Off to Mexico
Our vacation was not off to a great start. I suppose I should have read some more to know what to expect but we'd only had two and a half years to prepare.
First, I only had a couple hours of sleep before the taxi arrived to take us to the airport. My own fault. I'm pretty good about packing for trips but I keep forgetting about other stuff like... uhmmm... Anyways, the wife wanted to only take carry-on luggage so we wouldn't have to wait for the checked luggage. Good idea, but it took longer to figure out what I really needed and how to pack it.
The taxi arrived and took us to the airport at 4:00AM. Everyone was tired and sleepy, but the excitement of going to Mexico kept us awake. Except for the driver who somehow didn't share our excitement and kept nodding off on the Deerfoot. But we got there alright, stood in various lines, and eventually got on our first flight to Denver.
The flight was an hour late at departure as they had forgotten to fuel the plane. It's a complicated business so you can see how things like this can get missed. The passengers heading for Puerto Vallarta had a tight connection to make, so upon arriving in Denver, instead of getting out at the terminal they had to jump off while the plane was still moving. Dodge other planes on the tarmac. We were eager to make our connection too but were told to wait until the plane came to a full stop and they could bring a ladder for us to climb down. Denver was no warmer than Calgary that day. We had already partly changed for Mexico so by the time we had climbed down the ladder and run into the terminal we were fully awake and refreshed.
We couldn't get seats together for the flight from Denver to Cancun. The wife got a seat with Baby, Donnie Darko sat alone, and Calvin sat behind me. They had movies for about half the trip but these suddenly ended over the Gulf of Mexico. Region codes or something... damn you, MPAA! The couple next to Calvin helped him get his drinks and meal and chatted with him. Calvin's usually kinda shy, but he got comfortable with the couple and talked to them quite a bit. "Are we there yet?" "Look, I see water... more water... more water..." "What do we do if the plane blows up?"
We stepped off the plane at Cancun at dusk and stood in some more lines in the wonderful 30C, humid air. The guy who took our passports was very officious but broke character to smile at Baby and offer a friendly "hola!" Normally very friendly and extroverted, Baby immediately hid behind her mom's skirt. Hours and hours and hours of watching Dora the Explorer, and when her moment to shine arrived she choked! Choked! I can only be thankful we didn't encounter any purple dinosaurs or brightly-coloured mutant British children with televisions in their abdomens.
Next we were asked if we had anything to declare. After making your declaration or not you have to press a button, resulting in a light glowing either green or red. A green light gets you a cheery "off you go;" a red light gets you cast into the Pit of Eternal Peril or something. I don't know... we got the green light, but the suspense almost killed me. Does the button know something I don't? Can it smell my fear? Did I leave the 30 kilos of coke at home or did I accidentally bring it with me?
Next we had to run the gauntlet. Lining the airport walls in official looking booths stood a bunch of timeshare hucksters, taxi middlemen, and people who happily convert the dollars in your pocket into pesos in their own. Apparently they're not allowed to leave the booths, but they scream and grab at you as you go by like something out of Dante. I asked for a cab to Playa del Carmen and almost ended up buying some ocean-front property in Mexico City.
We did end up catching a cab. I don't know what I was thinking, but the cab had five seats and with the driver we were six people. So Baby sat on her mom's lap. This would trouble me ordinarily, but I had had two hours of sleep, had been assaulted by salespeople, and -- after all -- taxi drivers are professional drivers.
They have something like STOP signs in Mexico. They're red, octagonal, and say "ALTO" in big white letters. In English, "STOP" means "don't go." But "ALTO" in Mexican Spanish apparently has a more nuanced meaning, something like "you are permitted to consider slowing down here if the spirit moves you."
The speed bumps are much more effective than Canadian speed bumps, however, as they are proceeded and followed by what are essentially man-made sink holes designed to remove the lower chassis from any vehicle travelling faster than 5 km/h.
Highway driving is more straight-forward. Speed limits are on a best-guess basis, as the signs go by too quickly to read. Again, I wouldn't be that worried (having driven the Deerfoot at rush hour on occassion) except every cab has a crucifix and rosary hanging from the rearview mirror, suggesting that Mexican taxi drivers believe God is their co-pilot or backseat driver or something. I mean, does anyone really believe God cares about traffic?
You can catch your breath at the speed bumps distributed randomly on the highway... or you could if you didn't get the wind knocked out of you when dropping from light speed to 5 clicks in eight seconds. I guess that's why no one wears seatbelts.
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