I am sitting in the cool shade out of the hot sun in a little courtyard lined with red bougainvillea. I’m sleepy and there are a few mosquitoes hovering about but otherwise it’s not a bad place to be.
Last night I left San Francisco, in a somewhat eventful departure. First, a mountain lion besieged the house. I looked out of the window at the grass bank rising above it and couldn’t believe my eyes at the size of the cat and then realised it wasn’t a cat at all. No one dared leave the house till it was gone. Then, as I left for the airport, my bag tipped over and out went my phone and assorted belongings. No worries at all I said airily, the phone is used to falling, and it wasn’t till I got to the airport and pulled it out to retrieve my boarding pass that I realised the screen was cracked and a good bit of it was no longer responding to touch. This made me rather upset, as it’s a definite inconvenience, not to mention an expense, and I had hoped to break from the usual short lives of smartphones and keep this for a few more years. Some fiddling with settings and expertiments with flipping between portrait and landscape mode has made it usable, at least, for now.
Next, I got off the first flight, from San Francisco to Mexico City, and joined the very long queue for immigration, only to realise, panicking, that I had left my kindle behind. I nearly started crying, and dashed back towards the gate to be turned away firmly by an official who told me to check the airline counter next to baggage claim 5. So I rejoined the queue which had by then doubled in size, and aside from snacking through the hall now extended up the stairs. Luckily it was fast moving and I got through without much trouble.
Determined to ask for assistance instead of just giving up, I accosted the first airline staff member I saw, who also directed me towards baggage claim 5. There, I was told no they could do nothing I would have to go to lost and found. So I went through, hopeless and unnerved by seeing others collect their baggage and transfer through customs but was repeatedly assured I would not need to do that.
Outside, I walked up and down the arrivals section looking for the lost and found, to no avail. I went upstairs to departures and did the same, and then finally found some airline staff who told me it was opposite international arrivals, where I had come out from. I went there and looked carefully, no result. Finally a guard who spoke no English understood my frantic questions, and pointed down a corridor saying airport hotel. And there indeed it was, manned by an improbably red haired young women at 5 in the morning. A long hopeless wait while she spoke on walkie talkies and printed out sheets of paper, and chattered with colleagues, and finally called me over and produced the kindle. So, phew. Two losses at either end of a flight would have been very inconvenient.
And now, here I am in a courtyard in Merida. it’s a small hotel, nicer than the ones I stayed in alone in Kathmandu, and certainly cleaner, but very basic nonetheless. I arrived and after showering and unpacking went straight out for lunch and a walk, first to a taqueria in the local market where I was stunned, as usual, by how vivid flavours are in their home ground. Such a difference. Then I walked around a bit, through hot, cement streets, with faded paint and blank walls interspersed with crumbling ornament. It’s a slow pace of life here, it feels not unlike a small town in Pakistan but with much less traffic and hazardous wiring.