On Mexican Time
Being in Mexico has shifted my perspective.
Mexico confronts you with time. Living here has changed my relationship with time. Here’s how.
We have been living in Mexico full time just shy of six months now, but it has passed in the blink of an eye. Our family came to visit for Christmas, but the last time we saw them was in July. It feels like it was only a month ago.
Days can go by so quickly. By the time the sun is coming down, I sometimes feel like the day just started.
But at the same time, the pace of interactions can be very slow.
While our family was here, we were at a beach club. We ordered hot dogs for everyone, and they took over an hour to come. Wondering if they may have forgotten about our order, I gently asked the waitress about the order. “They are coming,” she said, “We ran out of hot dogs and buns so went over to the hotel to get some. They are cooking them in the kitchen now and will be out soon.”
“It’s taking so long.” groaned one of my nephews.
“They’re coming.” I said, and set my gaze on the ocean.
That very same day, we went for dinner at a very cool restaurant called Playazul, which was sitting on the bank of a river in Veracruz. The restaurant appeared to be converted from the backyard of somebody’s home. Dogs were running around the property. There were string lights and a tiki bar. The ambiance was familial and warm. The food took a very long time to come. It was probably cooked in the kitchen of the restaurant owner’s house.
“I’m hungry.” said another niece.
“It’s coming.” I said.
The food came, and it was delicious. A literal home-cooked meal, in an idyllic setting. We loved it.
That night, when we got back to the condo we were renting, the elevator was taking a while to come down. The patience of my relatives was growing thinner. “Today is the day of waiting.” I said.
Is every day like this in Mexico? No. It was a particularly slow day. But in general, some things take longer.
At the end of the day, I jotted down these lyrics for a song in my notes application:
Time moves fast
Time moves slow
Slow down baby
You’re in Mexico
People move slower. People don’t hurry down the streets; they walk at a leisurely pace. This was something that I, as a slow-moving creature, immediately embraced. For my husband, he had to get used to it.
If you go eat at a restaurant, you always have to ask for your bill. This is a cultural thing. Your server won’t just bring the bill at the end of your meal. They don’t want to rush you, or perhaps it is considered rude. You ask for your bill when you’re ready to leave. They usually bring the bill, then come back to your table a few minutes later and ask if you’re paying card or cash. Then, they disappear again, and go get the terminal to take your card payment.
In Canada, good service is judged by efficiency. How fast can you dine and dash? The warmth of service is less important than whether you’ve got what you ordered in a short enough time frame. Everything, in a way, becomes fast food.
In Mexico, good service is judged by attention to detail, care, quality, and the ambiance the staff help create with their amicable and professional attitude. Good things come to those who wait.
We have one life. Every day that passes is another day of your life, gone, never coming back. When we spend our time rushing to get through the day, we are really rushing to get through our lives.
Old people move slowly, for mobility reasons. But maybe slowing down involves something wiser than that. When you’re in the winter of your life, maybe stopping to smell the roses becomes more important. Taking everything in becomes more urgent.
Mexicans embrace the cycle of life and death in a very visceral way during Dia de Muertos. Perhaps as a people, they have adopted a rhythm that reminds them of the very precious and fleeting nature of time. Time still passes quickly, I have learned, even if the days pass slowly. Stretching the sensation of time by taking my time has me remembering that life is right now, not later. Time isn’t something to take for granted. Eventually, you run out of it.
Being in Mexico has shifted my perspective. I am enjoying the moments that make up the time I have, because they won’t last forever. I am not taking for granted the visits with family, because every six months that pass that we don’t see them is half a year of our lives. My nieces and nephews are growing older, and so am I.
My son was lying on a long chair at the beach club on the day of the hot dogs, next to his older cousin. “Why are my legs not long like his?” he said.
“One day they will be,” I said, “When you get bigger and older.”
“I don’t want to grow up!” he started to cry.
“I know,” I said. “I know.”
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