I wouldn’t exactly call it a plague but I have escorted four frogs out of the house this week. Where? How? I have no idea. I flicked the light on in the pantry and there at eye level sat a small tree frog. I wanted to go for my camera but I was afraid it would jump and then I’d spend the rest of the night looking for it. I grabbed a yogurt container and carefully slid the lid underneath. After gingerly placing it outside, I returned to turn off the light and THERE WAS ANOTHER ONE! sitting in almost the same spot. Was my mind playing tricks on me? IDK but I repeated the capture and released the bugger outside. If it hadn’t been the third and fourth frog I had captured this week, I’d surely have been ready for the looney bin.
Looking back at the blog from a year ago I realize that this is certainly the hot time of the year on the Costa Maya. We are over due for a storm.
Cooling off. This week’s weather predictions
If the coming week’s predictions are correct, we just might get that storm. Weather in Bacalar is anything but predictable. There can be a downpour three miles away and we don’t get a drop of rain. Such is life in the tropics.
Meanwhile, around the property,
Lizards who hang out on our compost pile. Blooming cactus.
During this hot time of year, there isn’t much energy to do anything. I went back to the gym this week. I’m determined to get stronger. My body is seriously objecting.
As we head into summer on this first day of June, find someplace to swim, eat a light supper under the stars, and toast to almost half way through 2025.
I had a teacher in high school, Mrs Fran Durst. A foreign language was required in those days and for some reason, I chose Spanish.
Graduation photo 1970. I was cute.
I liked Mrs Durst. She was young and fun. One day she made a comment to me that has stayed with me and possibly changed the trajectory of my life. “You have a good accent”.
I don’t remember getting many compliments for school performance. I wasn’t a highly motivated student. But a good accent was a natural talent. I could hear nuance and mimic it. And she was right, I DO have a good accent.
I have tried to find Mrs Durst numerous times with no success. I’d like to tell her that I now speak very well. I can carry on a conversation, speak on the phone, understand enough to get by at a doctor’s appointment, and get the car repaired. My reading skills are not the best but I constantly look up words and add them to my vocabulary.
My high school.
Thank you Mrs Durst. I’d love to let you know how much your words shaped my life. I live full time in Mexico and yes, I do have a good accent.
Moving to a country that is not our origin takes effort that we did not always foresee. For almost twelve years we have attempted to make friends and create relationships. Some lessons learned –
Traveling “home” to maintain relationships is not as easy as we thought, especially as we age.
People/family do not visit. Travel these days is just not easy.
Most of the people we met and socialized with in the early years of living in Bacalar have moved on. Aging in place has challenges we didn’t foresee.
We’ve made friends with locals and treasure the connections. Barriers have lessened as our language skills have improved.
Another way we have built relationships is by showing up.
In the US, workers and managers don’t really mix, classism at its finest. Things are more muddled here. The economic disparity with the US allows us to hire help with cleaning and house maintenance. Workers take pride in their jobs and we pay them well.
This week we bumped into a friend who has been our massage therapist for many years. She said that her mother was dying and burst into tears. Two days later, our gardener asked for time off since his mother-in-law died. It was Lisa who put it together that they were related. We didn’t know!
Gathering of family and neighbors.
We saw the surprise in peoples’ faces as we showed up to a backyard where a coffin sat to one side marked with candles and flowers. My grandmother taught me that when someone dies you show up, so we did.
Trying to be discreet does not produce the best pictures.
The next day we attended the funeral mass.
It was the third funeral we’ve attended in Mexico. Having a coffin set up in your home is not something we’re used to in the US. In Bacalar, neighbors and family sit together, keeping vigil, telling stories, and eating. We did not stay long, but we showed up and contributed to the expense.
The church of San Joaquin
Attending funerals has made us a part of a world that is very different from ours. We did not expect that this is how we would connect. There will likely be many more in our future.
When Lisa and I arrived in Bacalar, Mexico in 2013 it was a small, dusty pueblo with little to offer but inexpensive living and one of the most beautiful lakes in the world. We were ready for a quiet life after retiring from the US rat race.
View from here.
