Reflections of a Gringo Millennial After 5 Years in México
Almost 5 years ago, on a sweltering July afternoon spent hustling through the terminals and security checkpoints of Boston´s Logan Airport, I embarked on a new, terrifying stage of my life. A month shy of 25, I was naive and a bit sheltered, having spent the majority of my life on the isolated, provincial shores of the peninsula of Cape Cod, known as a vacationer´s paradise. For an intellectually curious bookworm with wanderlust, however, it was by far the most tedious and least diverse place to live, especially in the confounding, frustrating, and exhilarating period of life known as one´s twenties. I studied English Language and Literature with a Secondary Education minor, but as I graduated, the prospect of spending my whole life teaching a bunch of disinterested teenagers the poetic symbolism embedded in the works of F. Scott Fitzgerald no longer seemed so enticing.
I saw that many college graduates were using Teaching English as a Second Language (TESOL) as an excuse to travel and gain much-needed experience, and accordingly I cast my net wide, applying to jobs in Istanbul and Seoul, Santiago and Jakarta, Shanghai and Mexico City. After months of frantic research, interviews, and hair-wringing, I finally decided between the latter two options. Despite the higher salaries in China, I decided Mexico City would be a great opportunity to hone my rudimentary Spanish skills, and figured a year away in México did not seem as scary and alienating as a year in China.
I am writing this as the Coronavirus pandemic has hit Mexico City hard, even as I still hear mariachi and death metal parties on the weekends emanating from the aging colonial buildings surrounding my downtown apartment, and as I see hungry Chilangos (the Mexico City equivalent of New Yorkers or Bostonians) ignore government decrees as they gobble street tacos, close to the vendor who is conspicuously unmasked. As you might have guessed, I did not treat my time teaching English in México as an off-year adventure, an excursion before I decided to work for a Fortune 500 company and make the big bucks in a towering skyscraper located in Dallas or Atlanta.
Each year that I have walked the chaotic but oddly charming streets of México City, I have felt more at home, more content with myself and the world around me. As a global pandemic has forced me indoors, unable to explore the city and country I have loved and consider to be my adopted home, I will reflect on 4 key takeaways, which explain why I have stayed for such a long time in a city that many Americans perceive to be a no-go-zone.
1). México City Feels Safer Than Most U.S. Metropolises
Almost every time I have told an American that I lived in México City, the immediate reaction has been remarkably similar: widened eyes, a subtle gasp, and the intensely modulated words of¨¨But… isn´t it dangerous???¨ And, without fail, every single person who has asked me this has revealed that he or she has not even set foot in Mexico City. I often respond by telling them that crime rates are roughly similar to New York City or Los Angeles, and that statistically speaking, Mexico City is less dangerous than Chicago, New Orleans, or Washington D.C., to name just three examples.
Of course, in any major city, there are swanky, gated neighborhoods, and dodgy areas in which almost nobody dare venture. This is of course true in Mexico City, where the Beverly Hills-style decor of Polanco makes way to the menacing black markets of the seedy Tepito. However, after nearly 5 years of walking the bustling urban streets, bursting to the seams with tamal vendors on bicycles, organ grinders, and random Mariachi sightings, I have yet to witness an extreme act of violence, or feel even remotely unsafe. The only example of petty theft I saw happened on the busy street of Insurgentes Sur, as a maniacally smiling youth ran off with a rack housing phone chargers and similar electronic items, with the Mexican police struggling to catch up.
The closest I have felt to being in harm´s way is when I almost tripped due to the numerous cracks in the city sidewalks, a byproduct of years of earthquakes (which, as well, are quite nerve-wracking). I have walked through spacious parks and winding avenues at late hours, and never once have I felt in danger. I honestly have felt more insecure in the U.S., in which you can walk into any school, church, or mall, and suddenly face a mass shooting. The Narcos, which frighten many Americans so much, are almost non-existent here, and while they do lurk in Juárez, Tijuana, and Acapulco, if you´re not involved in their business, nothing is likely to happen to you.
