When In Rome...

Wear a toga and eat too much?

But when in Mexico - hang out with other gringos? Not for me - no gracias, no es para mi. What is it with the average American that fears the sense of being disoriented that they need buoyancy with their Hard Rock Cafés, Hooters and McDonalds in any country they dare visit?

I want to be lost, confused, thrown into a new culture with a whole new unknown world. That brings such a sense of adventure and keeps my eyes rolling constantly. That and the treacherous sidewalks where a fraction of a second in lack of attention can cost you an ankle! I'd hate to be in a wheelchair in Mexico - I'll tell you that much! Cracks, sudden drops beyond 2 feet, holes, or a pile of junk are what keep you alert on every stroll.

But to get back to my fellow Americans. I often hear someone jokingly yelling out "Luck of the Irish" with a heavily rolled R, yet when it comes to saying "Gracias" gringos mysteriously lose their sense of using the same technique of a rolled R. Why is that?

Last night we hung out in the popular spot for gringos. The Shack. The owners are uber cool. A young mixed couple (Americo-Mexican with a mixed breed of beautiful offsprings) hosted us with some freakishly yummy chow. This is the weird thing: the TV was on, but silenced as the diswasher was also providing live entertainment being a Jimi Hendrix buff. This one lady was captivated by the tv. Not the discussion with her esposo sitting in front of her, not the social buzz of the place, not the yummy food which she told her waiter to return since she needed her filet mignon charred (aka ruined) but the silent TV and The Next Top Model had all her attention. So much so that she kept yelling at people who dared stand between her and her beloved screen.

People. The more I get to know them, the more I love my dog I wished I had.