Sharks at the Beach

As you can tell from the blog so far, we like the beach. In particular, we love Troncones near Ixtapa. We have a house that we rent www.casa-ki.com

This spring we were planning a trip during spring break for some surf and sun. Three days before we leave, one of my coworkers asks if I am going to Troncones. He then proceeds to tell me about a poor guy from San Francisco who started the day surfing and ended it in a Mexican morgue courtesy of a shark.

To the point, we went anyway. What was most interesting is the difference between the Mexican and Californian attitudes about nature.The week before in San Diego, a man was killed by a shark. In CA, they closed the beach and tried to understand the shark. What was the shark feeling? Why did the shark feel the need to eat the surfer? Was the shark abused as a little shark or bullied by a seal? After a week of shark psycho-analysis, they reopened the beach and the surfers hit the waves.

In Mexico, they had a slightly different approach. The next day there was a "fisherman" off the beach chumming the waters, hooking anything that bit the line, and shooting the hooked sharks with a shotgun. 15 died in the first day.

Now whether you agree with it or not, it says a lot about the different approaches to the problem. Where folks in the US often see and attempt to understand nature, sensitive to political feelings, and empathize with an animal just trying to make a living. The folks in Mexico thought of the quickest way to protect their families and livelihoods.

I honestly believe that there is no such thing as a hungry environmentalist. Environmentalists exist only as a parasitic belief system in societies that have conquered their environment. If you are watching your children starve you are less likely to care about your carbon footprint.

Mexico is an amazing country with vast wealth, but it is also home to many who truly are just barely making a living. It is probably not be the right answer to kill the sharks, as 2 more attacks have occured since we left. This shark hunt was probably done out of ignorance but it seems to me that those in far off lands who have never missed a meal from need display just as much ignorance when they condemn it.

Butterflies

For all the wonders we have seen in Mexico, one of the most awesome is easily the nesting grounds of the Monarch Butterfly. These amazing little creatures migrate over 1800 miles from the US to only 12 mountain peaks in Central Mexico.

If you know us, you know this would be something we have to see. So we took the trip to Valle de Bravo. Driving down the road there were police and signs telling you to slow down. For the first time in all my driving in Mexico, people were actually following directions. We soon discovered why, the road ahead was blanketed by flying butterflies. You could not look in any direction and NOT see them.We stopped in a little dirt siding and were immediately offered horse and guide services.

While Mexico has some fine horses, these were not them. But the guides seemed nice enough, we paid our money and began the hike up hill. I say hike because of my horse allergy and my strong desire not to look like Hitch after he ate shellfish, I got to walk. That was not so fun as the trail was what we like to call Mexican moondust. It is dirt so fine that it puffs into clouds at the drop of a boot. 5 horses make a moon dust cloud that may kills small mammals. After 30 minutes strait up hill, your author was about DONE. Mercifully they left the horses and walked the final quarter mile of so to the trees.

Nothing I can say could prepare you for the sight or the sound. Imagine the softest slightest tapping/brushing sound you can and play it in your mind 1000 times a second. The audible noise of butterfly wings flying all around, soft and subtle, yet filling the air completely. And then to gaze out and see more butterflies than you could count in a year. Everywhere, clouds of them. Then in the trees you see clumps of something... more gathered together, hanging off each other. I have done a lot of things in my life, but this is a life experience I will never forget and highly recommend.

A Beach of our Own

If you have ever wanted to find a sun drenched beach to call your own we found one. It is called Playa Escondida, hidden beach, and for the first time in that trip the name said it all.

Stacey and I visited this beach with her parents 15 years ago, but since it is not on the maps, we were never able to find it. The witch at the hotel gave us a hand drawn map for some tourist attractions and on it was the beach. So off we went. After wandering down the highway, we saw the sign and went down the road to the beach... Here I use road only in the most general sense. Parallel goat paths might be more accurate.

When we arrived we walked around the grounds of the abandoned hotel on top of the cliff. After a few minutes a nice, one armed man walked up with a machete and asked for $3 for the right to use the beach. Now if you have never met a one armed man wielding a sword while asking for three dollars, let me just say, "Pay the man". He was really a nice fellow who was clearing brush in the truly hopeless attempt at restoring the hotel. After admiring the two mile long beach with no one but cows on it, we sent down the path to the secluded beach. This was the fun part, the path was a set of slabs on the top of a ridge. Think Indiana Jones here.

