I am an avid hiker. I hike at least once a week in my little corner of Nayarit, Mexico - which is actually quite large in a hiking context. But this article is not about hiking in Nayarit (or even Jalisco!) per se - the talented Julie of Julie and Lurko in Mexico and I will be collaborating in the near future on the subject of hiking (Julie and Lurko being both neighbors, and hikers as well). Instead, this article touches (lightly, and with paws) on one of my favorite things about the people of Mexico (el pueblo mexicano): their can do attitude. But rather than talk about various examples and theories about how people in Mexico just manage to work through obstacles and limited resources and get things done that would probably never get done in the U.S. or Canada (no, we’d just give up and/or throw the thing away), I will instead focus on one simple but heartwarming (ick) example that just occurred about a week ago.

I am a member of various hiking groups in and around the area where I live. One of these groups has many members - both extranjeros (foreigners, i.e. people like me) and locals (i.e. Mexican people). A recent hike was organized by one of the extranjeros (a very nice guy, who has lived here for about 20 years). I informed him that I’d be joining the hike, and that I would be bringing a friend who would, in turn, be bringing two dogs.

It is not uncommon to bring dogs on hikes, but I would say that it is at least a little uncommon for extranjeros (especially gringos) to bring dogs. With my Mexican friends, there is almost always at least one dog on the hike. In any event, my friend with the two dogs is from the U.S. so, yes, a gringa uncommonly bringing dogs.

But the hike organizer reached out to me and warned me against bringing dogs on this particular hike, as there would be some rock scrambling that might prove too much for animals lacking opposable thumbs. He also posted on the hike WhatsApp group (Mexico runs on WhatsApp) stating that bringing dogs would be a bad idea. This turned into a small flurry of exchanges between my friend, the organizers, and myself about whether or not these dogs should attend this fun outdoor activity.

But one of my Mexican friends (Sonja) reached out to me privately (she owns two dogs, and always brings them with her on hikes) and laid down the law (politely), as it is written in Mexico. Paraphrasing and translating her messages:

Friend, with our Mexican groups they always bring dogs, so you guys bring the 2 you mentioned, they'll be happy. I know some places are a little complicated, but I tell you, for them they can do it 😅 if not, we'll help them.

I told her I would relay her message to my friend. To which Sonja replied:

That’s good 🤍 yes, she should feel safe that she can take them; if there are places that they can't handle, they simply stay in another area, but they have always been able to remain with the group and we make them very happy that they walk freely in nature 🤍

In the end, everyone who wanted to bring a dog brought a dog. But the beauty in this anecdote is in the attitude of my friend Sonja: we are Mexicans, we’ll make it work. And by the way, we don’t leave our dogs at home - we don’t deny them the natural world of which they are an inherent part.

“They can do it, if not, we’ll help them”. Why wasn’t this the immediate reaction of the extranjero organizers? Are people from the U.S. and Canada just overcautious to the point of being exclusionary? Yeah, probably. Everything has to have guard rails up north, and we can’t, I guess, be bothered to help our dogs. But the dogs did great - they mostly did fine on their own four feet and when they didn’t, hey, guess what? We helped them.

What the hell am I blathering about? And what does it have to do with Mexico? And have I been in a Mexican prison for the last 3 months?

I’ll answer the last question first: no. Instead, the parent company of Mexico Listo - Mexico Listo Pacifico, S.A. de C.V. underwent a major restructuring and put all its employees on unpaid leave until the dust settled. Or maybe I just had writer’s block - who knows? Truth is a chimeric thing these days. But the good news is: I can’t promise an article for next week. What a wonderful world.

Now on to the first two questions. The title and subtitle of this post, as all you pre-millennials are well aware, come from the Talking Heads song “Psycho Killer”. What it has to do with Mexico is, well, quite a stretch. Bear with me.

This morning as I was tending my masochistic side by perusing the news, I came upon a Vox article titled Are we in a crisis of rudeness? “We”, of course, in the context of this article, refers to Americans from America, which is another word for the United States of America, and, as any schoolchild could tell you, is the center of the known universe and really the only place on the planet that matters. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Or perhaps behind. Anyway, I’m off track. Back to reality: we USAmericans are straddling a fine line along a cliff of incivility (again, according to the hacks at Vox).

I suppose I agree with those hacks at Vox, though. The U.S. is becoming more and more a nation obsessed with its own navel and keeping random interactions with strangers at a safe distance (and, hopefully, well-covered by a loaded AR-15). The navel-gazing, stranger-hating nature of my compatriots up north is, as well, an attitude that fosters efficiency: who has time to say “please” and “thank you” and “how are you?” when there are hot lattes on the line, and a boardroom full of trillionaires to keep from firing you for not delivering your latest AI-spewed spreadsheets and (gasp!) PowerPoint decks on time? “Hurry the fuck up, I’m late” is really the only meaningful interaction a self-respecting salary person should have with the plebs steaming their oat milk.

Here under the relentless Mexican Pacific coast sun, I rarely encounter behavior that I could describe as “rude” - even when applying the most liberal definition of that term. “Rarely”, of course, implies that I do encounter it - I’m no pollyanna gringo selfie-flecting under the colorful papel picado and TikTok’ing to the world how Mexico is all rainbows and mariposas and smiling people inviting you into their homes to share their family dinner with you. Mexico is not immune to bad behavior - nor even to outright rudeness! But Mexico makes up for that rudeness by, well, not having a lot of it. Which is to say, it is rare. Noticeably, inarguably (stop arguing!) less than in the land of Milk and Stars and Honey and Stripes and Big Houses and Greed and Damnit Can’t You Deliver My Uber Eats Order A Little Faster I Mean Are You Stupid Or Just Lazy No Tip For You.

On the other hand, I didn’t get much sleep last night. But I don’t think I need to tell you that, you can read between the lines.

But what I lack in wakefulness, I make up for in sobriety. So believe my un-drunk self when I say that rudeness is far and away the exception. Politeness - niceties - are built into the fabric of Mexican society. The fact that one can unironically say “Hola, buenos días, cómo estás?” to literally every complete stranger you pass on the street and receive a similar reply is, to my sunburnt brain, the foundation upon which a civilization co-exists with itself without bending over backwards to out-rude one another.

One of the points that the Vox article makes is that USAmericans are experiencing a “crisis of attention” - meaning you’re all so obsessed with what is on your screens you can’t be interrupted by interactions with physical beings. And Mexico is not immune to this phenomenon - people staring down, scrolling, drowning in the feedback loop. But for some reason - maybe it’s the uneven pavement, the broken sidewalks, the damn topes - people in Mexico still look up. God bless them for that. I hope it stays that way.

When someone asks me if I am “happy”, my usual response is: define happiness. Happiness is a concept that many people struggle to put into words, yet they are comfortable applying it as a label rather liberally. When I respond with “define happiness”, I’m not trying to be obtuse - I genuinely don’t really know what people are asking me when they ask that question. Probably because I’ve never really put a lot of effort into thinking about happiness, or the state of being happy. I know when I am content, and that’s really the best I can strive for. Needless to say, I somewhat distrust claims of happiness, as the definition is - for my, anyway - so nebulous.

I do know what hypocrisy means, though, thus it is with a happy and hypocritical heart that I bore you today with nonstop talk of happiness. Oh joy.

Recently, the World Happiness Report released its 2024 report (powered by data collected by the Gallup World Poll). Much has been made of this report in North America because in 2024, Mexico rose precipitously while the U.S. continued a slow decline and Canada wandered around like a bored teenager. But let’s take a break from words - here’s a chart:

The above chart shows the relative ranking of Mexico, U.S. and Canada over the last 3 years, with lower values being better (10 is better than 20, etc). And Mexico’s line is quite steep - Mexico must be getting very happy indeed. Or is it?

The World Happiness Report collects tons of data, and provides graphical representations for much of it. You can see the report for yourself here. For the global ranking of happiness though, the report relies on the response to this one question:

Please imagine a ladder with steps numbered from 0 at the bottom to 10 at the top. The top of the ladder represents the best possible life for you and the bottom of the ladder represents the worst possible life for you. On which step of the ladder would you say you personally feel you stand at this time?

In other words, data be damned - happiness is all subjective. If happiness scores were to rely on what we might consider fundamental analytical components like GDP, perception of corruption, or healthy life expectancy - Canada and the U.S. would top Mexico. But that’s not what the Gallup poll is asking: they just want to know: are you happy?

These kinds of “happiness” barometers are highly problematic. Firstly, there is a lot of cultural bias in these surveys: the culture that produced the “happiness question” in the first place; the culture of the individuals answering the questions. The very translation of the question itself. Is the question just designed to elicit a positive response from Scandinavian peoples? Finland, Denmark, Iceland, and Sweden take the top four places. How can people in such cold places be so happy - is it because they always have an excuse to drink hot cocoa?

Anyway, regardless of the relative positions of all these happiness competing nations, the fact that Mexico’s responses to the question are rising in positivity, and the United States’ responses are falling, is a more interesting view of the whole analytical whirlpool Gallup has thrown us all in, kicking and screaming as we are. More interesting still is where, when and by how much they are rising or falling. Here are some more pretty charts to look at, the first one is Mexico’s “happiness index” since 2010:

So these internal metrics paint a much different picture: Mexico’s really impressive rise wasn’t 2024, it was 2022. 2024 is, in fact, a 3-year low for Mexico. And 2013, while not putting Mexico anywhere near the “top 10 happy nations”, was their best year for feelings of happiness on ladders. And yet, 2024 is the year that Mexico ranked it its highest position on the leaderboard of nations, at an enviable number 10.

Here is the United State’s “happiness index” since 2010:

The U.S. has been bouncing fairly evenly between 6.5 and 7.25. But the low point was 2023, not 2024 - the year that the U.S. fell to its lowest point (24th) in relative happiness.

So what are we to make of all this? Is happiness a competition sport, where we must compare nation-to-nation, border-to-border? I hope not. If I were to give at least some props to the World Happiness Report, it would be this: people in Mexico seem happier and better adjusted than people in the U.S. (you’ll notice I’ve dropped Canada from the conversation almost completely - the data there doesn’t really add much to this narrative). Given, though, that happier-than-the-U.S. isn’t a high bar. Oh well, better to go out and eat a taco. Pet a dog. Be nice to someone. And if a pollster asks you about happiness and escaleras, tell them you don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows. Maybe play a harmonica while you do that.

As promised, here is my follow-up article about driving cross-country in Mexico. If you missed the first article, you can find it here. Otherwise, let’s just hit the ground running (or road rolling, my analogies are suffering).

In the previous article, I advised against traveling with a lot of cash. I generally carry as much cash as I think I’ll need for gas (I don’t like using credit cards at random gas stations), food, and maybe around 10% of the total amount I’ll need for tolls. The expected toll cost you can get by mapping out your route on Google Maps (more on Google Maps later), which will give you a pretty good estimation of the total toll cost.

