Photograph by Giles Ashford
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La Vida Cheapo
By Barry Golson, March-April 2004
For 600 bucks a month, retirees in Mexico can live in a three-bedroom home, with a gardener. For a cool thousand...well, you won’t believe it
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GUADALAJARA
On a balmy afternoon in Guadalajara, my wife, Thia, and I are relaxing with
Janet Levy in the garden of her rented stucco home in a quiet, leafy part of
the city. A former assistant to the chief executive of a Washington, D.C.,
nonprofit organization, Levy, 69, settled in Guadalajara in the early
'90s—and life since then, she says, has been nothing less than
grand.
For starters, there is her standalone three-bedroom house with a maid's
room, the kind that might rent for $2,500 a month in an upscale D.C. suburb.
"I pay $600 a month," she says. "And that includes the
gardener." Levy points out that Wal-Mart, Costco, Sam's Club, and
Blockbuster all have stores in Guadalajara, Mexico's second-largest city,
with a population of 5 million. So when she's not puttering in her garden,
Levy can indulge in American-style shopping.
Levy is also keen on Mexican health care, which, as we find, is a popular
topic among expats. Though U.S. citizens living in Mexico are not covered by
Medicare for doctors' visits and medical services (unless they travel back
to the U.S.), the national insurance program is available to foreigners and
costs about $300 a year. There is private insurance as well, at prices
considerably cheaper than in the U.S., though costs have been rising.
As for hospitals, Levy informs us that Guadalajara boasts several excellent
facilities, including Hospital San Javier (which has a branch in Puerto
Vallarta), Hospital del Carmen, and Americas Hospital. The custom in Mexico is
for a family member or friend to stay at the hospital with the patient. Many
doctors speak English, but most nurses don't, so some Americans take a
Mexican friend who can translate.
Levy says Americans she knows, many on modest incomes, pay for medical
expenses out of pocket, because fees and lab costs are so reasonable.
They'll use insurance only for major procedures. "I've had back
surgery and my gall bladder out, and the care was excellent," she says.
Virtually all drugs except controlled substances are available without
prescriptions. "I pay $40 an office visit," Levy says. "And did
I mention how nice it is to sit and really talk to a doctor?"
Why are we in Guadalajara? Well, after 30 years with only a few weeks off
each year, my wife and I both suddenly found ourselves between jobs.
Ordinarily, I'd have done what I've done in the past—immediately
hit the pavement in search of work. But this time it struck me: What's the
hurry?
So, while we're not ready for retirement ourselves, having just
skittered past the midpoint of our 50s, we thought we'd use the extended
downtime to travel and check out possible places to settle.
We had another reason for traveling south of the border: to see what it
would cost. According to my research, something like half of the people in my
generation haven't saved enough to retire comfortably. Meaning, if we hope
to kick back in the lifestyle to which we've become accustomed, one of
three things will have to happen. We'll have to either a) save a lot of
money fast or b) win the lottery.
Or, alternatively, we could move to Mexico. I'd read a few of those
how-to-retire books that claim you can live in Mexico on $400 a month, with all
the frijoles you can eat, and my skeptical reaction was, "Oh,
really?" So, I checked some other sources and found that, while our own
lifestyle would take a considerable hit if we tried to get by on $400 a month,
the cost of living well in Mexico can be quite low indeed. Our curiosity was
piqued.
Barry Golson's book Gringos in Paradise was published in November 2006. Visit our Books channel to read a review and an excerpt.
As for the language barrier, I retain a ragged fluency in Spanish, having
lived in Mexico for a few years as a child. Thia speaks only the Spanish
she's picked up from restaurant menus. In other words, we were about as
proficient as most American couples considering a move to Mexico. We charted a
course through a "retirement belt" that stretches from central Mexico
to the Pacific coast and is an increasingly popular destination for thousands
of Americans seeking to settle in sunnier climes and less expensive venues. The
plan was to meet, chat with, and generally poke our noses into the lives of
retirees.
