I have been away form ‘home’ for six months now. Fall is approaching, holidays will be here before you know it, and I have to get back to Texas to get my paperwork in order. My brother had just been here for a visit and I was initially going to go back with him. We all know how well some plans work. Instead, I am trailing my brother, leaving less than a week after he has left. Yes, I am excited about going back to Texas.
My time away has kindled some longings for ‘my people’. I have been subjected to an unwavering Mexican pride, in their culture, language and half-assed way of doing things. It makes me question why more people at home don’t have the same pride in their language, culture and daily life. Confrontations after confrontation about the evils of America and our society have just strengthened my love for my country and its people (well…some of them). I am going to have a chance to re-connect, and I am looking forward to it.
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| Up in the air and sprawl all around on the ground. |
I hate flying. I hate flying alone. I get nervous. I have to pee countless times. I hate sitting in an airport doing nothing. Yes, I take books and magazines to read, but it defeats the purpose of bringing them if you read them while you wait. So I wait and stare at my surroundings. I save my reading and listening to music until I am on the plane. While sitting in the airport in Mexico City something strange became apparent. In the boring wait to board the plane, I get cotton mouth. I know my breath is probably horrible, because there has not been anything passing through my lips for fear of even more peeing! I am parched. I look at the long blank walls and boring carpet. It is so ‘modern’, almost like a wanky Art Guys piece. What is missing? My eyes go back and forth along the blank walls and runways of carpet. There are no water fountains. I am dying of nervous thirst and there are no places to stoop and wet my lips. Odd. It has just occurred to me that this airport as with any other public place in this city has no water fountains!
Mark down another point that gets on my tits about this place. This is an odd inconvenience.
In my quiet boredom I keep an eye around me, running constant surveillance to see if the seats around me fill up. The more people that start sitting around me means the more that will be on the flight, this in turn means the more restless I will be. Luckily, it looks as if the room is pretty sparse. I see no undesirables, no sweaty people and no one with an apparent breathing problem. They charge $69 for extra leg room. I did not pay, but I did reserve a seat on an exit aisle. The fewer people around also means the better the chances that I have a whole row to myself, or at least be able to scam one of the extra leg room seats for free. Comfort is of utmost importance with paranoid uptight travelers like me.
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| Mexico City sprawl |
They call us to board. Immediately after showing our boarding passes, we are given a second shake down right inside the gate. Three card tables set up, and a guard flagging down a person to each table. I put my bags on the table and the girl takes a quick look through. I zip them up and am on my way. Half way down the ramp a girl is standing smiling. There are two bags at her feet. As I get closer, she simply asks, “Duty Free?” I shake my head and she wishes me a happy flight, and flashes a big smile. This is nice, it makes me smile. I walk away thinking how bored she must be standing there asking everyone if this is their smokes and booze in the bag.
As I walk on to the plane, I try to see who will be driving me up in the air. I see a few smiling stewardesses and head on down to my seat. I set my bag in the empty seat next to me, hoping to deter anyone else from sitting next to me. I am on the aisle and ok. A flight attendant walks down the aisle with a soggy piece of paper in her hands. She is asking for a certain passenger. I recognize the floppy, home printed ticket. Some guy with curly hair and a baseball cap was holding it at the gate. Where did he go? Why is he not answering? Another attendant goes up and down the aisle counting heads. He does this a few times over the next 10 minutes. I am going to get nervous if they cannot find the guy the sweaty ticket belongs to. I change my thoughts to the seat that costs an extra $69 to the left of me. I decide to call it home, leaving my bag in the middle seat. I pull out ‘Animal Farm’ and start to read…I do not want to be disturbed.
A lumbering guy is pounding his way down the aisle. I look up from my book to see a very tanned guy swaggering back and forth. He has very close cropped hair, almost bald and a small gold hoop earring in each ear. He is dressed like a whigger, “This sh*t sucks! I am tired of this crap!” he blurts out as he is bumping down the aisle. Anger issues, most definitely. I focus my eyes back to my book. A few minutes later a voice asks if I am ‘A’. I look up. A white haired business man is motioning to the seats. “No” I answer back, “I am ‘C’. Are you ‘A’?” He looks at me and says “No. ‘C’ is fine” and proceeds to sit down. “I am good here, with ‘C’” he says as he makes his final adjustments putting his briefcase under the seat in front of him.
At least I have a pretty decent guy sitting in my row. We are about to take off, the captain has just announced.
“Have you seen this” the business man asks, holding up the latest copy of the English language newspaper here in Mexico City. He has it opened to the center, a two page spread with a blazing headline that reads “Mexican Immigrants denied proper health care in US” I know he knew what I was thinking by the look on my face. I shake my head, “Don’t get me started”. He smiles. He shakes his head. He tells me of his wife, and how she manages several dozen health clinics in Houston and Harris County. “She says they can’t take care of anyone else! 90-95% of all their patients are illegals who don’t speak a word of English!” and he folds the paper up and puts it in the empty seat between us. We exchange pleasantries and then he closes his eyes and puts his head back for take off.
As soon as we are in the air, I break out my iPod. I have been waiting to hear a new compilation of some German ‘minimal’ electronic music. I put those hard little annoying iPod earphones in my ears and turn on the ‘pod. I open my Orwell and resume reading.