Why do you only need to have cash on hand for 10% of the total toll cost? Am I going to advise you to drive through the toll booths without paying? No, I don’t think the consequences of doing that would be pleasant. Instead, what I am advising you to do is to get an electronic toll pass and install it on the windshield of your car. A toll pass has multiple benefits:

1. It can be easily recharged by using an app and adding funds using your credit card.

2. It can even be configured to automatically recharge itself when it’s funds fall below a certain threshold.

3. It allows you to use - when available - the much faster telepeaje lane at the toll booths.

4. Most importantly, it allows you to treat the tolls as a predominantly cashless experience.

There are several companies that offer toll passes, and they all work pretty much the same. I like EasyTrip because the toll pass itself can be purchased at most Oxxo convenience stores, and the mobile app is pretty straightforward and usable. Here is a photo of an EasyTrip toll pass attached to the inside of the windshield of my car (it attaches via a simple suction cup):

And here is a photo of the exclusivo telepeaje (exclusive electronic toll) lane at a toll booth:

You don’t even have to use the exclusivo telepeaje lane: most toll booths will accept your electronic toll pass at any lane. However, there are some toll booths that don’t accept an electronic pass at all - this is why I carry enough to cover about 10% of the total toll cost; you will have to pay cash at these kinds of toll booths (also, the electronic system might be inoperative at any toll booth at random times). But all-in-all, electronic toll passes make cross country travel just that much easier and worry-free.

Getting directions

Before starting any long trip in Mexico, use the Google Maps app to download the data for whichever parts of Mexico you’ll be traveling through. A lot of Mexico’s interstate highway system has good cellular coverage, but not all of it does. And you don’t want to get stuck somewhere suddenly needing directions and realizing there is no cell service available to acquire those directions.

Once you have the routing directions on Google Maps, it does a pretty good job giving you accurate turn-by-turn directions. Pretty good, but not great. Google’s routing data is not always up-to-date with the various road construction and on/off-ramp changes that are constantly happening on Mexico’s highways. So use Google as a general guide, but also read the road signs. When you find Google and the road signs to be in conflict, rely on the road signs instead - they are generally more accurate.

I keep talking about Google Maps as if this is the only option. There are other map data providers, the next largest being Apple. I am not a Google shill, I don’t like Google products and I don’t even much like Google as a company. But when it comes to mapping data in Mexico, Google is really the only game in town. Apple’s mapping data is laughably inaccurate in Mexico - never rely on it for anything other than getting across the street. There may be a city or neighborhood here and there where Apple’s data is accurate, but for general purposes, stay away from it unless you’re ok with the idea of never reaching your destination.

The border

I crossed the Mexico/U.S. border at Nogales Sonora/Arizona. Entering the U.S. was easy - the hardest part was the hour wait (afternoon on a Sunday). The usual assortment of vendors walking up and down the line of cars was there, but there wasn’t as much Mexican military presence as I was expecting - but maybe they’re just not out in the open. The U.S. CBP agent looked at my passport and only asked me a few questions: where was I going, how long I intended to have my car in the U.S. (I was driving a vehicle with Mexican plates), did I have any meat or vegetables. I answered to his satisfaction and on my way I went.

Upon entering the U.S., the most boring part of the trip ensued. U.S. highways are designed to keep traffic flowing: very well maintained, efficient, nothing to see here. Of course I was in the desert heading to California’s central coast, so nothing to see is kind of inherent in the landscape. Also in the big Arizona cities of Phoenix and Tucson - kind of ugly when viewed from the freeway, but sort of everything in the U.S. is kind of ugly when viewed from interstates. There are exceptions, but sorry Phoenix and Tucson - you’re not them. Southern California was the hundreds-of-miles-long traffic jam that it always is - which adds annoying to the whole boring thing. One really needs to get off of the interstates (and all Los Angeles freeways) to find anything interesting on the road north of the border.

After some brief business in California, I was on my way back - but this time with a four-legged travel companion. Caring for a dog when driving cross country makes the trip all the better, in my opinion. In any event, we’re still on the topic of borders. Upon returning to Mexico, I did the exact same trip in opposite. The crossing into Mexico was a nothing burger: no one even looked at me (again, I have a Mexican-plated vehicle). There was no line, I just drove through without ever coming to a full stop. Making my way through Nogales, Sonora to the 15D autopista was a bit more circuitous than I was expecting, but again, not a big deal. I was on my way quickly.

Northbound/Southbound differences

Really the only difference I experienced (the presence of the dog notwithstanding) was that the FGR (Fiscalia General de la Repubica) agents were more interested in delving into my plans than they were when I was driving north. For the most part, they just wanted to know where I was going, but one group made me pull over and exit my car so they could pat me down and look into my vehicle. I was concerned that they might want to pull everything out of my car (I wasn’t carrying a lot) and search it. But either the furiously barking dog, me making pleasantries in Spanish, or my innocent demeanor spared me that fate: after patting me down they let me go on my way.

The other difference was that I was less concerned going south about knowing ahead of time where I would spend the night - so I ended up driving longer days and getting to my final destination sooner. I did not drive in Mexico after dark - and I would highly recommend to others that they do the same. It isn’t just that bandits are more likely to be working at night, but seeing road hazards (including cattle!) at night is much more difficult. I drive within a city after dark, or even between proximal cities/towns - but cross country, I’m not doing it.

So I’m back in Mexico where I belong. All is well, the dog’s asleep. One final note, though - this is not intended to be a how-to. Most “foreign” people’s experiences will be different from mine, because they’ll be exiting/entering Mexico as non-Mexican citizens in cars that don’t have Mexican plates. Most people will have to deal with the whole temporary import permit thing for their vehicles, getting their passport’s stamped, and things like that. As a dual citizen, I get to miss all that fun. But other than those administrative things, the trip is largely the same for everyone. Largely. Your milage may vary (sorry, I couldn’t help myself).

When driving cross-country in Mexico, it is advisable to do so well-rested (and well-caffeinated, for those who indulge this basic human necessity). Anything can happen on Mexico’s highways, and often does. Like the Doors song says, “keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel…”

Back in February 2023, I wrote an article extolling the virtues of long-distance travel in Mexico, and how unnecessary a car is for accomplishing such a feat. So it is only natural that I would make a 1,600 kilometer (1,000 mile) trip through Mexico in a car. Hey, our perspectives evolve. Anyway, about a week and a half ago, I did make a northward journey up Mexico’s Pacific coast, and then added another 1,400 kilometers (890 miles) of driving through the U.S. to get to the Central Coast of California. And in a few days, I will make the reverse trip. Why? For a dog, natch.

But let’s not dally over motivations. Let’s stick to answering some useful questions, like what is it like to drive through Mexico nowadays? Well, I wouldn’t know - Mexico is a huge country, and I only drove through a small part of it. But I can offer some insights into driving up the 15D toll highway, and offer some suggestions for making the trip a little easier on oneself. Finally, this is not meant to be any kind of encouragement to hit the open road. Many people are not comfortable with the idea of driving in Mexico, and if that describes you, take a pass on the advice here - you’re probably better served by a bus or an airplane. Bad things sometimes happen to people driving through Mexico; nothing like that happened to me (yet), but I also realize that sometimes one finds oneself in the wrong place at the wrong time. If you’re concerned about that, it’s not the job of this article to remove that concern.

This is part one of a two-part article. In this first part, I will focus on: the highway system itself, gas and convenience, road conditions, and some of the behind-the-wheel challenges. In the next article, I will talk more about paying tolls, border conditions, and some of the differences to expect when driving out of Mexico vs. driving into it.

Mexico’s interstate highway system

In Mexico, interstate highways are called carreteras federales (federal highways). They are numbered, using between 1 and 3 digits (highway 1, highway 15, highway 200, etc). Highways running generally north and south are odd numbered, and even numbers run west to east (again, generally - there are exceptions). Highway numbers increase in value moving north to south, and west to east. Many carreteras federales have the letter “D” appended to them - this denotes a toll highway. Toll highways generally run in close proximity to their non-toll counterparts. So there is a 1 and 1D running down Baja California, generally fronting each other, and a 15 and 15D along the pacific coast and Sonoran desert.

Toll highways are called autopistas and non-toll highways are called libres. Autopista (toll) highways are also often marked with the word cuota (fee); so you will often see highways referred to in road signs as (for example) “Tepic Cuota” and “Tepic Libre”.

Autopistas are generally considered safer than their libre counterparts. This is because the toll highways are more heavily patrolled, and better maintained. Mexico’s autopistas also have many call boxes and WiFi access points, should you have car trouble somewhere out of cell service range. Autopistas also generally avoid cities and towns, so there aren’t as many points where one needs to slow down, and there aren’t as many topes.

The disadvantage with traveling on the autopistas is, of course, the tolls. They add up quickly, and there are a lot of toll stations where you need to stop and pay. Tolls generally run from 100 to 300 pesos, but some of Mexico’s newer toll roads charge significantly more than that. In my recent trip north, I paid more in tolls than I did for gas (I have a pretty economical vehicle - a Honda CR-V). Another disadvantage is that there is less interesting stuff to look at - you’re just kind of on this closed highway, slowing down for the various toll stations and checkpoints. And yes, there are a lot of checkpoints - especially in the violence-plagued state of Sinaloa and the border state of Sonora.

Checkpoints

Any given checkpoint might be run by one of several government entities: the army (ejército), national guard (guardia nacional) and the FGR (Fiscalia General de la Repubica) police. The first 2 are really no big deal - they are generally friendly and will mostly wave you through. The FGR, however, can be a pain in the neck. They are looking for items that are illegal to transport across state lines and borders - so, large sums of money, agricultural products, meat and dairy, illicit drugs (obviously) but also prescription drugs that you don’t have a paper prescription for. There are all kinds of stories about the FGR and having to pay bribes because you forgot to get a copy of your prescription for prescribed drugs you are carrying, and just no-reason shake-downs for cash. My advice for the FGR stops is to be very polite and good natured; be respectful; speak Spanish; and - if you’re from the United States - try not to be a flag-waving, entitled maniac - if you talk excitedly about the Gulf of America then, well, you deserve the shakedown you’ll likely get. And don’t carry anything with you that gives them cause to detain you and (likely) expect a bribe from you. And don’t carry a lot of cash - USD, CAD, or MXN. That way if they do shake you down, you can truthfully tell them you don’t have much cash on you. I’ll talk more about cash in the next article in this series.

Food and rest

Still on the topic of traveling on the autopistas, there are plenty of places along the highway to get gas and food. There are many Pemex (and other brands) gas stations, Oxxo convenience stores, and even little ma and pa restaurants and roadside food stands. Many of the toll stations also have conveniences - food stands, small restaurants, convenience stores, and bathrooms (many of them free, even). All of the Oxxo/gas station stops have bathrooms as well, and again, mostly free - but then again, non-free usually means just 5 or 10 pesos.

