When we drove through Mexico and Central America several years ago we enrolled in the Safe Traveler Enrollment Program (STEP) with the US State Department. Being members in STEP entitled us to periodically receive notifications from the US Embassy in each country. These emails weren’t helpful tidbits about where to enjoy a traditional, inexpensive dinner in Guatemala City and didn’t provide discounts tickets for ferry boat rides on Lake Nicaragua.
Instead, the emails contained health and safety information alerting us to perceived dangers in the different countries we would be driving through. Stuff like road closures, suspected gang activity, and travel restrictions. In fact, at the time that I spent a month driving around the Mexican states of Michoacan and Guerrero in 2015, there was a prohibition on US government employees driving around the Mexican states of Michoacan and Guerrero. As a US government employee (even one on a temporary leave of absence) I could have been fired.
Although we’ve had our van parked in our garage in Mexico for the last few years, I never unenrolled from STEP. I like the trip down memory lane that I get every time I receive an email from the US Consul in San Salvador warning me about the level of criminal activity on the road to Santa Ana. And I feel like part of the club when I get an invitation from the Embassy in Costa Rica to an upcoming town hall meeting in San Jose where the Consul is going to talk about passport renewals and his favorite brownie recipe (Costa Rica doesn’t have a lot of the developing world problems common to its neighbors.)
A few months ago I was being advised by the Embassy in Managua, Nicaragua, to avoid being present at civilian protests against certain actions of president-for-life Daniel Ortega that were designed to put more money in his pockets. There was a high potential for violence, the Consul said, as Ortega was enlisting para-military groups to help quash these otherwise peaceful demonstrations. The US wasn’t doing anything about the violence and oppression, just letting us know it was happening. I’m not getting those alerts anymore. I guess after all these years Mr. Ortega finally stopped behaving like a dictator.
Ah, memories. Hearing about a three-day tire burning binge on the jungle roads in Chiapas, Mexico, reminds me of when we were driving there and needed to have small bills handy in case we encountered something similar and needed to bribe our way past. You might think that it’s perverse of me to enjoy messages describing these truly troubling conditions in places that I will always hold very dear. But it’s not the content of the messages I enjoy. Rather, it’s that they remind me of the time we spent in the countries and describe conditions that I’m familiar with. The daily updates I am getting now all have to do with Covid-19. It’s like the virus has taken over the world and everything else has gone away.
The gates to heaven are locked for everyone now, not just us sinners.
The latest update from the US Consul to Costa Rica is that restrictions prohibiting foreigners from entering the country have been extended to May 15. There is no indication of whether this applies to drug runners on their way to supply US demand who put their boats in at isolated coastal villages to re-fuel, get drunk, and buy a grilled chicken to eat now and one to go.
The US Embassy in Guatemala City had this to say: “[We] urge US citizens to comply with all laws, regulations and health guidelines put in place by the Guatemalan government, including the mandatory curfew, mandatory use of masks in public, and other restrictions on travel and other activities currently in effect. Failure to comply with these regulations could result in fines of up to 150,000 Quetzales (ed. note: about $20,000) or up to six years in prison.” The Consul is silent on the legality of the “Asylum Cooperative Agreement” in which the US puts asylum seekers at the US border on planes to apply for protection in Guatemala.
The Nicaraguan government has not officially announced border restrictions, or when the next presidential election will be, but in true “I’m the boss of everything” panache, warns that people should be prepared for closures of land borders and airports with little or no advance notice, and with an indefinite duration. Fortunately, all commercial air service between the US and Nicaragua is suspended until at least May so you can’t accidentally board a plane to Managua. The bad news is that US citizens still in Nicaragua may not be able to get out.
El Salvador tried to get ahead of the COVID curve. As early as March 21 it implemented a home quarantine that is still in effect. Only one person from each household is allowed to venture into public places to purchase essential goods no family can live without such as pupusas and Fabuloso. This early quarantine has allowed the country to keep its numbers of infected low, reporting only 218 confirmed cases in the country and 7 deaths as of April 22. Evidence that the quarantine is working. Though, the gangs that are generally more effective than the government at controlling public behavior have produced videos showing masked members hitting people with baseball bats for not adhering to the quarantine. Apparently, they are not beating them to death; gang-related homicides in the country were down to 65 in March from 114 In February. Progress.
