Sinking my weight onto the rotisserie entry at a medical clinic in Baja, Mexico last week, I noticed the doctor sitting right in the front. Right in his chair. “Can I help you?” he asked. “Sure,” I muttered, in a foul gibberish. I already knew I had strep throat.

Twenty minutes later, after a thorough check up—with blood pressure, weight, and all the standard temperature gizmos I will never understand—the doctor wrote me a prescription for Ciprofloxacino, or Cipro, an anti-biotic prescribed in the US. I paid him $20 for the visit. Normally it was $15, but this was Sunday.

The pharmacy was on the street corner. I handed the pharmacist the prescription, enjoyed watching her seven-year-old son prance around the place in his new ranchero boots and belt, and waited to see what kind of twisted drugs she’d return with. Sure enough, two orders of Ciprofloxacino, and an order of Paracetamol, or Tylenol. The pharmacist apologized that it’d cost $10 for them all. It must have sounded a bit steep?

In the end, the whole thing costs just over a half hour and thirty American dollars. No insurance, no hassles, no waiting in line. Good Baja Drugs are out there—but only for those willing to get them.


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