2020 - San Pancho I Found - Jim Zigarelli

A Story of Finding Home Far From Home

I’d heard about San Pancho for years from a close friend in Boulder, Colorado. He returned every winter and always told me the same thing: “You’d love it. It’s your kind of place.”

I believed him—but my work in adventure tourism kept pulling me to Southeast Asia each winter. San Pancho remained a “someday.”

Until February 2020.

When my work in Asia ended, I finally said yes.

From the moment I arrived, something felt different. The town didn’t try to impress—it unfolded slowly. Warm air, the distant sound of the ocean, streets alive but unhurried. Within days, I ran into friends from Boulder, as if threads of home had quietly followed me there.

“Feels familiar,” I said.

“Just wait,” my friend replied.

We stayed at a small hotel, where the manager invited us to a private gathering. Not an event—just locals, music, laughter. We showed up unsure, but within minutes, that distance dissolved.

“To new friends,” someone said, handing me a drink.

“To new friends,” we echoed.

Soon after, we were invited to meet the manager’s family. What started as a visit turned into something more. Shared meals, long conversations, and then an unexpected offer:

“You can stay here, if you want.”

We moved into their casa for our final week.

That changed everything.

We weren’t just visiting anymore—we were participating. Mornings began with coffee and quiet conversation. Days unfolded without urgency. Life felt simpler, but fuller.

When we left, it didn’t feel like the end of a trip. It felt like stepping away from something we had just begun.

So we came back. The next year, and the next.

My daughter joined us, along with her family—including one-year-old twin boys. What had started as a personal discovery became something shared across generations.

We helped our Mexican friends expand their home, working side by side in the sun.

“Like this,” he said, guiding my hands.

We weren’t helping anymore. We were building together.

Life in San Pancho found its rhythm.

Mornings in the ocean—cool at first, then perfectly warm.

“Perfect,” I’d say, diving under a wave.

Afternoons stretched into long meals—fresh fish, lime, laughter.

Evenings brought music into the streets. Lights flickered on, people gathered, and the town came alive in a way that felt effortless, never staged.

And always, the sunsets.

“Every time,” Sally would say.

“I know.”

We’d stand there as the sky shifted—gold to orange to something deeper—until the sun slipped away and the moment held still.

What kept drawing us back wasn’t just the beauty. It was the feeling.

A sense of ease. Of connection. Of belonging without effort. And yet, it wasn’t perfect—and that mattered.

Some days were heavy. The ocean could turn strong and unpredictable. But I would swim past the wave break and it was wonderful.

The light and the shadow existed together.

And in that, something deeper emerged.

Over time, our visits became a rhythm. A week turned into a month. A month into two. Now, we return every winter. Not as visitors, but as part of something ongoing. My daughter’s family joins us each year. The twins now run barefoot through the same spaces we once discovered for the first time.

One evening, our friend Emiliano, told me what he loved about this place.

He looked around—the people, the music, the slow movement of the night.

“San Pancho life,” he said. “It’s a good life.”

He was right. Because when it’s time to leave, something comes with you.

Back in Boulder, life resumes—but differently. Slower in small ways. More present.

And there’s always that quiet knowing: That somewhere, not so far away, there is a place where life feels just a little more like it’s meant to.

And you’ll be back.

Key Insights

* From “Someday” to Rhythm: What began as a long-delayed visit became a recurring part of life—shifting from intention to tradition.

* Belonging Through Participation: The turning point wasn’t arrival—it was being invited in. Living with locals and building together transformed the experience from visiting to belonging.

* Relationships as the Anchor: Friendships—both carried from home and formed in San Pancho—became the true reason to return.

* A Multi-Generational Story: What started as a personal discovery evolved into a shared family experience, extending across generations.

* Light and Shadow, Together: The beauty of San Pancho is inseparable from its imperfections—strength and unpredictability deepen the connection rather than diminish it.