The hurricane arrived late

Mexican football is unlike anything else I have ever seen. Saturday night, I went to see the local team play an evening game--I couldn't think of a better way to spend my last Saturday night in Mexico. Silvia, John (the program's director and assistant director, respectively) and I braved the rain to watch some authentic Mexican football.

Queretaro's team is the Gallos Blancos. They're good, but not great. They've been knocked down to second division this season after a last-place finish in premier last year. While the locals aren't too happy about that, it makes for better, more competitive games.

The game ended up tied 1-1, but the Gallos only found the back of the net in the last 10 minutes. But I'll be honest--we weren't really there for the game. While I had a good time, it was more about the atmosphere and fans than anything else.

But I've got to say, I think Oregonians are tougher. About around the 60 minute mark, Queretaro's regular drizzle morphed into a downpour worthy of the Oregon Coast range. The stadium emptied, exempting the hard-core Gallos fans and the lucky few who managed to find shelter under tarps or awnings. That would not have happened at a Ducks football (the type with pads) game.

If you happened to catch the game on ESPN three million, Jon, Silvia, and I were under the giant Corona tarp at half field. Basically, we happened to sit down in a group that seemed prepared for nearly anything--they had a huge compressed air horn worthy of an air-raid warning system, two large drums, a giant tarp (for rain, or potentially paragliding) and enough beer for several weeks. (Or just one game.)

Initially, we just used the tarp as a uncomfortably soggy, cold blanket. But soon el jefe (this particular group's leader) took charge and erected a tent of sorts. Basically, the tall people held it up. Visibility wasn't great, but the game hardly mattered--the real fun was to be had under the tarp.

Why's that? Well, a friendly and very drunk Mexican (I didn't catch his name) mistook us for Spaniards started a conversation. Initially, I thought my Spanish was failing me because I couldn't understand a word he was saying, but I soon realized that in fact, he could have been speaking in English and I still wouldn't have understood him--he was pretty drunk. But after a while, I caught on and just started chanting, "¡Gallos! ¡Gallos! Si ¡se puede!" That made him, his wife, and his two year old kid happy. (I felt bad for the kid--he looked terrified.) Our new Mexican friend bought us some beer, and the our fellow Gallos fans gave us a lesson in Spanish profanity.

I didn't take my camera, but Silvia and Jon both took photos, so I'll do my best to get some up soon. There are a lot of nice shots of the three of us wearing our matching black-market Gallos jerseys.

But enough about sports. I've been trying to resolve two opposing facts for a couple days ago. Basically, it comes down to this. I recently read that Mexico has the world's twelfth-largest gross national product. (Canada is eleventh.) By all standards, I'm studying in one of the world's richest countries, and the signs of wealth are all over--expensive cars, upscale shops, and trendy clubs.

Yet there's still a huge portion of the population here that gets by on almost nothing. The leading cause of death for young children in Mexico is disease caused by dirty drinking water. Let me say that again: dirty water kills more kids here than anything else. How else can I say it? That's awful screwed up.

Basically, how on earth can a comparatively wealthy country still have huge problems with something as simple as drinking water? I know it's not simple, but it's difficult to reconcile Mexico's wealth with the heartbreaking poverty that still exists here. And yeah, it does make me feel guilty, but also frustrated. I can't fix Mexico--only Mexicans can--but it seems totally ridiculous that the tremendous inequality hasn't been addressed. After all, wasn't the Mexican revolution supposed to fix all this over 100 years ago? (That's kind of a joke.)

Maybe this is just an example of Yankee cultural imperialism. I do wonder what right I have to criticize a country when I'm just passing through, but it's hard not to notice these things. I don't say anything to Mexicans, and I'm careful with my words when I talk with other Americans, but if there's anything I don't want to be, it's the gringo who parachutes in, points out everything that's wrong, and then leaves. That just sounds so much like the Bush Administration to me. Yuck.

This will be my last post from Mexico--I fly back to Portland on Saturday. It'll be a while until I post again, probably not until I get to Peru in early October. Until then, adios.