Como se llama? Don’t try that question, but enjoy the wonderful appeals—sensory, climate, people, children especially, churches of beauty, a land of history (and much of it connected to the U.S.)—in this land so near.
Confession time. I’m a self-identified (to use a popular new “word”) basket lover—and the best place to find a plethora of baskets at rock-bottom prices—is Mexico. One day after jolting around southern Mexico in my VW van (lots of room for baskets—and one’s children—note the order listed!), we stopped in a local hotel for the night. I couldn’t leave the baskets in the car, so the two children were tasked with helping me make several trips to get the baskets to our room.
The next morning, we reversed the action; children carrying baskets down to the lobby, one staying to “supervise” that no one took our baskets. And I making certain that we didn’t leave any in the room, and that no precious baskets were crushed.
On the final trip, when I came to our pile of baskets, a very nicely dressed woman came up to me, asking how much I was charging for the lovely baskets. (My children, who had objected to all the bags to begin with, gave me Teenage Disgust Looks, and tried to pretend we weren’t related.)
Perhaps you wonder how safe I felt driving around southern Mexico; I felt just fine. Today, things may be bit dicey, but if I could “get around” a tad more easily, I’d go in a heartbeat. After all, I need some new baskets!
One of the many nice things about driving in Mexico is that Pemex is the gas conglomerate, so the price of gas (at least when I was there over several years) is the same—at a tourist spot, in a city, or in a small town . . . every place in the country. (Very different from the U.S. where gas prices fluctuate depending on location.)