In the haze of hawkers offering me souvenirs, pimps waving me over from a block away, Indians following me with handfuls of massive wooden rosaries, more pimps offering to hook me up with massages, (One, a leathery American with peggy teeth, even suggesting I could get just a massage, no sex, thereby circumventing my wife's psychic ability to detect deviltry. I thought gee, great, now if I don't catch an STD, get my wallet stolen and my ass kicked that massage will be great! Luckily for the leathery gent there is no shortage of horny gullible morons.), Vicodin, free peeks into strip clubs, offers for taxis because I must have looked unable to raise my hand in the air for some reason, disgruntled but talented Mariachis and offers to buy absinthe at no savings that I then could not bring back to the U.S. I still managed to capture a few images that poked me in the eye as ironic or beautiful.
This was not Mexico as far as I could tell. This was madness.
Image from an Olive oil can in the Gigante Grocery. (Strangely an island of clean good smelling calm)
IMAGE ABOVE IS A LINK TO A WALLPAPER
Painting from the back of one of the many donkey carts (the donkeys are painted to look like zebras) that turistas can have their picture taken on:
IMAGE ABOVE IS A LINK TO A WALLPAPER
More dried fruit in the Dulces shop. Massive hunks of Calabash, squash, cactus, and more recognizable stuff:
A strange industrial-strength communication device whereby anyone on the street can call someone:
Lastly two images of the best souvenir in the universe:
