Places – Page 7 – Pat the Expat

Tarahumara or Raramuri?

You say “to-may-to”, I say “to-mah-to.” The Raramuri are an indigenous tribe living–mostly as they always have–in the Sierra Madre range in the Mexican state of Chihuahua. When the Spanish arrived, they dubbed the peoples as Tarahumara. Much like the Mexica people eventually accepted being called Aztecs, the Raramuri (who speak Raramuri and call themselves Raramuri), accepted others calling them Tarahumara. I’ll go with what they call themselves.

The Raramuri peoples were closely associated with the Apache tribe, so much so they consider themselves to be from the same lineage. The Raramuri say that the Apaches were very bellicose, always looking for a fight, while the Raramuri were more peaceful, so the tribes split up. Eventually the Spanish came a knocking and even the Raramuri put up a fight. Spain tried three times without success to “pacify” the Raramuri. Finally, some Raramuri took up the Spanish language and the cross, while the rest retreated into the canyons to continue life as they liked. Over the years, Spanish influence and Catholicism spread, but with a distinct Raramuri flavor.

The Raramuri live a spartan existence with individual homes, often built upon existing caves in the canyon walls. Even those who live in the valleys still insist on subsistence farming and hunting for themselves, gathering together mostly for fiestas and seasonal events. Oh, and running.

I don’t mean “let’s go out and get some exercise” running. Not even marathon running–that’s too short in their opinion. No, I’m talking about the kind of extreme long distance running that makes Forrest Gump look like a weekend jogger. It seems that one of the Raramuri beliefs that survived to the present day is that running helps keep the Earth spinning on its axis (in a spiritual, not physical, sense). So they run. and run. and run. Men, and women, and children, even the elderly (to some extent). Barefoot, or in huarache sandals made with twine and the tread of old car tires. How far do they run? While we were there, Raramuri runners competed in a virtual international race where their top runner ran 429 kilometers, or 268 miles. He only averaged a 15 minute mile . . . for sixty-four straight hours (he didn’t win)!

Three years back, a Raramuri woman entered and won her first race, an ultramarathon of thirty-one miles, wearing a skirt and sandals.

“One of these things, is not like the others”

Running is also the Raramuri way to settle disputes. Have an argument over some land, or a cow? Think someone dissed you, but they don’t think so? Really like that shirt the other guy is wearing? The Raramuri challenge each other in a race which can last more than a day. The two contestants push a wooden ball along with a stick, over mountain and canyon trails, and to the winner belongs the spoils!

If the Raramuri/Tarahumara start to sound familiar to you–and if you ever were a runner, they do–you might have read Christopher McDougall’s book Born to Run, which highlighted the “light-footed” (Raramuri means “light-footed”) people who run on their toes in sandals, which in turn helped spark the barefoot/Vibram running craze.

We didn’t see a lot of running, as the Raramuri aren’t there to perform for you. We did have the opportunity to visit two cave-homes. The first was along a road and supported an extended family of about fifteen people, including giving them the chance to market various goods and natural medicines.

The second was on the top of a cliff, and was owned by an older couple who are so wealthy (!?!?), they have a second cave house down in the valley, where the climate is tropical. So they move back and forth, depending on the season. Cliff side snowbirds, so to speak.

Judy snaps a photo of the canyon while the man of the house arrives

Catalina tidies up since she had visitors, and

she seemed so fond of me Judy had to reclaim me!

Almost all the Raramuri we saw had adopted or adapted to aspects of modern lives. The small farms had satellite dishes, the men wore pants in place of the traditional diaper-like shorts, they hunt with rifles and catch the train to move between towns. But the women still weave pine needles into baskets and wear multiple layers of skirts. And they all still gather to run, just to keep the Earth spinning. So when the Sun comes up tomorrow, think of the Raramuri who ran last night to make it so!

ChePe and Cerocahui

From El Fuerte and the nineteenth century we traveled a short distance to a godforsaken little train station to ride the last passenger train in Mexico: the Chihuahua al Pacifico, or “Che-Pe.” Passenger trains were once legion in Mexico, but they gradually gave way (as in the States) to freight carriers. AMLO, Mexico’s Presidente, has inaugurated the construction of a controversial tourist train in the Yucatan, but who knows if that will ever come to fruition. In the meantime, ChePe is the only game in town. This particular train still moves a few passengers from the coast to the mountains, and locals joke that Che-Pe stands for “always late.” Mostly, this train takes tourists up into the towns of the Sierra Madre, where they can view the Barrancas del Cobre or Copper Canyon.