Generally, I found the conditions of the restroom facilities to be good to excellent. One of the economic realities of Mexico is that it is very easy and inexpensive to hire cleaning people; and in many cases these people aren’t even paid by the proprietors of whatever establishment they are working at - they instead work for tips. This is a harsh economic reality, and I’m not going to get into any value judgments about it here - my point rather is that finding people who are willing to work at keeping public bathroom facilities clean in Mexico is a lot easier than finding people to clean public bathrooms in the U.S. So I have generally found that the public facilities along the autopistas were kept in better condition than those in the U.S. There are a few exceptions, but it is easy to just pass those by because you’ll find another roadside service area not too far away from the last one.

If you stop at a place that has a little restaurant or food stand, you can get some hot food - enchiladas, tamales and the like. Also tortas, other types of sandwiches, and tacos. Some of it is pretty good, some not. The Oxxos and other convenience stores have loads of junk food of course, but also pre-packaged sandwiches and sometimes hot food like hot dogs or some fried thing. I generally avoid the hot food at Oxxos; if I’m starving and the only thing around is an Oxxo, a bag of Doritos will shut my stomach up for a while.

Now, coffee. Look, you’re just going to have to settle for bad coffee, unless you plan to brew your own as you go. I guess if you’re the kind of person who just drinks one cup a day (you monster) and if you stop in a largish city overnight, you can always hit a Starbucks and not suffer the indignity of poorly brewed or - gasp - instant coffee. But if you’re a normal person who drinks more than one cup, you’re going to be drinking some roadside stand (i.e. instant) coffee, some brewed-long-ago coffee, or the coffee made in the gross machines at the Oxxos. Honestly, I would stay away from the Oxxo machines (latte, cappuccino) - they really do look disgusting. Oxxo also has brewed coffee - it’s likely been sitting there for a while, but at least it hasn’t traveled through yards of moldy tubes to get to your cup. It’ll suffice. Fill up, move on.

The art of driving

Speaking of moving on and coffee, let’s get back to my opening remarks about why you might want to ensure you are well-caffeinated as you boogie down Mexico’s autopistas.

Many stretches of highway are one lane in each direction. These are the worst, because it isn’t just a bunch of other Honda CR-Vs traveling with you; instead, it is mostly semi-trucks. Sometimes, for many, many miles, semis are all you will see (autopistas are not as heavily trafficked by passenger vehicles as are interstate highways in the U.S. and Canada). You have to get around those semis, and those semis have to get around each other. Acknowledging this reality, drivers in Mexico spend a lot of time passing or being passed on a 2-lane road; to facilitate all this passing, drivers move over and drive on the road’s shoulder to give the passing vehicle more space to pass. Oftentimes, you will see large semis driving almost exclusively on the shoulder, because their drivers know that they will be getting passed frequently. But you, too, need to be aware of vehicles that want to pass you, so you’ll need to move over onto the shoulder as well to facilitate this. In Mexico, moving to the right to accommodate passing vehicles is just plain common courtesy - everyone does it.

But wait - there’s a catch (there’s always a catch). Slow-moving, barely street legal motorcycles (along with the odd bicycle) also use the shoulders to travel on. So you can’t just drive along the shoulder all zoned out - you must be aware of that slow motorcycle you are quickly gaining on, and move your crazy self back over to the left and off of the shoulder.

Back to passing. There aren’t a lot of long straight-aways on the autopistas; they are, in fact, fairly windy - not always mountain road windy, but they do meander back and forth, up and down. This makes seeing oncoming traffic difficult, but people pass anyway because they know they can do it while only occupying a small portion of the oncoming traffic lane (because everyone else has moved to the shoulder to let you pass). So you must always be aware that some oncoming vehicle is partially in your lane, and thus you need to move right to give them room, even though you yourself are not passing. And, yes, there are situations where 2 vehicles are passing other vehicles in each direction at the same time - meaning, there are 4 vehicles that will all pass each other while occupying the same 2 lanes of travel. This can be some no-nonsense, white-knuckle, nerve-wracking driving, folks.

Add to this the fact that at any given moment you might find a herd of cows moseying across the highway, and it all adds up to needing a heightened state of vigilance when driving on these highways. No meditating or relaxation music, please. Heavy metal and Red Bull are the order of the day.

Next week - or perhaps the week after next, depending on how exhausted I am - I’ll write about paying tolls, what to expect at the border, and some of the differences in experience when driving into Mexico rather than out of it.

Here in Mexico, schoolchildren are taught about the various incursions that the United States have made into this country, one such incursion having resulted in Mexico losing a huge portion of its country to the U.S. Mexicans, needless to say, are sensitive to the U.S. military entering Mexico’s sovereign space.

Recently, reports emerged in both Mexico and the U.S. that Mexico’s president Claudia Sheinbaum refused a U.S. military C-17 aircraft loaded with soon-to-be deported Mexican citizens from entering Mexico’s airspace and landing on a Mexican airfield. Neither Mexico nor the U.S. has confirmed this report.

But that hasn’t stopped many Mexicans I’ve been speaking with to enthusiastically ask me if I heard about what president Sheinbaum did. What she did - or may have done, in any event - turns out to be a source of great pride for many Mexican people; a giant middle finger to the despotic and unilateral actions of a United States gone off the rails. Regardless of their political leanings or their feelings about the Morena party (Sheinbaum’s political party), Mexicans are proud of their presidenta, at least for the moment.

Mexico has even gone a step further, having denied U.S. military aircraft bound for Guatemala and Colombia with manacled immigrants aboard from entering Mexican airspace: those C-17s had to fly around Mexico to get to their destinations further south.

Of course, from a purely pragmatic sense, this is perhaps just a bunch of theater: Mexico is unequivocally allowing civilian aircraft from the U.S. to land on Mexican soil in order to repatriate deported Mexican citizens. And, in the near future, it wouldn’t be surprising to see Mexico relent and allow military aircraft from the U.S. into the country: Mexico has a lot to lose by alienating the current administration of their backwater northern neighbor.

To be sure, this is a moral low point for the United States, and it is sad to witness. The U.S. has all the money, the arms, the best-funded military in the world. But nobody likes a bully - oh, except clearly many registered voters in the U.S. do. Maybe those voters just don’t understand what a bully is: a tough guy on the outside and a coward on the inside. Not a glamorous look, not a lot to like there.

And a lot of people in Mexico feel quite disrespected right now. They hear the things that the new U.S. administration is saying, and they see the things the administration is doing. The hatred for Mexico dribbling from the mouths of MAGA politicians is not lost on the Mexican people; nor is the fact that the U.S. has been treating Latin America as a collection of vassal states ever since president Monroe opened his big, stupid mouth.

So Mexico refused to clear a flight plan for a U.S. military aircraft. Big deal. All countries control their own airspace and can - at any given time - allow or prohibit flights through it. But the people of Mexico know: this was their president standing up to the 500-pound grinning idiot bully gorilla: a tough guy in a suit. A coward. Good for you, Sra. Presidenta.

When I was a young lad, my father - sometime in the 1970s of course - got into all sorts of 1970s new age, metaphysical stuff: Uri Geller bending things, the writings of Carlos Castaneda and Erich von Däniken, biofeedback, pyramids. He even started a business building and selling biofeedback machines (he was an electrical engineer by profession; I say “was” because he is retired, but still living). He built little pyramids and scattered them around our house, putting razor blades inside them to see if they’d stay sharper than razor blades that did not have the privilege of residing inside pyramids. He taught himself how to hypnotize people, with my sister and I as his sometimes willing subjects.

My father was fascinated by energy - not necessarily the kind that comes out of those little holes in your walls, or from atoms falling apart - but the kind that is produced by the human mind and human artifacts: the bending of spoons; the unseen but present inverse pyramid that rests upon the apex of a physical pyramid (if that physical pyramid has the correct dimensions and orientation, oh and also if you believe that stuff), the energy waves emitted by our brains. The energy of the spirits who undoubtedly moved among us, even influencing us in unknown ways with unknown motivations.

And even though a lot of that stuff has been fairly well debunked - in particular Uri Geller’s spoon bending and the Don Juan mystic who Carlos Castaneda grew wealthy writing about - not all of it has and I’m sure there is some validity to some of it (isn’t there?). The point is, some of this energy sensitivity sunk in through my thick skull and settled somewhere in my tiny brain. At the risk of sounding like I am blowing some “hey look how special I am” horn, I am pretty darn sensitive to the “energy” surrounding me. Of course this is not unique - most people are. Actually, I would say that all people are sensitive to the energy around them. The difference is, we don’t all share the same reactions to it, or even the same vocabulary to talk about it. And the energy that one person feels comfortable with may not be an energy another person feels comfortable with. Of course. It’s like food, environments, overpriced sneakers; we each have our own individual preferences when it comes to energy, even if we don’t know it.

For myself, I am comfortable with a calm, quiet, welcoming but not too welcoming energy. I am sensitive to kindness, and shy away from people who lack any of it (there are a lot of people who lack any sort of human kindness - I know, I can feel their energy 🤪). I am comfortable with dog energy and introvert energy.

Places, of course, have their own energies - made up of the sum of all the energies of the people and dogs and non-dogs inhabiting those places. Houses. Neighborhoods. Towns. Cities. States. Countries. Considering the title of this newsletter, I’m sure you know where all this is going. Way to telegraph it, Mike.

For reasons that are none of my fault and all of my dad’s, I resonate with whatever energy Mexico seems to be putting out. But I don’t live in and visit Mexico the country - I live in and visit particular spots in Mexico - I’m sure if I lived in or visited particular other spots, I might not get the same vibe. But for whatever it’s worth, I’ve never felt other than energetically “at home” anywhere I’ve been in Mexico - even Tijuana 😲 (also I’ve never been to Cancun - my feathered spirit guide tells me I wouldn’t like it there).

Speaking of Cancun, where I’ve never been, here are some places I have been where the energy has felt wrong to me: pretty much anywhere in Europe (except Wales); most places in Canada where grizzly bears aren’t actively stalking you; Delhi; anything that floats and has a lot of people on it. And the United States.

Much has been said about how the U.S. is an angry place. A divided place. Wealth obsessed, navel gazing, indifferent. And, some of it is just click-bait words, and a lot of it doesn’t apply universally to the U.S. (there are still great places in that country - there must be!). But there is some truth, and it is that truth that wears on me when I am there. Before the tech and entertainment industries ruined California, it was a place with a decent energy. Now it just seems like everyone there is mad, with that madness amplified 20x when they get into a car. There was a time when California actually was a laid-back place; but today, Mexico City at rush hour could take California to school about being laid back. I am typically in California when I’m in the U.S., and I feel it like a brick. All that money, all those golden sunsets - why does it feel like everyone is screaming - if not on the outside, then definitely on the inside. Fortunately for California (and Arizona, New Mexico, Texas), Mexico is hanging out nearby, with dirty emissions but clean energy.

I know Mexico is an awful place for many Mexicans, and I’m just mouthing off with my white money mouth about how great everything is. So admittedly, maybe it is not great. But for me, it feels right (and probably for a lot of you, too).

