Mariachis and mescal
The first time ever I heard a mariachi sing was at a dinner club in Guadalajara, Mexico. I was seated in the front row surrounding a raised wooden stage and every time the mariachi stomped his cowboy boot, I’d feel vibrations ripple across the stage down into my toes. He sang of love, loss and betrayal and looked straight into my eyes. It didn’t matter to me that he was portly, wore a shiny, sequinned shirt and big sombrero, by the end of the first set I was madly in love. My swooning turned out to be the beginning of a bout of food poisoning and I spent the remainder of...
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In 2003, I left the corporate world to try my hand at travel writing. Now, I travel the world, writing about people, places and cuisine. My writing has appeared in over 100 publications and anthologies. 
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