An extraordinary outing, part 2
Oct. 7th, 2005 10:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grinninfooleAfter piling back into the cars, we drove part way back down the mountain and stopped at the rest area set up for the tourists. Here in America (NB, were this Canada I might have said 'the States', but Mexico is more formally the United States of Mexico, so despite their living in North America, calling us Americans really does make for a sensible contrast), it would have some of, and maybe more than one of, the following: gas stations, convenience stores, gift shops, and fast food chains, all owned or affiliated with big corporations. At the Jesus mountain rest stop, there were two rows of modest concrete sheds all stuck together, like little one room row houses along the legs of a switchback. There were no corporate logos of any sort.
We stopped to eat at #24, which had a name like Dona Brigida's Lunch on the Run (I don't recall the actual Spanish.) Like all the other places, there was a large covered porch with a big oven/counter for cooking and presenting food, and a counter with about 15 stools around it. Dona Brigida, who looked to be in her fifties, was there along with three of her daughters, the youngest of whom was 16, married and pregnant. The food was what you might expect: beans, pork, shrimp, stuffed peppers covered in cheese, pico de gallo, and of course tortillas made and cooked while you waited. The food was very tasty, and M's dad and step-mom fell to bantering with our hosts. After awhile, several of us got to try our hands at slapping a little dough in the tortilla press and then baking the resultant pancake. It's not difficult once you get the hang of it, I think, but none of us could manage it.
Since I didn't understand anything of what was said, I found myself ruminating in both senses of the term. I wondered, and still don't know, who owns that lunch counter. How much do they pay in rent or mortgage or whatever for that space? Where do they get their groceries? What are their utility costs, if any? Do they have to be open every day of the year? Guanajuato almost never sees any snow, and even that high in the mountains (at least 2 km above sea level), nothing was above the tree line [OK, there weren't many trees, but there was vegetation. It's pretty arid there, and we saw cactus] but in inclement weather that big open lunch counter must get cold, wet and unpleasant (the roof did keep the sun off well, though.) Did they live in the space behind the lunch counter? [No, M told me. Apparently, these women walk two hours to and from work.] I harkened back to my years waiting tables at a Friendly's and wondered how the experience of working this counter compared, especially when there were competitors cheek by jowl up and down the road. What would it be like to work all day making tortillas, beans and stewed pork, when that was all you could expect from life, when you hadn't been to college, when you couldn't afford to leave. I worried at first that our hosts might feel patronized by us, but after watching for a bit I feel pretty sure that we entertained them as much as they entertained us. I think that we were fascinating novelties, perhaps infused with the glamor of being from America, and having the option to climb into an SUV and drive away to some other, perhaps better and certainly wealthier, life. I found myself wishing fervently that the young women I saw got a chance to have something more in life, to have broader horizons than making lunch for tourists.
After about half an hour of eating and joking and talking, we settled our bill (about $600 for the twelve of us, which works out to about $5 US per person for what was effectively an all we could eat buffet. I'm told that that's actually a bit high for Mexico, so I guess we paid the inflated 'rest area' prices.) I stuffed a bunch more money in their ceramic piggy bank, as did everyone else. Dona Brigida sent one of her daughters off, and presented us with little ceramic souvenir mugs. M and I got a pretty blue and brown one, which we have in our cupboard. It was a touching gesture, and I suspect that it was in part pride (she could afford to give as well as receive gifts), I'd like to think that it was also motivated by genuinely having enjoyed meeting us.
And then, there was the third noteworthy thing: driving back down, we went by the main, moderately paved road. The precipices were not quite as close to our wheels, and there was much more traffic, which was good. There were also, unlike the back roads, beggars. Women with mask-like, scrunched up faces surrounded by children. Dirty children all on their own, running along the edge of hundred foot plunges. (Think of Dona Brigida and her daughters walking those roads for two hours each way, in all weathers, pregnant!) The randomness of these children having so little, and me having so much, because of the happenstance of birth was crushing. And, then, I saw a couple of little boys wearing Batman and YuGiOh tshirts, and I felt really angry. No one sends their kids out to beg unless they really have no other option. And if these kids are begging, then they are wearing the cheapest clothing available. And here they are, wearing new shirts with DC characters (or whoever owns Yugioh). There was something horribly fake and stilted (dare I say bourgeois?) about Batman leaping out of this desperately poor little boy's shirt, to fight crime and bring justice to the streets when this what this kid really needs is LBJ's War On Poverty. And, something infuriating about realizing that, even here in Mexico, with the desperately poor, Time Warner was still selling shirts, and still getting their cut.
