Here's a joke Mexicans like to tell on themselves. It seems that when God was putting together their country, He invited several prestigious people from the more ancient lands to watch the process. But, almost immediately, they commenced to complain.

"Dear Lord, no disrespect intended, but is it equitable for you to bless this new country so many beautiful vistas?" said one man, whose own land resembled a rock pile.

Another man heatedly observed, 'And just look at all the mineral resources you´re putting under the ground--far more than all the countries in my region of the world combined!´

"And the weather!" groused another observer from a nation that was a blast furnace in summer, an ice box in winter. Lovely almost all year long! And those gorgeous beaches and natural harbors," bitched a man from a land-locked country "Well, forgive me God but it just isn´t fair!"

Pausing in his labors, God smiled and said "But what you all don´t realize is that my last act of creation here in Mexico will cancel almost everything else out."

The observers´ voices rose as one. "But dear Lord, how can you do that?"

"That's simple," God said, chuckling "I will give the country of Mexico its politicians."

God has, of course, cursed many another countrys in a similar way but one blessing. He did bestow on Mexico is probably the reason most foreigners come and later stay in this land. Some cite the weather, lower cost of living, or the spectacular vistas...but everyone agrees that the best thing about Mexico is its people.

We all have at least one experience that epitomizes this. I have dozens, but a single story will suffice. Some ten years ago, deciding to finally relocate in the homeland of my mother, I drove some six thousand miles through Mexico, in search of the perfect place to settle. Toward the end of that long trip, I Was returning one Sunday morning from the coast, driving toward Guadalajara.

But going through a tiny village, I hit a tope (surely after the politicians, the worst things about Mexico) way too fast. Something snapped in the undercarriage of my car; suddenly it was listing like a sailboat in a storm.

My car was of a make not ordinarily serviced in Mexico. Parts would be difficult if not impossible to find. And it was a Sunday, in the middle of a tiny village.

My friends and I were stewing in our dilemma when along came an old man and a boy on a bicycle. I hailed them and explained the situation, though of course it was obvious to anyone but a bind person. How could he help? the old man asked.

Getting a mechanic was the first priority. But on a Sunday, his shop was probably closed. No problema, the old man said, as he dispatched the boy to the local church. The mechanic would be attending Mass. Sure enough, some fifteen minutes later, here he came to inspect the damage. A linch pin in the car's rear aft shock had sheared off. Did the mechanic know where might get a new one?

No, but possibly any pin of approximate size might do. However, the hardware store was closed. Then the boy piped up that he knew where the owner usually drank on Sunday mornings--and off he pedaled in the direction of the cantina.

Within half an hour, the owner had reviewed the situation and was back with exactly the right size of pin. By now a large crowd had gathered, and as several of the men hoisted my machine up, the mechanic slipped the pin into the right place. My car was back up on a four of its legs. The crowd applauded.

Never having been especially adroit when confronted with any problem involving a car, I was still in a state of befuddlement. I was, however, conscious enough to know the debt I owned these people. But when I tried to pass some pesos around, the offer was politely rejected.

Turning to the old man, I asked if there wasn´t something I could do to show my appreciation? He flashed a toothless smile and shook his head. Then the boy stepped forward to quietly suggest that I might want to buy everyone a soft drink.

Was he kidding? Had I the money. I would have gladly bought them all a few shares in Coca Cola!

The years have misted over the memory of that Sunday morning, and I no longer recall the name of the village. But I still remember. That what seemed like half of its inhabitants were waving goodbye as my friends and I pulled away. A sight and an experience I´ll never forget.

And then there was the time...Oh, well, you get the idea.