I remember an expanse of scrubland with massive saguaro cacti stretching out to a ridge in the distance. The sun was setting, and the evening light crept over the rocky outcrop before me. From behind the cacti, ragged-looking men suddenly appeared . . .
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6/21/19
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As I scroll back through my childhood remembrances, Mexico comes to me in clips and phrases, a staccato succession of wonder and horror — but mostly wonder.
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6/8/18
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I cherish a dreamy memory of Mexico. It was 1990, and we were on vacation in Zihuatanejo, then a sleepy fishing village, on the Pacific coast.
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8/19/15
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If you can find even one week and a bit of money to gift yourself a short holiday, may I suggest a small adventure?
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3/20/14
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Each spring the men poured out of rickety trucks and lived in a barn that smelled of pesticides for the next six months. They seemed always to be joking, but their weatherworn faces told a different story about their lives — one of hardship.
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Scott Brinton
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9/4/10
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