It has been my fortune - good or ill - to have lived a life of new beginnings. When starting over, I always look back to see what has happened during this latest interim. What happened as I grew to manhood in Chicago during the depression years? I can recount how things changed during my five years in Venezuela and in my 1940s stint in Iceland and the later assignment to west-by-God-Tejas. I remember when Shortie's Market was the place to show in San Juan Capistrano - the only place as a matter of fact other than Josh Gammel's drug store.

This time I am journeying to take a look at reverse immigration. What is it about Mexico that makes its people want to hazard a trip over the U.S. border while more than one million Americans live "South of the Border, Down Mexico Way," to quote an young fellow named Frank Sinatra who sang Chris Isaak's song back in the 1940s.

I thought I ought to investigate this attraction for myself, and unlike most Southern Californians I opted to venture far beyond the border. We all know that the borderland is a land unto itself, on both sides. Tijuana, Laredo, Mexicali, Brownsville, McAllen, El Paso are not much like San Diego, Chicago, Evansville or Guadalajara, Mexico City or Zacatecas.

First Impressions? The thoughts that are imprinted onto one's mind at the first sight of a new place are often forgotten after constant exposure. I recorded some of mine as I made my way from San Juan Capistrano, California, to Lake Chapala last June on a two-week investigative visit.

Departing California

My departure from the Ontario, California, airport was not totally without mishap. I had no problem checking in for my 12:30 a.m. flight on Aeromexico. With my big bag headed for the belly of the plane, I started through passenger inspection with a middle-sized carry on bag and my laptop computer. No problems with the baggagejust with me!

I couldn't get through the magnetic check point. I was moved to one side and was carefully searched, shoeless, for objects that the machine might find suspicious. First, it was my western shirt. It had metallic buttons that set off the alarm. Next, it was my check book and its metallic snap, and then my money clip and pens. Finally, the gadget found the three tiny hearing aid batteries I'd forgotten were in my pants pocket.

Arriving in Mexico

The airport in Guadalajara was in utter turmoil even during my predawn arrival. Lines seemed to form spontaneously, regardless of signs and signals. There were 300 people trying to move through two or three lines, navigating immigration and customs officialdom, joined by 300 arriving souls when the next planeload disembarked into the terminal. It wasn't an intriguing sight or site. It is, however, one that must be circumnavigated in order to sample the presence of this, to me, new environment. Surprisingly, I passed a Burger King and a Starbucks Coffee as I pushed through the crowds of folks waiting for passengers on the way out of the terminal.

Ensconced in the very attractive Ajijic B & B 'La Paloma' before dawn, I was ready for both the bed and the breakfast. After a rest and a splendid repast, I went with the managers of my B & B, the McKees, to the weekly gathering of Open Circle held on the grounds of the Lake Chapala Society. There were about 100 mostly old people in attendance for a talk given by an elderly, former Catholic priest. I was fascinated to find a place with so many people who looked even older than I do. It was interesting, but hardly informative. Folks there tell me that after the snowbirds return beginning in September and October, the participants of this group can number 200 or more.

Out and About Ajijic

By 1:30 p.m. I was ready for lunch. I walked about three short blocks to the Antica Ristorante, which was closed for Sunday afternoon. Walking back toward my inn, I found a little open tienda (store) on the corner. I bought some chips, a cup of Maruchan noodles (with Spanish instructions), a little can of peppers, an onion, a carrot and three eggs. When I gave the man $20 pesos (about $1.88 U.S.), he gave me back a whole handful of change!

Back near my room, I found a man cutting up meat, out by the street, using a large tree stump as a butcher block. He had a whole tub full of what looked like pork slabs. The meat looked great and, surprisingly, there were no flies.

All the people here are very friendly. While I was out walking, I came across a group of four men. In passing, I said, "Buenos dias". They all chuckled, and two responded, "Buenos tardes, Señor." I've figured out that 'dias' ends at noon and 'tardes' then runs until sundown, when 'noches' takes over!

Moorish Custom and Construction in Latin America

In typical Moorish fashion, the outer environment of most Latino countries is left to chance, rack and ruin. Streets are mainly rough cobblestone, broken pavement and dirt. Inhabitants save their time and money for the interiors of their properties. Outside is dirty, messy, under construction or destruction, smelly and disreputable. Garbage is often just dumped in bundles and bags on the nearest street corner awaiting the six-day-a-week garbage pickup.

I thought of the other Latin locations where I've lived: there was Venezuela, where dead donkeys were left in the streets to the vultures, or Venice, where sewage is dumped into those grand canals. This is Mexico, and this is part of it - just expect it! Most homes are built behind gated walls, many with broken glass, piked iron or barbed wire atop, entered through barred or solid gates. Behind those walls, however, are lovely haciendas, with the enclosed gardens beautifully manicured and planted with an amazing variety of lush exotic plants.

