On our way to Cuajilmoloyas, we discovered that yet another road we had planned to take was mysteriously closed. We pulled over to ask directions, as we had done many times before, this time in a tiny town of just a few hundred families. H's Spanish is a bit better than mine, and between the two of us, we had been doing just fine. H asked a local man for directions in Spanish, but didn't get very far before he stopped her -- ¨You speak English?,¨he asked. ¨Yes! You speak English?¨ ¨F--- yeah, man!¨
Again, perfectly obvious, but sometimes I forget how many men and women around here have spent time living and working in the U.S.
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