A Broad Abroad

HOW TO Live in Mexico

I am still learning How To live in Mexico. If you ever choose to pack up the kids and head out to a foreign land, I’ve picked up a few tips to help make your transition easier.

HOW TO:

-Take advantage of the heat. This is the kinda hot that makes Africa look downright balmy. When we first arrived in late July, we would walk from the bank to the car looking as if we had gone through the car wash. The humid air attacked us and covered us in sweat. We spent entire afternoons in the air-conditioned McDonalds, downing as many soft serve ice cream cones as possible as the twins entertained themselves on the behemoth Playland.

The upside of the punishing heat, however, is that recently purchased eggs can be cooked by the time you cross the parking lot. Saves time.

-Never buy another alarm clock: Nature’s own alarm clock makes its home on our bedroom wall, right above our bed: The Gecko. For her size, ours, who we will call Consuela, has an astonishingly loud voice. She makes a beeping sound, much like an alarm clock, at 2, 3:45 and 4:17 a.m. When she dies, her pal, Armando, replaces her on the underside of the ceiling fan. One gecko sat in the same position on the bathroom ceiling for a week before we realized it was dead. I am happy to report that the geckos do eat some of the mosquitoes in our house, but, unfortunately, poop them out in tiny pellets everywhere. Marina recently approached me with a small handful of the dark dots. In slow motion, I yelled, “Marina, Nooooooo,” as she popped the pellets into her mouth. She smiled and held out the bag of Cocoa Puffs. “Want some, Mom?”

Marina crept out of her bedroom one evening in a tense whisper. “Mom, there’s something in the bedroom.” “What is it,” I asked, reacting to her worried voice. “I’m not sure. I think it’s a leopard.” Fully alert now, I raced towards the bedroom. “Oh, I mean a lizard,” she said smiling.

Of course the gecko in the bedroom was nothing compared to the scorpion in the kitchen. But that’s another story.


Drive like a madman: It took me three weeks to get up the nerve to get behind the wheel and drive to the supermarket four blocks away. The roads have no lines, arrows are painted on the asphalt facing the wrong directions and police officers regularly wave rows of SUVs and jalopies through red lights. Street signs actually say the names of a street you will see in a mile or so if you keep heading in the same general direction. If you want to know what street you’re on, guess. Occasionally, you might be lucky enough to find a faded street sign, bent over and facing the wrong direction. It’s like driving in the Wild, Wild West, but not nearly as safe.

Nobody in Cancun refers to North, South, East or West. Every place is referenced by the mega-store landmarks. “I live between the Walmart and the central McDonalds.” “Oh, really! You’re right near me. I’m between the stadium and Costco.” Once, when trying to find a birthday party, I made the mistake of asking someone for the cross streets. The stranger looked at me as if I was speaking a foreign language (which I was) but the look was more exaggerated than usual.

Impress your new boss: Our first weeks in Cancun were a mélange of fevers for the kids, late nights, concerns about visas and worries about finding a place to live. Benji’s reoccurring fever of 104 added serious stress. Those weeks in July were so hot, that we sought the air-conditioning of our principal’s home as refuge for our sick boy. We had only met her a few days before when we asked to sleep at her house while he was sick. Very kindly, she obliged, and offered him a nice, cool glass of grape juice. Now, all of you who have small children know where this is going. That’s right. Benji gulped it down, and it shot right back out…like a purple version of “The Excorcist”. Twice. On the carpet. Needless to say, we now know how to make a good first impression.

Get cheap furniture: Surprisingly, everything in Cancun is expensive…except for limes and tomatoes. Most expensive, however, is furniture. So we bought cheap stuff, and the rest was provided by the school. “I can’t believe my nightstand is an overturned garbage basket,” I whined. Steve’s reply: “Mine’s a cardboard box.” He was right. Mine was much nicer.

Have a good hair day: The humidity does a number on my hair. I got it cut short before heading to Mexico. But, once in Cancun, my cute, Meg Ryan Do suddenly looked more like Ronald Mcdonald meets Don King. Fortunately, I can get a haircut at the local Walmart. Until then, I’ll just keep using my Mexican shampoo, which has the unfortunate name, “Placenta”. I couldn’t possibly be making that up.

Learn to speak Spanish:
-While filling out a Spanish marital status form, I tried to write “married”, and wrote cansado instead of casado. Which means “Tired”, not “Married”. But I suppose it really is the same thing.

-Renting an apartment was no easy feat. What Steve thought he understood was, “How long will it take you to look at the rental.” Steve replied “About 30 minutes.” After the landlord’s laughter died down, Steve realized that the owner had asked, “For how long will you want to rent?”

-I have learned to be very specific when describing things. Ensalada, the word for salad, means mixed vegetables. I came home to find the cook had stewed the cucumbers. Another time, believing I knew a word, I told her to pierce the potatoes before putting them in the microwave. She laughed, when I told her to “hole punch” them.

-I’m getting really good at charades. I didn’t know the word for “empty” or “box”. My interaction with the grocery clerk went something like this: “I am in need of a thing (pantomiming a square box).” He nods in understanding. “But I am in need of a thing (mime again) that is the opposite of full” Yes, I know how ridiculous this looked. But I got the empty box!

-I announced at the teacher’s meeting, “I want to learn the language, so please speak to me in simple Spanish.” The word for simple is sencio. I accidentally said sucio, which means, “Please speak to me in dirty Spanish.”

-On parent/teacher day, all the teachers sat on the stage in the auditorium, waiting our turns to introduce ourselves to the parents. As we waited, one of my Mexican colleagues asked me in Spanish how I was enjoying Cancun. Loudly, I replied, “I like it, but I’m very hot.” A plume of laughter erupted from my new peers. Apparently, I had said, “I like it, but I’m very horny.”

Hope you all heed my lessons.