guad are generally civil if you show self-confidence instead of uncertainty. It pays to pretend.

The painters should be finished their final touch-ups tomorrow, after which come the floors. Lynda and Don prepared for us a fabulous dinner of arrachera and fresh greens. We were hungry and craving home cooking, and it did not disappoint. Melanie and I are looking forward to their visit for our wedding at the end of May.

More on that as soon as we figure it out!

Fingerprinted for the first time

Well, at least it wasn't the US Border Patrol that was asking me to put my thumbprints and index fingers onto a little ink stamp pad and press them down onto an official-looking document.

It was my lawyer -- Notario actually -- a very nice, young-looking man who took charge of creating a document which shall henceforth be known as my "Mexican Will". I wish I had taken a picture. (Of my fingerprints.)

They really do do things differently here, and the trick is in knowing that you have someone who understands the rules. The rules are a little complicated. They are not threatening or intimidating; they are simply the way things are done in Mexico. And the rules don't change, and that's a good thing. If you know them and follow them, everything will be fine; otherwise, maybe, not so much.

Tomorrow we are leaving the painters to go nuts on their own and heading to Guad to look at furniture. (That's the way everyone refers to Guadalajara: Guad.) I have driven in Guad before so I am not really worried about it. Monterrey? That's a whole separate reality.

A really funny part of the Notario story is that one of the lawyers who works for the Notario (things are inverted here) is also a fumigator. We got his card, because we want him to come spray for what-nots before we come back in July.

When I suggested to the room how perfect an idea it was that a lawyer should also be moonlighting as someone who kills bugs on the side, it did receive quite a laugh from all concerned. My own reaction was: Really? Has no one before thought that this was strange or funny?

At least everyone seems good at their jobs.

Finally, Lunch

Lunch on Lake Chapala, overlooking Mount Garcia.

One of the things we have not done while here is eat. Much. It's amazing how you can dismiss food and live off stored reserves because you can't yet afford the luxury of time to sit down for a meal. I actually am liking this a bit, because I have sufficient stored reserves for a significant period of time. That time is diminishing.

In more ways than one. Countdown to return-date is compressing with each 24 hours and the list of appointments, arrangements, meetings and wish-I-could-do-that stuff is growing rather than lessening. And then Melanie says, "Can we time our departure to coincide with some performance or other at the Grand Ol' Opry?" What is The Groom to say?

Painting is going well, we have a house-watcher/paymaster arranged for the weekly staff and trades, floors will be polished while we are away. The gardener needed tools, so off to "Truper" we go to buy one more of stuff we already have four of.

The best thing that happened today is that, in spite of all her speculative ambitioning, I beat Melanie into the pool. She was being a little chicken. "What if I get my hair wet?" To which I said, "Don't put your head underwater." She was content to dangle her legs. I was chilling out.

Melanie: Too chicken to get in the pool

It's slightly scary when you base your home decorating colour choices on your wardrobe.

Mexican Colours

Decorating in Mexico is not for the beige of heart. Here, it's the bolder the better; a theory in which the previous owners obviously believed. The difference is they took Mexico in an oriental direction -- one which we are now attempting to recover from.

The painters arrived as a troupe of six, with pails and samples and mortar and mud. And cell phones. They worked hard until about 1:30. Then it was siesta time. The boss was off-site. I asked in Spanish if they were done for the day. They barely looked up to say, oh no. Then, as Jose made his way up the driveway around 3, they all as if my magic sprung to life. At least they were standing when he walked in the door. It was kind of funny.

We managed to make arrangements to pay the maid and the gardener while we are back in Canada, which is done by cash settlement every Friday. Our agent has a friend nearby who has volunteered as paymaster. The cost to us is a donation to her favourite project -- a homeless shelter, which we will happily do.

It looks like Sunday will be getaway day back to Canada. Hoping to make the run to the US border in one day, but that may be more ambitious than practical. Saltillo looks like a good stop-over, just outside Monterrey. ( I will NOT go back to that city.)

There are bitter-sweet times ahead.

Mornings in Mexico

D.H. Lawrence, it turns out, lived at a hotel in Chapala (the biggest town near here) called QQ, and wrote The Plumed Serpent while residing there in 1923. I think it's time to revisit his Mornings in Mexico.

