As we return home and I reflect on our week in Matzatlan, I
think about the people. Since we were
there during the height of the Mexican tourist season, we were surrounded by
Mexicans and the Spanish language. There
were lots of families at the resort, large families, all having a good
time. People were friendly and usually
greeted us with an “hola” or “buenas dias” as they passed by. I remember two boys, a teenager and a younger
boy, who greeted me in English as they passed by on the back of a golf cart. I could tell they were trying their English
on me—they seemed quite pleased with themselves.
Since the Mexican families were busy with each other, we did
not get the opportunity to visit with any of them. Our encounters were with the people who
served us. The first person we got to
know was Enrique, poolside waiter. His
English was excellent, and he was quite friendly. He gave us great service—it probably didn’t
hurt that Bob gave him a really good tip the first day (a pesos/dollar
confusion). We learned that he was from
the area so we asked him how things had changed. He acknowledged that the drugs and gangs are
a problem but claimed that he wasn’t afraid to go out. However, he did comment that there are
elements/people that are such an integral part of the foundation of society
that you don’t miss them until they’re gone.
Enrique is a family man with a wife and two daughters, ages 5 and 13
(going on 18). On his day off his wife
had a “to do” list for him. He told me
that it was a good day—he completed the list.
“Happy wife, happy life” he said.
We showed up for a Spanish class one day. However, even though it was on the resort
activities list, no teacher was there. A
cute girl named Marifer, age 17 going on 18, ended up teaching us—her first
class. During the class we asked her
about herself. She learned English at
age 4 from her father who lived in London and has returned there. (Her parents are divorced.) Her family is from Veracruz but they moved to
Matzatlan so they could care for her grandfather. Her mother stays home with
him and her 10-year-old brother so Marifer is the sole support of her
family. She is very proud of this. She goes to high school at night and will be
finished soon. She is using a couple
online courses to learn Japanese and French.
We were impressed with this bright, personable girl. Our friend, Don, commented that she will go
far.
One morning Bob and I went for an early morning walk around
the resort. We ended up sitting on a
couple lounge chairs on the beach. One
of the workers, a man named Ariel, walked up and started a conversation, first
in Spanish then in English. His English
was flawless—we learned that he traveled in California quite a bit when he
worked for a travel agency. He told us
he was from the Yucatan and to look at his nose—Mayan—the ugliest people in the
world, he laughed. Ariel is 71 years old
with an 8th grade education but it was obvious that he’s an
intelligent man. He grew up as one of
five children and he knows what it is to be poor and to work hard. He was extremely critical of the Catholic
Church and blamed it for many of the problems in his country. Ariel said people had too many children—more than
they can provide for. Some workers at
the resort only make ten dollars a day but have five children. “How can they provide well for that many
children?”, he asked. Ariel stressed the
importance of a good education. He only
had one son and made sure that he went to a top school. Unfortunately this son no longer talks to
Ariel because he divorced his mother.
The wife became very religious and it was not the life he wanted so he
divorced her. He gave her the house and
everything so now he has nothing and works for a living. I didn’t get the impression that he regretted
his decision.
Every morning a maid named Rocio came into our suite to make
our bed and clean up after us. She also
made delightful shapes with the towels.
Sometimes we were gone, and a couple times we were out on the deck and
tried to stay out of her way. However,
one day Bob returned to our room and she was there. He struck up a conversation. He told her we’re from Idaho and she
mentioned California. It turns out that
she lived in Palo Alto for a while. Bob
told her that he had lived there too.
What a small world.
We had other shorter encounters with people who we enjoyed—there
was the cab driver who took us to old Matzatlan and the waiter at Pancho’s who
gave us a great show making flaming Mexican coffee. I look forward to returning to Mexico and
meeting more of its interesting people.
Written on 7/27/2013
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