One journalist's musings about the beautiful, bizarre world in which we live
DEC. 4, 2010
I jumped. My heart stopped.
Dan and I arrived in Oaxaca last night. This morning, we were walking into town from the outskirts. Neither of us have health insurance outside of the limited OHIP or AHIP. The last thing we needed was to be shot.
I looked around, noticing that no one but me seemed particularly worried. Men with briefcases continued their walk through cobblestone streets. Women with babies passed by as if there were not other cares in the world.
Are people so used to gunfights that they aren’t scared by them anymore? I thought.
I tentatively took a few more steps, waiting for the cartels to come around the corners and take me out.
My ears popped and I reflexively ducked a bit. Still, no one seemed to care.
Dan and I asked a man nearby for directions, and I asked him to tell me what the loud noises were.
Fireworks, he said. They shoot them off during the day for the weddings that take place every weekend.