Greetings from Mexico City!

Posted on January 16, 2003 in Vacations

The addiction is official: ninety minutes in this town and we’ve already found an Internet Outlet which charges 15 pesos an hour. Locals squat in front of Macs, checking the World Wide Web for God knows what: I’m no kibbitzer, especially when it’s not my home.

The biggest problem is the keyboard: various useful keys are scattered in different places and at least one spot is occupied by an alien letter. Jazz music blasts over a loudspeaker: the room is comfortable, but spartan.

I’ve been ripped off once today and that was in the Houston airport when the American Express Cashier only gave me $20 worth of pesos for two $20 travellers cheques. I was well inside the Mexico City airport, paying off a taxi cab clerk, when I discovered the shortchange. Figures. It was Texas after all.

Customs paranoia was more pronounced on the American than on the Mexican end. A corpulent blue coat from the U.S. Customs waved all the Americans through and stopped all the Latinos for a baggage check. I ran into a little trouble in Los Angeles because I accidentally packed my barber shears in my carry-on. Rather than hand over $40 worth of German stainless to the LAPD, I chose instead to go back up front and send the bag through as luggage. A clerk kindly provided a white drawstring bag for the stuff I needed to keep with me such as my medicine. They don’t even let you mail things from the airport any more. I suspect that when we leave, the Mexicans will bid us a fond adios and thank us for spending money. Police state practices won’t begin until we get to Houston.

The Houston airport lies out several miles from the city center, in a forest of ragged pines. The architect designed it to appear as if it were perpetually under construction. We walked from one end of Terminal C to the other. Enroute, I stopped to leave a calling card in the restroom to show what I thought of the airport’s namesake. “This is for you, George,” I muttered none too loud under my breath, lest some plainsman take offense and brown twirl me as a keepsake memory of the place.

It was the first time I’ve passed through the South in at least ten years, so I snagged a plate of BBQ with cole slaw and green beans from Harlon’s. The smell of this excited the other passengers on the plane who were disappointed to discover that instead of our carry-out, they could only look forward to chicken or beef sandwiches, garnished if they wished with a plump packet of Cholulu sauce.