September always makes me think of everything I love about Mexico: its fabulous foods, colorful fiesta traditions, amazing crafts and most of all, its ingenious and warm-hearted people.  But rather than share thoughts on those topics, a local government snafu inspires a tirade on one of the country’s most odious attributes: the tope.

The word translates into multiple meanings you can find in dictionaries. But it’s a term even greenhorn expats quickly learn to signify the roadway obstacles English-speakers know as speed bumps or sleeping policemen.

As far as I know, there’s never been a national census on topes. I’d bet they number in the millions. On the highway linking Chapala and Jocotepec alone you can probably count close to 50.

Of course the reason they abound is because few drivers actually pay attention to signs indicating hazards and speed limits. Or common sense rules of the road for that matter. A Mexican friend once observed that his compatriots are never in a hurry until they get behind the wheel of a car.  

So we can conclude that the tope is a necessary evil. But that doesn’t justify all too frequent absurd placements.  You get the logic of slowing down traffic at busy intersections and on highway straight-aways that run through the middle of a little pueblo. But why would anyone see the need to put one across some bumpy cobblestone back street that’s already riddled with treacherous pots holes? Or on both sides of cross roads, as in the case of Chapala’s highly traveled Avenida Pepe Guizar?

Three topes in a row are set in a three-block span of Hidalgo in the neighborhood of the Hotel Montecarlo. Yet there’s not a single obstacle to deter speeding along the curves just west of there where countless accidents and fatalities have occurred.

Then there are obvious design flaws that come from a total absence of construction standards. The local topes seem to be of haphazard artisanal manufacture. There are skinny ones, fat ones, some barely an inch tall and others towering above ankle height, no rhyme or reason. I once baptized the largest one on Hidalgo Mount Tope as I bounced over its daunting summit.

Signs and road markings to warn approaching drivers are rare and generally useless. Painting on the roadway and the surface of the obstacles themselves usually fade out within a few days. Don’t you love the occasional signpost reading “tope” with an arrow pointed downward, positioned to one side of the bump where you spot it just in time to slam on the brakes and brace for the consequences.

Only two topes in the entire Ribera area actually fulfill their purpose without endangering the integrity of vehicle and human body parts. They are situated near the entrances to Senderos del Lago, the monster residential complex at El Chante. They are clearly visible, oblige motorists to reduce velocity and can be easily navigated whiplash-free. Funny how such smarts were applied in an otherwise hideous housing development.

My secret fantasy is that Donald Trump will return to Mexico someday to collect all the topes to build his infamous wall.