I bailed from Mexico City back to SFO, and down to Palo Alto in 24 hours. I tried to save a love that was apparently already lost. I don’t regret bailing on Mexico, I don’t regret leaving to go in the first place. I do wish the cards had fallen differently. At least life ain’t boring.
I was expecting some culture shock upon getting back to the States, but I didn’t have have to wait that long. The International Terminal at the Mexico City airport has got to be the richest place in Mexico. Patron everywhere, diamond jewelery, beer on tap… wow. I’ve been searching Mexico for three weeks trying to find beer on tap.
To get back to SFO, I first had a Méxicana puddle jumper to Puerto Vallarta. My ironic in flight magazine:
I guess God’s got a sense of humor.
I didn’t leave the airport in Puerto Vallarta. I had to do a bunch of paperwork because I didn’t have a tourist card. If you go to Puerto Vallarta for vacation, I’d really recommend heading a few hours north or south from town. Based on the airport at least, Puerto Vallarta didn’t feel like the ‘Querida México’ I had just spent three weeks wandering across. It’s more like a (bad) extension of the OC. The airport was overran with spoiled children, white women with too many face lifts, trust fund babies, and a scattering of general d-bags… like this one…
Doesn’t everyone wear their sunglasses inside?
I took Alaska Air back to beautiful cloudless San Francisco… no complaints. Every time I go travel, I find myself coming to the same conclusion: the Bay Area rocks. A beautiful place with jobs galore, tons to do, friendly people. It’s good to be home.