Tag: seven

Reflections

Reflections

Every day I stare at the blank screen like a blank piece of paper trying to will myself to continue the journey which I promised I would do. Every day closes with the screen still empty, void of any words, any thoughts of the journey. It is like I have come to an abrupt end. I use pictures in my cloud to recall those memories but instead of being able to jot those memories down, I am flooded with sadness and unable to continue. Why am I sad? Living in Mexico was for me one of the happiest times in my life. I had found a little piece of paradise that I called home. If you did not know, I am no longer there and my heart yearns for those days again. But one cannot live like that. Wishing for times gone by is not healthy. Instead I should be grateful of those times and relish what I experienced. Easier said than done. So I will try once again today to break that train of thought and reflect on my journey with Seven, my saviour. The ups and the downs. The laughs, the tears. It is all part of life and the journey.

The time had come for me to make the trip back to Canada. Flights had resumed. That exit and re-entry every six months that is done by thousands of people trying to make their home in Mexico. It is a very grey area which is acknowledged by the Mexican authorities but still bloody nerve racking. All the what-ifs play havoc with your mind. My biggest fear was always not being allowed to come back, to be refused re-entry. My dogs. What would I do.? As a retired individual, I was not a threat, I was not imposing myself on the resources, I was not taking jobs away from Mexicans but in reality, they could stop me. This time round it was a complete fiasco. Canada had imposed some of the most ludicrous rules to enter the country because of the “covid pandemic”. I needed proof that I had received the jabs. I needed proof that I tested negative. I needed a place to stay where I could isolate myself from everyone for two weeks.

Looking back now I should have realized how easy it was for me to get false papers. Oh heaven forbid, disobey the government. But I did not. I got the jabs like a good citizen so I could fly back to see my mum again. I booked a flight for 3 weeks. The longest I had stayed away from my home. Simon, my son secured a place for me stay isolated from everyone. Just a couple of days before the flight I had to get the test done to prove I tested negative for covid. I sat in this little room on a tiny wooden stool. A lady entered. I only knew this person was a lady as she spoke to me. She was dressed in a full hazmat suite and held in her hand the biggest q-tip I had ever seen. She then proceeded to put that damn q-tip up both nostrils. I seriously thought she was reaching for brain matter. Sure seemed I was now entering the realm of science fiction. Of course I tested negative. The cost was a money grab. If my memory holds true, it was $100. My friend, my roomie said no problem, I’ll be OK. Upon my return though he said please don;t leave me again like that. I get it. He worked 60+ hours a week running his own business, including physical labour. Then look after the house with 4 dogs and Tai, the cat. It was a lot. I promised I would not do that again.

Upon arrival in Toronto, the usual where have you been, what do you have to declare etc. I had downloaded the Canadian arrive scam bullshit that the custom authorities never even looked at. If you don’t know about this scam you can google it and see for yourself.

Once the two week period ended, I was free to visit family and friends. I had one week. One hellava lot to cram into one week. I was grateful though. I was able to visit everyone who mean the world to me. My mum, my son, my grandson, my few friends. Didn’t see my granddaughter as she was and still is in Japan. Then it was finally boarding that plane to go home.

Arriving home never felt so good. I was exhausted but I was happy, I was home again. Crazy dogs, crazy friends. Beautiful memories.

Perhaps I have broken the chain. Perhaps now I can again resume the journey. Stay tuned for the next episode. I do promise it will be coming fast. Reflections are good. Reflections offer promises of the future. We cannot live in the past but reflect on those days as a window.

The Truth without Proof ain’t Worth Shit

The Truth without Proof ain’t Worth Shit

Many of you know the story. Me packing up and leaving my comfort zone. Headed south to Mexico with a few belongings and my dog, my best friend Seven. We crossed the US/Mexico border without a question. “Have a nice time” they told me. And for 5 months that is exactly what I did with a few little hic-ups along the way.