My dad would take coat hangers and bend them into long L-shapes, and he would have us kids hold the short ends of the L loosely in our fists and walk toward the pyramids decorating our house, with their correct dimensions and orientations. With the long ends of the L sticking out straight in front of us and aimed about halfway above the pyramid, we would approach it, and those long ends would deflect away as they encountered that empty-yet-occupied-by-an-invisibile-inverse-pyramid space above it. That empty space would push those wires apart. All of the space above the U.S.-Mexico border is empty, and yet so full of something that it pushes me - not left or right - but inexorably south.

In the movie No Country for Old Men, the film’s sociopathic antagonist Anton Chigurh asks someone who he is obviously about to kill: If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule?

I suppose that is a good enough analogy as any for what is happening politically, economically, and socially in the United States. The U.S. has been marching toward this inevitable conclusion for decades, and doing so with a draw-dropping lack of self-awareness. The U.S. has ceased to be a serious place, with serious people doing serious work. The greatest recent achievement the U.S. can point to is hooking the world on a steady junk food diet of algorithmically-tuned self-pandering words and images that serve no other purpose than to make already rich corporations and those who run them richer, and our brains softer, more malleable. A shared weakness of mind and spirt. One nation under God, show me your reel.

It would be easy to point to the results of the 2024 U.S. elections as the downward deflection point that has set that country on such an idiotic spiral. It is not. The U.S. has been punching itself in the head for so long now, that no one administration or ideology can claim credit for the self-abuse. For decades now, the Democrats have pandered to the elites and snubbed their noses at the uneducated prols who work for a living. Meanwhile, the Republicans have supplicated themselves to a pouty man-child and drooled over grainy black-and-white videos of goose-stepping Nazis. In the end, regular people who don’t own two yachts can go pound sand, regardless of their party “affiliation”.

And yet, the 2024 election is a deflection point of sorts: it was an election that managed to firmly repudiate the rationale of a “democratic” system when the electorate is being hand-fed toxic pond water by billionaire sociopaths like Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk and whatever clown-show Gang of Four is currently running things at Google.

Further repudiated is the entire two-party system that the U.S. can’t shake itself from (3 choices is probably too much for our Facebook-addled brains). U.S. voters this year were left with the comically absurd choice between an über-rich trust fund brat rapist and an octogenarian who couldn’t follow a train of thought or complete a sensical sentence (never minding the too-little too-late advent of Kamala Harris, darling of the Olds but anathema to the woke hoards who couldn’t countenance the fact that she once prosecuted minorities for a living).

This would all be a lot more tolerable if - like Las Vegas - what happens in the U.S. stays in the U.S. Alas - unlike Las Vegas - the U.S. lacks the decorum to keep its boozy philandering behind closed doors. It touches everyone, everywhere. In Mexico, we are left pondering what should be stupid questions but unfortunately aren’t, such as:

• Will the U.S. military invade Mexico?

• Will Mexico’s economy take a beating from U.S. tariffs?

• Will the U.S. economy take a beating from those same tariffs?

• How will Mexico handle the deportation/repatriation of potentially millions of people? And how will the U.S. implement and pay for such a thing?

• How will all this anti-Mexico vitriol affect Mexico’s tourist industry?

• Etc.

Sigh. Immediately after the elections, Mexico’s president Claudia Sheinbaum was put in the unenviable position of having to answer questions like: how will you navigate a Trump presidency? The question is absurd: one cannot plan for responding to chaos.

In the end, those of us who don’t have the wonderful gift of completely forgetting what happened just 2 days ago understand that the Trump administration’s promises about Mexico - and everything else - will take a back seat to the real agenda: making Trump himself and his billionaire cronies richer. It’s all a con, and we are the suckers. But the game was rigged long ago, long before a narcissistic pussy-grabber pulled a nation into his circle of depravity. It’s not Trump’s fault - this tab belongs firmly in the hands of the U.S. electorate - even those who didn’t vote for Trump. So yeah, now we get to watch Fox News hosts and RFK Jr. (🙄) run the most powerful country on earth while the rest of the world scrambles to try to defend itself against the onslaught of dumbness. Maybe it will be entertaining.

Still, more and more I find myself - when asked where I come from - answering: Here. I’m Mexican. I’m from Mexico.

Postscript

Sorry! This post has been sitting in various degrees of un-doneness for quite a while. It’s not really the kind of thing I like to focus on, but I needed to get it out of my text editor to make room for better things.

Also, yeah - the long break. It wasn’t planned - my work and family life had spun out of control for months. I couldn’t justify time spent writing when I was working 15 hour days, so I didn’t even attempt to justify it. I’m trying to get my life back under my control, and unburdening myself with this article is a first step 🙂.

Or, it might be my way of saying: What a blessing my absence has been; I mean, do you really want to read crap like this?

A few days ago, I was driving along a highway that climbs up and down a small mountain chain in Central California. It is a windy road, a bit dangerous in spots, but nothing that can’t be managed if one takes one’s time. This highway has 2 traffic lanes in each direction, and I was in the fast lane because there were some slower trucks in the other lane. I was driving about the speed limit, when a car suddenly darted out from behind me, pulled ahead and brake-checked me.

Brake-checking, if you are blissfully unaware, is an agro driving maneuver wherein a car that is in front of you suddenly applies its brakes for no reason other than to cause a downstream reaction forcing the car(s) behind to notice and suddenly brake themselves before plowing into the rear-end of the brake-checking vehicle. People who “brake-check” are usually hostile, dysfunctional types who hate anything that doesn’t serve their own interests.

Anyway, this car brake-checked me and the driver started pointing with his right arm in an exaggerated motion that I should be over in the right lane, not the fast lane. I’m not one to easily get caught up in other people’s drama, so I just rolled my eyes and reflected, like I often do when I see something twisted happening in the U.S., that this kind of behavior just doesn’t exist in Mexico.

I’ve done things while driving in Mexico that are just completely egregious and wrong - and no other driver even batted an eye. If I did these same things on roads in the U.S., other drivers would completely loose their minds. I suppose there are cultural studies I could refer to and write about, explaining why people in the U.S. act so stressed out and angry in their cars (hint: people in the U.S. are stressed out and angry), but this is not the article for that. Instead, this article is about my sort of pollyanna reflection that this aggressive driving maneuver wouldn’t happen in Mexico.

Breaking down the romanticism of my initial reaction, I realized that what I was really sensing was that this type of aggression typically does not happen in the parts of Mexico that I choose to live in and visit. Immigrants to Mexico from the U.S., Canada, and other “wealthy” countries have the luxury of immigrating to the “nice” places. You don’t see a lot of YouTube videos extolling the charms of expat life in the pueblos of Frontera Comalapa or Chicomuselo in the state of Chiapas where cartels control most aspects of civilian life. You don’t see those videos because the people who make “Mexico is so charming and safe” videos rightly would not go to those places.

No, people immigrating to and visiting Mexico from the US and Canada get to pick precisely where in Mexico they want to be. And even once there, they typically have the resources to relocate if things start to go south in their current situation.

The breakdown is that there is a bit of a romantic gulf between how most of us U.S.-bred Mexico lovers think about Mexico, and how the average person living in a low-income pueblo or barrio and struggling to make a living thinks about Mexico. A struggle, quite often, that is played out against a backdrop of cartel activity - theft, extortion, threats, and worse.

In the event, many (most?) Mexicans don’t have the luxury of mobility. Both family connections and economic constraints make relocating to a “nicer” area prohibitive. There are a lot of people in Mexico who would certainly take offense to my un-vocalized but nevertheless felt-in-the-moment notion that Mexico is so much better because bat-shit crazy U.S. things don’t happen there. The thing is, bat-shit crazy Mexican things happen in Mexico.

I don’t want to come off sounding anti-Mexico - anything but. I am very pro-Mexico (obviously), and there are so many facets of life the way I live it in Mexico that I would find hard to give up. And while I’m an average middle-class nobody in the U.S., I am so very privileged compared to most of my Mexican compatriots. But I don’t want to appear - even if only to myself - as someone who is living in Cinderella’s castle, completely oblivious to the serfs who are struggling just beyond the moat.

When we talk about how “amazing” Mexico is, we also need to pay a bit of mindshare to the notion of how “amazing” Mexico isn’t. Fair and balanced - I sound like an ad for a news network. But the truth is, for every YouTuber or TikToker out there singing Mexico’s praises while their margarita glass grows dewy with condensation just out-of-frame, there are tens of thousands of Mexicans thinking “damn, I’d sure like to be in the place where you came from”.

Postscript: The astute English Lit fanatics amongst you may have recognized that I stole both the title and subtitle of this article from Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem Kubla Khan. Whatever. It’s in the public domain. I’ll probably steal from it again.

Dear readers: this week’s article is a bit of a personal departure from my usual ramblings. But I think it is important to stop every now and again and pay homage to one’s roots. As well as to put a little more distance between me and the idea that I’m just some AI bot.

In Mexico, I have two surnames – my paternal last name, which is Leavy, and my maternal last name, which is Tay. This is the normal practice in Spain and the countries in the Americas that Spain once ruled1. My two surnames are on my Mexican birth certificate, passport, driver’s license, etc. In the United States, my last name begins and ends with Leavy. That is all that is on my U.S. birth certificate (yes, I have two birth certificates – doesn’t everyone?), U.S. passport, etc.

The Latin tradition of carrying on the family name on one’s mother’s side makes that name less likely to die out. I like that. And recently, I spent time with that not-dying-out-name mother’s side - the Tay side, my Mexican roots side.

My mother’s side of the family immigrated to Southern California from Mexico when my mother and my aunt were small children. Names like Santiago, Ana Maria, Dolores, Carlos hang as remembrances of these Mexican roots from our family tree. Some of the ancestors of my maternal grandfather and his sister (my great aunt) immigrated to Mexico from Spain. What they brought with them from Spain has receded past the reach of our family history - except for one thing: the defining, catalyzing, and most long-lived tradition of my family and it’s gatherings: a recipe for paella.

Paella, if you are not familiar, is a rice-based dish from the Valencia region of Spain. The rice is traditionally of the bomba variety, and it is typically seasoned with saffron to give it a yellow color. Other ingredients – usually seafood (especially shellfish), often sausage, chicken, pork - are cooked and added to the rice along with vegetables, garlic, onion, peppers, etc. It can be cooked in a frying pan on the stovetop, but for larger gatherings paella is often cooked on an enormous pan outdoors over an open flame.

For most of my life, my great aunt Ada was the sole guardian of the family paella recipe. My Southern California Tay family is enormous, so when we would gather the family for a paella-centered reunion, we always did the cook outdoors on a giant pan technique. Aunt Ada – Tia, actually, for few in the family used aunt or uncle – would always enlist help in preparing the dish; cooking paella for 30–50 people is a costly and time consuming exercise. But she orchestrated the preparation of the ingredients, the seasoning (what, and how much), the declaration of doneness, with the reverence that such a long-held and far-traveled family tradition warranted. She did not take her responsibility as guardian of this ancient recipe lightly: she shared a lot of the recipe, but not everything. The chance that some careless kid would wander off to college with the recipe and leave it lying around a common room was just too great a danger: some things are worth protecting, or so believed Tia.

