Scared for the 1st Time

I've only been in Mexico for 4 weeks, but I take public transportation every single day in DF and I've already been able to travel outside of the city twice. I have never felt unsafe. Until Sunday.
 I simply haven't felt like anybody was interested in stealing my iPhone or my cash or that anyone thought I would be worth particularly more in ransom money than any other person on the street.Still, yesterday when Sarah and I got into the taxi to take us home after our trip to Puebla, I realized that I couldn't just pretend like everything I've ever heard about danger here is a lie. The #1 tip EVERYONE says is key to remaining safe in Mexico City is taking safe taxis. They're referred to as sitio taxis or taxis seguros.


In  2008, Mexico City's government re-licensed all taxi cabs in the capital as part of a safety and quality campaign after the the number of "pirate taxis" taking people on "express kidnappings" skyrocketed at an alarming rate. Everything I've ever read about safety in Mexico City lists taxis as a huge precaution to take and lists the following as good advice:

• Dress and Act Sensibly
• The city government began issuing new plates that each have a chip in them for tracking the taxi. The number on the plate begins with a large letter ‘A’ followed by 5 numbers. All legitimate taxis, whether taken from the street, a taxi stand or a radio dispatcher, should have these plates. Also look for the 
carta de identificación (also called the tarjetón), a postcard-sized ID which should be displayed visibly inside the cab, and ensure that the driver matches the photo. If the cab you’ve hailed does not pass these tests, get another.



The typical taxi in DF. Sometimes sitio  taxis are completely unmarked cars that only responds to house calls. 

 As you can imagine, sitio taxis costs two or three times as much, but the extra cost adds an immeasurable degree of security. For that reason, I've yet to hail a cab off the streets.

On Sunday, our biggest mistake was probably yapping loudly in English as we made our way to the taxi and completely disobeying the "act sensibly" rule. We were exhausted and yapping loudly in Spanish seemed a bit out of the question. It's no excuse but it's an explanation.

 We should've known this guy was sketch when he kept looking at us as we walked to the taxi but sometimes men in this city act like they've never seen a woman before so it wasn't TOO out of the ordinary.  When Sarah asked why this man carrying our luggage wasn't taking us to the sitio for taxis and he mumbled something about it being the "terminal", we also should've known. The final clue that we decided to ignore was that even though he initially seemed to be the "bag boy" that usually helps you to the cab before your driver takes off, he turned out to be the driver after looking around suspiciously and hopping into the driver's seat.

Once we were in the car, Sarah asked the question that is always up for discussion in these situations:

¿Cuanto nos cobra?

How much are you charging us?

 He whipped out this laminated price card (something I've not seen before here) and said that we were heading towards Zone 3 for $260 pesos. 260 PESOS?! Absolutely ridiculous. I have been in quite a few taxis here (which are SIGNIFICANTLY cheaper than the States) and I've yet to pay more than $80 pesos to get home from any point in the city.  I don't know if it was because we were tired or if we were just sick of getting ripped off by people who think we're stupid Americans that won't fight back, but we both cruised right on in to sass mode. MAJOR sass mode. We were like 1.5 steps from snapping our fingers and doing the "oh no you didnt" neck roll. We stopped when Sarah finally said,

 "LISTEN, we don't even HAVE the money to pay you that much".

The man stopped the car and sped back towards the bus terminal. He took a wrong turn, then put the car into reverse and zoomed backwards for a few too many seconds for comfort.

I turned to Sarah and said, "We probably shouldn't do that ever again". We both nodded silently and then when the car finally stopped, we kind of apologized and ran off like 2 little girls who had just been schooled on the dangers of real life. What were we thinking talking to some random guy who knew we were Americans and was driving our car with such attitude? What if he was carrying a weapon or if we hadn't stopped sassing him when we did? Scary times. 

We went back to the sitio, grabbed a taxi that was still overpriced (apparently these taxi drivers implemented night fees over the weekend) and got home safely.

The next day, I dropped my MetroBus card walking to work. It had $200 pesos on it (a good month's worth of trips to work) and some nice man chased me down to give it back.

It restored my trust in people here.

Life Map: Antonio

Although the responsible thing to do after the Fulbright orientation would have been to search for an apartment, I decided to do what I would've never normally done and instead took a trip to Oaxaca with 2 fellow grantees (BBers we've dubbed ourselves. Get it? Binational Business-ers? yeah..). 

It was amazing. My original plan was to write about the INCREDIBLE food and sites so as to fulfill some of the "become a foodie" and "take more artistic pictures" goals but I thought I'd add another goal to the list and start developing that one instead.

