Notes from a Spinning Planet—Mexico Read Free

what I hope sounds like a positive tone. “Sorry about the delay. Next time I'll be sure not to check my bag.”
    She nods over to another long line that's snaked around in the shape of a squashed S. “Guess we might as well line up again.”
    “What's this?” I ask as we take a place at the back of the line.
    “Another security check,” she explains. “I guess its to make sure we're not bringing in anything illegal. I've been watching it, and it's not moving too fast.”
    It takes about twenty minutes to get through this checkpoint, and fortunately we get through without having to open and unpack our bags. I feel a mixture of pity and relief as I watch an elderly couple with their bags fully opened and spread out across a table. Really, what do they think senior citizens would try to sneak into this country?
    Finally we're outside the terminal, where it's now dark, but as a result the temperature is cooling down. Fortunately, our rental-car shuttle is waiting, and we hop on. As the driver takes us to only he knows where, I wonder how difficult it would be to imitate a shuttle bus and kidnap unsuspecting tourists. But I keep these thoughts to myself. Sid's been through enough already.
    To my relief, we end up at the rental-car place. Sid goes into the office to pick up her car while I “guard the bags.”
    “This would be so much easier in the daylight,” says Sid as we finally drive away. “I just hope we don't get lost.”
    I try to peer into the darkness alongside the road, unsure of what lurks out there. “There don't seem to be a whole lot of places to stop and ask directions.”
    “So let's not get lost.”
    There's a steady stream of traffic, and for the most part we try to just move with it. Our plan is for me to be the navigator, which seems simple enough, especially since I can read Spanish, but we quickly discover that the side roads aren't well marked. Getting off and on the main highways can be rather tricky too. Fortunately, there are few main highways.
    After about an hour and a half of driving and backtracking and taking a wrong turn down a one-way street, we figure out the secret to entering and exiting the highway and manage to find the Playa del Monaco.
    “The lights are on,” says Sid as we pull up to the entrance, “but it looks like nobody's home.” She stops by a fairly well-lit security gate that doesn't seem to be manned. Thankfully, the gate is open.
    “Do you think it's okay to go in anyway?” I ask.
    She shrugs. “I don't know why not. This is the right place. Although I can't say much for their security system.”
    Soon we're inside the development, but the road forks, and we aren't sure which way to go. We take the road to the right, which leads to an area under construction. So we turn around, double back, and take the other road, which turns out to be a bit more promising.Finally Sid parks in front of a large adobe building, and we go inside the
oficina
, where a pretty Latina behind the desk greets us in both English and Spanish.
    “Bienvenidas
and welcome,” she says with a bright smile.
    Sid introduces us, and the young woman tells us her name is Francesca. “How can I help you?”
    Sid tells her we'll be staying for a week, and Francesca looks us up in the computer, then frowns.
    “Is there a problem?” asks Sid.
    “You say you will be here for a full week?” asks Francesca.
    “Yes. Our flight out is on New Year's Day,” says Sid.
    “Elprimevo de enero,”
I say for clarification and to practice my
espanol.
    “Si, “
says Francesca. “I know this. But your room is available only until December 29.
El veintinueve de diciembre,”
she adds for my sake.
    “But what do we do for the other three nights?” asks Sid.
    “I do not know. I am certain we are fully booked for those days.” Francesca looks back at her computer, then slowly shakes her head. “I am sorry. Nothing available.”
    Sid looks at me, then sighs. “Well, I guess we can worry about that