Paradise, Down Mexico Way

By John Moody/Ajijic

Louis Wertheimer remembers the question that flashed through his mind when he first saw the sparkling waters of Lake Chapala and realized how cheaply he could live there. "I asked myself, Why isn't everyone here?" he recalls. Twenty-seven years later the former Buffalo businessman has coped with most of the problems -- slow repairs, distant doctors -- that can confront a foreigner living in Mexico. Still, he wonders why the torpid town of Ajijic that he calls home is not overrun with gringos looking for the good life.

Wertheimer, 75, is one of an estimated 50,000 Americans who live permanently south of the Rio Grande. Aside from businessmen and diplomats posted in Mexico City, there are growing enclaves of foreigners who live in small Mexican towns. For instance, about 12,000 Americans, many of them retired, bask in the gentle refinement of Cuernavaca, some 50 miles south of the capital.

The area around Lake Chapala, in the central state of Jalisco, has been attracting U.S. and Canadian citizens since the end of World War II, many recently discharged veterans. The phenomenon also began attracting retirees. About 5,000 foreigners reside in such towns as Chapala, Ajijic and Chula Vista. The main attraction in all three communities is the climate: daytime temperatures hover in the 70s and 80s. In addition, Chapala offers tree-lined streets and a backdrop of mountains. In Chula Vista the rambling houses and ample yards might be mistaken for a California suburb. High-walled haciendas and the sight of burros ambling down cobblestone streets endow Ajijic with postcard charm.

But residents must overlook some imperfections, like the occasional carcass of a horse or a dog on the 30-mile highway to Guadalajara, the nearest city. They must avoid impure drinking water and ignore iffy electricity and open sewers on the streets where they live. Finding an English-speaking doctor can be difficult, and Medicare does not cover the fees.

Satisfied settlers accentuate the positive. The lakeside towns report almost no violent crime involving foreigners, so elderly couples can take evening saunters without fear. Household help can be hired for about 50 cents an hour. Electricity and water bills amount to a few dollars a month. Local restaurants are a bargain. The La Viuda cafe in Chapala, for example, charges $2 for half a broiled chicken with all the trimmings. Even U.S. television is available for those who invest about $5,000 in a parabolic-dish antenna. Richard Tingen, a Chapala real estate agent, has a hard time convincing potential residents how far their dollars will go. Says he: "I explain to people that their house has rooms for the maid and the gardener, and they just look at me. Hell, some of them used to be maids and gardeners."

The homes offered by Tingen and his competitors range from a "basic Mexican two-bedroom house" that recently fetched $13,000 to a $275,000 villa complete with Jacuzzi and putting green. But most customers are retired middle-class couples who have sold their homes in the U.S. and have $60,000 to $80,000 to invest.

Transplanted Americans can be unwitting victims of the roller-coaster Mexican economy. Velma Dempsey, who has lived in Chapala for 17 years, recalls visiting a bank in 1982 to transfer her life savings from the U.S. Perturbed by the slow-moving line, she went home, planning to return the next day. Overnight, the government expropriated all dollar savings, compensating depositors with pesos. Sighs Dempsey: "I was never so grateful for inefficiency."

Since few Americans bother to learn more than rudimentary Spanish, town life is largely divided between "them and us." An English-language theater group performs regularly, and a country club, an American Legion post and numerous garden and bridge organizations serve as gathering spots. To keep occupied, many turn to charity work. American residents fund an orphanage and a home for indigent Mexicans. They arrange visits by American medical specialists to treat Mexicans. Last June Obregon Street in Ajijic was resurfaced, courtesy of the foreign community. Says Kay Pike, a retired actress who moved to Chapala four years ago: "Do-gooding is an attraction for those of us who think of Mexico as our adopted country."

Along about sundown, the cocktail shakers begin their rumba-like rhythm. Knots of friends and neighbors, English speakers all, gather to gossip or reminisce. Then someone will raise a glass to their common good fortune. After all, not everyone can live in paradise, and not everyone wants to.