When we got the beach, we were all alone. The kids went swimming in various states of undress and they found lots of shells. I love Mexico!!

Did you cast a spell on me?

Our next stop was the scenic coastal town of Coatzacoalcos... at least that is what were told. When we arrived we found a charming group of refineries... so we did what most people do, we stopped at a convenience store and asked the clerk where to go. She suggested Catemaco. We bought a map and off we went.

When we got there we got a room at the Hotel del Brujo. Odd name for a hotel, literally "the hotel of the male witch". We thought we might be in trouble again as the air was THICK with bugs. I have lived a lot of places but I have NEVER seen bugs this thick. I am talking biblical infestation. On the window of our hotel there were 2 or three per square inch of window. The nice lady at checkin told us not to worry, that they didn't bite and would be gone by morning. Sure enough the next morning there was a layer of them everywhere.

It was only walking around that we started to pick up on the witch theme... turns out the city is an internationally known tourist destination for the wicca/witch set. There are plenty of spots to get spells and hexes cast or lifted, for a nominal fee of course. We also rented a boat to see some monkeys on an island. They were let lose there after some experiments in the 60's and have been a tourist attraction ever since. Again, only in Mexico.

Drunks on a Beach

When we left Villahermosa, we had a few days to spend and no real idea where to spend them. So we asked some locals about where they go with time off. There is a nice little beach town about 2 hours up the coast, so we went. With a name like Pariaso, Paradise, it should be nice... Well once again, it wasn't so nice, but it was a purely locals hang out. During the day and a half we spent there, we did not see a single gringo.

We found a great little bungalow on the beach and settled down for the night. As I congratulated myself on a private beachfront bungalow for only $40 a night... 10 bug bites and 30 minutes later we discovered why there was no one else there!! So we quickly packed up and scurried back into the town of paradise. We found a nice little hotel on the town square (zocolo). It is difficult to describe a small town zocolo at night. Almost all towns have them. They usually have a church, maybe a raised stage, a statue, and some trees. What they all have a people. On a Saturday night, there is always a crowd at the zocolo. There are kids, parents, and old people just sitting around. They might be talking, listening to music, making out, or playing chess. Many times there are little electric cars for rent or a bounce house. Vendors will be selling food and drink and the town's folks just come together and hangs out. There is a tangiblesense of community... Something I think we miss in our fenced off fiefdoms.

The next day we went to the beach. We had a lot of fun playing the sand and the waves. So there we were in the sand when a group of smash face drunk kids come waling strait to me. Without a hello or my name is... they ask in perfect English, "OK you have to settle this for us, who is the quarterback Tony Romo or Dan Marino." I quickly answered the question, "Dan Marino, I mean please. Romo may be great but at this point he has done nothing to even put him in the same league as Marino." And then I started to think... HEY!! How did they even know I was an American or even liked football. I could be a Brit whose favorite football team is Chelsea. Even more, what makes me an expert? Anyway, there issue resolved by an authoritative version of the Encyclopedia Americana, they went back to their drinking... Bizarre. Only in Mexico friends, only in Mexico.

Flooding and Recovery

First, I have been lazy about my updates, so I will try to catch up over the next week or so. In November 2007, Villahermosa suffered devastating floods. Houses were literally flooded to the roof.

In December, we took the family to the state of Tabasco and spent some time in the city. After all of the beautiful places we have seen in Mexico, I had high hopes for Villahermosa, which literally means beautiful home. Despite the name, Villahermosa is not one of them. But the city is not what we found most remarkable during our stay, it was the people. The goal of the trip was to go and help with the rebuilding in whatever way we could. What we found when we got there, less than 2 months after devastating floods, life was pretty much back to normal. On a weekend morning, everyone was out chipping paint, cleaning dirt, or going about their lives. After reading all of the accounts in New Orleans, it was so refreshing to see people just get on with life.

The Mexican people are special in so many ways but if there is a word to summarize them, it is industrious. Why wait for the government or anyone else, let's get it fixed and get back to living. To illustrate, we met two gentlemen that really stood out in my mind.

The first is a simple man, head of household. He has his own fruit stand on the front of a bicycle. I won't hazard a guess as to what he makes in a day but I can assure you it isn't much. Their home was a very modest open cinderblock construction. By open, I don't mean the floor plan; I mean that there are big openings to the outside. Aside from taking care of his wife and children, he also cares for his sister. She is severely mentally handicapped and seemed capable of little more than wandering around and groaning. When he was asked if he needs any help, he figures there must be some who need help more.

