I think that really is it. One of the reasons I knew I wanted to leave the United States for Mexico was the abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables here. Which actually have flavor because they are grown for that, as opposed to for their color and size.
There are serious quality of life issues in the US that I am not facing here. Sure, Mexico has other quality of life issues. But I mean, food. Good food is really important.
Right up there next to water (cough)…
Before I go into a no-doubt common gringo assessment of punctuality in Mexico, I want to share the following:
Last April, Semana Santa, I booked a trip to Guadalajara via the Toluca airport, about 1 hour outside of Mexico. You have to get a shuttle there from Mexico City. My plan was get the shuttle from Polanco, since that was the closest shuttle departure point to my neighborhood at the time. Unfortunately when I got there the shuttle tickets were sold out, owing to the holiday. They called the shuttle point on Paseo de la Reforma, closer to city center, to confirm that the shuttle there still had seats, and it did. And it was scheduled to leave in 20 minutes. They told me to hurry and hustled me into a taxi.
After some delay due to the idiot taxi driver (who also ripped me off) I got there, 23 minutes later. I wasn’t sure where the departure point was so I basically ran around the block looking for it, causing further delay, but found it and got on, relieved that it was still there. And it was still there another five minutes later. People were checking their watches and starting to grumble when one of the employees stuck her head in and asked if anyone had gotten on from Polanco. I looked around and realized something really amazing: they had been holding the shuttle for me.
That being said… I am a pretty punctual person, in the classic Northern new-world definition of “on time,” wherein you plan to arrive 5-10 minutes early just in case. Living in Mexico, though, my tendency to do this has eased up a little.
After the first several experiences of arriving 5-10 minutes early and then having to wait at least 20-25 for everyone else, the inborn panic that starts to boil as you approach the “appointed time” gets defeated a little. You start to get comfortable with the principle that anywhere under 15 minutes late in Mexico is generally not considered late. (Two notable exceptions are mass transport and when it’s something really important– picking up checks, meetings with heads of state, etc.)
I still haven’t given in completely, mind you. On principle. If you pass the appointed time, I reason, the other person has cause to wonder where you are. Plus I generally agree to be in a certain place at a certain time because it’s work-related, so I’m either being paid to be there or trying to foster business; either way it pays to be punctual. Nevermind the question of “what if the other person shows up on time.”
So I still am usually where I need to be at the appointed time or 2-5 minutes early. Which means I generally still wait at least 15 minutes for the other party.
One of two things usually happens when they arrive– they either just stroll in as if the appointed time were 15 minutes after we had agreed, or if later than 15 minutes, people very often rush in winded and apologetic with an explanation about traffic.
To this I almost always laugh. Because I find it hilarious that despite the reliability and reputation of Iberoamerican tardiness, they still somehow don’t get that I expect them to show up late. I’m generally just like, “whatever don’t worry about it.” I haven’t been so bold yet as to say, “don’t worry, I expected you to get here 15 minutes late and I think it’s ridiculous/absurd/cute that you had the illusion that you would get here when you said you would.”
I don’t think I ever will say that, though. Partly because a piece of me still holds out a hope and a belief that someone, someday, will value punctuality enough to actually achieve it.
And partly because I know that to an extent delays result from the humane flexibility of this place; that things don’t always run like clockwork, and that sometimes that is really nice.
I am getting pretty stoked about the dead coming back to visit me on Tuesday for Día de los Muertos. This year I am participating in the tradition of building an ofrenda (offering) alter for them.
Here it is so far. There will be more to come as I want to get some Guinness for Jason and possibly rye whiskey for my granny, if I can find it.
I had a really great dream on Thursday night. A woman I know here gave me several photos of me and some friends, and in one of the pictures there was an image of Jason’s ghost next to me. One of those dreams that make you wake up happy.
I had a mosey around the Centro Historico hoy to check out the Zócalo for Día de Los Muertos. It was kind of a desmadre, so I didn’t stay long, but it was pretty amazing nevertheless. Here are the things that particularly impressed me. There was also some tribal dancing going on.
Big party in Miami every WMC– this year Soul Clap played at it. Not having gone to WMC, I nevertheless have been listening to this mix nonstop since like the day after the conference ended.
