“The Rusted Iron Curtain” didn’t do much for me in terms of teaching me something new. Basically, Kaplan pointed out to me a phenomenon I already knew existed. Yes, the US and Mexican sides of the US-Mexico Boarder are very radical in their differences. I would love to respond to the article in a way that showed enlightenment and deep thought on my part, however, I am uninspired. A thought does come to mind, though. I remember when I went to Mexico. One of the excursions on our cruise consisted of visiting a Mexican coastal town, Costa Maya, and visiting a desolate-ish beach. Now the town was small, and when I say small, I mean that what I saw when I first got off of the boat, a giant pavilion and a few booths scattered about, was the town. Costa Maya was built for tourism. Some intelligent individual must have had a revelation. “We have a beautiful beach here,” he must have thought. “Let’s commercialize the hell out of it. Set up little booths selling stupid little trinkets and souveniers. Sell $5 cans of sodas” (yes, honestly) “. And finally, let’s just completely take advantage of this area’s culture and have hourly Mayan ritual dances. That’ll attract those dumb, rich Americans, won’t it?” The people of the town and the lifestyle they lived was so drastically different from what I was used to. Costa Maya was my first real scuffle with another culture. I came from West Chester, Pennsylvania. I had two parents, a brother, a dog, a three bedroom, two-and-a-half bathroom house, and everyone around me spoke English. Seeing Costa Maya was like walking into a storybook town. I felt like an audience at first, not really involved with the town at all. The townfolk were characters, living the plots of their lives, trying to resolve their monetary issues by selling “authentic quilts” bearing a MADE IN CHINA tag. Eventually, I assimilated into the story but I felt out of place, like The Cat in the Hat would if he landed in Fight Club. There were no policeman, rather soldiers with AK-47’s patroled the establishment. It was sort of unsettling for me to see these vast differences, but I can’t imagine how it must’ve been for the townfolk. Everyday a new shipload of tourists stops by. Everyday people with money and nice clothes strolling by. The townsfolk were poor. There lives depended on the wealthy. Seeing these wealthy people and knowing of how great the lives of them must be probably tortured the townsfolk. Knowing that life can be so successful, and that that success is so close yet so far is brutal. It’s like the old story, the popular image, of a homeless family on Christmas, huddled around a trash can fire. The little boy gazes through a house’s window. A family sits at the table, feasting on juicy chicken. The boy’s stomach grumbles and it will always be grumbling.
Filed under: Uncategorized
