Dispatches from The Mayan Empire

 "The global phenomenon of poverty tourism - or 'poorism' - has become increasingly popular during the past few years. Tourists pay to be guided through the favelas of Brazil and the shantytowns of South Africa. The recently opened Los Angeles Gang Tour carries visitors through battle-scarred territories of urban violence and deprivation." - Leslie Jamison + + + March 21st is kind of a big deal here in Nuevo Progreso. It marks the end of the winter tourism season. "Winter Texans" are the lifeblood of the local economy, mostly retirees fleeing the cold winters of their home state, or country, there are more than a few winter Texans that hail from Canada.Most of them seem to hail from the Midwestern United States. At least as far as the ones I've spoken to, and the shirts proclaiming their home state along with some slogan about being a Texan when its convenient (winter). [[And so the Day of Tourists begins...]] Dia del Turista its called...

Respect is one of life's greatest treasures I mean, what does it all add up to if you don't have that? - Marilyn Monroe + + + I cannot offer you self respect, but I can offer weird shit from Mexico. A few subscribers and a few friends who are also subscribers, or have assisted in this endevour in other ways, I feel are far too underappreciated. Seeing as Tess and I are living meager paycheck to meager paycheck down here while exploring, photographing, and writing about this marvelous country it dawned on me that those who have held out their hands, and wallets, to our Patreon and PayPal.Me accounts are not as appreciated as I would like them to be. So, with what little extra cash Tess and I have managed to scrape together over the last few weeks we have assembled the 'Mexican Box of Mystery'! [[Behold its mysterious mystery!]] What could be inside? Well, that is part of the mystery. There are many things for may different people. Some friends I...

"You bravos had better be ready to fight, or we'll never get out of East Texas tonight, but the trail is long and the river is wide, and my ride's here" - Warren Zevon, My Ride's Here + + + My day tends to start around 10:30am or so most of the time. No more early mornings on the corners barking or occasionally DJ'ing for Vampiz has allowed me to set my own schedule for work (writing, which tends to be in fits and starts throughout the day unless I'm on a roll). Which is nice, since I am not a morning person. I tend to shamble out of bed like something from the 'Legend of Boggy Creek' films, swallow my morning fistful of pills (allergy meds, the price I pay for my lovely cat, vitamins, and acetaminophen with codeine to allow me to move without wincing in pain constantly). After that its typically a lovely hot shower thanks to my miracle shower head with a built in heating unit. I admit its not the safest of showers, but it is hot, with...

"Home. . home is where you wear your hat... I feel so break-up, I wanna go home." - Lord John Whorfin, The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension + + + Every time I cross the border from Mexico into Texas, in the US of A I get this weird feeling. This strange anxiety, in the pit of my stomach, that feeling you get when you know you've eaten some bad Chinese food but the effects haven't set in yet. [[When walking across the bridge I may have once or twice danced in front of this sign, just to say I did it Which I just did. So there you go.]] Its not dealing with the immigration officers on the Mexican side, unless I'm in my car. I'm always worried about getting Greta stuck in Texas after that one fiasco thanks to the state of Pennsylvania no longer issuing stickers. Its not dealing with the border patrol agents on the US side either. Though they have performed more than one "agricultural inspection" on Gr...

Sorry for the delay in posting. Working on the novel as well as another lengthy post for 'Dispatches' that might involve some actual journalism again. Crazy, I know, but every now and again I get 'the itch'. Though the pharmacy I usually go to assures me they have something for that... -R + + + This post and its original content copyright James Radcliff, and has been brought to you by Mexico, tequila, and generally poor decision making. If you would like to donate to support this bizarre little travelogue, feel free to do so via Patreon or PayPal. As always, this strange and debaucherous adventure has been brought to your screen by viewers like you. Thank you. https://www.patreon.com/jamesradcliff paypal.me/jamesradcliff  https://www.instagram.com/dispatches_from_the_field/

"As if you were dismayed. Be cheerful, sir. Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air." - Prospero, The Tempest (Act IV, Scene I)  + + + A young man with a thick Midwestern accent is smoking pot, crack, and who knows what other things, in the Crack Shack behind my squat at Carlito's Cafe. He is speaking loudly, via speakerphone, with his girlfriend who is somewhere cold and complaining, no shit, about how the tractor is broke and Old Man Rogers (again, no shit, she actually called her neighbor that) needs help and her daddy is just working himself to death. [[The first and last bit of art on the walls of Carlito's Cafe during my stay there.]] I wonder if this wholesome young white guys (I peeked, there is a hole at the top of my wall adjacent to the Crack Shack where an AC unit used to live) paramour knows he is in a back alley in Mexico smoking crack next to a strip ...

"She lives like tomorrow isn't coming and yesterday never happened." - Crystal Woods, Write Like No One Is Reading + + + Friday, Day One: Nuevo Senorial "Around the outside of the room other beautiful women wearing little or nothing at all flitted between the infatuated, intoxicated men, sometimes luring them away for a private dance. The men would follow obediently, weighed down by lust and credit cards."  - R.D. Ronald, The Zombie Room [[They have a sign on the front of the building, but I suspect this is how most random clients discover what waits beyond the privacy curtains at the end of the entrance hallway.]] There are a lot of strange places I expected to find myself in my life. Sitting in the corner of a darkened Mexican strip club in a dusty border town wasn't one of them. 2:30 in the afternoon, beer in one hand, pen in the other, making observations about the club and its clientele for my weird little travelogue. Somet...