"Living Mexican" is not merely a standard of living -- it is a philosophy. If history is any clue of the future a socialist led government tends to get more radical as promised reforms are abandoned.
In my early trips I had money jingling in my pockets. Banks exchanged one dollar for 12.49 pesos. I would walk into a tiny tienda. In those days one did not wander the aisles. You walked up to the counter and asked for what you wanted. I became frustrated and learned very quickly some of my first phrases in Spanish
No tenemos
No hay.
I could buy a large lobster for sixty cents or a fish for a nickel but if I had offered a thousand dollars a simple head of lettuce would have remained elusive.
Shredded cabbage made substitute lettuce. An almost transparently thin slice of pink tonato and a major find was the presence of a radish. A squeeze of limon and a sprinkle of salt and there it was...
An old man in an older section of Mazatlan told me about "Mexican Black Pepper" It was first necessary to buy a quantity of real black pepper. A container the size of a pack of playing cards cost about two dollars and remember this was almost fifty years ago.
Next it was necessary to burn tortillas until they were carbonized. They were broken into pieces then sent through a hand cranked mill that turned lime soaked corn kernals into "masa" tortilla powder. The black pepper therefore got "stepped on" about one tablespoon of real pepper for four tablespoon of tortilla carbon.
Coffee was Nescafe. Powder. Bitter. Expensive.
But it was highly mineralized water, often brackish that would drive visitors to distraction. Xalapa and Tepic were two cities in Mexico famous for sweet water right out of the tap. We used to load 20 gallons of water then dole it out on the trip literally drop by drop.
Mexicans smiled and took it all in, in stride. Periodic fiestas and booze staved off mind-numbing repetition. And music and crackling AM radios provided entertainment. Those were the days when a person could talk into an open air mercado spot an indian lady sitting atop a blanket on the floor. On the blanket were sad looking onions, chilies, withered tomatoes and maybe some cilantro tied into tiny bundles. The whole lot of it would probably bring in a dollar or two by the end of the day. You could offer four dollars for it all and she would refuse -- there was to be far too much gossiping that needed to be done.
My family ties me to Michoacan. With manacles that holds my heart in bonds. When I complain about prices it isn't from my perspective. It's from a 16 year old or a twelve year old, a six year old and a three year old girl's viewpoint. My grandchildren.
Out of all the activities that could happen to an outsider, an extraneous tourist I feel being accepted into a family group, even for a wedding just whacks the heart with new understanding and appreciation of Mexico. Hoisting a pinata then turning the kids loose "Dale! Dale! Dale!" they scream at the blindfolded child armed a with a big stick and a bigger sweet tooth.
When Dalia, # 2 had her eighth birthday, I pulled a sneaky. I went to several banks in the city and begged for several rolls of new and shiny one peso coins. When the tellers heard my story they would grin and search out new coins.
Dalia insisted on a Goldilocks pinata. The stuffings usually consist of bargain bulk candy. Not this time. Jolly Rancher and mini Carlos V chocolate bars plus the shiny coins. When an older boy took his turn with the stick the crowd gasped when the hidden treasure fell to the patio floor. Chairs and tables were knocked over.
Later my little girl came to me and sniffed "I'm sorry -- I could only get three coins but some nice candy"
I pulled a crumpled envelope from my pocket and handed it to her "Maybe this will help" She tore it open.
Inside was a brand new one hundred peso coin. Pilar also got one.
Two little girls attacked me in my hammock and smothered me with hugs and kisses.
This pales comparing things with beaches, taco stands and off-key wandering mariachi groups.