Our own morning this Sunday had us at the Peacock Garden for brunch with our good friends Don and Lynda. The Eggs Benedict were not as good as mine (he said modestly), although I didn't have to make them and Melanie didn't have to clean up. The peacocks, gardens and grapefruit trees make a spectacular setting.

Peacock Garden, along with Tango (steak house) and a host of other good restaurants and interesting local shops, are on the main street of Colón, which runs one way. One lane is for passing and one lane is for parking. If you don't turn in your passenger mirror, you are likely to lose it to the propane delivery truck, or some other equally large or careless vehicle. The streets here are uneven cobblestone, and Colón is a great example. In Toronto it would be a traffic-calming zone. Here it is job creation.

After buying cartloads of cleaning supplies yesterday, we are getting the chance to use them and tonight are seeing the house for the first time in the dark. There are small accent lights everywhere -- by the ponds, the driveway, amid the succulents. We are finally figuring out what all the switches are for.

Talked to our house sitters George and Darlene tonight. After great weather, they advise they are looking forward to cold, and wet flurries. I guess we will be back soon enough.

Glamour Camping. Again.

Today was our first full day in the new house. The painters came and made big squares of sample paint on the walls. They start in earnest on Monday, which is frankly impressive, considering we have almost no time at all and they showed up right away, as promised, more than once. The pool guys also came and went. I'm reserving my options for the moment. But the pool is usable. We'll test that tomorrow.

The first picture we hung (and the only one we brought with us), was of home. It went up right away.

I can see it sitting in my new office.

Which also has a decent view of Mount Garcia and the lake.

These are the previous owner's colour choices we are trying to overcome.

That's Luis, a great carpenter from Mexico Rustico, and Martin, demolishing the previous entertainment unit which was, well, not us.

Sitting in Mexico listening to David Francey is pretty cool.

Next Step: a Telephone

This morning we got up early to go to TelMex to get our new wireless modem. The account was already set up for us by the listing agent, Noe, who we learned had also picked up the modem several weeks ago. Unfortunately Noe is not in Mexico right now, and the modem is probably in his home. Happily, TelMex knew most of this, so they gave us a loaner with no fuss or bother.

But here's what gave me pause: the rate. Internet and telephone service will cost 389 pesos per month, but the first 3 months are almost free.

Let me put that in perspective. The first 3 months will cost $2.65 CAD per month, after which the rate jumps to about 32 bucks. This gets us high speed internet, plus telephone with free unlimited long distance calling to Canada, the US and within Mexico, as well as to 50 other countries in the world. Holy crap!

Alex Sgroi, (ex-chef of Alex's Kitchen in Elora, with whom we had dinner last night in his new pasta restaurant), said, "Don't compare." It is good advice, as in, lots of things are different here, many of them good, but they don't have potatoes. Also the tomatoes sometimes suck.

You can't compare. Everything is what it is. All you can choose is how you interact with it.

Real Estate Closing, Mexico Style

Up to now, I have done four home closings in my life. Today was number five. Previous closings have always involved me and a lawyer quietly signing a few documents, answering a few questions, giving or receiving keys and that's about it. They do things differently in Mexico.

Here, a Notario (notary public) is higher than a lawyer and just one step below a Judge, and is the only person who can do a closing. There were 10 people in all, eight of them seated at a round table, including the sellers, the buyers and both parties' agents and brokers. The Notario reads the deed aloud, which is written in Spanish and displayed on a large TV monitor, while translating into English on the fly. Any questions are asked, and pretty soon everyone is talking at once. There are side conversations, questions and answers are interrupted by the presentation of documents for signing, which are explained, then the pandemonium continues until the next documents are presented. Cheques are being written and exchanged, cash in various currencies is passed, receipts are given, electricity and copies of telephone bills are exchanged, and finally, with ears ringing, it is over.

It was hilarious.

Paperwork in Mexico is complicated. It's not a problem, as long as you understand what needs to be done. And it's there to protect you, a fact which was further demonstrated when it took a full two hours to open a Mexican bank account so we can pay bills in pesos. In Canada, that process takes about 20 minutes. Here the file folder of copied documents is a quarter-inch thick.

To log into your online account, they give you a dongle that generates a dynamic password that is valid for 20 seconds. You need to enter this in addition to your UserID and password.

I kind of like the security.

