Has my sense of smell become less acute (or more jaded)? Have my perfume tastes changed? Or has Bel Ami’s formula been altered? Something strange has happened since 1990 when I smelled Bel Ami for the first time on a too-bright, scalding day in Tijuana, Mexico.
Tijuana is beloved by college students who cross the Mexican border from San Diego to visit its raunchy nightclubs. Older folks travel to Tijuana by tour bus on daytrips to load up on huaraches, serapes, colorful blankets, and Day of the Dead-themed refrigerator magnets. Most people I knew in 1990 considered Tijuana a “joke” — a cheesy town full of cheap souvenir shops and hucksters.
Tijuana was the first Mexican city I visited and I loved its cluttered old-fashioned folk art shops stocked with brightly painted wooden carvings of saints and animals, black pottery, tinwork and jewelry from all over Mexico. I enjoyed Tijuana’s simple tiled courtyard cafes where you could rest and cool off by sipping an ice-cold Tecate beer or something exotic like a sapote soda. I felt happy as I listened to ranchero music blaring from secluded balconies that were obscured by bougainvillea vines…
