Driving: A Primer

I can say with no hesitation whatsoever that Mexicans are reckless, crazy drivers.  They may not be the worse on earth, but I am sure they are within the top 5.  To those back home, don’t feel bad when you see someone driving crazy and you say something about it being a Mexican or Vietnamese.  Chances are, you are 50% right. There are truths to stereotypes…and the one that Mexicans are crazy drivers is very true.

Get one of these when driving here!

I had an odd experience on Sunday, while driving Alexandra to the airport.  Traffic was pretty much non-existent, and we are breezing along just fine.  As we come down off an over pass I am amazed that the usual pile up point wasn’t happening today.  We are coming up on the Viaducto (main thoroughfare, running east to west through Mexico City) and I am thinking we are going to make record time on the airport trek.  As we starting to approach going under the last overpass before the Viaducto, there is a pile of cars and I see flashing lights.  I catch a glimpse of a cop, and a motorcycle.  I do not want to look to close, for I fear the worse.

A policeman can be easily seen now, and he is funneling the traffic into one lane, and motioning for people to slow down.  We get into the far left lane, in the newly created single-file line, and start to really slow down.   As we inch closer, we see three cops, a police car parked sideways and a motorcycle.  Luckily, it was not what it seemed.  It is all cops and there is no accident.  This makes me question then, just what is happening if there is no accident.

Just as we are even with the cops, the car in front of us is let through, and the motorcycle cop stands in front of me with his hand up.  He keeps it stationary, meaning for me to halt. I do.  Then he points to the ground, and motions to pull up to where he is.  I inch up until he raises his hand again.  His eyes are hidden behind the mirror aviator shades, Eric Estrada would be proud.  He looks like the typical tough motorcycle cop.  As we are in place, the two other cops come from around their car.  I find this odd.  They walk in front of us, and turn their backs.  I am a bit unsettled.  What are they doing? 

This is it. How convenient.  We are sitting under an overpass, out of sight of most of the passers by.  The cops turn their back…this is the hi-jack.  This is an ambush. My eyes dart all around.  I am waiting for the fun to begin. Then I hear a car honk.  It is the car right behind me, a cab.  He is laying into his horn.  Then a few more cars.  I look in my rearview mirror and I can now see a long line of cars behind me, and the backs of three cops in front of me.  If the cops don’t hi-jack me, I am afraid one of these irate drivers will.  All of a sudden, all three cops turn to face the traffic.  The adjust themselves to get a good look at the line of traffic they have created, and then they look back, to the stretch of empty highway.

Sitting under the concrete overpass acts as an echo chamber for the irate cars behind me.  They lean into their horns and the sound just bounces everywhere, shredding my eardrums and melting my brain in the process.  This makes me a bit crazy.  I start mouthing off about just how dumb these people are.  They see cops blocking the road, lights flashing; no one is budging yet they have seen it as maestros instructing them to start a symphony of honking.  The upside of all the sound is that it was drowning out all the expletives blurting out of my mouth.  The motorcycle cop who stood in front of me displaying the empty mirrored glare of his soulless glasses starts to get irritated.  He motions for the idiot behind me to lay off.  He honks more, and then sits on the horn.   The motorcycle cop hails one of the others to come take his place, and he immediately marches to the cab and sets the guy straight, then he starts to the car behind him.  For now, at least, the immediate cars behind me have ceased their honking.  I see him in my mirror waving his hands to tell the others to stop.  Slowly, they trail off, with only a few wise guys and idiots still sounding off as if they will be the guy who makes it all change.

As the cop with the mirrored eyes walks back to pole position, he stops on the passenger side and leans in, “Sorry for the delay.  There is a convoy.  We have to stop you for security reasons” All of this was in Spanish, of course.  I did, however, understand the word ‘convoy’.  Tonya and I both asked one another, “Who do you think it is?”

After a few more minutes, the cop gets word on the walkie-talkie that all is clear.  He motions to the other cops, and then he points at me.  He motions me to go ahead, then waves as we pass.  I bullet into the empty highway and get as far ahead of the maddened crowd as I possibly could.  As we fly down the Viaducto I see other cops keeping cars at bay still, on the feeder.  I do not see any signs of anyone important or a motorcade ahead, but I am making good time.  I was not hi-jacked after all.  I was feeling ok.

This did make me want to comment though, on just how crazy Mexicans are...especially their driving.  Every single person who has come to visit has commented on these stunts shortly after seeing for them selves.  They can all testify.  In this town, it is dog eat dog.  You drive aggressive or you get nowhere.  Me?  I am a terror now, so beware.  I drive like a crazed Mexican at times, shouting at the other Mexicans.  I am not proud-but at least I get to where I need to go.

What is the point of red lights here, many a person has asked.  Everyday I am amazed at this phenomenon.  People go when they want, red light or no red light.  It matters not if you are a bus driver and have a bus over-packed with passengers.  If you feel inclined to go, you go.  Lord have mercy on pedestrians, as there is no mercy shown.

Turn lanes…Que?  What are those?  Who designed the streets here anyway?  You go to the far right lane of a three-lane street, only to cut back across all three lanes to go left.  You best be on guard, because it is not uncommon for the opposite to take effect either.  The guy all the way in the left lane…don’t be surprised if all of a sudden he decides he wants to turn right, and cuts across all lanes and in front of you to make his way to where he is going.

You rarely see stop signs here.  Pretty much only in parking lots.  It is anyone’s guess who makes the first move at any given intersection.  Word of advice; say your prayers and hold your breath.

It is painfully obvious that those on the road here do not have to sit through their driver’s education classes.  They have no clue what to do or how to behave when a siren is heard and flashing lights are seen.  I promise you, this is no lie.  I have seen on more than a single occasion, when an ambulance is pleading, trying to make its way through the packed streets and no one gives a damn.  Get behind me chump!  They do not budge.  I recoiled in fear the first time I saw this.  I could not help but wonder about the poor soul inside who was at the mercy of these stalwart, stubborn Mexicans.  It matters not if you are on your deathbed; they are going to get what they want first.

A word of advice told to me by Mexicans; if you are told to stop by a cop on foot, keep going! True.  I have seen others try this and tough cops jump in the way so you cannot move.  The very first time I was stopped by a cop here (read the earlier blog about the pyramids) the first thing the officer asked was, “Why did you stop?”

We have heard countless stories of the lawless Wild West.  Well, it is alive and well here.  It is as if hell has opened it giant garage doors and Satan blinded his legions of demons and handed them all sets of keys and told them they all have access to the latest version of BMWs available.  “Go get ‘em tiger!” he tells his crazed lunatics and sets them ablaze.  He laughs at his practical joke on human kind.

One wonders about the simple fact; if they do not obey laws here; it is no wonder why they don’t in the USA.  Yes, that car in front of you swerving to and fro…who do you think it is?  That guy who just ran the red light?  I will give you a hint, he likes it picante.  No my friends, worry not about political correctness.  Embrace your closed-mindedness.  Plead for ‘profiling’!  The next time you blurt out offensive language and shake your fist, rest assured that the odds are in your favor that what you thought was offensive is really fact.  The maniac behind the wheel more than likely was a crazy Mexican, and if not, you only stand 50% odds of being wrong.  Then it was those damn slant-eyed Vietnamese!