The remarkable thing is that, despite the less-than-ideal instrument conditions, the level of musicianship is incredibly high. These musicians perform beautifully despite challenges that many of us would consider impossible.

Nearly four years ago I bought a house in Guadalajara, Mexico. This is not something I had carefully planned. For years I have lived in Southern California and built my harp dealership Pacific Harps. But for this new adventure in Mexico, there was no five-year strategy, no business model, no spreadsheet with projected revenue. There was just a house. A dear friend of mine—a retired opera singer—had owned it. When she passed away suddenly from a heart attack, I found myself thinking, Well, maybe I should buy her house. As one does, right?

At the time I already knew three professional harpists in Guadalajara. By the time the paperwork was finished there were four of us. Once everyone realized I was going to be making regular trips between Los Angeles and Guadalajara, the requests from harpists in Mexico started to trickle in: strings, tuning keys, music, harps…

By my second trip, I wasn’t traveling with clothes anymore. I was traveling with a suitcase that looked suspiciously like a mobile harp shop—strings, tuning keys, accessories—anything that I could squeeze between a pair of socks.

When I arrived, we held what I believe was Guadalajara’s first “Pick Up Your Harp Supplies and Eat Too Much Food” party. Students came. Families came. Everyone brought food. I had a couple of harps at the house, which was in the middle of being renovated, so we played music while dodging construction materials. My Spanish consisted mainly of smiling enthusiastically and hoping someone would translate. Fortunately, several people spoke English and rescued me regularly.

Toward the end of the evening one of the harpists stood up and made a toast. He said this was the first time the harp community in Guadalajara had really come together socially, and that everyone had had such a wonderful time. Meanwhile I was standing there thinking, I only came down to buy a house, but ended up inheriting an entire musical family. Oh, and the three cats that came with the house. My family was complete!

One of the things I love most about Mexico is the people. They are incredibly welcoming, generous, and open-hearted. I never felt like an outsider for very long. Before I knew it, I wasn’t just visiting—I belonged.

I also began to see a problem. Everything harpists needed had to come from the United States—strings, accessories, replacement parts—and the shipping costs could be jaw-dropping. I kept bringing things, and soon word spread beyond Guadalajara. The trickle of requests became a steady flow, and my luggage has never recovered.

Somewhere along the way I also started getting invited to play professionally. One of my first productions was Phantom of the Opera—La Fantasma de la Ópera—performed entirely in Spanish. This presented a small challenge. At the time I understood approximately six words of Spanish. Five of them were foods.

Rehearsals were long. The conductor spoke rapidly. Everyone nodded while I desperately tried to figure out which rehearsal number we were on. Sitting at the back of the orchestra behind a concert harp is not the ideal location for lip-reading the conductor. But I became exceptionally good at understanding rehearsal numbers!

Eventually I started performing around the country, often receiving phone calls asking me to fill in for last-minute cancellations. Every orchestra and festival introduced me to more harpists, more wonderful musicians, and—unsurprisingly—more people who needed strings.

One thing became clear to me: Mexico has extraordinary musicians, but because harpists are spread across such a vast country, access to supplies and technicians has never been easy. Harp technicians visit far less frequently than in the United States, largely because bringing someone in means paying not only for their work but also airfare, accommodation, and expenses. With the exchange rate, that’s often simply beyond an orchestra’s budget.

As a result, I’ve played some “memorable” harps. One orchestra’s harp buzzed enthusiastically in all keys. The resident harpist showed me her solution. She opened her gig bag, and inside was an impressive assortment of tape. Apparently each buzz had its own preferred adhesive. She would carefully wrap sections of the mechanism to stop the buzzes. Did it affect the intonation? Absolutely. Did it stop the buzzing? More or less. When I suggested bringing a technician from the U.S., she smiled and said the orchestra probably wouldn’t budget for it. After all, the harpist always manages to make it sound good. Which, if you’re a harpist, is both a compliment and heartbreaking. The remarkable thing is that, despite the less-than-ideal instrument conditions, the level of musicianship is incredibly high. These musicians perform beautifully despite challenges that many of us would consider impossible. Resourcefulness is one of the qualities of the musicians I’ve met in Mexico.

Last July I attended a week-long mariachi workshop. I was one of only two women and we were both classically trained. My Spanish remained… optimistic. Everyone was wonderfully patient with me. Because the workshop took place in Guadalajara—the birthplace of mariachi—I met several families who have been building mariachi harps and other instruments for four generations. Their craftsmanship is wonderful. Now I’m introducing these builders to the classical and Celtic harp world, while also supplying them with high-quality levers and hardware they can’t easily obtain—my suitcases have become even heavier!

These days, my Guadalajara living room is slowly filling with harps. I’m beginning to see a showroom emerging. It’s funny how life works. I bought a house with absolutely no plan whatsoever. Instead, I accidentally found a second home, a thriving harp community, countless new friends, incredible music, wonderful food, another language, and a life I could never have imagined.