The Three Asshole Turistas and Other Shitheads: A Small Essay

"Tourists came around and looked into our tipis. That those were the homes we choose to live in didn`t bother them at all. They untied the door, opened the flap, and barged right in, touching our things, poking through our bedrolls, inspecting everything. It boggles my mind that tourists feel they have the god-given right to intrude everywhere." - Russell Means, Where White Men Fear to Tread: The Autobiography of Russell Means

+ + +

I saw an old stray dog today on the corner. He was the spitting image of 'Dogmeat' from 'The Road Warrior', an Australian cattle dog. He had mismatched eyes, one was almost pure white save for the iris, that gave him the look of an unwashed, coked-out, canine David Bowie. I called to him in both English and Spanish, but all he did was spare a bit of a sideways glance as he trotted off to wherever he was heading.


That dog is still more polite than most of the tourists that visit this city. At least the ones I interact with when playing the part of Carnival of Naked Girls Barker. Though truth be told, even when I'm not playing that particularly strange call back to a summer of my youth spent as an apprentice carny, they are still rude as fuck.

[[Another beautiful day in the neighborhood, well, the girls are beautiful at least.]]

One smiles and says hello, offers a pleasant greeting, and if they grant you even the same side-eye that Dogmeat Bowie offered it is with the most unpleasant expression. Nearly every last one of them. As if  I just stepped in a huge pile of dogshit, then asked them if they too would enjoy stepping in the dogshit. 

Get over here, tourist scum, get in on this while its fresh, its quality dogshit.

This evening after work I decided to make a sojourn into south Texas for some supplies that thus far can't be had locally. Tessa's favorite brand of catfood among the supplies required. What can I say, I love my cat. If I was willing to take her to a vet to needlessly update her shots and get a bunch of expensive certificates while having very, very little money and none to spare, just so I could bring her with me to Mexico you can be damn sure she will eat as she is accustomed. 

Anyways, while queuing up on the main street through Nuevo Progresso near the border I found myself in traffic behind a banged up Mazda with Texas plates. No big deal, one sees Texas plates down here almost as often as Mexican plates. After being stuck behind them for a few minutes they began stopping seemingly randomly, in traffic, and the driver would get out and run to a stall where she apparently saw something earlier and decided, about a half hour after the last second, that she simply had to have it. She did this four fucking times.

This in and of itself is beyond rude, and to my limited knowledge of the subject not permitted in heavy traffic, or any traffic for that matter, in either America or Mexico. She didn't even pull a "Pittsburgh" and turn her blinkers on, also it was the fucking driver. 

After her last no doubt life-or-death nick knack purchase she and her companions began cleaning their car out. A responsible thing to do, one that I should do soon as well, only I won't be simply tossing my garbage onto the street. At one point they were about 5 feet from a 55 gallon drum that is clearly marked as a public refuse bin. They kept tossing empty food wrappers, beer cans (Bud Light 'tall boys', I doubt I'll be drinking with them anytime soon), etc, right onto the street. The only thing that seemed to distract any of the three college aged Caucasian females from cleaning the car was the interference of the toddler who was climbing all over everyone in the car, not, say, in a child safety seat of any sort. 

I was stuck behind the Three Asshole Turistas all the way into Texas. The car must have been clean by then, but that child was still jumping about. I don't like to make assumptions about people, usually, but if they had a child with them in a foreign country one of them was its mother most likely. Otherwise it becomes an absolute nightmare to get across the border. 

Nice to see someone isn't letting maternal instinct, the law of two nations, or basic, common decency get in the way of a good time and living life on her terms. I applaud her in a way, I know very few people who can simply give that few fucks about that many things at once. She must be a nihilist the likes of which Germany has never known.

[[In happier, more tranquil, less... infested times.]]

In equally-happy news I had to leave my car in the United States upon my return to Mexico. Turns out the Mexican Border Patrol agents were looking for a bribe, but I didn't realize it because my Spanish isn't optimal and they can't just say "give us $20 so you can go home and feed your cat, asshole". The whole time I was in Texas I had this feeling of apprehension, like I was somehow going to become trapped there and never return to Mexico and the strange life I have been crafting largely by accident. Turns out it was just my car that got stuck in Texas. 

The issue, they said, was my lack of vehicle permit. Which is a problem, if I go beyond the border area (about 30k inland from the border, unless you are in Sonora or Baja), which I have not and was not planning to until I have said permit. But that wasn't the issue, the issue was my lack of picking up the "we work the night shift and make shit money, so give us some so you can take your car home" signals. Usually I'm pretty good about such things, but it had been a long and frustrating day. That might be why this post is so bitchy, or it could be the shitty tourists, or it could be that I'm not drunk enough yet. Or maybe, just maybe, all of those things.

So I parked on the US side, and walked across the bridge through the deserted streets, all the way back to my little slice of Mexican heaven with goods in hand. There, right at the corner of my home/old cafe, at the edge of the streetlight where it was impossible to miss, was a huge pile of fresh dogshit. Thanks, Old Man. 

Time to drink. Ah, its nice to have something in ones life that you have control over.

+ + +

This post and its original content copyright James Radcliff, and has been brought to you by Mexico, tequila, and generally poor decision making. If you would like to donate to support this bizarre little travelogue, feel free to do so via Patreon or PayPal. As always, this strange and debaucherous adventure has been brought to your screen by viewers like you. Thank you.

https://www.patreon.com/jamesradcliff
paypal.me/jamesradcliff 
https://www.instagram.com/dispatches_from_the_field/