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Huatulco

Editor’s Letter

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By Jane Bauer—

In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life—no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground—my head bathed in the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space—all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing. I see all. The currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature 1836

The month of May for me is always a time when I am changing gears. From October to April I work long hours, juggle many tasks and all the while try to move through the world with a smile.

As the busy season winds down in April and the temperature on the coast rises, my heartbeat softens, my muscles relax, and I come back into myself. I remember that there is no reason to rush. But who am I when I am not producing, organizing and planning? There is a meditation I like to do where I sit and close my eyes, I allow my mind to focus on my breath and then I imagine myself at younger stages of life. I sit like I did when I was 4 or 8 or 16. What is the essence of me? What is the essence of each of us when we strip away our tasks and obligations?

In May I get to enjoy leisurely mornings, long swims in the ocean or walks by the river with my dogs. With this slowing down I get to sit and contemplate my life’s purpose. Everything in nature exists in a symbiotic relationship with everything else: tree roots intertwine with fungi in the soil, nourishing flowers that feed bees, which pollinate fruit that sustains animals—and so the cycle continues. I recently read that nut producing trees don’t produce each year. In the years when there is an overpopulation of creatures that live on nuts, nuts will not produce and the population will be culled. How do the trees know? As a species do we trust in those cycles or are we pushing against them?

It is a cop-out to think our life’s purpose is amassing more stuff; homes, cars, financial security. While those things bring comfort do they really represent our purpose? I look at the tree outside my window; a large guanacaste. The sunlight flickers through its branches, a squirrel runs along a branch, a chachalaca hoots good morning, a magpie jay and a grackle screech at each other.

For me immersion in nature is as close as I feel to my life’s purpose. To just be and feel my soul as a part of something larger. Humans do not have dominion over nature, it has dominion over us and the sooner we accept that, we can stop struggling, let go, and enjoy it’s beauty.

Happy Summer,

Jane

 

Huatulco, San Miguel de Allende

Editor’s Letter

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By Jane Bauer—

“Peace cannot exist without justice, justice cannot exist without fairness, fairness cannot exist without development, development cannot exist without democracy, democracy cannot exist without respect for the identity and worth of cultures and peoples.”
–Rigoberta Menchú Tum (Guatemalan
Indigenous Rights Activist, 1990 UNESCO Prize for Peace Education, 1992 Nobel Peace Prize Winner

Mexico is often misunderstood. For many outsiders, the country exists as a kind of postcard: bright colors, mariachis on every corner, sombreros, tequila, and fiesta. The image has become so exaggerated that it borders on parody. Mexico is reduced to a handful of clichés that flatten the depth and diversity of the country. The reality is much more layered.

One of the things that has struck me most during my years living here is how strongly people identify simply as Mexican. In Canada or the United States, identity is often expressed through hyphenated heritage; Italian-American, Chinese-Canadian, Irish-American. Cultural roots remain visible and frequently celebrated.

In Mexico, those histories are often quieter, woven into the fabric of everyday life rather than worn on the surface. The result is a national identity that feels cohesive, but it can also obscure just how many different cultures have helped shape the country.

Like many countries, Mexico wrestles with questions of identity, belonging, and prejudice. Conversations around gentrification, migration, and “foreigners” have become increasingly heated in recent years. At the same time, Mexico itself has been shaped by centuries of migration.

Indigenous civilizations laid the foundations of this culture long before the arrival of Europeans. Spanish colonization profoundly altered the landscape. Later came immigrants from France, Lebanon, Germany, China, and beyond. Each group left its mark—sometimes subtly, sometimes dramatically. We see these influences in architecture, food, language, music, fashion, and even urban planning.

This month, The Eye explores one of those threads: the French connection. From pastry techniques that transformed Mexican bakeries to artistic exchange, architecture, and politics, the relationship runs deeper than many people realize. Recognizing these influences does not diminish Mexico’s Indigenous heritage. One of the country’s greatest strengths is that Indigenous traditions are visible in daily life in ways that are rare in the rest of North America.

But culture is never static. It evolves, absorbs, adapts, and reinvents itself. Mexican culture, as we know it today, is the result of centuries of exchange layered together into something entirely its own. That complexity is not a weakness. It is one of Mexico’s greatest strengths.

Thanks for reading and see you next month!

 

Huatulco, San Miguel de Allende

Editor’s Letter

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By Jane Bauer—

“We are here to awaken from our illusion of separateness.”
Thích Nhat Hanh

When you rant or retort obnoxiously on social media, it is like holding a hot coal in your hand and expecting someone else to burn. Your comment affects everyone who reads it — including you. Cortisol rises. Stress follows.

