Last year I started Spanish classes. Speaking a second language was always a dream of mine but I always kept putting it off. It seemed everything was perfect this time around so I started attending classes three times a week. I did not complete the first term. I will spare you the details, only to say that the exigencies of my job disrupted the classes for about two weeks and it was all down hill from there.
It is 4:50PM on August 1, 2008, almost a year later and here I was about to land in Mexico City. Frankly, I was not too worried about the fact that I could barely say five words in Spanish. I did not start Spanish classes because I was due to visit Mexico. I did not even know then that I would be in Mexico this time this year. Like I said before speaking a second language was just a dream. A dream that's still alive.
Mexico City is the hosting the 17th International AIDS Conference from August 3 to 8. That's what has brought me here.
The view from the sky was absolutely beautiful as we approached the airport. I will not even write about the flight from Miami to Mexico City, particularly the landing. Maybe I am just getting too old for this…but I hope the pilots of that American Airlines flight were not showing off, because, frankly I feel like that's exactly what they were doing.
I cleared immigration and customs, exited the airport, grab a taxi and was on my way to my hotel. It's as if I was in Kingston or Port-of-Spain. Because of the traffic I mean. The driver was able to speak a little English. I should stress very little English, but that was enough for me.
He asked me the usual questions. "Is it your first time here? Are you a medic? Where are you from?" I told him I was from Barbados, but that did not ring a bell with him so I told him I was from the Caribbean. He still was not sure so I tried Jamaica and he behaved as if he heard that name before.
I noticed that the radio station he had on in the car was playing all English songs even though the announcer spoke Spanish only. Rhianna came on the radio singing 'Please don't stop the music.' I tried explaining to him that she was from Barbados, but while he obviously knew the song by heart he was still not getting the Barbados bit.
As we made the journey to the hotel I discovered there was no shortage of taxis in this city. Cars of every size shape and colour could be seen everywhere. But none was as popular as the VW Bug. They are painted in a very bright green except for the top which is painted while. From the Airport to the hotel I must have seen about 500 of these cars.
I was reminded of Jamaica again and something which I had not seen for more than five years. At each traffic light, there were men and boys offering to clean the windshield. Unlike some of those in Jamaica, they were not as boisterous and went away without any fuss when the driver told them no.
As we were nearing the hotel I saw what looked like a carnival band. I asked the driver what was happening and he told me they were protesting against the president. As I got closer, I could see a crowd of about 1,000 men. Except for a picture of the president covering their pubic area, they were wearing absolutely noting. In the centre of the crowd there was what appeared to be a platform big enough to hold three women. I could tell they were all over 50 and unlike the men who felt the need to cover up with the president's picture, these three women were in their birthday suits. Although you could tell they were not babies.
After checking in I went for a walk and found a nice restaurant not too far from the hotel. I ate like a Mexican.
By 8PM my body was shutting down so I went to bed and I slept until about 8AM the next day.
I went back to the same restaurant for dinner Saturday evening. As I was walking back to the hotel, there they were in the middle of the sidewalk. If I needed a reminder that I was not in Jamaica, there it was right in front of me.
Pictures, articles and information are the exclusive property of CaribbeanRunnings.com and may not be reproduced in any form without the expressed written permission of the publisher.