Do not try to listen to ‘minimal’ or ‘ambient’ music on a flight with these puny headphones. All you hear is the sound of air. Bad choice. I suppose I could listen to some hard stuff, but I do not want to interfere with the reading at hand, and I want to stay cool and relaxed. I let it play, boosting the volume a bit. Gazing out the window I see something I find very fascinating. Just beyond the mountain ridge, you can see all the clouds huddled, like a nervous group about to crash a party. There is a distinct line (the ridge) which has the clouds at bay. As I look out over all the clouds passed the ridge, I am amused by the mountains which keep the clear skies and the clouds separate. I know what is coming though, because I am higher than the mountains and I see the herds of puffy invaders waiting to come over. Like loads of stretched cotton balls, they all wait patiently for their chance to move forward.
It doesn’t take long before they bring the snacks. They ask if I want a sandwich. I say yes. I brought my own, but I take the potato chips and Ferro Rocher chocolate candy they have buried beneath whatever sandwich that is. I notice the business guy next to me does the same, except he eats the cheese off his sandwich. He asks for water, no ice. I am sipping my coke with ice and thought flashes across my mind; ‘This is Mexican ice. You may very well be doing the rest of your trip on the toilet.’ I man up, take a few more swigs and get back to my book.
I stop reading every so often to cast a sideways glance at the business man next to me and to look out the window. I gaze across the tops off seats at the crowns of all the heads in front of me. I am almost halfway through ‘Animal Farm’ and I want to get to the halfway point by the time we land…it won’t be too much longer.
I am often annoyed at the sound of people coughing and sneezing on flights. I cringe at the thought of all the just expelled just swirling around up and down the cabin, falling like magic dust on all the other passengers. Every time I hear someone cough, I want to turn around like an angry dad and stare down whoever the culprit is.
The pilot announces our approach. Perfect timing! I have reached my desired halfway point in the book. I put it away and sit back to gaze out the window for the remainder of the flight. I notice the smell of something ‘fresh’. Odd, why would it all of a sudden have a ‘fresh’ smell on a plane when you are about to land? I then recognize it; it is the smell of a lozenge or mint, wintergreen, fresh mint, arctic ice or whatever you choose to call it. It must be a passenger a few rows behind me, because it is getting stronger by the second. I am leaning on my arm rest looking out the window at Texas below me. I feel a rush of wind on my shoulder and arm nearest the window, and then a rush of ‘cool mint’ is noticeable. The sicko just couched straight on me. I was so grossed out I could not turn around…and what good would it do anyway. I had just the shower of germs; he’d given me his gift. Futile as it was, I held my breath for a bit; it was all I could do in response to the invading cough.
As I gazed down on all the green lawns, and there are loads of green lawns. In fact, it is quite surprising at how lush Houston is! I see the pools, the neighborhoods and all the orderly homes and I think that life is pretty ok here. It may not be perfect, but the life we have in the USA is something to be proud of, it is a good life! Even in planned neighborhoods of rows and rows of cookie cutter homes, for the average guy, life is good. This thought keeps playing over and over in my head as we land. I have only been away 6 months, but some cultural differences cannot be denied.
We land and we are early. As soon as the wheels hit the ground I am elated. I feel safe and sound, and I am home. I am proud too. As I sit and watch the runway slow down and the ground workers scurry by, the pilot tells us that we are so early that we do not have a gate. We will have to sit for about 15 minutes until a gate is prepared for us. The bright side is, we will be closer to customs, so we can breeze through! When we do finally pull up to our gate and the wheels stop rolling for good, I feel excitement. I know it is only Houston, but it is not Mexico. It doesn’t take long before the rows empty out and I can grab my bag and make my way into the main hall and go home. I may as well have been walking on clouds as I made my way down the hallways and stairs into the main room for immigration control and customs. Like the rest of the herd, I walk through the maze of expandable nylon bands which divide the room. There are a few people in front of me.
“Wooo” echoes around the near empty hall. “Oohhh man!” A loud voice booms. I scan those around me and see a guy a few rows over, squirming around and putting an over-sized Fubu style jacket on. It is the guy with the gold hoop earrings and shorn head. The whigger. He is shaking his head and smiling. He stomps his feet and turns to announce to no one, “Man! It feels good to be home! It has been too long!” He is all smiles and shaking his head. I smile too. He voiced what I was thinking. My attitude towards the would be troublesome guy softened in that moment. He was just like me, and now we both were home. It was a joyous time, albeit, one of us chose not to yell out loud and stomp our feet.
The clerk at the desk asks me if I have anything to declare, nope! The sound of a rubber stamp on an ink pad and then my passport makes its familiar thud. “Have a nice day”, and he hands me my passport held between his first two fingers. I walk away smiling, I just can’t help it.
Damon picks me up and we head home. I watch the scenery as we head back downtown. Nothing has changed; I am not expecting anything new. I am enjoying all that is familiar to me. Thankfully, there is no traffic and we are back home in no time. We run some errands, picking up some things I will need back in Mexico. After a few stops, we decide it is time for a coffee. We go to Starbucks and happen to bump into a friend. This is a nice surprise. We sit down with Matt and chat. I am enjoying my coffee. I am extra thirsty, and had asked for a cup of water as well. In the middle of our conversation I am taking a sip of ice water and as I set the cup back down, I am amazed at this convenience. I interrupt with my revelation, “Hey! A glass of ice water in public. Water fountains in the airport!” They look at me like I am crazy. To me though, this is a huge welcome home. The thought of being able to drink water at any moment, what a novel idea.
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