Side note:  I started this blog post while we were still in La Paz and of course, didn’t finish it before leaving.  So now, its two weeks later and we are on the cusp of being home in BC.  I booked us in at a lodge just outside of Ashland, Oregon, not realizing that a “lodge” would mean in the mountains, which would mean higher elevation and snow!  So, here I am, finishing this post that started in a sunny warm place looking at the snow outside our window.  A good way to help us transition?  Karma for leaving everyone else to deal with snow all winter? Something on the wish list of our dear friends in La Paz?  Probably a little of each of these.  Ah well, at least there is no snow on the road and the days ahead will bring us stays with our family and friends up North, so what better place to complete this? 

At the age of 58, my maternal grandmother was widowed.  She was known as Maggie to everyone except for her two daughters, who she allowed to call her mother.  Other than that, she was Maggie, and a force to be reconned with.  She had always wanted to travel, and with no husband and her daughters grown and married, she had nothing to hold her back and so she sold the house that she had shared with my grandfather and his half of the fish packing business that he had helped to create back in 1923.  By putting the money into savings accounts at several banks (having gone through the Depression, she didn’t trust banks) and living on the interest from this and her small teacher’s pension, she embarked on the life of travel that she must have always imagined.  I remember receiving gits from all over the world from her and when she was in town, hearing stories of her many adventures.  All in all, she made three round-the-world trips.  But eventually, the need to travel to new and exciting destinations waned and Maggie wanted a somewhat more settled life, but not a life in just one place.  She had her own children and grandchildren in Seattle, where she had spent her married life, and so part of her time was spent there.  She had a brother, nephews and their progeny in New York and so spent time there.  And for some reason, she decided that LA was also a home to her.  Whether it was the excitement of the large, bustling West Coast city that drew her in, or the attraction of friends that she had there, this was a place she also needed to be.  And so it was that Maggie spent the remainder of her life (about 15 years) living in these three cities. 

Now, you may think of this as a pretty glamorous lifestyle, but remember, she was a product of the Depression and so the thought of spending any more than necessary on the basics of life were anathema to her.  I never saw her “homes” in New York or LA, but in Seattle, she had a room at what is now the Mayflower Park Hotel.  At the time of her occupancy, it was simply The Mayflower, and not exactly the kind of place you would give more than 2 stars to if asked to rate it.  It was old, the room cramped and with single paned windows, quite noisy sitting at a major intersection in downtown Seattle with the Monorail running right by her window.  As kids, my sister and I would occasionally be asked to stay downtown for an overnight with her where we shared her double bed between the three of us.  Her idea of “taking us out for lunch” would entail eating the Blue-Plate Special at the diner just down the street, making sure to wrap up any little extras to be eaten later in her room for dinner.  Or we might head over to a new bank branch just opening in town where they were serving cake and cookies – a real treat.  Often, in order to draw in clientele, the bank would offer a prize, like a blender or hand mixer, for opening a new account.  As Maggie had two daughters, she would of course, need to get two of whatever was being given away – one for each.  I will never forget the horror, as a young teenager, of accompanying her on one of these sorties.  We got our free cake and then she lined up at the teller to open a new account and receive her new blender.  When the teller saw that she already had an account, she attempted to tell my grandmother that it was not possible for her to receive a second blender as she had already received one.  Oh boy.  This girl had no idea who she was up against!  She tried in vain, to make Maggie feel guilty for holding up all of the other customers waiting behind us in line, but nothing doing.  Maggie gathered all of her outrage and in a very loud voice, informed the poor misguided teller, that she had quite a lot of money in this bank and if she didn’t get her second blender, all of it would be leaving with her that day.  I just wanted to floor to open up and swallow me, I was so embarrassed, but Maggie held her ground and before long, the second blender was in her hands and she proudly walked out, with me trailing behind, hoping that no one would notice.  

Thankfully, Maggie did have her other two cities to visit and so she was only in Seattle for about four months each year, but as I grew older, I could never go downtown without looking around the corner to make sure my grandmother wasn’t there before proceeding – especially if my reason for being there was to spend much more money than necessary on a scarf or pair of shoes from Nordstrom.  This feeling remained for years after she had passed away, giving testament to the enduring affect that my grandmother had on me.

And now, here I am, a grandmother myself and I think I may be becoming my grandmother!  Gone are the days where I thought nothing of spending too much money on goods.  I have no problem with buying what I can on sale or even at a second hand store (goodness!).  When travelling, Jim and I are always on the hunt for accommodations that will allow us to travel for longer.  We would much rather make our money stretch to give us longer than spend it on fancy hotels and restaurants.  We have embraced van life travelling, and truly enjoy the many nights we have spent in Walmart parking lots and at the beach.  While we do enjoy a nice dinner out now and then, we much prefer our cozy evenings at home, saving our money to spend on experiences like swimming with whale sharks.  

All of this brings me to the topic of this blog post today. What makes “home”?  An interesting question.  My son, who is a writer, says “Its someone. That’s what makes a home. Pillars or mortar of the grandest mansion will never make a home like the someone you have in it”.  Is that it?  Is “home” people and not rooms?  I am thinking more and more of “’home” because we will soon be leaving La Paz to head back to our home on Vancouver Island, and while I do consider it to be my home, I have also come to think of La Paz in much the same way.  Am I fickle?  Can I love one place as much as the other?  So great is the physical difference between these two locals that I have begun to wonder what exactly it is that makes them both feel like home to me.  Slowly, I bring up memories of each place and I find that it is not necessarily the physical space that makes me feel at home, but, as Colin has said, it is the people who inhabit these spaces that brings me to this feeling of “I am home”.  What I find most interesting about this thought is that with our most recent stay here in La Paz, we have lived in two different apartments, and while the first created for us both such a feeling of belonging that we immediately felt “at home”, while the second, although not more than 3 kilometers away, has left us feeling like visitors in a strange place.  As much as we have tried to embrace this new neighbourhood, its not the same.  What it comes down to is the people.  Our landlord in the fist apartment, from the very first day, looked out for us, making sure that we felt comfortable and cared for. We had many wonderful conversations with Marina and her family. The apartment itself was nice, but so was the second. It seems that without that personal attention, it is just a place.  Of course, it went further than that in our first place.  We became friends with the lovely couple who ran the laundry service across the street, the man who ran the little taco stand just down the road, and the small coffee shops nearby.  At each place, we became familiar faces and these warm and welcoming people took us into their hearts, helping us most gently with our slowly growing knowledge of their language, making small suggestions about pronunciation and complimenting us on our successes.  We came to look forward to these visits and practiced until we felt fluent with the short phrases we wanted to use each time.  What a wonderful way to learn a language and about a culture.  As our time here in La Paz draws to a close, and we begin to turn our thoughts towards our home in the Great White North, we know that we will always want to return to La Paz, because of the lovely climate in winter, the beautiful beaches and blue skies, but mostly because of the dear people we have come to think of as our Mexican family.  Gracias, Hermosa La Paz, estas en nuestros corazones por siempre (thank you, beautiful La Paz, you are in our hearts forever)!

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