Discount Dentistry, South of The Border

The Hunts were about to head into an examination room equipped with state-of-the-art, flat-screen X-ray monitors when the whole place went dark. The office manager ran outside, returning to report that a repair crew had shut off power on their block without warning.

"Never happens," Joseph Andel said, embarrassed. But, he conceded, "this is Mexico."

Hoping to avert a disaster, Andel offered tacos and enchiladas. After a quick drive, Charles Hunt happily tucked into a chile relleno at Frida's, where the restroom features a huge mural of a topless female warrior, while a couple necked in a red velvet booth nearby. Two hours later, the Hunts were back at Rio Dental, where Jessica Andel -- a dentist trained in Mexico who attends professional seminars in the United States -- was grinding Salvador's lower front teeth into slender stubs.

From there, Salvador shuffled out to review her treatment plan and bill: $5,503. A dentist in the United States had quoted nearly $15,000 for a shorter list of procedures. But Salvador, the inveterate bargain hunter, planned to use the next day for comparison shopping before returning for more work at Rio Dental. At Washington Dental, a behemoth dental office that sends interpreters into examination rooms, she was greeted the next day by a man who spoke perfect English and whipped out an estimate for a "Hollywood smile" in less than five minutes.

At the end of the session, though, Salvador said she was worried about Washington using a Mexican lab to make its crowns, unlike Rio, which sends its lab work across the border to El Paso. She decided to move on, stepping out into blinding sunlight and immediately spotting another dental office.

"You look up and they're everywhere," she marveled.

A few blocks away at Union Dental, at the foot of the border pedestrian bridge, she listened to Jaime Alarcon bash some of his competitors -- "they're laundering money for drug dealers."

But his big pitch was for a device that he said increased blood flow to the brain by stopping patients from clenching their teeth. It resembles mouthpieces worn by Aztec warriors, he said, and is seven millimeters thick because seven is a "perfect number in the Bible."

"Your eyesight comes back," Alarcon promised as Salvador listened in awe. "It makes you lose weight. Alzheimer's? It cures that."

Salvador leaned forward.

"Oh my God, I have to bring my dad!" she said. "I want one for myself."

Alarcon smiled and pulled out his appointment book.

"How about you come by on Friday?" he said.

"Yeah," Salvador said, "I'll see you then."