Once immensely wealthy, Alamos today survives without the riches of its historic silver mines. Instead, this "National Monument" is preserved in the mountains and benefits from an expatriate community of Americans and Canadians who provide a major source of income. Building codes protect its colonial architecture, with 18th and 19th Century treasures being well maintained. Hotels are historic buildings; haciendas have been and are being repaired. Streets and plazas are clean; so clean they call attention to themselves. The weather is year-round pleasant, and inviting gardens are a swirl of colors and a choice of fruit.

My destination was Alamos, a remote, colonial town in Northwest Mexico. I had read that Hollywood stars Rip Torn and Carroll O'Connor owned second homes here, a day's drive, 410 miles south of the Arizona border. I wanted to investigate. I traveled by car and wondered if the highways were safe and what road conditions might be.

The English sign as I entered Mexico, crossing into the city of Nogales, read "Mexico No Outlets." I believe the sign wanted to say, "One Way Street." But the idea, "No Outlets" cheered my sense of humor, and adventure.

The English sign as I entered Mexico, crossing into the city of Nogales, read "Mexico No Outlets."

Nogales is a dusty, unattractive border town fenced in by U.S. razor ribbon wire in the hope of keeping ambitious young men from earning a better living in the United State.

Twenty miles south of the border is the real border, the checkpoint. Documents are reviewed; you must bring your pink slip (the proof and original ownership papers for your car). You go through a maze of officials, double checks and xeroxes of documents. You must promise not to leave Mexico without your car, even if damaged. Passing the checkpoint is a slow process. But all you need is patience. There is no request, not a hint, for a mordida (corrupt bribe).

The road south is Highway 15, a good solid road, pleasant to drive. In fact, I liked this Mexican highway for its lack of heavy truck traffic. My biggest complaint was the clustering of U.S. trailers on their way to the Sea of Cortez for sun, beach and sport's fishing. Air-stream owners still travel in a pack for safety and form a wagon circle at night. On the coast there are many trailer parks. Some people lease out their location year round then drive their car home. From then on, they fly to Mexico knowing their trailer home is waiting for them.

I continued to Alamos, the northernmost silver mining city in Mexico. Once immensely wealthy, Alamos today survives without the riches of its historic silver mines. Instead, this "National Monument" is preserved in the mountains and benefits from an expatriate community of Americans and Canadians who provide a major source of income. Building codes protect its colonial architecture, with 18th and 19th Century treasures being well maintained. Hotels are historic buildings; haciendas have been and are being repaired. Streets and plazas are clean... so clean they call attention to themselves. The weather is year-round pleasant, and inviting gardens are a swirl of colors and a choice of fruit.

My Grand Marquis swerved and bucked over and around in tune with the potholes. Three miles later, I forded a stream wishing I had 4-wheel drive and wondering if the miles were worth this risk.

I arrived in Alamos in February, the day before Mexican Flag Day in the middle of the festival and quickly fell into filming the parade. I marched with the students into the Town Hall for a patriotic gathering. A class of high school girls led the parade, slim and beautiful in uniforms of dark blue mini-skirts, white blouses and red berets. Young men sat on the Cathedral wall for the best view. It was a good beginning.

The silver heart of Alamos was Aduanas, a village where the extraction taxes were once paid. I wanted to see mines, or the remnants thereof. I spoke with an old man in the plaza who was selling hand made children's toys. He gave me directions and volunteered, "There's a good restaurant there." So I ventured out before lunch.

Five miles from Alamos, I turned onto a dirt road. My Grand Marquis swerved and bucked over and around in tune with the potholes. Three miles later, I forded a stream wishing I had 4 wheel drive and wondering if the miles were worth this risk. Lunch might turn out to be just a beer, and the road didn't encourage sanitary speculations. But suddenly, in one of those curious little miracles that happen in Mexico, the dirt road ended and a recently paved road led to a clean, neat plaza.

A community shop sold modest items, carvings, dolls, pillows and crafts made by local people hoping for a few pesos, a sign that a few tourists come through. The only other business was a restaurant with white plastic chairs on the veranda. It was modest and clean, with two employees, a waitress, and a cook. So far OK. I asked for a menu, thinking about something simple and a beer, and received a "Fixed Price" menu in French. I thought it was a joke. Besides, the fixed price, $15. U.S., is triple the cost of a good, regular lunch in Mexico.

