Remembering Mexico

I miss Latin America.  I still use Ensenada as a base when I’m in North America much of the time but, well, those girls could use some Slim Fast.  Not that I’m looking for girls mind you, I’m happily married, but I like visually pleasing experiences.  I miss the old days.  Back then I’d disdain to even consider hanging in a border town, but back then ‘the interior’ was dirt-cheap.  Now they’re about the same, and I can use American services and be back in Mexico at will along the border.  But that’s a compromised situation.  Back in the old days southern Mexico was pristine.  Old women went bare-breasted in Pinotepa.  Puerto Escondido was a fishing village, with campsites for the American hippie-types filtering in to winter over in the sunshine.  You could get a licuado smoothie for the equivalent of an American quarter.  Usually those are milk or water-based.  These were orange-juice-based!  If you camped on the beach, a Frito bandito would even come by your campsite after you’ve turned in and hold you up at gunpoint, taking your cameras and otherwise lightening your load.  Now that’s service!  But Oaxaca was always good at that.  I can’t remember ever parking my truck on the city streets and not getting robbed.  I even got robbed with a screwdriver once.  Mix me a Molotov.  My Oaxacan friends swore that the thieves weren’t Oaxacans, or at least not ‘real’ ones.  Yeah, we never really had slaves in Mississippi, either.  A British friend swears that the British were reluctant colonizers.