Mexican Madness - It's The Mexican Way

Monday, 20 March 2006 Hi Again! Some stuff I forgot to tell you on Sunday, and an update.

My understanding of Spanish is going ahead in leaps and bounds; though still sketchy, I’m at about the same level I was in Surgut after 8 months there. Sadly, my speaking skills are still atrocious! The phrase book I bought isn’t a patch on my Russian one, which is REALLY frustrating.

I saw another accident: a food delivery boy on a motorbike went under the front wheel of a car. I tell you, these Mexicans are tough! He clambered out with just a bad foot!

We were following my landlord to go and get some things to furnish my apartment when I saw a group of boys beating up and kicking another boy. No time to think whether I have sludge for brains, I yelled for the car to be stopped, leaped out before it got to a standstill, started running, and roared at the kids. Mad scatter! I picked the poor little man up off the street, wiped his eyes for him, checked he was ok, & delivered him to his dad. That earned me heroine status for 2 minutes, then a serious berating..”What if they’d turned on you? DON’T do it again!”
Yep, I have to concede it was a rash action, but no promises that I won’t do it again.

I drove! A car! Twice! Bloody scary! Not too bad just driving straight ahead, but come to an intersection where I need to turn and the temptation to head for the left hand side of the road is huge. Phew! It took more concentration than a University 3-hour end of year exam! I hereby go on record apologising to all the foreign-driver/lunatics I've mentally abused on the roads in New Zealand.
Also, I’m seriously attached to the shoulder of roads..so much so that we nearly went off a couple of times. Nasty shoulders, they drop instead of sloping. Heart palpitations when overtaking too..I was sure I was going to scrape one of those big freight trucks or buses. To be fair though, I was driving a great big Chrysler thingy (kind of like a Chariot) that seats 7 people. A bit wide for me to see my sides.
Who in Oz or NZ would ever think I’d be an overwrought driver and prefer to be a passenger? What? Prue? The speed freak? The wanna-be drag queen who needs to beat everyone off the mark when the traffic lights turn green? The crazy one who loved to chop a gear and accelerate into corners on unsealed roads? “Yeeeeha” as I took some of those corners sideways! Not to mention, squealing tyres cornering on sealed roads. No!
Yes! Friends, I think I’ve hung up my drivers gloves. It was fun while it lasted. Now it’s time to become a bus rider or car passenger.

Mexicans LOVE their car horns! The traffic lights turn green, and cars 15 back in line start tooting at the lead car. The poor soul hasn’t even had time to release clutch & press the accelerator! No toots at me..I’d relinquished the driver’s seat before reaching the city entrance. Blow THAT for a game of soldiers!

VW beetles are everywhere..and not the new models! I don’t know how many would be considered road worthy elsewhere, very few I suspect, but here..no problems! Omar, my Accountant business partner has one..he nurses that little baby when he first starts it, then gives it hell on the road! There're all sorts of suspicious vacant spaces in front of the steering wheel where inconsequentials like speedometers and gauges usually are, but hey, it speeds from A – D – B – C (time management and planning is a problem! It’s the Mexican way..Mexican version of ‘RNT’ Vadim [Russian National Tradition]) If I’m ever going to drive here, a VW is what I want! Next to no Honda’s here, but I’d go for one of them too given they’re my favourite car.

You know you’re in a devoutly Catholic country when:-
Every business and office has a crucifix on the wall..and graphically gruesome ones they are too. Blood everywhere! Accompanying these is a plethora of pictures of Jesus Christ, and Mary (Maria Guadalupe).
Every car and bus you climb into has the same. Crucifixes (crucifi?) either dangle from the rear view mirror, or are wedged into the panel in front of the speedometer. Sometimes both. Pictures abound on the dashboard, glove boxes, windows, seat backs, doors..anywhere and everywhere.
In a city of 600,000 people, there’s something like 7 major cathedrals to accommodate a minimum of 1,000 people each, plus your average neighbourhood church..and they’re full to overflowing on Sundays all day, and busy the remaining 6 days of the week. I don’t think I’ve seen a church for any other religion yet.
Whenever you’re in close proximity to a church, the people around you are ‘crossing’ themselves. And it’s a strange ‘crossing’. They ‘cross’ their foreheads, then just below their bottom lip, then their face, then they do this convoluted ‘crossing’ over their chests (not your ‘normal’ 4-point cross), then finally ‘cross’ their lips and kiss their fingertips 2 or 3 times.
I was taken to church by my last landlady. Yes, I’m a fraud and a wimp! I went through the motions to keep her happy, but when it came to the crossing thingy I was totally stumped. I think she got the message; she didn’t take me again. I’ve learned through a previous encounter not to comment on my personal beliefs..that earned me a 3-hour session of attempted soul-saving and conversion..until 3:30am! AND I’d watered down my viewpoint! NOT doing that one again!

