Mexico Traditions: ...and Pepsi!

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It's hard to believe, but the third anniversary of our arrival in Mexico is fast approaching. I remember it well!

As we rode toward our new life from the airport towards Morelia (state capital of Michoacán), we were confronted by a huge red, white and blue sign painted on a pristine white wall: “Bienvenidos a Michoacán ... Pepsi.”

I was in trouble. I took a deep breath.

As a corporate consultant, my last U.S. client was...Pepsi. Projects often fail to start or finish as planned. This one was no exception. When we arrived in Morelia, the project was in full swing—much to the deep distress of my beloved husband who was furious that I would be work-distracted as we began settling into our new home in a new culture and speaking a new language.

Once we were comfortable in our rented house, we began to poke around. Reed's distress sensitized him to see the Pepsi logo all around. But, honestly, it wasn't hard. Pepsi really was "...everywhere you want to be."

The familiar red, white and blue circular logo was painted on wall after wall along the streets and highways of Michoacán. Awnings, tables and chairs in restaurants sported the Pepsi logo. Sadly, even our favorite neighborhood family restaurant wasn't exempt. The Pepsi logo was visible in every pueblo we visited on the meseta (rural highlands) and on the islands in Lake Pátzcuaro.

Pepsi at feet of Purhépecha woman in traditional dress

Pepsi showed up on the back of shirts worn by deliverymen bringing Santorini bottled water to our house. Obviously the deal is, "We'll paint your wall or donate table, chairs, awnings if you'll display the Pepsi Logo." It is impossible to escape Pepsi in Mexico. 

One day Reed looked down the driveway to see a Pepsi truck improbably parked on the berm about fifty feet away from our front gate. Deliveries were in progress across the street to our neighbor's tiny convenience store—really nothing more than a window counter open to the street. When I heard Reed's anguished cry of protest, I feared for our marriage!

In front of our gate—¡Qué barbaridad!

Before arriving here, I hadn't thought much about how the U.S. and Mexican economies relate to each other. So these statistics surprised me:

• Some 18,000 U.S. corporations do business in Mexico.
• Ninety percent of Mexican exports—oil, manufactured goods and agricultural products—go to the U.S.
• Fifty percent of Mexican imports come from the U.S.
• U.S. banks own Mexico’s largest banks.
• Kansas City Southern Railroad owns the line that runs past our house from the Pacific port of Lázaro Cárdenas to Mexico City.
• Mexico’s largest sources of income are from the sale of oil to the U.S., tourism and remittances—money sent home to families in Mexico by family members working in the U.S.

The impact of the U.S. economy on the Mexican economy is profound—a reality captured by this Mexico dicho, saying — “When the U.S. sneezes, Mexico gets pneumonia.”

The first time I saw the string of U.S. box stores lining a prize stretch of highway into Morelia, I gulped — Where am I? This isn’t Mexico! But, yes, it is Mexico today. 

CostCo, Home Depot, WalMart, Sams Club, Sears, Office Depot and Office Max all have Mexican presence. But that’s not all. Side-by-side with U.S. companies are Mexican-owned box stores imitating and extending the U.S. retail business model.

Then there’s the impact of U.S. popular culture on Mexican culture. Like every other region on the planet, U.S. popular culture makes a strong statement in Mexico: music, movies, television series, magazines, youth fashions, electronics….

Purhépecha women in traditional dress reach for cellphones from the front of their embroidered blouses. 

Reed photographed this Purhépecha teenager paddling a traditional canóa (canoe) with an iPod firmly in his ear.

In the face of such raw economic and political power, Mexican President Porfirio Días put into words the sentiments of many Mexicans toward their powerful northern neighbor—"Poor Mexico: So far from God; so close to the United States."

In time, of course, the Pepsi gig ended, and we established a life-affirming rhythm at la Casa Mariposa. But to this day Pepsi remains somewhat of a family sensitivity. 

This is the background, then, for my coming across Craig "Cisco" Dietz's account of the day he and Xun, his gardener and a Maya shaman, set out to purify the Temezcal (sweat lodge) they had constructed together using traditional tools and materials in the backyard of Cisco's house in San Cristóbol de las Casas (Chiapas State). Cisco's account exemplifies the cultural curiosity that we cherish while giving us a chance to glimpse traditional Maya beliefs and customs.

