WestWords
By Marvin West
His Bio

Here and there - Washington D.C. and Jocotepec

Before we relocated to Mexico, to the interesting state of Jalisco, to Lake Chapala and, more specifically, to the outskirts of Jocotepec, we lived in Washington, D.C.

Washington and Jocotepec are not the same. Not exactly.

Washington thinks it is big time, at a minimum the capitol of planet Earth. Jocotepec is somewhat less assuming.

Washington's big-city mentality is tightly packed into a relatively small space, wedged between Virginia, the Potomac River and Maryland, in and out around monuments and historic squares. That means perpetual traffic jams, aggravated by gawking tourists from Kansas, and hundreds of traffic lights totally unsynchronized.

Jocotepec, moderately crowded on market day, is trying to catch up. It now has five red lights, a few more visitors than before and a somewhat confusing system of one-way streets. Intersections are exciting. Stop signs cause foreigners to stop.

There is a difference in the significance of noise here and there. In Washington, if you hear "bang, bang, bang," you duck for cover and peek out with a periscope to see if somebody is shooting at somebody.

"Bang, bang, bang" in Jocotepec means the beginning, middle or end of a fiesta.

A difference of opinion in Washington often leads to a formal complaint, opposing editorials and talk-show appearances, competing billboards, a high-profile lawsuit and three instant-print books.

In Jocotepec, when two are bogged down in disagreement, one or the other eventually says no problema, which roughly translates to "what the heck."

In Washington, if a motorist bumps another from behind, there may be hell to pay. Police cars, sirens wailing, speed to the scene. Not far behind are fire trucks, ambulances and cleanup crew, even if bumpers aren't scratched and plastic taillights remain intact.

High-tech inspectors study the runaway car for mechanical failure. The offended motorist may need an MRI to check for whiplash. The offending motorist may face an on-the-spot sobriety test, eye exam and a summons to driver-training school.

In Jocotepec, the trailing motorist waves both arms and the one in front gets out of the way.

Because of the overflow of priceless politicians, shrewd lobbyists and at least a hundred do-good groups that don't pay taxes, Washington is an environmental hub with a strong aversion to spillage. If someone drips, drops or dumps ugly, smelly stuff in the street or on a sidewalk, or, mercy, mercy, on someone's eight square feet of lawn, a cry for help goes out to the city sanitation service.

The dispatcher sends a big green truck and two workers in green uniforms to clean up the mess but the Environmental Protection Agency outmaneuvers the trash truck and stretches yellow tape all around to mark the scene as a potential toxic dump. Eventually, detectives and scientists are paged to conduct a formal investigation. Meanwhile, sanitation workers are standing around on overtime.

Reactions in Jocotepec are also predictable. If oil, paint or animal refuse is spilled, someone will sprinkle dirt over the slick, smelly or gummy spot. If boxes, bottles, plastic bags and tree trimmings are scattered all about, a sweet someone will sweep the trash into a pile and set it on fire. Others will add their trash. After the fire goes out, others will deposit trash at the site for future fires.

In Washington, you need an official government permit to burn anything outdoors. In Jocotepec, you need a match.

If you have a backache in Washington, you call your primary physician's phone nurse and make an appointment. First available time is eight days later. Eventually you present your co-pay insurance card, step on the scale to compare then and now, and pull up your sleeve for a blood-pressure check. The doctor pops into your cubicle, checks your pulse and health chart, says "Hmmmmm," and decides you need a series of X-rays in case you have a slipped disk.

To satisfy malpractice insurance guidelines, he writes authorization to see a specialist. The specialist, to cover his malpractice risk, recommends a battery of tests. Powerful medicine masks the pain while evaluation goes on indefinitely. The eventual conclusion? No need for immediate surgery but you must have weeks of therapy, as much as insurance allows.

If you have a backache in Jocotepec, you pump up your courage, limp to the bus stop and endure a bumpy ride along the lake to downtown Chapala to see Dr. Jose Ricardo Heredia Granados. He's on Avenue Flavio Romero, across from the old orange Volkswagen with the surfboard on top.

Among several other things, Dr. Heredia is a chiropractor. He listens carefully to the complaint and helps you onto the old padded table. There are shocking pops and cracks as he realigns the spine. If that isn't enough, he administers acupuncture to soothe the angry nerve. Bingo, the backache is gone.

The Mexican doctor has already earned certification as a miracle worker. His charges are less, 200 pesos por favor, than it costs to park in Washington.

Indeed, Washington is big business. GEICO, cashing in on caveman commercials, supposedly sells another insurance policy every two minutes. Details flow into a secretary's computer. Within three winks and a sip of cappuccino, the new customer's bank account is debited for the cost. A minute or so later, the customer receives e-mail confirmation that she's covered. Within an hour, the printed policy is en route to the Post Office.

Joco has no GEICO.

In Washington, rumors break out from time to time. A really hot one said. . .

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(Marvin West, mostly retired after just 42 years with Scripps Howard newspapers, is senior partner in an international communications consulting company. This column is from his forthcoming book, "Mexico? What you doing in Mexico?" He invites )

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