When we first moved to Puerto Vallarta, I was afraid to go to the nearby supermarket, Leys, because, well, it appeared so Mexican.
Author: Major Nigel (Page 11 of 39)
Most of my loyal readers will recall that I have a Wednesday morning club advice hour, when I dole out the wisdom that I have accrued over a long lifetime to mems who have problems. These can range from the home front to the everyday goings-on at the club and all and sundry found throughout life itself. My helping hour has acquired a nickname: “The Queue.”
I sometimes wonder how many more surprises this world has in store for me and why it is that at my great age I have not yet experienced them all by now.
You never know what you are going to pick up as a new talent when you move to Mexico. Many of my friends, for instance, have become fluent in Spanish after immersing themselves in language classes for eight hours a day for months.
It does not matter how well one makes plans, something always goes awry, at least for me. I try, but I think it must be congenital in my case. Let me set the stage.