Tag Archives: danger

México Lindo

IN SPITE OF our sometimes shady reputation, tourists can’t get enough of Mexico, which recently surpassed Mohammedan-infested Turkey as the world’s eighth-most-favored tourist destination.

A friend recently pointed me to an interesting web page that compared the United States with Mexico.

Among its pluses is that you’re 32 percent less likely to be unemployed in Mexico. Before you pack your suitcase, know that you’ll also earn 70 percent less money here.

Not mentioned on the list is that while you will make less money, living in Mexico is significantly cheaper, somewhat balancing things out, an important detail.

And you’re five times more likely to be murdered in Mexico, or so they say.  While that sounds bad, think of it this way:

If you’re chances of being murdered in the United States are 0.05 percent, then your chances in Mexico are 0.25. Still unlikely. I’ve been here 17 years, and nobody’s tried to murder me.

Perhaps they’ve considered it.

In Mexico, we spend 93 percent less on healthcare. In other words, how’s that ObamaCare working out for you?

We use 85 percent less electricity, and we’re 69 percent less likely to be in prison. Of course, a pessimist will say that’s because most of the bad guys are walking free, and maybe they are.

Or wearing police uniforms.

There are more pluses and minuses. If you want to read the entire list, go here. As for me, I’m staying put where I’m less likely to be in prison, and healthcare is far cheaper.

I hope I won’t be murdered.

Man versus beasts

Photo shot April 12, 2017. Almost high noon.

IT’S SPRINGTIME, and the two banes of my life are muscling up in the yard, threats sans mercy. Monster thorns.

On the left is what I imagine is the world’s biggest nopal tree. Perhaps I should notify Guinness. On the right is the bougainvillea that, of the four in the yard, I let fly out of control.*

It’s hardly the biggest in the world, however. Bigger ones abound in my town. They never, ever stop growing.

I inserted myself into the photo to provide perspective. I planted both the beasts when they were tiny tykes.

Click on the photo for a closer look. Yes, the grass is mostly brown due to our being in the dry season. All is dark and dusty. The sky is not dark. It’s blue and beautiful.

The house is off to the left. The pastry kitchen and Nissan carport are off to the right. The sex motel is behind that wall. It’s what appears to be a white stripe. Actually, it’s yellow.

* * * *

* The other three I keep firmly under my green thumb.

Living dangerously

street

livingRECENTLY, I’VE received word from people above the Rio Bravo that living in Mexico is a war zone or a hellhole. I became worried and decided to investigate.

After all, we do reside in one of the “most dangerous” Mexican states, according to the U.S. State Department, an agency rarely given to error, as everyone knows.

Normally, every weekday morning, the two of us take our exercise walk around the nearby plaza, but since we’d never witnessed violence on the plaza, we decided the mayhem must be taking place elsewhere in the hardscrabble ‘hood.

We left the plaza and headed down some ominous-looking streets. Surely, we would find the war zone quickly.

There was a Hellish cast to the blue skies.

* * * *

But before I tell you what happened next, and how we managed to arrive home unscathed, know that yesterday we drove the 40 minutes down the mountainside to the state capital, a spot where no sensible soul sets foot unnecessarily.

First, we went to the snow-white Star Medica hospital and got our yearly flu shots. Then, with ballooning trepidation, we drove down a flower-rimmed boulevard to an office of the ETN bus line where we safely made a ticket exchange.

The red splashes on the street were bougainvillea instead of blood.

Then, breathing sighs of relief due to our stretch — so far — of good fortune, we headed to the Superama supermarket — part of the Walmart chain — for purchases. Following that scary venture, we had lunch at a vegetarian buffet.

The restaurant’s clientele consists primarily of medical students from a nearby university. Surely, most are studying to patch bullet wounds, grenade gashes, and to reattach severed heads that roll across all cantina floors.

Next on the agenda was a stop at Costco. Then we went to an ice cream stand before dashing back to the Honda, heads down, expecting gunfire at any moment.

Again, luck was with us. Not even a flesh wound.

* * * *

We made it home, and the next day dawned, this day, and now we’re walking through the neighborhood in search of our war zone.

Something blood red approaches down the street, and there is noise. We freeze in place. Is this it? Am I about to meet my Maker?

It comes closer, a marching band and rows of students in scarlet uniforms. They’re from the nearby school, rehearsing routines for Revolution Day next month.

We stand on the sidewalk as they pass. Many of the kids giggle on spotting the tall, strange Gringo in their neighborhood.

They decide not to murder us.

As music fades behind, we trod on, apprehensively. But nothing happens, and we return to the Hacienda intact, still wondering where the war zone might be.

I toted my camera, expecting to shoot exciting footage that I would sell to international media outlets. There would be corpses, blood and body parts. A Mexican Robert Capa.

I was disappointed. But I did take these photos.

The war zone remains elusive, hidden. Maybe mañana, amigos.

Maybe mañana.

house

American peril

Subway

THOSE OF US who live in Mexico roll our eyeballs when we read of the dangerous, violence-wracked nation in which we reside. This is the reputation we have been smeared with by a clueless U.S. media and an hysterical U.S. State Department.

This is arrant nonsense, and all of us who live here know it.

The photo is a Subway in Chicago. The employees work behind bulletproof glass. There are plenty of Subways, McDonald’s, Burger Kings in Mexico, and I wager not one feels the need to install bulletproof glass. Which is the dangerous nation? It ain’t us, amigo.

* * * *

I brag a lot about our well-organized, efficient healthcare system which has both a public and private side. The government system assists the poor. Nobody is ham-handedly forced to participate, á la ObamaCare. The private system is superlative and affordable.

Just to rub it in, here are two hospitals in the nearby state capital. The first is part of a national chain named Star Médica. It opened about 10 years ago. The second is also part of a national chain named Hospitales Angeles. It is on the verge of opening as we speak.

Every day, we improve. Every day, you worsen. It’s hard not to chuckle.