We stopped to eat at #24, which had a name like Dona Brigida's Lunch on the Run (I don't recall the actual Spanish.) Like all the other places, there was a large covered porch with a big oven/counter for cooking and presenting food, and a counter with about 15 stools around it. Dona Brigida, who looked to be in her fifties, was there along with three of her daughters, the youngest of whom was 16, married and pregnant. The food was what you might expect: beans, pork, shrimp, stuffed peppers covered in cheese, pico de gallo, and of course tortillas made and cooked while you waited. The food was very tasty, and M's dad and step-mom fell to bantering with our hosts. After awhile, several of us got to try our hands at slapping a little dough in the tortilla press and then baking the resultant pancake. It's not difficult once you get the hang of it, I think, but none of us could manage it.
Since I didn't understand anything of what was said, I found myself ruminating in both senses of the term. I wondered, and still don't know, who owns that lunch counter. How much do they pay in rent or mortgage or whatever for that space? Where do they get their groceries? What are their utility costs, if any? Do they have to be open every day of the year? Guanajuato almost never sees any snow, and even that high in the mountains (at least 2 km above sea level), nothing was above the tree line [OK, there weren't many trees, but there was vegetation. It's pretty arid there, and we saw cactus] but in inclement weather that big open lunch counter must get cold, wet and unpleasant (the roof did keep the sun off well, though.) Did they live in the space behind the lunch counter? [No, M told me. Apparently, these women walk two hours to and from work.] I harkened back to my years waiting tables at a Friendly's and wondered how the experience of working this counter compared, especially when there were competitors cheek by jowl up and down the road. What would it be like to work all day making tortillas, beans and stewed pork, when that was all you could expect from life, when you hadn't been to college, when you couldn't afford to leave. I worried at first that our hosts might feel patronized by us, but after watching for a bit I feel pretty sure that we entertained them as much as they entertained us. I think that we were fascinating novelties, perhaps infused with the glamor of being from America, and having the option to climb into an SUV and drive away to some other, perhaps better and certainly wealthier, life. I found myself wishing fervently that the young women I saw got a chance to have something more in life, to have broader horizons than making lunch for tourists.
After about half an hour of eating and joking and talking, we settled our bill (about $600 for the twelve of us, which works out to about $5 US per person for what was effectively an all we could eat buffet. I'm told that that's actually a bit high for Mexico, so I guess we paid the inflated 'rest area' prices.) I stuffed a bunch more money in their ceramic piggy bank, as did everyone else. Dona Brigida sent one of her daughters off, and presented us with little ceramic souvenir mugs. M and I got a pretty blue and brown one, which we have in our cupboard. It was a touching gesture, and I suspect that it was in part pride (she could afford to give as well as receive gifts), I'd like to think that it was also motivated by genuinely having enjoyed meeting us.
And then, there was the third noteworthy thing: driving back down, we went by the main, moderately paved road. The precipices were not quite as close to our wheels, and there was much more traffic, which was good. There were also, unlike the back roads, beggars. Women with mask-like, scrunched up faces surrounded by children. Dirty children all on their own, running along the edge of hundred foot plunges. (Think of Dona Brigida and her daughters walking those roads for two hours each way, in all weathers, pregnant!) The randomness of these children having so little, and me having so much, because of the happenstance of birth was crushing. And, then, I saw a couple of little boys wearing Batman and YuGiOh tshirts, and I felt really angry. No one sends their kids out to beg unless they really have no other option. And if these kids are begging, then they are wearing the cheapest clothing available. And here they are, wearing new shirts with DC characters (or whoever owns Yugioh). There was something horribly fake and stilted (dare I say bourgeois?) about Batman leaping out of this desperately poor little boy's shirt, to fight crime and bring justice to the streets when this what this kid really needs is LBJ's War On Poverty. And, something infuriating about realizing that, even here in Mexico, with the desperately poor, Time Warner was still selling shirts, and still getting their cut.
