GRAVITYWORKS CIRCUS SCHOOL San Miguel de Allende Mexico Announcements & News

I’ve written quite a bit about The Ugly American Syndrome. In my columns, print and online magazines, and in every book I’ve written, I’ve mentioned this topic. I get a lot of mail from readers, either praising and agreeing with me or chiding and condemning me.

As of today, I think I will begin cutting Americans some slack, especially American expats in Mexico, regarding The Ugly American Syndrome. My visit to the bank today convinced me that maybe I’ve been too harsh and need to lighten up a bit. I think my readers (the chiders and condemners) in San Miguel de Allende might breathe a collective sigh of relief over this announcement.

What happened is something that should not have surprised or shocked me. I guess I simply have reached the end of my expat rope—at least today. When I get my quarterly royalty checks from my book publishers, I take them to my Mexican bank and deposit them. Because they are drawn on a foreign account in the States, there is understandably a hold on these checks.

I get that and it doesn’t bother me one bit.

But here is what I’ve been told ever since I began depositing royalty checks into this account:

“There will be a two-week hold on this check.”

At the end of two weeks, the wife and I go off to the ATM to check the balance and the funds are not there. We go back to the bank. The bank officer tells us:

“Oh, there is always a three-week hold on foreign checks.”

We wait another week, go to the ATM, and the funds aren’t there. So, we go again to the bank.

“Oh, there is a 22-day hold on all foreign checks.”

The next day, we go to the ATM and the funds are not there. We go into the bank:

“There must be some mistake. There is always a 25-day hold on all foreign checks.”

We wait three more days and go to the ATM to check things out. There are no funds. We drag ourselves into the bank with the wife trying to talk me out of murdering someone.

“Oh my, my! There is always a 30-day hold on all foreign checks.”

In Mexico, as I have written before, nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, is as it seems. Nothing will work with any degree of logic or reason known to the rest of the world. Here two weeks can mean pretty much any amount of time. In Guanajuato, Mexico, two weeks means many things. It can mean three weeks, twenty-two days, twenty-five days, or thirty days. And let me tell you, each bank employee will tell you something different each time you make a deposit. They will look you straight in the eye and tell you whatever comes to their minds, whether it is the truth or not.

What I do not get is just why no bank employee knows how anything works! This brings me to a conversation with an American expat who has lived in Mexico much longer than I have. She said once that what Mexico needs is a Business Manager. These people need a Business Manager in everything that has to do with anything to show them how things work. This is because in all aspects of life, at least in Guanajuato, no one who does anything that has to do with something knows just how it is suppose to work.

Trying to do banking in Guanajuato is not the only thing that doesn’t work. I would love to tell you that this is so but I would be lying.

Once we tried going to the movies. The theater manager was at a party and was having too good of a time to show up with the keys to the box office to sell tickets. She sent word that someone was welcome to come and get the keys and sell tickets, otherwise we would all have to wait.

Can you begin to imagine what would have happened in America when this movie theater manager finally showed up? She or he would have been lynched by the crowd.

Here is the really bad thing. This sort of “Qué Será, Será, whatever will be, will be…” service is vastly tolerated all over this country. The Mexican nationals, at least from my observation, seem to tolerate a level of service from providers that Americans and Europeans would not tolerate for a second!

Only those who have spent time internationally seem to be perturbed by those of their fellow countrymen who settle for or offer this, “The future’s not ours to see, Qué Será, Será…” service.

Well, the next time I see some American tourist or expat acting out The Ugly American Syndrome, I am going to march up to them, pat them on the back, and tell them, “I feel your pain, Bubba!”

by Douglas Bower

Article Source: EzineArticles.com

November 30, 2006

Greetings:

VIP Club participating bar, EL PETITE, Hernandez Macias #95, reopens with an inauguration gala, tonight, November 30, with a special reception and live music from 6-8pm. The attached Market Bistro Restaurant will reopen sometime in December. Good luck Daniel.

BTW: Right next door in Romanos, they have a dinner show in the back patio every Thursday night, with Parker and Young playing from 8-10pm. Also, on Wednesdays, Frederico plays Latin folk from 8-10pm.

Also, entertainment wise, VIP participating restaurant La Frugua wants member to know about their weekly line up of entertainment:

• Tuesdays; 8pm, Tango Nights, with "Rio Negro,"
• Wednesdays; 8pm, Blues with "Robert Kaplan and & Joe,"
• Thursdays; 9:30pm, Pop, Salsa, Cumbia etc, with "Rossalba,"
• Fridays & Saturdays; 10:30pm, "Maria,"
• Saturdays; 3pm, Mexican Trio Music, with "Los Padrinos,"
• Sundays; 8pm, Bohemia with "Pepe Cordoba."

If you read guidebooks or travel articles about México, you will read that Mexicans are wonderfully accommodating, friendly, warm, and generous to strangers. You will be given the impression these people are the “Salt of the Earth” and maybe even virtually Saints. You will be told things like, “Mexicans are helpful to a fault” and “they will be so patient with you trying to learn Spanish.” While this might be true, I have, of late, begun to doubt the multitude of clichés that pour forth from all the guidebook and article sources about Mexico.

About 18 months into our expatriation experiment, my wife and I began to wonder what was going on in the heartland of Mexico. The clichés we had read in our pre-expat research were, frankly, beginning to fall apart. The longer we lived here, the more we were beginning to see things that the guidebooks gushed about Mexican’s congeniality weren’t necessarily true. Something wasn’t adding up.

