My accommodation in Mexico was the Hotel Canada, which was more expensive ($8.50/night) than the Hotel Concordia where I stayed at the beginning of my trip, but it is much nicer. I cashed my last Traveller’s Cheque at the bank. I had lost about $10 US cashing two cheques at the hotel in Merida, but it had been during the weekend, when I had no alternative.
After wandering through Mexico City for a couple of hours looking for more souvenirs to take home, I had a shrimp pizza, then settled down in my room in front of the television on my last night in Mexico, to watch “Fame” and a Bill Cosby movie in Spanish, both of which were very boring.
Next morning I caught a VW cab with the front passenger seat removed, for a ride to the airport. It was a relatively calm ride compared to the taxi I had taken yesterday. At the airport, I wandered through the shops looking to spend the rest of my Mexican money. I had 28,000 Pesos left. I bought two pairs of silver earrings.
Walking out of the last shop, I was approached by a young Gringo, who asked me if I spoke English. After I replied yes, he told me he had just had his passport and money stolen, had to call his parents for more money and didn’t have any money to eat on. I told him I had just spent the last of my pesos, and he told me that “only a couple of dollars would do.” So I told him I did have $20 US emergency money, and gave him $10. He gave me a little silver charm as thanks. I wished him luck and I continued toward the waiting lounge for my flight.
Going through Customs and Security, I had to pay $10 for the Airport Tax. They confiscated by Boy Scout pocket knife, but didn’t even look through my 20 pound bag with my camera stuff. On the 747 plane, I had a window seat, but couldn’t see anything out the window but the wing.
In Canada, while going through Customsa, I was asked what was the most expensive thing I had purchased in Mexico, and replied it was a $40 pair of earrings. That was it, I was waved on through. I walked out of the baggage area and went upstairs, then remembered my pocket knife that I was supposed to pick up down below. I waited and waited, and was finally told to come back later, which I did, and amazingly later, when I did return, I did get my pocket knife back.
Looking out the Vancouver Airport windows, everything was grey and wet, and while I waited at the airport, anxious to get back home to the Robson Valley, I couldn’t help but think back on the three weeks I had just spent exploring ancient Meso-American pyramids, seeing jungles and beautiful seashores, taking outrageous chicken bus trips, and sleeping in third-world hotel rooms. It had been a wonderful experience, and I was glad I had kept track of it in my journal.
Take a look at my paintings: davidmarchant2.ca