A funny thing happened on the way to Mexico

After a long 900 km drive, we completed the trek from Monterrey to Ajijic in about 11 hours. Toll roads are a blessing, the Sierra Madre are jaw-drop stunning, and the uphill S-curves following a tractor trailer are a lesson in patience and care.

Now we're here with our friends Don and Lynda, in a place where dinner service involves a friendly hug from one of the young front-of-house owners, not just when every customer arrives, but also when they leave. At Just Chillin', the award-winning feature margarita is made with Grand Marnier, and three of them cost all of 105 pesos; about 8 and a half bucks by today's reckoning.

But tonight we had more reason than that to celebrate. While we were on the road, our house, our B&B, which has been home for 12 years, and which we listed for sale on the day we left one week ago, has been sold. Firm. We got word today.

This is a stunning development for us. We had no reasonable expectation of a result like this. Yet here we are. We bought a house. We sold a house. All on the same day. It's quite overwhelming.

Kudos to George Mochrie for his smart marketing, thoughtful advice and great communication in spite of poor cell reception through the hills of Tennessee and the plains of San Luis Potosi.

I have no idea what's going to happen next. Although Melanie and I are discussing a May wedding.

Life is just full of surprises. And there is nothing better than that.

Crazy in Monterrey

A few friends, plus my Mother, were a little worried about our Mexico crossing after our experience at Detroit's Ambassador Bridge. They needn't have worried.

If ever you find yourself headed for Laredo, try to make it a Sunday around noon, and stick to the Columbia International crossing a few kilometers west of Laredo. It's accessible via Hwy 255, an unmanned toll road which is not marked on some printed maps. But it's right there, big as life, just ask the google. We were the only ones on the road, a good foreshadowing of being the only customers when we got to the border. The whole process took about 40 minutes including figuring-out time and idle chit-chat, filling of forms and payment of fees. For us, there was no big red-green button. I simply showed the Customs agent a list of what was in the car, opened the trunk and he moved us on. Have I mentioned how full the car is? Everyone was very nice, respectful and business-like. Welcome to Mexico.

Getting the cell phone switched over to the Mexican carrier took until we reached the hotel. And speaking of Monterrey, oh my goodness, it is impossible not to get lost. Even a GPS has trouble keeping up with the lane changes and turns at the breakneck speed of local traffic. And woe be the confused tourist who should hesitate. Ontario license plates, if noticed, may buy you a fraction of forgiveness, then it's flank speed full ahead.

While having dinner in a restaurant (arrived at by driving again in spite of my better judgment), there was a deluge of rain. Wind and spectacular lightning brought down large trees across roadways, flooded streets, knocked out power in places, and still the crazy Mexicans were driving as fast as they possibly could. It's a good thing Monterrey is a temperance town. On Sundays -- that being today -- stores and hotels cut off alcohol sales at 6:00 p.m. I'm not sure why, maybe it's a strategy to ensure people show up for work on Monday. It's sure not slowing any of them down.

Run for the Border

Tomorrow is crossing number two. We decided to chill out in San Antonio instead of Laredo tonight, and spent a lovely evening on the Riverwalk. What a treat. It's a cross between old Quebec and what I imagine Venice to be, without the French and Italian, spiced with Mexican flavours instead. It is a tourism machine where January is the only down-time. A must-do visit if you ever get close.

Melanie spilled my unfinished cold coffee on her passport today while trying to clear out the car. We dried it off with the hotel hair blower, but now she is afraid they will not let her into Mexico for defacing her documentation. Mexico can be funny that way. I told her I would make sure she had a nice place to stay, and that I would pick her up on the way back in a few weeks. She wasn't laughing much last time I checked.

Riding with the King

Never was a huge Elvis fan, but visiting Graceland gives you a whole new appreciation of the man and the legend. It also provides a live context to Marc Cohn's lyrics. The Jungle Room is a real place. It has green shag carpeting on the floor. And on the ceiling. It was said to have good acoustics.

The Mansion is surprisingly small, his custom-outfitted "Lisa Marie" four-engine jet is surprisingly big, and his fans, many of them children, are numerous and lined up in somewhat orderly fashion, boarding busses and listening to self-guided iPads. The funniest line of the day certainly was from a young lad about 8 or 9 years old, who ran down the hall displaying Elvis' Gold and Platinum records, who said, "Wow, these are all his CDs." Who says the next generation won't care about Elvis?

