Today marks the halfway point of our third trip to Ajijic, Mexico. We spoke briefly to a couple waiting at the light to cross the traffic clogged Carretera. She said she hated it here and was returning home the next day. The light changed, and they were gone, leaving me puzzled and to my surprise, angry. This brief exchange was a contrast to the evening before at the Malecon. A much more typical conversation with a woman from California just days into her first visit. Beth and I swapped adjectives with her, like magical, welcoming and inspiring.
The conversation on the Carretera was only a few words between strangers, but
impacted me to my core. Hated it here? I was shocked. I felt violated. There was no time for elaboration or explanation, leaving it to me to answer the question; Why?
How can different people, in the same place and time, have such a different experience? The answer, at least in part, must come from the question, different people. An impossible task to know another person’s mind to be sure, but it gave me some insight into my own experience. What was it that we bring to this adventure that keeps us coming back? Curiosity and a willingness to risk. We left the comfort of our community to explore the unfamiliar. We are willing to experience the not knowing. The toilet paper goes where? How do front doors with no knobs work? Confusing grocery labels (shampoo or cream rinse?) and our Spanish so rudimentary that we can’t ask without looking like a mime. We are willing to learn and adjust. We now know what it means when the Air B and B review says noisy neighborhood. As the sounds become more familiar, they are less a cacophony and more a rhythm of life on a vibrant street. We still wear earplugs at night and cringe when the bass is turned up full on a passing car just outside our window.
We are the ones who create our experience. We now know that noise is an important consideration in the search for our permanent home. It is up to me to close the kitchen window when the diesel propane truck idles feet away. We learned to sidestep the holes in the sidewalk and appreciate the here and now. We are learning to say hello, smile and really see people as we pass. We are willing to have a conversation on the corner or at a café and for a moment connect where we once refused to make eye contact. We are willing to change and adjust and become part of the rhythm of Ajijic understanding I will fall in a hole if I don’t.
We recently took a taxi to see a play at the Lakeside Little Theatre. Being newbies, we were sure there would be taxis available at the end of the evening. There were not. The wonderful house manager connected us with a ride. He explained that what he was doing was nothing extraordinary. We take care of each other here. Just the way it is done, he explained. Our driver was the husband of the lead in the night’s performance. In our short ride home, they introduced us to the deeper meaning of Ajijic and Lakeside. More than just old buildings and cobblestone streets but a state of mind, a way of thinking if you are willing to understand.
As we bounced in the back seat of their car down the rutted roads that double as streams when it rains, we were reminded that we are not in Washington anymore. Things are different here. We are different here. We are not the same people who came here for the first time a year ago. There is still much for us to learn. Like all journeys, one step at a time and one adventure at a time, if we are willing to be open and become one with the Ajijic.
No door knobs. Ajijic is what we make of it. Ajijic state of mind
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