By Ann Hazard
Photos by Terry Hauswirth
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| Sunrise at the Docks |
My fantasies about becoming an expatriated American began in January 1983. It was on a vacation to Puerto Vallarta. I was 30 and single, no kids. My boyfriend and I were at a restaurant named El Set, that sat high on the cliffs to the south of town overlooking the Pacific, the city and the curving shoreline. It was, of course, sunset. We were sipping margaritas and munching on guacamole. At a table near us sat a group of about a dozen expatriates. They were close to our age. I stared and eavesdropped shamelessly. They were a golden group—tan, beautiful, colorfully dressed and carefree. They had an air of amused, aloof superiority about them, like they were onto something the rest of us poor tourists would never begin to comprehend. My boyfriend was appalled that I was so fascinated by them. He couldn’t see the attraction. To him, living in the USA was a given, just like working 60 hour weeks to make as much money as possible as quickly as possible. We were so fortunate to live in San Diego. The only way to live life properly was to pursue the American Dream, he lectured. Only irresponsible, lazy bums would scuttle away to waste their lives on some beach in the tropics!
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| My dad on his 85th birthday duking it out with a sailfish |
Outwardly I agreed with him, but inwardly I wasn’t so sure. I had traveled often in Mexico, particularly in Baja while growing up. This was my sixth trip to Puerto Vallarta. I came first with my parents over Christmas vacation in 1967 when I was 16. We rented a house right on the beach that came with a cook, a maid and a gardener. It was heavenly. Where it used to stand was now a monstrous resort, the Sheraton Buganvilias. I had been all over Baja, to San Carlos Bay, Mazatlán, Mexico City. I loved Mexico … the scenery, the people, the weather, the food, everything. The minute I deplaned or drove across the border into Mexico, I would always feel a shift in my energy, like I had struck the perfect chord. Everything within me slid into harmony. I loved being a tourist, but it had never before occurred to me that I could actually live here.
It was a huge revelation. The images of that golden group of expatriates never left me. They lingered in the corners of my mind every time I went south. They teased me when I was at my computer, transporting myself south by way of my writing.
I married that boyfriend, had two kids with him. We eventually divorced and I cut myself loose from his version of the American Dream. I bought a house in La Bufadora just south of Ensenada. It was an easy three-hour drive from my home and I was able to spend countless magical weekends and vacations there with my kids through most of the ‘90s. I met Terry there in 1998. As my kids neared college age, those expatriated images sharpened and began to nag me nonstop. I knew I would have to live in Mexico, farther south of the border, but the questions narrowed down to when and where.
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| New country, new life |
My first time in Buena Vista, where I now live, was Thanksgiving of 1970. I was a freshman in college. It has always been my father’s favorite place on the planet. He loves old-style, rustic Mexico and he lives to fish. He scattered my mom’s ashes here in Bahía de las Palmas. In 2002, Terry and I were married here. But for some crazy reason, the concept of livinghere never occurred to me. It was my old friend Leslie, who put the obvious into words. “Well, Ann,” she said. “That’s a no-brainer. You should live in Buena Vista. It’s your family’s special place.” Terry and I moved here in October 2003. My father is 84 now and spends a week a month here fishing on one of the three boats he owns and charters out of the Buena Vista Beach Resort. I try not to be smug and act like I’m more enlightened than the poor tourists, but I confess, I fully understand what it was that those golden expatriates were gloating about back in 1983.
© Ann Hazard, 2006. No part of this article may be reprinted without permission. Article printed in edition 78 of DISCOVER MAGAZINE.