We make Guadalajara our first stop because the State Department estimates
that more than 50,000 Americans live in the area. We find a lot to like about
what guidebooks call the "most Mexican of cities," not least of all
its graceful architecture, matchless Orozco murals, and extremely friendly and
accommodating citizens. We spend several days sightseeing, listening to street
corner mariachis, and antiquing and boutiquing in the arts-and-crafts suburb of
Tlaquepaque. We eat well, with dinners for two—including appetizers and a
cocktail apiece—rarely topping $25.
We are surprised to learn, therefore, that the majority of American
transplants no longer settle in Guadalajara proper. Instead, retirees generally
head south to the Lake Chapala area, about 45 minutes away by car. "The
city once was a draw for retirees, but no more," says Michael Forbes, a
trim, transplanted Brit in his 40s, over a breakfast of huevos rancheros.
Forbes is the editor of western Mexico's most widely read English-language
weekly newspaper, The Guadalajara Colony Reporter, and has witnessed the
routine: "People come down and look around, but 95 percent of them head
elsewhere. Lake Chapala, with its year-round temperate climate and all those
like-minded people, can seem like a paradise."
Janet Levy disagrees. She likes Guadalajara's many fine museums, the
symphony, the big-city life. "I'd get bored at Lakeside," she
declares, using the name Americans have given the large expatriate colony
around Lake Chapala. "Why, there are people there who never even come into
Guadalajara." This is the first volley we witness of the popular
retirement sport—putting down where other retirees live.
We decide to scope out Lakeside for ourselves.
Guadalajara scorecard (on a scale of 1 to 10)
- Looks 7 (lovely downtown);
- Charm 6;
- Culture 9;
- Shopping 10;
- Medical facilities 9;
- Other Americans 2 (not so many as we expected);
- Wow factor—wonderful nighttime plaza life.
- Thia's review: "Big city, love the shopping, but not being able to
speak Spanish can be frustrating."
- Barry's review: "Nice place to visit, shop, and see doctors, but
not to live in."
LAKESIDE
We pack our bags and taxi south to Lake Chapala, a $30 ride. The view as we
approach is breathtaking—a 50-mile-long lake, no urban haze, all sun and
hills and marshes. Idyllic, but looks can be deceiving: the lake is polluted by
industrial waste upriver. Where once there was fishing and water sports, the
lake is now a view, nothing more. There have been ongoing efforts to clean it
up, including a hands-around-the-lake protest several years ago, but
significant results seem a long way off.
The retirement zone comprises two communities along the lake, a few miles
apart: the funky, more Mexican village of Chapala, where gringos and locals
live mostly side by side, and Ajijic (pronounced ah-hee-heek), where
many Americans and Canadians live apart from the natives in pricey gated
communities. Ajijic straddles a highway strip whose shop signs are half in
English, half in Spanish, but the town does have its Mexican charms: a few
blocks in from the main highway, for instance, you'll find small plazas,
quaint churches, and solemn donkeys pulling carts.
Our guide at Lakeside is Ruth Ross-Merrimer, 69, an irrepressible dame with
a sardonic wit. A Californian who worked in documentaries, Ross-Merrimer has
lived here for 20 years and has reported on the social scene for several local
English-language publications. She has also self-published a novel called
Champagne and Tortillas, which pokes satirical fun at a retirement
community not unlike Lakeside. She can be tart about the goings-on around the
lake, but also boasts about the amateur theater, the October concerts, and the
opera season, as well as the charity work done by the gringo population, which
includes a large number of Canadians. "Some people do live in gated
bubbles," she says at the lively Ajijic Grill, where we meet. "But
most had enough of an adventurous spirit to move to Mexico in the first place.
They were doers, and they pour a lot of that energy into local charities.
It's either that or Margarita City."
Whether you move to Guadalajara, Lakeside, or elsewhere in Mexico,
Ross-Merrimer advises, be prepared for culture shock. "The two cultures
have opposing attitudes toward wealth, death, time, and taxes," she says.