I opened my phone this morning and within minutes my nervous system was lit up. News of a cartel shooting. Messages asking if I was okay. A fire in Xadani. Canadians ranting about Mexicans ripping them off. Mexicans ranting about Canadians being cheap and gentrifying their country.

Stress — the invisible toxin.
Every time we open our phones and consume outrage, our bodies release cortisol. Heart rate increases. Inflammation pathways activate. The nervous system does not distinguish well between physical danger and social conflict; it simply reacts. Living in a constant state of judgment is physiologically corrosive.

Yes, we are living longer than previous generations. Medicine has dramatically extended lifespan over the past century. But we are also surrounded by more environmental toxins than ever — pollutants in our water, plastics in our oceans, chemicals measurable in human blood. Chronic disease now dominates modern life. We have prolonged years, but have we protected vitality?

To be healthy is to be whole — regulated, connected, integrated. Healthcare, at its root, should mean caring for that wholeness.

We often talk about “coexisting,” as if we are separate entities sharing space. In reality, we are deeply interconnected. Like a tree that depends on the quality of the river from which it drinks, the tree and the river are one. Separation is an illusion.

Be more understanding. Be more open. Assume good intentions more often than not. Regulate your nervous system. Put the phone down. Cook something real. Hug a tree and a stranger. Sit across from someone different from you and listen.

Wholeness isn’t optional; it’s essential. And in a time like this, choosing calm may be one of the most radical health decisions we can make.

See you next month,

Jane

Huatulco, San Miguel de Allende

Editor’s Letter

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By Jane Bauer—

“I’m going to Graceland, Graceland, Memphis, Tennessee
I’m going to Graceland
Poor boys and pilgrims with families
And we are going to Graceland
My traveling companion is nine years old
He is the child of my first marriage
But I’ve reason to believe we both will be received in Graceland”
Paul Simon, singer and songwriter

If you are reading this, you have probably already undertaken a lot of journeys to get here. A pilgrimage is often associated with religion, but there are many other roads than the one to God that lead to salvation. Maybe salvation is too powerful a word for some journeys- communion, perhaps.

It would make sense for this topic to tell of my own journey to my Mexican life almost 30 years ago, but when I think of pilgrimage, I think of a road trip I took with my daughter.

Even though I had already been living in Mexico for close to 15 years, I had several items in Canada that I didn’t want to part with: art my father left me when he died, a few pieces of furniture. We all have things we don’t want to part with just yet. I purchased an old Canada Post truck, filled it up, and my nine-year-old daughter and I took a road trip from Montreal to Huatulco.

It was hot, like driving in a sardine can. The radio didn’t work, but we had an iPod that played music through a speaker. In college, I was briefly obsessed with a book called Reflections on the Birth of the Elvis Faith, which likened the Elvis following to a religious phenomenon. So when my daughter and I found ourselves rumbling along the highway near Memphis, Tennessee, the words to Paul Simon’s Graceland came back to me: “My traveling companion is nine years old.” Without hesitation, we veered towards Graceland.

What back in the 1970s what was considered a mansion now just looked like a large suburban house. I asked people on the shuttle if it was their first time, and for most, it wasn’t. For many, it was an annual pilgrimage; for some, like us, a curiosity. Were we part of the pilgrimage or observers?

We toured the house, and when we reached the Jungle Room, my daughter said, “Like the song.” She meant Walking in Memphis – we had listened to it on some stretch of highway through Ohio.

Saw the ghost of Elvis
On Union Avenue
Followed him up to the gates of Graceland
Then I watched him walk right through
Now security they did not see him
They just hovered ’round his tomb
But there’s a pretty little thing
Waiting for the King
Down in the Jungle Room

As people, journeying, searching, and having faith in something other than our own immediate existence is perhaps the most unifying human experience. Does it really matter if we call this feeling and belief by different names?

See you next month,

Jane

Huatulco, San Miguel de Allende

Editor’s Letter- January 2026

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By Jane Bauer—

“We did not weave the web of life; we are merely a strand in it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves.”— Chief Seattle

It’s the New Year… again.

Suddenly it is 2026, and at times I feel as though I’m living in a science-fiction film. The kind where a woman goes to sleep and wakes up to find that ten or twenty years have passed. Everyone looks a little older, the world is a little less shiny, yet the headlines remain stubbornly familiar. Immigration crises. War. Corporate takeovers. The looming threat of environmental collapse. Will we ever learn?

