Point South Mexico - Real Estate and Lifestyle Magazine

Walking from my office to town, I have to pass by Valenciana's Pizza, a small, family-run business in Ajijic, proudly competing with the teenage motorcycle gang at Domino's. Even if I'm not hungry, I usually stop by in the afternoons to visit one of my favorite little people, Adriana Pinto Ramos, owner Juan Carlos Romero's 18-month old toddler. Whatever her humor, the "Pizza Baby" never fails to brighten my day.

When I pulled into the Oxxo to pick up some smokes, he was begging. He seemed disoriented, shuffling between motorists with his rough hands open and cupped. His eyes were as empty as his stomach; it looked like one beer could fill him up, and he was lost somewhere on the way towards it. His weak, imploring stammer was ignored by most people in the 10 yards of concrete between the parking lot and store. Filthy, vacant, unhumbled strictly by the extremity of his need, he was falling into someone's life for a peso, or a cigarette. I decided to lock my car.

Did you ever run into car trouble here in Mexico and wonder how far it was to the nearest telephone? It has been my experience in several instances that before one could even find a telephone pole, there would be one or more smiling Mexicans at hand to offer assistance. Driving along a main street in Jocotepec just this week, the road opened up in front of us without warning and the front end dropped into a deep channel.