I believe the town of San Miguel de Allende in Mexico is what we are looking for. Although it is somewhat premature, I hereby tender my resignation as general counsel of whatever organization may be created. I will, however, be available for counsel and representation, for a substantial
fee paid in advance, for any individual legal problems that may transpire.
I spent some time in San Miguel in the summer of 1963. I hear it is even better now than it was then. Perpetual springtime. I would bet Didkie could find a four star hotel there he could purchase, charge us rent for, and make
a healthy return on his investment -- while all the time we would live better and cheaper than we could in the states. I have no information, however, on the local proctologists.

Smokey
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NOTE: Smokey had no knowledge of the below NY Times article when he wrote the HC. The article was attached by the HC staff.

By: Tim Weiner
The New York Times, March 21, 2001

SAN MIGUEL DE ALLENDE, Mexico -- When Gene Maxon, an Oklahoma oilman then pushing 70, first vacationed in this small colonial city eight years ago, he ran into Philip J. Maher, the American consul here.

"You know, Gene," Mr. Maher said, "if you live here more than half the time, you stop aging and I suggest you start now."

That was no joke, said Mr. Maher, a retired Air Force colonel who has been the consul since 1983. "People come here to live," he said. "They go to Florida to die."

There is no fountain of youth in San Miguel de Allende. But there is an American circle of nearly 4,000 retirees who have brewed their own rejuvenating mix of congeniality, community service and cocktails under a constant sunshine. They are among an uncounted number of Americans 50 and older the estimates run well over 100,000 who call themselves retired and have made Mexico their home, settling in places like San Miguel de Allende in the state of Guanajuato and Ajijíc in the state of Guadalajara, transforming them into bilingual and bicultural communities that bear little resemblance to the exclusive gated and guarded enclaves found in the swath from Florida to Southern California.

Mr. Maxon and his wife, Sandra, sold their business, said goodbye to Tulsa, Okla., and moved to San Miguel with no regrets. "People back home ask why we are here," Mr. Maxon said. "It's peaceful, it's quiet, there's no violence. This is a cosmopolitan place, full of well-educated, interesting people they entertain us. There is something to see or do here every day of the week. And it's springtime year round.

"I grew up in Clyde, Kan., population 1,500," he said. "And San Miguel reminds me of that small Midwest town in the 1950's where everybody knew everybody. San Miguel, though it's much larger, has that same air of peacefulness."

It may sound like paradise, but it is not not exactly. The American influx has swelled San Miguel de Allende from a quiet town of 25,000 three decades ago to a small city of roughly 100,000 today.

The American arrival began more than 50 years ago with a trickle of artsy adventurers and bohemian-minded World War II veterans financed by the G.I. Bill. The trickle became a stream in the 70's and a bona fide phenomenon in the 90's. Now the cobblestone streets are jammed with cars on weekends, and the gorgeous colonial buildings, which lend the city its lost-in-time feeling, are harder for locals to afford. Most of the Americans are much richer than most of the Mexicans in San Miguel, many of whom make their living farming and tending shops, not living off stock dividends.

This creates some resentment, though it tends to stay under the surface, with natives praising the Americans for their wealth and good deeds, and on rare occasions quietly cursing the changes they have wrought. It also creates a small but significant theft problem, though there is very little violent crime. Still, some Americans "can't cope with the contrast between the slums and the million-dollar houses," said Marjorie Zap, a 76-year-old retired economist who has lived here for five years.

If anyone has ideas about hopping in a recreational vehicle and moving here to live like royalty off of Social Security, forget about it. The cost of living has probably gone up tenfold since 1970, and it cannot be done on much less than $1,500 a month. And those who have never experienced life outside the United States are unlikely to make a go of it in Mexico.

But pleasures abound for people who are intrepid, slightly offbeat, willing to live life in a different cultural rhythm and able to give something back.

Many of the retirees living here came on vacation and had a eureka experience: the flash of knowing that This Is the Place. Tony and Shirley Adlerbert were among them. They had a nice life in the States a good home in Vermont, plenty of money, few worries, childless by choice and contentedly so. They came down to San Miguel for a vacation in 1991.

"I sat in the Jardín" the leafy town square "and I felt all the stress melt away," said Ms. Adlerbert, a human-resources manager for 35 years. "The tranquillity people want to have it, to take it home with them."

Instead of leaving that feeling behind, the Adlerberts spent their second week of vacation buying a home. They have lived here full time for six years. He is the executive director and she is the treasurer of Feed the Hungry, which runs 12 kitchens feeding 1,500 of San Miguel's poorest children. He plowed his experience as the chief executive of an investment firm in Vermont into running the charity, and while that involves lots of work, he looks like a happy man.

"We came here to recapture a life that just doesn't exist anymore in the United States," he said. "It's like a little village."

