• After our friend hiked the Quilotoa Loop, my husband and I wanted to try doing it ourselves.
• It's a 22-mile three-day trek, and we were curious how we'd do at our ages.
• While it was difficult, it was also beautiful.

A year ago, a friend hiked the Quilotoa Loop, a three-day high-elevation trek in the Ecuadorian Andes. It's a challenging trek culminating at 13,000 feet on the rim of a crater lake located three hours south of Quito.

Despite its name, it's not a loop, but a 22-mile point-to-point route with 7,100 feet elevation gain. As lovers of long-distance walks, my husband and I were intrigued. We wondered if we could do it at our ages — 82 and 73 — and decided to give it a try this April. While a lot of it was difficult, we're so glad we went.

Before starting our journey, we adapted to the elevation

After staying in Quito for two days to adapt to the elevation, we hired an Uber for $45 to drive us two and a half hours to our hostel in Sigchos. We were the only guests there. Because it was the rainy season, most of the people we saw weren't other trekkers, but innkeepers, shepherds, and farmers, looking tough and hardy from daily physical work at high elevation.

That night, after a filling home-cooked dinner of potato soup, beans, corn, cheese, and homemade bread, I slept restlessly, worrying about our fitness levels and if we'd get soaked, as afternoon thunderstorms were common.

The next morning, we established our pattern of leaving before 7 a.m. after a hearty breakfast. Though each day only involved 6-8 miles of trail, we had to pace ourselves because high-elevation hiking takes much more exertion.

The terrain was steep, uneven, and muddy, plus we each had health challenges: I have a metal plate and pins in my right ankle, which can cause osteoarthritic tenderness and stiffness, while Barry has lingering chemo fatigue after contracting lymphoma last year.

There were a few surprises on the trail

An hour outside Sigchos, as we headed down a steep track into a canyon, we suddenly reached a huge mudslide, not visible on our trail app, and had to backtrack.

Eventually, we crossed a creek, then started plodding up the other side of the canyon, a slippery, muddy stretch. When we finally reached a paved road, we were relieved to see the village of Isinlivi, our destination, at what looked like only a short distance away.

But it was another good hour up steep, mossy paths before we got to the village. It was a six-mile hike with only 1,450 feet of ascent, but it took us a humbling six hours.

The hostels were fantastic

Our hostel in Isinlivi felt like a boutique hotel, with home-cooked meals, wifi, a fireplace, bar, spa, sauna, and even yoga classes, perfect for relaxing tight muscles. Since the only other hikers there were a friendly Israeli couple and their adult son, the owner offered us a cottage overlooking the valley for the price of a single room. It was so luxurious, Barry wanted to stay another night, but I felt we had barely gotten into the rhythm of hiking, so we left the next day. Now I wish we'd stayed!

Our later hostels were not as elegant, but they too offered "Turkish saunas," or steam baths with fragrant eucalyptus leaves. The second night, I lingered in the hostel's steam room for a full hour, breathing in the eucalyptus and listening to the thrum of heavy rain outside.

The last day was the toughest

The third day we climbed a tiring 3,650 feet to the rim of the lake. As I looked down into the caldera, I admired the turquoise water, but knew we still had more than an hour's walk to our final destination, the touristy village of Quilotoa. As it turned out, because we missed our turnoff, it took us an extra hour, and en route we got drenched for the first time.

Our hostel caretakers in Quitoloa took good care of us. The husband built a wood fire where we huddled while we dried our wet clothes and consumed his wife's lentil soup and homemade bread.

It was difficult, but beautiful

Strenuous as the trek was, I found the combination of simple beauty, invigorating mountain air, and the unthinking act of putting one foot in front of the other almost mystical. I was enchanted by the beauty — deep valleys lined with ridges of different shades of green and lush pastures dotted with llamas and cows. I felt like I was seeing green for the first time in my life.

Now that I'm back into my sea-level routines, I'm still inspired by those strong, wiry shepherds and farmers. Thanks to them, I've set a higher bar for myself. Walking the Quilotoa Loop reminded me of what I'm still capable of in my 70s.

• We're seniors who own a home in Mexico and rent in the US. Living in Mexico has come with surprises.
• We appreciate how much easier it feels to get products repaired in Mexico than in the US.
• I've been pleasantly surprised by how much I like going on long bus rides and buying food in Mexico.

My husband and I rent an apartment in our native United States but also own a home in Mexico.

For the past 20 years, we've split our lives between our house in Guanajuato, Mexico, and our rental in Eureka, California.

Although we traveled to Mexico several times before buying our home, living in the country is different than just visiting it.

I'm now in my 70s, and he's in his 80s — and we still make our bicultural lives work while continuing to be surprised and delighted by our city and neighbors.