Guanajuato is about as much in the middle of the country as it gets. It is truly the heartland of Mexico. Here life is uber-provincial. The dictionary defines provincial as, “a person of local or restricted interests or outlook; a person lacking urban polish or refinement.” I began hearing this uber-provincial stuff more and more as the years went by. I heard this from not only American, German, and Canadian expatriates but also from Mexicans who grew up in other parts of Mexico and who, for one reason or another, ended up in Guanajuato.

Certain things begin to happen to us that caused us to begin asking questions. After all, we were still very fresh and green expats who didn’t know much. But we began to ask about this or that once things started happening.

I guess it was the first time I was knocked into the street by a Mexican and subsequently hit by a bus that caused me to wonder what was going on. The second time was really what got me to wondering. I was pushed off the sidewalk not once but twice into the path of an oncoming bus and was struck. Not once did anyone stop to see if I was all right. The pushers never bothered to utter one word to me. My wife has also been pushed and shoved off sidewalks. I have a 70-year-old American gringa pal who was pushed into the path of a taxi and was nailed.

One just has to ask what is happening in Guanajuato, Mexico.

I wish I could tell you.

What I began to see long ago was that the Guanajuatenses on the street are practically running to get somewhere but never arrive on time for anything. Although all of Latin American (and Italy) is famous for how they regard time differently than the rest of the world, this has slowly been changing in the more metropolitan areas of Mexico. More and more, Mexicans are beginning to forsake their traditional understanding of what it means to be on time for anything. Not so in Guanajuato. It is just as traditional here as it has been for centuries. Some say the heartland of Mexico is “stuck in the past.”

But, what you have are Guanajuatenses running at the speed of light and, I can assure you, to get nowhere fast. They are absolutely not trying to get somewhere on time. It is a cultural affectation here in Guanajuato. They will never, ever arrive on time for anything. This is a total mystery in and of itself. Why are they running? They never arrive on time for anything so what’s the rush?

So, you may logically ask, why are they running down the sidewalk knocking gringos into the gutter? I wish I could tell you, but I can’t.

I have asked Mexicans because I have the facility in the language to do so. Most of those I have questioned are not from Guanajuato originally. They are here for a job, marriage, or whatever, and have been transplanted from other regions of Mexico.

To my amazement, these Guanajuato transplants have told me that they view the people of Guanajuato as some of the rudest, most ill educated, and most ill reared Mexicans in the country. I have gotten emails from Mexicans and as well as been told in face-to-face interviews that they regard Guanajuatenses Mexicans as anti-social. This is amazing. These are Mexicans from other regions talking about their fellow Mexicans. It very much reminds me of those from the Midwest and western parts of America talking about New York.

Now, I have to take the word of those who tell me this since the only place I’ve ever lived in this country is Guanajuato. But, I am beginning to take their word to heart and believe what they say, hook, line, and sinker. Our experience bears out what our Extra-Guanajuatenses have told us.

Once, I got an email from a Mexican lady in Puerto Vallarta. She had read some of my articles and columns but poo-poo’ed me as a crazy gringo. Then, she and another Mexican girlfriend came traveling through Guanajuato. She said she couldn’t wait to email me and tell me how many times she was shoved off the sidewalk and pushed away from the cashier’s counter in stores.

Just this morning, my wife was in line to buy some very delicious tamales. She placed her order and paid the guy. Before the seller could get out of his mouth, “One moment while I get your food” a Mexican lady, one of our congenial, warm, and kind Guanajuatenses, elbowed my wife out of line and cut in front of her. The seller had to be someone from some other part of Mexico because he noticed what happened and told this woman to get in line.

A month ago, some college student who thought it was appropriate to lay hands on me and shove me a good one shoved me out of the way in a pharmacy! I wish I could tell you that these are all isolated incidents but I would be lying. The guy pushed me as though I was a piece of furniture that was in his way.

The mystery is how Mexicans are supposed to be such kind, generous, and accommodating people to foreigners while in Guanajuato, you are just liable to be pushed into the path of an oncoming bus going at the speed of light. How…how…how is this so?

The other day, we were exiting the post office when we saw one Mexican do something to another Mexican. This kid, in his early twenties, walked by a lady who had set her heavy bolsa (a large shopping bag) on the sidewalk while waiting for a cab. This young man kicked the bolsa into the street. It seemed unintentional. He looked briefly and then walked off. The lady took off after him. While she was trying to corral him, a bus came by and squashed her bolsa and all its contents to smithereens.

My wife once had to catch an elderly lady who was shoved off a 12-inch-high sidewalk by two girls who seemed not to care a wit that they almost killed one of their fellow countrywomen.

Something else that goes on in stores all over the city—another mystery--is something that would get Guanajuatenses killed in America. When you go to meat counter or any place with a counter, Guanajuatenses will shove you out of the way to bark their orders to the hired help, even though the employee was already waiting on you. Don’t miss the picture here. There you are. You’ve just given your order to the butcher for a kilo of hotdogs when some Señora puts her hands on you (or elbows you) and knocks you into the middle of next week so she can be at the front of the line.

This goes on all the time, without fail, day and night—and there’s nothing you can do about it!

NOTHING!

Why they do it I cannot tell you. We have asked and are told that the people of Guanajuato are “malcriados” and “maleducadas” …this means ill-raised and badly-educated.

I think the mystery is how did they earn the warm and inviting reputation that you read in all the guidebooks? They certainly could not have meant the heartland of Mexico, especially not Guanajuato!

Perhaps it’s the other regions about which the guidebooks have been talking.

I do not know!

by Douglas Bower