We drive along a steely, turbulent, fresh-smelling ocean with brown earth cliffs sporting luxury apartments on the other side. Everything is clean and modern. There's none of the chaos (or history or warmth) of my adopted home Mexico. By the hotel is Don Belisario: an Argentinian grill with a circular balcony that overlooks the business district. A parrilla de la Huerta comes sizzling to my table. Zucchini, mushrooms, esparragos, eggplant, white onions, and red pepper bathe in olive oil and fine herbs. Then chorizo parrillero shows up. This sausage is juicy, pink, and meaty without even the oversalting so common to chorizo. A little wine and a lot of sleep.
Think America has class inequality? Some of us need to pull our heads out of our butts and get our butts out of Bernie Sanders' Vermont and witness life on earth as most folks know it. Those who don't have the balls to face the real injustices can at least spare the rest of us an insistance that we care about PC breakfast-nook traumas. I apologize for my rudeness, but not my GC (globally correct) perspective. Enough said.
The oceanfront promenade is sprinkled with walkers and cyclists of Spanish and Japanese extraction. This walkway overlooks a misty Pacific of soft white noise and fresh cool breeze. Much closer below on the cliff is an upscale and outdoor shopping mall with Banana Republic clothing and Juan Valdez coffee. Cultural and racial stereotypes are serious business up North, but people here are too engaged in real living (or real suffering) to give a shit.