My childhood and early adult memories are liberally spattered with paella parties. Later in my adulthood (am I an adult? I wonder...) I strayed from the family path: first it was “partying” (that’s a euphemism for something), then a bad marriage, then recovering from a bad marriage - I turned inward and found excuses not to attend most family functions. Which is a shame - my Tay family and its extensions really is a collection of wonderful and supportive people. I’m not the kind of person who looks for or holds onto regrets – but I regret having wandered away from my family for those few lost decades.

In any event, I found a way to put those bad life choices behind me. Wait a minute - I’m veering off track 🙄. This isn’t about me, it’s about the Tay paella and the gatherings around thereof. Where were we? Ah, yes; eventually, Tia grew old and began to realize that the paella recipe needed to be handed down to a member of a younger generation.

I have an uncle named Robert, Bob to us kids (am I a kid? I wonder...). He married my mother’s sister, Dolores. They bought a house in a semi-rural part of San Diego, with a large yard and a swimming pool. They had kids who were the same age as my sister and I. If there is one physical, inanimate symbol of continuity in my life, it is that house that my aunt and uncle bought and raised their kids in. My sister and I probably spent more time there than any other place that wasn’t our own homes. Because of the pool and the yard and the nice patio – pretty much all of the Tay paella gatherings happened at this house. And so it seemed only fitting – in Tia’s eyes, anyway (and honestly, in everyone else’s) – that the Tay family paella recipe should be handed down to my uncle Bob. Now why not to an actual Tay? Bob married into the Tays, but his passion for the whole paella process, and his generosity in hosting the gatherings, was an acknowledged fact. It is fitting that he should have been entrusted with the recipe, and he stewarded it into the 21st century with warmth and grace.

Tia has passed on. So too has Bob’s wife, my aunt Dolores. So too has one of their daughters, my cousin Renée. My uncle still lives in that house on a hill in Eastern San Diego county. For over half a century that house has served as the de facto gathering spot for the Tay family, et al. With paella liberally sprinkled throughout.

Lest I leave the impression that we consumed paella every other Friday night, I’d like to re-iterate that paella for our family was both an expensive and a hugely time-consuming enterprise. And, paella isn’t something you want to “consumerize” by firing it up so often that people start to forget the specialness of it. In our family, these paella events occur once every five, sometimes ten years.

And so came to pass one of those quinquennial2 or decade markers, as the Tay family grew restless for what will likely be the last paella gathering at my uncle’s home. The photos herein mark some of the evolution of that recent gathering, from the perspective of the paella pan. My uncle now is well in his eighties, and like Tia before him, he realized at this latest gathering that it was time to pass the recipe on. Acknowledging the familia diaspora (California, Mexico, Texas, Virginia, Illinois, British Colombia), he spread twelve copies of the recipe on the patio table, each one tucked neatly into a cream-colored folder. The Tay paella too, it seems, is experiencing its own diaspora.

As I am no heretic, there are no photos of the recipe here. But I’ll gladly promote myself from paella sous chef to chef de cuisine, recipe in hand, and pass you a plate if you happen to find yourself on a particular calle, in a particular pueblo, in Mexico.

Provecho.

Yesterday (Tuesday, October 1, 2024) marked the end of Andrés Manuel López Obrador’s sexenio - the name for the 6-year term that Mexico’s presidents serve. It therefore marked the beginning of Claudia Sheinbaum’s sexenio. Standing in front of the Chamber of Deputies in Mexico City’s Legislative Palace of San Lázaro, a presidential sash was handed from López Obrador to Ifigenia Martínez, president of the Chamber of Congress, to Sheinbaum. A row of female soldiers stood behind Sheinbaum during the ceremony that marked the beginning of Sheinbaum’s presidential term.

Sheinbaum gave a speech, because that’s what politicians do. The speech was on-script with Sheinbaum’s campaign and the principles of the Morena political party, largely reflecting a continuity with the policies of López Obrador: judicial reform and how it will strengthen Mexico’s courts; a continued investment in Mexico’s oil sector; investments in social programs; strengthening the military; etc.

In addition to the standard talking points of her predecessor, Sheinbaum also emphasized the strides Mexico has taken in gender equality - a fact bolstered by her very existence as the president of Mexico. She also re-affirmed her campaign promises about moving Mexico to a more sustainable and green energy policy, while at the same time vowing to increase Mexico’s oil production. She also asserted that she would address Mexico’s cartel problems by continuing López Obrador’s “hugs, not bullets” policy, rather than reverting to the full-on war on drug cartels of López Obrador’s predecessors.

An unenviable position

Sheinbaum takes office amidst a tide of issues confronting Mexico. A sampling:

• Mexico’s economy is slowing.

• The peso has recently experienced a sharp devaluation.

• A national deficit that is now about 6% of Mexico’s GDP.

• The debt-ridden national oil company, Pemex.

Hopefully her pragmatic and data-driven approach to governance - as opposed to López Obrador’s folksy, from the gut approach - will help her navigate at least some of these issues better than her predecessor could. But Mexico’s economic issues are undeniably formidable. The whole near-shoring dream has largely failed to materialize, and U.S.-Mexico relations have recently cooled (“paused”, as López Obrador puts it, because of the United States’ criticism of López Obrador’s judicial reforms), and will likely cool further if Donald Trump is elected president of the U.S. and attempts to make good on his promise to impose large tariffs on Mexican exports (Trump likely cannot make good on all of these promises as they would be illegal under the terms of the USMCA treaty).

But the most unenviable of Sheinbaum’s unenviable issues is - as it has been with so many of Mexico’s previous leaders - Mexico’s criminal organizations and the growing stranglehold they have over large swaths of Mexico. In a very pragmatic sense, Mexico’s national government only has influence and control over a subset of Mexico. So much of Mexico is beyond the government’s ability to control or protect: those areas are instead controlled by cartels, whose growing presence, influence, and inventory of illicit activities continue to drag Mexico into a social and economic spiral.

The recent outbreak of factional fighting within the Sinaloa cartel is just the latest example of how inept Mexico’s policies regarding criminal groups are. An unnamed Mexican army official recently stated that the Sinaloa war will end when the Sinaloa gang bosses decide to end it. This is not the rhetoric of a government institution that is “in control”. It is true that the pre-López Obrador policies of directly fighting the cartels was just as ineffective as López Obrador’s “hugs, not bullets” is. But the narrative that it must be one or the other is beyond reason: Mexico needs to explore new and different options for addressing the criminal activities that are destroying so many lives within and without Mexico, and Mexico’s leaders need to start articulating these options in a way that makes sense. So far, Sheinbaum has failed to articulate a cartel policy that makes sense.

High hopes

Following the formal inauguration ceremony at the Legislative Palace, Sheinbaum proceeded to Mexico City’s massive Zócalo and the National Palace where thousands of Mexicans awaited the chance to see their new presidenta in person. Banners and placards welcomed and celebrated Mexico’s first woman president. Confetti filled the air. Joy, hope, optimism for the future. This is the oil that lubricates the wheels of progress. Clearly, for Mexico, a transition was needed (helpful that it is constitutionally mandated). One hopes that the cheers of “Presidenta! Presidenta!” are followed by cheers for the efficacy of her sexenio.1

During the Mexican Revolution (1910 - 1920), musicians and songwriters in Mexico created a musical genre that is still thriving today: the corrido. In the context of music, corrido means “ballad”; it is traditionally a song without a chorus, told in a straightforward, narrative manner. The melodies are simple and repetitive. During the Revolution, corridos were written about key revolutionary figures such as Emiliano Zapata, Francisco Madero, and Pancho Villa; or important battles or events, such as the First Battle of Torreón. You can listen to short samples of revolutionary era corridos here.

YouTube has a lot of revolutionary era corridos as well. Here is the corrido La Toma de Torreón.

Altered states

Today, corridos are more popular than ever; but they now tell of different types of insurgents, different sorts of battles. The narcocorrido (drug ballad) has swept into pop culture much like ganster rap did in the U.S. in the 1980s. Narcocorridos are a genre of corrido that celebrates the men and women involved in, as well as the events surrounding, Mexico’s drug cartels. Many credit the advent of the narcocorrido to the Mexican singer and songwriter Rosalino Sánchez Félix. Born on the mean streets of Cuilacán, Sinaloa, Sánchez - or Chalino, his preferred nickname - was immersed from the get-go in a world of criminal activity. As a young adult, Chalino worked as a small time drug dealer in Tijuana and California; he also helped to smuggle migrants from Mexico to California. In 1984, he was arrested and imprisoned for several months in Tijuana. It was during his time in a Tijuana prison that Chalino began writing corrido style songs about his fellow inmates, who were mostly also involved in drug trafficking. These inmates were so taken with the idea of having songs written and performed about them, that they began paying Chalino with cash and contraband.

After his short prison term, Chalino hooked up with the owner of a recording studio, and he began writing and recording more corridos, commissioned again by people involved in the drug trade. His recordings became increasingly more popular, and he began selling albums and performing live in larger and larger venues.

After surviving multiple gunshots by - one would assume - a disgruntled fan at a concert in Coachella, California, Chalino was ultimately murdered in his hometown of Cuilacán, Sinaloa. He had just finished performing a concert there, when he was abducted and later found dead. All indications suggest that he was killed at the hands of cartel members, but why remains a mystery. After his death, his popularity soared further. And with that popularity came other artists hoping to carry on (or cash in on) his legacy of narcocorridos.

Boom, like that

For an un-hip U.S. audience, the introduction to the narcocorrido likely came in the second season of the hit television series Breaking Bad. The opening segment of the seventh episode (titled Negro y Azul) features a Mexican trio performing a corrido in Spanish about Walter White (a.k.a. “Heisenberg”), the series protagonist and up-and-coming king of methamphetamine “cooks”. Little did that un-hip audience know that by this time, the narcocorrido was, in fact, big business. Artists such as Natanael Cano and Peso Pluma are filling arenas and topping mainstream music charts singing about the drug wars and the sicarios and bosses involved in them. Here is a somewhat extreme - yet hugely popular - example of a modern narcocorrido song: Sanguinarios del M1 (Bloodthirsty Men of the M1) by Movimiento Alterado.

Narcocorridos are not just a Mexican phenomenon. While their subjects are primarily Mexico-based, the songs and artists represent a huge business in the U.S., where artists can demand higher ticket prices and thus larger paychecks for their performances. Just like with the drugs that they sing about, the most lucrative customers are north of the border.

Judging

Various Mexican states and municipalities have attempted - with varying degrees of success - to ban narcocorridos, or at least the sales and performances thereof. The justification for such bans stems from the belief that these songs and their glorification of drug lords and drug wars do nothing but further the cycle of violence and lawlessness in the narco world. I wonder, though: are the narcocorrido stars furthering the culture or merely reflecting it? Did movies like Bonnie and Clyde and The Godfather - both of which painted elegiac portraits of violent criminals - contribute to similar cycles of violence? What about Netflix’s Narcos, or Queen of the South, or the aforementioned Breaking Bad? Is The Godfather less influential than Peso Pluma? Have we decided that when it is playing at the local cineplex, it’s ok; but when young adults in loose-fitting jeans are listening to it, it’s unacceptable?

