Cochorit ain’t exactly the kind of place you’re going to see featured in your latest “Coastal Living” magazine. Hell, you probably won’t even find it on a local map. I have to give Adela a lot of credit for letting me give up a solid, stable income in the States to return to an isolated, unheard of Mexican beach , where the nearest person who’s ever eaten a Big Mac or heard of Jimmy Buffett is a 45 minute drive away in San Carlos.

     But Adela has come to learn something about me that I figured out in my early twenties. I thrive on making what others would call “stupid decisions”.  The “smart” ones always seem to end up boring the hell out of me. While most people these days are carefully analyzing return on investment and planning their entire lives based on recommended ratios and equations, I find that people like that are usually making decisions based on fear.

      But most of the time, it’s really not fear of the economic ramifications of their potential decision. It’s usually fear of what other people are going to think if the decision they really want to make backfires.  Fear of having some pathetic, middle-aged, completely risk-averse, boring, emotionally dead individual points to you and tell his or her equally boring and unattractive spouse, “See, that’s why I’m glad I stuck it out at my job even though I hate it, and never did something stupid like that idiot!”   Some people can’t handle other folks thinking that way about them.  I can.

      It must have driven Adela crazy when, before we ever unpacked a single box in our new home, I asked her if she’d still remain willing to instantly move on to another far off place if another even more exciting opportunity came our way.  Maybe Baja, maybe Belize, maybe Costa Rica? I had a lot more guts back then than I have now, apparently. Or maybe I’ve actually gained brain cells since then?

     The day we moved into our beach house was pretty symbolic of life in our household. We had planned for over a week to pick up the keys out at the house from the renter on the day he moved out and immediately start moving boxes from my mother-in law’s place in Guaymas, where we had been staying in the meantime. I had lined up helpers and two vehicles and had everything carefully planned so we could get all of our stuff in there by sundown.

     But when I went out to Cochorit to pick up the keys for the first time, there was a car parked in the sand outside my new home. Who could it be but John “Juanito” Hibbert, my Puerto Penasco buddy who had originally introduced me to Gary Seiler and San Felipe a few years back. He was in town visiting for the day and had heard that we had bought a place out on the beach, and had somehow tracked it down. And most importantly, he had an ice chest full of beer.

     Needless to say, after some serious negotiating with Adela (i.e: groveling like a dog), the entire moving process was put on hold. In true Mexican fashion, we delayed  the entire move until “manana”, plugged in a stereo, bought more beer, invited Adela’s entire family out, and spent the day celebrating our move on the front porch while the kids played in the water and everyone else ate, drank and danced . We had only had possession of the place for less than a day, and by sundown, it was already trashed. Viva Cochorit! And welcome home.  

     STAY TUNED….more to come soon!