My 20 Pesos

They’re retiring the Mexican 20 peso note. Probably me too. I’ve been going to Mexico since 1988. I’ve been threatening to stop going to Mexico for about a decade now. What’s at the heart of the dispute is I want at Central America. Central America is my unicorn. It keeps getting away from me because of political unrest. I was actually reassigned to Mexico as a Public Health Worker in 1988 because the Marines invaded Honduras. Operation Golden Pheasant forever changed the direction of my life. And I can’t seem to get out from under that invasion. I was pretty close on Nicaragua recently but then something happened there. They closed the hotel that I wanted at because of riots. I was going to write this Nicaraguan Rum Baron and try to meet him. How many letters do you think that guy gets? Of course I would get to meet him. Or at least get a VIP tour of the distillery. I had plans for that distillery. It was a joke but it was going to be a fun one. He also owned the hotel that I wanted to stay at. I figured I could make a pretty big splash which is one of my signature Latin American moves. At this point Kelly doesn’t even take me seriously. You’ll never stop going to Mexico. Just give up on your delusions of Central America. Your Rum Baron River God. A River God is this thing that you want but you can’t get it. Then you finally get it and it’s a huge disappointment. I sigh. You’re right. I’ll be haunting Quintana Roo in the afterlife. The Day of the Dead, baby. I’ve got a novel set in Cancun during The Day of the Dead. Two guys are searching for God on drugs over The Day of the Dead. It has that setup because I wanted to write surreal South American fiction. I studied surrealism in Argentina to make it all seem a little more sensible. The All-Inclusive Church of Cancun has gotten me a little notoriety. Some Mexican political figures follow me on Twitter. Management sometimes look me up. If I cause a stir. I speak Spanish with an Argentinean accent so that makes me a little memorable as well. I’ve been to the openings of countless hotels. The first man to sleep in the bed. They’re putting the furniture in there with me. The staff tends to remember the first day a hotel opens because it’s a total train wreck. Booster and Mommy are memorable too. Booster shouts a lot. Mommy is all dressed up. The collective Mexican thought from the staff can be summed up as. They’re back! Even on the way out this concierge fist bumped me and said in the Argentinean irregular verb form, to pun me, see you in the new year, dude. Nos vemos en el ano nuevo, che. I was like claro q si. Ya me voy. I am coming back already. My Spanish is locked in time. A slangy 1990’s Buenos Aires lunfardo which is an Italian dialect. There is an underlayment of Mexican Spanish from when I was a Public Health Worker outside Guanajuato. Throw in Paraguay from when I was a Public Health Leader there. I was a vago which means vagrant one summer across all of Mexico. I spent twelve weeks on the road in Mexico. I am a Masshole. So I’ve got the whole continent covered in terms of bad accents. My Spanish is just a terror though. I used to watch telenovelas in Buenos Aires and argue with my French National girlfriend so it’s no wonder that these are the results. That’s what I tell people. Anyway, I am just enjoying a cappuccino in this photo. In my Track Smith short: shorts. Before I go out running in the mangrove. I actually bumped into a Security Guard way out in the mangrove. He told me that wild dogs live in the mangrove. Ten cuidado. Be careful. I shrugged it off. I have a very ancient god watching over me. There is no other explanation for me. I’ve bussed across Bolivia without a single scratch. Now that was an adventure. I just resumed my run. The wild dogs can pound sand. I was trespassing at this point but the Security Guard was unperturbed by that. I was free to do whatever I wanted. Just be careful. Sounds like a plan to me. I’m three decades deep on that concept. That’s one of the things that I just love about Mexico. You can ride in the back of a flat bed truck down the highway. Just don’t fall out. It’s on you. I did see the wild dogs though later that day. They were way off in the distance. Way out of biting range. Just as I had predicted. #flashfiction #mexico