Who knows. Music, although often having a shorter half-life than cinema, does have a longer reach: it is cheaper, often free. Easier, consumed in smaller doses. It is repeated again and again, memorized, ear-wormed. It is far more accessible, and more inescapable.

And this may be the reason why the narcocorrido is having a bit of a push-back moment. From social media influencers to other mainstream artists to government officials, a sort of weariness seems to be beginning to settle in around the narcocorrido. Can’t we just get back to signing about sex? Oh well, who knows if the weariness will be long-lasting or significant?

But now, artists like Mexican singer/songwriter Vivir Quintana are writing and performing anti-narcocorrido ballads - songs about the murdered journalists, the femicide - the innocent victims of the crimes that the narcocorridos praise.

It does feel like maybe glorifying an industry that is defined by violence and terror is a trend whose potential downward spiral is not such a bad thing.

Sing us out, Vivir Quintana.

In February 2023, I threw shade on driving cars to get around in Mexico, because there are so many other very good and affordable options for getting around.

With that out of the way, let’s talk about buying a car in Mexico!

😬

So yes, I did throw in the towel recently and I bought a car. But - now hear me out - I did it primarily so I could get my dog from point A to point B. So it was all in the service of animals. I’m such a humane and thoughtful person.

I’ve never purchased an automobile in Mexico before, so I wasn’t looking forward to it. I have purchased cars in the U.S. - new, used, leased. It’s always been an unpleasant experience. I didn’t presume it would be any better here. What I did know is that I didn’t want a new car; and in fact, had I wanted to buy a new car, it probably would have been a pretty straightforward and painless process. Buying new cars in Mexico is not like buying a new car in the U.S., where you know that the dealership is actively trying to rip you off, and thus you go immediately into self-preservation and negotiation mode and you play stupid games as the salesperson carries pieces of paper back and forth between you and the “sales manager”. The whole process is performative and weird. And annoying. No, in Mexico, the advertised price is the price. You accept the price or you look for a different car. No games, just yes or no.

But - I didn’t want a new car. I didn’t want to pay the premium prices that new cars demand or incur the immediate depreciation inherent in buying a new car. I wanted a used car, so that’s where I started.

Sticker shock

In Mexico, one finds makes and models of cars that aren’t available in the U.S. This isn’t all that unique: manufacturers create models that are intended for specific markets and not intended for others - often in response to regulatory issues or consumer demand. For example, there are many small car models in Mexico that just wouldn’t make it in the U.S. because the U.S. market is less interested (generally) in small cars.

I didn’t want one of these brands or models because I wanted a car that is available in both Mexico and the U.S., so that I can drive it between the two countries knowing that I can get parts and service for it in either. So, I was able to immediately cut my choices down drastically. I didn’t want a truck - I don’t need the hauling capacity of a truck and I didn’t want to deal with navigating narrow streets and tiny parking spaces in a large vehicle. I didn’t want a sedan because I figured I’d bottom it out on a tope sooner or later and I’d end up having to buy a new differential or something. I didn’t want a van or a large SUV for the same reasons that I didn’t want a truck. So that pretty much left me with a compact SUV.

In Mexico, the two most common compact SUV models that are also sold in the U.S. are the Honda CR-V (I don’t like typing that hyphen all the time - I think it’s pretentious, so from here on out I’m going to refer to it as a “CRV” - but you and I will both know what I really mean 😉) and the Kia Sportage. Kia is a very popular make in Mexico - they are all over the place. It would have been easy to find a used Kia Sportage. Kia is also popular in the U.S., but not the Sportage so much. For whatever reason, you don’t really see many Kia Sportages there. Honda CRVs, on the other hand, are very popular in the U.S., probably the most popular compact SUV in that market. Hondas also have a reputation for long-lasting engines, so for those reasons I sort of settled on the idea of finding a used, late-model Honda CRV1.

I began by looking at the seminuevos (semi-new 🙄) departments of various car dealerships near me for late-model CRVs (2021-2023). But I quickly discovered the following truth: in Mexico, used cars hold onto their value like grim death. A 2022 CRV with 80,000 kilometers (50K miles) in Mexico costs about the same as a brand new CRV in the U.S. In Mexico, there is such a demand for used cars, that they typically cost considerably more than a comparable used car in the U.S.2

Semi-late-model

To compensate for this sticker shock, I had to re-tool my criteria a bit. I still wanted a CRV, but finding one that met my budget meant that the 3rd digit in the model year couldn’t be a “2”. So I began looking at CRVs that were manufactured in the teens. This also meant that I had to extend my search beyond the seminuevos at large dealerships, because they don’t typically deal in cars that old. Which sent me down a rathole of Facebook Marketplace, Mercado Libre, message boards, friend referrals, pool halls, seedy hotel rooms, and abandoned warehouses. I might be exaggerating a bit - but I was swimming in some dangerous odometer-resetting waters here. I was beginning to get the idea that finding a used car on my own was going to entail a lot of leg work and a lot of leaps of faith.

So I did what any self-respecting-yet-clueless prospective car-buying gringo in Mexico would do - I turned to my extensive network of fellow Mexico-based bloggers. Fortunately, Lola of Lola at the Rescue fame has traveled all around this country and has made a lot of really useful connections. She introduced me to a guy named Luis Martinez who just so happens to live in a town not too far from me. Luis has a couple of businesses going on, and one of them is helping people find cars. He has a brother in Guadalajara who owns a used car lot, and together they have a pretty good network of quality cars that they can get their hands on, and on which they can run diagnostics to determine if the odometer is accurate and if various safety mechanisms have ever been deployed (airbags and such).

After some back-and-forth on WhatsApp over various options, Luis ended up finding me a 2016 CRV with about 96K kilometers. Nothing fancy, no automatic seats, self-lifting tailgate or such. Just a good, basic CRV. Bonus points for it being white, which works well in the hot Nayarit sun.

Luis charges a small percentage of the purchase price for his service, which includes finding the car, buying it, and getting the title and plates changed over to the new owner. I barely had to lift a finger. He even delivered it to my home.

In the end, all I had to do (other than pay for the car) was go into a Nayarit drivers license office, take a test with 20 questions, and walk out with my new license. Oh, I also had to buy insurance; but Luis recommended a broker and the insurance deal was done over WhatsApp in a matter of minutes.

My original hand-wringing about buying a car in Mexico turned out to be unnecessary. For me, anyway, things seemed to have turned out quite well. I haven’t had the car for long - so who knows if it will fall apart in a few weeks. I kind of doubt it. The cobblestone streets around me will rattle it apart I think before any pre-existing conditions will. Now I just have the open road and arguing with the traffic cops about their annoying mordidas to look forward to.

As far as the actual act of driving in Mexico - this isn’t my first rodeo. But I haven’t driven here in a while, and I haven’t used laterals extensively, and my hand doesn’t reflexively go to the hazard lights button yet. In any case, I expect all this driving will generate some fodder for a future article or two, wherein I might actually define lateral for those of you who are not familiar, and explain why one’s hand might want to reflexively find the hazard lights button. In the meantime, if you are in Mexico, maybe stay off the road for a few days…

I wrote last year about late summer on the Pacific coast of Nayarit, and how we all wither like wet rags in this, the hottest and most humid time of the year in this part of Mexico. That other article I wrote in August, but I did mention the specter of September. And whereas August is slow, there is still a trickle of late summer vacationers from Guadalajara and other Pacific-coast adjacent parts of Mexico trickling in to the beach towns to keep the economy barely afloat. But by September, even those stalwarts have headed for the hills (literally). August is slow. September is dead. Most of the restaurants don’t even bother trying to lure in the locals - they just shutter up for the month. They’ll open again in October, when the gringo snowbirds begin to flutter in. But for now, the beaches are all but deserted, save for the odd crocodile who got washed into the ocean from some recent storm. I try to strike up friendships with these leftover dinosaurs, but they’re having none of it. The cynical part of me says they are only interested in eating me, but maybe they just don’t like my avoidance of small talk. Undoubtedly, they want to keep the conversation light, while I keep trying to engage them in a discussion about the reasons behind the fluctuating peso.

The iguanas are in full retreat, hiding in the leafy mango trees (is this entire post going to be about lizards of various sizes? Spoiler: read the next sentence.) The dogs are vying for shade, panting, disinterested, reserving their energy for the October handouts sure to come. Even the mosquitos seem bored, halfheartedly nipping at my ankles while I halfheartedly care.

Lest I begin to give the impression that September is the hottest month in Mexico, let me clarify: it is only the hottest month on the Pacific coast. In Mexico’s central highlands, for example, the hottest month is usually May. On the Yucatan peninsula, July and August typically run hottest. Mexico is a big country, the climate is heterogeneous.

Speaking of heterogeneity, I am typing this from the much more refreshing climate in the state of Guanajuato, city of San Miguel de Allende. It is well past May, so it is no longer hot here. 24 degrees celcius/75 Fahrenheit in the daytime - I’m pulling the covers up at night. Tomorrow morning (“today” is Monday), I’ll return to my beach town, but for now, I’m in sort of a polar opposite from the place I described at the beginning of this post. It is very busy here, and the fact that I’m actually here on business is not what makes it so busy: San Miguel de Allende is a big year-round hit with the gringos. Many people dismiss the town because of this; but still, this place feels quite Mexican. In fact, as much as it is a hit with the gringos, it is probably a larger hit with the chilangos from Mexico City. A quick stroll through the centro had me dodging about 25 different wedding parties, many of which were likely weddinging (that’s not a word) here from CDMX. This place has its attractions, despite its detractors. In some future post, I’ll reveal some of my conflicted thoughts about San Miguel de Allende (I know you’re all waiting on pins and needles).

Mas septiembre

No - that’s not a typo in the heading; in Spanish, month and day names are not capitalized when they aren’t the first word of a sentence. Now that we’ve got that little un-asked-for grammar lesson out of the way, there is more to September than the crushing heat in Nayarit (where I’ve just returned - time flies when you’re typing). A few highlights:

September marks the final month of president Andrés Manuel López Obrador’s 6-year term. The 30% of Mexican voters who cannot stand Sr. Manuel López I’m sure are breathing a sigh of relief, but still - it is remarkable that he is leaving office with around a 70% approval rating. On October 1, Mexico’s first female president - Claudia Sheinbaum - will be sworn into office.

September sees Mexico’s Judicial reform drama kicking into high gear. This is not a subject I’m eager to tackle; it is massively controversial, with pretty much the entire world outside of the Morena party firmly against it. Many and better words have been written about it than I could muster. The Wilson Center has a decent (critical) synopsis of the reform proposal here, for those who are interested.

Finally, Mexico’s Independence Day falls on the 16th of September. The flag sellers are out in droves, the Chiles en Nogada are baking in the oven. Get ready for the grito, it’s going to be a long month.

