By the human borders: The contentment of not being watched
In Mexico you are not threatened.
This morning I wake up by a dirt parking spot 50 feet from the beach of the famous surf spot K-38, the km of 38th when you drive from the US border in San Diego into the Baja California State of Mexico.
A man stands near the waterfront with a walking stick, watching the seagull feed in the morning. When he struggles to move back and sees me half-sleep out of the van, he smiles widely, "Buenos Días!"
A sweet swell rises in my heart. I know I am in Mexico when people smile at me, despite what kind of clothes I am wearing or look.
Having been traveling the US for a while, I learned that US people stigmatize those who sleep in their cars; in other words, to be called "homeless." When I was studying in San Jose, California, sometimes I sat in the library to work and overheard conversations of people who worked on something related to those sleeping on the street. They said we needed to "tackle homelessness" or "eliminate the situation" as if homeless people were insects or cockroaches. Although insects are essential to the natural world (and our survival), many people still attempt to eliminate all insects around their space (insects are essential, not in my backyard thou). But going back to homelessness, at the bottom line, those are people, and you can't eliminate or "tackle" people as you want.
What I think didn't matter, at one point, San Jose drove homeless people elsewhere. I don't know where. The man who used to live under the bypass bridge near my home disappeared. His place, including one chair, table, a stove, and some small mattresses, was cleaned out of the spot. When I came back to the town for a visit, all the men and women sleeping on the street I used to meet on the way to school were no longer there. How did they disappear? Were they "tackled"?
People in San Diego often looked at me oddly when we were surfing and spending time in the surf park. They avoided eye contact, fearing to look at somebody sleeping on the street. I didn't know what was in their heads, but they scanned the person in front carefully, from clothes to vehicles, to number plates, down to the accent of the others, and then decided how they would respond.
If I was wearing a wetsuit, they were eager to strike up a chat, maybe thinking that the person was wealthy enough to go surf. When I was in winter clothes, nobody wanted to start a conversation. It was bizarre to wear winter clothes in San Diego in June, but I was from the tropic, and California's coastal weather was cold. I, in a thick sweatshirt and down jacket, looked like I stepped out of a homeless situation.
The judgemental-based attitude makes me tired. And for the same reason, many homeless people who sleep in their cars do not want to start a conversation. An old man parked next to us but never wanted to say hello (I started twice and he ignored me). Some want to be alone and don't hang out with others around, fearing to get into trouble.
I remember once I was invited to a meeting with a newspaper for homeless people in Oregon. The editor struck us when he said that the most challenging thing for homeless people was loneliness. Nobody wanted to talk to them. They became invisible. The loneliness drove some crazy.
As a traveler, I am lucky to have friends come by and go surf with me or some acquaintants dropping by to have food together. Beyond that, I went anxious about the look and attitude of the surround. I find myself lonely with the harsh stares of others.
The public facilities try their best not to be friendly with homeless people, like public bathrooms closing at 10 pm and nice public parking spots banning the parking time from 10 pm to 6 am. I am surprised by the abundance of southern California and, at the same time, the ruthless and careful thought they took when designing public spaces to exempt those sleeping on the street or in their cars.
Aside from the road, it is scary to read all the passive-aggressive signs, "Smile, you are on camera!" or threatening warnings, "Beware of dogs," or "under surveillance,"... that private property owners get to show. One night after dinner, I took a walk around four blocks. All I saw at night were the lit signs with those threatening words. Some houses use motion detectors to lighten the street in extremely bright light if someone is walking by. To startle you. I guess.
While the US people spend so much money to make their gardens pretty, they genuinely make the spaces ugly with those hostile signs and banners to threaten the homeless or any stranger away from their walking paths. People are worried about their safety to the point of paranoia, and they can afford to escalate the threats before anyone threatens them.
Then, what is the difference on the Mexican side? - It takes 45 minutes to ride from a major town on the US side into a land of wild development on the Mexican side, Tijuana. The air is different in Mexico. The way people look at me, the smiles, the laugh are extra. They genuinely say good morning while not being nosy about the other. A lady came by and asked where we were traveling to. A Chilean surfer came by and talked about surf spots. A Mexican fisherman asked me how I was surfing when he saw the wages smashed me. The conversations were relaxing and friendly, and people returned to their things.
Even the US people in Mexico are different. An older man waved at us from the beach, and we visited his porch and met his cats. I didn't smell judgments and harsh looks. Nobody scanned my clothes before talking.
I need to fix my surfboard and find a ding repair man nearby. He is from California. When we talked about the fences around his block, he laughs and shows me how to open the chain to walk through. "You can walk by, no problem, just put the chain back after," Mexican here do the same thing. They say hello when they see you in their neighborhood.
When the old man with the stick said, "Buenos dias," he meant it with a big and slow smile.
People often warn me about the danger in Mexico. There are cartels, gangs, drug dealers, killers, crossfires, and kidnaps. Most people who talk about Mexico learn about it on crime news. But over the years, I have learned that there are dangerous places and safe places in Mexico, just like anywhere else in the world.
During the last season in Nayarit (Mexico), we often went to the La Comer supermarket to buy groceries and cooked in their parking lot. One night, a supermarket guard walked to us when he finished his shift with a bucket. He opened it and said, "I saw you guys cooking; maybe there are some utensils or bowls here you want, have a look." I was surprised, and then we talked. He had been watching us cooking and thought of something good for us on a long trip. My heart was delighted by his meticulous care.
Today, a friend came by our camping spot and told us about his motorbike trip into the Baja desert. His bike broke down. "And the angels appeared to help, as usual," he concludes. "Angels" is the way people call those who show up just in time to help someone stuck in the sand or mud parts. And there is no lack of them in Baja. In the desert, humans appreciate the ability to rely on each other, not the constant urge to scare others away.
The atmosphere here is light and quiet. No motion detector, no, "smile, you are on camera," and no sirens from afar disrupting my sleep. Our dirt parking spot is in the dark. The ocean crashes into the pebble beach. The round rocks roll up and down the slope, creating this mystical rhythm of nature, from so far away into the ocean belly, to this edge of the water where I spend the night.
I don't dream of hidden cameras anymore.
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