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| IMAGE: Warner Brothers |
When I was a kid, there was this
all-too-common presumption that Mexicans were lazy and slow. Social psychologists say the “sleepy Mexican” stereotype may have aris-
en in the mid-19th century during the Mexican-American War, and I’m guessing it gained appeal as other immigrant groups sought advantage in their adopted country.
Eventually, as such stereotypes of-
ten are, it got played up in films, and later on television, with characters like Slowpoke Rodriguez, the Frito Bandito and Speedy Gonzalez.
I don’t think my parents, while both intelligent and kind, did anything to debunk the trope—or even realized its harm. Honestly, though, as a kid I’m not sure I’d even have cared.
VACATION RECALIBRATION
After about 70 years of traveling to and around Mexico—some 50 trips so
far—I’ve gained a somewhat fairer, better-informed point of view on our southern neighbors.
As Sally and I pack up for our 18th dewy-eyed departure from our annual month-long escape to our beloved Zihuatanejo, Guerrero, I find myself thinking about that old xenophobic nonsense. And, for that matter, other measures of a people or a place. Specifically of this place.
Once we leave behind the demands of our “real” lives back in Minneapolis, our routine in Zihuatanejo affords us a precious chance to recalibrate. Here, life comes at us at a whole new scale, in new rhythms.
Measurement is different here.
Here in Zihua, we appreciate the time
to talk, people-watch, whatever.
WHO’S COUNTING?Instead of how many nerve-wracking miles on a gridlocked freeway till I have to show up at such-and-such a place, it’s how many more sweaty steps to conquer the grinding, four-block climb from the dolphins fountain up to the Catalina. How many turns to reach the next shady or breezy spot. How many claustrophobic aisles explored in el mercado to find perfect, mild, apple-size radishes.
At home, we might get annoyed having to wait in line for some service. Here in Zihua, we appreciate the time to talk, people-watch, whatever. If it’s a longer wait, we find a place to sit, pull the cribbage board from my backpack and play.
Here, instead of tracking the soaring price of gas, tonight’s numbing low temperature forecast or how many points the T-wolves score, we appreciate simpler counts: the pesos-to-dollars exchange rate, the SPF rating of our sunblock, little kids trying to get just one two-pointer up to the hoop at La Cancha, the town’s basketball court and town square.
Despite its population of 130,000,
Zihua still feels like a pueblo.
THE HEIGHT OF ARROGANCE
Back home, our comings and goings navigate a fairly typical urban landscape. Even in our residential neighborhood, a 14-story apartment building looms over us from across the street. Downtown, the proportions are even more intimidating. Like the pace, it’s another assertion of quantity over quality.
Even vacationing, we’ve observed many coastal resorts—including Ixtapa, right up the road from Zihuatanejo—whose powers that be have made the same calculation with their skyscraper hotels. Monstrosities that obstruct ocean views and breezes for everyone but paying customers.
In Zihuatanejo, though, very few buildings exceed a few stories in height. And even most of those have been thoughtfully designed to conform with the cerros (hills) surrounding the bay, stair-stepping their way gracefully up their flanks. The result is a city, our home away from home, that, despite its population of 130,000, still feels like a pueblo (small town).
BEAT THE CLOCKIn Zihua we’re able to let go of most time expectations. While it’s hard for us to set aside our accustomed punctuality habits—say for dinner reservations or a doctor’s appoint-
ment—we don’t hold our Mexican hosts to anywhere near the same standard. We realize that’s our culture’s obsession, and actually love the notion that we’re now “on Mexican time.” *
That means it doesn’t matter whether our morning walk downtown gets us to El Cafecito cafe, our favorite beach-front oasis, early enough for breakfast or more like brunch time. And if the Carnaval parade or the Guitar Fest concert starts 20 minutes—or an hour—late, it just doesn’t matter.