Back in the heady days of the early 2000s, the number of billionaires produced by Mexico was second only to the United States. Unless you never wander out of the Polanco neighborhood of Mexico City, or off of the glitzy resorts in Cancun or Los Cabos, that billionaire fact may seem somewhat surprising (pardon the alliteration). If, instead, you spend your sleepless nights reading the 2,000 page North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), you may be less surprised.

And if you consider that in 2006, the United States had about 360 billionaires and Mexico had 10, you might be less surprised still. Those are highly disproportionate numbers, and the rest of the world just hadn’t gone into billionaire production mode yet.

Back to that NAFTA agreement. As you may recall, NAFTA was an agreement between Canada, the United States, and Mexico. It was designed to eliminate trade barriers between the 3 countries and further their economic cooperation. Implemented in 1994, NAFTA represented North American trade until then U.S. president Donald Trump pushed to replace it with the United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement (USMCA) in 2020.

One of the objectives of NAFTA was to level the competitive playing field between the three countries, but it left out several key markets in its text: telecommunications, television, and transportation. In doing so, it allowed several ambitious Mexican businessmen to place a stranglehold on these lucrative industries and build virtual monopolies that enabled them to grow ridiculously wealthy.

But even with those wealth-building loopholes, Mexico’s position as the second-best billionaire producer would fade quickly. The massive populations and economic growth occurring in China and India would ensure that those countries’ billionaire counts would eventually eclipse Mexico’s. And the advent of the internet and high-tech would spread the billionaire count across the globe, further diminishing Mexico’s standing. Today, Mexico is in the 24th position in the list of countries with the most billionaires - it has about 221. The U.S., China, and India have 813, 406, and 200, respectively.

But as we shed a tear for Mexico (please take a moment to dry your eyes), let’s talk a bit about that most wealthy of wealthy Mexicans: Carlos Slim Helú (typically referred to as simply “Carlos Slim”). Carlos Slim is not only the wealthiest person in Mexico, he is the on-again, off-again wealthiest person in the world (as I write this, he is off again; don’t feel sorry for him). Carlos Slim built his wealth empire primarily on one of those NAFTA exclusions: telecommunications. He owns América Móvil, the conglomerate that owns Telcel, Mexico’s largest cellular phone service provider, and Telmex, Mexico’s largest landline and internet service provider. Slim also has a controlling interest in Grupo Carso SAB, the global conglomerate that he built and whose holdings include construction and cement companies in Mexico, along with such diverse interests as Reynolds Aluminum, Sears, Saks Fifth Avenue, The New York Times, and General Tire.

Carlos Slim was born to Lebanese immigrant parents in Mexico City in 1940. At the age of 11, he bought a government savings bond. At the age of 12, he began investing in the stock market. I was playing with plastic army men at those ages, which helps explain why I ride a bike to the grocery store. Slim stock market ventures are what eventually led him to the acquisition of companies, which as we all know is the best way to become crazy rich. I, meanwhile, bought a tricked-out Dodge Challenger. But this isn’t about me.

It isn’t even about Carlos Slim, per se - if you want an actually well-written perspective on him, check out this article by the Mexico Political Economist:

The Mexico Political Economist

What Carlos Slim gets about Mexican politics

The grumbling surrounding the apparent favour Carlos Slim has within Mexico’s government came to a fore this February. The allegations must have been a real pebble in his shoe for the world’s erstwhile richest man to have come out of his perennial silence. He gave a 3-and-a-half-hour long press conference to dispel the rumours…

Read more

2 years ago · 15 likes · 4 comments · The Mexico Political Economist

If, instead, you want to read a poorly written one, scroll back to the top.

Which brings us to the actual point of this article: if you’re going to be a billionaire, you would be hard-pressed to find a cooler name than Carlos Slim.

Tucked away in the corner where California, Arizona, and Baja California meet, along the banks of the Colorado River as it meanders its way down to the Gulf of California, sits Mexico’s northernmost town - the little pueblo of Los Algodones, Baja California.

Being Mexico’s northernmost town is, however, not the only distinctive thing about Los Algodones. No, what sets this town of about 5,000 people apart from any other similar sized town in Mexico (or the U.S., for that matter) is the number of dental offices located there: about 350 offices accommodating some 600 dentists. That’s a dentist-to-resident ratio of about 8.3-to-1. Why on earth do the residents of Los Algodones need so many dentists? Is Coca-Cola to blame?

Well, maybe. But the more likely explanation is that this tiny town on the U.S. border has over the last few decades re-invented itself as the dental practitioner to the millions of people in the U.S. and Canada who lack dental insurance yet have teeth. In the U.S., about 70 million people (one-fifth of the population) don’t have dental insurance - many of them elderly, as regular Medicare doesn’t cover dental work. Even with dental insurance, many surgical procedures are not covered by insurance, because why would they be? And Canada’s nationalized health care system does not cover dental care (Canadians, please check my math here). Teeth - in the eyes of the insurance industry - are superfluous. This is why we have blenders, people.

In Mexico, dental procedures are a fraction of the cost that they are in the U.S. and Canada, where people can go broke maintaining their teeth. The cost of care, the quality of care, and the proximity to the U.S. explain why Mexico is the world’s leading destination for “dental tourism”; Los Algodones’ location 5 miles from Yuma, Arizona explains why 3,000 visitors from the U.S. and Canada cross the border each day into this tiny tooth tuning town. This also explains Los Algodones’ more familiar nickname - “Molar City”.

The image below partially illustrates the density of dental offices in Los Algodones; if you look closely, you’ll see tiny red dots on the map as well (I mean, look really closely; actually, don’t even bother - just trust me, there are tiny red dots):

Most of these tiny red dots are also dental offices. I’m not sure how each office distinguishes itself from the others. Maybe it doesn’t matter - maybe it is enough that they are relatively affordable and accessible. And accessibility is key, and not just in a geographic sense: many visitors in need of dental care arrive in Los Algodones without any kind of appointment. This is unheard of in the U.S., where wait times for a new dental appointment are often measured in months.

Lest you worry that a visit to a border town dental office in Mexico means mercury fillings and laughing gas, keep in mind that many of the dentists you’re likely to encounter in Molar City were trained in the U.S. And they are using the same materials and equipment and sanitation procedures that your local U.S. strip mall dentist is using. They’re just not trying to pay off their yacht with the proceeds from your root canal.

Finally, I would be terribly remiss writing about dental care in Mexico without riffing off of the famous scene with Dustin Hoffman and Laurence Olivier from 1976’s Marathon Man: is it safe? Well yes, of course it’s safe. It’s not like Los Algodones is the diamond district in New York City.

“Any sufficiently advanced technology neighborhood is indistinguishable from magic.” — Arthur C. Clarke (sort of)

If you’ve spent any time in Mexico, or read a lot about Mexico, or watched hours upon hours of YouTube videos about Mexico (and who am I kidding - that’s exactly what you’ve done because it’s 2024) - then you probably know about Mexico’s pueblos mágicos. Which is a good thing, because I’m not going to write about them today. Except merely to say that the pueblos mágicos program was implemented by Mexico’s government as a means to advertise and encourage tourism to cities and towns in Mexico that might not otherwise be on travelers’ radars. In order for a town to be designated a pueblo mágico, it must exhibit certain cultural or historical qualities that would make it an interesting place to visit. From the government of Mexico’s website (translated):

A Magical Town is a place with symbols and legends, towns with history that in many cases have been the scene of transcendental events for our country. They are places that show the national identity in each of their corners, with a magic that emanates from their attractions; visiting them is an opportunity to discover the charm of Mexico.

Launched in 2001, the program has been more or less a success: it has brought in more tourist dollars, especially to locales where those dollars would not have necessarily gone absent this program; and it has fostered more cultural awareness and local pride. As of this writing, 177 cities and towns have been designated pueblos mágicos, and each of Mexico’s 31 states is represented.

So yeah, that’s me not writing very much about pueblos mágicos - those things which this article isn’t about. Because Mexico has moved on, and apparently magical towns just aren’t going to cut it on their own anymore.

TIL: Barrios Mágicos 🤔

I missed the memo, but back in 2022 Mexico’s Secretary of Tourism (a post I hope to occupy later this year 🤞), Miguel Torruco Marqués, announced Mexico’s new Magical Neighborhoods program. I mean, if an entire town can be magical, then why not a cul-de-sac? A privada? A rooftop, where the German shepherds are barking?

OK, in all (or some) seriousness, the barrio mágico designation isn’t intended for privadas, but instead “urban areas that are fully identified and delimited in polygons”. It’s a geometry thing.

To be fair, part of the impetus driving the Barrios Mágicos initiative is the fact that state capitals (and Mexico City) - as well as cities that are designated UNESCO World Heritage sites - are not eligible for the pueblos mágicos designation. And, damnit, these places were feeling left out. Barrios Mágicos thus gives these cities the opportunity to show off their own cultural, historical, gastronomical specialness, in a polygonal sense. According to the Barrios Magicos website, the barrios mágicos are:

... sites that, as part of a municipality, city or metropolitan area, medium or large, facilitate the integration of products; that add service chains; that are representative of the city; that have infrastructure and connectivity; and that can be linked to other tourist destinations, through routes or thematic circuits...

The last part means tourists can drive to them; and, ideally, can plan routes that incorporate numerous magical neighborhoods to drive to.

The past in polygons

In actuality, the barrios mágicos movement began way back in 2011, before pandemic tourism was even a twinkle in the Secretary of Tourism’s eye. It was started by Mexico City’s then Secretary of Tourism, Alejandro Rojas Díaz Durán, with the barrio of Santa María Magdalena Atlitic being the OG of the magical neighborhood universe. This current iteration, then, is a remix of CDMX’s original - if not well advertised - idea. It makes sense then that CDMX has far and away the most barrios mágicos in Mexico - 21 at last count (including the usual suspects: Roma, Condesa, Coyoacán).

The total count of barrios mágicos in Mexico is seemingly difficult to come by - there doesn’t appear to be a running list on Mexico’s government websites. ChatGPT enumerates 29 (including the CDMX 20), but we all know that ChatGPT is a pathological liar. Wikipedia seems to only be aware of Mexico City’s barrios mágicos program. They apparently missed the memo too. To make things even more confusing, it isn’t clear if the national list of barrios mágicos is a superset of the original CDMX barrios mágicos, or if it is an entirely different list altogether. This site suggests the latter, as it lists 29 barrios in total, with only 1 being in CDMX.

So who knows? If you’re in Mexico, you may be living right smack dab in the middle of a magical neighborhood without even realizing it1. Go out and smell the fairy dust.

Coca-Cola - the delicious sugar drink invented by Dr. John Pemberton in Atlanta, Georgia in 1886 - is the most popular soda brand in the world. Enjoying a market share of about 45% worldwide, Coca-Cola is the 6th most recognized brand in the world (the top 5 are the usual suspects of tech companies). And people in Mexico drink more Coke than any other country in the world. And maybe that’s kind of a problem.

First, though, let’s look at some numbers to help put you to sleep (assuming you haven’t just ingested a bottle of that sweet, caffeinated nectar):

• The United States consumes the most Coke by total volume - a whopping 39,300 million liters per annum.