The other gentleman was much better off, he and his family lived in a small (500sqft) apartment. They had a car. They lived on the second floor so they were largely spared from the damage. He has a spice distribution business. He spoke repeatedly about how good God has been to him. He felt like a rich man and was eager to teach us about all the products and to give us samples. He didn't do this to sell us anything or to get anything in return; it was just the outpouring of a grateful heart. You see, he felt blessed because before he found his faith, he used to try to take advantage, to use dishonest scales so to speak. Now he runs an honest business and his heart cannot contain the riches flowing into his life...

Now my guess is every single person who reads these words has more comfort, vastly more material possessions, more security and an easier life than either of these men. Yet, they feel they are not only cared for but are richly blessed... makes you think.

Blood and Gore in Mexico

I must start the following with a disclaimer. I have never been confused with an animal rights activist. I believe stray dogs and cats should be killed if an adopted owner cannot be found. I have helped butcher an injured cow to save the meat and you are not going to find many people who enjoy a good cut of meat more than me… That said.

We attended a bullfight tonight in Mexico City. What an eye-opener that was…
Our driver got us some great tickets. He said they were, “Close enough to see everything not so close as to smell the blood.” Huh? Smell the what?

So we find our slab of worn concrete in the world's biggest bullfighting arena. At the stroke of 4, the live band starts playing and cast of characters come marching out. It was a nice little parade but the clothes all look a little girly to me. Honestly, what self-respecting guy wears pink knee high tights and black slippers with bows. Everyone clears out and in runs the bull. Now I don’t know what they did to this thing to make it run out but it is ANGRY. A group of 5 guys taunt the bull into running in big circles by flashing pink capes in succession and then running behind thick walls when it gets close. (More pink?!) This serves to tire the poor dumb animal.

When the bull gets too tired, out ride two fat guys on padded blindfolded horses. I don’t know if they have to be fat or if the guys who are too fat to hide behind the walls get this job. Either way, you have to pity the horses. Not only do they have to carry the fats guys, blindfolded in a ring of screaming people and near a bull with a bad attitude, but we saw 5 fights and 3 times the horses were knocked over by the bull. The horses were so padded they couldn’t even get back up. It took a team of 6 to right the poor blind thing.

However given the choice, I would rather be the horse than the bull. The fat guys job is to take a 12 ft spear and jab it repeatedly into the bull’s back. Before long the bull is winded, bleeding like someone in a teen horror flick and pretty well confused. Once the horses leave, the two guys come out with sticks. On the ends of the sticks are barbs. The guys then provoke the bull into charging. Then run laterally to ensure they avoid being gored and push the barbs into the bulls back. By the end of this, there is a thick, wide, stream of blood down both sides of the animal and 6 brightly colored sticks, coated in blood, standing on the bulls back. At this point the bull is getting pretty weak and is too winded to run much.

Another song is played and in struts the matador, literally “killer” in Spanish. The matador is the real man in the ring. You know that because he gets a red cape instead of the girly pink and he gets a cool sword. His buddies have already tired and bled the bull to the point of exhaustion. The point of the matador seems to be to get as close to the bull as he can without being gored and prove his manhood by turning his back to the bull and strike a pose. He then teases and taunts the bull until it is so tired and confused that it no long charges. Once its spirit is broken, the matador takes out the sword and attempts to kill the bull by plunging the sword fully into the body through the back. His girly buddies then come out and tease the animal into turning left and right, allowing the sword to hara-kiri the bull’s innards, hopefully hitting an artery. If the bull collapses, another gent comes out with a dagger and severs the spinal cord. If the animal isn’t lucky enough to die quickly, they tease him into exhaustion then go for the dagger. Regardless, the matador then does a kind of weird machismo peacock strut around the arena.

With blood draining everywhere, hundreds of cigars are lit, beers are drunk, grown men throw hats to the matador and wave white hankies to signal approval. All the while the dying bull is chained by its horns and drug from the arena by a pair of horses and the arena is prepared for the next bull. It is an orgy of blood, gore, and testosterone.

I am sure for many, it is tradition, art, and a visceral thrill all rolled into one. As for me, I was in shock. Some combination of guilt, sadness… I felt dirty having watched it. Again, I have never been one to worry too much about animals, but this was different. This felt more like a ritualistic torture of a beast for thrills… kind of like drowning kittens to hear there little cries.