A limited number of humanitarian and/or commercial flights depart from most of these countries weekly to bring US citizens back to the US. Meanwhile, in Mexico, commercial flight options continue to exist and reports are that you can still cross the land borders for “essential” business. As long as you aren’t running a fever, you can come and get tacos.
Mexico’s three step solution for minimizing the risk of transmission - 1) wash your hands, 2) keep your distance, 3) stay home.
On April 21, the Mexican government announced the start of Phase 3 of the pandemic, meaning rapid transmission in the number of infections and increased numbers of patients requiring hospitalization. As of Friday, April 24, Mexico had more than 11,000 confirmed cases and 1,069 deaths. The health minister suggests those numbers are lower than the reality because there is limited testing available. One estimate is that these numbers reflect only 10% of the truth. So, figure 77,000 infected persons and more than 10,000 dead. A friend that is plugged into the political scene says that the unofficial government estimate is that 2 million Mexicans will die from the virus. With 10,000 dead so far, we’ve got a long way to go.
#quedateencasa #stayhome
Someone forgot to tell these guys sitting at a restaurant on the main plaza about the third rule of minimizing transmission. Stay home.
We live in San Miguel de Allende, where there are 5 confirmed cases and no deaths. The local government closed non-essential services about a month ago, but a few restaurants and bars remain open. Maybe the patrons bring their own food? Most likely the owners know the leading local politicians and have paid for the privilege. Some things retain an element of normalcy - the channels of graft remain open.
Parks are closed, but some remain open. There are less people on the street, but they sit shoulder to shoulder on benches that aren’t crossed with yellow police tape and line up for paletas (ice pops) so closely that your neck sweats from the warm breath of the person behind you.
The main plaza in San Miguel, the jardin, is not accepting visitors.
We’ve been self-quarantined for 6 weeks, seeing only ourselves, our dog-park friends, the guy who knocks on our door each Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday to deliver water, the guy who knocks on our door once a week to sell us pineapples, the guy at the tienda where I go to buy beer, the guy at the other tienda where I go to buy beer, and the woman at the other, other tienda where I go to buy beer. I also see the garbage man when the pieces of steel pipe that he plays like a triangle startle me out of bed early in the morning to rush downstairs and hand him our bag of trash (we aren’t currently allowed to just leave our garbage bags outside our door for him to collect like we were able to do in the old days.)
Fortunately, we can still get lettuce. This sign taped to the garage door where we used to just walk up and purchase our lettuce says, “Please knock if you need lettuce.” We knock a few times a week.
With the expectation that things are going to get worse here before they get better, R and I have been planning for our escape if the shit hits the fan. We know that lawyers, guns, and money won’t get us out of this (well, guns and money might, but we’re taking a more practical approach) but we are hoping that our van Wesley might.
Thus, in anticipation of having to leave, we’ve been thinking about getting the van tuned up, gassed up, and putting its papers in order. We’ve asked the kids to think about what they might want to bring and we let the dog know she’s on her own.
The only question we have is, when to leave? We like being here. We like our house and the feeling that it gives us that we are outside even when we are inside; we like that we have a local grocery around the corner and don’t have to go to a large grocery with the rest of the masses; we like the lower cost of living in Mexico.
But we know that Mexico is generally more lawless than the US. People aren’t always going to follow advice that will minimize the risk of transmission and infection. We know that more people in Mexico live hand to mouth so their reaction to the economic loss they sustain may be more desperate. We know the medical system is more likely to be overwhelmed - like a band-aid on an amputated limb.
R evacuates from Phnom Penh in 1997 after holing up for days to the soundtrack of gunfire and bombs.
Fortunately, none of these things has happened yet. It’s especially good because circumstances are not as clear cut as when R had to evacuate Cambodia in the 1990’s during a violent military coup. She wasn’t flying from one war zone into another. If we left Mexico now, before the coming storm, we would be driving into the storm that is raging in the US.
So, with all that in mind, we wait. We continue to take the dog to dog park without standing too close to anybody. We continue to accidentally make bleach spots on our clothes while decontaminating our groceries. I continue to bounce between the local tiendas to see which one has beer in the cooler. And I continue to monitor email looking for some good news. Nothing would make my heart smile more than reading about Daniel Ortega having named himself president in the after-life, or a protest and raging tire fire in Chiapas.