The Guadalajara Reporter
Guadalajara's Largest English Newspaper
Some of my most vivid memories of Mexico will come from the people I see along the streets. People whose names I don’t know and who I have only fleeting contact with.
And, suddenly, I heard music. A cadence of drums and horns and a rhythmic clomping that I couldn’t identify.
I reread some of my old columns this week and I found myself wondering where I was when I wrote them.
The pickup truck pulled out from Oxxo. It was an older model with a single bench seat and a paint job that might have been blue in years past, but was now as grey a midwestern winter sky.
This week was two months to the day from when I’ll be leaving Mexico and heading back to the Midwest.
My sister came home from a New York City vacation all smiles because someone had asked her where they could find the high end jewelry stores.
I’m always surprised by what I see for sale from street vendors.
