When you live out in the country, you acknowledge your neighbors as you pass them by in your dusty old truck. When you drive a VW Bug or a bus or I am sure there are other things, you note others of your kind, greeting them with a gesture, a nod or a wave, a shaka in Hawaii.
In Oaxaca, there’s this half-smile that güeros greet other güeros with, a way to say: yes, I see you here, but you aren’t as strange and awkward as their eyes say you are.
This smile, like so many other things, reminds me I am just a visitor here.
