My 400 Meters of Mexico

While food deserts continue to swallow up the inner cities of the U.S., business is booming in the urban neighborhoods of Mexico

Photo by Milton Villemar on Unsplash

“If I can’t find it within 400 meters, I don’t need it.”

I would describe Mexico this way: Food density and cottage industry.

It seems everyone has a business, or is doing business. As a neighbor explained, having a business in one room of the house is not only free, it also helps pay the rent. In my colonia (neighborhood), I can find everything I need, except for shoes. Well, I could find shoes if my feet were average, but sadly, the women’s boutique two doors down from my apartment doesn’t carry size 8.5 shoes. However, I can walk a few blocks to get my shoes repaired at the shoe repair shop. So I guess that does cover just about everything.

I will give you a tour of the booming businesses in my 400 meters.

Let’s begin with what I can see from my bedroom window. On my left is a store featuring rotulos, the slogans and signage that are applied to cars and taxis. Across the street is a store that sells fresh chicken; next to that is a garage that specializes in oil changes. A few doors down from the oil change shop is a photography studio, and next to that is a sandwich shop.

Across the street from the sandwich shop is a fresh produce shop, and — believe it or not — across the aisle from that business is another business that sells eggs and dairy produces. Next door to the produce and dairy shop is a cyber café that also does printing, and next to that is an orthopedic specialist that sells shoes, mostly in children’s sizes. On the other side of the street is a miscelánea, a family-owned stop-n-shop-type store that sells bread, milk, eggs, beer, and lots of other things you may need in a pinch.

Across the street from that store is the women’s boutique with all the gorgeous items that don’t fit me — but they do carry Mary Kay, and they used to have manicures; and next to that is a gift shop specializing in handmade items: wooden plaques and children’s toys. Okay; I’ve covered one block.

I cross my street and head toward the ubiquitous Oxxo, Mexico’s 711. On my way there, I pass a tortilleria; I hear the squeaking of the wheel as it turns out fresh tortillas. I smell them as I pass, and the cheerful chatter of the employees inside pauses as they greet me with a friendly buenos dias. I walk a few steps more and smell the tantalizing odors of a cocina economica, the Mexican version of a New Jersey diner. As I pass, I glance at a sign that announces their menu of the day — choice of pancita, chicken, or beef, with soup or rice and fresh fruit drink, for a price of 55 pesos. The door is open; I see the tables set for company and see the cook stirring her pot, and I am tempted to go inside.

A few doors down is the homeopath pharmacy with the consultorio medico next door. The doctor himself opens the door, inviting me to come inside; no appointments necessary, no such thing as an insurance provider. The cost is 250 pesos for a consultation. And yes, he is a real medical doctor: both walls are covered with his diplomas and certificates.

I cross another side street, where I find the copy shop with an enormous supply of sundries, everything from Bic pens (6 pesos each) to world maps and stuffed animals. The owners, a husband-wife team, can make copies faster than I could ever do myself at Office Depot, what with the new-fangled automatic keyboards and having to punch in the numbers of my credit card and then wait for a customer service specialist to assist me when the machine won’t work.

The reason why the copy shop does such a brisk business is because it is next to a middle school. If I am walking that way around 8:00 a.m., I have to share the sidewalk with mobs of parents who cling to the hands of sleepy children, dragging their feet to school with backpacks in tow. It would be wiser to cross the street.

There, I find another fresh produce shop, and next door to that is a hardware store, and next to that, a print shop with two genuine printing presses — this is where I had my business cards made; the owner himself took my order, and it only took two days. Next door to the printing press is a fully equipped auto garage — as I walk by, I see two cars way up high on those heavy-duty lifts so that the mechanics can stand underneath and work their magic.

After that, I walk undisturbed by businesses for about 50 meters — nothing but majestic trees and private walls — until I come to the traffic light and the Oxxo on the other side of the street. I have walked 300 meters.

Turning left, I encounter two gourmet cafés: one features coffees and homemade pastries and the other features Spanish deli items, including wines, breads, cheeses, meats, and cans of imported olives, artichokes, olive oils — you name it. I can go on and on, but you get the idea: it’s all here, and it’s all privately owned — except for the Oxxos.

I continue walking past the gourmet cafés and come to more hardware stores — I’m talking Lowes and Home Depot; all the stuff, but condensed. Next to these, a pet store, another print shop, another stationery store, a podiatrist and a dentist, a medical clinic, at least three sewing machine repair and supply shops, an upholstery shop, a butcher shop and cheese shop and more diners, a health food store, a music shop, a sports clothing shop, and a beauty salon.

And then, I come to another Oxxo on the corner of the major thoroughfare that leads to the center of town where the big stores are. But I don’t need to go to town to buy what I need.

If I walk in the other direction, away from that Oxxo, I find the shop that washes my clothes. Next door to that is Garis, a nationally owned chain supermarket. I go there occasionally to buy bulk items like coffee.

I make the circuit back to my apartment by walking down this street — where I pass more side streets with just as many cottage industries as I have found in my own 400 meters, all blended in with schools and homes and churches. Oh, I forgot to mention the massage therapist, copy shop, and sundries shop that I pass on my way from the lavandaria to my apartment.

Believe me, it’s all I can do not to stop and buy something from every shop I pass, because the owners are usually standing or sitting right inside to wish me a good day. And if I do go inside — to get my hair cut, or to have copies made — most likely I will receive a hug or a kiss on the cheek in exchange for my business.

As if all these businesses were not enough to provide everything I could ever need, a pop-up Sunday farmers’ market appears just outside the church on the corner. I walk to the corner each Sunday morning to buy my fresh fruits and vegetables for the week, including a bouquet of fresh flowers. The owners, a married couple, bring along their pet green parrot, Chucho, who dances with glee as I approach and hops onto my shoulder, where he perches while I shop.

Going shopping in my 400 meters of Mexico is so much fun. I wish the United States had such neighborhoods. Maybe we could learn something from Mexico.