Here are a few things that have surprised me most about living in Mexico throughout the past two decades.

It feels much easier to get things repaired in Mexico

I've noticed Mexico doesn't have a "throwaway culture" like so much of the United States does. When something breaks here, trying to fix it is a priority, and it's often fairly easy to do.

For instance, when my husband's mini desktop computer refused to open, our US tech specialist said it was irreparable. Instead of buying a new one, we brought it with us to Mexico, where a local computer shop in Guanajuato had it fixed in two hours for $30.

In Mexico, it's generally been easy for us to find small businesses and local repairmen who will fix everything from electronics to clothing for a reasonable price.

I've had the motor of my blender fixed at a local small-appliance repair shop and a replacement lid for my broken slow cooker made by a local craftsman.

I recently took my outdoor vest to a tailor in Mexico, who did a beautiful job replacing the zipper for about $5. The same service would've likely cost at least triple in California.

Our healthcare costs much less than it did in the US — but not everything is cheaper here

As seniors over 65, we have Medicare in the US that helps us with basic healthcare. Still, its changing policies and out-of-pocket costs can be difficult to navigate.

While in Mexico, though, it's easier and often more affordable for us to see specialists, like dermatologists and dentists.

A couple of years ago, for example, my husband needed a complicated crown and root-canal procedure that would've cost us about $3,500 out of pocket in the US — and he would've had to wait months for an appointment.

He had the procedure done in Mexico for $600, and getting an appointment took less than two weeks.

Although our healthcare is generally less expensive here, not all health-related products are. For example, we bring our vitamins, ibuprofen, and sunscreen back from the US because they're typically more expensive to purchase in Mexico.

Dining out often feels like attending a party

Most restaurants we visit here are bustling with loud music and large groups of multigenerational families having lively conversations.

The dining-out atmosphere in Mexico also tends to feel laid-back. We've never felt pressured to eat quickly so we can give up our table, and it's nice to be able to take our time.

Eating out can be so leisurely, in fact, that we sometimes have to hunt down the server to ask for our bill.

Food shopping has been surprisingly enjoyable and easy

I love doing errands on foot in Guanajuato — it's easy because the streets in the city center where our house is located are pedestrianized, colorful, and lively.

I especially shopping because I get an opportunity to speak with locals in Spanish and connect with my community.

When I'm not stopping at a local bakery (for fresh rolls), liquor store (for wine), or café (for coffee beans in bulk), I do most of my shopping at the grocery store just three minutes from our home.

Although it's small, with just three narrow aisles, it has much of what we need: fruits, vegetables, canned food, condiments, meat, and dairy.

Since eggs are sold in bulk, I can even buy just a few if I don't need a whole dozen. I'm also able to buy just one stick of butter instead of a bigger pack if I'd like.

Long-distance buses have been an especially wonderful way to get around Mexico

Buses are one of the most popular forms of transportation here — and we've been pleasantly surprised by them, especially for longer trips.

We love the long-distance bus trips we've had in Mexico so far that have allowed us to explore more of the country.

One of our go-to companies to travel with is Primera Plus, where our bus rides have been complete with reclining seats, spotless onboard restrooms, and even WiFi.

• My husband and I have always had a good relationship with our grandsons.
• We see them at least once a year and we connect through spending time outdoors and writing together.
• They're 19 and 21, and we feel lucky that despite their ages, they still want to spend time with us.

One afternoon a few months ago, my 19-year-old grandson, Riley, and I were deep into a card game my parents taught my sibs and me when we were kids. I had taught it to Riley and his 21-year-old brother, Colin, only a year earlier, but now I was faced with a worthy adversary and had to carefully strategize my every move. Even so, he caught me in an error. Within minutes, it was game over.

"It's not fair!" I wailed. "I've been playing this my whole life, and you just learned!" He shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe next time I should let you win," he teased. "Don't you dare condescend to me!" I said.

We were in White Rock, BC, a Canadian seaside town a couple of miles north of the US border and about an hour from our grandsons' home. They live over 1,100 miles from us near Vancouver, British Columbia, where my husband Barry and I met, while we divide our lives between Eureka, California, and Guanajuato, Mexico.

Even with the distance between us, we manage to spend time together once or twice a year, and we always enjoy each other's company (unless, of course, they're beating us in card games!).

We do a variety of things together

Playing card games with Colin and Riley is just one of the activities we enjoy when we're all together. Over the last eight years, our pattern has been to rent an Airbnb within an hour or two of their home, either in BC or in northwest Washington. During the next couple of days, we spend our time taking walks, going out for lunch, playing cutthroat card games, writing together on a common theme, reading aloud what we wrote, and more.

