Old Tombstone has old buildings and shops built in the style prominent at Tombstone’s founding. You can watch a “shootout” as well as pay mini-golf.

Other than the various shops, museums, landmarks, and restaurants I saw in Tombstone, another curious feature of the town (or perhaps the region) was the presence of well-armed, paramilitary border patrol agents. More than once, I saw these agents moving about town, eyes shielded by chrome, polarized aviator glasses; bodies bursting at the seams with equipment like a can of biscuits. On the way into the town, there was a heavily outfitted checkpoint, the likes of which I had heard of yet hadn’t seen before. There were a number of official-looking SUVs, radar guns, and barbed wire along with a few guardsmen sheepishly going about their patrol. I also realized that, like alcohol checkpoints, this setup was likely mobile and in some ways, effective. Perhaps these officers were welcome in Tombstone, natives even who were just going about their day, doing their jobs. I could rationalize the immigration officers being in town, but something still unsettled me about this.