Yes, but a bustling one. "I was always in a corporate environment, and I never had any free time," Mrs. Adlerbert said. "Here you can be as busy as you want to be and I am busy. Sometimes I say to Tony, `What happened to retirement?' "

That is an interesting question. Carl Franz, a co-author of "The People's Guide to Mexico," recalls that a tourist once asked, "What do you people actually do here in San Miguel de Allende?"

The answer was, "Well, you either do good or play golf," Mr. Franz said.

San Miguel has become too cosmopolitan for his taste. Mr. Franz lived there for nearly 30 years, moving to Ajijíc (pronounced ah-hee- HEEK) two years ago. There is a friendly war, sometimes not that friendly, between the two communities, the San Miguel crowd looking down their noses somewhat at Ajijíc, whose partisans sneer at the perceived snobbery of San Miguel, and both accusing the other of being too fond of cocktails.

Ajijíc, on the banks of Lake Chapala, is more low-key, though it boasts its own film festival and other artistic attributes. Robert and Bonnie Kleffel moved there from San Diego last year, buying and remodeling a house. Housing costs are a third to half of what they would be in California, Mr. Kleffel said, and "everything we need food, clothing, medical, entertainment and interesting friends is within walking distance." The advent of free trade means there are few consumer goods that Americans cannot find in Mexico.

Mr. Kleffel said there is "some division in the expatriate community." On the other side are people who isolate themselves from Mexico, living behind gates, watching only American television shows, eating only American food, speaking only English and just to fellow Americans.

Mr. Franz, who has traveled to almost every corner of Mexico, said the American communities in this country have become "another form of the American melting pot, breaking down some of the economic and class differences we have in the U.S. and like to think we don't."

"In San Miguel, in particular, you have that mix: starving artists, single or divorced or widowed women without much money who tend to be more adventurous than single men, writers and poets probably an unhealthy number of poets artists, sculptors, people with real reputations in these fields, and then a huge moneyed cocktail circuit," he said.

He also identified a species of Americans here "who come down thinking it's going to be paradise for peanuts, people who don't have a clue about the culture, complaining about the servants, complaining about people not being on time, not being able to get a phone installed in two days, people who don't understand the difference between a truly wealthy country and one that is struggling," he said. "But there are those people who are really doing good works on the environment, working with orphans, helping with the library, which is a wonder."

An unscientific sample of the American community in San Miguel suggests that the good-works crowd is doing much better than the martinis-for-lunch bunch although some people doubtless engage in both. They have built a new hospital, helped fix up San Miguel's fountains, set up two major music festivals and started most of San Miguel's 100 or so charities. Dr. William T. Harrison, who is 80 and lives here with his wife of 10 years, June S. Holly, a doctor of education and social activist, makes "a lot more house calls than I did in Houston, and here I can be of service without H.M.O.'s and Blue Cross."

Medicine costs about a third of what it does in the States, which helps because coverage under Blue Cross and Blue Shield expires after 60 days in Mexico, Dr. Harrison said. (Medicare does not provide coverage outside the United States.) Colonel Maher had a knee replaced in the new hospital; the surgery cost $4,000, about a tenth of what it would in the States, he said. An X-ray costs $6, a visit to the dentist, $40. San Miguel's steep, stony streets are challenging for people with bad joints. Still, Ms. Zap said, "If you are infirm, there are people in the community who can take care of you." Like the Community of Hope, an ecumenical group in which Ms. Holly is active. Ms. Zap added, "I plan to stay here till I die." Most Americans here choose to have life-or-death surgery in the United States, and new commercial flights from the city of León nearby means they can wake up in San Miguel and be in a hospital in Houston or Los Angeles by afternoon.

The nearness of the United States also means that children can visit with ease. "One difficulty in making the move is leaving the kids behind," said Russ Archibold, 77, a semiretired management consultant. Most of San Miguel's retirees live in fairly spacious homes with room for guests remodeled colonial houses or fancy new ones that in the United States would cost two to three times San Miguel's going rate of about $250,000. Of course, people don't want to feel as if they are running a hotel, Mr. Archibold said "so we built a house with only one extra bedroom."

Mexico requires retirees from abroad to obtain a resident visa, which can take months, and to prove they have an income of roughly $18,000 or more a year. Sorting out visas, building permits and car registrations may require a lawyer Mexico's bureaucracy can be byzantine, but even Eden had its snake.

Of course, Americans always like to improve on paradise. But as Mr. Archibold said over a $2 breakfast the other day, San Miguel may be as close as one can get, given the human condition.

"Nobody cares what you do in this town," he said, "as long as they know all about it."
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Somewhere in all of this there is a poignant and timely message: The most interesting e-mail traffic we have created in all of the time I have been involved in this madness has been about colonoscopies. I would save the
messages as "new" -- but I would not want to be accused of being "anal retentive."
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What about gerbels with miniature cameras? That doesn't sound so bad to me.

Love,
Richard Gere