In Mexico, why do they…?

When I was in high school, in Victoria, BC I had a close friend named Laureen. She was (and is) super smart and as my mom was a French supply teacher it was only a matter of time before my mom was assigned to teach my grade 12 French class. In keeping with her maternal mission to embarrass me wherever possible, my mom called on me, and addressed me as “la petite,” and revealed to the class that I was her daughter. Then she addressed the French class in Spanish so that my schoolmates could appreciate how multilingual she was. Anyway, as I sank deeper into my seat, Laureen sat up and seemed to grow an extra inch between each vertebra. It was an aha! moment for her as she was inspired to challenge herself to learn Spanish. Laureen was a year younger than everyone else, so she took a gap year. In that year she learned perfect Spanish, aided by the fact that she spent a year abroad, in a town near Mexico City living with a Mexican family.

When my family was in Cuernavaca that summer, Laureen came to visit us, and she and I picked up right where we left off, giggling and sharing coming-of-age experiences that we thought were only lived by us for the first time ever. I remember Laureen was so charmed by the Mexican-ness of it all, and she said she wanted to capture it all in a book that she would title, “In Mexico Why do They…?” It would contain things like when you go to a corner store to buy a Coke in a bottle, why do they pour it into a baggie and insert a straw for you to take away? (Because they want to keep the bottle deposit). Or why do people pick a random number for their address when it is not following the numerical order of the houses? In Cuernavaca, my family’s house number is 44, but because there is another 44 on the same street a few hundred metres away it causes much confusion, so no one gives addresses for directions. Instead, they give landmarks, which aren’t so distinct, to begin with, “Turn right at the tree, you’ll see a man selling tamales and then go up the street and it’s the red door.”

Why am I recalling all this? Because today I went on a ridiculous joy ride in an Uber all because I had the address where I was going and when I typed it in, Uber auto-filled the address with the number 10 and before I knew it I was heading where I thought I was expected. Instead of going to Tuxpan Avenue number 10, we went to Rio Tuxpan no 10. The word “Rio” means river and it is very common for people to drop the Rio part when applying it to an address, as they assume you know. The screenshot below illustrates the boomerang effect of that mistake. At least when I arrived at the wrong Tuxpan I had the wherewithal to not get out of the car as the neighbourhoud seemed “sketch” as Andrew would say. The 70-minute boomerang ride cost $16.81 CAD and boasted “colourful” scenery as depicted by the photo of the taxi filled with pineapples. Only in Mexico!

At least my driver was named Angel

A taxi filled with pineapples, of course!

Eventually, I made it to my intended destination in a very hip neighbourhood called la Condesa. It is super charming, boasts many colonial homes, chic cafés, and lots of tourists who unknowingly wear shorts, breaking the unwritten rule that in Mexico City you never wear shorts no matter how hot it is.

In keeping with my COVID-friendly plans, I sat outside and enjoyed a Mexican delicacy by myself; a hot tamale filled with mole and chicken. Mole is a sauce made with smoked chiles, at least 3-4 varieties, plus another 10 ingredients that include unsweetened chocolate. Lots of people were enjoying the weather, including a very fluffy dog who captured my attention. His excessive fur somehow induced a hot flash for me, so I headed towards the shade of a beautiful park in the area called Parque Mexico. Little did I know that one of the first things I noticed in the park was a statue of Einstein marking the Armenian genocide. Misha, my late husband was Armenian, so I smiled at Misha who was surely walking with me.

My hot tamale

This fluffy white dog gave me a hot flash

Enjoying the shade in the park

Parque Mexico fountain

A shop with a Day of the Dead altar. The sign reads, "this is where memories live."

A statue in memory of the Armenian genocide. The reflection reads, "If you want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal, not to people or things." 

As a goal, I've decided to try and hit a shaded park every day, as it is not wise right now to be indoors where there are lots of people. Right now I am sitting at the café across the street from my Airbnb, and invited Luis, my host to a café mocha. I told him about my escapade in the Uber and he laughed at my expense, but also showed how protective he is of me. Well, if you can’t laugh at yourself, then whom can you laugh at? Next time I throw that boomerang I will duck and let it hit someone else. Laureen?

A picture of me as I write today's blog