As a result of the religious fervour, couples don’t live together, and they take years to get married e.g. 8 years dating is quite ok (that last because of finances). Consequently, “F*ck Hotels” abound. I’m not being crass..that’s what they’re called. Rent a room for a maximum of 8-hours, though the norm is 2-hours; have noisy, abandoned sex until your brains fall out, then go to your separate homes (usually where mum and dad live, no matter what your age), or back to work. These hotels are everywhere, and they do a roaring trade 24/7. I know because I’ve stayed in a couple of them, though it’s difficult to find one that will let you stay longer than 8-hours let alone a week. They’re cheaper and nicer than regular hotels and motels. But oh, my poor wee ‘good girl’ ears and blushing cheeks. No point in turning on the fabulously big TV; porn, porn, and more porn..and the volume is always at maximum when you turn the cursed thing on. No power points either to run my lappy off..until I got this nifty little plug that screws into the light socket..bliss..’Prue music’ to drown out the ear shattering groans and wails surrounding me!
No blankets on the beds, just a plastic mattress protector (oh gross!), sheets, and a ‘cosmetic’ bed cover. I had to beg for some blankets after I froze my butt off and sought refuge in my sleeping bag the first night.

Perhaps as an off-shoot of the religious fervour; I’ve never seen so many bridal shops. They’re enormous, and all the dresses would do Cinderella proud! One shop even hires models to parade the pavement for hours at a time. Unbelievable.
Kiwi family/mates: the ‘pavement’ word noted? Yeah, well I have international ‘family’/mates now! How awesome is that! I love it! Yes, yes; most of you have ‘been there, done that’, but it’s new for me, and so, so cool!

OSH (Occupational Safety and Health) hasn’t reached Mexico yet. Every day my blood runs cold! At the ‘nothing’ end of the scale are the office chairs and desks. Good grief, I haven’t seen such appalling furniture since my mother was alive and working (25 years ago), and hers was luxurious by comparison!
One of the ‘offices’ I had to visit to get my visa extended was in fact the gap under the stairs in a building. In that wee space they squeezed a documentation adviser, a passport photographer and her development equipment, a woman with typewriter to complete documentation, a photocopier, 3 spare plastic stools for the customers, the requisite crucifixes, religious pictures, and bibles for 3 employees. Being smallish, temporary, and in no need of the photographer just now, I got the stool placed at the lowest point of the stairs..I perched on that stool, doubled over, sucking in photocopier toner, for an hour! Sssshhhhhhhh! Don’t tell my insurance company..they’ll never pay out on the chiropractic and oncology claims!
At the other end of the scale are the ‘trade’ workers. No gloves for butchers and fish filleters. Guys working with fibreglass, spray paint, or welding; not a facemask in sight. Walking past their shops, I get woozy from the fumes or blinded by the light! No matter, for most, working life ends circa age 40..trade or management! After that, you’d better hope you can set up your own business, otherwise it’s just years of treading water, sitting on the pavement outside your 2-room, dirt floor ‘casa’ (home). Some take to begging, some make and sell beadwork, some perform ‘stuff’ at the traffic lights for peso’s (juggling is common, one family has a WWF type wrestling routine going on..”school and education? What’s that for?”). Lots and lots of ‘cripples’ at the lights and on the streets too..wheelchairs, armless or legless people. It’s all a nightmare to me, and yet the vast majority of locals are happy, smiley people!! There’ve been plenty of times since I arrived that I’ve been down to 20 peso’s (US$2:00) in my wallet with a long time until payday (they’ve been erratic to say the least..actually, I’ve only been paid once..that’s another story), but I can’t resist these people. I’ve bought and broken a tonne of bead bracelets and rings. At least I have all my body parts, clothes and a little bit of food in my fridge. Hahahahahahaha..the buggers..they’ve probably got more money than me! Don’t let my red hair fool you, I’m definitely a dumb blonde at heart and to the roots..though there’s a well overdue trace of grey starting to kick in, (in)conveniently shining through when I have a centre part in loose hair, or at the temples when I go for the ‘tied back’ look. So few still that people are shocked when they learn my age (haven’t reached the stage of lying about that (where’s the sense?), just enough to make me gasp a little when the sunlight catches it in the mirror occasionally. No hiding from my advancing years..even the dye bottle only gives me a couple of weeks grace!

