I take a few prescription drugs, not that I have any physical ailments that I will admit to, but I humor the doctor who thinks I need them. All but one are available in a generic formula and I have a reasonable copay, but the copay on the one that is still under patent is $57. The total cost of the drug is about $200, a travesty, so the insurance covers the difference. Still, I thought I might be able to beat my copay by going to Mexico.
The very first store we came to after we crossed the border (and was I disappointed to have no checkpoint whatsoever; I wanted my passport stamped) was a pharmacy. What a surprise! In fact, it seemed like most of the stores we saw on the first streets over the border were farmácias. I was quoted a price of $46 at that one, so I said thanks and with the idea that the closest one to the border would be the most expensive, we kept going. I think we tried two more, but the price was pretty consistent. I ended up not buying the drug there but may go back. After all, $11 is $11, and that's just for one package. But think about that. I can get the identical drug in Mexico for roughly $45 that costs more than four times that in this country. I count my blessings that I have insurance, even with a copay.
Next time we go, I want to take a force field that extends out about ten feet on each side of me so I can fend off the hucksters. Times are tough there and the vendors are aggressive. I did my best to ignore them as we continued on the farmácia quest. Along the way we encountered this place and had I been a stogie aficionado I would have enjoyed an honest-to-pete, no BS Cuban cigar.
Several years ago Voldemort and I took a cruise that stopped in Cozumel and we bought two hand-painted ceramic sinks. One of them was installed in a wet bar when we remodeled the basement of the Virginia house, and there were plans to use the second one when we remodeled one of the bathrooms in the Washington house, but it was still in the garage when I left last year. It was fun to see these, and I was thinking about getting one for the house I have now, but none of them was quite right.
Then I went inside the store and found this one but didn't buy it either. It's too big for my bathroom sink which is the only one I could swap out, but if there was a smaller one... Pretty, isn't it?
This isn't my kind of art but I have to appreciate the craftsmanship of all the inlay work.
Sometimes it's really darned inconvenient living in a trailer. The lack of room does save money but this would be fun to have.
After a little more moseying around and being disappointed that it wasn't the colorful shopping mecca I'd hoped it would be, HH spotted a place to get a very nice $1 shoeshine. While he was so occupied I made my way to a church just next door to take some photos. How do you like his hat? He got it In January when we were at the Ringling Circus Museum in Florida.
The church of the Immaculate Conception. It wasn't Mass time but people were coming and going the short time I was there. There were many more people at the back of the church.
They have a few lovely stained glass windows but not the money to keep them in good repair. They don't show to their best color and brightness because of grates across the windows on the outside, and any damage appears to be repaired with clear glass. In this case, colored glass substitutes for the entire bottom half of the image.
This is the grate that protects the windows from the outside. It's quite ornate but does the windows no favors, view-wise.
I could hear people thinking, "estupida" when I took a photo of the city bus.
We'd heard about a not-to-miss restaurant, La Roca, and when we asked the owner of a tiny shop for directions he practically led us there by the hand. On the way he herded us into a dark bar and all these thoughts of being murdered for our passports and never heard from again went though my head, but it just turned out to be a shortcut and we're still alive to tell about it. I feel guilty about having those thoughts but it could just be my Catholic upbringing speaking.
This passageway and stairs, with the icon below set into the wall at the top, led to the restaurant. We got there in time for the breakfast buffet, a couple of Margaritas, and rousing live music.
When we finished we headed back to the border and a good view of the border fence.
When we entered the country at about 9 am there was already a long line to get into the US, and it was even longer when we were ready to go back. We prepared to wait but there was a vendor with a tiny stand right at the end of the line who told us people over 60 could go in the second walkway, the one that was the express line to Customs and Immigration. All right, then! Just as we started walking, passing everyone by, I turned back to the man and said, Really? I look over 60?
Thought of the day:
In fact, looking back, it seems to me that I was clueless until I was about 50 years old. - Nora Ephron