Of course the world changed in ways that none of us could have foreseen. Digital nomads flooded the local economy and Bacalar grew to accommodate. Restaurants and hotels sprouted up everywhere.
Our friends Sam and Juan’s hotel, The Blue Palm.
Last night we tried a new restaurant Cheuinic, to celebrate Sam’s birthday,.
Me, Lisa, Sam and Juan.Smokey cauliflower on a bed of humus. A reasonably priced menu. 200p=$10Squash tostada, my favorite.
I had read the rave reviews before we went to dinner. The food was good and the company was stellar. The trouble is, Lisa and I are no foodies. We prefer simple, uncomplicated food, no matter how pretty the presentation. We always forget too, that Mexican restaurants love to blare music. Nothing is harder than struggling to have a conversation across a large table. In the future we will pay more attention to the environment than the food. We really are getting old.
Guests are like grandchildren, they come for a visit, and then they go home. We certainly enjoy them while they’re here and then we collapse.
My brother and his new bride.
After twenty-two years, they finally tied the knot and came to Bacalar for a honeymoon.
Our friend Michelle took most of the pictures.Lots of sampling of the best of Bacalar cuisine. Mayan fusion at Nixtamal.It was a perfect day to be out on the lake.Captain Blaine, our tour guide.A good time was had by all.
There’s nothing like a Saturday morning spent exploring a little neighborhood mercado. This particular one is a favorite of ours. There are plants blooming, music that makes you want to dance and many food vendors filling the air with their enticing aromas.
From top left, my MIL, a pineapple, bougainvillea and spicy habanero peppers.
One of my favorite things to do is to strike up a conversation with locals. They are so curious about us foreigners and when they find someone who can speak Spanish, the questions come pouring out, especially about current US politics.
My favorite tropical fruit, guanábana aka soursop. Creamy and delicious.Sweet tamale with raisins.
Sampling this tamale brought happy tears to my eyes. Tamales in the tropics are made in banana leaves. These tamales were advertised as estilo de DF or made in the style of central Mexico, cooked in corn husks. They tasted exactly like the ones my Mexican mama made for me to celebrate my twenty-first birthday in 1973. It’s funny how a taste or smell can take you back.
No market day would be complete without a frenchie. This stunning brindle was a bruiser named Thor or in Spanish Tor.
An abundance of color. Papayas and limes.
My mobility is still limited but this was a great way to test my limitations, A really fun morning.
Our trip to Cape Hatteras, North Carolina in 1961 holds the fondest vacation memories for me. An eight and a half hour drive from New Jersey, I don’t know how my parents did it with five kids and my cousin Pat. The NC coast was our destination with its picturesque lighthouse, sand dunes and museum of the Wright Brothers, who got the first airplane off the ground at Kitty Hawk.
1903Keeping sand out of the tent was a full-time job.
My Dad, ever the nature lover, had us up at dawn to take a guided nature walk along the beach, peering into tide pools, collecting shells and tromping through marshlands.
Hatteras Lighthouse
One day we took a ferry to the Outer Banks. We spent the day at the State Park, swimming, building sand castles and getting sun burned. In line for the ferry back to our campsite we discovered that one of two ferries had run aground on a sandbar. We waited for hours, out of drinking water and food, expecting to have been back for dinner.
The ferry present day.
As the afternoon wore on, my mother decided to take the five kids, youngest age three to ride the ferry and walk back to the campground. Dad and brother William (8) were to stay with the car. Sounded like a plan.
Coquina shells found along the Outer Banks beach.
The trouble was, by the time the ferry docked across the bay, and our little troop off loaded, the sun had set, leaving us to navigate a gravel road, in the dark. As children are prone to do, we had left our shoes in the car. My poor mother.
Blue crabs were prolific. My mother’s favorite.
Somehow we made it. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches never tasted so good. Then my mother did something totally amazing, at least to me. She opened a can of grape juice. I’m sure we were all dehydrated but juice was a rare treat in those days. My mother’s job was to save all year and pinch pennies to make our vacation happen. She was the finance person. That night, she doled out grape juice like fine wine.
the adventures of dos tortas 
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