Younger and thinner then, older and lazier now, I’ve told this story before, but set in Baja, San Quintin.
If you don’t know where it’s set this time, I won’t tell you. We don’t need to see more people here.
My reluctance arises from having to confront directly not only the symbols but the reality of my life and imperial citizenship at the center of a global power structure. At the Mexican Consulate, the Nicaraguan got a one-month visa, the Russian got a three-month visa, and the American without even a passport got a six-month visa. And then there are the mirror "Check Point Charlies": one sixty miles north of the border past Oceanside, surrounded by a massive US military base, tanks and helicopters always raising dust to the right and left; and the other sixty or so miles south, right past Ensenada. The scenery is beautiful, but it can’t sufficiently hide naked geopolitical realities.