Culturally threatened since the arrival of the Spanish five hundred years ago, Mexico's surviving indigenous populations have demonstrated creativity in preserving their traditional ways of life. They persist in finding ways to adapt modern realities and resources to their traditional customs. Often the results represent important new ideas for sustainable living.

Reading Cisco's account, I couldn't believe my eyes. Among the objects used in this traditional purification rite, Cisco lists the objects that Xun brought: Posh (traditional Maya brew), Pepsi, hunzio, candles, fresh rainwater and Xun’s history, of the continuance of traditions of Chamula....

Yes, you read correctly, here in an ancient Maya rite of purification was...the ubiquitous bottle of Pepsi!

But don't let me spoil an opportunity for you to experience this account first-hand. Here's the link: Cisco Dietz http://www.mexconnect.com/articles/725-temezcal-y-xun-the-sweatlodge.

Mexico Culture: Mutual Obligation

Reed and I are readers, so it makes sense that reading is one of our strategies for deepening our cultural awareness. In Spanish, we read classic Mexican literature and the non-fiction of Mexico's leading intellectuals. Often our reading becomes part of our weekly Seminar with both of our Spanish teachers. Aside from improving our ability to converse fluidly in Spanish, these seminars also give us valuable insight into the underpinnings of culture, which, in turn, helps us recognize the significance of our social interactions with Mexican friends.

Last night we went to a party given by a Canadian couple to say 'thank-you" to all their Mexican friends. We felt honored to be included. Our hostess's brief, emotionally rich expression of gratitude to all those Patzcuarenses who have welcomed them into the community was especially touching. Of course, it is the couple's cultural openness that has opened Pátzcuaro's doors.

In the course of the evening, I spoke with Letty, a middle-aged Mexican woman who lives in the nearby neighborhood of Estación. In the course of our chat, Letty mentioned she always reminds her daughter to greet all the neighbors on their street with a pleasant "Good morning" or "Good afternoon." She added, "it is important that we are always amable (friendly)." Then she delivered the cultural punch line, "Because if you are sick and need medicine from the pharmacy, your neighbor will get it for you. Don't have money? No de importa -- it doesn't matter, they'll buy it for you." Ka-ching!

One of the cultural traditions of indigenous communities is the idea of mutual obligation (each helps the other). It is the ties of mutual obligation that provide labor for many special tasks (building a house, repairing a car, providing a meal, even loaning money, etc.). These ties fall under the broader rubric of self-sufficiency. This family-based self-sufficiency takes up the slack by performing roles that we in the US often assign to government.

When the US economic crisis hit, our Mexican friends were blasé about the crisis. "Oh, we're used to it; we know how to cope," they'd remark. It was a cultural puzzle that has taken us just about three years to put together. Recently, Reed and I have become aware of the bonds of mutual obligation that exist within the Mexican family, but we weren't sure about how that cultural practice did or did not exist outside the extended family structure. Letty's comment provided the missing link.

The Canadian couple who were our hosts had also experienced the 'neighborliness' that is grounded in this sense of mutual responsibility. When our hosts needed a delivery of bottled water, their neighbor -- who runs a small juice shop from her house -- said she'd take the delivery and they could pick up the water when they returned. Now keep in mind that our hosts are recent arrivals -- they will only be in Pátzcuaro for three months!

On our recent trip to Tabasco state, we had another encounter whose roots reach down into the same cultural soil. After visiting an archaeological site all morning, we returned to the bustling city of Villahermosa tired and hungry. Our driver suggested a good restaurant, but when we walked in the restaurant was filled with about 150 women of all ages. The waiter told us that an 'association' was having a meeting, but they'd be happy to set up a table for us, which they did.

As we waited for and then enjoyed comida, we observed the festivities with growing bafflement and fascination. I noticed at least four or five of quite-pregnant women, then I noticed another four or five women with infants. When we finished our meal, we asked the waiter the name of the association. He leaned forward and spoke slowly, enunciating clearly so we foreigners would understand his Spanish, "Se llama baby shower" (it's called 'baby shower'). The waiter then explained the concept of 'baby shower' to us, clearly believing that we had no idea about it. He concluded by adding that women honor brides in the same way.

