No Rules, Just Right

Mexico is a black market. Please do not misunderstand me, it is a near-first world country with tremendous culture, great food, great night life, amazing beaches, temples, what have you. However, money under the table dominates life.

This facilitates the mentality that you can do anything here. What’s stopping you? If you got a little extra cash in your pocket, you’ll be fine. There are only a few occasion when the “of course this will work, we are in Mexico!” phrase proves unmanageable. In Mexico, patience, attitude, or money can get you into any party or building and out of any trouble. Well, so I hear.

In fact, I can only think of two situations when money or patience won’t work for you. The first I experienced about six weeks ago. My friend Morgane, la Francesa, you remember, the one would does marketing and represents Absolut Vodka, well she got us invitations to a very exclusive party hosted by Camel (cigarettes).

Unlike previous events, you only had to be 18 to enter this one rather than 21. The difference is that at the Absolut parties the security was at a minimum and only well dressed, 20 somethings (30+) showed up. For a Camel event, all of the youngsters who started smoking cigarettes right out of the womb want to go to their first big fiesta. Due to tremendous political pressure, you had to be 18 to get in. HAD TO BE. As a result, the security was worse than Dulles Airport after you show up wearing sunglasses, a turban, have a large backpack on, and announce that you have a bomb.

Of course, who brings identification out with them? Um, well, I always do. I carry a copy of my passport with a back up picture ID. Just in case, ya know. My roommates are not as forward thinking or responsible. They had their ISIC Student cards, that have both a hologram and your birthday on them, are anything but official.

After a long conversation with the first bouncer, I was able to explain that my two attractive female friends were so crucial to this party’s success that I needed to escort them in. Consistent with everywhere in the world, foreign women could get you in anywhere. I lent my copied passport to Leonardo, the Italian who can’t speak a word of English and has the thickest Italian accent. Much explaining and harassment later, we were all inside the first fence. The second one proved immovable.

I smiled, pointed at the girls a lot, and tried to sweet talk my way in. They were not having it. The ISIC cards, my American University Gym membership card, and Leonardo using the copy of my passport did not work. I was also told very clearly that bribing and otherwise tipping was inappropriate and subject to arrest. It was clear they were being watched. Apparently Camel is a no-messing-around type of “killer your kids while they are young” type of cigarette establishment. Very classy.

The barely 18 year olds passed us by as Morgane shouted at the bouncers. Needless to say, that didn’t work either.

The second instance where it is impossible to weasel your way in is at conferences. The conferences held at the big, nice, international hotels are not easy to gain access to. There are always at least three people sitting outside with a list. Although they are polite and clearly not bouncers, if you are not on the list, you ain’t getting in. Looks and money matter even less here.

There are usually free pens, pads, and information awaiting you on the inside. Sometimes there are even delicious meals or cocktails. So, the desire to learn and get free stuff generally brings me to these events. Even a gringo in a suit can’t talk his way in. I tried pretending not to understand Spanish once and walked right in. Big mistake. I will save that embarrassing tale for another blog.

Metro. I know, I always seem to find myself talking about the Metro, but it is a microcosm for all that is Mexico. Let me make a comparison, in Washington, D.C. your legs will promptly be swept out from underneath you and you will be tackled to the ground for trying to bring food or coffee in a covered mug on the Metro. After you pick yourself up and brush yourself off, your Metro card will be confiscated and the rules governing acceptable behavior on Metro will be stapled to your head.

On the other hand, you can bring whatever, whenever on the Metro in Mexico City. For less than 20 cents, you get ownership to the second most used subway in the world. Feel free to bring your dog, let it poop, bring a bag big enough to hold a cadaver, heck, bring the cadaver, coffee need not be covered, and food eating is a spontaneous and accepted practice.

Police. Although they have made great strides, they are still very corrupt. I have not had any person experience, but I have been told that you can pay your way out of anything, ANYTHING.

Prada. All you ladies that want your Prada bags that can’t afford them, basically, all you ladies, can find and purchase a perfectly hecho en México replicate anywhere for nickels. I know, in most major cities there is an illegal market for name brand apparel. However, New York has got nuthin’ on Mexico. Morganne has collected all six seasons of Sex in the City for less than $30. The pirated DVD and CD market is huge. I don’t even think there are music stores. Seriously.

