Things I Learned in Mexico

I'm back.

As some of you may know (very few of you, since I barely share my personal life with my family, never mind the people who read my blog), I just got back from a trip south of the border. No, that’s not code for any sexual act (although, in my case, that would indeed be cause for celebration); I refer to an actual vacation in Mexico, specifically Playa Del Carmen on the Mayan Riviera. While I was there I learned a lot, and I’d like to share the fruits of my education with all of you. And so, in no particular order, here are some of the things I learned last week:

I discovered an American dollar is worth roughly one billion pesos. I gave a waiter a five dollar tip and he swore to name his first-born son after me. (Don’t worry—I told him “’Angry Piper’ Ramirez” would be unnecessarily cruel.)

Speaking of money, Mayans don’t have any. They live in abject poverty. Horrific, scary, third-world Africa-like poverty.

Mexico is the stray dog capital of the world.

There are no fat dogs in Mexico.

Mexicans, in general, are incredibly cruel to dogs.

When attempting to get on a floatation device shaped like a figure 8, the best way to do so and remain afloat is to put one’s ass on the center of the figure eight, NOT put one’s ass in one hole and one’s feet in the other. This only succeeds in capsizing the float. This remains true no matter how many times you try, and no matter how many people are watching.

Unless you’re a competitive swimmer, wearing a Speedo is never a good idea. Despite this, they are the preferred swimwear of odd-shaped men the world over.

Just because you may be certain you got every part of your body with a thick coat of sunscreen doesn’t make it true.

Until last week, Mexicans had never seen a bagpipe.

I never intended to visit Mexico. I am ashamed to say it is because I bought into the stereotype of decades of Hollywood films; namely that Mexico is a dusty, filthy place inhabited by people who want your money and hate you because you are a gringo. I have now visited Mexico. On two separate occasions I left my luxurious resort to “go native”, and I can now say there is some truth in stereotypes.

That being said, I saw no evidence of the “lazy Mexican” stereotype (much like I saw no evidence of the “rude Frenchman” stereotype on either of the two trips I have made to France). Every person I saw down in Mexico was engaged in some form of work, and most were literally busting their asses doing physical labor of some kind, whether it was repairing roads, planting trees or doing construction work.

That being said, there seems to be an awful lot in Mexico that gets started but never finished, at least in the area I visited. It was rampant with half-built construction projects that looked abandoned. The Mayan Rivera is still being developed, so perhaps people are investing and running out of money.

Back to roads: the roads in Mexico suck. It takes forever to get anywhere. This is due to several factors. First, Iraq after the American bombing had roads in better shape. Second, traffic lights change about as often as Halley’s Comet visits Earth. Third, speed bumps are everywhere, and are roughly the height of your average NBA player. They’re also spaced so close together as to be ridiculously superfluous, because there simply isn’t enough room between them for your vehicle to accelerate and generate enough speed to necessitate slowing down again.

Did I mention the roads suck?

Tacky souvenirs are still tacky souvenirs, whether mass-produced in China or made by “authentic Mayan craftsmen”.

Mayan ruins are very, very cool. They're also difficult to climb safely, and home to millions of fire ants.

Fire ant bites hurt. A lot.

The Mayan people have no dental care to speak of. Despite this, they still have better teeth than British tourists.

There are some big fucking cockroaches in Mexico.

In Mexico, only women wear skirts.

Here’s something I find exceedingly annoying: If you’re a Caucasian American on vacation (like me), don’t fucking talk to me in Spanish. Just don’t. First of all, I don’t speak Spanish. In addition, anyone who has ever seen me in person knows there is no possible way I could be mistaken for someone of Latin ancestry without tons of makeup and/or plastic surgery. So don’t feel the need to show off your four years of high school Spanish to me, “Brad”, just because you find yourself in Mexico and happen to be drunk. It doesn't make you look cool. It makes you look like a moron.

Here’s another thing: If you, along with six of your friends, are a giggly college-age girl on your way back from a get drunk/get stoned/ get a lower back tattoo/ get gonorrhea trip to Cancun and you get the urge to get on your cell phone the moment the plane touches down despite repeated requests by the pilot and/or flight crew to not use electronic devices until the plane is at the hangar and the doors are open, then please— resist the urge. Not only does it make me want to punch you in your fucking giggly flapping yap, it makes everyone want to. And when people who don’t wish to die because of a miscommunication between the plane and the airport tower caused by your fucking cell phone ask you to wait, don’t get huffy and inform the rest of the plane that you paid for a ticket just like the rest of us, because that makes us want to throw you off the plane. I don’t mean remove you. I mean literally throw you off the goddamn plane. Keep in mind: even when it’s taxiing down the runway, it’s still a long way down, Britney.

That about covers it. Stay tuned. Next year: Things I Learned in Ireland.