To Get to the Other Side

People have responded differently to my move to Mexico City. Some, like my mother, act as though I just moved around the corner. Others, like my grandmother, react as if I've relocated to the Darth Star without the power of the force. My beloved Granny is constantly reading me news articles over the phone of cartel members hanging each other from freeway overpasses, or of hotel lobbies being blown to smithereens. Never mind that I am not in a cartel, nor living in a hotel. Or that the events took place over a thousand miles away. In order to to calm her, once I arrived in Mexico, I explained that Mexico City is very safe (more or less), and with a chuckle commented, "Oh Granny, the only thing that could possibly harm me is crossing the street." The chuckle was successful in pacifying her, however, if she only knew what crossing the street actually entailed, my explaination would have had the opposite effect.
     I don’t believe that Mexicans understand how confusing it is for a foreigner to navigate through their streets on foot. I come from a land of pedestrian crossing, streetlights (that everyone obeys), and laws that allow people to cross the street only in designated areas. All this for a country where people hardly walk anyway. (Why would you if you had a car?) Therefore, my first day in Mexico City I spent almost the entire day waiting at a street corner, one step forward, then back again, forward, back, an awkward sidewalk ballet, looking for the safest opportunity to run as fast as possible to the other side.

My roommate on a pedestrian bridge...with high security railing
It's been almost a year now, and my street-crossing techniques have improved. Slightly. Of course, it’s always a score if I'm waiting with other Mexicans, then all I have to do is pretend that I am with them, walk very close, and hope that they are in between the oncoming cars and myself. They never seem to notice the white girl that is transiting with them anyway, as they are all sending text messages or updating Facebook statuses via their cell phones. Only God knows how they can to that while crossing four lanes of trafick over a freeway overpass. They don't even need a red light. However, for me, the strategy comes into play when I arrive at a crossing point alone. I've tried various tactics. The first and most obvious being waiting for the walk symbol to appear. However, despite that fact that the flashing, all white human so resembles me in skin tone, this is always the worst option. Cars come screeching around corners, make illegal right and left hand turns, or an overcrowded bus toots happily across the intersection, seeming pleasantly surprised that all the cross traffic has conveniently stopped. And of course, if you are any kind of two wheel transportation device, lights, signs, and symbols have no applicable meaning for you.

My roommate crossing a pedestrian bridge....with high security railing

     I've also tried using the pedestrian crossing bridges that are built over freeways for people to cross on. But seven stories later, sweating, panting, and crawling on all fours, I finally arrive at the top to find a huge uncrossable hole, or the entrance blocked off with yellow "CUIDADO" tape.
     So now I’m convinced my best bet is to close my eyes and take off sprinting, praying that everything turns out alright. I’ve become quite famous in my neighborhood for this method. It’s not uncommon to find a group of my neighbors entertaining themselves at rush hour by leaning out their windows or congregating on the corner where the bus drops me off. Once I swear they were even making bets, because half of them looked disappointed when I made it to the other side alive.
     But despite all it's frustrations and hair raising effects, I’ve come to realize that the reason it is so hard to cross the street in Mexico is also the reason why I’ve fallen madly in love with the crazy place: because so much of life here is lived in the streets. In comparison with my country, the Mexican get their tax dollars worth of their sidewalks. I love coming across families eating their dinner, children playing soccer, mariachis practicing their music, and people selling anything you could possibly need all on the sidewalk in front of my apartment. Obviously, it took some getting used to, as well as a lot of learning. I learned anger control when the boys painting cars on the sidewalk accidentally painted me as well. I learned how to endure suffering when the faithful set off fireworks to the saints on the sidewalk at 5 am. I learned how to pray quickly while running through traffic. And I learned patience as I wait for the vendor selling bananas and cream to move away from my doorstep. And I continue learning and training, it's all part of the emotional, as well as physical adaptions that are involved in transitioning into a new place that is different from our origin. But thankfully up until now, I still haven’t crashed.

Kid enjoying the breeze via the sunroof.