the smiling sign

I am a slow learner.

Several years ago, my friend Oswaldo asked if I would drive him to a friend's house In La Huerta -- about an hour drive on a scenic road that winds into the foothills of the Sierra Madre del Sur.

I quickly said yes, not only because he is my friend, but it also a nice drive -- the type of Sunday trip that is fodder for future tales. And it was.

As we were entering La Huerta, I asked him if I needed to turn left or right off of the main highway to get to our destination. He said he didn't know where the house was -- but he would ask someone. So, we drove into the central area of La Huerta. At the town square, Oswaldo jumped out of the car and talked to a hot dog vendor at the corner, who seemed to be gesturing in general directions.

"We need to go to the other side of the highway," said Oswaldo. So, we did, and drifted around for a bit until we saw a couple walking. Out of the car. Talking. General gestures. Wife points one way. Husband points the other.

Back in the car, Oswaldo suggested we drive in a direction different from either the husband or wife. After an hour of this, I will confess that I was getting a bit irritated with the inefficiency of it all.

It turned out we never got to the house because we saw his friend drive by and ended up chasing him down the mountain roads to Cuastecomates, a beach town ten minutes from where we had started our journey.

That happened once more with Oswaldo and another time with Omar. I then instituted a new rule for my taxi service. The car would not leave the garage until I had an address to put in Google Maps. No address, no trip.

I would like to say that was a good solution. But it hasn't been. A high percentage of my driving service trips have ended in the middle of a field instead of in the center of a town. And we then end up asking strangers for directions to places they really do not recognize.

Every time I include malecon next to the ocean on my walks in Barra de Navidad, I think of those trips -- and the improvised directions. Like many tourist areas that wish to tug on the nostalgia heart strings of tourists, Barra has installed a colorful sign post purporting to show the names, directions, and distances for various cities and countries. The only problem is that whoever erected the post either has a delightfully wicked sense of humor or suffers from the same spatial sense as Douglas Corrigan.

I like to think it is the former. And I suspect it is. Just look at the arrows.

Let me give you some context. From the perspective of the photograph, you are looking generally south toward Antarctica. Off to your right is west -- the Pacific Ocean, China. Off to your left is east -- Mexico City, the Caribbean, Africa.

Now that you are oriented (so to speak), the humor is evident. Brazil appears to have been re-located to Africa and London to Antarctica. And, as far as I can calculate, Miami must be a suburb on Taiwan.

The fact that some of the arrows seem to be spot on with their direction and distance makes the joke even better. Misdirection is always improved with a modicum of verisimilitude.

But I think there is another reason we all seem to have a visceral reaction when we see these signposts. And it is the reason that many of us still remember the classic example on MASH.

Seeing familiar names not only reminds us of places we know, but also of the places we call home.

When you are next in the neighborhood, stop by and have a smile at the courtesy of the Corrigan signpost. 

I wonder if I could find that address in La Huerta on it?