The train tracks run across some scrub and high sierra desert landscapes before entering into a series of climbs along canyons cut into the mountains by the various tributaries of the Rio Fuerte. Each landscape, tunnel, trestle, and cut is more spectacular than the last. Makes one glad we no longer worry about film but simply shoot the pixels and worry about the good ones later!

On the way up; at the top left, you can see where we later entered a long tunnel after a massive switchback

This being a Mexican train, you can open the windows and hang out. Of course, if you do, you’ll see the various mudslides, overnight arroyos, track and railroad ties lying beside the railway, and of course tunnel walls which whizz by about a meter from your window. Throughout the day, we rose from sea level to eight thousand feet, crossing forty bridges and passing through over eighty tunnels, before arriving in the eighteenth century, more specifically the mission town of Cerocahui.

Cerocahui is even smaller and more rustic than El Fuerte. This town was originally just the site of a cemetery for the Raramuri peoples, when the Jesuits came around and built a mission to evangelize them in the seventeenth century. When Spain expelled the Jesuits in 1767, and the town had to wait on a Franciscan priest to arrive in the 1940s! We’ll revisit the Raramuri in another post.

Cerocahui from a mountain overlook; notice the clouds in the valley in the background to the left

This day we traveled up a scary mining road to a scenic outlook over the Urique valley, one of the canyons forming the Copper Canyon.

Our group & van on the mining road, visiting a Rarumari cave turned into a small store

El Fuerte

The traveling life is back on, masks and all! We’re on a group tour to the Sierra Madre Occidental, specifically to the Mexican states of Sinaloa and Chihuahua. Our first stop is the tiny pueblo called El Fuerte, so called because the Spanish build a fort here in 1610.

El Fuerte is a pueblo magico, a special designation for towns of historic consequence or natural beauty. It certainly has both, as these pictures attest. The historic side is one familiar to those who watched American TV in the 60’s: El Fuerte is the home of the real life El Zorro. Out hotel claims to be the house of the original el Zorro, complete with statue and a tributary room. El Fuerte–built alongside the eponymous river which will feature more in this trip–is a picturesque step back in time to early nineteenth century Mexico. We got a chance to taste one of the two local specialties: black sea bass; unfortunately, the local langostinos are off limits for mating season, so we had to fall back upon regular shrimp. Enjoy the pics!

This mural in the government building gives a short history of the region. Reader’s Digest version: Spanish arrive, everything changes, nobody “wins.”

We’re using El Fuerte to stage higher into the Sierra Madre, before plunging (so to speak) into the Barrancas del Cobre.

Scenes seen around here

Whatever happened to my promise for more visuals in this blog? Oh, yeah, here they are:

This is a (drivable) north-south path leading up the mountain, but the last rain made it an arroyo

and of course, my beautiful dinner date!

“When in Rome, . . .

do as the Romans do.” You’ve heard the saying, no doubt, or used it yourself. The meaning is clear: as a visitor, act like the locals do. It goes all the way back to 5th century Rome, when Augustine of Hippo (later Saint Augustine) noticed the Romans practiced fasting on Saturday, while the Milanese did not. Bishop (later Saint) Ambrose explained that he abided by the local custom wherever he was, and the saying was born.

In that light, some cultural observations (note: there is more humor than truth here):

When in the States, time is money, appointments are moral commitments, and the only thing better than cheaper is faster. When in Mexico, time is relative, appointments are suggestions, and the only thing better than cheaper is cheapest.

When in Mexico, the Virgen (de Guadalupe) comes first, the bandera (flag) comes second, and (insert your favorite futbol club) comes third. When in the States, ME comes first, your home state comes second, and third place is for losers.

When in the States, drive fast on the left, park on the right, and turn left with a signal. When in Mexico, drive mostly on the road, park mostly off the road, and do whatever you want with a left turn signal.

