Car-Park Rap Battles and Casual Mexican Racism

Last night, I experienced my first car-park party.

It was better than it sounds.

I've become quite friendly with a guy who sells cake on a trolley. Which is also better than it sounds. When I first saw him pushing the bizarre invention down the road, I was standing outside my house, looking for my keys. He called out, asking if I wanted to buy something. When I didn't respond, he said it again in several languages until he worked out that I was english- fairly impressive. Having bumped into him a couple of times after that, I bought some cake and we got chatting. He invited me to a party with his friends, to which I agreed to go, figuring that I could always back-out later once I'd assessed the rape-ability levels.

Of course when Saturday came, I didn't feel as if I could say no... I asked Montse if she wanted to come with me, thinking that if I were to be raped and murdered, I'd rather it be with someone else I vaguely knew, but Montse was working and couldn't save me.

I thought it all through and decided to just go. Cake Boy seemed like a genuinely nice person, and was probably the first I'd met who didn't seem overly fussed that I was foreign, which was refreshing.

Needless to say, I was not raped or murdered. After collecting me from my house, Cake Boy and I went to meet Cake Boy's friends outside the 7-11, where local youths a-plenty were taking their used beer bottles to be re-filled at a discount price. (Pretty clever-why don't we do that at home??) From there we went to another friend's house, which was full of students, crazy-bright art-work on the inside walls, and possibly the most stoned kitten in Mexico.

Everyone I met was super-nice and laid-back. Most spoke some english, but I did have quite a good conversation with someone who spoke none- it would seem that alcohol improves my spanish tenfold! I spoke to a couple of guys from Chiuaua, who told me some pretty horrendous stories of the violence up there. I also learnt why Guadalajara is so safe:  it's because all the mafia's cchildren go to school and live here... so they want to keeep the place trouble-free. How touching(!)

After a drink and another house, we moved on to find a party in a local parking lot. It was actually an organised  thing- local people set the place up for a party, with a beer table, music etc. and anyone from the area could pay a small fee to get in. It was a strange feeling- a bit like being in a club, but then I'd look up and see stars. I was delighted to  witness a rap-battle, followed by some guy throwing fire about in a professional manner, all of which took place as a couple of graffiti- artists covered the car-park walls. Pretty different from the croquet-garden parties that my friends hold at home... but I had fun.

I had a couple of funny conversations where we mentioned skin tone or the fact that I was foriegn and how people react to it. The guys I were talking to kept stopping to think of how to say things in a non-offensive, non-racist way, which was hilarious and very strange to be on the other side of ethnic minority. They asked if people had shouted "gringa" at me, which is pparently offensive, but I'm pretty sure the people at the newspaper name us/them as gringos almost affectionately. Perhaps "gringo" is the white person's version of the N word. I still don't feel very 'street' though, unfortunately.


Casual Racism in Mexico

• I have actually started responding to "Werita", which means "white girl".

There is an old beggar-woman in a wheelchair on the church square near me. She gets pushed around all day by her long-sufering daughter, and the two of them ask all the peoplein the cafe for change. I tend to go to this cafe a lot for drinks or salads on the weekends, and the grizzly pair obviously recognise me. The old woman will ask me for money ("pesos, weritaaaa"), I'll shake my head and say sorry, and the daughter wheels them away, both muttering, probably about how stingy I am, while looking back at me and tutting. Sometimes, I almost consider giving the daughter some money simply for putting up with her mother all day. I get a scary role-reversal image in my head of having to push my 90 year old mother around one day for free...

Otherwise, I get "werita" shouted at me all over the place. Usually from taxis or truck-driers, but sometimes someone passing me on the street will just stare at me out of interest and say "werita!" in a factual tone. They don't mean to be rude, they're just surprised to see me.

• Being mistaken for a prostitute.

Yes, really. When I was in Puerta Vallarta, a group of us went to see a salsa show at a hotel. One of the girls has a boyfriend who was in the show, and every week she would go to watch him. Every week, she gets stopped at the gates and mistaken for a prostitute. Sure enough, we missed the beginning of the show, because the security guard refused to let us in until somebody could confirm that we had not been summoned by a drunk hotel resident. Just because we were all white!

I dress pretty modestly in the city- far more so than most of the local girls. Somehow, it's normal for them to wear something backless, or a tiny skirt (along with their great big anorak and scarf), yet when I wear a knee-length dress, the truck drivers react as if I've stepped outside naked. It's just not fair.


In other news, I went to Tonala market today- It's about 40 minutes from the centre and the usual 6 pesos (<30p) to get there on the bus. The market was HUge. You could buy anything from jewellery to furniture, to food, knives, puppies or brightly dyed chicks... I didn't buy anything apart from enchilladas, although I was tempted to buy all the neon chicks and shave their feathers before setting them free... They were pretty cute though. And no wonder everyone has pets here- ther are far too many baby animals for sale.

Montse went to sleep after work, but heard me come in at 4 and decided to get up and find a party. As one does. When I woke up this morning, she had just got back and was puking. Mental.