The black market is the place of all man. It is not just the place for common people or blue collar folks. They don’t call it the black-and-blue market, do they? No, it is called the black market because it serves all people, rich and poor. I do not excuse or forgive those breaking the laws, but I do shop there. On occasion.

As for the travel plans, I have been looking in the classifieds and I think the VW Bug is a go. People have asked me, “well, what about insurance? Will you have all of the proper papers, certifications, and licenses?” To that I must respond, “I am the only legally licensed driver in the group, a few of us will have expired passports, we have no plans to purchase any insurance (though required), but don’t worry. Of course this will work, we are in Mexico!”

ONE LOVE.

P.S. Enjoy the pics from the weekend/brunch on our terrace

*****Me Enjoying the Sun

*****Omletes

*****The Roof

*****The Food

*****Alex y Philip

*****Laura y la Francesa

She took my money, then my dignity.

Gym. Going to the gym in Mexico is like entering into some sick, twisted, alternate universe that tricks you into thinking that what you see is normal. Last week I feeling a little full of tacos and realized that I would be climbing and hiking all summer, I decided to get back into shape and signed up for a gym.

My roommate Isabel told me about a gym close to my work. Perfect. After work I followed her directions and found myself outside a Gold’s Gym. Isa warned me that it would be expensive, but when I sat down with a “training specialist” I nearly had a heart attack. It is a good thing that I am joining a gym!

Turns out, if I wanted to work out after 6pm, it would cost $400 to sign up, then another $130 each month. I fell out of my chair. In a panicked, yet soft voice, I asked, “do you have any other options?”

I could purchase 50 visits for the grand price of $525. I explained that I would need to pay in several installments. She smiled, nodded, and said, “don’t worry, it’s ok, that happens a lot.” Now, not only am I broke and cardiovascularlly strained, but she has taken my dignity and manhood! I justified the use of money to myself, “this is why I moved to a smaller, cheaper room.” Anyone that knows me realizes that a sum that large to be spent on myself comes with great guilt, especially to a gym.

The tour introduced me to a seemingly unnecessary elevator, and all the ins and outs of what would appear to be an American gym transplanted in Mexico. I am not kidding. This may be the nicest building I have been in here. It is clean, there are about 50 uniformed “trainers” there to help you out, bother you, get in your way, what have you.

Not the same. Although the building and machines looked the same, it was far from an American gym. I have never seen so many 5 foot tall men that are as thick and wide as they are tall. They must get shorter every time they do squats because they are disproportionately large. The greatest surprise was “RRRR-nold.” Or at least, that’s what I call him. He is a 6’5” 250 lbs. Mexican of pure muscle. The first time I ran into him, I ran away. I had a terrible image of a Mexican prison, and I swore to be good.

The best part of the gym is that I am average height (minus the “trainers”) and perhaps even bigger than average build. In a Gold’s gym in the states, meatheads wouldn’t even notice that I was using the bench-press until they sat down and my squeal got them to their feet. I roll around from exercise to exercise with my sleeve rolled up and my chest out. I could get used to this.

Another thing that doesn’t make sense: pants. 100% of the women and about 70% of the men work out in pants. I mean, for crying out loud, we are in MEXICO! The gym is sweltering, and I nearly pass out from the heat before I start my jog. Also, this pants system always makes me feel a little naked. This country is a mix and twist of very conservative and super not. Dignity has yet to be restored.

As I run with a Lance Armstrong-type of intensity, sweat drips, I mouth the words to the songs on my ipod, and dignity is restored. Well, that is until I get off the machine and everyone gives that “gringo” look. Apparently, neither my style nor my running are acceptable.

This is what I am talking about. If I didn’t know any better, I would think I am a rejected outcast, but all my gringos to the North know the truth.

Slim. If you are thin in Mexico it means one of three things: you are rich, you are very poor, or you’re a foreigner. The poor are usually are not thin because there diet is made up of mostly the same things other Mexicans eat, which is excessive oil, fried foods, and cheese. However, if you are very poor, you are most likely malnourished and in need of more food. The rich usually have a much healthier diet including more fruits, vegetables, and fish as well have the luxury of belonging to an expensive gym or club.