"Americans tend to flaunt their wealth. Mexicans shield it, sometimes
behind walls with spiked glass. Americans consider death the end of life;
Mexicans consider it a part of life. Americans obsess about time; Mexicans are
casual about it—and that's understating it, honey. Americans pay
their taxes without protest; Mexicans put them off or ignore them."
Thia and I meet a wide range of retirees over the next several days. We see
gorgeous homes, landscaped with all of the dazzling garden foliage the climate
encourages ("Stick a clothespin in the ground here, and it'll
grow," says Ross-Merrimer). And while we didn't collect data in a
formal way, we were struck by how consistently retirees spoke of the reasonable
cost of living in Lakeside compared with where they'd lived before. Here
are a few of the comments we recorded. On housing: "A house that costs
$600,000 in Phoenix might cost $300,000 here." On taxes: "Real estate
taxes in a New York suburb can run $12,000 a year for a house this size; here
they're $67." On utilities: "Gas and electricity are $600 a month
in Chicago; here it's $100." (Electricity in Mexico is expensive, but
at Lakeside, there's little need for air conditioning.) And finally, on
amenities: "A maid in New Jersey, if you can afford one, can be $100 a
day. Here, it's $5 to $10 a day."
In Lakeside, as in other Mexican retirement havens, you can live as cheaply
or as extravagantly as you've a mind to. Karen Blue, who at 52
"chucked corporate life" in San Francisco's Bay Area to settle in
Ajijic in 1996, runs seminars for newcomers to the area with her business
partner, Judy King, 59, who unlike Karen needs to work for a living. They also
host a helpful subscription website
for people thinking of moving to the Chapala area.
Blue and King join us for lunch to talk about life in Lakeside for those
without fat pensions or golden parachutes. Our first question: "Can
Americans live comfortably here on their Social Security checks?" The
answer is an unqualified yes.
"Truth is," says Blue, "there are lots of respectable homes
you can rent for about $600, and then you add maybe $100 for a gardener and
maid—which makes for a very competitive housing package, no matter what
your financial circumstances." Adds King: "I actually know a fair
number of people who do it on less than that. They've looked around, gotten
a decent little place for $350. They may not go out to eat much, they eat more
tacos than steak, but they have a very nice life here. So, yes, you can live
here on your Social Security check."
On our last day in Ajijic, we gather at a lush garden home with several
transplanted residents, including retiree John Bragg, 69, and his wife, Mary,
57, Californians who moved to Mexico 11 years ago. I mention to John that we
are planning to visit legendarily arty San Miguel de Allende next. "Oh,
I'd never live in San Miguel," says Bragg, engaging in the
ever-popular sport of bashing other retirement havens. "The town is filled
with Texans. You can't even go to a bar and hear any Spanish. Some blond
lady's gonna come up to you and say, 'Y'all must be new in town.
Wouldn't you lahk to go on a house tour?'"
As it happens, one of the first people we'll meet in San Miguel is a
lady who runs—you guessed it—house tours.
Lakeside scorecard
- Looks 7 (for the vista);
- Charm 4 (some nice plazitas);
- Culture 5 (October concerts and ballet);
- Shopping 2 (but Guadalajara, 9, is not far);
- Medical facilities 2 (ditto);
- Other Americans 9 (lots of them);
- Wow factor—all sorts of personal services, from tai chi classes to
assisted living facilities.
- Thia's review: "No need to worry about speaking Spanish here, but
kind of suburban."
- Barry's review: "Nice folks, but not where I'd settle.
Can't get over that pretty lake no one swims in."
SAN MIGUEL
The colonial silver town of San Miguel de Allende is the crown jewel of
central Mexico. It boasts cobblestone streets, pastel-washed doors, art
galleries nestled in every other nook, an enchanting main plaza known as El
Jardin, and the Parroquia, a spired, fanciful-gothic confection of a church
located in the center of town, whose bells toll at utterly unpredictable
hours.
