In our new print issue, there is a piece called “Latin America: A Brisk Political Tour: On democrats, dictators, and others.” This week, I am expanding that piece in a series on the site. Part I is here. It is headed “The Three Worst.” Latin America is composed of 33 countries (depending on how you count), and three of them are totalitarian states: Cuba, Nicaragua, and Venezuela. Tomorrow, I will turn to the bright democracies.

Let’s have a little mail. Last Thursday, I published a Mexico City journal: here. One of the issues I dealt with relates to language, and culture, and human relations. Tricky, very.

In France, a woman goes from “Mademoiselle” to “Madame.” When? (This does not have to do with marriage.) In Italy, she goes from “Signorina” to “Signora.” But when? In Spanish-speaking countries, “Señorita” to “Señora.” Again . . .

A reader writes,

Mr. N.,

I went to Mexico City’s UNAM for my last undergraduate year at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign. [“UNAM” is the Spanish acronym for the National Autonomous University of Mexico.] My Spanish was okay, and I read the For Rent ads in El Universal and found a room with a family in their apartment.

When I opened a bank account, the teller became noticeably curt with me. Back in the apartment, I asked why.

The señora landlady told me that to address a woman as “Señora” implied that she was married, older, and not so attractive. Hmmm. I never made that mistake again.

I liked Mexico City, and I liked the people I met: They work hard, they like to party, and family is very important to them.

In my journal, I said what I often say, in journals abroad. When I am at home, I tend to scoff at the “nanny state,” the over-regulated state, the “bubble-wrapped” society. Can’t go anywhere or do anything — you may hurt yourself and/or file a lawsuit. When I am abroad, I often think, “Holy cow. They let you do this? Why? Where’s OSHA when you need them?”

A reader writes,

Dear Jay,

In the middle of France, there is a seven-story “Chinese” pagoda built in 1775 at the height of French fascination with Chinese culture. One can climb the rickety circular staircase, with deeply worn steps, to the tiny top floor, which offers a lovely view out over the countryside. My wife and I, up there, were joined by another tourist, which was about all the space would hold. He turned to descend, and there was a loud thump followed by a moan. He had bumped his head, hard.

There is of course no sign in any language warning of the danger — c’est la vie, I guess. I am not complaining about the greater acceptance of personal responsibility over there. I am glad I got an audible warning of the danger in this case.

You will find the pagoda in question at what remains of the Château de Chanteloup in the Loire Valley.

One last note:

I was in Mexico City once, in 1977, for about ten days. For three weeks in Mexico. I’m amazed I haven’t been back to Mexico City. It was a marvelous place. I think of the statue of El Baron Alejandro de Humboldt in front of the Biblioteca Nacional. And you’re right about Teotihuacán [the ancient Mesoamerican city about 25 miles from the capital].

The food was superb. I remember a simple ear of corn — but with cream and a chili and lime juice slathered upon it. Ubiquitous shoe shines and haircuts. The kindness of ordinary Mexicans.

Muchas gracias . . .

And gracias to all readers and correspondents.