Mexico report, fair and balanced
© Linda Abbott Trapp, 2008
Having been accused by two cynical readers of putting a smiley face on everything Mexico except lirio (water hyacinths) and topes (speed bumps), here is a feeble attempt to be fair and balanced.
Beautiful bougainvillea has ugly thorns. Mexico sweet corn is not sweet. Mangoes and pineapples rushed to market before their time are often hard and tasteless unless rolled in salt and chili powder. After that, they are just awful.
Seems strange but there are Mexico places where Spanish is seldom spoken. In lower Ajijic, downtown San Miguel de Allende and more famous resorts, locals in the service industries have learned English in self-defense. Transplanted gringos and tourists make almost no effort to communicate in the national language. Now, I ask you, does money buy genuine hospitality?
There are other Mexico locales where Spanish is scarce. There must be 50 or more leftover Mayan dialects.
There are supposedly 460 street gangs in Ciudad Juarez that model themselves after similar groups in the United States. They commit murders, rapes and violent robberies, just as they were taught in Los Angeles, San Diego and El Paso. That leaves us with a mean question: Is Mexico gang warfare really America's fault?
Now we know. Encouraging migratory Mexicans to vote in the previous national election proved very expensive. The government supposedly invested the equivalent of $26 million to create and promote absentee balloting. What it got for that magnificent effort was some degree of interest from about 50,000 of the 20 million or so Mexicans abroad.
Those concerned about crime and Mexican police protection can rest more comfortably. The federales have demonstrated they are wide awake, have had their coffee and are on the job. They recently made a clean sweep in Monterrey, capturing more than a thousand counterfeit T-shirts, 71 illegal caps and 62 pirated DVDs outside a concert. The rock band rewarded the officers with complimentary admissions. This is a true story.
John Trumbo, high sheriff of Umatilla County in Oregon USA, sent Mexico a bill for $318,843 for feeding and housing 360 jailed Mexicans. The sheriff said it just isn't right for Oregon taxpayers to provide room and board and cable TV for visitors they didn't invite. Me thinks Sheriff Trumbo should not fast or hold his breath while awaiting pesos.
Mexican soap operas are far more logical than their American neighbors. South-of-the-border serials actually end after a few months. Mexican actors get new clothes and new roles in new shows. Our friend Petra says stopping and starting over has disadvantages. In her favorite, Eric Estrada, truck driver, had a girlfriend at each delivery stop. Petra says Estrada is currently out of action, parked somewhere on vacation, too tired to drive in a new soap.
There must be something missing from the report that Border Patrol agents are being sued for several million dollars because three Mexicans drowned while trying to break into the United States. Two women and a teenager were in a party of six illegals trying to wade across the Rio Grande near Eagle Pass at 4 in the morning.
When confronted by agents, they turned back, stepped into deeper water and tragically discovered they could not swim. Legal action says the agents should have taken the invaders into custody and provided a warm breakfast and dry clothes.
Beauty is believed to be in the eye of the beholder. That generous philosophy fails to untangle some things called art. Once upon a time, a Teresa Margolles exhibit featured a section of the tiled floor where another artist, Luis Miguel Suro, fell when he was shot. To my untrained eye, this display, even after considerable study, looked exactly like a rectangular configuration of 100 tiles, more or less the same size. Art? I remain confused.
© Julia Taylor, 2007
Parting shot, no names to protect the dumb and dumber: A Canadian couple bought a Mexico house just right for restoration. They hired a highly recommended architect who brought in an expert plumber (for an additional fee). Architect and plumber looked all around and declared the house had no aljibe, no underground water storage tank. Very important, said the plumber, to have an aljibe. Absolute necessity, said the architect. Oh my said the new homeowners.
While considering the cost, the owners thought how strange that a large house, which undoubtedly once or twice sheltered a medium-large family, had only the tiny tinaco on the roof. Could there be some explanation?
The architect drove around town, found the previous owner at his favorite bar, and asked the big question: Where is the aljibe? Previous owner and architect, over cold lemonades, decided there was no aljibe, but not to worry, together they would immediately hire men to build one. There was no mention of cost containment.
The architect's uncle and two cousins, plus the previous owner's grandson, assigned to maintain a steady flow of lemonade, arrived with heavy hammers, picks, shovels and a box of something that looked like dynamite. They broke up the side patio and driveway. In just three days, they dug a hole almost three feet deep by almost six feet square. Almost because none of the lines were straight. Lemonade does that to some people.
On the fourth day, all digging stopped. The architect announced that his crew had hit solid rock. The grandson nodded in confirmation.
What to do? The architect said it might be better to abandon the patio and driveway excavation, reverse field and dig up the garden. It took just two days to fill and smooth the aborted three-day dig. All the while, the meter was running.
In the second week, after much filling and smoothing, one of the cousins, while on smoke break, noticed a metal door at the side of the house. It covered the opening to a giant cistern full of water.
How about that, said the architect, it seems you already have an aljibe.
What happened next was not fatal but the homeowners have a new architect.
(Marvin West, trying to be fair and balanced, invites reader reaction via e-mail.)