When in Mexico, food is spiced to taste, while alcohol and clothing are apportioned by sex (more for men than women). When in the States, food is spiced like some kind of survival test, alcohol is apportioned by weight (the bigger you are, the more you drink), and clothing is the reverse (the more you weigh, the less you wear).

Upon meeting someone new, when in the States, first ask “what do you do?” then “where are you from?” before asking about politics. When in Mexico, first ask “what are you called?” then “how are you?” before asking about futbol.

When in Mexico, prices are a matter of debate, mandatory taxes are optional for everyone, and cash is king. When in the States, prices are set in stone, optional taxes are mandatory for everyone except the very rich, and plastic (money) is king.

When in the States, a leak in your roof is a major disaster, home insurance protects you from lawsuits, and you may legally defend yourself in your own home. When in Mexico, a roof leak necessitates a mop & Flex Seal©, ineffective courts protect you from the need for home insurance, and you can kill any intruder to your casa.

America has a separation of Church and State such that there is freedom of religion and no religious test for public office. Mexico has a separation of Church and State such that the government owns all religious properties and some religions are illegal.

Mexico has a right to bear arms but makes it difficult to buy or carry a weapon. America has a right to bear arms but makes it difficult to get a good site line on a target.

When in the States, mail is regular, bills are prompt, and property taxes are high. When in Mexico, mail is ocasional, bills eventual, and what exactly are property taxes, again?

When in Mexico, corruption is blatant, government is inefficient but unobtrusive, and pornography is private. When in the States, corruption is private, government is efficient and obtrusive, and pornography is blatant.

When in the States, the road is for driving, the shoulder is for stopping, and the median strip separates traffic going in different directions. When in Mexico, any flat surface will do for driving, shoulders are for retail activities, and the median strip is for cattle grazing.

When in Mexico, the menu is only a starting point for deciding what to order, and the offerings include anything the wait-staff can walk to within a block (even other restaurants and bars). When in the States, “items may not be available” can be a special of the day and your waiter may not be willing to ask the kitchen what the soup du jour is.

When in the States, the President is crazy, the government is not there to help you, but your family is. Wait a minute, that one’s the same in Mexico!

Mexico is open for . . .

well, anything you like. Business? yes. Tourism? Yes. Just because you can’t stand to be locked down in your house another day? Yes.

Wait, you say, isn’t the US-Mexican border closed to non-essential travel? Yes. The United States, Canada, and Mexico initiated this lockdown back in March, and extended it as recently as late August (text at the link). You can close the US-Mexican border for a few days, you can even close a specific border crossing for weeks. But, one can’t simply shut down the the US- Mexican border.

Why? It’s the most crossed border in the world. Europeans make much of the freedom of travel within the EU under the Schengen agreement, and yes, it’s great. But a million people a day cross the US-Mexico international border, not to mention world record amounts of commercial products. And it has stayed open. The announced restrictions exempted workers crossing the border and business/goods. And US citizens have always been allowed “to return home.” There have been verified problems for Canadians trying to drive home from Mexico, but otherwise the border still hums.

And, the restrictions mentioned above only applied to the land border. US tourists remain welcome in Mexico’s many resorts. So if you wish to fly or cruise (are any ships cruising?) to Mexico, it’s still there waiting. And it is one of the few places welcoming Americans these days!

Green is go for American travel: “pickens is mighty slim”

But should you travel now? That is a complicated question which involves your personal willingness to accept risk. How healthy are you? How vulnerable are you to the coronavirus? What comorbidities do you have? Can you effectively quarantine before/after travel and how vulnerable are your family/friends? Do you know what to do if you get sick while travelling? Only you can answer these questions. Personal and tourist travel is continuing today–even picking back up–along with travel-shaming (“how dare you endanger . . . “).

On the plus side, travel deals are pretty good. Mexico is friendly, welcoming, and familiar for the American tourist. Your dollars will greatly help workers in the tourism sector, who generally work for tips and have little savings and little help from the federal government. They will also assist Mexico’s ailing tourism industry, which is an essential part of the nation’s economy.

On the negative side, there is that whole Covid19 thingy. Resorts are going to great lengths to ensure sanitary conditions. Some attractions are closed, or less enjoyable. Your favorite buffet is probably not going to be there. You may get a tan line around a face mask. Is the pandemic better or worse in Mexico? Yes. Here is the most current data on new cases. Mexico has plateaued, but its case count is suspect due to limited testing. My best guess is it is about the same as the US.

