But What is Mexico Really Like?

Subsequent to the FOX and other media coverage of the ongoing war on drugs in Mexico, or rather war on the cartels and the cartels' war on anyone in their way, I'm often asked by North Americans who have not recently ventured into Mexico, "What is it like to live in such a terrible, dangerous place?" I've lived here for nearly 15 years, and have driven from here to Texas and back many many times, so people tend to worry about this.

To this query, I can only reply, "It's just awful." We just live from minute to minute, worried to death. And we don't get the "stuff" we did in the states.The one thing I miss the most about the States is telemarketing. We don't get it in Mexico unless the phone company calls to offer us some new gadget, maybe once a year.

I miss the voices of bored, underpaid, overworked telephone sales people trying desperately to sign me up for anything and everything under the sun. I miss doing the Jerry Seinfeld thing, when he asked the telemarketer for her home phone number, and she said she didn't give it out, and he replied, "Exactly." Then he hung up. Good times, good times.

Another thing I really miss in Mexico is road rage. How boring it is, just toodling along with all the other cars being nice? It's so benign. People tip their hats or wave "gracias" if you let them go in front of you, stuff like that.

Yeah, we get some pretty aggressive drivers here, but generally if your car breaks down, you're going to get people lined up to help you out, offer you a ride to the nearest gas station or tow truck office, and then when you offer these nice people a monetary reward for their generosity and genuine lovingkindness, they flatly refuse it, saying something akin to, "What for? You'll pass on the favor to someone else."

We go to the movies for first-runs and pay about $4.oo--with our senior discount card it's about $3.50. The movies are in English--where is the challenge there? Sub-titles (or substitutos as one friend calls them) are in Spanish often, so you can at least get a nice language lesson. Watch out for the popcorn prices though: a huge box of it will run you about the price of your admission ticket. Gosh. Times are changing. Last time we saw a movie in the states, we paid enough to get our house re-financed, and something deep down just tells me, "you get what you pay for."

Property taxes are about 1/10th to 1/100th of those in the states...it's pretty suspect, considering we get water service, electricity, garbage service daily and people bringing bottled water to your door.

When we go shopping, there are locally owned stores and restaurants run by friendly people who give us the time of day, where we can buy organic foods and hand made items, for about 1/5 the cost we'd pay in the U.S. Or we can go to Wal-Mart, Costco, Sam's, Sears, Penney's, Sally Beauty Supply, Radio Shack, Office Depot, Office Max, Home Depot, Starbuck's, Domino Pizza, Blockbuster, Chili's, Carl's Jr., IHOP, McDonald's, Burger King, KFC, Subway, Church's Chicken, and on and on and on with the international companies--all of which just make us homesick for What-A-Burger and Taco Bell.

Watching satellite TV also just makes us homesick for our local channels--how do we know who's run into a ditch or held up a convenience store? We get way too many PBS and BBC channels, too. (*Sigh.)

It's hell in the semi-desert tropics mountains. The average year-round temperature is 70-something, and infrequent are weather incidents such as tornadoes. Sometimes there's a flood or two, which gives us something to watch on CNN. Now, in June, the daily rains have come and the temperature today must be in the 60s. Nothing to complain about, and we never get triple-digit heat--the Texans just have all the luck. Same ol', same ol'--perfect weather all the time, year-round wildly blooming vines, things like that.

Danger: well, sure, there is violence and danger in some parts of Mexico. From here, you have to drive a long time to get into the danger zones, however. To see any real action, you'd have to call up the national police to ask when they think something's about to "go down," and then drive all night to get there, hoping to show up in time to see the action. Or you have to watch tv.

Because guns are illegal in Mexico (gee, what a drag), there are very very few shootings in general. Per-capita, they hardly exist. The poor cartels must turn to illegal arms dealers such as the Academy Corporation (according to the New Yorker) in the U.S. in order to buy their weapons. It's really hard to throw a knife and do nearly as much damage as you can with an automatic weapon or even a simple hand gun, as most of us N. Americans know. Sure is a dearth of action-packed fun here. Only time I've heard gun fire is in the states, one block from my white-as-white neighborhood, in fact, or in downtown San Antonio. In Chicago I was never so lucky, although I've heard-tell of some pretty exciting incidents there--again, you'd have to watch tv news.

Anyway, we make do here...driving through our area outside of San Miguel de Allende, sometimes we have to make room for people riding to and from their work on horseback, which is picturesque but kind of a pain. People come to our door selling nopales and tortillas, for just pennies. . . they have to make a living, so we buy what they have. Home-made tortillas melt in your mouth, but they don't have that chewy tang of the ones made by huge factories.

Then, there is the culture--one of dignity, pride and tradition. Kind of like Texas used to be before the GOP turned into the mafia. Just my opinion, you know, but it's not the same as it once was there. Here we put up with costume-festooned festivals with fireworks, parades, processions and miles and miles of head-feathered Indian groups, dancing and singing and beating out the joy of life with ankle-belled steps and moves a thousand years old, incense burning and flower petals patterned onto the cobblestones, the sound alone enough to raise the hair on the arms of even the most stone-cold hearted souls.

Colors we have never imagined are everywhere. In the houses, in the hills, in the sky, in children's eyes. It's rather distracting. Sometimes I have to tear myself from this machine just to go out and watch the wide-sombreroed charros practicing their rodeo with huge indignant steeds so magnificent they tear at the heart.

People dance in the streets. People celebrate and rejoice over the changing of the seasons or for the sheer joy of remembering who they really are. People smile and bow to one another and touch shoulders and hug and walk down the street holding hands, old and young, male, female, whoever they are. Families are stronger than the mountains, and they don't let one another go through difficulties alone. They pick one another up even if they don't have enough to eat themselves. They go en masse to the hospital, even if grandmother only has to have a thyroid test. Here, people relate to one another. People talk and talk and talk. People work. People love. People live.

Dull, in other words. A year here is never as exciting as one day in the life of the NYPD. But that's just my Mexico. You might find it refreshing.