March 15th. I decided not to cook that day, I wanted to go again to this fabulous little café down the road.  Put on some clean clothes, told the dogs to be good and I will be back soon. It was around 12:30, the sun was shining and the café was just around the corner, well a leisurely 25 minute walk. Suddenly without warning there was a van from the Mexican Migration and 2 cops on their 4-wheelers. Pasaporte y papel, por favor. Now because of my easy entry into Mexico by car, my passport was not stamped. So as far as the Mexican Migration were concerned, I was there illegally. Yes I take part and only a very tiny part of the blame here for not insisting that my passport be stamped, but I had the paper work for the car and my Seven, so I did not worry.

I then find myself being told to get into the back of the van.

I tell everyone my story but they do not believe me. As the title say, Truth without Proof ain’t worth Shit.  I am finger printed, photographed and told to remove all my jewellery and hand everything over including cell phones. I cannot return to my house. My dogs. My Seven, my Stella. They were my only concern at that point, my babies. It was obvious that I could not go back to house. My dear friend saved the day, went to feed and play with my dogs and she brought my passport which I was told I needed or it could be longer that I would be held. How long? I was never told. I was given a meal and told to sleep. A 10×10 room is what I had with 2 bunk beds. I am thankful that there were no other “illegals” with me. Eventually I found myself signing a whole bunch of papers that I was told would allow me to re-enter Mexico. Six hours have gone by. By this time I am a nervous wreck. I cannot stop shaking, crying with both anger and fear. I manage to get a couple of hours sleep and I am told that I must be taken to the migration centre in Mexico City and be kept there until “my case” is reviewed and a decision is made on what they are going to do. At this point only a handful of people know what has happened. And truth be known did I? I had no idea that my friends and family were working to resolve this and get me home. I had no access to the outside world.

I was given the essentials to clean myself and then the ride to Mexico City in the same van followed by a police car.  Arrival at the deportation place. Again everything has to be handed over. I am given a bag with the essentials, 2 blankets, a quick body search, more papers to sign and then the door opens into where I stayed for eight days. Eight days of my life that I will never ever forget. This is the only picture I can find of the centre I was in, taken in 2008 from this article. Really not much has changed in 10 years.

deportation centre

Cold showers, no towel, sign for toilet paper, sign for 3 meals a day which looked like something the dog threw up, line up for detergent, line up for diapers or sanitary towels. Phone calls can only be made certain times of the day. And my God if you asked one minute after the alloted times, you missed your opportunity. One day this guy came in and was blabbing about something for half an hour. When I asked if I could make a phone call, he said no it is past time. I said yeah, cos you have talked for half an hour so I missed it. He let me make it but when I called my friend was not home! The gate to the dormitories was closed around 10 and not opened til 9am the following morning after the head count.  No lights out, you sleep with bright flourescent lights. The yard was size of maybe 2 basketball courts. Walls of 12 feet and topped with barbed wire and was watched by employees of a security company.  Making us wait to go outside was crazy – where were we going to go? Not unless we grew wings. The excuse was so the place would be cleaned. Mexico is ripe with fresh vegetables and fruit at amazingly low cost, there was no reason why the food should be so bad. In 8 days I had one orange, 2 slices of lime and one piece of watermelon. The odd colour of the vegetables in the food made it hard to decipher what it was. The food was served on styrofoam plates and make sure you damage it before throwing it away. I was told that the plates were taken from the garbage, rinsed and reused the next meal.

I think I was the first Canadian there as the international dialling code was not written in one of their many books. You are allowed one free phone call a week. So you better have all your facts together not to miss the window. Every federal migration officer I spoke with knows that there is a serious problem with land border crossings. I said fix it! They said that is never going to happen.  I arrived on Friday and then it was yet another holiday in Mexico, so nothing would be done until Tuesday. I wasn’t sure if I could make it. My friends told me to be strong. It was really difficult. You are helpless. You are a number. You are nothing. Your life is in the hands of strangers. I now know what it feels like to be a caged animal pacing, pacing, pacing.

