Mexicali Blues
After spending two weeks in Cabo San Lucas, Baja Mexico, I have a much better vision of what paradise is and what it is not. I have been going there for the last 6 years, twice a year, but never for more than 7 days. This 14-day extravaganza came after I had to sell long positions to close at a loss and then watched the stock market hit new highs in October, a month always known to be the worst month for stock prices around. the year, followed only by the month of September. I had only been waiting all year for this move, but I digress.
I always thought that I would retire in Mexico, it is a slow and charming pace to the people that I envied or so I believed. Now having more time to delve into the culture, to spend more time driving, for example, allowed me a new perspective. Mexicans do not have traffic rules when they drive. They do not pay attention to dividing lines, passing zones, speed limits, turn signals, rights of way, dangerous curves, stop signs, traffic lights and any other legality that I, a citizen of the United States, would be stopped and would have. Shelling out between forty and fifty dollars to pay the local police at your request, of course, buddy. Insignia? They don’t need stinky badges!
There is not a vehicle that does not have damage to its bumpers, doors, fenders, windows or any other part of your vehicle. They drive as if they were in a bullring, making fun of you using their car as a cape, their machisimo brandished like a sword putting their lives and those of their children in constant danger. Insane insanity permeates their every move and only a crazier display of insanity will set them back, one that would put you in danger and only a fool would try. My old adage if they’re after you, they can’t hurt you, they didn’t run as they were like horseflies on a mission to bite you, green heads from New Jersey, without punching an inch. They were not afraid, the fools, and would run over their own people instead of showing kindness along the way. Everyone was the bull and they face it with great pleasure. On the way out of town to Todos Santos, I witnessed a clash between two high-speed trucks. There was nothing left but scrap metal. This is on a treacherous two-lane road with no passing, no hard shoulders and apparently no speed limits, although I swear I saw signs that indicated 60 kilometers per hour on curves and 80 on straights. I slowed down and looked at the Mexican drivers in shock, rolled my window down and yelled “too fast is fine, huh?” They looked down in shame as they should have. They avoided death just because of the protection those taxis provide. Then I spent the next hour trying to avoid my own death from the assholes that were also coming from the other side.
His leadership tells me about his culture, a macho attitude with pride above all and intelligence in the background. Agrigarian culture is unprepared for the civilized world of rules and regulations and after having had an accident here in Las Vegas with a 16 year old Mexican boy running a stop sign without insurance, I now understand why it happened and I can only wonder when your government begins to train its people to use their cars as vehicles and not as weapons of macho behavior. The highlight of my experience was when I had to take a “K” turn when taxis and local cars blocked a street and trying to turn around I was invaded by taxis on both sides, all who saw what I was doing and they were trying to block me for no reason. I rolled down the window and started yelling assholes in Spanish as I jammed the car into reverse, posing as if I was going to tear their way of life apart, getting within inches of their cabs to force them to stop for a millisecond, while I pulled on the wheel. and shot out of there before it got too violent for such a small incident. I had enough for the holidays and for the first time I began to feel like going home.
What was lovely now was inconvenient and the slowness and constant theft of change that I previously didn’t care for began to piss me off. He lived here now, not only admired the view, and he didn’t think the gas man stealing a few bucks for not pumping the right amount was a quaint habit. The incessant harassment of men, women and children for the sale of silver, dolls, scarves, gum and timeshare was now dominant. The chips and salsa had run their course and Monty pounded hard. Enough of paradise, give me an Arby’s, a clean restaurant, a TV whose channels stay the same for more than 48 hours, a pool that has not been heated to 102 degrees in the 97 degree weather. Give me my home, my own culture, my supermarket discount card, my ATM spitting out dollars not pesos, cars with pollution controls and brakes-SEE YOU BABY !!
THANK GOD FOR THE UNITED STATES OF A. That’s all I can say. I will still enjoy the Manchego cheese and someday the chips and salsa again, but for now the fire station that was my butt doesn’t hurt and I can eat solid foods again and I’m thankful. Goodbye friends!
Old!