And to listen to the piropos (quips, remarks) was hilarious. Hissing (politer than a whistle), and in more prosperous towns it turned into Sunday night "cruising the main around the zocalo" in carachas (jalopies) camionetas (pickup trucks) with incredible numbers of youngsters inside on in the bed. Radios would be turned up to maximum distortion and furtive shave-and-a-haircut tapped out on a car horn led to one car dashing off with another in pursuit. Lucky for hapless residents and walkers alike there weren't that many motor vehicles at first.
Today I am sipping chilled jamaica tea fresh brewed from flowers, chilled to the mid thirties and reading these stories.
"Let's go get tunas!" Homero cried. Thirty minutes later I found myself in the middle of a Nopanal (field thick with nopal cactus) fighting a million yellowjackets for the fruit.