As humans, we try to make sense of the world by dividing it into fragments. We divide the vastness of space into time — years, months, days, minutes, seconds. We divide land into countries and cities, drawing imaginary lines that we then defend and fight over. We separate ourselves by identity, ideology, belief. And in all this dividing, we search for meaning: Who are we? What is our purpose? Why does harmony feel so elusive?

There is no shortage of resources on this planet for all of us to live well. And yet, as a species, we continue to make decisions from a frequency of lack. We are taught, explicitly and implicitly, that things are limited, that if someone else has more, there will be inevitably less for us. I believe scarcity is something we have learned, reinforced by systems that benefit from fear and competition rather than trust and cooperation.

This year, according to Chinese astrology, is the Year of the Fire Horse, a cycle that comes around only once every sixty years. Rare, not quite a Halley’s Comet moment, but close. The Fire Horse (Bing-Wu) is associated with vitality, momentum, and spiritual transformation. It represents a powerful alignment of motion and illumination, a time when people feel called to take bold steps, to embark on pilgrimages, and to pursue both outer and inner journeys. So what does this mean for us?

Perhaps it means that speed is no longer the answer. That moving faster, consuming more, and fragmenting the world into ever-smaller pieces has not brought us closer but only further from one another. The Fire Horse does not ask us to escape what feels difficult, but to meet it with courage, clarity, and movement that has direction, not reaction, but intention.

Fire does not simply destroy; it illuminates. Let us step out of patterns rooted in fear and into a different way of being, one where there is enough when we move in alignment rather than competition.

Let us choose presence over paralysis, connection over fragmentation, and curiosity over certainty. To take our own quiet pilgrimages, inward or outward, and to participate more consciously in the systems we belong to. Not to fix the world all at once, but to move differently within it. Sometimes, that is where real change begins.

See you next month,

Jane

Huatulco

Editor’s Letter

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By Jane Bauer —

“Buy less. Choose well. Make it last” – Vivienne Westwood, English fashion designer and businesswoman.

Fifteen years ago, the first issue of The Eye rolled off the press. It was nothing more than two sheets of oversized newsprint, and the writers and I sat around a table folding each copy by hand. What pushed us to begin this project? By then, I had already lived in Mexico for more than a decade. I had married a Mexican, my daughter identifies as Mexican, and I’ve always preferred the rhythm of a small, non-touristy village to resort life. I could have continued drifting between two cultures, or I could create something that connected them. I also knew I wasn’t the only one navigating this space.

The Eye became that bridge.

Our mission is simple: to collect and share the stories, history, and layers of Mexico that readers might otherwise miss. We spotlight local businesses and give them a platform to reach new clients. We support organizations doing important work by helping them connect with volunteers and sponsors. At its heart, The Eye is about building community—not a parallel community that sits apart from the Mexican one, but a pathway into it. Learn about this place. Get involved. Participate. That has always been the purpose. And fifteen years later, it still is. We are very excited to announce the launch of The Eye San Miguel de Allende. Be sure to check it out.

This month, our writers explore fashion, a topic that can seem frivolous at first glance but is, in truth, a revealing lens through which to examine human behavior. The choice of what to wear is something each of us makes every day. Our clothes carry meaning, whether cultural, historical, or environmental. What are you wearing right now as you read this? What does your choice of fabric or brand say about you? Like all consumer goods, the items we choose to spend our money on have a rippling effect that, in an increasingly globalized world, can reach as far as the shores of Africa.

As we prepare for the New Year, let each of us take stock of the choices we make and the echoes they create.

Happy New Year, and see you in January.

Jane

Huatulco

Editor’s Letter

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By Jane Bauer

“Human exceptionalism is at the root of the ecological crisis”
Christine Webb, author of The Arrogant Ape

November is my favorite month of the year. It’s when the landscape bursts with color. Morning glories line the roads, their vines growing over everything, creating a blanket of purple flowers. Marigolds appear—electric orange spots that fill the air with a scent that will always transport you back to Day of the Dead if you’ve been fortunate enough to celebrate it, even once. The ocotillo trees become laden with small white flowers that almost instantly begin to dry, making the treetops look as though they’re draped in French lace from the 1930s. The brilliant green of the rainy season softens into a muted shade that cloaks the hillsides, while bursts of pink blossoms poke through. It is easy to be in awe of nature when it’s right outside your door.

As I watched a hummingbird dig into a hearty breakfast from an elegant orange heliconia, I thought about how every animal, plant, mushroom, and mineral serves a purpose in the ecosystem. This is a community of living organisms interacting together, benefiting one another. Bees feeding on nectar help flowers with pollination. Butterflies drift between hibiscus and bougainvillea, carrying pollen as they drink. Beneath the soil, fungi form unseen partnerships with roots, trading nutrients for sugars. And through the decomposition of fallen leaves and creatures, the earth renews itself again and again.