Because I like to cook, when we first started making these visits, I assumed I'd make dinner for all of us. Ha! Little did I know. They were teenagers with adolescent palates — a far cry from Barry's and my meatless preferences. So I gave up on that, and we usually just buy pizza.

We do different things in different locations. For several years, Barry and I would rent an Airbnb in Bellingham, WA, where we used to live and still have friends. During one stay, we realized that the boys had never used public transit before. Time for them to be introduced to buses! We took a city bus from near our rental to Fairhaven, a historic area at the other end of town, where we visited a bookstore, wandered around the Amtrak station and ferry terminal, and had lunch. Then we took the bus back.

Other times, we've played Frisbee, hiked, had fun with Barry's drone, and watched Colin (who, in his high school years, climbed competitively) shimmy up trees. We spend a lot of time outside because, as Riley said, "You guys like nature." His comment made me laugh. Is it that odd to like nature?

We share how we feel through writing

Writing together is a real treat. Some of our prompts have been: "What I'll remember about this visit," "My favorite place we've stayed," "My opinion of the last movie I watched," and "What I plan for in 2023." In the beginning, Barry or I offered the prompt, but now our grandsons also offer them.

On the second morning of our stay, Barry takes Riley out for breakfast (Colin likes to sleep in), and they have a one-on-one conversation. For instance, last year, they discussed the fact that Riley was considering switching from community college to a trade school, where he would train to become a plumber. Canada is a very expensive country, and like many of his peers, he was daunted by the prospect of earning a living in a high-cost environment.

A few years ago, they visited us in Mexico. We were a bit worried about them — navigating Immigration and Customs at the enormous, busy Mexico City airport, not to mention switching from the international to the domestic terminal to fly from Mexico City to Guanajuato, where we live part of the year. With zero language skills! They had flown internationally once before but with their parents. We were delighted, though, that they managed fine, and thrilled to introduce them to a culture completely different from their own.

A year ago, we all wrote from the prompt, "None of us is getting any younger!" Indeed, both young men now have girlfriends. So who knows how long our Airbnb adventures will last? But for now, all four of us look forward to our visits together. And Barry and I couldn't feel more flattered. It's one thing when your 5 and 7-year-old grandchildren enjoy your company, but when they're 21 and 19? We're honored that they enjoy hanging out with us as much as we do with them.

• When my husband was diagnosed with cancer, I was shell-shocked.
• My routines were upended at the same time I became his caregiver.
• I reached out to family and other caregivers for support.

People often remark on how healthy my husband is. At 82, Barry scampers up and down hills like a mountain goat and out-paddles many members of his kayak group. So it came as a shock in September when we discovered he had stage 2 lymphoma. Cancer? Unbelievable.

I was amazed by Barry's reaction to his cancer diagnosis. He didn't ruminate endlessly over what he could have done to prevent it, as I might have. A science journalist, he has researched and written a great deal about cancer. "Some cells mutate when they divide," he said to me. "If they didn't, we wouldn't be here. It's part of evolution."

His diagnosis changed our plans — and our routines

Not only did we cancel an international trip when we found out, but in spectacularly bad timing, the routines that anchored my life also came to an abrupt stop. Both my yoga teachers stopped teaching, my weekly walking partner left town for the season, and as a freelance writer, I had few assignments.

In the Myers-Briggs personality assessment, I'm known as a "J," a person who needs structure. The prospect of several empty, shapeless months was deeply discouraging for me.

It took time to adapt to being a caregiver

Because Barry's treatment plan involved no radiation and only one chemo infusion every three weeks, we joked that he was experiencing 'cancer lite.' But his energy level dipped precipitously, and sometimes, I felt as though I had chemo fatigue, too. Our home situation reminded me of the beginning of the pandemic, except everything stopped for us while the rest of the world carried on.

The uncertainty was the worst part. After the oncologist and nurses repeated the mantra "only three chemo treatments" several times, we optimistically penciled in the date when we hoped to fly to Mexico, where we spend part of the year. Then one week, during an appointment, our oncologist offhandedly said, "Could be five, maybe six treatments."

What? I fumbled for Barry's hand under the table. "I thought you said three," I said, trying to sound neutral.

He shrugged. "We don't know for sure."

I was furious at him for messing with our plans. How dare he? Of course, I was ignoring the fact that despite all the advances in the field, cancer is still an unpredictable science.

I reached out to family and other caregivers for support

As Barry's caregiver, I felt a responsibility to be resilient, but didn't always feel that way. My sister helped. "Call me anytime," she said. She sent Barry homemade oatmeal cookies with a note that said, "The way I'm supporting you is by supporting Louisa."

