inadvertently backed his van into the cop’s car, they only shrugged and let him go. Didn’t even give him a speeding ticket.
“Another friend was taking a lit-tle more goods across the border than Mexican law allows, and by the way, we never know exactly what that is, and got stopped for inspection. They glanced inside the van, and waved him on, but his car wouldn’t start. Thinking he was royally screwed when a customs pickup with two big guys rolled up, he figured on a big fine for smuggling, but what did they do? Helped him jumpstart his van. And on another day, other people have had their boats, cars and everything in them confiscated for not having the proper paperwork, even though other officials told them they didn’t need it. It’s a crap shoot.”
“I don’t think most Americans want to live with that kind of uncertainty. We hear horror stories.”
I shrugged a fairly good Mexican shrug. “Oh, ca-ca occurs. Cops looking for payoffs, or mordida , the bite. There’s much less of that now, but the escalating cartel wars and human smuggling are far more dangerous. Many Americans won’t cross the border. Folks in Nogales, Arizona, used to walk over to the Mexican side for dinner, but no more. Drug thugs peppering your enchiladas with automatic weapons fire is crappy for tourism. Here, at this border though, no problem. So far.”
“Except that you’ve already seen armed smugglers. As for random gunfire, people have been shot at in Oakland restaurants. And speaking of, those bow tie dudes at the golf course this morning? The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that they are up to something, and it ain’t good. Stay away from them.”
“Gee, and here I was, thinking of asking them over for cocktails.”
He grinned. “Muslims don’t drink, and by the way, after you finish that glass of wine, neither do you. Cocktails are curtailed for at least ten days.”
“Ten days? Are you nuts?”
“Nope. Ten days, then you can have a glass now and again.”
I mulled that over, changed the subject back to Mexico. “I hope the Mexicans get this drug war thing under control soon. I’ll be driving back and forth to San Carlos and, when I can, the mine. I have to admit that I’m a little on edge, and you know I ain’t no scaredy cat. If I can get spooked, it is no wonder tourists are staying away in droves.”
“America is a country of laws, even if we do grouse about too much government interference. We know what is expected of us, and what the consequences are when we decide to break the rules. Unfortunately, the bad guys use those very laws to get away with just about everything. What do they care if they get a few days in the clink, make bail, get a sleazy lawyer and return to the streets to break more laws? Other than a little speeding or tax evasion, most of us manage to stay out of jail, and like to know where we stand at all times.”
“True, but Gringos who live in Mexico are different. For starters, they’ve taken a step away from the ordinary by moving to another country. Some do it for economic reasons, some for romance, others for the beaches and culture. Expats are a breed unto their own.”
Craig looked thoughtful. “You think I’d like it there?”
“Absotively. You’d be a natural. Well, except for the fact that Mexicans hate Blacks and Gays, you’ll fit right in.”
Craig brayed just as Blue, who for some reason hadn’t shown up the night before, trotted up for a treat. The coyote, startled by the laugh, skittered away, then returned and sat, waiting. Now that they’d met, my two buddies engaged in a stare-down, Craig’s a look of curiosity, Blue’s wily, as he carefully checked out the large black human on my porch.
Craig whistled softly. “Whoa, Hetta, you weren’t justa wolfin’, that is one big old handsome coyote. Gimme a biscuit.”
I grabbed a handful of dog treats from the kitchen and Craig lobbed them, each one a little closer. Blue seemed to have
“Another friend was taking a lit-tle more goods across the border than Mexican law allows, and by the way, we never know exactly what that is, and got stopped for inspection. They glanced inside the van, and waved him on, but his car wouldn’t start. Thinking he was royally screwed when a customs pickup with two big guys rolled up, he figured on a big fine for smuggling, but what did they do? Helped him jumpstart his van. And on another day, other people have had their boats, cars and everything in them confiscated for not having the proper paperwork, even though other officials told them they didn’t need it. It’s a crap shoot.”
“I don’t think most Americans want to live with that kind of uncertainty. We hear horror stories.”
I shrugged a fairly good Mexican shrug. “Oh, ca-ca occurs. Cops looking for payoffs, or mordida , the bite. There’s much less of that now, but the escalating cartel wars and human smuggling are far more dangerous. Many Americans won’t cross the border. Folks in Nogales, Arizona, used to walk over to the Mexican side for dinner, but no more. Drug thugs peppering your enchiladas with automatic weapons fire is crappy for tourism. Here, at this border though, no problem. So far.”
“Except that you’ve already seen armed smugglers. As for random gunfire, people have been shot at in Oakland restaurants. And speaking of, those bow tie dudes at the golf course this morning? The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that they are up to something, and it ain’t good. Stay away from them.”
“Gee, and here I was, thinking of asking them over for cocktails.”
He grinned. “Muslims don’t drink, and by the way, after you finish that glass of wine, neither do you. Cocktails are curtailed for at least ten days.”
“Ten days? Are you nuts?”
“Nope. Ten days, then you can have a glass now and again.”
I mulled that over, changed the subject back to Mexico. “I hope the Mexicans get this drug war thing under control soon. I’ll be driving back and forth to San Carlos and, when I can, the mine. I have to admit that I’m a little on edge, and you know I ain’t no scaredy cat. If I can get spooked, it is no wonder tourists are staying away in droves.”
“America is a country of laws, even if we do grouse about too much government interference. We know what is expected of us, and what the consequences are when we decide to break the rules. Unfortunately, the bad guys use those very laws to get away with just about everything. What do they care if they get a few days in the clink, make bail, get a sleazy lawyer and return to the streets to break more laws? Other than a little speeding or tax evasion, most of us manage to stay out of jail, and like to know where we stand at all times.”
“True, but Gringos who live in Mexico are different. For starters, they’ve taken a step away from the ordinary by moving to another country. Some do it for economic reasons, some for romance, others for the beaches and culture. Expats are a breed unto their own.”
Craig looked thoughtful. “You think I’d like it there?”
“Absotively. You’d be a natural. Well, except for the fact that Mexicans hate Blacks and Gays, you’ll fit right in.”
Craig brayed just as Blue, who for some reason hadn’t shown up the night before, trotted up for a treat. The coyote, startled by the laugh, skittered away, then returned and sat, waiting. Now that they’d met, my two buddies engaged in a stare-down, Craig’s a look of curiosity, Blue’s wily, as he carefully checked out the large black human on my porch.
Craig whistled softly. “Whoa, Hetta, you weren’t justa wolfin’, that is one big old handsome coyote. Gimme a biscuit.”
I grabbed a handful of dog treats from the kitchen and Craig lobbed them, each one a little closer. Blue seemed to have
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