As a species, we have long prided ourselves on human exceptionalism. Most of our myths tell us we are at the top of the chain: the most intelligent, the ones who tamed fire, we with our opposable thumbs and insatiable egos. As the world gathers for variations on “No Kings” marches, I wonder if this sentiment will ever stretch beyond our politics—if we might learn to organize ourselves with the same grace found in nature’s systems.

Compared to the rest of nature, we lack elegance; we are like a rowdy classroom of kindergartners diving at a piñata. We are the destroyer species. Through pollution, habitat destruction, overexploitation, and the introduction of invasive species, we have scoured the planet—each of us wearing our little crowns, believing the Earth to be our right or inheritance.

The Earth does not ask for much—only that we remember we are guests here, not rulers.
Welcome to the Green Issue.

See you in December,

Jane

Huatulco

Remembering Deborah Van Hoewyk

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By Randy Jackson

“It was an accident, my obsession with oh-so-blue jacaranda… I’d come to Oaxaca for a university conference, and thought, ‘I got his far, why not stay and go to the beach? I see this place called Huatulco…’”

So began Deborah’s serendipitous arrival into a diverse community of snowbirds and expats in this warm, jewelled collection of bays on the Pacific Coast. Only Deborah was more than a member of this community; she was a catalyst in its formation. With her energy, curiosity, and instinct for helping people and animals alike, she drew others together and turned chance acquaintances into lasting friendships.

A Life of Learning and Connection
Deborah was born in Providence, Rhode Island, and grew up in Cumberland, Maine. Her academic pursuits were extensive: she earned a bachelor’s degree in English from Columbia University and a master’s from Queens College, City University of New York. She later pursued doctoral studies in Urban Planning at the University of Michigan. In 1986, she married John. Concurrent with their academic careers, they embraced a different kind of life on a 40-acre farm near Ann Arbour, Michigan, where they raised sheep, goats, pigs, and poultry.

Like many of her friends in Huatulco, Deborah and John’s transition into retirement marked the beginning of a new chapter, a rich life spent with winters in Huatulco, surrounded by friends and a social calendar full of activities.

The Rhythm of Life in Huatulco
In 2007, Deborah and John bought their home in Santa Cruz. Their evenings soon found their own unique rhythm, with the sounds of the “pineapple dance” drifting over their garden wall from the Binniguenda Hotel. Life in their Mexican home had its own rhythm, too, coloured by the often humorous unpredictability of renovations, shifting household staff, and the antics of coatimundis and leaf-cutter ants. Each year, the season was punctuated by the must-have invitation, the end-of-volleyball-season party at the Van Hoewyks.

Deborah’s contributions to the Huatulco community were both wide-ranging and deeply felt. Her passion for animal welfare was evident through her work with several organizations: the Snipsisters, which focused on pet and street animal sterilization; Palmas Unidas, which organized rescue and clinic work; and Forever Homes, where she and John fostered animals awaiting adoption. Beyond her love of animals, she also supported the Bacaanda Foundation, working to create stronger educational opportunities in rural Oaxaca.

Throughout their years in Huatulco, Deborah’s energy and curiosity animated every part of her life. She continued her study of Spanish and, with John, explored the region’s hidden corners – remote bays, coffee farms, eco hideaways, and off-the-beaten-path communities. She became a valued part of The Huatulco Eye magazine as both a writer and copy editor and was an active participant in countless local initiatives. Each winter, she and John made the long, adventurous drive from their northern home on the Atlantic coast to their southern home on the Pacific, often hauling supplies for volunteer projects but always leaving space for their beloved cats.

A Legacy of Friendship
In 2023, Deborah and John sold their house in Santa Cruz, shifting gears to new adventures in later retirement. She maintained her passion for books and book clubs while also writing grant proposals for non-profit organizations, engaging in community gardening, undertaking home renovations, and exploring through international travel. Her energy and curiosity endured throughout a full and rich life. Deborah passed away on August 28, 2025, in Portland, Maine.
These words are offered in remembrance of Deborah — as a proud friend, one among many, and as a colleague at The Eye. All of us, writers, readers, and friends alike, remain grateful for the many ways she enriched our community, and especially thankful for the gift of her friendship and her presence in our lives.

Huatulco

Editor’s Letter

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By Jane Bauer

“We must strive to become good ancestors.”
Ralph Nader

What is your life’s purpose? Day of the Dead is a time to contemplate life and the lives of those who came before us. This is the first year that my mother’s photo will join my father’s on the altar and I can feel the tears welling up even as I write this. As I was caring for her in the last months of her life it became clear to me that the trivialities we obsess over are mere distractions.