I ‘met’ a boxer dog at the beach that I’d have sworn was 100 years old. No! The poor young thing had eaten a blowfish washed up with the tide. It almost killed her, but she’s been fighting back with a lot of veterinary help. She was your typical boxer..stupid but loveable!
A timely reminder about those damned fish; there are loads of them on the beach, it made me so much more careful about looking where I was walking..shades of learning to look further than the tips of my toes when walking in Oz in case of snakes.

Shoe shops (zapaterria’s): OH MY GOD! I’m sure there has to be 4 of these for every other shop, and they’re huge! I don’t get it. The average Mexican can’t afford more than a couple of pairs of shoes, and I haven’t been in ‘gringo/gringa/tourist central’. Imelda Marcos heaven..I’ve scared myself a couple of times by stopping and seriously looking and pricing cowboy boots! Oh dear Lord, don’t let me stoop to such ridiculous levels! There are some pretty styley ones here though, and so cheap.
“STOP! Just stop it now! You’re not going there! What you need is jandals!”..”Yeah but 500 peso’s for leather boots vs. 500 peso’s for rubber jandals..what do you do?”..”You step away from the zappateria!” It’s a tough call, but my big back pack is already dedicated to shoes and boots courtesy of Surgut and Aguascalientes.

Good business meetings over the last couple of days. A snappy one with my Mexican business partners..”get yourselves together; if I can arrive on time and prepared then you must too..I’m not interested in sitting around for a couple of hours waiting for you, and then have you dither!” A fright for them..yikes, she gets stroppy! I only had to wait one hour for them today; still not good enough, but it’s progress.
Beauty meetings with both the lawyer and the Senator..the ‘boys’ were impressed by how little I needed to have translated..”I like the speed at which you learn, now I just need you to start speaking!” Wink, wink, kiss, kiss. Rampant sexual overtones, but not seriously..I’m learning..”it’s the Mexican way!”
The Immigration guys were cool too. Much greater tolerance for a Kiwi who doesn’t speak Spanish than any American/Canadian aka gringo/gringa that does. They queued up to talk to me, and went to great lengths to help me..even staying 2-hours after close-up time to give me my extended tourist visa. And didn’t their smiles just make me swoon?! Wheeeeeeyew! And, and, and, they’ve promised to fast-track my FM3, which is a working visa, and the first step to naturalization.
Hand shake, cheek kiss, “encantado, buenas tardes, hasta luego, dos semana!” (enchanted, good afternoon, see you later, in two weeks!)
What does a middle-aged woman do? Wobble out to the car on weak knees! How to get ‘loved up’ without serious physical contact in one easy lesson! It’s the Mexican way!

Breakfast: frijoles (freeholeys)..mashed bayo beans, and huevos revueltos..scrambled eggs with chopped ham and covered with chilli sauce! Any takers? No, me neither. Breakfast isn’t my favourite meal here; there’s just something not quite right about starting your day with chilli, and of course there should be a law against beans no matter where you are in the world!

Some of you have asked whatever happened to that strange boss I had when I first got here. After that rocky start, I told him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t like him and was leaving. He told me in no uncertain terms that he wanted me to stay, and if I did he’d make it worth my while. We had an uneasy truce that ended up a great friendship. He told me what triggered his odd behaviour in December, and I’ve helped him work out some of those problems. He still grabs my hand or arm when we’re crossing roads (I’m learning Mexican men are prone to physical contact, grabbing hands, guiding you in the right direction with a hand on your back or hip or shoulder), but he no longer takes my bag off me. He’s one of my business partners.

I’ve attached some photos so you can see what Omar and Rene look like. Now you’ll be able to picture them when I write about them.