As the days meld into each other, one becomes numb, void of any feelings. Then there were days when I felt I could take no more and I would sit there and cry. One family took me under their wing. They were from El Salvador and seeking asylum in Mexico, because if they returned, they would die. They had already been there 35 days. She was a strong woman and gave me strength while I was there. I missed them when their day came for them to leave but so happy for them. I intend to keep in touch. There were many who were looking to go to the US from Honduras, Guatemala, Chile, Peru caught before they made the border and sent back to their home countries. Many escaping abusive relationships with kids in tow and/or pregnant. Their lives on hold as mine was.

Daily I was worried about Seven and Stella. They are my life. But I shouldn’t have been, my friend arranged to put them in this kennel very close to where I live. They were safe and looked after by an amazing couple who run Caralampio and their Facebook page where these pictures came from.

kennel time

Seven at camp

Stella at camp

Now it was mid-week and by now the lawyer who my friends and mum paid for was working on getting me out at any time. Manana, manana. I know things move slower in Mexico, but for me these days were an eternity.  The day finally arrived. Friday March 23rd. I was told that the migration agents who picked me up 8 days ago would be taking me to the airport at 4pm and bringing with them my passport so I could leave the country. I was not deported and there is no record of me being in Mexico illegally for the past 5 months.

With a flurry I was told to grab my belongings and the 2 blankets that were given me. I was leaving and it was way before 4pm.  More papers to sign. Grab my things that were put in a safe, check that they are all there and then back in the van to the airport. Walking through the airport terminal with 2 immigration officers get quite a lot of looks. Yep, I am the bad ass Canadian lady of 68 years being sent out of the country, have a good gander. Many checks, more forms to sign. They stay with me until I am walking down the ramp to the plane. I feel for them, do they feel like shit? I bloody hope so.

The free flight back to Canada with Aero Mexico was great and I took full advantage of the free booze, I figured I deserved it at this point.  You know how one always complains or hears complaints of bad food on planes? Well let me tell you it was like heaven to me and I must have devoured it within 5 minutes, right down to the last bread crumb.  Settled down to a some shows and began to relax a little. Customs in Canada, yes I was questioned. I was away for 5 months, declaring nothing and carrying only a small back pack.  They had to make sure I didn’t have a kilo of cocaine on me.  My best friend met me and drove me to my mum’s.

What now? After 3 busy days back in Toronto filled with tears and laughter, I have returned to Mexico. My passport has been stamped and I am legal for 180days. I have my dogs, my best friends back. Where I wonder will I go from here?

Seven’s return

Stella’s return

Landlords, Good and Bad

Landlords, Good and Bad

For the last almost 20 years I had the best landlord one could ever want.  I miss that connection. There were never any issues and it was my home, I mean really my home for those years.

our previous home

I still have a few things in their barn for a time perhaps if I may return.  I have now come to the conclusion that I was extremely lucky. They became my friends. But time moves forward and I am suddenly jolted into reality.

I am here in a different country, different language and a whole new set of rules to live by. In Canada one pays the first and last months rent when you move in. So basically the last month you reside has been paid for. Well down here in Mexico you pay the first month and a deposit which is one months rent. It is then up to the landlord whether you will get that deposit back when you leave. Trust me, they will do anything not to pay you back that deposit. Mine is not unusual and possibly emphasized because I am a gringo.

Let me explain what happened. I decided to leave the house I rented mainly due to cost. The house was not overly large but as I spend the majority of time outside all I really used was the bedroom and kitchen/dining room. So why pay for something that is not being used. And I wanted more space for Seven. Since he first arrived in Holt, he had reign over 200 acres, no fences, no other dogs to quarrel with. Here in Tepoz he became trapped in a small garden and getting very vocal with all who passed the gate. This is not a life for a border collie. I found a beautiful little house, saving me $100 a month. One can buy a lot of food and wine with $100! This new house has much more space outside and Seven has relaxed and not barking at everything that passes, in fact it’s a long path to the road. Strange perhaps to some how one adjusts to the well-being of the animals that share your space possibly more than is necessary but for anyone that is connected beyond a shadow of a doubt, this is normal.

