The Mexico Pictures Are So Nice

I don’t like Melissa’s pictures of Mexico.

She has a way of making everything look so nice.  She likes to take pictures of nice things.  Things that are pretty and speak to how pleasant and wonderful life is.

She can make an old shoe look amazing, and if she can’t she won’t take the picture.

Her pictures from Mexico are interesting, show nice perspective and are beautiful.  The problem is that Mexico wasn’t that way at all.

Mexico was a dirty and gritty place.

As we crossed over the covered bridge into Mexico, baseball hats were held through the bars from the outside, begging for change.  Sad, tired eyes of old women met ours as we passed each open concrete window into a different world.

Peaking between the cement dividers came tiny arms, children not old enough for school looking up with big eyes that seemed to be losing hope day by day.

As we crossed into Mexico, armed military guards stood in front of the bridge.  They had an armored vehicle with a .50 caliber machine gun on the top.  6 or 7 soldiers stood around with fully automatic weapons.

I don’t know what the Mexican army was guarding the bridge from.  Is there a danger of rebels trying to storm the United States through Nuevo Progreso?

As we passed the barriers and exited the bridge we were assaulted by street vendors.  They sold clothes, souvenirs, general crap, pirated DVDs, trinkets and jewelry.

We passed a dozen pharmacies every two blocks.  Men were employed to stand outside calling “discount drugs” or “cheap dentist, no appointment”.

Children as young as three wandered the streets with worthless trinkets and jewelry trying to earn another meal that day.

“Bracelet for the lady?” they would ask.  “No gracias” we had to say.

Everything was priced in American dollars, there was no disguising what the market was.

Streams of retired persons came through to buy 6 months worth of prescription medication and enjoy a cheap margarita.

Young people, teenagers and students came across to buy pirated DVDs, watches, cheap liquor and clothes.

In many places the streets stunk as if there were piles of dead bugs hidden behind corners.

The main street was lined with pharmacies and vendors, all trying to sell things for less than they could be bought 100 yards over the river.

But off the main street shoddy houses, shacks and broken cars lined the streets.  Windows seemed to be broken as a matter of policy, and doors had been pummeled, handles smashed, fences crushed.

It was a different world.

As the day went on, the children and vendors grew tired.

Their obnoxious calls became quiet mutters.  Without a word, children shoved their trinkets as high as they could.  “No?” they would question, shaking their heads before we had spoken a thing.

“No gracias, child.”

As we crossed back over to the United States, people of all ages stood clustered on the ground under the bridge, calling out in Spanish for whatever help we could give them.

They too knew the market.

Old women with the same tired eyes called out for pennies.  Young children with the same melting hope weakly shouted for dollars.

We came off the bridge, showed our passports and walked through a parking lot of cars.  Smiling faces unlocked vehicles that were insured and under warranty.

We too stepped into our car, patted the dog and drove away, leaving the eyes and uplifted hands behind.

Comments

if you guys have any time, you should try the rest of mexico, particularly the valley cities--mexico is muy bella:)