We remind ourselves that, even though those in the hospitality industry bend over backwards to indulge our time fixation, for most Mexicans the concept of time is quite different, with different priorities—and with good reason.**
The only things to count are
the bright green parrots flying
past our open-sided living room.
SKIPPING A BEAT
Each morning, as we gaze out over the intimate embrace of Zihuatanejo Bay, the only things to count—if one is inclined to such a meditation—are the number of pangas crisscrossing the bay to and from Playa Las Gatas. The number of arresting black-and-yellow caciques or bright green parrots flying past our lofty, open-sided living room. How many little cubes of sweet, ripe mango to plop onto my cereal.
Another way folks might measure an experience is through rhythms. Here in Zihua, as in other parts of Mexico, those beats feel somehow less insistent than those we’re used to. Here, it’s the unhurried, whispered cadence of the surf down the block on Playa La Ropa. A sequence of hollow-plastic thwaps from the La Cocina pickleball courts. The barely-differentiated pulses of air coaxed down by each slowly-turning blade of our ceiling fan.
With the ebb of the rain
comes the flow of tourism.
EBBS AND FLOWS
Some rhythms can’t be seen, heard or counted; you just feel them. Like the slower turning of the seasons down here. Back in Minnesota, with the all-too-hurried succession of our accustomed four seasons, one barely adjusts to one before the next one blows through. Here in Zihua, it’s just two: rainy and dry. One has time to appreciate the flavors, the full expression, of each.
Zankas—natives of Zihuatanejo—and their region’s landscape have contrasting views of the seasons. While the parched dry-season countryside celebrates June’s first rain, many people and the local economy prefer October’s last. Because with the ebb of the rain comes the flow of tourism.
To the observant visitor, especially at either end of high season, the transition’s quite evident. Sally and I are always mindful of the fact that the folks who are so kind and work so hard to please us while we visit somehow have to meet a whole year’s expenses with a scant five-months-worth of income.
That dude isn’t sleeping because
he’s loafing; he’s exhausted from
working so hard.
LA CUENTA, POR FAVOR
So, back to the "sleepy Mexican" label.
What I’ve learned is that Mexicans—and I dare generalize because I’ve found it so universally true—have no problem with either time, counting or effort. What they do have a problem with is putting quotas and deadlines ahead of more important values.
This is why the folks we observe here, these Zihuatanejenses, are so unfailingly generous and patient, with us and in their own lives, whether caring for an elderly parent, abiding the interruption of a street vendor, strolling musician or beggar, or making the best of an event’s starting an hour late.
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| PHOTO: Fernando Salazar |
One custom that, for me, captures this grace especially well is the steadfast refusal of Mexican table servers to bring a diner the check before being asked for it. There’s even a word for it: la sobremesa.*** I’ve never once, in hundreds of establishments in every corner of the country, seen this unwritten rule violated.
I must have been a Mexican
fisherman in a previous life.
NO SWEAT!
So, no, Mexicans aren’t slow. They just know how not to sweat in this searing tropical heat; those with the luxury to choose know not to work during the hottest hours of the day.
Nor are Mexicans lazy. That dude sitting with his sombrero tilted down over his face isn’t sleeping because he’s loafing; more likely, he’s exhausted from simply working so hard.
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* The idiom, “on Mexican time,” refers to the significant cultural differences in time perception evident there. It gained popularity with the success of Tony Cohan's 2009 memoir, On Mexican Time: A New Life in San Miguel.
** Mexican culture, as I’ve observed it in my travels to about half of the country’s 31 states, consistently prioritizes family, relationships, tradition and folks’ Catholic faith. Living joyfully in the present moment matters more than future planning.
*** La sobremesa is the custom of savoring time and conversation spent with family, friends or business associates over and after a meal, free of distraction over payment. While leisurely sharing food was central to pre-conquest Meso-American community life, the specific, formalized custom of sobremesa originated in Spain and eventually became deeply embedded in Mexican culture.
