El americano


Dr. D. in Ixtapa-Zihuatanejo.

So, I’m in Mexico, visiting mi familia, and the whole time, everyone keeps reminding me that I’m an americano.  Just look at me in the picture. I’m sitting on a green, white, and red bench wearing an Ixtapa-Zihuatanejo tourist t-shirt. Now, be honest with me. Do I look American or Mexican? Okay, please tell me after you finish reading this post. I think I’d rather not hear your answer right now.

It’s December 30, 2008, and I’m at my cousin house visiting because all her brothers and sisters are coming in for New Year’s Eve. She has an impromptu dinner because, unexpectedly, she is expecting about thirty guests in her house. No one complains about the fast food (fast for Mexico) that we eat buffet style on Styrofoam plates. I already have my food and I’m eating in the living room on the opposite side of the house where the food is on the table in the dining room.

Suddenly, one cousin begins to speak Spanish with a fake American accent. Then, someone else joins in the conversation with his fake American accent. Before you know it, about ten people are speaking Spanish with a fake American accent. I think it’s rather funny. Much laughter ensues until my cousin notices me. Everyone immediately stops talking in Spanish with their fake American accent and everyone looks at me. My cousin asks me if I was offended. Actually, I tell her, I thought it was very funny. I had never heard Mexicans talk in fake American accents before, so I kind of enjoyed it. I heard other people talking like Americans on my trip through Mexico, but they always stopped when they noticed I was near. Everyone thinks I’m an americano. To be honest, I’m not sure what I am!

My cousin’s husband (my cousin-in-law?) constantly reminded me that I looked American. He couldn’t explain why, but he said I didn’t look Mexican. Other people told me the same thing. I’m sure my skin color had nothing to do with it because Mexicans come in all shades, from dark to light. Perhaps, it was my gray hair? Mexicans my age, in general, don’t have as much gray hair as me. Maybe, it was my clothing. All my clothes were bought in America. Okay, I bought some of them in Wal-Mart in Evergreen Park, Illinois, but they don’t sell the same clothes at the Wal-Marts in Mexico. I just don’t get it. I have cousins in Mexico who look more American than me, but everyone immediately recognized them as Mexicans.

Conversely, when I’m in Chicago, Mexicans approach me and immediately speak to me in Spanish. How did they know I speak Spanish if I look American? Wouldn’t that make me Mexican? When I’m in Mexico, my cousins eventually concede that I am, in fact, Mexican. Unlike other Mexicans who go back to Mexico to visit their familia, I do eat all kinds of Mexican food and I do understand EVERYTHING they say, including all the colloquialisms and swear words. I always seem to blend in with my familia. Until someone points out that I don’t look mexicano!

DDR

Driving


Be careful! I drive like you!

Driving in Mexico requires the development of a different set of skills that are not acquired from driving in the USA. Americans tend to obey the rules of the road, unless they think no one is watching. Mexicans, on the other hand, view all traffic signs and signals as mere suggestions. In general, driver’s courtesy is nonexistent.

Don’t think you have the right of way just because you have the green light. Oh, no! In Mexico, es la ley del más rápido. Survival of the swiftest! Be prepared to be cut off by that unseen, rapidly approaching car coming out from seemingly nowhere! You must always be prepared to slam on your brakes for those occasions. Heaven help you if you collide with another vehicle. For, El que pega, paga. That’s right! The striking vehicle must pay for the damages, regardless of whose fault it really was.

In Mexico City, you’re either flooring the gas pedal or slamming on the brakes. It’s one extreme or the other. And unless you’re thoroughly familiar with the area, you will end up driving the wrong way down a one-way street. I know I did it a few times. What surprised about my mistake is how courteous and patient Mexican drivers were with my mistake. Was it because of my Illinois license plate? Or the fact that I was driving head on into three lanes of traffic with all oncoming cars speeding toward me. I imagined a deadly game of chicken, but instead, all the drivers stopped and allowed me to turn around and drive in the correct direction. Then I remembered that the striking vehicle must pay, so of course, everyone wants to avoid accidents.

Another contributing factor to all this driving madness is the layout of all the streets that rarely follow the grid pattern of modern cities like Chicago. Streets in Mexico City curve and angle like a tangled mess of spaghetti. It’s not unusual to have to accelerate to merge with high-speed traffic, quickly change three or four lanes, and then practically slam on the brakes to make a turn. Oh, what fun!

DDR

Happy New Year


El Ángel de la Victoria

I want to wish everyone a belated Happy New Year! ¡Próspero Año Nuevo! I was too busy to write this post on New Year’s Day because I celebrated in Mexico City. This was the only the second time I celebrated New Year’s Eve in Mexico. The first time was way back in 1965, but all I really remember is breaking a piñata with my cousins. I do remember this New Year’s Eve, however.

We started with a few drinks on an empty stomach because dinner wasn’t served until after midnight! We watched celebrations from other cities on TV. When the countdown to the New Year started, we were all ready with a glass of apple cider, a glass of water, and twelve grapes. The tradition of eating twelve grapes began in 1909 in Spain and is now also followed in Mexico, Chile, and Argentina–Chile and Argentina eat raisins instead. No one is sure why we eat twelve grapes, but speculation is that it’s one for each month of the year or one for each toll of the bell at midnight. At the stroke of midnight, we ate the grapes to bring us good luck throughout the year. (I learned these interesting tidbits of information while watching TV before our New Year’s Eve celebration!) We had a toast with the glass of cider. Then we threw out the glass of water in the yard. The water represents the tears we will avoid throughout the rest of the year. Everyone danced in yard–including me, but not very well. Everyone took turns walking around the yard rolling a suitcase behind them. This was done with the hopes that they get to travel somewhere exotic on vacation during the next year.

I make no New Year’s resolutions this year since I never manage to keep them for very long anyway.

DDR

Laredo, Texas


Laredo, Texas

As I’m driving to Mexico from Chicago, I notice how flat the terrain is compared to the mountains I will negotiate once I enter Mexico. On the U.S. side there were some rolling hills along the way, but nothing compared to the steep grades in the Mexican mountains that sometimes cause my car to sputter on the way up. And as if that weren’t scary enough, some roads actually run alongside the edge of a cliff for long distances. They don’t believe in guardrails in Mexico. Talk about the thrill of adventure!

In Laredo, the streets are gridlocked with traffic from Christmas shoppers. Everyone seems to gravitate toward Wal-Mart where I went to use their ATM. I actually had to wait in line to drive into the parking lot. Everyone, Mexicans and non-Mexicans alike, is speaking Spanish here. This part of town sure feels like Mexico right now. A lot of Mexicans came to Laredo to shop for the holidays. One man told me that he came all the way from Monterrey. I don’t quite understand it. There are plenty of Wal-Marts in Mexico, which I like because that’s were I can get Mexican pesos with my ATM card. This is my fifth time here in a year, but this is the most crowded that I’ve seen it. I can’t wait to drive into Mexico and get out of here. As my mother said when asked why she was moving out of Back of the Yards, “Too many Mexicans!”

DDR

Mexico the easy way


Driving to Mexico would be much more difficult if it weren’t for this handy dandy road atlas. Well, even with the atlas I still got lost. But eventually I got to wherever I had to go. An impossible journey without the atlas. This atlas is published in English, Spanish, and German. German? There must be a lot of German tourists in Mexico. Oh, yes, I did see a German couple at the pyramids in Teotihuacán last July. This atlas has served me well my last two trips to Mexico. This time I have a backup–my iPhone! With GPS!

DDR