Mexico is filthy. You cannot eat the food. If you touch a salad or drink the water, you will come down with that complaint jocular mention of which made President Carter so popular when he visited there. And the Mexicans who serve the food are a surly, greasy, thieving lot with a crippling inferiority complex, who make ethnocentrism a tempting, albeit never a good, option.
¡Tonterías! (Rubbish!) At least in Cancún, on the Yucatán Peninsula. If your cuppa tequila is: good food and potable water, a shy and gentle native population, and spic-and-span surroundings, all set in a lushly exotic Eden with seawater in which you can spy a copper penny ten fathoms down, go there.
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