Through the internet, I found an online support group for caregivers sponsored by the University of California San Francisco Medical Center. It was only once a month — not enough for me — but I appreciated hearing from other caregivers about their cancer situations. We shared stories about feeling overlooked and neglected at times. Listening to them, I felt grateful that Barry's case was relatively mild. We weren't living through grinding years of cancer, and he wasn't going to die (not yet, anyway!).

I also reached out to other family members. My brother-in-law, who lives with depression, told me that accompanying my sister to chemo appointments during her breast cancer a few years earlier had given him a sense of purpose and direction. Unlike me, he wasn't perturbed at not having much of an independent life.

Barry, on the other hand, thrived on his solo time at the infusion center, chatting with the other patients. He joked that it was like flying Business Class, with reclining seats and gracious nurses attending to his every whim. Although he enjoyed introducing me to his new-found friends, he didn't want me there all six hours, and I, too, enjoyed my "day off."

He's cancer-free now, but we're still getting through it

It's now been four months since Barry's diagnosis, and I am indeed writing this from sunny Mexico. Barry's latest scan showed him free of cancer, and his energy is gradually returning. And I'm back into yoga.

But I don't have the pillowy confidence I once had, and maybe that's a good thing. I used to brag about my health — how fit I was, how I'd live to 100 or more. Now, I'm more humble. I feel for people with cancer, and especially for their caregivers. I know cancer never happens in a vacuum. It's a family disease, where everyone is affected, and no one is spared.

• In 1999, my husband took a sabbatical, and we traveled to Guanajuato in Mexico.
• We both daydreamed about living in Europe and even house-sat for our friends in Amsterdam.
• In 2004 we realized it was Guanajuato that made more sense for us to live in.

In 1999, my husband and I left our consulting gigs in Palo Alto, CA, rented our home, and took off on an international self-designed sabbatical.

We traveled to various parts of the world, but we started and ended our sabbatical in the beautiful UNESCO World Heritage city of Guanajuato, Mexico.

I thought we would retire and spend time in Europe, but fast-forward to now: At 73 years old, I spend part of my time in Mexico instead.

Our dream was a home in Europe

Both of us had always daydreamed about a base in Europe. Barry, raised in England, has a great fondness for the continent. I, because my family lived in Europe during some of my childhood, had always wanted to live there as an adult.

Not long after we sold our home in Palo Alto, Dutch friends whom we'd met on our sabbatical invited us to house-sit while they went on vacation during the month of May. We were elated — this would give us the opportunity to check out Amsterdam as an international base. And springtime is the perfect season, right? But that May turned out to be piercingly cold and wet — much less forgiving than January in California. The first several days we huddled together on our friends' sofa, wrapped in blankets and drinking tea.

A confident lifelong cyclist, I had pictured myself serenely biking along the city's storied canals. It didn't turn out how I had envisioned. I was intimidated by the way the Dutch rode alarmingly fast and stopped for no one. One day, I watched a woman in a business suit speeding down the bike lane, balancing two small kids and a grocery bag, while chatting away blithely on her cell.

It also wasn't easy to make connections. We found the Dutch not that different from Americans in some ways — busy, goal-oriented, direct, and focused. And they didn't seem very easy to get to know. I thought it might be because we were American until I met a Danish woman who'd had the same experience. Pieter, our Dutch friend, explained that most people in the Netherlands stay within the same circle of friends from childhood.

House-sitting in Guanajuato changed everything

Of course, we already knew about Guanajuato but had never considered it an international base because we were in thrall to the fantasy of a home in Europe. But in 2004, we were invited to house-sit, our first visit in three years, and we were newly entranced by the city's beauty and charm.

During our stay, we met several resident foreigners who greeted us with their stories of buying and remodeling homes.

Suddenly, it made sense. Guanajuato was not only nearer to California, it was also closer to many of our family members — and considerably less expensive than a home in much of Europe. We both spoke manageable Spanish. As for the weather, it was exactly what we wanted.

In 2005, we bought an old adobe house on a pedestrianized street, and we've lived there part of the year ever since.

We split our time between Mexico and California

While less vibrant than colorful Guanajuato, Eureka in California also has unique charms, and we appreciate the contrast between the two towns — Spanish vs. English; 7,000' high mesa vs. green, moist sea level; owning vs. renting.

In Eureka, we live 10 minutes from the ocean and a block from Humboldt Bay, where we each paddle, Barry in his kayak and I on my paddleboard. In our upgraded EuroVan — which Barry dubs our third home — we explore the natural beauty of Northern California and southern Oregon, where we still discover new areas to visit.

In Eureka, I ride my bike on various dedicated trails around town; in Guanajuato, we shut our front door and, within 10 minutes, are hiking in the hills above town.

We're glad now that Amsterdam was not a fit for us. Though we never dreamt we'd own a home in Mexico, it's been the best surprise of our retirement years.