My final destination was Tucson but I booked my flight to Phoenix, nearly 120 miles from the target city. The decision was a selfish one influenced by the almost two hour drive from my home to Newark airport. Adding in a 2 hour prior check in and a 5 hour flight, it was at a total of nine hours from departure to arrival. More than a long enough day without enduring a layover and a connecting flight. Unfortunately, it inconvenienced my intended hosts who would act as my taxi service from the airport to their home. I was counting on their absolute joy at seeing me to distract them from their four hour roundtrip pick up service. When I arrived into the modern airport of Phoenix, I was greeted by my own personal welcoming committee, my mom and her husband, both whom I hadn’t seen for 6 years. After hugs and chatter about my trip we got into their car and started the journey south to Tucson, more specifically Sahuarita. It was mostly highway driving and except for the stray cacti here and there and the pueblo influenced artwork decorating the overpasses we might have been travelling along any major Interstate. Along the way we passed malls that could be in “Anywhere, USA”. Each overly familiar: the big home repair supply store, the mega toy store, the store with unlimited towels, candles and soaps and of course the 24 hour super store with lots of trailers overnighting in the parking lot. There seemed to be little difference between this new destination and driving down the main drag in our local area. Perhaps because I thought Arizona would be very different from home it was at that point I mourned the homogenization of America. We arrived at their Southwestern style home late in the evening and I settled in quickly. I was eager for some local flavor and to see what else the area had to offer. As a visitor everything was new to me, each scenic vista, each little town and every tourist shop. As hosts, my folks needed to decide whether they were willing to play tour guide, re-visiting places for my benefit that they undoubtedly had visited multiple times. Tubac was suggested as a place I might enjoy and I was interested but didn’t want them to make the trip solely for my benefit. Fortunately they said “yes” but I do suspect that it had something to do with the small town’s proximity to their favorite Mexican restaurant. Tubac is located in the Santa Cruz Valley, not far from the Mexican border. As we travelled south, we began to see an increase in the number of Mexico license plates and the Mexican influence in street names and decorative road signs. It was founded in 1752 and currently is the fastest growing artist colony in the state with a current population that is in the neighborhood of 2000 locals. That number swells on a daily basis as visitors arrive seeking locally produced gifts and home décor that range from hokey to upscale and most with a southwestern flavor. It’s a quaint and kitschy area that boasts such amenities as a “husband drop off” spot for wives who wish to shop uninterrupted. I can’t vouch for the authenticity of some of the items but not a single “big box” or chain store was to be seen in the area. Since size definitely matters I was careful to choose items that would fit into a carryon bag yet would be appreciated by the recipient. I walked through aisles of colorful ceramic cacti, rusted metal warthogs (who doesn’t need one of those!) and Kokopeli figures by the hundreds. In other words, items that wouldn’t be found in any of those big retailer’s stores. These handicrafts reflected the local population because they were handmade by the local population. My final selections included some very attractive copper bracelets and for one owl lover in the office, two identical egg shaped wood inlaid owls, one smaller than the other. It was definitely a successful shopping foray. As we left Tubac the suggestion was made to stop for a late lunch at a local restaurant called Wisdoms. Despite the name, I was assured that they served the most authentic Mexican food without having to cross the border. I began to see what thickened the plot. This restaurant was a favorite of my hosts and they were eager to share it. I wouldn’t consider myself a fan of Mexican food but lunch was wonderful and accompanied by a serenade from 2 strolling guitarists. Of course if you judge a roadside restaurant by their dessert, then this place definitely got 2 thumbs up for both selection and portion size. We hadn’t officially entered Mexico but were still required to pass through Border Control. I was eager for the experience, less because I had nothing or no one to hide and more because of the working dogs that accompanied most of the guards. The always handsome Belgian Malinois dogs were highly trained to alert their handler to the presence of drugs and weapons. It gives me great comfort to know that our borders are protected by hardworking officers who work for milk-bones. My concern for the canine cops working in the heat was assuaged with the assurance that they are rotated every 15 minutes. I don’t believe that the uniformed men and women enjoyed the same perques. Perhaps the dogs have better union representation. The guard waved and smiled when he saw me taking his photo. From my perspective he was just the officer holding the leash of a good looking dog. It was a good day and a great introduction to the local culture and best of all not a single mall was entered during the taking of this vacation. If you’d like to see a few examples of the local crafts please visit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/138147880@N03/sets/72157662697972350
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