I don’t make this recommendation lightly. I canceled a college reunion I was going to host in August here at Lake Chapala because at that time, it was unclear where the pandemic was headed and how the government in Mexico City would respond. That is no longer the case. I have travelled back and forth to the US recently and it was simple and safe; we will do so again soon. Given everything else going on, just realize getting away to Mexico remains an option, if you so choose. And no, I don’t get a cut from anybody!

Scenes from America

Travelling between visits to my ninety-one year old Dad, brother and sister, and daughters/sons-in-law/grandchildren. Some things I have noticed along the way, which was Chicago to South Bend to Cincinnati to Baltimore and return:

Pandemic restrictions and compliance are everywhere different and distinct. In South Bend, it seems like everyone was wearing masks, except for one family we saw in the Mall. Let’s set the stage. When you enter through the (limited) entrances, you see a sign indicating masks are mandatory, as is disinfecting your hands at a dispensary station. Signs direct you to keep six feet social distancing, and instructions on the floor tell you that foot traffic inside the mall is “walk to the right” (like driving) to avoid contact. We’re coming out of a store, and directly in front of us is a family: slightly chubby, middle-aged father and mother with likewise adolescent, all sans masks and with big grins on their faces. They are walking the “wrong way” and moving directly toward other shoppers, who are scattering away from and around them. I realize I’m making huge assumptions here, but the look on the Dad’s face was “go ahead, say something.” We walked past and ignored them. What’s the point?
At a roadside Wendy’s in southern Ohio, the travellers were all wearing masks, while the locals were all walking in without them. Everyone had to eat out in the parking lot, though.
All of this comes as a result of the combination of American individualism and federalism We all grew up in States. Taxes were different, health care was different, schooling was different, age of consent was different, age to consume alcohol was different. Granted, the federal response to Covid19 has been disjointed, but no one should be surprised about the differences between states, if they understand the term “United States of America.” Within those parameters, Americans remain contrarians, oftentimes doing the opposite of what they are asked or required by even local government. That said, we all wore masks and maintained social distance. Doing as you please is license; liberty is freely choosing to do the right thing.
Places which are under federal control, like airports, have uniform rules: everyone has masks on all the time. This tells me the non-compliance is symbolic: people flaunt their views where they can, but yield whenever or wherever they know the consequences are serious. Anybody feels tough enough to bully the WalMart greeter, but TSA, not so much.
The political environment really is as bad as I imagined. In my family, we argue (loudly and openly) about everything. I found family members quietly and delicately engaging me about issues before determining what views they could/could not express. Most had stories of friends lost, jobs endangered, or public encounters which border on discomfort. Seems like everybody is walking around on eggshells, with a vocal minority (at both ends of the spectrum) waiting to scream at any infraction. Land of the free home of the reticent.
Nothing will be normal in the States until in-person school resumes. With all the two working-parent (or single-parent) families, work can’t resume until in-person school resumes. In the jurisdictions I visited, the local teachers’ unions were vigorously and publicly lobbying against in-person school and for online curricula, which has been perfunctory at best. Parents with means are arranging private education for their children. Teachers’ unions were calling out parents (and teachers!) for making private agreements for tutoring. Many parents will be stuck “homeschooling,” an oxymoron in this case. Homeschooling is a choice which requires great preparation and sacrifice; parents are now forced to do it with neither the vocation nor the support. This, not a vaccine, may prove to be the long pole in the tent to recovery.
Touchless delivery has gone to a new level. We ordered in Chinese food one night. About forty minutes later, I asked Judy where the order was. She paused to check her smartphone and said “at the door.” Seems they dropped the order at the door (no knock, no doorbell), texted her, and left.
Speaking of ethnic food, “authentic Mexican” food in America still isn’t. This was not a surprise. Perhaps somewhere near the border, or in some ethnic enclave in a bg city, one can find authentic Mexican cuisine. Tried it twice, in different areas. The workers were Mexican, and we enjoyed practicing our Spanish, but the food was still the high carb, meat- and sauce-heavy Tex-Mex version of Mexican cuisine available anywhere in the States.
We got to attend in-person Mass twice, which was a treat. In South Bend, the pews were roped off, no singing, no sign-of-peace, masks on except for the Eucharist. Near Baltimore, Mass was in the parking lot in tailgate chairs, under a hot, humid sun. Made me grateful for whoever invented the kneeler, as warm asphalt is tough on new jeans and old knees!
I noticed non-grocery stores had stocking issues. A sporting goods chain we visited had several aisles with little or no merchandise, normally a no-no in retail. I talked to a store employee who was loading home weight sets into cars. He told me they sold all they had, including the floor models, and people keep calling for more. Remember when everyone seemed to have a weight set which never got used and went for bargain prices at a garage sale? Times have changed.
Traffic on interstate highways was down, but not gone. Somehow Washington DC still managed to have traffic jams. Perhaps they were left over from before the pandemic?
On the way back to Mexico, we had to traverse BWI Marshall and Chicago O’Hare airports. Neither was impressive. At BWI, they had no TSA pre-Check lines open during the morning flight rush. But, we were in luck, as the long lines prompted TSA to open new lanes for the security search. But, the scanner announced that each and every electronic device had to be put into a separate bin. And we had eight of them, some of which were packed because we had pre-Check. Grrrrr. At O’Hare, there was also no pre-Check, but the first TSA checkpoint gave us a card which stated we were pre-Check. But we still had to go through the same security screen. But this time devices were allowed altogether. And we were approached by a homeless man begging in the security area. What? It’s no wonder why people think airport security is just theater.
Our literal last step in America was a doozy. Awaiting our AeroMexico flight to Guadalajara from Chicago, we listened to all the announcements, first in Spanish and then English. It was good to get back into practice. As we went down the jetway to board, we both said “buenas tardes” to the woman operating the console for the jetway. “I speak English.” she replied coldly. “We speak Spanish”, we responded with smiles. Guess we were guilty of microaggression. Or was it cultural appropriation? Anyway, as we stepped aboard, the flight attendant gave us a hearty “¡Bienvenidos!”

