THE FLIGHT HOME
Apartment cleaned, few cried goodbyes, and then to mom and dads to be sick for a few days...from what?
(As I write this, I realize that I have lost my expressions somewhere...in the flight, in the altitude, in the nap, in the city somewhere....)
During my Houston layover, I noticed a few people exiting their planes looking around as if still expecting a big welcome at the gate like the good old days before the war. I smiled thinking about how I don´t have to keep up with the war anymore, or my keys, or my cell phone, or anyone. I just have to arrive.
On the flight into Guadalajara, there was one nervious passenger who had all of our attention. Everyone was quiet and stared...or slept until the city materialized below. It began with tiny puzzle pieces of purple, red, blue, black and gold, with little black polka dotted mounds sometimes. After the little chunks of city began to arrive, I landed familiar, and noticed suddenly that everyone on the plane seemed to know eachother. The conversations bounced back and forth across the the claims forms, and of course I had to borrow a pen. God cursed my writting talents, and has snatched away my pens so even in practical times- I´m left to search for one again.
The airport was what I expected, except unlike Europe, no one knew English.
CRASH. (The sound my spanish course in Guadalajara...the baptism by fire)
The taxi loaded my too much luggage and then got lost for a bit (fine because the rate was pre-negotiated at the depot)
Today I have arrived in Mexico, exchanged by dollars, bought water, checked into a hotel, bought a torta off the street (my stomach is still holding), had a conversation in Spanish with a patient californian, met many travelers and made plans for my Friday night.
Too much to do-my spanish and my back needs massaging.