Wednesday, January 4, 2006

We came home late this afternoon and were faced with Other Travelers. For the most part, we haven’t met very many foreigners and we’ve been getting along fine, just the two of us. We have never yet run out of things to talk about. Though we do want to meet people. But sometimes you meet people because you want to, and sometimes you meet them because you have to and then you can’t really be antisocial, it looks bad.

They were out on our cute little non-private patio, and when we went into our room and closed the curtains, they must have decided it was a hint, and took their party to the roof (which we agreed later was very considerate of them). Except we didn’t know they were on the roof, or we wouldn't have gone up there so Michael could get some photos of the lake at dusk. And when we discovered them lounging there in their flowy hippy clothes with their 40oz Victorias and their techno-blaring iPod speakers we could hardly change our minds and go back down.

They were from Quebec and Montreal… or something like that… most of them seemed to have moved around a lot and I think a couple of them were originally from France, or maybe it was just the one. They were a complicated little group.

The first thing the one girl asked (I think she was from Quebec?) was if it was hard for us to tell people we were from the US. Michael asked her why it would be hard. She talked about how, just because some other people might have problems and because other people might say this or that and criticise such and such. "If someone doesn't want to judge us as individuals," Michael said, "then we're not worried about them." This was followed by some kind of "of course, of course, but..." nonsense.

I hated the conversation. Before beginning this trip, I did wonder what sort of response we'd get as Americans in light of world views on Iraq, etc, but thus far this girl's innocent little question has ironically been the first problem we've encountered. I didn’t vote for Bush but I don’t feel like I should have to announce that fact before I’m accepted as a suitable conversation partner. And I may not like a lot of our foreign policy, but I’m not ashamed of my country and I don’t want to pretend I am just to gain the approval of a bunch of random strangers on a rooftop when all I want to do is enjoy the view.

Let us keep in mind that we had not at that point exchanged names.

They had lots to say about the US. One of the guys had taken the bus from Montreal to El Paso, Texas on his way down to Guatemala. In one go. That is, non-stop. From Montreal to El Paso. Surprisingly, he did not enjoy the trip. “In the US, people didn’t give a shit about me,” he said waving his cigarrette at us for emphasis, “but in Mexico everyone was so nice, coming up to me and asking if I needed anything.”

I can't say much about that. I only know that this guy only lacked recent prison status to embody all the stereotypes that keep many Americans off Greyhound: he smelled bad, his clothes were dirty and torn, he chain-smoked, and he had free-form dreads. (White people can go ahead and co-opt all the dreads they want, but don't get all wounded and surprised when people treat you differently because of them.) I love Greyhound, but I would not have wanted to sit next to him myself, no matter how great of a personality might have been lurking beneath the odor.

Oh, and those friendly people who come up to you as you’re getting off the bus in Mexico are called touts. And while it’s true that they are Mexican, and probably very nice people when they are at home, they don’t care if you’re covered in feces and wielding an axe if you’ll shell out some pesos to take a tour. Nor do they care if you are the nicest person ever. It’s their job to be friendly. If they are not friendly to smelly backpackers their children will go hungry.

They said we’re all the same, we international people, travelers, when they were forgiving us for coming from the land of Bush. But we’re not. I don't know why they would think that. I don't know... maybe I am overreacting to the whole thing. I wouldn't have minded the conversation so much - it's worth discussing - if they had just given me a minute to relax first. Michael wasn't bothered at all, and in fact wants to go buy some beer and go back up there.

Ah, my first rant. I almost didn't post it, but Michael said I should.

 

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Jesus is very popular in San Pedro.

"Christ is coming" "Jesus the only hope for you" - Some of the many inspirational messages painted around town.

Firewood.

View down the main road to the lake.

A tight fit for this chicken bus.