I ordered anyway, selected a couple items, soup and chicken, declined the salad. While waiting, the owner showed up in his white Toyota. He introduced himself, Samuel Beardsley, World Class Chef with twelve years experience in Spain, France and Switzerland. He was driven by the "Quest for One's Dream", and this was his.

The vegetable soup, fragrant with herbs floating on the broth, and the chicken were delicious. Sam Beardsley is no fraud, he may be crazy but he is a first class chef. With great satisfaction, I ordered dessert, Volcano Cake, Sam?s creation, with chocolate flowing down the sides. Wonderful!

After lunch, two young boys offered to guide me to a mine, and the opening of an abandoned shaft. They led me on a short walk into the foothills. We cautiously explored the mine entrance, examined drill bits lodged in the rock and dropped stones to listen for the splash and calculated the depth of the abandoned shaft. For their services I bought three colorful stones and took Polaroid pictures of them, which they rushed home to show their parents.

But more adventures were in store.

Alamos is well organized by the expatriate community. A calendar of events and associations, posted in Cafe De Cafe, is published along with a list of all the members of the community.

Alamos is well organized by the expatriate community. A calendar of events and associations, posted in Cafe De Cafe, is published along with a list of all the members of the community. Everyone has a number, and this helps the police, so even if you don't speak Spanish, a call to the station with your number will bring the police for whatever reason.

The Calendar of Events gave a picture of the expat community. Celebration of Classical Music was held every January, a list of services, general information, a list of regular events such as Friday get-togethers with drinks and snacks at a different home each week, some craft and artistic classes, ceramics, pottery, and The B. Traven Society. And I thought I was the only one who ever read B. Traven! How enlightened.

The B. Traven Society proclaimed: we have,

• No purpose
• No dues
• No by-laws
• No officers
• No agenda
• No credo
• No motto
• No women

And it meets weekly.

Later I learned that some self appointed Secretary of the Society prints up the weekly minutes under the guise of letting the women know what's happening behind their backs. He publishes an on going fictitious account of the great problems discussed, wisdom of the members, projects of undertaking, and any general item to be spoofed.

While looking over the calendar, I noticed that the annual Masquerade Mardi Gras Ball was to be held that night. I asked the lady at the hotel desk if it might be possible to attend. She said it was a benefit ball, saw no reason that I could not participate and said, "Let me introduce you to the sponsor, Baron Richard von Flachslander, he lives next door." Five minutes later I had been introduced purchased my $40 benefit ticket, and began to worry about what to wear.

A major costume was out of the question at this late hour but while looking at straw hats, I spotted a large sombrero hat with two-inch blue fringe.

The fringed hat looked like a lampshade, I would go as a lamp! My hotel key was on a long beaded chain, so it became a dangling "light switch". No question about it, I was a lamp. The fringe allowed me to see out and kept my identity a mystery.

That night I attended the grandest Masquerade Ball since Truman Capote threw his extravaganza at the Plaza Hotel in New York City in 1965.

The Baron is a member of the Order of St. John, and the benefit was in the Order's name. Good-natured gossip claimed that the Baron bought his title and lived his fantasy. A huge oil painting, at least 8 feet by 10 feet, of the Baron portrayed as 18th century French nobility, wearing an ermine cape hung in the Great Ballroom. Marble floors and two-story columns were the setting for the painting and for the party.

A program was handed out upon entering: the music, the intermissions, the time for supper, the award ceremony.

For his entrance, his entourage of medieval courtesans preceded the Baron. He himself entered dressed in cardinal red, a full gown with white cross and red pilgrim's hat.

An orchestra performed. Twelve young men, members of what is called in Spain a TUNA, dressed in billowing sleeves fashioned of ribbons, and in short pants with full-length stockings, played lutes and sang romantic songs.

Nearly 200 guests danced and wandered the "palace." Batman strolled with Superman, a priest cavorted with a nun, and two conical capped KKK members waltzed together. Poncho Villa attended and Zorro escorted his lady. Could these masqueraders be Rip Torn and Carroll O'Connor? And of course people recognized the existence of a lamp, pulled his chain and received a brilliant smile.

Dick Davis travels frequently. He has taught in both Mexico and Spain and is happy to share his experiences. A resolute companion in his Mexican travels is his Grand Marquis. He can be contacted at:  This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .