Not quite Mexican, and not quite American either

When we got to the San Diego airport last Saturday, I immediately felt a twinge of culture shock. People were so much taller. The spaces were so much larger. Hell, the people were so much larger. And there was so much… stuff. Shop after shop of T-shirts, key chains, candy. I missed Mexico. I missed seeing fresh-squeezed orange juice on every corner and hearing the “Diez peso, diez peso, diez peso” over and over again from the people pushing their food carts.

Now that we’ve been here for six days, and wandered around the local lake, and sipped blood orange cocktails at Hash House A Go Go, my feelings have flipped. Part of me doesn’t want to go back. Life is so easy and comfortable here. We speak a language we know, we use the tap water to brush our teeth, I wear my wedding ring in public without a second thought. I can take as many things in my purse as I want — my entire wallet and all my credit cards! — and hang my purse on the back of my chair at a restaurant without worrying that it’s going to get stolen.

I know I just wrote a post about how safe I feel in Mexico, and it’s true, I do feel safe there. But I don’t think I’ve completely relaxed there yet. My guard is always up. Like Joy commented, you’re always taking certain precautions. It’s a fact of life. I just didn’t really realize how many precautions until I came back to the U.S.

We return tomorrow morning. I have lots of boxes to unpack, writing assignments to start. I’m looking forward to walking again and getting a big glass of orange/carrot juice from the guy on the corner of our street.