2003-10-20|11:07 a.m.
So, my grandma, my uncle and my mom�s childhood best friend came to my house on Wednesday to take us to Mexico on Thursday.
Though I had to miss class to do it, I had a good time. The last time I went I had a good time too, but it was very different. Since we spent most of our time in more touristy areas like Ensenada we ended up not seeing the desperation and poverty of last trip. This is not to say that parts of Ensenada aren�t impoverished, but some how the tourism of the resorts and sights bring, I am guessing, more money into the people. There was not, in the areas we went, begging in the streets. Though, sometimes the sales people in the shops were so adamant about you buying from them it wasn�t that far off.
I never get a say, being more a willful tag-a-long, of where we should go. If I had my choice, I�d stay for a week or more in a village deep into what Mexico is outside of the desolation or commercialization that the US has had on it. I want to see how people live with lives unlike my own. I want to feel connections with them without common history. And it�s somewhat selfish, I know. But, I want to see a life of slow change and look back into the near history of my own ancestors. I yearn to see the indigenous people who live still today on and with the land with baby in arms and tools in hand. There�s a myth or a truth, I am yet to find, in these people. Do they feel life without the dull ache that American culture is so infamous for. I don�t even feel animosity for my normal life in the cogs of technology and commerce. But there�s a reverence, romanticism, or desire to be part of their life for whatever reason.
So, I am yet to have my ideal time in Mexico. Ay Mexico lindo. But, I did, like I said, have a good time.
We first ate breakfast in Rosarito and then drove into Ensenada. Here is the equivalent of US �projects� there in Rosarito:
When we arrived in Ensenada, my uncle took us to a hosing complex on the beach where the people who owned the site kept an emaciated lion in a cage far too small for him and a monkey that when cigarettes were thrown at it would pick them up and smoke them. Sadly, I didn�t get pictures of them. But I did get pictures of the beach on the site and a group of horses kept for tourists to ride along the beach.
After the beach we drove down to a resort that my family decided they would stay come July. The resort is much more nice than anyone could really need, but I suppose it�s nice sometimes to pamper yourself. I might go with them and share the floor for free.
At the resort was a really beautiful, yet small, museum of Mexican art work through the ages. One half was split into art from 200-700 AD.
The other was of art after the Spanish/Catholic invasion.
I also took pictures of two Mayan poems on the wall I liked.
After the resort we went deeper into Ensenda and had lunch at a Cuban import food place. It was tasty. The ocean there was really beautiful:
From there we shopped at the small market place. I got myself a really beautiful red shall.
Then my uncle took me to this part of the rocks along the ocean that were formed just right so that when a wave hit it created a geyser looking explosion. It was also very beautiful.
On the way home we stopped by the road where a young girl and her mom bottled fresh honey and pickled jalape�os. I got the honey for A (only to find he didn�t like honey) and I got the jalape�os for AN (who luckily liked them).
From there we drove back home. While entering the Tijuana border and waiting in traffic, a young man who looked about 15 began washing our windows. My uncle yelled at him telling him to stop because he wouldn�t pay him. But after he finished, I offered him a dollar�s worth of pesos I received from the girl and her mom selling canned goods from change. He seemed satisfied.
For the majority of the trip I had to either ignore or carefully and respectfully answer my mom�s friend�s misguided questions and statements like �Why are they so poor? I see plenty of industry here,� or �Why can�t these people begging just go to some service agency to get help? Don�t they have those down here?� It was hard mostly because she wasn�t satisfied with any answer outside of blaming the people themselves which I know better is false.
The worst part, though was dealing with her and, I admit, my family once we got to the border crossing. The lines are long and men are standing outside the cars with painted plaster piggy banks of famous American pop culture figures like Mickey Mouse, furry blankets with the American flag on them, and cheap trinkets. In fact, as I write this, I realize that Americans go to Mexico to buy cheap(er) things that remind them of their own culture. Why would you go to another beautiful country rich with history and art to go buy a Bob Esponga (Spanish for Sponge Bob, if it wasn�t obvious) lamp with a slightly malformed face or even more annoying an American flag blanket. And because so many people go to buy these things there, they become the products in demand. I become hard-pressed to find handmade, authentic Mexican items. I want to bring them home not a cheap version of myself.
So, waiting there you notice the men selling items. They come to your cars and tap on your windows. If you begin dialogue they will press on. Prices fall from 60 dollars to 20 in less than ten minutes. I feel bad that I don�t want the crap.
Along with the men peddling are women�one at every line with a small child tied to her chest with a wrap. Each holds a dirty paper cup. I can tell from their bone structure and coloring that they are not the Mexicans typical to these border cities. Their high cheekbones and brick colored skin make me think they are from the Southern regions like Colima and Chiapas.
My uncle and my mom�s friend begin complaining about the sympathy they play on for hand outs. To which I snap, �The sympathy you feel for them is not a trick, it�s very real.�
And then my uncle makes an exaggeration, yet serious in its sentiment about the women with their riches all retiring at night to Cadillac�s as if those who helped these ladies were all fools. My mom surprises me by saying something about that not being true. I am proud of her correction.
I say something about hoping that they even have a place to retire to at all and ask my mom to give my last dollar to the woman closest to us. She looks in the car to give thanks to who helped her and my mom points to me. I blush and smile. And the young girl, I guess who can�t be older than me, smiles and looks right into my eyes and gives me the most sincere smile. My heart explodes in an instant and I feel so lucky. Not lucky just because I will never have to face her struggles, but that I am lucky enough to have a dollar in my pocket left to give her. I feel lucky to help her. Why me? Why should I be on the inside of a truck bound for a country that prospers beyond need and brags opportunity to all who legally enter? Why do I get to play this role of fortune?
It breaks me all up and I hold back from crying. I know it all sounds so melodramatic.
Mexico, I can�t help but feel I owe you. I promise to do my best to help however small my help is.
In other news, I am feeling better about Holden. I know I will figure something out.
Also, AN is amazing and I am lucky to even know her, let alone have any time with her at all.
Now, I must go write two papers expected this week that are each worth almost half my grade in the two classes in which they are due. No stress, right?