Nogales, Mexico. May, 1987

I like this photo for many reasons, not least of which is that I look thin and young and very much elsewhere. Part of my first visit to Tucson included the traditional one-hour drive to the Mexican border. I loved the idea of leaving the country. Sort of. Yes, there were border guards, customs officials and ID checks. But most of the people in Nogales seemed to be other American tourists there for the day, snapping up woven blankets, decorative tin items, sandals with soles made from discarded tires, some Mexican glass, some tiles. Being with Simon and David, who often made this trip back then to find antique Santos and other talismanic treasures, meant having at least one camera at the ready for a quick pose against this public works garage (I’m a sucker for signage.) I’ve been back many times since, once with Jay on a visit that netted a great lunch at La Roca, a large painted ceramic vase for him and for me a way-oversized pierced metal star (a packing nightmare)...plus the memory of our skittish crossing between the freight cars of a stalled train, but only after una mujer vieja on crutches had led the way.