2). Big City, Small Town Manners
An aspect of Mexico City that is deeply linked to its surprisingly secure environment is the warm, open, selfless behavior that I have experienced here. While in many countries, the big city is considered simultaneously the epicenter of culture and the bastion of rudeness (see New York, Paris, etc.), from the point of view of an expat, Mexico City is a sprawling metrópolis of 20 million (mostly) friendly faces. On the streets of Manhattan, the words ¨excuse me¨¨and ¨good morning¨¨are seldom, if ever, exchanged between harried New Yorkers. In the heart of downtown (el centro) Mexico City, ¨buenos días¨ is almost mandatory, while customers who leave a store, coffee shop, or newsstand are often bade farewell with ¨Que te vaya bien¨¨(May it go well for you). Rather than pushing and shoving their way through a crowded line to take a bus, Mexicans dutifully wait with extreme patience. (One exception is the Metro during rush hour- ¨hora pico¨, an experience that is not for the faint-hearted).
My first week in town, I got lost while walking the quaint streets of the hipster-clad avenue of Nuevo León in La Condesa, and rather than relying on my wonky Google Maps app, I asked a cashier at a 711 in my broken Spanish where I could find Metro Chilpancingo. Rather than simply telling me, he actually wrote a handwritten, meticulously labeled map for me, as I found my way back with no trouble at all. Another time, years later, I was ambling down the wide intersection of Felix Cuevas and Insurgentes in the middle-class neighborhood Del Valle, as a pen fell out of my bag. Four pedestrians, two of them on bicycles, shouted and gestured, ¨Tu pluma!¨ a scene I could not quite imagine in Tokyo, Rome, or Philadelphia.
This warm-hearted nature of the people of course is not exclusive to Mexico City; in fact, it´s arguably even more pronounced in other parts of the country. I´ll never forget being driven into town by a stranger while being stuck on a deserted beach, without an Uber available to take me home, in La Paz, Baja California Sur. Yet, in an enormous city overflowing with people to an overwhelming degree, the little tokens of humanity are awfully endearing, and have never ceased to amaze me, 5 years on.
3). The Food Is Its Own World
If you think Mexican food is what they serve in your local ¨Mexican cantina¨ in Providence, Indianapolis, or even San Diego, then you are sorely mistaken. First of all, burritos are scarcely eaten in Mexico City, and if you can find them, they´re rather measly and nothing to do with the overstuffed monstrosities available at Qdoba and Chipotle. Tortilla chips and salsa are not served as an appetizer, and they´re not considered ¨chips¨ to snack on; they are used as the centerpiece of chilaquiles, topped with salsa verde or roja, queso y crema, often onions, and chicken or eggs. You will not find fajitas in the traditional sense, and sour cream does not exist; the aforementioned crema is vaguely similar.
What you will find, in the numerous, inviting streets of Mexico City, are Mexican delicacies from every state of the republic, from Mole Poblano to Chapulines (essentially grasshoppers), to Cochinita Pibil from Yucatán (pork in a rich, flavorful sauce). And if there was a word to describe the food available in Mexico City, it would absolutely be flavorful!
In addition, the whole concept of fast food, for better or worse, reaches new heights in Mexico City. If you´re running late to work or to an errand, and as a result you want something fast and cheap, McDonald´s is not the answer (although there are plenty); on every corner, there is a diverse array of tacos, tamales, tortas (giant sandwiches), gorditas, as well snacks like cacahuates (peanuts) and fresh juices and licuados (like a cross between a smoothie and a milkshake). Obviously none of this is quite healthy, but if you happen to be in a jam, it all tastes better than your typical burger joint, and is remarkably affordable (often between 1 and 2 dollars maximum).
Amazingly, I have not gained weight during these 5 years in culinary heaven, and that is because there are fresh farmer´s markets (known as mercados and tianguis) where you can buy the most delicious mangos, aguacates (avocados), and other fruits, vegetables, meats, and cheeses, often for about 300 pesos (12 or 13 dollars or so) for the entire week. Of course, the coronavirus discourages going to these kinds of markets nowadays, but hopefully the tiangui culture will see a resurgence as the crisis slowly begins to die down.
