There’s something disparaging about these times and days. We all have so much in front in us, literally. There are people who go through a good portion of the day with a screen in front of their faces. Some read. Some play games. Most are texting, because talking is quickly becoming a lost art in itself. But my point here is not that. There seems to be this way of people escaping through the images they hold in front of their faces. I admit, especially given the events that have unfolded in recent days and months passed, that the world could seem like a scary place. There is a comfort in safety with being surrounded by things you are familiar with, using whatever device may be holding your attention to “see” or “do” certain things in this life. There’s nothing to learn from this because of the very fact that it is safe. The senses don’t get their exercise, and the eyes strain in a way they weren’t meant to. I, for one, am convinced that future generations will have severe neck problems, and the stocks of opticians across the world will soar due to these phenomenons.
I have these thoughts because there is a great deal missing from a world of people who don’t get out of their comfort zones and travel a bit; and by travel I don’t mean taking that five day package to a club med hotel somewhere in Cancun or Miami. I have seen and lived in a chunk of Mexico, flirted with the area of the Yucatan near Cancun and please trust me when I tell you that it is not Mexico there; it is America. Yes, that America. They use American money, they speak American English. Not that I have anything against America, its my home and there are days I miss the hell out of it, but honestly, if I were dropping money to go to Mexico I would want to feel Mexico as well. From Mexico City down and around to Merida there is so much to see and learn, with the shame of this time being those who try to pass opinions about certain places when all they have done is read about it online. I must apologize for the mini-rant but for some reason as I walked around this cold London morning I began to think about the Oaxaca Coast of Mexico, how I ever ended up there and, in turn, how I ever ended up in London. There are things I know about that part of the country that you possibly will never know because you decided to take that club med vacation. There is a little town called Puerto Escondido that has surfing competitions, and a strangely large population of dogs that like to protect the streets at night. There’s an even smaller town called Mazunte, that both made me feel at home and uneasily isolated in the same moment. A brutal scorched oil port, called Salina Cruz, that is either the waiting room of hell or a desert hallucination. Not to mention the best mezcal and cheese in all of Mexico right in the great Oaxaca City, which isn’t on the coast, but now my memory is all over the place. These are things you cannot get from being safe. Being safe is boring and to grow as people things have to be experienced.
Ah, yes, Oaxaca, how did I get there and how did I get out?