Driving, etc.

Driving in Mexico is proving to be interesting. Andrew says that they don’t have so much “Traffic Laws” but rather “Traffic Suggestions.”

For example, “Yield” means almost nothing at all. If it means anything, it is more like “Accelerate rapidly into fast moving traffic”. “Alto” or Stop means that other cars are probably coming and one should accelerate or decelerate as required to fit into the flow. A red light works about the same way. “Alto Completo” or Stop Completely means Yield. Speed limit signs are easy. Just double them.

“No Estacionamiento” or No Parking does mean No Parking and the police will take your license plates. When one returns to one’s car and finds it without plates, one must find the requisite Transito office in that particular city to pay the fine after which the plates are returned (if they can find them).

Backing down the street can circumvent the complexity of a one-way street when there is no oncoming traffic.

If you see a sign depicting a picture of a bull, there will be a bull in the road at some point, guaranteed. Even if you don’t see a sign, there is a good chance there will be a bull or a goat, donkey, chicken, dog, horse or even a person. And this is on the freeways.

Slow moving trucks are a challenge. Most of the roads are only two lanes so one has to pull out into the lane of oncoming traffic in order to pass. Truckers are very helpful and will turn on their left turn signal as a sign that it is safe to pass. (However, on rare occasions they are actually turning left so one has to be very cautious.)

On multi-lane roads, the little white dotted lines that divide the lanes mean nothing. The entire road belongs to everyone and everyone should use as much of it as possible. Some times they don’t even bother with lines and one just needs to determine whether one fits or not.

I believe that “Topes” or speed bumps were invented in Mexico and they are very proud of them. They appear at random and are marked about 50% of the time. If one doesn’t wish to become airborne, it is good to have a Tope spotter in the passenger seat.

Pick-up trucks with open beds should include an entire family in the open bed. A horse is also a viable alternative.

Motorcycles should be ridden without a helmet. It is also preferable to balance a small child on the handlebars.


Cynthia invited me to accompany her on a trip to Queretero. She was shopping for supplies for her hotel and this was before I had a car so I jumped at the chance.

Our first stop was Home Depot where I purchased a toilet seat at a very reasonable price. Second stop was Costco where I bought a couple of small items and Cynthia filled two carts. Back out at her car she opened the back of her PT Cruiser, folded down the back seats and proceeded to demonstrate her expert packing skills. While doing so she turned to me, “I put the toilet seat on the roof,” she said. I acknowledged her comment and went around to the passenger side to put my small stash under the front seat. I heard the back door slam and we both climbed in. Off we went to another store where we purchased hard to find food items.

As we were leaving town, a thought occurred to me. “Did you put the toilet seat back in the car?”

“You’re kidding, right?” was her response. I just gave here a blank stare.

We pulled over and poked around inside the car to see if one of us had unconsciously put it inside. On the top of the pile was a 50-pound bag of dog food that Cynthia had picked up for one of her employees. It proved difficult to maneuver around the bag and we felt reasonably certain that a toilet seat was not to be found. So we drove back to the Costco parking lot to see if there was a toilet seat lurking anywhere. Spotting nothing Cynthia pulled into a space near the entrance. Two men where sitting in the shade of a tree, talking. Cynthia got out to go inside to see if anyone had turned it in.

I decided to take one more look so I got out and opened the rear passenger door. As I was moving the bag of dog food it caught on the edge of a box and began to tear. Dog food started to spill out. The more I tried to move the bag to stop the flow, the more it tore. Dog food began spilling out into the parking lot. The two men stopped talking and just watched as I wrestled with the bag, attempting to turn it over as a cascade of the stuff rolled down my front and spilled out onto the ground. I managed to flip the bag over by which time it was split completely in half on one side. I shoveled as much back in as I could.

Cynthia returned empty handed and we went back to Home Depot and bought another toilet seat.

Suffice to say that we had to keep the windows open the entire ride back to San Miguel as the smell of dog food was overpowering. Cynthia found little nuggets of the stuff in her car for weeks to come. And every time we return to Costco, we keep an eye open for that toilet seat.


On Thursday I attended a potluck a few doors down from my house. It was hosted by Beverly, a psychologist and one of the founders of “Life Path”. (Life Path is sort of a self-help organization here and the party was for current and former graduates. I am neither but I know several people who have been through the program as well as the four people who run the retreats.)

It was an interesting event, attended by about 30 people. A Mexican boy met everyone at the door and took our dishes into the kitchen. The food was excellent and conversation was typical of gringo social events. “How long have you lived in San Miguel? What brought you here?” Etc.

After everyone had consumed food and drink there was a call to attention as Joseph, Michael and Beverly stood in a line at one end of the living room. Beverly asked everyone to introduce himself or herself and to say a few words about their Life Path experience. As everyone spoke I noticed that the training must include some kind of numerology as nearly everyone started with, “Hi, my name is such and such and I’m a 5 . . .” or “I’m a 1” or “7” or whatever. I didn’t have a clue what any of these numbers were supposed to mean and I appeared to be alone in my ignorance.

They’d gotten through nearly all the group when Beverly spotted me sitting on the floor behind a chair. “I see you back there Charles. Can we have a few words from you?”

So I stood. “Hi, my name is Charles and I’ve lived in San Miguel on and off for about two years now. I find the place very special and am making it my primary residence. I was a banker for 22 years and moved here to escape corporate America and reinvent myself. I’ve not attended Life Path but somehow seem to be drawn to people who have been through the program and am friends with a number of them. And,” I hesitated a moment, “I’m not sure what all this number stuff is about but the last time I measured I was about a six and a half.”

There was a brief silence and then the crowd exploded with laughter. One woman held her fingers out to about three inches and said, “I’m from Texas and men there tell us that this is six inches!” More laughter. I was called “Mr. Six and a Half” the rest of the evening and something tells me that someone will shout the name out to me in the Jardin one day.