• Mexico is in second place, consuming 19,500 million liters each year.

But wait, didn’t I just say Mexico consumes the most Coke? Yes, by population Mexico is the largest consumer. Here are the two largest per capita consumers of Coca-Cola:

• Mexico: 151 liters

• U.S.: 117 liters

That is a liter of Coca-Cola consumed every 2-1/2 days by every person living in Mexico (statistically speaking, of course. And yes, the U.S. is no slouch in the Coke consuming department either.)

The problem with drinking all of this sugar water is that it contributes to the development of type 2 diabetes. The diabetes rate in Mexico in 2021 was 17%. That is roughly one-in-five people in Mexico with diabetes. In 2011 it was 15.6%, so the trend is moving in the wrong direction. For many years, diabetes was the number one cause of death in Mexico. It has recently been overtaken by ischaemic heart disease1 - but the two diseases go hand-in-hand: diabetes is often a precursor to ischaemic heart disease, and both diseases are very much diet related.

For many Mexicans - even those who have been diagnosed with diabetes - getting away from sugar consumption can be extremely difficult. Sugar-based food and beverage are a staple of the Mexican food culture (they’re the staple of many food cultures). And it isn’t just what one might consider “sweet” foods that are problematic: any food containing simple or complex carbohydrates turns into sugar when broken down by the body. This includes all wheat- and corn-based foods. Many working class Mexicans who spend 12 hours or more a day on the job simply don’t have the logistical capacity to figure out and plan for food products that won’t end up as sugar in their bodies. And wheat- and corn-based foods are cheap; calories per peso is a fundamental economic consideration for working class Mexicans. Washing all that wheat and corn down with cheap and readily available Coca-Cola exacerbates this diet problem.

Coca-Cola FEMSA

Fomento Económico Mexicano, S.A.B. de C.V., better known by the acronym FEMSA, is a multinational Mexican conglomerate specializing in retail and bottling businesses. FEMSA owns the largest convenience store chain in Latin America: Oxxo. It also controls the largest Coca-Cola bottling company in Latin America: Coca-Cola FEMSA. This bottling and convenience store one-two punch puts Coca-Cola products almost literally at arm’s reach of most people in Mexico; almost every town of any sort of population density has an Oxxo, and in larger towns it is not uncommon to find Oxxos on every other block.

One of the largest Coca-Cola FEMSA bottling plants is located just outside the picturesque town of San Cristobal de las Casas in the southern state of Chiapas. When it comes to diabetes and other health-related problems, this plant may well be Mexico’s Chernobyl.

In Chiapas - one of Mexico’s poorest states - the Coca-Cola consumption statistics are completely bonkers. According to the Mexican government agency Consejo Nacional de Humanidades Ciencas y Tecnologías (National Council of Science and Technology), Chiapas consumes a nearly unbelievable average of 821.25 liters per capita. That is five times higher than the overall average in Mexico, and 32 times higher than the world average. It is 2-1/4 liters per person per day.

The legacy of Coca-Cola in Chiapas is nothing less than a tragedy. In many parts of that state, not only is Coca-Cola more easily found than drinking water, it is less expensive. And in a region where water scarcity is already a tremendous problem, the Coca-Cola plant consumes over a million liters of water each day to run its bottling operation. Adding insult to injury, Coca-Cola FEMSA pays a mere 10 cents (U.S.) per 250 gallons of water, and that money goes to the federal government, not to Chiapas, where it might otherwise have been used to improve local water infrastructure.

There are glimmers of hope in Chiapas: there have been and continue to be large, organized protest movements against the bottling plant there, with the end goal being shutting down the plant entirely. Additionally, volunteers on the ground are helping to increase access to safe drinking water. There have also been increased educational efforts to help raise awareness of the dangers of consuming soft drinks, and how it directly relates to the diabetes and heart disease epidemics in Chiapas. Progress has definitely been made.

But as of today, “I’d like to buy the world a Coke” seems to still echo on the hilltops2 of Chiapas3.

In 2022, U.S. president Joe Biden signed into law a sweeping overhaul of the of the U.S. Postal Service. One thing this overhaul did was save the U.S. from a proposed reduction in mail service from 6 days a week to a mere 5. If you’re in the U.S., you can take comfort in knowing that for the foreseeable future, you will get bills, insurance statements, credit card offers, real estate flyers, clothing catalogs, and other paper products that you can immediately toss in your recycle bin (you do toss bills in there, right?)

Mexico also has a national postal service - the Correos de México. Unlike the United States Postal Service, Mexico’s isn’t going to deliver you any bills, flyers, or catalogs this Saturday. Or any other day. And honestly, this might be the best part about living in Mexico.

OK, I’m exaggerating. Maybe it’s not the best part about living in Mexico, but it’s a pretty damn good one.

So what - one might reasonably ask - does Correos de México do exactly if they aren’t delivering Land’s End catalogs? Well, they do deliver letters and parcels. But receiving letters and parcels via Correos de México is such a rare event, that it is likely they will only infrequently visit your home to wedge mail into your gate or throw it over your fence (because, you see, you don’t have a mailbox). Correos de México is also where you take your letters to be mailed (they’re not going to pick it up at your house - seriously, what kind of fantasy world do you live in?). You can take your packages there too, but you really probably shouldn’t. Take those to DHL or some other 3rd-party delivery service. And that letter you want to mail internationally? Do also take that to DHL, if timeliness is a critical factor in whatever you are sending.

But how - one might also reasonably ask - am I going to be reminded to pay my electric bill if a government employee doesn’t hand-deliver it to me? In Mexico, many of the utility companies have their own fleet of couriers to deliver these things to your home every month, or more likely bimonthly1. Also, in Mexico they have this amazing combination of complimentary technologies called “the internet” and “email” and “sms” - which the utility companies use to their advantage in helping to remind you that you need to send them money to keep the lights on.

Meanwhile...

In the U.S., it has always seemed to me that the primary function of the postal system is to service consumerism. As a function of mail weight and volume, product-lust is the undeniable result of government employees coming to your house on a daily-minus-one basis to convey to you things you never asked for.

Does this make the U.S. mail system some sort of inherently evil enterprise? Certainly not. It just makes me glad that Mexico doesn’t follow suit.

Back on May Day1, of this year, I published this article which, among other things, talked about the rate of bicycle fatalities in the U.S. I used these fatality statistics as a device to illustrate the perceived safety of U.S. visitors and residents in Mexico. Shortly after writing that article, I read on a news site that covers my Hometown, U.S.A. about yet another car-meets-pedestrian fatality in said town. I say “yet another” because in my Hometown, U.S.A. (it really doesn’t matter where exactly, just that it is in the United States), cars killing pedestrians or bicyclists, or anything else on the road that isn’t another car, is so common that it barely registers as a crime2. Often, it never does3. Car culture in the U.S. is so dominant and encompassing, that large swaths of the legal system there are designed to protect the interests of drivers conveying themselves from here to there; and pretty much all outdoor space is designed around and for the convenience of automobiles.

And later still, I was riding my bike in my neighborhood in Mexico, and I was rolling my eyes at having - for the umpteenth time - to gingerly navigate my bike wheel through the offset pattern of twin rows of steel topes.

And now, I suppose I should pause and offer some definitions.

Some definitions

Topes (pronounced “toe-pay”) in Mexico are quite similar to what are called “speed bumps” in the U.S. Topes are purpose-built bumps in the road meant to control automobile traffic speed. In the U.S., the vast majority of speed bumps are asphalt “bumps” that span the width of the roadway, and that gently curve up enough to slow cars down to 15 or 20 miles per hour4. In Mexico, topes are made of a variety of materials - often asphalt, but also concrete, rubber, and steel. Asphalt and concrete topes tend to slope up sharply, which means vehicles have to slow down a lot to avoid damaging their undercarriages, wheels, and suspension. They also tend to be significantly taller than speed bumps in the U.S. Steel topes are embedded across roadways in a series of small steel “bubbles”, like a row of corn on a corncob. Often there are 2 offset rows of these steel bubbles butted up against each other - which means that if you want to cut through them on, say, a bicycle, you must do so at a precise angle between the 2 rows of steel bumps.

The other significant difference between topes in Mexico and speed bumps in the U.S. is that topes are everywhere. They are ubiquitous. They are on residential streets, major avenues and thoroughfares, and highways. They are usually not on freeways or toll roads, but that’s about it5. Vehicles driving in and around cities and towns in Mexico are constantly slowing down for topes; it is just an inherent part of the driving pattern here. And, because often topes are not well-marked (asphalt topes are often not painted, so they can be very difficult to see), drivers must always be diligently on the lookout for them when driving on unfamiliar roads. Often there are signs on the side of the road indicating a tope (see the photo at the top of this article), but these signs are easy to miss and may not even be present in some cases.

Why so many topes?

Firstly, they are cheap. It costs a lot less to pile up some asphalt across a roadway to slow traffic down than to install traffic lights or to hire traffic police to monitor intersections and approaches to towns, schools, hospitals, etc. Secondly, they are remarkably effective at slowing down traffic, thus rendering roadways through cities, towns, and villages much more safe for pedestrians and other non-vehicle traffic. The cost of speeding over a tope in Mexico is not a mere traffic citation - it can mean living without your car while it is in the shop getting fixed. The cost is major inconvenience, and parts and labor. In Mexico, it is simply impractical to ignore topes.

Is there a point here?

Oh, well, yes. I was getting to that. So I wrote that article about bicycle fatalities, and shortly thereafter found myself being annoyed by topes, and it occurred to me (things do sometimes occur to me) that instead of being annoyed by topes, I should be celebrating them. Topes are the passive traffic speed regulators that places like the U.S. are missing, at the expense of the approximately 8,500 pedestrians and bicyclists murdered each year6 by motor vehicles in that country.

This is not to say that Mexico is a walker’s/cyclist’s paradise - pedestrians and cyclists collide with motor vehicles here too, with the same kinds of deadly consequences. But there is a pragmatic logic to the idea of modulating traffic speed with wheel-alignment destroying barriers: absent them, drivers will speed; drivers will drive dangerously fast through neighborhoods, past parks and plazas, past schools. And, absent these otherwise annoying speed modulators, more people would die. Just like they are dying in the U.S. in record numbers without them.

Mexico must recognize a truth that the U.S. tries to pretend does not exist: given the opportunity, people will do very stupid and dangerous things. So, it might make some sense to remove the opportunity. When it comes to cars, the U.S. has little appetite for removing any opportunities for stupidity and danger. Doing so might infringe on a person’s freedom. Or at least a person’s right to kill with impunity.

So, I have come to appreciate the tope, that ugly, annoying, suspension-killing lump of dumb asphalt that has likely saved countless lives. I acknowledge that not everyone in Mexico feels the same way about topes that I do, but not everyone in Mexico has seen the consequences of a system that values unimpeded vehicular movement over human life like I have.

I’d be interested in hearing other people’s thoughts on topes - especially those of you who live and/or spend time in Mexico. Yes, they are annoying - but would Mexico be better off without them? Or at least without so many of them?