On The Road To Mexico City

It’s been a few months, but I guess it’s about time to get this going again. I’m on the road, so I might as well get back into the swing. (By the way this first entry is about the flight to Mexico City and there are no accompanying photos. I’ll put up some random Mexico City photos to make up for it.)

This trip started just like all of the others – by getting on a plane. I was flying from Raleigh to Orlando to Mexico City. While I was waiting for my flight in Raleigh, we had a little bit of excitement – or I guess it was silence, the opposite of excitement. There was a ceremony outside in which the body of a soldier killed in Afghanistan was presented to the soldier’s brother for the funeral. It drew quite a crowd over to the windows and the entire terminal was silent in his honor. Otherwise, the trip to Orlando was rather routine.

In Orlando, I couldn’t find my flight on the Delta screens even though my flight had a Delta flight number. I looked for a while and then went to get some help. Delta Dude acknowledged that my flight did indeed have a Delta flight number, but he told me that it wasn’t a Delta flight. He told me that it likely was an Aero Mexico flight and that I should check out the Aero Mexico gates. Since Aero Mexico just has the one gate, it shouldn’t have been too difficult to figure out. I got to the Aero Mexico gate and my flight was posted on the board. At least, I assumed it was my flight since it had the same departure time, same departure airport and same destination as my own flight. All I had to do was ask the person at the counter, right? Well, nobody was at the counter, but my flight wasn’t for three hours, so I waited. A few hours later, there still was nobody at the counter. Now, I was starting to get a little concerned. Forty-five minutes before my plane was supposed to depart, the sign at the gate said that the plane was boarding. Nevertheless, I held on to my faith that I was in the right place. About five minutes later, somebody finally came to the counter. I went to make sure I was at the right place, and I was. Whew!!! I checked in and the lady behind the counter told me that I may or may not have luggage when I get off the plane in Mexico City because I checked in so late. In my mind, I cursed her because the only reason I checked in so late is because the stupid airline had left the gate counter unattended until just before the flight. From my mouth, though, came the word “gracias.”

Aero Mexico isn’t the frilliest of airlines, but it got me to Mexico City more or less on time. I went to baggage claim to see if my bag was there. The one thing I had going in my favor is that I knew that if my luggage was there, it would be out quickly because it would have been one of the last bags on the plane. Unbelievably, because my luck with luggage almost never runs this way, my bag came right off and I was able to leave the airport without trying to come up with enough Spanish to file a baggage claim (though I was able to do it when my luggage was lost in Madrid).

Immigration and customs were easy. I went to the taxi counter and purchased a ticket for a cab to my hotel. I got in the cab and the cab driver and I spoke with each other in Spanglish (about 80% Spanish) throughout the 30-minute trip. It was my first time in a Spanish-speaking country since July and I was pretty happy that still I was able to communicate. My teachers in Argentina and Spain would have been proud.

That’s it for now. In the next entry, I’ll write about Mexico City, itself.