There is a lot of stick on social media at the moment for
Year Abroad blogs. People seem to think that bloggers writing from abroad are pretentious,
self-indulgent twats who have an unlimited budget and a massive ego. I’d like
to promise you that this blog is a chunder-free site which does not include any
‘spiritual’ clichés such as ‘the awesome power of nature and the insignificance
of man.’ If at any point, I do sound like this, feel free to punch me!!
By writing this blog, I’m not trying to patronize anyone;
only to show from my own personal experiences that the media depiction of Latin
America as a drug-haven with masses of violence and corruption is a gross
generalization which causes people to overlook some of its more positive
attributes. Even the media portrayal of Mexico’s problems is somewhat
simplistic and unfair. I’m not going to pretend that everything is perfect here
but the fact that English-speaking countries only seem to hear about the most
dangerous, radical events does not give you a balanced impression of the
country.
Most people are not drug-lords; they are just ordinary
people going about their day-to-day lives. If you believe the stereotype about
Latin America, you would trust no-one and be suspicious of anyone who
approaches you. In which case, you would alienate yourself from a society which
will often go out of their way to help a stranger. The same cannot be said in
London, where no one will help you up if you fall over in the street and no one
has the time to tell you directions.
Above: what Londoners are likely to do if you fall over
As anyone who knows me well can tell you, I have a
horrendous sense of direction so I often rely on fellow passengers to help me
out. But even for people with a better navigation system, the Mexican bus
system is pretty much unintelligible. The route can change without notice and
there are no printed maps or timetables. So you must ask people where to go
because there is no chance you can figure it out on your own.
Last weekend, I was on my way to Capu to see my boyfriend in Mexico City. I’d had a long week and think I drifted off halfway through the bus ride because when I woke up, I was in a small town called Capulín on the outskirts of Puebla.
I asked a fellow passenger where I was and the lady told me
to get off with her because she was dropping her cousin off soon and could give
me a lift. Off I got and instead of heading into the car with her cousin, she
brought me into her house and invited me to lunch with some relatives.
The house was a concrete room with no floor, one bed for four people,one sink and a load of junk hidden under the bed. I politely refused lunch on the grounds of hygiene and my eyes were drawn towards a massive television which was showing a telenovela. My boyfriend later explained that even the poorest people can afford TVs because they pay it off in a loan bit by bit, month by month. Even so, I was surprised that they chose to invest their money in something that might be considered a luxury item when they seemed so hard-up.
About an hour later, the family finally finished their
lunch. The husband came in and said hello to me, without even questioning why a
white girl had unexpectedly turned up at his house. The children were all
staring at me and pointing, as if they had never seen a foreigner before.
On we walked, me and the lady to find the bus station and get to Capu. By this point, I had figured that there was no car and that this was a stupid place for a Westerner to walk because non-poblanos simply don’t come here. I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable; but at the same time, I was grateful for the opportunity to see Mexico from the perspective of how half the population really live and escape the middle-class bubble I was stuck in in Puebla.
I’m not going to lie, the scared foreigner part of me was
certain I’d get robbed. And everyone told me how stupid I was to trust a
stranger, especially when I was carrying some valuables and didn’t know where I
was. Of course, they were right and I won’t be so reckless in future.
But, thankfully, the only thing that happened to me was the
señora asked me to donate a T-shirt because she sold clothes to be able to
afford her children’s education. Of course I gave it to her but was careful to
hide the contents of my rucksack, which she was becoming a little too
interested in. I paid her bus-fair back because it was less than a penny but
said goodbye to her at the next stop. I think she wanted to help but I needed a
second opinion and the driver told me I was going in the wrong direction. I
wasn’t about to risk turning up at a second household god-knows-where with
god-knows who and continued my journey without her.
All weekend I was thinking about that woman. I still don’t
know what she wanted from me. Maybe she was trying to help me in her own
misguided way. Maybe she would have robbed me if I’d have got off at the next
station. But I guess there’s no point speculating because I’ll never know the
answer to these questions.
I was very late to DF because of that detour and also because it’s the rainy season at the moment so the roads are flooded so you have to go slowly when driving.
The next day, we went to see the teachers
protesting, which I will tell you more about in my next entry as part of my
article for the Globalist. The only think I want to mention now is that to me,
it seemed like a very selfish strike which is leaving kids who should be in
school on the street and is making life Hell for millions of commuters and
residents in Mexico City.
Having said that, I’ve got pretty used to the chaos in
Mexico City. It’s so full you feel engentada
(overwhelmed by the number of people), which isn’t helped by the number of
casually-employed street sellers which tend to sell the same thing in the same
space. Whenever you stop at traffic lights people try to sell you confectionary
or newspapers or perform tricks. The saddest thing is when you see kids doing
it.
.
Source: 20minutos.es
Another thing that contributes to that engentada feeling is the protests Protests are a national past-time in Mexico and some causes seem more worthy than others. I want to end with
the most entertaining protest I’ve ever seen in which about fifty to one
hundred campesinos were salsaing
naked in the street. To be honest, I’m
not sure what they were campaigning about but they certainly got a lot of
publicity and everyone was wolf-whistling their encouragement.
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