So I duly give my notice and I am then told I broke the contract and do no get my deposit back. I figured that would happen. Every day I was bombarded with messages. When are you leaving? Listen I have til the 15th and I will be out as soon as I can. After multiple trips with bits and pieces, the big things were finally moved this Monday.  I promised I would return to the old house to sweep and mop the floor – lots of dog hair even though I swept every day! At the same time I would pick up the last remaining items, a garden hose, some plants and a big old ashtray that used to sit on my parents coffee table from way back in the 60’s. The plants were there piled up like useless pots but the hose and ashtray gone. I then get multiple messages that I left the place trashed. Garbage everywhere, dirty windows, broken latch. Well the latch broke on its own, just fell off the door one day while I was sitting on the patio. She thinks I am going to pay for that? Think again. I took the garbage to the corner as I have done for the past 3 months but now she says I have to pay – yeah I’ll get right on that. She says if it is not picked up she will bring it to my new house. Well lady I am not going to give you my address. And dirty windows? You just pocketed the deposit, pay someone to clean them. Whether I get the hose and ashtray back is questionable. Probably not. You may think oh come on Steph, it’s only a hose and an old ashtray. That’s not the point, they stole my property. Man am I ever glad to be out of there. She is not a nice person. I really think she tried to pull a fast one on the gringo but it did not work.

So that was my first house move in Mexico. One that I do not wish to encounter again. My new landlady is a calm, intelligent lady and I am sure the relationship will be a better experience.  Thinking about it, I feel as I have just arrived in Tepoz. As much as I tried, the first house never gelled with me, something was not quite right. I will miss the peace and quiet that the house offered and my neighbours but most definitely not the landlord.

Rant over.

Tepoz is wonderful, we needed only to find the right spot to hang our hats. And I believe we have. Life is good.

new climb

new place

Saying Good-Bye

Saying Good-Bye

Saying good-bye is always hard. But I feel it is never good-bye, more like hasta pronto – see you soon. The word(s) good-bye are far too final. Saying good-bye was really difficult. That was what it was like for Seven and I, difficult.  For me it was saying good-bye to a place I called home for 18 years. That’s a long time. That house was my nest. I felt comfortable, perhaps too much, perhaps I had become too complacent and it was time to move on. For Seven, I don’t know. That house was all he knew. He knew every corner, every tree, every bush, every smell. As shown in my last post he had his circle. It was his domain. But he had me and that’s all that mattered. As long as he was with me, he was home, minus the smells and circle of course.

We spent many days tripping around. Visiting friends, visiting those old trails. I knew it was a good-bye, a hasta pronto. did Seven? Perhaps because our home was not what he accustomed to. A tad more chaotic than usual. He knew something was up, but what?

Part of me did not want to leave. I did not want to leave that comfortable little bubble I had created over the last two decades. Leaving my best friends, my stronghold. It was scary. Perhaps Seven read my fears. I am sure he did. But we were one and we were going to do this together no matter how confusing it was for him and I. Think about it, how many people do you know have sold, thrown away, packed up and left their bubble at 68? Not many I bet. Call me crazy, call me brave but it was time. It was time to say good-bye, hasta pronto, time to burst that bubble and seek out a new life.

There were tears and big ones in private. There were many hugs. There was caution and there was help. I cannot thank my friends and my mum enough for giving me the confidence to do it. Shit how could I back out now? I was left with a few boxes, I would have nowhere to live. It was time to take that bull by the horn and do it!

Seven had no idea where we were going. Did I? Yes I had a place to go but that is a name on a map. A destination is another thing altogether. And that destination is something that Seven and I will find together.

the bubble for 18 years

hasta pronto Devon and Delphi