At my work, I talk to a variety of people about traveling abroad. Most are somewhat leery of Mexico. They hear stories about drug cartels or gang violence and shudder away from our southerly neighbor.
What I wish I could tell these doubters is that people make things pretty in Mexico. Alongside the litter and portable toilets are bright murals and bougainvillea. Taxi radios pump out cheerful reggae, while babies and men alike sport golden earrings and bracelets. Concrete houses are painted Pepto-Bismo pink and the Virgin Mary gleams on a dirty wall. Even death is gussied up in sharp mariachi suits and springy dresses. Things are colorful and happy despite the guys smoking pot on our doorstep or the Kevlar-clad policemen bearing AKs. I want to tell them that Mexico may not be tidy, but life there can be bright.
What I wish I could tell these doubters is that people make things pretty in Mexico. Alongside the litter and portable toilets are bright murals and bougainvillea. Taxi radios pump out cheerful reggae, while babies and men alike sport golden earrings and bracelets. Concrete houses are painted Pepto-Bismo pink and the Virgin Mary gleams on a dirty wall. Even death is gussied up in sharp mariachi suits and springy dresses. Things are colorful and happy despite the guys smoking pot on our doorstep or the Kevlar-clad policemen bearing AKs. I want to tell them that Mexico may not be tidy, but life there can be bright.
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