First Impressions

Driving in from the airport last night, we were most struck by the similarities. The vast stretches of two story garages, warehouses, and apartments along a four lane avenue could have been a suburb of DC. As I asked Jasper, who was staring glassy eyed out the cab window, if he thought Mexico seemed different, he replied sleepily, “No. It’s the same.” I followed his gaze to the Subway sandwich shop and 7-11 at the gas station. The only discernable difference was that the flashing neon sign said, “Abierto 24 Horas.” Otherwise, just like home.

But the actual home we arrived to could not be more different.

We are staying in a renovated colonial row house with cool mosaic tiles and bright colors throughout the spacious rooms. The high vaulted ceilings are riddled with ceiling fans that turn tirelessly in a futile effort to move the thick air. The bedrooms open onto a courtyard with a small swimming pool and garden. When we arrived at 10:30 last night the kids tore off their clothes and jumped in. By noon today, they had been swimming four more times. Josie can cross the pool in four strokes (it takes an adult less than one), but already they have spent hours perfecting the back stroke and crawl. The existence of this pool inspired both of them to declare, “Mexico is awesome!” before even leaving the house.

We did leave the house today. Twice. First, on a mission to collect fruits and vegetables from the open air market three blocks away. I ordered huevos rancheros at a sidewalk cafeteria and watched the kids play at a playground while I ate and sipped my café. Even then, at 9 am, the heat was oppressive, so we retreated back to the house for another swim and the requisite “Spanish lesson.” We struck out again before noon, this time to a grocery store for eggs, cheese and other staples. An errand that was at best tolerated by my wilted companions. As I write this they are both sleeping naked in front of fans, and I am cataloguing all of the things we can do indoors between the hours of 10 and 4 each day to keep from going mad. I fear we will be confined to shadows and airconditioning.

Josie has asked several times, “Is there grass in Mexico?” I haven’t known what to tell her. She has also said more than once, “Tomorrow when we start meeting kids, can we invite them over for a pool party?” I do not know if they are going to be meeting kids, at least not how she is imagining. It has been a relief to see her and Jasper act as playmates again, accepting one another as companions instead of enemies. But I am not sure how long the truce will last. If we don’t find other kids to play with soon, at least as far as Josie is concerned, I will never hear the end of it.

Jasper is more curious about Spanish. Repeating words as I say them, asking what things mean, reading signs. In his quiet way he continues to observe, take it in, record. He is impressionable and I know he will remember this summer. As we walked through the streets on our brief excursions, I tried to point out beautiful differences: the rows of shiny used motors at the appliance repair shop, the ice cream peddler with his rainbow colored liquids and candy bags teetering on his cart, the strange sounds of the mysterious birds in the park. Perhaps they would notice these things, swimming beneath the heat and exhaust fumes, without my narration. But maybe they wouldn’t. And somehow it seems important that they do. In the end I want Mexico to be much more than a swimming pool.