You are Beautiful

As a Big Frilly Knicker Wearer you don’t hear that phrase very often and when you do, you normally don’t believe it anyway. There are people in your life that love you and tell you that and although they mean it, they’ve loved you so long you assume that they are blinded by your inner glow and can’t actually see what’s in front of them. I can hear most of you groan now. I can hear you tell me again that I am beautiful and all of the other things you love me for, but you cannot argue that when those words are said by a stranger with sincerity and complete honesty that it can not only make your day but hold you over for a month at least.

In Mexico, everything is for sale and it’s for sale all of the time. Dirty faced street kids flocking to your sides every four paces asking for a peso or wanting you to buy the clay figures, beaded bracelets or woven belts they have laden upon themselves. While it’s incredibly hard to say no to their grubby little smiles, you do because the locals ask you not to encourage the begging. Their mothers follow behind, or hide behind corners watching their children rustle the white people and begging for money for that night’s dinner, the community’s clock tower or next month’s child. They walk with beautiful fabric slings, breast exposed and feeding all the way down the street and you know that selling in Mexico is a family affair. These are the indigenous families of Mexico. Watching the other Mexicans in the street, you see their avoidance and their hands cling to those of their own kind. The mexicans let them into their shops to sell to their customers, pour the kids a water or give them a lolly but everything in this country comes at a price.

I haven’t noticed the Mexicans to be a particularly good looking group of people. The women range from stunning to downright scary and the men – short. Although they are tanned, it is the first country in the world where I actually feel tall. There is the occasional Mexican who has, as the locals say, ‘bred with a foreigner’ that are a little taller, a little leaner and have more subtle features, but on the whole, I won’t be bringing one home anytime soon. Particularly if they try and sell my shoe collection down the Main Street. But today, a rarity occurred. I had avoided taking my big camera out and about in San Cristobal. It’s big and obvious and the locals tend to ask for a Peso if I’m even just carrying it. But today I had an hour to kill and I was feeling slightly arty farty. I even managed to put the lower half of my body in a skirt today. I haven’t felt the breeze of a skirt in a number of weeks, bus travel and lots of walking normally warrant them as impractical, but not today. I had little to do and even less far to walk.

Earlier in the day I had been walking down Real de Guadalupe and a young ish Mexican had said Hola, Tequila, Tequila? I laughed and said No Gracias, but wondered what on earth had possessed him to ask me. I have so far gotten very little attention (read that as none) from Mexican men so far and was wondering if in fact my skirt had blown up or my top fallen down. On closer inspection, it had done none of these and I continued on my way. Back on my photo excursion, I was standing on the side of the road hiding from the traffic trying to line up a shot of a series of mopeds lining a ‘typical’ Mexican street. I was waiting for man to remove his bike from the line when he looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back, said Hola and continued to wait. He continues to smile, smacks the back of his motorbike and says ‘Come.’ I again laugh decline politely with a ‘No, Gracias’ and wait for him to move. He sidles his camouflage green bike over to me and whispers ‘Do you remember me Tequila, Tequila?’ I then recognise the face and say that I saw him that morning.

Normal pleasantries follow. He is polite, sincere and shakes my hand. After very small and awkward chit chat in a language neither of us really speak, he again taps the back of his bike and says, ‘Come, come with me.’ I again politely refuse in my best spanish and smile. This complete Mexican stranger then turns to me, holds my hand and says, ‘You are so beautiful.’ All I can do is mutter a garbled version of ‘Muchas Gracias’ and watch as he drives down the dusty street. While this may not be a life changing interaction or even an uncommon one for some, I don’t think you can ever tire of hearing that from someone you’ve never met. While he was cheeky and presumptuous, I didn’t doubt his sincerity and as he drove away I gave myself an internal high five for taking the compliment.

I’ve never been really good at taking them, but I have been practising. And today was the first time in my near memory that I can remember taking the compliment without having to talk myself into it first. So while that little man on a motorcycle may not think about the podgy Australian he called Beautiful today, that short Mexican was the first man that I didn’t doubt his sincerity. Just a little Mexican win. Enough to make me want to buy a bag from a grubby little Mexican tomorrow. Maybe.