Payin’ bills

Way back in January, we decided to let our property manager go and take responsibility for our casa on our own. It’s gone pretty well, as we’ve made arrangements for all the usual things (handyman, water softener and filter maintenance, plumber, gardener, house cleaning, etc.) without too much effort. Yes, we had to learn which bills could be paid online, which had to be paid in person, and where to pay them. Some can be paid with a US credit card online, others only with a Mexican credit card. As I mentioned before here, some have discounts if paid early, others have a penalty for late payment. Most allow you some grace period, and as far as I can tell, few are exacting about the amount. If you pay a little more or less than the bill, it just gets rolled over to the next payment (government bills and the phone service being exceptions).

We were pretty much set for the year by March, when the quarantine and shut down hit. The only exception was our car registration. I was going to go the last week in March, but I had a stomach ache and decided to wait, and then: boom goes the coronavirus. And I totally forgot about the car.

Until last week, when I saw a notice in the local English language paper that the Jalisco government was extending (through July) the grace period before fines went into effect for auto registration renewal. So I got after it.

I had been warned about the long lines at this office. My first trip to it was in the early afternoon, and sure enough, I drove past to see lines out in the street and just kept going. That was last week, the beginning of the month, so perhaps more people were going to get it out of the way. I decided to get up early (when I say early, I mean expat retiree/Mexico time early) and hit the office when it opens at 8:30 am, when the lines should be more manageable.

Degollado 306. The only person you see is cleaning the glass doors!

That is, if there were lines. I arrived at 8:35 with not a soul in sight. Made my way in to the counters, where two clerks were handling two customers. Just as I sat down in the waiting chairs (thoughtfully socially distanced), the clerk beckoned. I walked up, performed in flawless (and rehearsed) subjunctive Spanish my desire to pay my auto registration renewal and handled over the expired registration card. The clerk said gracias and started typing my info into his machine, hit “enter” and the printer spat out my documentation. I paid my 702 MXP bill (a little less than $35 USD, including a small mandatory-voluntary donation to the Mexican Red Cross) and was on my way in under one minute.

