Goin to Surf City

The journey before the journey

Getting ourselves, our dog Sofia, and a minimal number of our possessions across the border was not as easy as we’d anticipated. As visitors, we’d been able to get by with a passport card – about half the cost of a passport book – but as applicants for a Mexican visa (tourist or permanent), we needed the book. Thinking it would be easy once we had the books, we paid extra and had them expedited so our son Greg could pick them up for us. When we tried to get an appointment at the Mexican consulate – well, that’s a really long story. I’ll sum it up by saying that we have an appointment on December 20^th. Sofia had to have her shots up to date, and she had to have a vet’s certificate of health dated within 10 days of our arrival. We were told that we might have to pay a tax on our incoming possessions, as well.  In truth, we crossed into Mexico with a car full of possessions, valid passports, and a law-compliant dog, and no one stopped us or asked us anything. Apparently that’s common, but there’s no guarantee.  We also bought a SENTRI pass, a card for each of us that requires background checks, an interview, and so forth. The SENTRI pass certifies to the Border Patrol person at the kiosk that we can cross the border rápidamente, instead of waiting in the gauntlet of vendors for 40, 60, 90 minutes or more. On our first try, we couldn’t figure out how to get to the magical place where cars just pass on through, and we spent 90 glorious minutes on a Saturday saying, “No, gracias” to vendors. The treat at the end was the “Tío Tomás” border patrolman who acted like he’d snared Bonnie and Clyde. We asked how we could have found the SENTRI lane, and he said, looking as if he’d stepped in something, “I don’t know. I don’t go into Mexico.”

Finding our place in the sun was pretty complicated in itself. We planned for months, came down to Rosarito and found what we thought was a helpful realtor (rentals are a big enough thing to merit real attention from realtors).  We explained in detail what we needed. We made another trip down in October, expecting the realtor to have several places for us to tour. He showed us one that was great on the outside and blah on the inside. He showed us another that we decided to take – a condo on the ninth floor on the public beach in downtown Rosarito. We weren’t in love, but we thought it could work.

Several days later, the (American) landlord was demanding a $500 pet deposit, heretofore unmentioned and twice the usual. We took that as our cue to drop out. We got another realtor, who went to work to find just the place for us. She found us a beach-front single-family home. She sent video and photos, and we agreed to put our money down without seeing the place.

Luckily for us, the house is perfect for a year’s stay. We wouldn’t want to own it as salt rusts everything, and this is a 40-year-old house that needs some money poured back into it. We’re fine, though. The people here are wonderful, the ocean is the only amenity we need, and we’re settling in.  More in a bit.

 Front door to courtyard

Living room
with ocean view

 Living room, dining room and kitchen