One song I really really like on it is around minute 1:10:00. I have wanted to know what it is for a long time.
http://soundcloud.com/soulclap/live-sunday-school-for-degenerates
It is Kenny G, “Havana” remixed by Todd Terry. WHATTUP.
Soundcloud rules.
For good measure, and btw. Here is my favorite Todd Terry track:
Mom, just so you know. I am cleaning my room tonight because of the fact that Sra Mary comes tomorrow.
Note: the word for cleaning lady is alma de casa. Yes that means “house soul.”
So, I’ve been here over a year. The decision to stay indefinitely, like many decisions, has been a back-and-forth that sways more and more toward an answer. In this case, staying.
I have considered going back home (Richmond, Virginia), going to Miami, or going to another city in Mexico. But each time I come back to the fact that DF is freaking awesome, and I don’t want to leave.
Realistically, the only large city in the US I would consider moving to– and I want a large city, because to me they represent better opportunities– is Miami. And I love Miami.
But between the US and Mexico, aside from the fact that my family and so many friends live in the US, I really do prefer Mexico. It’s not even really a political thing, but a cultural thing, that Mexico for me and I think a lot of gringos I talk to here means more freedom. There aren’t as many lawyers here, in one sense. Good food is both more abundant and more affordable. Healthcare is cheaper. The weather is extremely nice. And just on a personal level people are generally remarkably open-minded and considerate.
And then there is DF. I can’t really describe how amazing this place is, but basically my standard line is it’s got everything New York, LA, and Washington have plus the fact that it’s in Mexico. And I love the presence of creativity here in everyday life. And I love my apartment. And I love the public transit system. And the taco stands. And just all the surprises.
On this blog I have a tag “racism.” I think I mentioned this before, maybe around the time I noticed “are die antwoord racist” in my blog search stats, but I tag stuff “racism” when I think it has potential to stimulate dialog on the subject of race.
I tagged my last post, on Antoine Dodson, “racism.” At the time I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it actually had to do with race, but I thought about it a bit and here’s what I came up with:
I questioned whether it was racist to broadcast the interview, to make a song out of it, to post it on my blog, to be entertained by any of it. I concluded that I don’t think it is racist in itself, to be entertained by Antoine Dodson’s interview.
The racially-charged aspect comes from associating Antoine’s attitude and speech and appearance with blackness. Or from associating the projects with blackness.
So the reason it felt racist, why I felt uncomfortable, is because I wondered how many people thought it was funny because it was “black.” But actually, blackness isn’t directly related to Antoine’s comportment in the video. Blackness may– most likely does– have a historical connection to the fact that he lives in the projects, etc. But he wasn’t “acting black,” or like he’s from the projects. He was just acting like Antoine Dodson.
So why is the video funny then? Because he’s over the top, I guess. He’s completely hamming it up. And his sister’s kind of downplaying it.
If anyone’s ever wondered why I talk about race so much, it’s because I’m a white person from the South with an antebellum family history. My family members owned slaves, fought for the South in the Civil War, and my family members complied with, and probably defended, segregation. It’s something I think about a lot, and something I see the impact of in many facets of US society (not just in the South). Thinking about race is an exercise I use to try to make myself a better person, I guess. Aside from the fact that racism in the US, and in most places, is a subject that I think still gets downplayed a lot.
This happened before, too, when I lived in the UK for 2.5 years. I kept not knowing about stupid US fads until after they were over, but that didn’t stop me from celebrating them. So in effect I was celebrating in this weird time warp, que me dejó sola because no one else in the country where I was at cared. Because they were stupid US fads.
Cases in point:
Dave Chappelle’s Lil’ Jon gags (“Yeeeeaah!” “Oookaaaay!” “WHHAT?”)
Crocs (although “celebrating” obviously means “ragging on” in this case)
and now
Antoine Dodson
I actually woke up with “he’s climbin in your window, he’s snatching your people up… hide your kids, hide your wife” in my head this morning. Not that anyone who reads really NEEDS me to post this, since obviously they saw it a million times three months ago.
But here:
I was attacked by some idiot in the projects
ILL CAMINO REAL 