Crossing the Border
We recently came back from a trip to a magical city, San Miguel de Allende in Mexico. It?s a beautiful place, with steep, cobble stoned streets, ancient churches and outdoor markets. Every morning we would walk into town, peering into the tiny stores and catching glimpses of lovely gardens behind high walls. At night we would sit in the Jardin in the center of the city and listen to the local musicians.
The only trouble we had driving across the border was that (as we later discovered) we were using the Spanish word for “trolley” instead of “automobile,” but as soon as the official went out into the parking lot and discovered that we were actually driving a car, he gave us our required permit.
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