Boondocking Home! What?

I suppose this title is a bit of an oxymoron. . . Be that as it may, that’s exactly what my new life is now after an abrupt turnaround. A month ago now, my RV all packed up and ready to go, I got a visit from a friend who introduced her companion who happened to be from the area where I was born. This led to my being invited to dinner by Petra (the companion) the following day so that we could continue to converse in French. As I had no other transportation than my RV, I asked if I could park overnight near their place in Santillan, close to Tequisquiapan so as to leave for Oaxaca the next day. Petra and Michel acquiesced and I heard their story with considerable interest.

A couple of years before, they had arrived in Santillan in their fifth wheel, bought a lot and slowly, as the money would allow, built their lovely home while living in their fifth wheel. The yard was huge and I was invited to stay a bit longer. To make a long story palatable, here goes. I met with a friend of theirs who offered me a lot 40 by 90 feet for sale with wonderfully negotiable terms. Within two days the deal was concluded and I had hired someone to dig up the lot for a water reservoir and a septic tank. The work was completed a few days ago, and as soon as the rains stop, I will be moving on my lot, with water from my tinaco and a drainage pipe from my RV right into the septic tank. Imagine this—boondocking on my own lot!

Actually, this had been at the back of my mind as I had planned my move to Oaxaca. I was determined to keep on boondocking or find a way to have a place to myself other than rented accommodations. While the rented casita had been at first quite enjoyable, things changed drastically and much too swiftly to my taste, as I found myself neighbour to a Salon de Fiestas with parties for hundreds going on way into the night. While I adore Mexico, I must admit that it is on the noisy side, at least with three fiesta facilities nearby. Then came the building of two cabanas abutting my bedroom/office area. I could hear the drop of a nail between the building blocks as if it was coming from my closet. The future did not look promising. . .

Then was the slowly deteriorating state of my health as I kept wheezing and coughing, heart wildly palpitating, avoiding any of the many hilly sites near my house. It looked as if the altitude did not agree with me was my thought. That is until Petra on her visit remarked how musty the smell of the house was. I have lost my sense of smell so had never detected it before. When I opened the gigantic doors to my bedroom closet, which had not been painted, she exclaimed that the walls showed black mold, which I had mistaken for simple dirt!  No wonder asthma (NO! it is not MY asthma, I refuse to own that) got triggered. It appeared that I did not have to go all the way to Oaxaca after all. The once lovely casita had been the culprit, after all.

Again, to make a longish saga shorter, here I am in Santillan delighting in my vastly improved state of health, a lot at my beck and call to do with (that is according to my financial state) the black-ink sky filled with myriad stars scintillating brighter than diamonds, and a heck of an agenda on my hands! But I love it all. Now that I have the internet in my own rig, you can count on my posting regularly with news of the construction and my getting acquainted with Mexican rural life. Life is so very good!