I am baffled by the news and stories of those in power, the anger and frustration that ripples around the world. This hunger for power that seems to ignore the inner world of individuals. The way these topics dominate conversations, the way we use our political beliefs to define us rather than the other way around. When I was asked recently what my core beliefs are, I realized they can be summed up in four simple principles:

1. Bodily autonomy
2. Equitable distribution of wealth- there is enough for everyone; enough food, enough healthcare, enough water
3. Freedom of movement for all
4. A life without violence

When world leaders discuss strategies and economic reforms that encourage more violence, less freedom of movement, and scarcity for some while others have more than they could ever need, I can’t help but wonder: what is our life’s purpose?

At the end of life, what will we take with us? We can view history as a series of wars and power shifts and try to devise a winning formula. But winning—there’s another concept that makes little sense. Is the winner the one with the most money, or the one who is most content?

For myself, I try and move through the world feeling energy rather than corralling wealth or power. I want to feel the energy of a tree rather than calculate it’s monetary value. I want to approach each person I meet with compassion, I want to live in a paradigm of abundance- I know there is enough for everybody if we distribute it properly.

Thinking on that time with my mother I’m reminded that our real legacy is not wealth or power, but how deeply we’ve loved and how much kindness we’ve shared. Death invites us to ask ‘what is your life’s purpose? What do you want your legacy to be?’.

This month we mourn the loss of our colleague and friend Deborah Van Hoewyk. She is greatly missed and leaves behind a legacy of kindness and curiosity.

See you next month,

Jane

Huatulco

Editor’s Letter

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By Jane Bauer

“True happiness comes from the joy of deeds well done, the zest of creating things new.”
– Antoine de Saint-Exupery

How much food do you have at your immediate disposal? How long could you avoid going to the store for? One of the things I loved about Mexican village life when I first moved here was the self-sufficiency of those around me. Having been raised in a city, I was quite clueless about how to forage beyond a trip to the supermarket.

While in the summer my father collected mushrooms and we caught the occasional fish from the lake, I wasn’t instilled with any real survival skills. Even my summer camp canoe trip provisioned us with cans of tuna and Spam.

So, last month I gave myself a challenge: to take a break from the stock-up trips that overflowed my fridge and countertops with an endless possibility of meals. I would still pick up a couple of tomatoes or bananas from my corner store, but before I bought anything, I would ask myself, “Could I make a meal with what I have at home without buying anything?” The answer was almost always a resounding yes.

I made it through the dried goods. I even made homemade English muffins when I was craving bread, and almond milk when I ran out of cow’s milk—I’m still not sure why I had so many almonds. I paid more attention to the sad herbs in my garden and was even more appreciative when my neighbour gifted me a watermelon.

Rather than inwardly cringe knowing how much space it would take up in my fridge, I made a clear plan for its use.
Day one: a perfect afternoon snack—sprinkled with some of my homemade chile salt.
Day two: chop it into a salad of tomato, onion, and chile.
Day three: add it to a gazpacho. And of course, a constant flow of agua de sandía that—with a handful of ice, a lime from my tree, and a shot of tequila that’s been living in my cupboard for years—is suddenly a margarita.

When I ran out of cookies, I had jam on crackers, and it was delicious. My fridge suddenly had space. My cupboards were easy to navigate. Cooking had become fun again—a challenge. I was excited to make a meal. I had created my own version of Chopped, which led me to make my own pasta, add a tin of artichoke hearts to a casserole of leftovers, and use olive brine in salad dressing.

This experiment made me realize something deeper.

People thrive when challenged. Convenience is the death of creativity. The human spirit is easily crushed when everything is handed to us—and we’re living in a time when our days are filled with more convenience than any other era in history. Is it any wonder we seek out conflict and challenges elsewhere?

While for me it was cooking meals without shopping, there are other playful limitations you could try. For example, give up your car for a week. This would force you to walk, ride a bike, take public transport (read a book on the bus instead of scrolling), or even connect with a co-worker to carpool. Try it for a week—approach it with curiosity rather than frustration.

Or try turning off your home internet for a week. This may sound impossible, but it’s not. You would find yourself doing tasks with more intention, lose less time, and your nervous system would be grateful. What if there’s an emergency? Let people know to call you.

What if limitations aren’t obstacles but invitations? Invitations to experiment, to reconnect, to use the things (and skills) we forgot we had. You don’t need to go off-grid—just try turning the dial down. You might be surprised by how much you already have.

See you in October!