You’d think by the time you were my age, you’d have it all figured out. What to do? Where to live? How to spend your time?

Apparently not.

Oaxaca, Mexico sounded like a good idea. A mile-high altitude with the commensurate low humidity, warm days, and cool nights. A month of ceaseless sunshine made only better by the freezing cold and snow pummeling the southeastern United States—a miserable spell which I’m completely avoiding.

And in so many ways, Oaxaca is amazing. Everyone is friendly. The food is legendary. The celebrations are epic. With little apparent provocation, the Mexican people gather and rejoice. And they are exceptional at it. It’s heartwarming to witness.

There are parades of mariachi bands, huge paper-mâché characters, traditional dancers, and mezcal poured into little bamboo shot glasses draped around the neck. These parades go from the church to the reception hall after a wedding. Or hither and yon to celebrate a birthday, or an anniversary. 

I’m pretty sure we saw one parade that was celebrating nothing more than a glorious day and an abundance of friends. It is my absolute favorite thing about Oaxaca, and on Saturday, these parades are everywhere.

Sunday through Friday during siesta while escaping the intense midday sun, I spend an inordinate amount of time googling early return flights. But alas, in the absence of a home, this is our home. There is no B plan. I’ve switched my reading to a breezier book as I rally my happiness and await our next move.

It’s somewhat crazy though. With all the walking, sleeping, and heathy eating we’re doing, I feel fantastic. Most days, I experience at least one thing that is truly amazing. We have a morning coffee shop that we simply love.

Consequently yesterday, I lay on the bed and asked myself, What is my problem? Am I destined to become a dour old woman who finds the negative in everything?

Potentially.

Then, in an attempt to analyze what’s happening here, I switched my focus to what makes me happy?

This answer never changes: cooking, eating delicious meals, shopping for fantastic ingredients from people who love food as much as I do (you get the drift), reading, walking (particularly over multiple days), spending time with our family and good friends (and yes, I’ll gladly cook dinner).

Then I parsed the relevant things that I don’t love: ceaseless sunshine, hot weather, non-potable water, the inability—currently for a bunch of good and bad reasons—to cook a good meal. No real surprise. It’s the same realization that I came to years ago when we spent three months in Guatemala. It appears that I have a creature comfort addiction, and it’s not waning.

What brought us to Oaxaca, it would seem, is that I fail to consider my loves—or my dislikes—when I book our trips. And hence, I find myself in a fantastic place that ticks too many wrong boxes—at least for me. (And fortunately, Pat shares most of my boxes.)

Let’s be clear, Oaxaca is overflowing with people who adore it. They winter here. Some are stopping for a few days—or weeks—as they traipse between beach paradises. By all indications, the expat community worships sun and sand—two things which Mexico delivers in abundance.

I wish I could match their love, because Oaxaca deserves it. Each day plays out the same. We are walking home after an incredible meal past colorful homes, beautiful murals, and brilliant flowers. Someone recognizes us, smiles, and says hello. A group is dancing in the square. And I ask myself, How can you NOT love it here?

But I guess the heart wants what the heart wants. Since at this point I probably can’t change it, it’s my job to understand it and adjust.

Which is simple really. I’m taking my (semi) permanent marker and crossing off most of the world. This may feel like overkill, but truthfully, it’s fine. I don’t actually like to travel (which one could argue is an omission from the previously enumerated relevant things that I don’t love list).

Rather, I prefer to return to those places that have captured my heart. I have buckets of wonderful memories. At this point, I want to select my favorites and polish them. Luckily, there’s enough of these to keep me busy for the rest of my life.

With this as my North Star, my focus will be on a handful of countries in Europe, the train stops connecting these countries, multi-day hikes most likely in France or Italy, and any place near our family and friends. And of course, Paris. As for all future Airbnbs, a well appointed kitchen is henceforth mandatory. A local market? Even better.

The good news is that the remainder of our year is sketched out, and all of the places fit this criteria.

The bad news is that I’m forgetful, and next year when I say to Pat, “Hey, let’s go to Nicaragua for January. I found a beach shack where we’ll sleep on hammocks and cook over an open fire.”

He’ll reply, “Sounds good.”

And this, I’ll assert, is what got us here in the first place.

Categories: Central America, Ruminations

Tags: nomadic retirement, Oaxaca, the world inbetween, Unusual retirement options