New Goal: Talk to random Mexican people and get them to give me as much of their life map as possible in the short time I have with them. 

We met Antonio for the first time at the Zapotec ruins at Monte Alban, Oaxaca. He tried selling us some handmade turquoise masks as dozens of other salesmen had done in our time there but this man in particular stood out to me because:

1)  He kind of looked like Grandma Willow from Pocahantas...just with a  cowboy hat on
and 2)  his wizened face and wrinkled hands really seemed to have lived through things my privileged 22-year old self could not possibly understand.

He was also particularly memorable because he was just so much older than the average street salesman that you turn down. It made me think how unfair it was that people his age in the States were likely retired and sitting on a porch or traveling the world while he had to walk around every day asking tourists to look at the masterpieces he had spend hours making; tourists that like me, probably have no real understanding of the cultural significance of this place, his work, or the implications it has on daily life in Oaxaca and Mexico overall. 

Still, I feel really lucky that he trusted us enough to share some of his Life Map with us as he headed to the  market to buy rice, beans and milk for his grandchildren. I want to make sure I don't forget any of it soo...Here we go:

This is Antonio. Sorry it's so dark! When he said I could take his picture I just turned it on and snapped

Antonio is a talented artisan that takes a bus to Monte Alban every day to sell the masks that he makes in his small town nearby; a town that is inhabited by numerous skilled artisans that make their living primarily from farming and selling goods to the tourists. They even have a "trade association" that Antonio says regulates the farming practices of the locals so that the smell doesnt "scare" the tourists and that ensures the salesemen don't annoy visitors.

In 1956, Antonio moved to California for 3 years to work as a brazero under The Mexican Farm Labor Program  that began under Franklin Roosevelt but lasted 22 years. While in California, he picked grapes and tomatoes although he'd later joke that he's picked every crop there is. Antonio reminisced about the time with his fellow brazeros, many of whom, he said, escaped from the camps and lived out the rest of their years in America with their families.

Despite the temptation to stay, Antonio returned to Oaxaca for a couple of years before trying his luck in America one more time. This time, he did it illegally. He told us the gut-wrenching story of the 9-day treck across the border that saw him and numerous other stuffed in various parts of a van. He said they had nothing to eat for 3 days straight during that trip and that when people started feeling sick or started having regrets, they'd be left on the side of the road. On the 4th day, the coyotes fed them fried chicken and Antonio said they were finally able to sleep.

Antonio arrived in Arizona and worked picking limes and oranges. He laughed as he told me that he didn't like being an illegal immigrant so he paid a coyote to bring him back to Mexico. He says he'd never do it now and sadly shook his head as he recalled how many times in the recent years he's known locals that died on the trip, leaving their bodies to blow away with the desert sand and their families to live off of memories alone.

Antonio is a father of 5 and lives with his wife, some of his grandkids and 2 of his children. His other 3 live in California.

One of his sons moved with his wife to cook for a man who was desperately looking for an authentic Oaxacan cook. They still work at the restaurant but that was all Antonio mentioned of them. His other son worked out on a field in CA but got a hernia. He couldn't afford to get it taken care of in the States, and his employers weren't offering any help so he moved back to Mexico to get the medical attention he needed.

He told us about his 3rd son in California with a weird mix of sadness and pride. The pride came from the fact that this son, works 2 jobs and lives alone in the U.S while his wife and kids stay with Antonio. At night, he works as a janitor at several office buildings and during the day works as an insurance salesman. Antonio says there were 150 applicants for that 1 sales position and that his son waited in line all day, but beat out everyone for the job. The sadness of this son's story was because Antonio saw how much his grandchildren missed their dad on a daily basis. Antonio told us that his daughter-in-law used to tell the kids that their dad would come back one day on one of those planes that pass closely over their town. When their 9-year old started asking if daddy was on every plane that flew above, they stopped telling them that.

To kind of lighten the mood, he randomly offered that he thought we were silly Americans for going to the Mercado de Abastos where even he doesn't like going because of the crime. Still, he was impressed that we went and were perfectly fine.

A few minutes passed and then, as if he thought he needed to end his Life Map with some food for thought, he sighed,

" Si, la vida aqui es dificil pero yo ya me acostumbre. Me acostumbre hace tiempo"
Yes, life here is hard but I've already gotten used to it. I got used to it a long time ago.

We shook hands and got off at the same stop. He headed to the market and we headed to our first comida corrida in Mexico.

A Day in the Life of Mexico City