As bad as Getaway Day was, these last two have been just the opposite. Roads are good, traffic is light and cruise control is truly a wonderful thing when you want no-tolerance State Troopers to find you invisible. Our house sitters George and Darlene tell us they have been inconvenienced by some showings. One of them looks promising.

Melanie and I are getting as bad as the young kids we used to joke about, sitting across from each other in restaurants, not talking, not making eye contact, thumbs flying on their devices.Yes, I'm afraid that's us.

Busted!

Today was getaway day. That moment came about 4 and a half hours later than planned time, and by then the freezing rain had started. Heading south through Ohio it rained harder still, but now it is 16ºC. In between, however, a lot of things happened.

Out of the two borders we need to cross, I didn't think the first one was going to be the problem. We're honest people. We answer truthfully to every question. Where are you going? Guadalajara. Where's that? Mexico. What are you doing there? Taking possession of a property. How much money are you carrying? We tell him. CBP Billy Bob Thornton decides he's just going to make sure about that. Keys and electronics on the dash. Take ALL your money out of the vehicle and present this orange slip at the desk.

An hour and a half later, everyone seems satisfied. We have been interviewed separately. We have managed to have a few laughs and teach them a couple of things about Mexico. While doing so, the contents of our car are spilled on the pavement, pillows on the roof, suitcases and boxes are pawed through, and we have been accused of listening to instructions more poorly than the officer's children. Everything is in a mess, and really important items are momentarily lost. You have to ask for permission to use the bathroom, or go back to the car to retrieve something. A vehicle that took two days of precision engineering to pack is now shoveled back together with quiet muttering and cursing, and the journey continues.

It took about two hours of driving through rain to settle down, but lesson learned: When you cross the border into the United States of America, always answer truthfully. Pack your car smartly and prepared to be pillaged.

The House Sitters

Our good friends George and Darlene arrived today, and have graciously agreed to babysit our little ball of confusion while we entertain in southern climes. That meant we all had a chance to offer advice to Jerry on the installation of the second ceiling fan, which predictably, held an unseen surprise. It’s always the thing you think is going to be easy that causes the most puzzlement.

It’s really amazing what you can accomplish when you are desperate. Only three things left on the Getaway List, so subject to yet another really poor weather outlook (apologies to you in the Maritimes Glenn), tomorrow it’s Mexico or bust!

A Sign of the Times

And it's right out there big as life on my lawn. Petula Clarke has been playing in my head.

The road trip is one day away and this afternoon we were hanging ceiling fans, because we have nothing else to do. My list has done-things that are in red, the rest are in black, and the number of each is still about equal. The VW is full and my brain is empty. The future is coming. It's all good. www.grandretreat.ca

Perspective

I got an email today that upset me. I realized what was happening -- I was allowing myself to be disturbed by the author's lack of understanding of an issue about which I care deeply, and in which I am daily engaged. Making it worse, I'm a volunteer. The author is nothing more than a critic yelling from the sidelines.

Everyone needs a thick skin when they put themselves in front of a cause. Still, as I drove to an errand, it was hard to put it out of my mind. Here it is, Easter. A time for family and reflection. And for a time, I allowed that joy to be disturbed by someone else's rant.

It's sometimes hard to keep things in perspective. I intend to do so this weekend. Happy Easter to all, however you celebrate. T-minus six days and counting.

The Loneliness of the Long Distance Packer

A week from this moment I will be in Louisville, which is a slightly scary thought. Not because Louisville is scary, but because of where Louisville leads, which is into the Great Unknown. Throwing convention aside, that makes it just about the same as any other day.

The house was quiet today. Melanie is in Toronto, which fact alone should explain that statement. While she is goofing around (kidding) on a video shoot, I am here not-packing. Not even thinking about packing. This is largely because the phone keeps ringing and I keep getting interrupted by panic attacks.

I admit I don't really know what a panic attack feels like, and I know they are not funny. But OMG, neither is this. Happy, mostly. Certainly interesting, in a "oh, what-the-h*ll could go wrong" sort of way. At times, defensively detached. But for sure, not funny.

So I will quietly not-pack alone for another day. Maybe tomorrow. After breathing in and out deeply for a while.

She ought'a be home by then. Then we can not-pack together.

Road Trip

T minus one week. Bought Mexican car insurance today. I don't have to pay until arrival. Not feeling very organized yet, except for the Get Outta Town list, which is still pretty long.