Warning: Mexico is dangerous

(Especially regarding your anxiety and prejudices)

Before leaving, I did my homework. I read all the alarmist blogs, watched all the "I almost died in Mexico" vlogs, and I was officially in full panic mode. Cartels, hurricanes, earthquakes, rampant traveler's diarrhea, express kidnappings… I was afraid of everything. Even guacamole, you never know.

Okay, I'm exaggerating a little, but… not by much. It's clear that moving to another country, one you know very little about, brings its share of worries.

And yet, I went. Because deep down, I suspected that the media and certain "influencers" love fear a little too much. It's their favorite fuel. Fear gets clicks. Fear sells. Fear, above all, makes people forget that real life happens elsewhere than in the headlines.

Reality according to Google: Danger everywhere.

My take on the reality:

* Cartels? Never seen one. Not a hat, not a suspicious tattoo. However, I do know that there are terrorist groups from India that are extorting money from Canadians in British Columbia and Ontario with far too much efficiency.

* Hurricanes, earthquakes, and volcanoes? They exist… elsewhere. In my state, Querétaro, the biggest natural risk is gaining 3 kilos from fresh tortillas every morning.

* Noise? Ah. Cohetes. Those devilish firecrackers with fuses that sound like they're announcing the end of the world at 2 a.m.

In Tequisquiapan, they're pretty discreet. On the other hand, the dogs in certain neighborhoods clearly have a WhatsApp group. Every morning at precisely 6:32 a.m., they hold a general assembly to discuss canine geopolitics.

But the real danger of Mexico lies elsewhere. It's going there to visit and... forgetting to leave.

It's the unconditional smile of the mamá who serves you as if you were her favorite daughter.

It's Laura the pastry chef, with her son Alejandro, who writes a new phrase on her chalkboard every day to bring a smile.

"You'll know it's true love when, instead of flowers, he will let you share his dessert."

It's the neighbor who says "buenos días" three times a day, even if they've already passed you.

It's Daniel, the camarero (waiter) at my favorite café, who is so welcoming to newcomers.

He's the barber with whom you exchange the latest news in a sort of broken Spani-French-glish and with whom you quietly build relationships.

It's the children playing in the square until 10 p.m. without their laughter and shouts of joy disturbing anyone.

It's the city, my city, that's beautiful... so beautiful.

It is Luis, my fruit and vegetable vendor, who recognized me on my second visit and offered me a tiny avocado from his personal tree, which was so tender that you could eat the peel.

It's the San Juan River that flows nonchalantly very close to my house.

It's a country that teaches you to breathe more slowly. To live with less stress. To accept that "ahorita" doesn't always mean now, but... later. Immigrants who still stress about schedules are the ones who end up regretting their move. Me? I've let go. I've even learned to love speed bumps that catapult you into orbit if you forget to brake.

Ultimately,

The only danger in Mexico is falling in love with it...

And the immigrant who succeeds is the one who arrives with curiosity in her suitcase.

Me? I'm that immigrant.

The one who traded her worries for bursts of laughter, unexpected fireworks, and heartfelt "bienvenidos."