Despite the bus driver’s nod, my basic insecurity wouldn’t allow me any peace of mind. I didn’t know where my airport was, and I wasn’t 100% sure the driver had understood what I was saying about where I wanted to go. The bus driver got me to an airport, but I still wasn’t sure if it was the National one. Once inside the airport, I started to think I was in the International airport when I looked around.
The terminal was a very modern glass and stone structure, and when I glanced at the airline counters, my insecurity increased. I saw counters for the big airlines, like Pan Am and Mexicana, but then was relieved to see the counter for Aviateca, the small airline my flight to Tikal was booked on, and I sighed in relief when the agent took my ticket without comment.
Finally, I thought, everything seemed to suddenly be okay, and started to move away from the counter, however, when the agent then ask me for $2 US for the “Airport Tax”. I reached into my wallet and gave him the equivalent in Quetzales, but he stuck up his hands, refusing them and saying, “No, pay US dollars.” That didn’t seem right that in Guatemala an airport agent would insist a fee be paid in US dollars instead of their county’s own legal tender.
I felt stuck, feeling that the guy as scamming me, but I reluctantly handed him a $5 US bill. He sort of indicated that he would get me change and motioned me away. I sat down on a nearby bench waited waited and waited, and the more I thought about it, the more I felt like the agent was trying to rip me off. After giving him some time, I went back to the counter and asked for my $3 US in change.
He told me he didn’t have it, so I said, give it to me in Quetzales and he relented. He handed me 5 Q, which was another attempt at ripping me off. My nose by this time was very much out of joint, and I told him firmly that the exchange rate meant I should be getting 8Q. He shook his head, “No”.
I then demanded that he give me my $5 US back. Then, not wanting to draw attention to what was going on, he did finally give me the 8Q I had demanded. This was the first time in my trip to Mexico and Guatemala that I recognized that I was being ripped off, and it wasn’t by some poor person who needed money.
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