Since the title of this piece starts with the word “Zen” I do need to admit: the drive to Tucson is a meditation in it’s self………………. or a long, hot, frustrating son-of-a-bitch. The first evident change at the border is the quality of the pavement beneath your tires, it’s smooth, quiet and completely unchallenging, other drivers use their turn signals, no burros or chickens to dodge, no topes. You are lulled into a sense of surrendering to the well confined, well defined, first world complacency; all is good and all is safe. Simple discernment leads you to believe this is the ultimate reality at this point in time. True enough, there were no heavily armed teenagers with automatic weapons cruising around in military vehicles. No check points with more heavily armed kids asking for “your papers please”. It seemed as though, a risk assessment consultant had suddenly sanitized my perception of the world somewhere north of Nogales. Needless to say, this time I ventured into my native country with a different point of reference, that of a tourist, slightly wary of my surroundings.
Several miles into America, I realized I was already breaking the law by not properly using and wearing my factory installed, designated restraining harness. After 20 miles or so, I also became aware that I was the only one on Interstate 19 that had a road beer; oh ya, I’m in a foreign country. However, after 5 days of good friends, good food and a little golf, I thought, “You know, I could live here, this place has a lot to offer.”
It wasn’t until the end of my stay in Tucson that I realized the buzz of modern America, combined with the intense competition ingrained in the social structure, can subtlety wear on the spirit. I had always denied the aspect of life in the states that is conditioned by media and driven by stress. Because I lived in the states, it was simply a matter of mental preservation. But like an inmate returning to the asylum, I realized that the outside world has many treasures to offer and Mazatlan is relatively high on the list.
For many people, the shift into a foreign culture would render them a stranger in a strange land, especially a land perceived by many to be third world. I have found if you view the pitfalls, tribulations and numerous frustrations of this society as merely an instrument to hone your character, you will develop a level of patience rarely found north of the border and you will survive with grace. Patience does appear to be one of the real keys, without patience Mexico can become a morass that consumes your valuable time at an alarming rate.
So far, Mazatlan has revealed many valuable lessons about life and simple observations have taught me many interesting things: You can fit at least 5 people on a bicycle and close to 15 on a four-wheeler. Necessity is indeed the mother of invention; I see numerous examples on a daily basis. I have also developed the skill to psychically deduce what the car/bus/motorcycle/bicycle/burro in front of me is about to do, because signaling ones immediate intentions can be a very subtle art in this part of the world.
The Mexico I see around me should certainly qualify for a designation that would accurately depict the culture and times, something other than third world. For me, life south of the border contains an acceptable element of risk along with ample opportunity for adventure and both of these components will help to insure many interesting years to come. I think my most significant revelation has been my discovery that it’s not the amount of years you have left in life, it’s the amount of life you have left in your years.
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