We could scarcely control ourselves. Here was a cultural stew that drew on multiple cultural traditions. First, of course, was the use of the English phrase 'baby shower' to describe this very Mexican event; most astonishing was the waiter's apparent lack of awareness that the term is English and hence we - obviously US-ians - would understand it. From his point of view, it was purely a Mexican tradition -- that was abundantly clear from his careful explanation, which also drew explicitly on the traditional Mexican concepts of mutual responsibility and mutual obligation.

In a nutshell, then, in two quite distinct geographical regions of Mexico, Reed and I enjoyed two distinct experiences of the indigenous cultural tradition of mutual obligation / mutual responsibility alive and actively present in contemporary mestizo (Spanish / indigenous mix)-- that is, non-indigenous--community.

But we also experienced the porosity of the cultural traditions between Mexico and the United States, especially in the West, Southwest and California. The 'baby shower' was the most obvious, but there is another. As a youngster growing up in Palo Alto, California, it was unthinkable to pass anyone on the sidewalk downtown without exchanging pleasantries: 'Good morning' or even just a simple smile and 'Hello'. It is obvious to me that the roots of this custom, which I assume is long-gone today, rest in the original Mexican culture that was California until the mid-nineteenth century.

Fiesta to Celebrate First Year in Patzcuaro!

Yesterday, Saturday, August 15, 2009, marked our one-year anniversary of living here in Pátzcuaro. We celebrated with a fiesta familiar (family party) for about 40 of our Mexican friends to thank them for welcoming us into their community. We even had a DJ and music for dancing!

A family party means multiple generations. The oldest was 80 -- the great-grandmother of our friends Sandy and Alejandro's son, Leonardo. Norma (Leo's grandmother) is my age; she has a wonderful sense of humor -- we truly enjoy chatting together! The youngest was 16-months. To my great delight, the boys (about 6-8 of them) kicked a ball around in the backyard. It reminded me of our last house on Lake Waubeeka in Danbury, CT.

Samantha, the administrator at our language school, did the cooking, which was 100% traditional Mexican -- guacamole and frizole (bean) dips for totopos (tortilla chips), pozole (chicken-corn soup), corundas, tamales, we had it all! Plus atole (a hot, corn-based drink with milk and cinnamon -- yummy). Believe it or not, I introduced everyone in Spanish by telling our "recuerdos" (memories) of the role they played in welcoming us to Pátzcuaro -- to much good-natured laughter and applause as everyone learned of everyone else's role.

What a lovely group of people -- many really didn't know each other, but by the end of the evening, they were all interacting and everyone enjoyed themselves -- especially Reed and me!

The DJ was terrific. He played traditional Mexican songs and, at our request, kept the volume down so we could converse. Everyone -- young and old -- danced and thoroughly enjoyed themselves, that was clear! Reed, of course, charmed everyone with his dancing, and he made it a point to dance with every woman! Our friend Antonio has four daughters (23-12), and it was delightful to watch him dance with them.

One traditional dance seems to go on forever -- hands up in the air, dancing "sexy" (in English, with Spanish pronunciation!), and other moves I don't remember; finally, we all made a circle and each person takes a turn in the center of the circle, demonstrating their best moves to much high hilarity. It was a kick -- an absolute kick!

Outsiders At Home in Mexico

Periodically over the past year, Reed and I have asked ourselves, "Would we ever return to the U.S.?" Our answer has always been an emphatic: "No way!" But understanding why has somehow eluded us. This morning Reed put his finger on it: here in Patzcuaro, we are accepted for who we are, rather than for what we possess -- neither for our "stuff" nor for our professional accomplishments.

Take the lovely visit we had last weekend with new Mexican friends. They're a husband-wife team: El doctor is an orthodontist. La doctora is my talented and much-appreciated periodontist, but that isn’t how I met her. I met her first because in her waiting room she runs Patzcuaro's only bookstore! I have to ask: Where else but in Mexico would your periodontist open a bookstore in her waiting room—and, moreover, it is the only bookstore in town?

