Mexico, we are in you
I suppose the getting here could have been more fun - for values of "fun" that include running everything down to the worst imaginable setting - but it's hard to see how.
We set off at oh-god-early, courtesy of the lovely Laura's picking us up and dropping us at San Jose officially-international Airport. In fact we flew to Dallas, Texas, which is not quite another country despite rumours to the contrary. There we waited for our tiny plane to Puebla - and while we waited Karen nodded at a couple of women in wheelchairs and said "I bet they're going to Clinica Ruiz also." And then defied all the laws of logic and common sense by, y'know, going up and asking.
And was right, of course, so we had companions: onto the plane, and settling down comfortably, and getting the safety talk - and then getting the pilot on the intercom saying that Popacatapetl had erupted, and Puebla airport was closed because ash-plume, and please would we all get off his airplane now.
So we did that, having little other option; and the nice competent organising lady said there was a flight leaving for Mexico City in an hour and would we all like to be booked on that instead? So there was a general outcry of "Yes", and she started rebooking forty people one by one for a plane just about to start boarding on the other side of the terminal.
When there were twenty minutes to go, while Karen was still trying to persuade our phone provider that they really should let us call Mexico and warn the clinic that we were arriving at a wholly different city, the nice competent organising lady figured out that all these disabled people needed priority rebooking and a speedy cart to whizz them to the gate. So we got that, and arrived in the very nick of time, to find them holding the gate open for us in an almost literal fashion.
So we plunged aboard, and flew to CDMX (see? I have not forgotten all my cool!), and wandered insouciantly through immigration (I suspect they very rarely turn away that many people in wheelchairs) and arrived at baggage claim to find that our luggage had not in fact made it onto the plane. So that was an hour of standing in line and filling in forms and not really believing him (fortunately, as it turned out) when he said that the bags would be flown in tomorrow and delivered to the clinic same day.
And then at last we exited airside to find our lift waiting for us, and we hauled aboard the van and drove the two hours from CDMX to Puebla, and if you ever hear either of us complain about California roads again you may swat us abaft the ear, because oy. Also ow.
And then we were here, in this interesting apartment, with interesting days ahead of us - the first of which was due to start five hours hence. And of course we hadn't slept the night previous, and of course we weren't going to sleep this night either, so we duly didn't. And today has just been exhausting, but that tale must wait until tomorrow, because chicken, wife, wine, etc. G'night, all.
We set off at oh-god-early, courtesy of the lovely Laura's picking us up and dropping us at San Jose officially-international Airport. In fact we flew to Dallas, Texas, which is not quite another country despite rumours to the contrary. There we waited for our tiny plane to Puebla - and while we waited Karen nodded at a couple of women in wheelchairs and said "I bet they're going to Clinica Ruiz also." And then defied all the laws of logic and common sense by, y'know, going up and asking.
And was right, of course, so we had companions: onto the plane, and settling down comfortably, and getting the safety talk - and then getting the pilot on the intercom saying that Popacatapetl had erupted, and Puebla airport was closed because ash-plume, and please would we all get off his airplane now.
So we did that, having little other option; and the nice competent organising lady said there was a flight leaving for Mexico City in an hour and would we all like to be booked on that instead? So there was a general outcry of "Yes", and she started rebooking forty people one by one for a plane just about to start boarding on the other side of the terminal.
When there were twenty minutes to go, while Karen was still trying to persuade our phone provider that they really should let us call Mexico and warn the clinic that we were arriving at a wholly different city, the nice competent organising lady figured out that all these disabled people needed priority rebooking and a speedy cart to whizz them to the gate. So we got that, and arrived in the very nick of time, to find them holding the gate open for us in an almost literal fashion.
So we plunged aboard, and flew to CDMX (see? I have not forgotten all my cool!), and wandered insouciantly through immigration (I suspect they very rarely turn away that many people in wheelchairs) and arrived at baggage claim to find that our luggage had not in fact made it onto the plane. So that was an hour of standing in line and filling in forms and not really believing him (fortunately, as it turned out) when he said that the bags would be flown in tomorrow and delivered to the clinic same day.
And then at last we exited airside to find our lift waiting for us, and we hauled aboard the van and drove the two hours from CDMX to Puebla, and if you ever hear either of us complain about California roads again you may swat us abaft the ear, because oy. Also ow.
And then we were here, in this interesting apartment, with interesting days ahead of us - the first of which was due to start five hours hence. And of course we hadn't slept the night previous, and of course we weren't going to sleep this night either, so we duly didn't. And today has just been exhausting, but that tale must wait until tomorrow, because chicken, wife, wine, etc. G'night, all.