Most construction is of common brick and tile. Stucco is plastered over the brick and then painted with colors that are out of this world. Purples, yellows, solid orange and black; stripes, murals and even cartoons are common here. Don't think Homeowner's Associations rules, planning commission regulations or improvement societies (at least in the villages), just take it as it is.

All construction is truly accomplished by hand. Hand-made bricks and tile, mosaic tile pools, tile floors, tile insets in the walls, broken tile used as latter-day cobblestone paths, volcanic rock, slate, flag stones, broken concrete and pebbles predominate.

B&B Life in Ajijic

There's always a surprise on arising at 7 a.m. Each day I'm learning to tick off my check list. Is it raining? Is the electricity on? Is the water on? Is the hot water on? Is the wireless internet connection working? Is the cable TV working? Will the cleaning lady come today? Fortunately, this morning the answer to all of these questions was "Si!"

Just to give you a taste of my B&B, breakfast is served promptly at 9 a.m. My landlady, who is also the cook, knocks on the door of my bedroom if I am not already out in the common areas of the inn. Served at a table for four, in the main foyer, breakfast is a repast replete! One morning I had an egg mini-casserole, sliced strawberries and kiwis, sliced avocados, orange juice, toast with butter and jam, bacon and coffee.

Another day two 60-ish sisters from "Old" Phoenix joined me as guests in the inn. They're here shopping for homes in which to retire with their husbands. We had a nice visit accompanied by bacon, orange juice, French toast, eggs fritatta, mixed fresh fruit with orange cream topping.

My room is 15 feet by 20 feet and the adjoining bath is 5 feet by 20 feet. My room (and everything else inside the walls of my inn) is immaculate. The red tile floor is edged with a mosaic tile baseboard and the plastered walls are white. The unusual ceiling is a strange construction of arched, mortared common brick, which I've since learned is called boveda (arched). There are rows of arches, with the center of each arch about four inches higher than the sides.

I have a queen-sized bed, draw-drapes, a small table for my computer, bedside tables and lamps, and a central ceiling fan and overhead lamp. The inn has wireless internet access so I can communicate with family and friends. There's even a very fine Panasonic 17-inch TV with FM radio and a tape deck that sits on atop a wall-long open wardrobe. Half of the outside wall is filled with full-height windows that overlook a lovely 50 feet by 75 feet patio with a fountain. The grounds are gorgeous and feature a papaya tree, a lime tree, an avocado tree and a beautifully-tuned canary in a hand-made twig cage.

My First Real Mexican Experience

For reasons that I do not understand, when I went through the entry procedures on arrival at Guadalajara International Airport, I didn't end up with a FM-T (tourist card). Without such a document, one can not get back out of Mexico. As a result, I had to go to the Mexican Immigration Office at the Chapala municipal government headquarters to arrange a replacement card.

Chapala is about six miles away, so I called for Miguel, the driver who works for my B&B. He picked me up promptly at Mexican time and delivered me to the offices. It was intimidating! However, Judy King had arranged for an intermediary to meet me there to help me with the formalities, and help she did.

After pesos galore and what seemed to be interminable delays, during which the old Army expression, "Hurry up and Wait" came to mind, my emissary had me sign twenty or so documents and promised to have the necessary paper in my hands in a week, and in plenty of time for my departure. When I leave Mexico, it will be to await the arrival of my newly renewed U.S. passport with which I can return! It's all very confusing, to be sure.

Riding the Bus and the Street Market

Ever vigilant, I had watched the route closely as Miguel took me to the municipal building in Chapala. I paid him the requested $30 pesos plus a tip, and wished him, "Adios." He asked if he should return to pick me up, and I declined, having seen a series of autobuses marked "Chapala-Ajijic" all along the way to Chapala.

Free of the red tape, I walked a short block or two to where I had seen the busses. With no problem, I boarded the Chapala-Ajijic bus, paid my $6 pesos (about 50 cents and was merrily on my way back to the hotel. It was a nice, clean, comfortable bus, with polite, well-dressed passengers. There were no chickens, no pigs, no bundles nor baskets just well-behaved children and cool breezes. I walked two blocks from the bus to my B&B.

Jockeys at the Tianguis (Street Market)

Today is the local open market day, when, street vendors spread their wares in stalls, on tables, truck beds, or blankets. All manner of stuff is sold here, and I do mean all manner of stuff.

If you can think of it, it is there! Fresh fruits and vegetables, eatables, drinks, gew-gaws, hats, clothes, candy, fetishes, herbs, spices, scarves, spoons, ladies underwear, knives and scabbards, rugs, furniture, fresh meats and poultry on the hoof or cleaned, fish, bakery goods are all there, with the vases, buckets and baskets in which to put them.

