México Lindo

Leaving a place close to the heart is always hard. For us in this lifestyle, it is unavoidable, yet still very hard. We know from the moment we arrive somewhere that the day is coming when we have to leave, and for a long time that day seems to be in the distant future, until suddenly it is upon us. Like now.

Today is our last day in Matamoros. When I arrived here, I never thought I’d be so sad when this day came. We’ve been preparing for it for the last couple of months: slowly downsizing some of our belongings, planning for our departure, having the packers and movers come, cleaning the …Continue reading →

The Other Side of Mexico

Just when I thought I couldn’t keep my left knee bent a moment longer, our driver stopped the truck in the middle of the road, ac864-img_1114opened the door, and got out, telling us he’d be right back. He disappeared into a crude little house made of cinderblocks, sun-dried clothes dangling on a line outside. In the truck, we looked at each other, murmuring our guesses as to where he’d gone, when suddenly he emerged with a plastic cup of homemade mezcal, pride in his eyes, and urged us …Continue reading →

La Ciudad de México – Distrito Federal

La Ciudad de México - Distrito FederalThe idea of a Mexican vacation, for most Americans, conjures images of palm trees, beachside margaritas, and sun soaked afternoons by the pool, typically in popular destinations like Cancún, Cozumel, Acapulco, and Puerto Vallarta. Often, cruises or all-inclusive resorts are part of the deal, with perhaps a visit or two into town to buy some crafts at a market or enjoy an authentic taco or michelada. And while there is a lot to be said about lying on the beach for three or four days …Continue reading →

Beauty Around Town

Bougainvilleas (bugambilias in Spanish).

I see him most mornings. Every morning when I run to the bridge. He’s always there, around the same spot, but sometimes on different sides of the trail. He wears a tan trench coat, the same shade of tan as the trail, and admittedly, I have nearly tripped over him more than once. I used to be afraid of him, not knowing if he is dangerous. Perhaps I was more afraid of the pile of garbage that is his bed, his home. He is surrounded by styrofoam cups, plastic wrappers, and glass bottles. His hair is dark and matted, his skin a deep brown, weathered from
…Continue reading →

Giving Thanks

My husband often asks me why I never pursued journalism professionally. I had thought about it at one point: a career as a reporter, investigating the lives of others and writing stories about people and their lives. Whenever I mentioned it, my mom often reminded me of how tough life might be financially if I became a journalist. So, I earned by degree in German language and European history instead. Because those are both such lucrative fields, of course. Continue reading →