Whenever and wherever I have traveled (many countries, three continents) the hunt was on. It was impossible to ignore one of my favorite foods: the humble taco. Throughout the years it has been surprisingly easy to find this delightful and simple little meal everywhere. Only once have I been foiled: no tacos in Kaliningrad Oblast, Russia. But the quest has been quite gratifying. I searched, and it was as though the tacos came to me. From the Andes to the Amazon, from Nuremberg to Vienna, from Canada to Mexico (of course) to the Caribbean, it was always 'taco time.' Getting to planned destinations, however, sometimes meant meandering off course, a little danger, and a gallery of characters, rascals good and bad, well-armed border guards, smugglers, and piranha. But I always got my tacos.
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