may i help you with those bags, señor?

This morning I walked past the new hotel on Nueva España -- a block south of the house with no name.

I was not alone. A recently-arrived neighbor from the north wanted to chat with me as I headed off on my morning walk. So, I cut my pace to one-quarter as we sauntered along.

As we walked past the hotel, he stopped and said: " That's shocking." At first, I thought he was channeling Captain Renault from Casablanca in some sort of false indignation. I should have known better. Irony is not one of his conversational tools.

I stopped to see what had drawn his ire. He was staring at the hotel's handicapped entrance. "That would never be allowed in [pick your country or city or state]."

And he was correct. To better utilize the space in their boutique-size hotel, the owners had opened a little dress shop in the handicapped entrance. Two mannequins effectively transformed space dedicated to the handicapped into a Prada show window.

When I first moved here, I picked up on almost every variance from northern traffic, occupational safety, and food service standards. I would snap a photo and write an essay oozing with northern cultural superiority about how different life in Mexico was -- at least, from my bourgeois existence in Oregon. You only need to look at the Mexpatriate archives from 2007 to 2012 (or thereabouts).

After living here for thirteen years, I often do not see the very things that once caught my attention (like a family of four on one motorbike), let alone write about them. It is just the way life is here.

The mannequins in the handicapped lane were something I had actually noticed. But I had disregarded it.

After all, it certainly was doing me no harm. I was not going to stay at the hotel. I am not handicapped. And, even if I were, it is obvious that the mannequins could quickly be moved out of the way to allow easy access. To me, it was simply a bit of performance art. Decapitated beauty queens ready to help with the luggage.  

My neighbor wanted to talk with the hotel manager to set the matter right. I suggested that we should continue our walk. He came along, but I could tell the incident bothered him.

I am generally an advocate of reducing the number of barriers handicapped people encounter in public spaces. After all, I have suffered broken ribs, gashed knees, and lacerated chins (back when I had two or three of my own), over the past year. If I were restricted to a wheelchair, getting around Barra de Navidad would be a real problem.

But I am realist enough to know that northern legal standards do not translate well here. Even when there is a similar law here, most northerners are usually not in the best position to exercise their vigilante roles.

One of my pet peeves is garbage. I have been unable to shake my northern sensibility that plastic bags filled with garbage and torn up by dogs in front of my house is not an aesthetic way to live one's life. The bags would remain there for months if I did not pick them up myself. And so I do. Without bothering the neighbors who put the garbage out.

My method never reaches the underlying concern. But I find that being a good neighbor often means helping others rather than making demands on my neighbors. It is a far more peaceful existence.

As for the passage-blocking mannequins, I will leave them to their own party. After all, they are well-dressed and most likely will make way with a polite con permiso.