It's Easy To Have Insomnia in Mexico

It’s 2 a.m. and you’re wide awake.  No, you’re not at a Mexican fiesta.  You’re in bed praying to fall asleep.  What’s wrong? The problem may be caused by circumstances that are beyond your control.  Or maybe you’ve made some bad decisions.  Either way, it’s easy to have insomnia in Mexico.

I’m a responsible older adult and I know that a decadent double-chocolate brownie will keep me awake if I eat it after 9 p.m.  However, since my memory isn’t what it used to be, I’m usually halfway through the brownie when I pause in mid-chew.  Oh, no!  The last time you ate chocolate at night you were awake until 4:45. Don’t eat another bite!”  But by then my chocolate-addicted self will be in full control of my decision-making ability and the best I can do is vow to refrain next time.

 In addition to chocolate, stress is an express route to sleeplessness.  Anger causes stress.  And stress takes time to dissipate so I always argue with Alex before breakfast.   Any later than 9 a.m. and I’m destined to endure an all-night monologue of self-inflicted anger, blame, pity and guilt before sleep finally drowns out my own voice.  Meanwhile, Alex snores on.

Stress also can be caused by too much stimulation – even if it’s positive.  After a party the extrovert feels “high.”  Excited, alive and very much awake. She lies in bed and relives every detail.  Then, she begins to plan her next party: the menu, guest list, and even the theme. Wide awake, she turns on the lamp, grabs pen and paper, and begins a to-do list. What she can’t grab is a good night’s sleep.    

 On the other hand, the introvert leaves a party feeling exhausted.  He promises himself that he’ll avoid all future gatherings and then falls into a nightmare-filled sleep.  He dreams that he’s stuck at a party that never ends.  Never, ever, ends! He wakes to find himself wrestling with sweaty sheets and turns to his wife who, for some strange reason, is sitting up, and writing a guest list.

We can try to avoid sugar, arguments and stress, but some situations we just can’t control.  Many are unique to Mexico, such as:

The barking dog concert.  Two a.m. and the neighbor’s German Shepherd howls a solo.  Then the baritone pit bulls join in, followed by a chorus of ear-piercing poodles.   My bed seems to be center stage.  Earplugs aren’t effective.  Neither is screaming out the window because, “Shut the f_ _ _  up!” translates to “Encore!” in doggie language.

Finally, the dogs quiet down.  I unclench my jaws. But moments later, I realize that the dogs were merely the opening act for the main attraction – the roosters.

After an all-night dog and rooster concert, I need a double-strength espresso.  But after 3 p.m., it’s decaf for this older woman.  

It hasn’t always been that way.  We moved to La Paz in April 1996 and menopause arrived in May.  Menopause is a dictator.   He gave me a choice:  a full night’s sleep or caffeine in the afternoon.  Never both.    

It’s not an easy choice.  I love to go out for coffee; it’s the perfect way to prolong a wonderful evening.  Unfortunately, it’s when I become a victim of the “God, this Gringa will believe anything” phenomenon.

I remember, years ago, my friend Ginger and I went to the Teatro .  After the concert, I saw a cute cafe.  We walked into the empty shop and I asked in my best Spanish, “Tiene café decafinado?” The owner looked me straight in the eye and said, “Claro que si.”  Don’t laugh!   I believed him.

They sell decaf beans in La Paz.  Why don’t all restaurants carry them?  Why do some pass off regular coffee as decaf? Have they run out? Maybe they don’t want to disappoint their customers.   Or lose the sale. Perhaps they believe that insomnia is psychosomatic.  But, do not try to convince me of that at 3 a.m.  

I’m not alone. My friends have sleepless nights also but we cope in very different ways.  Donneley sets up her easel and paints.  Kathy cleans kitchen cabinets. Ginger makes paper beads.  I just give in. 

I prepare an espresso, eat some chocolate, turn on my computer, and, while it’s warming up, I repeat my mantras:  I’ll never fight with Alex after 9 a.m.  I won’t eat chocolate later than 8 p.m. I will take a sleeping pill after a party. I’ll keep decaf coffee beans in my purse and pay extra if the barista will brew them for me.  Over and over, I promise.  Until, finally, I admit that I probably haven’t learned a thing.

 Meanwhile, what I have learned during those sleepless nights is Photoshop.  It’s a computer program which can “erase” wrinkles, firm up arms, and darken hair.  What it can’t “fix” are barking dogs, crowing roosters, fibbing baristas, or my hormone levels.  It can’t “crop” out insomnia.