That said, it is hard to judge it too harshly, they do after all eat the bull. Dog and cock fighting are common all over the world. The good old USA has Ultimate Fighting Championship a.k.a. human cockfighting, as good an argument against human evolution as I have ever seen. Every once in a while the bull even gets a draw. In the fights we saw, one bull was spared, but probably died later from the sword driven through his back, a tough injury to overcome. Another bull was able to gore the matador.

The first bullfights were a chance for knights to stay sharp by fighting something back in the time of the crusades… goring a bull doesn’t hold a candle to the carnage of wars fought with dull spears. The first historic bullfight was in 1133, almost 900 years ago. So it may be a gruesome spectacle but it is rooted in history.
So is it worth seeing… regrettably yes. But once is enough for this gringo.

Paradise

In Mexico, Monday the 19th was a national holiday to celebrate the Revolution. So I got it off. Thursday is Thanksgiving, so I got that off too… When 3 days of vacation buys 9 days in a row off, you need to find something to do. We headed to the beach. I was able to find a perfect house on a beach near Ixtapa for $200 a night.

We pulled into a lovely, almost Japanese, garden area complete with a tropical twist. The house is surrounded by a garden with hammocks hanging on palm trees. About 10 steps from the back porch is a little wooden gate leading to the beach. To the right are rocks with tide pools waiting to be explored. To the left a great sandy beach with slow breaking waves. The whole family loves to Boogie Board and this is a beach perfect for it. Paradise. We meet our host and learn the rules, ins and outs, and other trivia. I thought to myself what a perfect life. Live and work where you hear the sound of the surf, always. The salty breeze and the warm inviting waters your constant companions. That would be paradise.

Later, we are playing in that surf having the time of our lives. I tow the kids out to catch another wave, a nice service if you can get it. The kids have all the fun of surfing with none of the work. Then we play in the sand, check the tide pools, and have a quick lunch at the house. I have been working a lot lately so it is so nice to spend so much time with the kids.

After a little while, I strike up a conversation with our host. She has lived here for 15 years but never goes in the water. She spends most of her time working, managing properties, and taking care of the guests. She is single, has a boyfriend and no kids.

Even for a block like me it didn't take long to understand. This isn't paradise, it is a place. Even more it is a place that money can rent time in. If you can buy it, it won't satisfy for long. Paradise isn't a place. I have my kids, my wife, my life. We can come visit the surf and be happy. At the end of the week, we all want to go home. I already live in paradise, we are just visiting the beach.

Death Has a Holiday

As I have written before, the Mexican people have an interesting take on death. In keeping with that, we recently celebrated the Dia de los Muertos, literally the Day of the Dead. While that may sound somber to us it is really a festive occasion. They have skulls made from sugar to give to family and friends. As a joke, you have someone’s name put on a skull and then give it to them to eat. Or the skulls are placed at the grave of a dearly departed so they can enjoy it.

Another part of this is a party at the cemetery. To this there are two different lines of thinking.

Most of the people we talk to about this, view the time a time to remember their departed friends and relatives. They go to the gravesite, clean up the area, spread some flowers, maybe bring some of their favorite food or beverage and talk about them. They then have a party in their honor. I think of it as a kind of yearly wake, New Orleans style. Now remember all of this is happening at the gravesite and can last until 3 or 4 in the morning. The grave decorations can be quite elaborate.
In this case all of the color you see are fresh flowers or flower petalsThe more simple folk do the same activities but believe their dearly departed leave the grave at the sound of the first church bell after dark and party with them. So they bring food and drink, clean the grave and party, thinking the relative is there to enjoy it. It is hard to overestimate how much mysticism is a part of the rural poor’s belief systems.

We went to Puebla for the festivities, great town, very pretty. After we returned to Mexico City, I took a ride to the graveyard for some pictures.

Now I have to admit that I like going to graveyards on occasion. For me it is a good way to be reminded of our temporal nature. Graves can tell stories. They can also tell a lot about the person or family buried there. There can be some real ego here... This poor woman is forever morning someone who won't even look at her. He is peering off into what future, one cannot be sure.

This guy also obviously thought he would make some kind of statement with the award for most interesting tombstone. Looks like some kind of superhero

The retro modern award goes to this one with an honorary mention to the next...