Boring, yes? But a little piece of normalcy, too. It was nice to avoid the lines, better still to do something routine in a routine manner . . . perhaps with the exception I was masked. It made me think: when people sometime in the future see pictures of people wearing masks, they’ll (probably) immediately associate it with 2020, a tell of from what era the picture was taken. Just an odd thought at the end of oddly routine day!

Blame it on La Cuarentena

The continuing quarantine, partial as it is, is mostly about not doing things: not traveling, not getting to see family and friends, not being able to congregate in groups, not attending Mass, not having sports to watch. As I pondered the continuing effects of the coronavirus, I had to ask myself: what if anything could I say I have done that I could blame, specifically, on the quarantine? And a few things came to mind, namely:

We bought a freezer. One of those seven cubic feet, chest-style machines from Coppal, a local vendor. Now we had pondered getting one earlier, but since we eat out so frequently, and eat fresh meat and produce when we cook in, we simply didn’t see the need for a freezer. The quarantine challenged both of those givens: no restaurants, and avoiding going to the tienda every other day. We reconsidered: it’s nice to have some storage for larger portions of meat, etc. and I’ll admit having some frozen convenience foods (pizza, wings, ice cream) close at hand beats trying to go out and buy them every time a craving hits. Judy remains concerned we don’t need it; I’m up to the challenge of filling it!

My fountain came out as a planter. Or more specifically, it completed that transition. We had the option to put a fountain somewhere on our property when we were having the house built, so we put it in the middle of our interior courtyard. The idea of a fountain was superior to its incarnation. It’s an energy hog, the fountain was never loud enough to hear over other ambient sounds, and it can become a breeding ground for mosquitoes. The pump failed. It was difficult to keep clean. The quarantine left me pondering it almost daily, and something had to give. So, first I drained it and put an herb garden on top of it. Then I drilled drainage holes in the bottom, filled it with dirt, and started to add plants. The soil will always be wet during the rainy season, so I am experimenting with different plants to see what takes. First up is Alocacia.

Finally, I reviewed and updated my bug-out bag. What’s that you ask? It’s a long story, going all the way back to when we were first married and living in what was then West Germany. While the US Army there awaited a Soviet invasion that never came, our spouses and families were instructed to have a bag packed for a speedy evacuation in the event of war. Ours did, with a twist. The families were supposed to be bussed to Rhein-Main airbase and evacuated from the same hub where the rest of the US Army (from the States) was arriving. Except that was also where the Russians were going to drop chemical weapons to delay the reinforcements, and where was all the protective gear for spouses and children? So my family’s bug-out bag was designed with what they needed for a quick drive south to and across the Swiss border. Never needed it, but the concept always stuck with me.

The contents of the bug-out bag vary based on from what you’re running: a bag for the zombie apocalypse is different from one for the Red Army. When we moved to the DC area, the bag was primarily for me to grab as part of a family evacuation plan, designed to be executed from wherever one was when notified. That one was mainly in the event of some kind of weapon of mass destruction threat/event, and the ensuing mass panic. Nowadays, our bag is primarily for some kind of natural disaster and subsequent need to “live off the land.”

It’s not elaborate or expensive: some basic first aid gear, some multi-tools, fire-starter, space blankets and ponchos, a US Armed Forces Survival Manual, blades and tools, among other things. Upon review, what lacked in mine was water capacity. Face it, in any survival situation, water is the critical resource, but you can’t carry enough. So I added some large plastic water bottles and a Steri-straw, a basic filtration device which allows you to drink from most any natural source.

The idea well predates the recent “prepper” craze, although there are similarities. Bug-out bags are just a little extra preparedness; prepping is more of a lifestyle choice, in my opinion. Anyway, the long hours of quarantine proved a good opportunity to review and inspect everything, replace some items, do the basic math and add a few things. Never would have gotten around to it otherwise.

Nothing remarkable here, but a few things to note. Oh, and the title of the post? well, it’s an homage that goes all the way back to 1963! Do you remember?

Cultural Differences

I have mentioned before that one’s success at any expat life is dependent upon one’s ability to adapt to cultural differences: from whatever culture you came, to whatever culture you go. External influences (age, health, money, government policies) may play a role in how long one can be an expat, but the question of how happy one is as an expat comes down to how well one can fit in. Because the culture will be different, and the culture does not adapt to you, you adapt to it. Or be unhappy.

