No tourists
People mean well. I know they do. Before we left for our two week vacation to visit family in Mexico this was the phrase we heard. Over and over. We were also told to watch our kids and not to get kidnapped.
The media has definitely done their job.
I don't live in a fantasy world. It had been five years since we traveled to Mexico, and as with any trip, we prepare mentally and physically. For weeks before we made the actual decision to purchase tickets, George took his time to think. I would see him outside, very still, or even sitting in the living room with the TV off. "What's wrong?" I would gently ask. He didn't have to answer because I already knew. We live here in the USA. We watch the media coverage. He was wrestling back and forth, because of what we've seen on TV, as to whether we should go or not.
To his own country.
I took action and decided to talk to a few people. I have a friend that lives in Guadalajara, Mexico. I messaged her to ask what the feeling was in her neighborhood, her state. I contacted another friend that makes repeated trips to the Oaxaca area in southern Mexico. Each response reiterated the same thing. The situation is calm here. The drug cartels are everywhere, but they keep to what their business is. Regular people doing their own thing day to day are not on their radar. My Mexican amiga told me not to worry at all. The U.S. media is showing every bad thing that could be shown, she said. They are creating massive amounts of fear. And in doing so, have effectively shut down tourism in Mexico.
Our flight, immigration, and entrance into the hot, dry land of my husband's people was uneventful. We took a taxi to his home and were deposited safe and sound. The guards with AK 47's at the airports were still the same ones that had been guarding when I traveled there in 1989. They are a part of life. They probably always will be.
Traveling to Acapulco was not something on the agenda. The opportunity presented itself rather quickly, and George definitely hesitated. Things were calm where we were, why shake up the atmosphere if we didn't have to? Would the bus get stopped? Would they take over? Thoughts from all warnings we had ever heard coursed through him. He caved in though, and soon we were on a bus with neighbors and friends traveling through the jungles of Guerrero to the lush city of Acapulco. Uneventfully, we arrived.
The beauty of this city is simply indescribable. It's hot and wet, the beauty of the hillsides dotted with houses that reach down to the many bays Acapulco has to offer. The huge rocks made famous in the bay were just an added backdrop to the beauty of the water. I could stare at it for hours. We went to three different beaches while there. We stayed in La Caleta, but traveled to the famous La Condesa playa. It's sharply defined hill that drops sharply into the waves enraptured my kids as they frolicked by the shore.
The waiters come out on the sand and wait on you hand and foot. We heard French, Spanish, and some languages from here and there. What we didn't hear, ever, was English. Not even after we left Acapulco and visited the pyramids in his hometown.
We were the only Americans, at least that we saw, in the entire four days spent in Acapulco.
We visited the beautiful center of town, the hot humid air pressing down on us like a wet heavy blanket. We walked for hours in its lush center, buying trinkets from vendors, sitting on benches, watching the tons of people mill around. We were in what you might call the tourist trap area, but with no tourists to be found. That night, as we traveled up, up the high hill to the famous Acapulco cliff-diving area, we asked our taxi driver a few questions. Where are the tourists? He proceeded to tell us that life is definitely hard right now. The tourists, especially the Americans who used to flock there, have simply stopped coming. The hotels are full of Mexican nationals, Europeans, and Asian guests. "Why do you think this is?" we asked. The TV has scared them off, he said.
Acapulco was tranquilo – meaning peaceful in English. It was a fantastic unexpected surprise for us to travel there. It was also a wake-up call. It was a reminder not to believe everything you hear.
Don't travel there, you'll be killed. The cartels will kidnap you. You will be lost forever.
This trip was placed in God's hands before we even left American soil. We chose not to live in fear, but instead live out loud.
Some friends of ours, upon our return to the USA, told us a few stories of some tragic occurrences in northern Mexico. The areas below the border towns of Laredo, Reynosa, and Matamoros are filled stories that are heart-wrenching. They had personally lived in this area, and have contact with people still living there. This is where the cartels have their stronghold. It doesn't touch every person, but the danger exists. This is also why we decided to fly to Mexico instead of drive. It's also why you wouldn't window shop through East L.A. at night, or walk the streets of Tamarind Avenue in West Palm Beach. You practice care.
We have taken that lovely trek through the border areas at least five times on past trips. The kids especially mourned the fact that we couldn't drive. My kids are the best travelers, and we would always take the time to stop in little towns, stop at random beaches in the Tampico area, and get off the beaten path. We knew, though, that this time it might be best to fly. Even though the media has made Mexico seem like a war-zone, precaution in the places that are dangerous seemed wise.
Coming back to the states, though, my emotions have played havoc within me. People tell me we're so glad you're back safe and sound. We are so blessed to live where we do, they say. Why, my mind asks, aren't they blessed to live there? Why do we always say we should be so thankful we live here in the USA?
I know they mean well.
My mind will travel, then, to a place far away. To waves that reach the shore of lush beaches, and vendors that try to make their living selling you beautifully made necklaces of precious stones. Vendors that pour out their heart and soul telling you that they just need to make it, and without tourists they won't. I travel to the small zocalos, or centers of towns in Mexico, that team with life and vibrancy. People living, going about their days and nights. To the pyramids of Teotihuacan, where I stood on the very top with the wind whistling in my ears, and where I heard the sound of many languages, but not English.
I heard no English spoken. I saw no tourists.
I feel sad and heavy in my heart. We chose not to give in to the pervasive fear. Many others have, though, and now view a beautiful country through media-tainted eyes.
"Believe none of what you hear and half of what you see." - Benjamin Franklin