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Traveling While Old: Mazatlan
Refugees from the Pacific Northwest head south
I live in the Pacific Northwest. The winters there are not Donner Party horrible, but the constant rain and cold takes its toll. When I was practicing law, I would say to my wife in January, “The holidays are over, time to buckle down and make some money.” I handled the gloomy winters by throwing myself into my work.
In my retirement, there is no work to throw myself into. So my wife and I head to Mexico. Last year it was Mexico City. This year it is Mazatlan.
I rented a two-bedroom apartment in Mazatlan, a block from the ocean and a few blocks from downtown. It is more than we need, but we are no longer vacationers who try to fill every day with activities. Many days will be spent doing little more than reading and napping. The object is not to collect experiences or amass memories, but rather to exist contentedly in the sun. Out of the cold and rain. The money we save from not drinking, dancing, zip-lining and para-sailing we spend on a comfortable place to eat and sleep.
By no metric was the flight from Portland to Mazatlan difficult, but as I have grown older any day filled with airports, planes, taxis, and customs agents takes a toll. By the time we unpack in Mexico, we are dog-tired. I head out onto the streets for some comfort food…
