I’m not sure if there is a better time to walk around town than in the morning after a light rain. The air is fresh, the streets are clean, and people are all smiles. And this rain is long overdue. It was a dry year with too many fires.
I’m walking around with a cane these days. A friend gave me a colorful hand-painted bentwood walking stick, and it’s wonderful; more art than geriatric. I don’t want to trip on broken sidewalks or stumble over uneven surfaces. The occasional fall is something I would have survived ten years ago, but now I’m at the age where going down becomes ‘having a fall,’ which rarely ends well.
I’ve described the sidewalks of Mexico to my friends in the States as sudden shifts from well-groomed to war zone rubble or plate tectonic uplifting. The response is very often, “There must be a lot of lawsuits.” But in instances of tripping, there are no lawsuits. The general notion is that if you fall and get hurt, you should have been looking.
Being a predominantly Catholic country, foreigners expect the culture to be guilt-based, but I think it’s more shame-based. If I were to post a scathing review of a local merchant or medical practitioner on social media, I would get notice the next day from an abogado, or abogada.
Fall and break your nose, that’s your problem, but do not challenge someone’s pride.
Years ago, when driving around Mexico and the days before Google neutered adventure, I used maps and often stopped to ask directions. It did not take long to realize that people were eagerly offering help when they had no more idea than I did on how to get to my desired destination.
They could not bear the shame of having me think they did not know. But it didn’t matter. They were friendly, and I have always been more interested in a journey than a destination.
This morning’s trek is to breakfast at Juanitos, then a three-block walk to the local nursery and garden center. I don’t know anything about plants, but I like the smells and emotions a flower can provoke from a subtle scent.
The owner is mixing potting soil in the back lot work area, and it has that sweet smell of a freshly manured field. The place is earthy and invigorating, and made a little more special by last night’s rain.
And you’re not going to leave without spending some time with La Poderosa, the shop dog. He’s a big, sloppy, muddy street breed that will decide for you when he’s had enough attention; for sure, this is not the venue for a linen suit or satin skirt.
So get out, walk around town, and remember, it’s the tropics. If it rains, you’ll get wet, but you won’t be cold. And look down.
It’s not the best pose for posture or film presence, but you’re less likely to trip and fall.
