Driving in Mexico, we think nothing of being pulled over by youngsters with machine guns. We smile and are relaxed, but then again, we are Dos Tortas.
The upper portion of our hutch. Skylights above add natural light.
Bacalar is thirty minutes north of the Belize/Mexico border. Because of illegal entry and the smuggling of goods, there is a checkpoint before entering Bacalar from the south. Vehicles are flagged for inspection according to a selection process that is not obvious to us. However, a large black pickup with Texas plates….
The window between our living room and bedroom. There will be a bifold door to provide privacy when desired.
One week when we were making numerous trips up and down the highway, making purchases for the house and going to the bank, we were pulled over several days in a row by the policia estatal, state police.
Keeping the dogs from digging in the garden. Aren’t I clever?
The usual questions, Where are you going? Where are you from? What is in the truck?
This time I told the officer that he knew us. I reached out to shake his hand and introduce ourselves. His face lit up with a big smile. He clearly enjoyed our response. Now every time we pass the check point we wave and guess what? They wave back. We haven’t been stopped again.
Day of the Dead. A chance to tell stories and fondly remember our ancestors.
I’m sure others have horror stories about being stopped by the federales. Once in college I had a machine gun aimed at my face. Being Dos Tortas or two old women makes us pretty invisible. Not being afraid makes us respected.
DOS TORTAS
the adventures of dos tortas 
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