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A Little Sattire
The words danger (peligro), caution (cuidado), scary (miedoso), risk (riesgo), threatening (amenanza),
bad (mala), violence, terror, panic, and every other negative word had been said about Mexico by Mexicanos
themselves and of course the well-traveled North Americans. We were definitely forewarned of the dangers of
southern Mexico as we entered into the scary state of Michoacán. As these words echoed through our heads,
we biked, as usual, with caution, always on our toes, one eye behind us, one eye in front. I am not sure
when the fear should have started...
Maybe the horrible kitten we found on the side of the road and tried to bike with
it to find it a home?
Or was it the mean restaurateur who allowed us to stay the night and fed us Cheese Fondue?
Was it the dangerous family that offered us their yard to camp on and watched our things while we swam,
and gave us beans and rice to compliment our meager supper?
No, I know, it was the lawless town that had beautiful beaches and a great little restaurant in the shade
with a pitcher of lemonade.
Or it might have been the horrible quartet that took our pictures for a magazine and then fed us a full
seafood meal and then provided us a place to stay.
Maybe it was the harsh old ladies that warmly greeted us at each mini-super we
stopped at for a drink.
It must have been the the horrible town of Zihuatanejo that embraced Susanna and I and our reason for
being there.
My message to you: Always stay on your toes, but Don't Believe the HYPE....
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