I bought one pair of calzones (Chinese-made Jockey-type shorts) for $22 pesos ($2 U.S.). They are exactly like Jockey shorts in the states except they're missing the name on the waistband!

Places to Eat

No matter which direction I go from my B&B, I find eateries. One of my favorites is La Trattoria. They even have Minestrone Norte Soup, which is hard to find in the United States. I had lasagna yesterday. Today I had Sopa Vegetale con Pollo (vegetable soup with chicken). I sit near the kitchen, which is a corner in the dining room where a girl stands behind a preparation counter and chops, grinds, grills and loads many of the main dishes.

She also turns out beautiful pizzas, but I haven't had one because even the small ones are 10 inches or so. She has the pizza dough in balls about four inches round, and kneads them and rolls them out with lots of flour on a board, using a fat, six-inch metal rolling pin. The dough is thinned almost paper-thick, then loaded with the toppings, put on a shovel, and shoved into a gas-fired oven on a wooden shovel. This evening there was Italian music on keyboard and there were many families, with children.

Peruvian, Chinese, Italian, French, many Mexican sidewalk stands, you name it. There's even a place that calls itself the New York Deli - complete with heroes and full and half-sized submarines (six inches long.) and fish and chips, with skinny fries that McDonald's would find acceptable. Prices? The most expensive meals in town (including beverage) are a maximum of fifteen bucks, and my usual dinner with wine costs less than ten. The tacos (Mexican style) served at roadside stands cost less than a dollar!

Gathering Information About the Area

I spent an illuminating three hours at a seminar conducted by Judy King entitled "Living at Lake Chapala." Judy has lived here for over fifteen years, and this seminar is sub-titled "A Guide to Retirement." The lecture and accompanying hand-out book, are devoted to answering the many questions and problems encountered by those who may choose to live here. Since her background includes growing up in Iowa, time on a farm there, living in Southern California for many years before moving here, a curious knack for communication, and a number of years wheeling and dealing in the Lakeside real estate market, she is uniquely qualified.

Lakeside let me remind you, is the term used locally to identify the chain of towns bordering the north shore of Lake Chapala. There is no town of Lakeside, but it encompasses the conjoined pueblos (villages) and neighborhoods of Jocotepec, El Chante, San Juan Cosalá, Rancho del Oro, Villa Nova, Ajijic, Rivera Alta, Chula Vista, San Antonia Tlayacapan, Riberas del Pilar and Chapala (and many subdivisions) running from west to east.

Make no mistake, this is an ancient area. Replete with folk tales, petrography, fossil remains back to the dinosaur days, geysers, volcanos, hot springs, artesian springs, active fault lines; it is an intriguing area to study, observe and enjoy the commingling of the old and new, enlightened and beknighted, liberal and radical, traditional, religious and sacro! Take your choice; they are all here!

My first impression of the string of communities along Lake Chapala is that many of the Norteamericanos living here are busting a gut trying to be Mexican, while as many of the Mexicans are straining at the bit to become Norteamericanos. Neither group is flirting with success!

Bringing You up to Date

All of those first impressions were written during my June 2006 trip to Lake Chapala, months after I engaged in a serious study of transplanting myself from the serene, though very expensive, Southern California. I betook myself to Lakeside to see what all the hoopla was about. I found out during my two-week stay. I learned enough and saw enough to decide to make a permanent move to a Chula Vista condo I rented during the trip. Mind you I am not a neophyte to foreign situations; I have lived out of the United States as much as in it over many years. Lakeside, on the other hand is totally new to me, and another of my long list of adventures.

Now, lest you wonder, I'm newly arrived at Lakeside. It's been two weeks since my August 1 arrival and I find I am still on California time, I guess. Sunrise should be at about six-thirty instead of at eight. The dawn here does not come up like thunder out of China, as it does in Mandalay, but sneaks up out of Chapala on tiny kitty feet!

But, oh the sunsets! I sat up last night on my futon, on the porch, watching the sunset over the ridgepole of the house across the street. That huge molten globe just touched the house at 6:45, and was totally gone by 7 p.m. I can't tell time as do the Indios by holding fingers to gauge the height of the sun above the horizon, but when it goes, it really glows!

Then came the evening light show. Huge, towering cumulonimbus clouds arose with the setting sun, fostering thunderous explosions that shook the house as might an earthquake. With the onset of nightfall, these clouds glowed with lightning in a near-continuous display for nigh unto half an hour. And then the rain poured down darkening the earth!

As I told you way back at the beginning, first impressions are conditioned on volatility. Reading back over these first thoughts, I notice that my impressions are becoming clouded by opinions, and that defeats the rationale. In California I had for years written a column for my local newspaper which I called "Out and About." Since Judy has already created a section by the same name in her magazine, I propose that these first impressions and the subsequent offerings on my part as I move through life at Lake Chapala will be instead be entitled "Observations."