January 15th, 2007 | |
Posted in Travel by Chris Pommier
Ah, the humidity, the heat, the light, the people. As soon as we stepped off the plane, all this hit us with a loud, wet smack, like a kiss from your weird aunt from the Old Country. The one you’re excited to see, but who makes you a little nervous because you don’t quite know what to expect from her.
Walk this Way
The interesting thing about Mexican Customs and Immigration is that after you go through the metal detector you see a short version of a walk/don’t walk sign waiting for you. It’s sort of like that scene from the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe when you see the street lamp sitting out in the woods, the walk/don’t walk sign is surrounded, not by the hushed quiet of a winter forest, but by the thin carpeting and shabby grey card tables of an international arrival terminal. Somewhere in the distance a siren is blaring and a mechanical voice is instructing everyone in the waiting area that there is an emergency and we should all leave immediately. Jonah and I look around at the Mexican immigration officials all of whom are busily waving people through the line and completely ignoring the voice and the siren. We shrug and pass through.
Jonah presses the button on the walk/don’t walk sign. The upper portion lights up green and he gets a Pass. I follow behind and press the same button and the lower light burns red. I’m instructed by a guard to open my pack at a nearby table and he rifles through it. He finds nothing of interest, of course, so I zip my bag and join Jonah at the exit. I didn’t yet realize that I’d left all the papers that included the phone number and address of our last hotel, plus other papers outlining itineraries and things to do while in Belize back on the table. We leave.
A La Playa
Outside, the day slowly spins and sizzles under the Yucatecan sun. The green of the trees is preternatural and nearly iridescent to our winter-clouded Minnesota eyes. Bus! Taxi! Playa! Play del Carmen! Tour! Tulum! Cozumel! Shuttle! People yell, trying to get our attention, holding signs, waiving to us as though we’re long lost friends. We find the ADO bus to Playa del Carmen, buy a ticket and head out.
The bus is cheap and comfortable. We settle in to our bright blue cushioned seats, the air conditioning roaring at full blast and for the next half an hour are subjected to video of one soccer player after another talking about their lives growing up in small town A, then traveling to big city B where they kicked ass thus and thus during such and such a game. By the time we pulled into Playa del Carmen I was nearly brainwashed into thinking I liked soccer by all the cheering, yelling and childhood anecdotes played at full volume over the bus’s television system.
Further Reading on Words & Tricks
Tags:
Cancun,
customs,
immigration,
Mexico,
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