The family doesn’t speak English; they are among our growing cadre of Spanish-only friends. I had to laugh one day when mi amiga pulled off her mask to say, “You’re fun to talk to.” We decided then that we could be friends.

So last Saturday we met them at their house here in town and rode with them to the rancho, which is about an hour out in the countryside. Oh, my word, I've never seen anything quite like it. The rancho is owned by el doctor's sister and her husband, who grow avocados for export to the U.S. and leechee fruit for export to China! It was our first taste of leechee: they’re about the size of a small apricot with a seed inside, the skin is pinkish, the pulp is strangely gelatinous with a sweet-tart taste. There must be some kind of divine justice for Mexico to be exporting leechee to China -- rather like carrying coals to Newcastle!

We had our picnic in a fiesta pavilion easily large enough to seat 50, with room for dancing! Mi amiga had prepared a soy ceviche that was absolutely delicious. The soy had a texture like fork-flaked fish. I had trouble realizing it was soy!!! I simply must learn how to cook soy!

Down from the pavilion was a kidney-shaped pool: water for the pool is heated by pipes that run across the roof of the pavilion to capture solar energy before being piped into the pool. Around the pool were banana and palm trees. It was like being in the jungle! At the base of the palm tree was a thriving lantana. The aunt took me for a short walk to the other side of the pool, and we looked upstream along a little river that flows by the pool. To my surprise -- voila! There was a lovely waterfall cascading down over three levels. It could have been a movie set right out of a 1950’s movie – perhaps a musical with Esther Williams!

We didn't go up to the Casa Grande, but from the driveway it was obvious that it is indeed a casa grande, complete with mirador—a unique feature of Mexican architecture. Translated as “small balcony” or “viewpoint,” a mirador is a small room (say, 15’ x 15’) at the top of the house with windows all the way around. So a mirador is a room for looking out over the countryside. I’ve never actually been in one, but mi amiga said they have one in their town house, and she’d like us to see it.

We watched the rain clouds tease us all afternoon: will it / won't it rain? Finally, at about 5:30 pm the skies opened for a torrential downpour. It was a kick running around cleaning up the food and putting chairs on the tables to the accompaniment of Tlaloc's (Aztec God of Rain) gift of rain pounding on the roof. Looking out at the rain, it was as if a curtain had dropped between us and the outside world. And, of course, the tormenta (rainstorm) was mostly over after about 15-20 minutes.

This morning Reed and I were reflecting on what a delightful time we'd had. Our Mexican friends guilelessly ask us very direct questions that always carry an implicit request: “Please tell me who you are.” So mi amiga asked, “Jenny, was your childhood happy?” and el amigo asked Reed, “Is Jenny your first wife? I just wondered because we know that many Americans divorce.”

In the United States both Reed and I have felt like outsiders; we felt we had little in common with most of the people we met. How ironic: here where we are truly foreigners, we feel accepted; but in our own country we have always felt like outsiders!

Reed and I have a young friend, Ina, who studied recently at our language school. She is a delightfully intelligent, culturally curious young woman who has shared her Blog with us. Ina has studied in Bangladesh and traveled to (among other places) India, New Zealand and Mexico. I would like to give the last word on this Post to a Reflexión written by the Program Coordinator for Ina’s stay in Mexico:

“For thousands of years, peoples of this area of the world have been hospitable towards the ‘other’ as a way of being in this world. All their original cosmologies conceive the ‘other’ as the only way to define oneself: the other is not really an alien, a foreigner, but the other part of oneself.

"But for 500 years these peoples have been constantly invaded by inhospitable people. By extending hospitality to the Spaniards, the people were colonized. By hosting other gods, their own gods were destroyed. By hosting ‘development,’ their environment and livelihood were seriously damaged.

"It seems to be a miracle that after all such experiences they could still retain hospitality as a defining trait. They have done so because they know that it is not only a condition for survival, but also the only way to live.” [Emphasis mine] --Gustavo Esteva

My hope echoes Ina's: ...that the peoples of the world may learn that hospitality might be a crucial part of bringing healing to our wounded world.