PS: Don´t be weirded out, if, while eating outside at a restaurant, a stranger says ¨Provecho¨(like ¨enjoy your meal¨). This random burst of extreme friendliness is unnerving at first, but now I say it automatically (well, I did before the quarantine anyway).¨
4). Two Languages Are Better Than One-
Although almost everyone I talk to about my career thinks otherwise, it is not obligatory to speak the language of the students in order to teach English. In fact, in the majority of the schools I have worked, it is discouraged to utter even a simple phrase en Español, as to make clear the importance of mastering the target language through pure immersion. While recently, as my Spanish has vastly improved, I have found myself assigned Basic level students to whom I urgently need to speak Spanglish , it is true that professionally speaking, Spanish does not figure as much in my life as one would expect. For that reason, there is a (frequently true) stereotype that many English-speaking expats, especially English teachers, can live for years in a country without progressing beyond the basics. ¨Üna cerveza, por favor!¨ ¨Gracias.¨¨
I am a naturally chatty and expressive person, therefore I could never live in a community without the ability to express myself well. I am not going to lie and say I speak like a born-and-raised Mexican, or that my Spanish is as good as my English. Yet, after almost 5 years, I can affirm that I can talk about any topic in Spanish as I would in English (if not always as eloquently). Furthermore, I can read novels by Carlos Fuentes and Gabriel Garcia Marquez in untranslated editions, and I have navigated the treacherous waters of romantic relationships in a language that is not my mother tongue.
This has changed my perspective (and my brain) in a myriad of ways, to an extent that I now doubt how to spell certain words or construct a sentence as I write this article, thanks to the intrusion of my second language. There are phrases in the immensely colorful lexicon of Mexican Spanish that are impossible to fully translate and express in another language, and I can´t imagine my life without them. Ësta padre!¨¨(roughly ¨that´s cool,¨¨) no manches (very loosely ¨no way! I can´t believe it!¨)¨, te quiero (a soft, less intense way of saying I love you), fresa and fifi (snobby, elitist people), naco, (someone who is poorly educated or with bad manners), va (ok, right on, yes), or my personal favorite, ¨ähorita¨¨(right now, soon, someday, who knows when, never- depending on the context) are just a sampling of countless examples.
While an expat in Rome or Paris can easily get by for years in these tourists´ enclaves without learning the local language, not only would a potential resident of Mexico City be missing out by not learning Spanish, but he or she would also be in a rather precarious position. Although a barista in a Starbucks in the trendy Condesa or crowded Avenida Reforma is likely to respond to your gringo accented Spanish in English (at least for your first few months), in many places, whether it be restaurants, hospitals, stores etc., English is an alien tongue. Rather than complain about Mexicans for not knowing what, is after all, a foreign language, a foreigner living in Mexico City should take this as an opportunity to learn a beautiful, practical, and maddening language, not just for the sake of communication, but in order to gain a new outlook. I have had endless, frenzied conversations in Spanish with eager, lovely, patient Mexicans, which, word for word, could not be carried out quite the same way in English.
At times, this learning process has left me confused; when I phone my parents back home, they are now used to me pausing for a second as I retrieve an English word from the deep recesses of my mind, while the Spanish word buzzes in my confused cerebro.
Of course, it is technically possible to learn Spanish in the barrios of East L.A., Miami, or San Antonio, and even New York and Chicago. But in these areas, you must actively seek out the language; in Mexico City, you are faced with it, in all its complexity and beauty, everyday.
As Coronavirus wallops Mexico (and much of Latin America) with no clear end in sight, it´s easy to feel cynical about my adopted hometown, and to wonder if I should be moving on. But as I sit on my terrace overlooking the iconic sites of the city: el Monumento de la Revolución, la Torre Latino, Bellas Artes; I can´t imagine being in any other city on earth. I once lived (briefly) near San Francisco, but I left my corazón in Mexico City, and it stays there, firmly.
