Downsizing: Moving to Mexico

Today's post isn't about politics. Or maybe it is.

This is my sixth post about downsizing.

Earlier posts were written in the shadow of Joe Biden's plan to hold on to his office past the time when opponents called him senile and jeered while his supporters suspected something was a little wrong, but kept quiet about. Downsizing from a large "family home" into something smaller is a metaphor for that larger issue of when to accept that one has entered a new phase of life marked by the frailties of age. Biden, many of us thought, needed to "downsize." 

But sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Downsizing is a practical thing in itself, involving boxes, moving trucks, and dumpsters. No need to overthink it into a metaphor of politics or aging or death or anything. But letting go is hard because where we live and all that "stuff" we have kept represents more than choices we made. They represent who we are. And as Neil Sedaka put it so well back in 1962, when I and my classmates were age 12:

Comma, comma, down dooby doo down down
Breaking up is hard to do

Downsizing is a breakup. 

College classmates Erich Almasy and Cynthia Blanton dealt with retirement and downsizing simultaneously. They moved to Mexico. Erich tells their story.

Erich Almasy and Cynthia Blanton, faces painted

Guest Post by Erich Almasy 

Downsizing and Our Last Move

In line with Peter’s series on downsizing, here is the tale of two Boomers who used the excuse of leaving the United States to reduce their “stuff.” It began in 1997 when the company I worked for in New York City asked me to run their Canadian division on an “interim” basis. Never trust a CEO who uses the word “interim” because it means, “We hope you’ll give in and take the job.” After two years of commuting between Toronto and New York, we packed up and began our twenty-five years as expatriates. Unfortunately, when a corporation moves you, they pay all the expenses, so we didn’t leave much stuff behind unless it was broken or we couldn’t remember ever owning it.

Our actual downsizing didn’t begin until we retired. Like most of our contemporaries, we thought big about places to retire - Umbria or Tuscany in Italy, Paris, and the English countryside (nixed because Cynthia cannot stand the British sexism and class consciousness). Places like Costa Rica and Ecuador appeared on our radar when we became more fiscally responsible. At this point, the words of Cynthia’s Toronto-based hairdresser came to mind. Every year, he and his wife would book the month of February in a 500-year-old Mexican Colonial city called San Miguel de Allende. Located in the geographic center of México, San Miguel was as far away from the Mexican beach resorts as one could imagine. This seemed possible since we didn’t care much for those beach resorts.

We booked a week in February 2019, and after some research, we kept finding reviews like the one in Conde Nast Traveler magazine that said this was the best place in the world to retire. We spent our week in the “Centro” main downtown area and were amazed by the culture and beauty. We even attended an opera put on by the local music organization. We got sunburned in 75 to 80-degree weather and decided we should make another visit in June, during the hot and rainy season. That week was even more encouraging, and we found a home just finishing construction. Now, we had to race back to Canada and pack up.

When you’ve lived together for nearly 50 years, you accumulate lots of “stuff.” For two people, our homes had always been five bedrooms with a basement so we could each have offices and places to store our “stuff.” To save money, we planned to transport our goods to Laredo, Texas, where we had an appointment to get our permanent visas to live in México. A Mexican moving company in Laredo would handle the paperwork and transship our goods to our new home. We rented a 24-foot truck from Penske (always use Penske for your move - more about that later) and a trailer from U-Haul. Along with our Yukon XL, we figured we could move nearly everything we needed for our unfurnished home. In addition, Cynthia made it her job to measure every cubic inch of our goods and boxes to ensure they fit in the vehicles.

We have always been book people and reckoned that we had over 4,000 books together. We knew most would not make the trip, especially since many were still boxed in the basement from our first move. Furniture, yes, but our home offices mostly no. We were retiring. We made a grave mistake with our packing crew. Despite positive reviews and a dozen workers, the Bulgarian team was a disaster. I have nothing against Bulgarians, but these guys knew little about how to pack a truck. When they were done, 20 percent of the stuff we intended to take didn’t fit, despite what I knew to be my wife’s accurate calculations. Sad trips to the dump ensued.

We began the trip with me driving the truck, Cynthia the Yukon and trailer, and our 10-year-old miniature schnauzer, Molly. There was a minor kerfuffle at the U.S.-Canada border, solved by our American passports, and smooth sailing until just south of Indianapolis. In my defense, I have a fair amount of experience driving trucks, and this one had an automatic transmission and was nearly new. However, on a narrow bridge, I was almost sideswiped by a speeding semi-truck whose back blast knocked me into the bridge abutment. The truck’s right side, rear wheel, and drivetrain were all demolished. I was stunned but managed to roll onto the shoulder.

This is where Penske and the liability insurance I had taken out proved their worth. We called, and they asked where to send a tow truck on site. They then told us to meet them at a nearby struck stop at 9 a.m. he following day. We found a motel and, with my head still buzzing, went to the truck stop the following day. Our broken truck was backed up near a new truck, and two movers were ready to trans-load our “stuff.” I was a bit taken aback by the movers. One appeared to have no teeth (“Talk Like a Pirate Day” wasn’t until September 19th), and the other mover had only one leg. Despite these impediments, or perhaps because of them, the move took less than three hours, and lo and behold, there was 20 % more space in the back of the new truck.

I was still in no shape to drive, so we asked if either of the gentlemen knew someone who could drive the truck with us to Laredo. We would pay a fee plus airfare home. Allen, the man with one leg and a metal prosthesis, said he would call his wife. She agreed, and he volunteered. After a quick conference, Cynthia and I asked him if he had experience driving trucks. I will never forget his reply, “When I was in the army and before an IED blew off my leg, I qualified on Humvees, HEMTTs (Heavy Expanded Mobility Tactical Trucks), and M1 Abrams Tanks." He was hired.

In an anticlimactic fashion, the rest of the trip went without a hitch (except on the trailer, haha). We arrived at Laredo in 100° heat, drove our new best friend to the airport, delivered our items to the Mexican movers, and returned our rentals. The visa process mainly went smoothly, followed by a customs inspection of now just our car at the border and a ten-hour drive to San Miguel de Allende. The movers had passed us along the way and were ready to drop off the rest of our “stuff.”  

What lessons can I impart to you who may seek to downsize? First, make sure you know why you are keeping “stuff.” For years, we owned French chinaware and crystal glasses that we never used because we either didn’t entertain or were afraid of breakage. We had already made friends in San Miguel and were determined to engage with them, so we brought those items along. Good move, and breakage be damned. Second, you probably want to plan an eventual place for your “stuff” afterward (i.e., post-mortem). We moved to the East Coast from the Mid- and Southwest for school to the West Coast for lifestyle and back to the East Coast for culture and work. This was our last move. We haven’t quite figured out who will eventually get our "stuff" since we never had children and, thus, have no one to leave things to. On the other hand, if Trump wins, I expect we will be inundated with requests from Americans on the whys and wherefores of moving to México. Some of you may need furniture!

 

Some comments to think about:

 

Downsizing is a relative term.  We went from a five-bedroom house with a den and basement to a three-bedroom house with a den but no cellar or storage.  We arrived with enough household goods to fully furnish and outfit the house. We still kept a fair amount of “stuff,” including vinyl records, travel souvenirs, art, etc.  Others have made much more dramatic reductions in their possessions.

 

My most painful choice was finding ways to dispose of our thousands of cherished books, which we discovered almost no one wanted (NOTE: I now have thousands of ebooks on my Kindle).  For Cynthia, giving up her Ferragamo high-heeled shoes, which would be dangerous on our cobblestone streets, was torture.

 

Erich Almasy and Cynthia J. Blanton

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