While I was in Mexico, I learned a little more about Mexican relationships. I suppose I have my own preconceived American notions about how their relationships are structured. Well, I was surprised to learn about many aspects about their relationships that were previously unknown to me.
Yes, there are Mexicans who marry for life, but that’s not always the expectation of every couple. During one of my many dinner conversations with relatives, I mentioned that the divorce rate in America was about 50%. One of my cousins boasted, “Mexico is catching up!” She divorced a couple of years earlier. And getting a divorce in Mexico is now much easier. Only one party has to go to court to request the divorce! A few of my cousins had children out-of-wedlock. That’s not so unusual here in the U.S., but I was surprised to hear that it also occurs more and more frequently in Mexico. One cousin had recently broken up with his wife. So I asked if he was already divorced or just separated. He said that they were never married. She just left the house and he got to keep their two daughters.
One of the strangest things I heard about was commitment in a relationship–or rather a lack of commitment. If a couple stays together for more than one year and then they break up, one party can file a civil lawsuit for monetary damages for not marrying the other. So many people keep track of their anniversary date, not to celebrate it, but to break up just before they can be sued. And the longer they’re together as a couple, the more monetary damages they’re liable for. Because a couple, it’s assumed, is together because they eventually want to get married.
As you approach Laredo, Texas, on I-35, a camera photographs your vehicle. If you look to the left, you will see the checkpoint where you will have to stop and answer some questions to U.S. government personnel dressed in military uniforms on the way back home. They may inspect your vehicle to see what you’re transporting. This makes for an intimidating encounter with the authorities for an ordinary citizen like me. I’ve crossed the border three times in the last year, and it doesn’t get any easier with each crossing. Each time is just as intimidating as the last. Yet, I plan to cross the border several more times.
When I travel south to Mexico, I’m an anomaly. I drive a compact car while everyone else seems to drive these huge gas-guzzling SUVs or pickups fully loaded with American goods such as stoves, washers, dryers, and who knows what else. Many of them also have a rooftop luggage carrier, a carrier that attaches to the rear bumper, and a little trailer. More often than not, all the vehicles bear California or Texas license plates. And they usually travel in caravans.
In Mexico, I drive a little above the speed limit at 120 km/h. I don’t want to attract any undue attention. However, I think I do because I am often passed by these caravans as if I were standing still. I always look into the passing vehicles, but no one ever looks back or even acknowledges my existence. We are all in our own little cocoons trying not to attract attention from the Mexican authorities or criminals.
Mexican Road Map
Coming back to the U.S. is also quite interesting. Suddenly, all these caravans that were rushing to Mexico are now rushing back to the U.S. And most are still just as loaded, but with Mexican goods and products for the return trip. Usually, it takes about an hour to cross the border back into the U.S. But when I crossed on January 2, 2009, I had to wait about nine hours to reach Laredo. Everyone was returning to the U.S. after the holidays at about the same time. I was about two miles from the border when the traffic suddenly came to a standstill. I hadn’t expected to see so much traffic. We moved a few feet every few minutes. I had a lot of time to look around at my surroundings. I took a picture of the palm trees with Christmas lights with my iPhone. Then, I noticed all the vehicles that were approaching the border. I think the average American would be surprised by this huge onslaught of Mexicans entering the U.S. Yes, me, too. I don’t mean me as surprised, but rather as another Mexican constituting the onslaught.
As I looked at the license plates, I noticed that they were from all over the U.S. I saw plates from Alabama, Arizona, Iowa, California, Texas, Nevada, Oklahoma, Missouri, Oregon, Florida, Illinois, Ohio, Utah, North Carolina, South Carolina, Indiana, Nebraska, Virginia, Wisconsin, Colorado, Georgia, Tennessee, and Arkansas. I’m sure that there were other states represented, but I didn’t get to see them. All the occupants of these vehicles were Mexicans of all shapes, sizes, and colors. And I assume that everyone had documentation to enter the U.S. otherwise they would not be attempting to enter at U.S. Customs checkpoint. I also saw one car with Ontario license plates, but they didn’t look Mexican. Neither did the people in the BMW SUV with what I thought were German license plates.
Palm Trees with Christmas Lights
At first, I was bothered by the fact that I had to wait for so long. Then, I just made the best of the situation and took pictures, wrote down the states of the license plates, read my blogs on my iPhone, and took catnaps whenever possible. I arrived in Nuevo Laredo at about 9:00 pm, but didn’t reach Laredo until 6:30 am! Good thing I had gotten plenty of sleep the previous few nights. I know the next time I go to Mexico, I’ll make it a point not to return to America too soon after New Year’s Day in order to avoid all the traffic. Live and learn.
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!
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!
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.
Chicago USA 