I’ve had a bug up my butt to look at property to buy in Bisbee, to use as a second home and potential rental. If I work in Bisbee fulltime having something closer would help me on gas, as the high school is 24 miles one way from our current home. That’s two gallons of gas a day at $7 a day, perhaps even $8 the way the oil companies are now charging more from hurricane damage. (Wonder how high gasoline prices would be once there's ample off-shore drilling platforms; everytime there's a tsunami, off-shore earthquake or major hurricane, the producers will raise the prices for the consumers)
Kevin opted for a quick side tour of Naco. He had never been there. It’s a small town on either side of the border, with a border crossing and customs house.
Otherwise there isn’t much to see in Naco. The one main street has the Gay 90s Bar, a bordered-up Carnation plant, a grocers and a community center. Most of the people here are either RVers down for a day to get prescription drugs cheaper in Mexico, or Hispanis selling their goods in town.
Kevin helped a young woman change her flat tire. She was down from town to get cheap cigarettes in Naco. “A case of cigarettes is only $20 here!” she said, which is about 50% cheaper than in AZ. That gave Kevin an idea to stop here more often for cheaper smokes and beer.
“We have to get our passports!” I added, so that we could go down more often and see the real Mexico further inland.
Driving back north we took a by-pass road that got us straight into the Warren district of Bisbee, where the high school is. I saw a few nice homes but most were too pricy for me, or too dilapidated. But now I have Kevin interested in buying some rental property in town for investment purposes.
Our final trip was at the bar in Old Bisbee, St Elmo’s, a reputed gay bar that was off-limits to military personnel a few years ago.
I would never think of St Elmo’s as a Gay bar, not by the décor inside: anti-establishment bumper stickers on the wall (Hillary has Penis Envy;” “There’s a Village in Texas missing its Idiot” and other divisive sayings.) Friday Nights is Open Mic Night for local amateurs.
I thought it was a rather nice bar, as the draft selection was impressive: besides the usual shit national brands, it also had Nimbus Palo Verde Ale from Tucson, Electric Dave’s Lager brewed right here in Bisbee, and a few other good microbrews. The bartender Juliette even knew Kevin’s friend Tom in town.
“His daughter is best friends with my daughter!” she said.
Next to us sat an older man from Logansport, IN. Dressed in a white Panama hat, black plastic-rim glasses and a cowboy shirt, he looked like a true local. But he wasn’t. He came to AZ years ago as a tourist and who fell in love with the town that he bought a house the next day uphill on Brewery Gulch. He had made his riches in New York’s Greenwich Village selling luxury tours. He now lives in town full-time.
“The climate here is ideal. The hippies saved this town when the mines closed. I have great respect for the hippies!” said Stan as he sipped his white wine. “There isn’t much else here to make a living unless you are a teacher or a firefighter—to which I nudged Kevin’s arm—but I have made enough money buying houses I figured I could settle down.”
“How does your wife like Bisbee?” I asked.
Later on the drive back home Kevin commented that Stan was “Gayer than a three-dollar bill. Did you see how he reacted to your question about his wife?”
“Yeah, and living in Greenwich Village is perhaps another clue” I added, although I didn’t notice anything about Stan that would give away his orientation. “I was wrong in assuming he had a wife.” Next time I’ll use the word “Partner” when asking someone about their other half.
Kevin opted for a quick side tour of Naco. He had never been there. It’s a small town on either side of the border, with a border crossing and customs house.
Otherwise there isn’t much to see in Naco. The one main street has the Gay 90s Bar, a bordered-up Carnation plant, a grocers and a community center. Most of the people here are either RVers down for a day to get prescription drugs cheaper in Mexico, or Hispanis selling their goods in town.
Kevin helped a young woman change her flat tire. She was down from town to get cheap cigarettes in Naco. “A case of cigarettes is only $20 here!” she said, which is about 50% cheaper than in AZ. That gave Kevin an idea to stop here more often for cheaper smokes and beer.
“We have to get our passports!” I added, so that we could go down more often and see the real Mexico further inland.
Driving back north we took a by-pass road that got us straight into the Warren district of Bisbee, where the high school is. I saw a few nice homes but most were too pricy for me, or too dilapidated. But now I have Kevin interested in buying some rental property in town for investment purposes.
Our final trip was at the bar in Old Bisbee, St Elmo’s, a reputed gay bar that was off-limits to military personnel a few years ago.
I would never think of St Elmo’s as a Gay bar, not by the décor inside: anti-establishment bumper stickers on the wall (Hillary has Penis Envy;” “There’s a Village in Texas missing its Idiot” and other divisive sayings.) Friday Nights is Open Mic Night for local amateurs.
I thought it was a rather nice bar, as the draft selection was impressive: besides the usual shit national brands, it also had Nimbus Palo Verde Ale from Tucson, Electric Dave’s Lager brewed right here in Bisbee, and a few other good microbrews. The bartender Juliette even knew Kevin’s friend Tom in town.
“His daughter is best friends with my daughter!” she said.
Next to us sat an older man from Logansport, IN. Dressed in a white Panama hat, black plastic-rim glasses and a cowboy shirt, he looked like a true local. But he wasn’t. He came to AZ years ago as a tourist and who fell in love with the town that he bought a house the next day uphill on Brewery Gulch. He had made his riches in New York’s Greenwich Village selling luxury tours. He now lives in town full-time.
“The climate here is ideal. The hippies saved this town when the mines closed. I have great respect for the hippies!” said Stan as he sipped his white wine. “There isn’t much else here to make a living unless you are a teacher or a firefighter—to which I nudged Kevin’s arm—but I have made enough money buying houses I figured I could settle down.”
“How does your wife like Bisbee?” I asked.
Later on the drive back home Kevin commented that Stan was “Gayer than a three-dollar bill. Did you see how he reacted to your question about his wife?”
“Yeah, and living in Greenwich Village is perhaps another clue” I added, although I didn’t notice anything about Stan that would give away his orientation. “I was wrong in assuming he had a wife.” Next time I’ll use the word “Partner” when asking someone about their other half.
No comments:
Post a Comment