On Friday, I flew from Louisville to Atlanta to Mexico City and then poorly navigated Mexican customs. English is between scarce and nonexistent where Mexican City customs agents are concerned. But they do have a healthy fascination with my tattoos. Three or four separate agents grabbed my arm, pointed to my tattoos and said something to which I had no idea the meaning but assume to be something like, "Hey, crazy American girl, you have strange tattoos on your arm." I would shrug, smile and say, "Yes, I know. They make no sense to me either. Do I need to take off my zapatos?" Their reaction, appropriately was always a look that said, " Why would you respond to a question about tattoos with a bunch of jibber jabber and the word 'shoes'?" Eso esta` bien. I hate talking about my tattoos anyway. 

The airport in Mexico City does not announce what gate you will be flying out of until 40 minutes prior to departure. My flight wasn't scheduled to take off for over two hours but I wasn't sure what part of the terminal to wait in. I was also slightly concerned because the man sitting next to me on the plane had rambled on and on about how silly I was for not knowing how I would get from one terminal to the other. Same fucking way everyone else does is what I had assumed. He chuckled and told me the Mexico City airport was bigger than Atlanta's but not as busy and a little more dilapidated. He essentially sold me a liter of snake oil. I think. I still can't confirm how many terminals are in that airport but I only saw one. Which brings me back to that terminal. The man, or alleged bald faced liar, had me fairly unsure of where to go and since la informacio`n cannot tell you where to go until 40 minutes prior, I wound up sitting in one spot for 20 minutes, packing up, walking to another area, sitting there for 20 minutes and so on and so forth until it was finally time for my gate to be posted. I walked over to the monitors with the feelings of relief and anticipation only to find out my flight was delayed. After another 45 minutes of duck duck goose at the Mexican airport, I found out I would be leaving from gate 75. Gate 75 was the only gate in the entire terminal I was hoping to avoid because gate 75 is not really a gate. It's a series of several lines with letters above them. You have to queue up for your flight in the right letter group and then wait for them to open the little velvet rope thing so that you can make your way down to the lower level and wait at a bus stop. There are up to five different groups of travelers waiting for flights at this little bus depot and there isn't really enough room for everyone. I find it impossible to understand airport announcements in any language so I decided to go wherever the man in the black jacket with appelettes went. I rememebered seeing him in the alphabet queue. Appalettes was indeed headed for Oaxaca as I suspected although, this point, I don't think I would have cared if I ended up in the right city or not. 

When I got to Oaxaca, I took a group taxi to my posada. I could not wait to check in. I wanted to stop having places to be or go for the indeterminate future.  The posada had a beautiful exterior courtyard surrounded by an impressive and ornate iron gate. Which was shut. With no buzzer. It was dark and I was starting to feel like a damn fool. I walked around the neighborhood to orient myself and suss out where I would camp if I ended up sleeping on the street. (this is something I do a lot and I have no idea why.) I continued charting the neighborhood until it occurred to me that I had the posada's phone number in my email. I called the number a couple times, but all I could get was a recording in Spanish that promptly hung up on me. I found the number to the website where I had read about the posada, called them and they were able to get ahold of the front desk. This worked. Sort of. A man let me in and we found my reservation on the log book. I tried to give him the pesos I owed but he would neither take my money nor give me a key. We had a confusing and frustrating conversation for about 20 minutes. More so for him than me I think. We had the same conversation in Spanish about 12 times. "Hello, my name is Sarah. Yes, I have a reservation. Yes, it's right there. Apartment 7 until Saturday." We were always on the same page until I tried to exchange pesos for the key. Then he would launch into a several paragraphs riddled with exasperated sighs. Eventually, this half drunk woman from Vermont came in and talked him into giving me the key and, of all things, the wifi password. She also instructed me to put my things in my room and come down to her's because, "You really should go out right now. I'm sure you're probably tired, but you have to go out. I'm not going with you, but you have to go out."

I had about 60/40 intentions of doing so as I was walking up the stairs. Curiousity got the best of me. That and lack luster accomodations. I'm not complaining, especially for the price, but let's just say it's not the kind of room you want to be awake in. One of the lights makes this annoying humming sound and it's sort of stagnant and hot. It's about as much fun as sitting in a stock pond covered in algae listening to the underwater whirring noises of a small engine boat. I mean that in as flattering a way as possible. I love to swim. Just not alone and in uncharted waters if a better option may be available.

 The half drunk woman turned out to be Chrysann, a grandmother from Vermont. The self proclaimed "Token Grandmother of Oaxaca" although I think "Oaxaca's Most Enthusiastic Tour Guide" suits her better. I don't think I could have met anyone better on my first night. First thing she asked was if I had a map. I lied and said yes so as not to appear dull, but admittedly a map had never occured to me. She made me take her map (thank god) and gave me a tour book. She also gave me explicit instructions to walk here and there and "make sure you get to the zocolo." I took her map, her wisdom and her instructions and headed out into the night. I can't say that Oaxaca is better for it, but I'll say with confidence that I am.