Although somewhat remote (the nearest airport is in León, an hour and
a half away), this town of 70,000, which is home to an estimated 2,500 American
retirees, scores high on the jet-set buzz meter. Little wonder. The restaurants
are first-rate, shopping is an extreme sport (the streets are packed with art
galleries and shops selling ceramics, folk art, and antiques), and the music
spilling from the town's restaurants and cafés sometimes suggests a
university town on perpetual fiesta.
We meet Jennifer Hamilton, a 62-year-old Audrey Hepburn look-alike, in her
airy, elegant apartment just off the Jardin. Another transplanted Californian,
who has lived in San Miguel for 12 years, she gives tours of San Miguel's
fanciest homes, a Sunday afternoon event that draws as many as 400 gawkers at a
time.
While Hamilton enjoys talking about the multimillion-dollar mansions up in
the hills, she also speaks frankly about the drawbacks of San Miguel not
described in the travel brochures. "It's not a little village
anymore," she says. "The streets are crumbling from the weight of the
tourist buses. Good homes are expensive; utilities go up every month. I'm
worried that the town will price itself out; I don't want it to become only
for the very wealthy and the Mexican poor. There are still tin hovels tucked
between fabulous homes. Water's giving out, too. Something will have to be
done." She pauses, smiles. "But I still tell people to come down here
to live. There's so much to do here!"
The town's chief arbiter and critic, Archie Dean, agrees. Author of the
indispensable The Insider's Guide to San Miguel, the 66-year-old
Dean is a gangly, fedora-wearing, knapsack-carrying New York State native who
spends his days walking the streets, stopping at restaurants and cafés
to sample fare for the next edition of his book. When he arrived in 1990, he
says, San Miguel was a relatively primitive town where phones were scarce and
shopping limited. "Now we're all connected," he says, referring
to cybercafés, cable TV piped in from the States, and direct-dial
long-distance phone calls. He contradicts the notion that only rich retirees
can afford the town. "There are apartment rentals at every price, from
$300 to $5,000. You can live well for as little as $700 a month. And I know a
lot of people living here on modest fixed incomes."
For those expats possessing the wherewithal, San Miguel's cosmopolitan
charm and arty ambience can also translate into opportunity. On the leafy patio
of the Casa de la Cuesta, a charming bed-and-breakfast a few minutes from the
plaza, we chat with owner Bill LeVasseur, 59, a former advertising executive
who lived and worked in Mexico when he was younger and returned with his wife,
Heidi, an artist, in 1994. Owning a B & B was not in their plans. "We
were retiring," he says, "not thinking about a new business or
anything."
Nevertheless, the LeVasseurs crunched their numbers and decided that the
home they'd begun building in San Miguel could be enlarged and turned into
a home away from home for tourists. LeVasseur says that an income of $50,000 a
year assures a retiree of a good life, "including eating out two or three
times a week." The couple have three grown sons in the States, and in
addition to traveling back home themselves, occasionally they send "plane
tickets for the kids and grandkids" to come to Mexico.
The LeVasseurs tell us they considered retiring to other places in Mexico
but decided San Miguel was the place for them. "Sure, some people like
their condos in Puerto Vallarta, but the heat there in the summer is unbearable
and they've got mosquitoes as big as blackbirds. They've got
McDonald's and Taco Bells, and we sure don't. Life is more authentic
here."
Sounds like our cue to move along—to Puerto Vallarta.
San Miguel scorecard
- Looks 10;
- Charm 7 (points off for the traffic and McMansions);
- Culture 10;
- Shopping 8;
- Medical facilities 6;
- Other Americans 7 (more points subtracted for some obnoxious wealth
flaunting);
- Wow factor—a world-class language school, ditto the restaurants.
- Thia's review: "I'm leaving my heart
here and coming back someday."
- Barry's review: "Love it too, but I'm not a mountain guy. I
like the ocean."
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