Tourism dead at hands of cartels

Forty-five years ago it was perfectly fine for young people to cross the border into Mexico in search of fun. In those days the drug cartels’ bloody fights were not a factor.

In Juarez we could have our feet measured and order Western riding boots much cheaper than at home. Other shopping there was a fun experience, too, especially after we learned a bit about the art of haggling over the price with those astute Mexican salesmen.

We saw bullfights and joined the crowd in yelling “olé.” One day we really got lucky. We saw famous Mexican entertainer/bullfighter/movie star Cantinflas (Remember the movie “Around the World in Eighty Days?”) brilliantly perform his bullfight/comedy act. He played with the bull, making it look easy.

When a greyhound dog racing track opened in Juarez, we went and enjoyed that as well.

Some valuable learning experiences were part of the deal. My brother went on a school-sponsored trip when he was in high school, and they were allowed to cross the bridge and do a little shopping. He purchased a silver bracelet for me, made of dimes — very pretty. I was so proud.

After a few days a problem showed up — the silver on the dimes disappeared. Things are not always what they seem, we learned. That was an important lesson we both carried into adulthood, which helped immensely when such things happened in America as well.

Those of us who were really “country” kids learned about fine dining in Juarez. The tables were covered with impeccably white cloths and sparkling dishes. The waiters were dressed as if they were going from there to the opera, and they were polite and attentive — even to the motley crew of country youngsters ensconced at their tables. I bet they thought they had been invaded, but they never lost their composure.

The other big surprise for us was we actually could afford to purchase some of that wonderful food on the menu, even after we translated the prices into English.

There always were stories about youngsters being able to purchase alcohol in those places in Mexico. A young fellow I knew named Gene managed to go to Juarez during New Mexico’s State FFA contest in Las Cruces. He was a naïve teenager who thought he was quite mature.

His parents did not have liquor in their home, so he knew next to nothing about it, but he and his buddy decided they would just see how that purchasing alcoholic drinks worked in Juarez. They strolled into a likely looking club, trying to walk tall and look “old,” and seated themselves comfortably at the bar.

The bartender asked what they wanted, and Gene (having no idea what any drinks’ names were) said in his deepest voice, “We want a drink.”

The bartender grinned indulgently and asked, “What kinda drink do you want, boys? Coca-Cola, Pepsi-Cola or 7UP?”

The happy days on the U.S.-Mexico border, unfortunately, are gone, obliterated in a tidal wave of drug addiction, violence and greed.

Glenda Price has been a contributing editor to New Mexico Stockman magazine since 1982. Contact her at: glendaprice00@comcast.net