Drugs, Tacos, and a Haircut – Daytrip to Los Algodones
“Now that I’m all settled back here in Yuma for the winter, I’ll need to take a trip to Mexico to buy some drugs,” my 86 year old father announced. My eyebrows arched high into my wrinkled forehead; I chose not to question this next adventure, especially after all of the eyebrow raising stories I just heard about my father on our three day drive from Nebraska.
Travelling along the lonely, dusty desert road, the sun high above the mountainous terrain, we pulled into a large, sparsely populated parking lot. It was early November, so most of the American and Canadian snowbirds had not yet settled into their winter warming spots in Southern Arizona.
“Welcome to Los Algodones, also known as Molar City,” my father chuckled. My quick Google research I conducted during the 15 minute drive from Yuma revealed that this tiny Mexican village, encompassing about one square mile, houses approximately 300 dentists servicing thousands of U.S. and Canadian retirees. Not only can visitors expect inexpensive dental, medical, and eye care, they can obtain just about any prescription drug – no prescription needed. As frugal as my father is and always has been, I should not have been surprised that he would make the trek into this Mexican village for his basic healthcare.
After parking the car, we walked down a long ramp, flanked by a white slatted fence, separating the U.S. from Mexico. We made our way through an imposing 20-foot tall white barred “meat grinder” turnstile. The moment we exited the turnstile into the village, it became suddenly apparent that this was unlike any other place I had ever experienced or imagined.
We turned left and ventured down the main street. I became somewhat disoriented as dozens of large, billboard sized signs for dental clinics, pharmacies, and eye care clinics littered the building fronts, stretching down the entire length of the street. Virtually every sign was written in English and it was the only language I heard spoken by fellow tourists and locals alike. To our left is a large purple-painted building adorning the words, Liqui’s Purple Pharmacy. My father gently directed me toward the building where a sandwich board with a handwritten list of prescription drugs and prices set next to the large open doors. Several employees stood behind the counters stretching wall to wall. Behind the counters, the walls are filled floor to ceiling with pill bottles and boxes. We approached the counter and my father enquires about his prescription needs. After some successful haggling, my father walked away with a bag of prescription drugs which he claimed are a third of the price he would pay in the U.S.
The moment we exited the building, we were immediately accosted by street vendors popping out of buildings and from their stands offering hats, jewelry, handbags, brightly colored embroidered sundresses, pottery, kitschy souvenirs, and just about anything that would entice a tourist to part with his money. We politely smiled and nodded and made our way down the street. Children ran amuck through the streets, making a pitch to sell their wares- bright silk flowers, beads, and toys. A merchant stepped in front of me displaying a tray of turquoise and silver jewelry and said, “Special discount just for you, pretty lady!” Just then a man stepped from a building and handed my father a business card. “Get your implants here!” I turned my head away and burst out in laughter! Where else in the world can you go where a street vendor peddles dental implants the way they peddle cheap souvenirs?
We continued to amble down the street and turned the corner onto a short side street in hopes of finding a respite away from the commotion on the main road. The pungent smell of tortillas frying in oil and the aroma of roasting peppers and savory meats – the only reminders that we are in Mexico – drew us toward a small, unassuming café tucked away in an alley. The quiet sanctuary of this quaint, open-door establishment welcomed us as if we were walking into the home of an old friend. The young man concentrating on his onion chopping near the front of the café seemed to be the only person working.
“Hola! Como estas?” I said.
“Hello! May I help you?” he replied. Hmmm… what was the dead giveaway that we were American? Was it because I was with an 87-year-old man who most likely came from Arizona to Los Algodones for cheap medical treatments? Or, perhaps it’s because my skin is lily white? Or, perhaps my Spanish is a little rusty. Probably all of the above.
“Could we see a menu, por favor?” I said, accidentally using my Spanglish although he could clearly speak English. I’m pathetic.
“I’ll make you some tacos,” he said as set down his onion chopping knife and walked over to the stove. “How many would you like? Four? Two sodas?”
Before we could respond, he got to work on the tacos. We watched as he expertly and efficiently sautéed onions, peppers, and meat together and fried the tortillas. He quickly assembled the tacos, topping them with shredded cheese and salsa, then placed them on paper plates and handed them to us. “$4.50, please” he said.
My immediate thought was how they could possibly make a living selling their tacos so inexpensively. Then, it became apparent.
As soon as we sat down at one of the five mosaic-topped bistro tables, a gentleman came by with a tray of jewelry. I politely said, “No, thank you,” and he bowed and walked away. A moment later, a woman came by our table with about ten handbags on each of her arms. Another vendor came by with a tray of wallets. This continued throughout our entire meal. As annoyed as I was with these rude interruptions, I would not allow them to become obstacles to my enjoyment of some of the best tacos I had ever had. Yes, we had been snared in by the cheap tacos and then successfully held captive in this enterprising business, but their efforts were deemed fruitful as I finally broke down and bought a pair of earrings. As we exited the café, my father and I laughed about how we could be so easily be suckered into a tourist trap by just the smell of tacos. Oh, the power of the aroma of good food!
As we made our way back to the main road, my father, with his nearly bald head, save a few strands of strawberry blonde from his youth peeking through the grays, declared that he needed a haircut. “Look,” he said, pointing to a large orange sign with black lettering – Haircut $4. “Can’t beat a $4 haircut!” he exclaims.
As our short daytrip comes to a close, I take one last look around this unique Mexican village and realize that I, at the ripe old age of 55, am the youngest tourist around. With the plethora of inexpensive medical and dental care, prescription drugs, and even haircuts, it is no wonder that Los Algodones, or should I say, Molar City, is the premier hotspot for medical tourism, haircuts – and some damn good tacos, too!