The Chevy Spark, a Trash Bag of Cash, and the Magic of San Miguel

Jan 17

Earlier this year, a dog attack led me straight into an unexpected friendship with Jorge—the kind of person you don’t meet by accident. He was the neighbor who came forward when his dog sank its teeth into my shoe, the man who apologized with humility and humor, and the friend who later rescued me again when the car I was borrowing died in the middle of the street… twice. Maybe three times.

He always showed up.
He always knew someone who could help.
And he always followed through.

So in August, when I realized it was time to find my own car in San Miguel, I knew exactly who to call.

“Let me see what I can find,” he said.

I told him I wasn’t in a hurry—that if the right car came along, I’d swoop it up. Over the next few weeks he began sending me listings. A few were nice, even tempting, but not my “just right” car.

Then one afternoon he messaged me photos of a 2016 Chevy Spark.

It was cute. Clean. Only one owner. Fewer than 30,000 miles.

But it was also a 5-speed with no air conditioning or heat, which in Mexico is a bold lifestyle choice. I wasn’t thrilled. Jorge encouraged me to test drive it anyway.

So I called a friend—an airplane mechanic—and asked if he’d come with me to take a look and to tell me if he thought I was a good enough driver. He inspected it with his practical, mechanically gifted eyes while I took note of the things that mattered to me:

It was spotless inside.
It didn’t rattle or groan like many older cars that have survived years of cobblestones.
And… it was seriously fun to drive.

Then came the twist.

The owner of the car showed up too.
Not because he didn’t trust the sale—
but because he didn’t want to sell his car to just anyone.

And here’s where the universe winked at me:
He was an incredibly talented, well-known musician in San Miguel…
someone I had already seen perform many times.

Jorge had told him about our earlier connection—how a dog situation turned into a friendship—and the musician said he liked the idea of the car going to someone who already felt woven into his story.

It felt like fate. Again.

Doing the Homework

I loved the car, but I wanted to be smart. I sent the VIN, the title, and all the permitting documents to a friend who works at a dealership in Querétaro. She ran everything through her system, told me what she’d expect to pay, and confirmed it all checked out.

Then came the negotiating.

Jorge told me he wasn’t taking a cent from the sale—not as a commission, not as a finder’s fee—because he wanted me to get a good deal. He said, “You’ll come to me for repairs, and you’ll tell your friends. That’s enough.”

We agreed on a price.

That’s when I realized the hard part wasn’t buying the car…
it was getting the money.

A Trash Bag Full of Cash

Anyone who has transferred money from the U.S. to Mexico knows things can take days—or weeks. After consulting with another financially savvy friend, I moved the funds to my Charles Schwab account, requested special permission to withdraw an unusually large amount of pesos from ATMs, and proceeded to visit four different machines around town like a determined little bank robber.

By the time I was done, I had a full trash bag of cash!

Yes. A trash bag.
Only in Mexico.

I went to a café, spread everything out, and counted it. Then I met the musician and Jorge, handed over the money, signed the title, and we all caravanned to the DMV. Every legal detail was handled that morning.

A Full-Circle Moment

Both men have checked on me several times since—just to make sure I’m happy. The musician told me last week that he misses his car.

But I don’t think he has to worry.
His beloved Chevy Spark is in good hands.

When my mom asked what the car was like, I told her:

“It’s like me—an old lady, with a lot of life left. Nothing fancy, but solid and dependable.”

And honestly, that’s how this whole journey feels.

A little unexpected.
A little magical.
A lot full-circle.

And already full of new adventures.

Lisa Kiely