Baja California. There has been a plan tossed around my friends and I. We were thinking about buying a VW bug, for less than a grand, and driving it up the whole Pacific coast, taking it on a ferry to Cabo San Lucas, and then driving it through Tijuana to San Diego through all of Baja. I estimate three weeks with excellent beach/jungle experiences. Anyone wanna go? We have space for one, two, or possibly three if we want to make it an authentic “Mexican car ride.”

When is the romance of this place going to wear off?

*****Regatta on the lake

*****Lunch time!

*****Valle de Bravo, Part II

*****Our House

*****The Living Room

*****The Kitchen

*****View from our terrace

*****Another view from the terrace

*****Mi Cuarto, otra vez

*****Mi Cuarto

*****The House en Cuernavaca

*****Swimming!

Niko working it with Morgane

*****Me and Antonio, gracias

*****Smiles all Around

*****Coffee and Sugar?

Mi Casa, Su Casa

I must apologize for the lapse in updates. Not only has my inspiration been imperceptible, but I have been out of the country. No, not the U.S. but out of Mexico, mostly in the U.S. Some of you even noticed.

Ok, before you get more confused, let me catch up on things. Happy New Year. I had a wonderful time at a concert with close friends in Washington for NYE. It was exactly the right thing to do. One of my New Year’s resolutions is to be more intentional with the way I live my life. That is to say that I would like to stick with more decisions and do things on purpose. I do not believe that spontaneity will be sacrificed, but I do think that I won’t find myself in Acapulco on a weekend that I planned to read and write. Entiendes?

I also plan on investing more in relationships that are important to me. I will continue to maintain a large support network, but I will not spread myself too thinly. I realized that I would like my friends to do the same thing. Those who want to invest more in our relationship will have to sacrifice for it and commit to it. Along those lines, mi casa, su casa. You all have an open invitation to Mexico City. It is a fantastic city with much culture, great food, and lots to avoid. As such, you will need a skilled and accustomed guide such as myself. And this is your only chance.

Su casa. Last weekend I went with some of my roommates to Cuernavaca. It sounds like more of an exciting place than it is. Cuerna primarily serves as a getaway for Mexico City’s inhabitants. The climate is slightly warmer and most people have pools. People hang out and go out, not a whole lotta culture. It was fantastically fun and a great way to get me readjusted to Mexican life. I reunited with my good friend Niko and Loya as well as their friends from college. Late night swimming and clubbing ensued, just the way I remembered it.

At the club, I learned of a new Mexican custom. The waiter, my man Antonio, brought out shot glasses and a bowl half filled with coffee and half with sugar. Apparently, when drinking vodka you can dilute the intense flavor when you put coffee and sugar in your mouth afterwards. This seemed quite silly and, it was. Gotta try everything once, when in Rome. But there is a first and last time for everything.

Rosca de Reyes. This celebration is uniquely Mexican. According to Mexican tradition the day of the Kings is celebrated on January 6th. It revolves around the adoration of the baby Jesus by a group of wise men. This symbolized the recognition of the pagan world that Jesus Christ is the savior of all the humanity. According to the Catholic Church we know that are three wise kings that came from East: Melchor, Gaspar and Baltazar and that brought gifts of incense, gold and myrrh.

In Mexico, it is celebrated with a large, long oval piece of bread with sugar and candied fruit on it. Each person cuts a piece of it to eat. Inside the bread there are two small, boy dolls. If your piece has one of these dolls, you have to make breakfast for everyone else on February 2nd. I am not really sure why. But I got one of these dolls in my piece, and it sucks.

Mi casa, su casa. If you come visit me, we will probably go to my friends’ houses in Acapulco, Valle de Bravo, Cuernavaca, Veracruz, or elsewhere. Mi casa, su casa is a philosophy of life. What is mine, is yours. I get this feeling very much in Mexico. Everyone is very generous, including my roommates who don’t have a lot to be generous with. There is an undeniable power here that I can’t explain. Whenever I have something, you can have it too. Sharing is love.

Enjoy the pics. Of course I included some of your favorites from the club. Ándale pues!