She responded without hesitation, “Both are delicious, but the coffee won't cause you much trouble.”
This sage wisdom more or less captures the essence of my recent trip to a Mexican coffee plantation with a Mexican hippie girl. Join me as we relive the sensual passion (and the sexual frustration).
The coffee was a fine, dark, organic Arabica from finca Don Gabriel. The hottie was a fine, strawberry-blond Bohemian with pouty, pink, always-smiling lips from the beach town of Mazunte. She was normally organic too.
Yet, her mother had apparently told her that a whole bottle of mosquito repellent sprayed on just before bedtime would discourage the dirty gringo from taking a tour of her fertile landscape as well. Bring it on, baby! It was the jaguar versus the corn goddess in a no-holds-barred luxury-suite-with-king-size-bed cage match to the finish. May the best human win.
(Though treaties drawn up by soft-handed men in Geneva and The Hague forbid chemical warfare, Mexican women and terrorists know that all is fair in love and war.)
(I see no need to ever use the disrespectful phrase “pussy-whipped”. Every part of a woman's body, with the exception of the armpits, can perform the same function. This is why gender-uniformity feminism never caught on in Mexico. Few Mexican goddesses wish to lower themselves enough to be equal to a man.)
Fair-skinned and fat-bodied folks who feel slighted by this lack of access should remember that they have Disneyworld, which is more or less beyond the reach of a writer with a fistful of pesos. And while Disneyworld offers wheelchair pilots nearly the same access as other patrons, this bayou cruise offers visitors who dangle their fully-functional legs offside a pretty fair chance of joining their wheelchair-bound brethren. Liberty and justice for all with a harsh stoical Mexican twist. Life is tough but delicious for Mexicans; tourists are tough but delicious to crocodiles. This saga of Mexican wildlife and the bizarre mating rituals of your author will continue in our next post.