We’ve been trying to think of a name for the ranch, my friends and I. Nothing seemed to feel right. The old name was Rancho Obregon, after the family who owned the entire area. But everything we came up with seemed trite or overused. (Alejandro wants me to call it the “O Gay Corral”.) My workers passed me their invoice for the weeks work and at the top of the page it read, “Rancho del Padre” – Ranch of the father. I was so touched. They remembered our conversations about me creating a home for my father in San Miguel and came up with the name themselves. Plus, everyone says that it fits even for me because I’m such a “Dad” to all the young people in my circle of friends down here.
The first day that I had the place to myself, I was standing in the yard when I detected movement out of the corner of my eye. The cutest little female dog came crouching down the driveway, tail curled around. The tenants had told me that there was a sweet red dog that came by to be fed in the evenings and asked if I would continue to feed her. This was the dog. So off I went to the market to buy dog food. She came back again when I had a little party to celebrate getting the place. One has to lie on the ground to get close enough to pet her. We named her “Tapete” which means “Rug” because she approaches close to the ground, like a moving rug. I haven’t seen her since construction started so I fear that she may have been scared away.
We’re two weeks into construction. Actually it is demolition right now so every day it looks worse. My life has changed dramatically. To bed by 11:00, up by 8:00, lists of things to do, purchase, investigate. The good news, six workers working from 8:00 in the morning to 6:00 in the evening, five days a week, plus a half a ton of sand and cement, less than $900.00 USD. (But I’m not being fooled, materials and furnishing the place is what is going to get me. I do, after all, have exceptional taste.) I found it funny that one day I arrived at lunchtime to find a fire built in one corner of the yard and the workers roasting corn.
I’ve asked the architect to give me his ideas where I should put a swimming pool, pool house and casita on the property. Monday he is meeting with Marcos and I with his vision, and then we are going to the tile store to show him the master bath that I want. I keep increasing the scope of work so who knows when this project will be done. I have a lease on the rental house until May of next year and it may take every day of that. Instead of just making the main house livable, I’m remodeling everything. Every room, every bathroom, the kitchen, the patios, etc. And this is all before the pool and casitas. It is just far easier to get the messy stuff out of the way when one is not living on the premises. The out buildings will have to wait until the main house is ready.
Data point: Since purchasing the property and bringing friends out there, people are asking me if other lots are for sale. And there are. There is something so tranquil about the area; I never want to go back into town when I’m out there.
A flat tire took half a day to remedy but having the tire changed twice (temporary tire on, then temporary tire off) and having it repaired cost a total of around $10.00 USD. They didn’t charge me at the Nissan repair place for the tire changes, “Just tip the boy 20 pesos.” If you don’t put a value on your time, and do it the Mexican way, you can find some cheap deals. And the system, as well. I purchased the Pathfinder with a cracked windshield that got progressively worse given the terrain here. When I ordered a new one from the Nissan service station the woman asked if I had insurance. I said yes, I did. She said I’d only have to pay 20% of the cost if I claimed it on my insurance. But the crack was there before I got the insurance. She shrugged and asked, “What else is insurance for?” New windshield, $85.00 USD.
When I arrived at the ranch this afternoon (Saturday, no workers) I burst out laughing as I drove through the gate. Paola was giving Christina a golf lesson in front of the house. Paola’s mother was lounging in the hammock. We spent the day under the trees (it is about 80 degrees this time of year), eating and hitting golf balls and playing soccer with Pancho, a 10 year old neighbor of Paola’s mother. Pancho is 10 but looks five. Paola’s mother, a doctor, believes that it is due to malnutrition at some critical stage in his life or during his mother’s pregnancy. He is one of 10 children. At one point Christina fashioned a belt for him out of some rope because his pants kept falling down while he was playing. Paola’s mother pays for all his school clothes and materials and brought him his first birthday cake when he turned nine.
I want to chronicle all that is happening, every impression, vision, challenge, success, and lesson. But my days are being eaten up. I found myself on the verge of tears while sitting in my realtor’s office complaining about the failure of the notario to produce the “title deed” for the house. I told them that my father is 92 years old and that this is affecting his health and the tears started to well up. (Marcos tells me that it is the stress of the remodel and that I will get better as I get used to it.) The realtor assures me that I’m not the only one in this boat; he has a list of clients that are waiting, some with million dollar plus properties. Real estate here has gone up 30% in one year. The market is hot and the city and notarios can’t handle the volume. Plus, this notario is going through a divorce and they think that might have something to do with it. Our next plan is for me to pitch a tent in front of the office with a sign on the outside that says, “Waiting for Title Deed.”
Bob and Karen were here for their third visit. They bought an amazing lot and are going to build an amazing house (don’t be in a hurry for your title deed). I’m so excited that we’re going to be neighbors. Actually, it is not as if they are going to live next door, they’re in town. But only maybe 10 minutes away. So far, no one is far away. But the town is growing by leaps and bounds. And Victor, my friend and real estate agent, tells me that he hopes that Bush gets re-elected because it is great for his business. All the fed-up gringos buying homes in Mexico.
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