by
JOHN SCHERBER
The thought of
driving in México strikes a deadly fear into the hearts of many Americans and
Canadians alike. Of course, they purchased Méxican car insurance when they
crossed the border. Yet somehow this only made them feel legal, but not safe.
Now here’s the reality as they ease their $46,000 BMW onto the pavement and
point it south.
They have heard that
there is no rhyme or reason to the driving there, and any clown can get a
license. There is some documentary evidence for this belief. (See the photo) But
they are tourists in the classical sense, and they want to cruise from town to
town and only stop when the spirit moves them. Serendipity is a proven value in
their lives, and they would never be caught taking a package tour, even to
Antarctica. Furthermore, they hate what air travel has become.
Isn’t that the
dilemma for many travelers to Latin America?
Before my wife and I
moved to San Miguel de Allende in 2007, she was driving a Saab and I drove an
Infiniti. We knew they couldn’t easily be serviced in this mountain town of
75,000, so we sold them and bought a Ford Edge when we arrived. There was the
choice between a passenger vehicle and a pickup, and we had heard that license
plates were much cheaper on new pickups, but we felt because of the limited
passenger capacity, we had to choose the car. After all, wouldn’t hundreds of
our friends and family from the U.S. soon be flocking down to see us? We hadn’t
yet reckoned on the crusading American media, obviously.
Unfortunately, our
estimate of the pickup’s passenger capacity was wildly off too. We’ve since
been keeping a running count on the record for the most passengers in a pickup.
It presently stands at sixteen people and a dog. This can be very handy running
back and forth to the countryside with your extended family, but it
occasionally results in some astounding highway accidents.
San Miguel is a great
historic town, and appropriately, it has no
traffic lights. Major intersections on the outskirts are handled by
roundabouts, which are called glorietas
here. The idea is simple, although it looks daunting to many. The center island
is about a hundred feet across. In the middle is a monument to a patriotic
figure, although some believe the statue represents Chaos, the god of traffic.
Four streets converge at the circle.
Within, traffic
moves counterclockwise. You enter after yielding to the left, and continue around
to the right until you exit on the first, second or third street. Or you can go
completely around when you’re doubling back. If you can keep your wits about
you it works well. People are generally polite and orderly. The worst move you
can make is to freeze up, come to a complete stop within the circle, and cover
your face with your hands. I have seen this happen and it’s never well
received. People will start to nudge you along.
This town has a
number of stop signs, none of them in the central part. They are treated as
advisory in nature, and I have never seen anyone stop for one unless the
failure to do so would result in a collision. This includes me.
All other
intersections are handled on an alternating basis. You go, then I go, etc. Everyone
understands this and it works well unless the other car is driven by a person
from México City, Guadalajara, or the northern border states. In that case you
are regarded as a fool and a victim for letting him through. This attitude will
be well understood by people who regularly drive in the U.S.
Aside from this, in general there is an attitude
of live and let live. I have not seen road rage here among Méxicans, only
Americans. Indeed, people are tolerant of what I regard as free-style driving.
A certain amount of improvisation is customary. If you see someone approaching head-on
in your lane, the natural thing to do is change lanes yourself into oncoming
traffic, which will then slow down to allow your eventual return to your own
lane.
The concept of speed
limits is understood only by the transit authorities, and is the object of
crude humor among the general population.
Flashing colored
lights are appreciated for themselves, but using them to signal turns when
mounted on cars is a concept that has not yet caught on in México. One
exception is their use on trucks in highway settings. Say you are behind a
truck signaling with the left blinker. This means either, Pass me because it’s
clear ahead, or I am going to turn left now. Your life depends on how you scan
the nuance of this.
In San Miguel, the streets
are generally constructed from the two most common compounds on earth: dirt,
and stones about the size of a large grapefruit. The stones are simply set in a
matrix of dirt. Over time, the dirt is pounded into a fine dry powder that
floats upward and seeks the interior of your electronic equipment, where it
settles once again in the tiny connections between the wires. Over time the
cobblestones loosen and have to be repacked in more dirt. Driving over this
rugged surface, charmingly suggestive of medieval London or Paris, gradually
loosens all the nuts and bolts in your car until your new BMW sounds like a
1960s jug band as it lurches down the street.
Both tires and shock
absorbers have the life expectancy of a butterfly in a hurricane. What the
streets do not do to your car, the sun and weather will.
By now I hope I have
established that what at first appears to be random and senseless is really a
functioning system that can be understood by most visitors with a knack for
improvisation and a broad sense of humor. I should point out that I have
written mainly about driving in San Miguel. Regional differences exist.
A final word about
parking. Someone once asked me how my detective character always finds a
parking place in San Miguel. That, I replied, is why it’s called fiction. See a sample here:
JOHN SCHERBER
TWITTER: @MEXTEXT
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