But what was most striking to me in this trip is how treatment in life so closely models life. In the area for the rich, powerful and famous; there is great landscaping, meticulous care, and great monuments to vanity and ego. For some of the rest, the family carries on and remembers. But for the vast majority, no one came to remember. It is easy to see trends, the longer you are dead and the older you were when you dies, the more likely you are to be forgotten. This is the grave of a recently departed young child... Obviously the pain is still fresh. No money for a tombstone but someone still cared to plant flowers and smooth the site.

This one is just one of many forgotten... next to one that has been cared for. If there is one word to describe Mexico it is contrast, rich and poor, loved and forgotten, pampered and ignored.My favorite is this one. Old Dad is gone. The kids didn't bring bread or flowers, just a shot of tequila. Probably what Dad would have wanted... is this how you would want to be remembered?

For me the Day of the Dead was a good reminder of where we all end up. At the end of the day, most of us will not be rich or famous or even remembered here on earth past a generation or two. All our work and labors will be forgotten a month or two after we leave the job. Our house will be sold or demolished. Our cars will rust. Our precious toys will break and be disgarded and so will we. We will be forgotten and even the markers of our graves will not live on forever. We are here but for a moment.

Only one record will remain and only one will remember us for all time. And it is only the things we do to honor Him that will remain after this life is over. This is a good reminder not to be ruled by the tyranny of the urgent and to invest in the things that last.

An Interesting Twist

In most of my experiences down here I have tried to take a positive tone. There is a lot that I just shake my head at or moan in frustration. However, when I share my thoughts or talk with others I try to stay on the positive side and see things from the other perspective. Sorry but this time the gloves come off.

As some of you know, I am married to a Mexican. Stacey was born in Mexico and by Mexican law she is a Mexican. As an additional bonus, in 1999, Mexico passed a law allowing dual citizenship, so my children are, by Mexican Law, also Mexicans. Now we have really grown to enjoy and even love Mexico. The beauty, the people, and the culture are all quite endearing. With that in mind we thought it would be a good idea to get our children Mexican passports to give them flexibility later in life to start a business, get an education, or even live in Mexico.

After 3 months of questions, paperwork, and run around we were finally ready to get the passports. We went to the office, were sent to another office, and then told we needed to go to a consulate office in the US to become Mexican citizens…

So let me get this strait… My children need to go to Mexican soil in the US to become Mexicans… when they have the legal right under MEXICAN LAW…

All of this has caused me to view/vent about the current immigration debate in the US under a new light.

In Mexico, I cannot get a driver’s license unless I have a visa and am here legally.
In Mexico, I cannot work without a valid visa.
IN MEXICO, I cannot get medical services at the state’s expense, even WITH a work visa.
IN MEXICO, I cannot go to the University and without paying an extra extranero (foreigner) fee.
AND IN MEXICO, I cannot apply for legal status as a Mexican, even if legal, without going back to the US!!!

Does any of this sound familiar… Please don’t misunderstand, I have a great deal of sympathy for Mexican workers trying to feed their families and do work in the US that many in the US don’t want to do. But would it be wrong to suggest that the US apply the same standard to illegal workers in the US that Mexicans apply to all workers in Mexico… Just a thought.

Please add any comments below.

Life with NO Warning Labels

Have you ever wondered what life would be like without the warning labels?

DANGER!! The coffee is hot, don’t jump, don’t look, and whatever you do don’t touch. Have you ever wondered what life would be like without all the rules? This weekend we played Mexico style and our family had one of the most amazingly fun weekends I can remember.

Day 1- Let’s go play in the volcano, kids.
About 90 minutes from our home we have 3 volcanoes. We went to visit one of them this weekend. Now before you start calling child protective services I have two defenses. One, it is an extinct volcano. Two, I am in Mexico and they don’t have CPS down here. So, we get up Saturday and start off. After getting lost two or three times we found the dirt road leading to the volcano. After about 20 miles across and 8000 ft up, we drove into the crater and parked next to the lava dome. Yes, you read that correctly we took a road into the very center of the volcano at 14,000 ft or so above sea level. We then climbed to about 15000 ft to the ridge of the volcano. I am so proud of our little troopers. All three made the climb (with an occasional piggy back ride). The view was fabulous… simply unbelievable. It was so quiet and peaceful, watching the clouds moving over the ridge line as a brisk chilly wind swept them ever upwards, two emerald lakes in the crater below contrasting with the steep red cliffs of red and gray and a dark blue sky you only get at elevation. The vegetation was mostly tundra grass and moss. It was an otherworldly beauty. The colors… the stillness… stunning.

