It’s good to be home. The moment I stepped out of the plane, I realized how familiar this place is. Kids running around the waiting area, crowds and crowds of people receiving their loved ones, even though the flight was only 4 hours, and that distinctive smell of indoor smoking…I knew I was home. As soon as I stepped out of the gate, porters swarmed in offering their services even though I only had a carry on bag. I realized later that it was heavy enough, while waiting in line to the inmigración counter. That blessed lady let me in the country even with my expired passport. Passport was stamped and I was officially in. I head to the exit I get swarmed again. This time with the word taxi…taxi…taxi.
A horrifying trip through tiny streets and a regiment of disobeying traffic lights ensued. Sometimes I wonder why? Why do we even have driver licenses? I wonder about the point of having lane markings…A wonder for every pothole, until my back was massaged and I was re-energized. I get to the hotel being received with impeccable service, smiling faces, courteous workers, and clean surroundings. It was a sign, I later found out. I threw my stuff in the room and headed to down town. Koshok (a stand) selling this and koshok selling that, jaywalkers everywhere, store vitrinas a joy to look at with mannequins nicely dressed. That area definitely felt like a summer evening walk through Basman street. But, it couldn’t be any further.
It was the start of a five-day stay, with all its cultural non-shocks, not so different, fun loving residents, and a city with centuries of history.
It all started with ‘Bienvenido a México.’
