Mexico City by taxi

While I'm on a plane to Mexico City, I think back to the first time I went to Mexico, a long time ago when I was a puppy. It was somewhere in the 90s, right after presidential candidate Colosio was murdered, during the first zapatistas uprising, in the heyday of El señor de los cielos and when El Chapo was still known as Chapito. Although Mexico was very high on my wish list since I saw the film 'Against All Odds' and the song 'Going Loco Down in Acapulco' had turned grey on multiple cassette tapes, it seemed better to me (but especially my parents) not to explore this particular country on my own. but safe with an organized tour. After not long searching (I mean, it was the 90s, there wasn't that much choice then) it became an adventurous tour with Djoser through Mexico, Guatemala and a piece of Honduras. A Wonderful Trip! Even so beautiful that Djoser barely modified the program after all these years, because the route was just perfect and still.

Our first stop was Mexico City, a huge overwhelming big city with more inhabitants than in the whole of the Netherlands. On our second evening, the whole group went out to dinner together to get to know each other better and toast to a good start to the holiday. And toast! We sang along with the Mariachi band when we asked for the umpteenth time if she wanted to play Cucurrucucu Paloma, we ate nachos and tacos and burritos and the drink flowed abundantly. But at the end of this very successful evening it rained and I didn't feel like walking back to the hotel. Two other fellow fellow travellers, Leo and Marie, shared this thought and with us three we took a taxi. Smiling, we waved to the rest of the group, who were wet in no time: “Hahaha, so long suckers! We'll see you at the hotel bar when we're high and dry on a cuba libre.!” We had the biggest fun, but that laughter was fast when the taxi drove down the street of our hotel and kept driving steadily.

Somewhat surprised Marie and I looked at each other. “Um, we shouldn't have left here?” “Yes, I believe it too.” To be sure, Leo was waving the hotel ticket, which clearly stated the address. However, the taxi driver waved this away cheerfully and babbled a bit in Spanish. We decided he really knew the road and that this street was probably one-way. No worries, we would be sure before the rest of the group arrive and sit on a nice cuba libre when they would walk in like drunk cats. But after at least 45 minutes of aimless drive, it was clear that we wouldn't be in the hotel for the rest.

We had now ended up in some deserted suburb when the taxi driver decided to finally stop. At a bridge there were some unfortunate tipies that had not been out of place in an episode of Narcos on Netflix, and that's where our driver walked on. The crying was closer to us than laughing and immediately we brought all sorts of wild theories into our heads. We would be kidnapped, maybe killed, we would lose our organs, be sold to some oil sheik or cartel boss.. While we were busy debating what to do: Stay sitting, trying to steal the taxi or running away hard, the driver came back. Smiling broadly, he said something unintelligible to us again. Maybe it was like, “Well, guys, you're lucky. Dutchmen are not in demand today. Far too cheap, never pay ransom.But it would have been a bit of: 'I was enormously lost but asked these nice young men the way and now I know how to drive'. Anyway, we went back on the road and saw the men on the bridge cheerfully waving at us. Sheep we waved back.

Over an hour and a half later than expected, we were safely dropped off at our hotel where we were met by the rest of the group and finally enjoying the long-awaited cuba libre at the hotel bar.

Smiling, I look out the window of the plane and look forward to all the new adventures. I hope it will be as nice trip as the first time, but with taxis that drive right away.
Mexico, Mr I come!

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