For five months we lived in an adobe house in rural Oaxaca. Morning showers behind bamboo screens—turquoise tiles, cool water while bicycles passed and donkeys brayed. Evenings brought crickets and carrizo grasses. I still wake listening for that first bicycle bell.
It’s a compelling question: If I only had a few weeks to live, where would I go?
Would I drop everything and head off on a thrilling round-the-world Bucket List adventure?
Would I would stay right where I am, in a temporary house in Mexico?
Would I return ‘home” to the landscape of my childhood?

