MEXICO - AJIJIC UPDATE
ABBEYFIELD AJIJIC UPDATE
By Tom B. Stephenson
Much has transpired since we last reported on the first Abbeyfield enterprise in Latin America. Our beautiful park, with its looming fig trees, which was our southern outlook, has gone. It has been superseded with an ocean outlook, with huge mountains hovering in the background. Our four studio apartments have been augmented with four beautiful new casitas (little houses) in our back yard to the north. Now days, when Lissa, our eldest resident at ninety-five, looks out from our veranda, she no longer says, "Look at how still the trees are today". Instead, she declaims, "My, aren't those mountains rosy with the sun today"! We other three, each over or approaching ninety, nod in out agreement. Lou (AKA Louise), who has lived around here for forty-four years, is second-eldest, at ninety-three. She hails from Georgia, and has never lost that Southern twang, in spite of having adopted her version of Spanglish. (If they don't understand what you say, say it again, but louder!) Fortunately her voice is low-register, but strident! Tom B. (that's me) suffers from early morning wakefulness, which results from early afternoon naps, and leads to early morning computeritis, a form of insanity during which he pens monthly articles for local magazines. Connie, our youngest, is the wife of the former sculptor, Tom Holland, who bronzed monumental statues of polo ponies and riders in California before moving here some decade ago.
True, we've lost a tree-filled park, but in its stead we have gained an amphitheater with all possible accouterments surrounded by play rings for the kiddies, lakeside walkways for strollers and horseback riders, and oodles of spots for our weekend dawdlers and picnickers, who come by the hundreds each weekend. We now have forty miles of lakefront exposure and beaches stretching from Chapala to Jocotepec. It is important to note that our part of this area is inhabited largely by retired elderly folk. There are very few children, and those are mostly Mexican. When we use the term "Mexican", we mean "mestizos", for very few indigenous people are still here. One might safely use the term "polyglot", I suppose". The few "Indians" who are still to be found in the outside valleys and hills seldom speak Spanish, for they have their own languages.
Our new casitas, which measure about 700 square feet each, are nearly completed, with red tile roofs and beautifully elaborated walls. Each has a spacious living room plus kitchenette, bedroom and outside planter patio. They all front on a spacious garden entry way with parking spaces on the outer perimeter. Soon we four residents will become eight or more, all of whom are carefully selected by our Executive Committee, and who must be and remain ambulatory. While those of us now in residence have continental breakfasts and pickup lunches provided, the new folk will provide their own in the kitchenettes in the new casitas. All will continue to gather for evening social and dinner gatherings as provided by our capable staff. The Executive Committee, who are all area volunteers, are fronted by Aideen and Brian Howard,
Our little village sits in the middle of what we term "Lakeside", on the shores of Lake Chapala, Mexico's largest lake. It is in central Mexico, in the state of Jalisco, one of the most prosperous in what is a very poor country. Population is about a quarter million all told. We are at Denver-altitude, above 5,000 feet, in a location of eternal springtime. Overall, Lakeside is probably one third non-Mexican in population, with many of the Mexicans intermingled who depend on we Gringos for employment and sustenance - in a sort of one hand washes the other fashion. Friendliness is rampant, with almost mandatory greetings at every encounter. "Hola's" and "Como esta's" abound.. Forty miles to our north, over a couple of mountain ranges, lies Guadalajara, second largest city in Mexico, with a huge airport and two and a half million inhabitants. We seldom visit there unless coming or going, except when absolutely necessary. As for getting about, walking is hazardous, since most of our streets are cobblestone, rough at best, dangerous at worst. Buses run nearby most places, and are frequent and inexpensive. Cars are costly, and those who have them often share rides with those who don't. Taxis are readily available, and cost a fraction of what they would cost in the States. Our lives are usually kept busy with church, community projects and entertainments, and by the Lake Chapala Society, a group of four-thousand permanent and transient residents who fund its social and community-related enterprises, including a library of 30,000 books, the largest English-language library outside the United States. |  |
