For a gringo (as far as I am a gringo), life in Mexico is always lived under the Damoclean sword of Moctezuma’s revenge. Even though Catalans did not participate in the conquest and early exploitation of Mexico, still the emperor’s punishment should single me out, as a Spaniard, rather than the US folk that come here for whatever reasons. (We speak of Athe Spaniards’ conquering and then exploiting Mexico and the rest of Spanish America, but it would be more appropriate to say Athe Castilians’; folks from the old crown of Aragon were not allowed to settle in the New World until the time of King Carlos III of Spain, sometime in the nineteenth century.)
Other than the fear of diarrhoea (its spelling appropriately to illustrate a spilling of letters), the only physical bane to my daily Mexican experience is having to cross at least twice a day the Avenida Morelos on which I live. Avenida Morelos is one of the main North-South thoroughfares in Cuernavaca. Morelos was one of the revolutionary heroes who gave name to the state Cuernavaca is in. The avenue is used by all kinds of bus lines: the smallish and white city rutas, but also the long-distance lines that go to Mexico City, Acapulco, Guadalajara, Oaxaca, and so on. Some of these have been given names to entice the public with an image of speed, brightness and pulchritude: Estrella Blanca is one, Estrella Roja another, and not to be underdone there is also Tres Estrellas. Those could be the names of beers, but I guess the bus lobby was more powerful than the brewers’ and the beer had to be called Dos Equis, a couple of points short to qualify for Aestrella’.
