Onward to Ajijic

 

Bricks on the side of the Primary School

We arrive in Ajijic via taxi and are stopped in a traffic jam just short of our hotel Casa Don Quixote.

The whole street is standing in their doorways. I crane my neck to see what’s going on. 2 cars ahead is an old 90’s cream and champagne hearse, back doors open. Out of one of the small houses 3 men come out bearing a badly wrapped corpse to place in the back. Most of you have never had the privilege of bagging a body. I’ve done it hundreds of times and this bagging was definitely done with bed sheets and duct tape. Welcome to Ajijic, The Villages of Mexico.

Outside the hotel door

Ajijic has the largest expat community in Mexico. Folks are zipping around in golf carts, down the roughly cobblestone streets. Everyone looks in their 80’s and I wonder how many citizens are lost each year to broken hips and legs, because the streets and sidewalks are rough (but very picturesque).

There is little or no a/c in this part of the world because of the weather. That’s why folks flock here from all over the world. One can count on a steady breeze off the lake, it rarely reaches above 80. Shade and a fan make it down right pleasant.

The room is not ready. We leave our bags in search of lunch. The town is packed. The main square overloaded with tourists. One side of the square has a mariachi band playing (Jalisco is the home of Mariachi) on the other side is a gentleman of color wearing a captain’s hat, playing an electric guitar and singing the blues in Spanish. Imagine BB King in Mexico. Locals have set up booths selling tacos, clothes, baskets, household items - you name it.

The town is full of street art.

Onward to lakeside and the very small Malecon. Packed, the crowds don’t concern us much, because all wear masks. Every bit of available shade is taken by families on holiday. We settle on a 15-minute lakeside massage and return to our room for siesta.

This is not the town we are looking for because of the expats we spoke to were so, so, so very right leaning. However, it was magnificent to go to a restaurant that served a wonderful vodka martini.

A gentleman at the table next to us notes the martini and says, “Oh good, it’s shaken not stirred.”

Harvey replies, “it doesn’t matter.” 

Our new friend retorts indignantly,” I’m English man, of course it matters!” The expat community here is international.

Your Amazon package has arrived.

Arriving back to the hotel, we spend a few minutes with William, a full time resident of the hotel. He has a desk set up in the common salon, the top of which is loaded with papers and a computer. He states he is a political writer. William has been living in the hotel for 5 years, coming here from St Vincent’s in the Carib and hasn’t been back to UK for 30.” I can’t take the cold, damp gloom.”

From the conversation I can’t tell if he is radical right or centrist left but William is definitely a contrarian.  He has nothing good to say about any of the towns around this lake, except for Ajijic. According to William, they are all crime ridden and full of cartel. He is the only person we have met thus far, with this opinion. We bid him goodnight.