Just for reference our car is one of the tiny dots near the left lake.

Then out of the clear magnificent scene of natural beauty rose a sound. Clearly ringing across the entire crater rose…Thriller. Can’t make this up… some local thought he would complete this scene by turning up his stereo so we could all enjoy Michael Jackson’s Thriller. The ALBUM, not the song… Surreal.

To get down from our lofty perch we had a choice, we could hike down the long gentle sloping path we used to get up or we could scree down. For those of you unfamiliar with scree, it is a lot like snow skiing, except there are no skis and no snow. All you need is a large slope with a very steep grade and small rocks…Basically you slide down the hill on a wave of falling pebbles. As you may have guessed, we took our children by the hand and screed down the crater wall. It was so much fun. We all laughed the whole way down and Stacey laughed so hard she was brought to tears.

Day 2 – They don’t wear helmets in Mexico
For day two, we drove outside of the city to the little town of La Marquesa. La Marquesa is an adventure park of sorts. There are vendors everywhere with quad racers, horse rides, zip lines, some kind of bungee trampoline, paintball, you name it and you can find it here. Oh did we have fun!! All of us took the zip line. We took the kids on the quads. Gwen and Nate got to ride a children’s quad. The kids did the bungee trampoline. Stacey and the kids took the horse ride. What was so much fun to see as their father is them learning to overcome fear. Nate got to the top of the zip line and did not want to do it, did it anyway and LOVED it. Gwen didn’t want to drive the quad and it was her favorite attraction of the day. Abby, well our little Abby has no fear.

An interesting aspect to all of this is the conspicuous absence of rules. No waivers to sign. No helmets to wear except on the zip lines. A 10 year old is running the bungee trampoline. If you want to ride with three people on a quad and have a sleeping baby on the front, then you make the decision and deal with the consequences. If you want to let your 5 year old ride the quad, it is called parental responsibility. As a libertarian leaning conservative, I couldn’t help but notice that it all worked. It would neatly fit my worldview to believe all of this is true because they are “working without a net” so to speak. If you can’t count on regulation or trial lawyers to protect you, you regulate yourselves. On the customer side, people were orderly and self-controlled. Parents looked after their kids because no one else would. On the providers side, the quads all had governors to limit the speeds. The equipment was all in good working shape. No one took shortcuts when opening or closing a carabiner, even the 10 year old (a carabiner is the clip loop you use when working with ropes). Each time the carabiner was opened, it was screwed down to lock it. All of this is not because of some safety inspection but probably because deaths are bad for business and no one wants to kill a kid.

At the end of the day, this wild crazy park that would not last 10 minutes in the US before being sued out of existence. However in Mexico it was filled with people having a great time. All of it makes me wonder what we in the US lose when we don’t let our kids play on monkey bars or carousels. We don’t let them play in the street. They need leagues, coaches and referees, so they will be “safe”. Do we run the risk of protecting our kids and ourselves so much that we stop learning how to think for ourselves. Do we trade "safety" for Life teaching us all a little common sense and responsibility for the decisions we make?

Monopoly Money

Picture this. You are in your office and have written a check to cash. You need to have cash because everything is done with cash. You pay the electric bill with cash. You pay the water bill with cash. You buy a ticket on the train in cash. What you get back are bills denominated in 500, 200, 100, 50 and 20. The bills are colored yellow, green, blue, and red. Drive in certain parts of town and you can see entire blocks uniformly painted in different bright colors. Add two dice and a silver colored dog and one could be forgiven for thinking this is all a life size version of Monopoly.

Such is life in Mexico.

A small tub of ice cream is 80 pesos. Two pounds of tortillas are 5 pesos. A 2 liter of Coke is 40 pesos. Minimum wage is 50 pesos a day. A normal lunch out is 200 pesos. A live in maid is 150 pesos a day. The current exchange rate is 11 to 1, so to get dollars divide all those numbers by 11.

So is living in Mexico cheap, expensive, or just confusing.

For me, it has been confusing. It is hard to say what things are “worth”. As an amateur economist, I am used to cost and price being rough approximations of value and worth. My first reaction to this shock has been to devalue money as a signal of value. The seemingly conflicting signals are just too much at odds with my values. As I begin to learn about Mexico, in particular its culture, history of socialism, and focus on pride, I find that they do still act as signals of value and worth. They make sense in their own way. It is just a way that is still difficult for me to understand. This is just another piece of the culture puzzle.