By Mildren Boyd
August 2002
Living at Lakeside has many attractions; near-perfect climate, spectacular scenery, exotic flowers, and the never-ending pageant of village life. To me, however, the greatest charm is the warm and happy acceptance of the Mexican people.
Who could blame them if they resented our virtual take-over of their country? We are often tactless, sometimes downright rude, and, sadly, a few are insufferably arrogant. Yet, these gentle people seem to have an endless supply of patience and courtesy.
They put up with our foibles and never laugh (at least to our faces) when we butcher their language. In fact, they seem to regard us as amusing, if troublesome pets, and I suspect, must often regale each other with tales of our unfathomable behavior. “You’ll never guess,” I overheard one maid saying to her friend, “what my gringa just did!.”
Years of Mexican travel had endeared these people to me long before I retired. True, dealing with bureaucracy is often frustrating, and their flexible attitude toward time can be maddening. Also true, I have often been sent astray by those unwilling to disappoint me by admitting they didn’t understand my question. Sometimes, it was I who didn’t understand.
One trip, I kept asking the way to Juarez only to wind up in the most crowded downtown district of every city. Then it dawned on me; I was being directed to Calle Juarez not Ciudad Juarez. The fault was mine. They obviously would have helped if they could.
So many times they have helped. Lost articles have been returned. Truck drivers have siphoned gas from their own tanks to help a stranded motorist. Total strangers have offered their services as interpreters to unsnarl linguistic impasses. Merchants have left their stores unguarded to run after a careless shopper with forgotten change. Women standing in long lines have smilingly waved the bewildered stranger to go first. Men have literally carried the victim of a clumsy fall to the nearest farmacia.
When a delayed flight out of Oaxaca threatened a missed connection in Mexico City, I was frantic. There was no later flight. The stewardess, noticing my distress, told the Captain, who radioed ahead to see what could be done.
Quite a lot, as it turned out. Almost before we rolled to a stop a man came aboard, grabbed my arm, and whisked me off the plane, as my fellow passengers looked on in horror. Actually, I was a little concerned myself.
I needn’t have worried; I was not being arrested, just expedited. My escort bullied baggage handlers into finding my luggage, zipped me through customs and immigration, and took off at a lope for the gate where my plane was being held. Before I could catch my breath enough to say “Gracias”, I was literally shoved aboard, and we were taxiing for takeoff.
Another time, when a rock fall completely blocked the narrow highway, I was pondering my chances of turning around without falling off the mountain when an old rattletrap bus came chugging up to the other side. An unbelievable number of people piled out to survey the problem. They laughed and waved to me and signaling “momentito”, attacked that pile of stones, mostly with their bare hands. Within a surprisingly short time they had cleared one side of the road. Did they immediately board their bus and drive on? No! They bowed courteously and waved their foreign guest through first!
Why do I love Mexico? It’s the people!