I covered the mañana culture in Mexico before, and it is one of the large cultural changes. Coming from TYPE A America, where everything is about efficiency, speed, and acquisition (of things), moving to a culture where things . . .

will . . .

get . . .

done . . .

eventually (mañana, not necessarily tomorrow): well that takes much getting use to.

Likewise, there is the challenge of the relationship between honesty and politesse (A word I learned from the Rolling Stones, thank-you-very-much).

“Use all your well-learned politesse, or I’ll lay your soul to waste!”

People here are extremely polite, and basically honest, but emphasize more of the former than the latter. So to avoid offending you, they’ll agree with you when they really don’t, commit to something they have no intention of ever doing, answer a question they don’t actually know the answer to, or give directions to a destination they don’t know. In Mexican culture, this is all understood, and no one would get upset about it. For expats, it’s another story.

Another cultural difference I have alluded to is what I call the “Robin Hood” culture of Mexico. There is an interplay between the concepts of fairness and legality that is just different here. Drop a wallet on the street, and some local will move heaven-and-earth to get it back to you, intact with all the bills and credit cards. Why? A dropped wallet is a misfortune that could befall anyone, and it is only right and proper to help someone who has had such bad luck. These same folk think nothing of conducting as much business as possible “off-book” avoiding charging/paying the value-added tax which funds much of the government. Why? The government is viewed with suspicion, as another entity looking out only for special interests. In a similar vein, nice houses here often have a large exterior compound wall with concertina wire, broken glass and nails, or electrified fencing. Why? If you have wealth and don’t protect it, it must mean nothing to you, so some people view it as available to others who have less (hence the prevalence of petty theft). The wall and wire are statements of both privacy and security: go find someone who doesn’t care about their stuff.

Of course, if you’ve seen the Disney movie CoCo (97% on Rotten Tomatoes!!) or witnessed Dia de Muertos in person, you are familiar with how Mexico views the family and death: you take care of your own, and death is a tragicomic end not to be feared. A skeleton elicits laughs or smiles here: terror NOB. Katrinas, lovingly-maintained roadside shrines to pedestrians killed (oh, so many), and sugar-candy skulls (calaveras): very different indeed!

The final obvious difference brings these observations together: the effects of the coronavirus pandemic. A nation which emphasizes taking care of your own (vice relying on the government, which is usually corrupt or ineffective), where family is the most important thing and work something you do, not who you are? A place that laughs at death and knows how to party? Where life may be unfair, but people are ready to go the extra mile for those in need? How would they deal with a deadly, global pandemic?

Mexico is 10th largest country (in population) and 15th in GDP. They currently have over 200,000 CoVid19 cases (11th overall) and 27,000 fatalities (7th overall). Yes, there is the same mix of resentment of the government, ridiculous conspiracies, and magical thinking as other countries/populations. The medical system does better for the wealthy than the poor and is inadequate for large-scale intensive care needs. The federal government initially tried denial as a national policy and still is not stepping up to secure the economy. Yet, there is no panic. Why has the nation weathered the storm so well?

In a word: Culture. Corona beer faced a marketing catastrophe: it doubled down and came out smiling. Mexican society is more unequal than America’s (as measured by the Gini coefficient); people aren’t happy about it, but still no one is out protesting about it. The economic consequences of the lockdown have been severe, yet somehow people are getting by. Extended families look out for one another, and for neighbors and friends of friends.

Think culture matters? Nicholas Kristof had an interesting Op Ed piece in the New York Times yesterday. He detailed something called the “Hispanic Paradox.” Hispanic Americans are part of a marginalized ethnic minority, yet they drink less alcohol, commit fewer crimes, die less frequently of drug overdoses, and are less likely to commit suicide than the white majority. On top of discrimination and poverty, Hispanics are less likely to have health insurance than either black or white Americans, yet they have the longest life expectancy among those three groups. Interestingly, as immigrants give way to second- and third-generation Americans, these advantages gradually recede. The overwhelmingly largest group of Hispanic Americans? Mexican Americans.

No one cultural point (e.g., faith) explains the paradox. But anyone familiar with the culture of Mexico, its web of family and friends, its relentless sense of joy and personal satisfaction, and its acceptance of life’s indignities or death’s inevitability, would not have any difficulty explaining it.