A Flight of Faith
“The Yucatan?” I responded last summer when my pal B. from Maine planted a seed. He has wintered over in Merida for a number of years, and last winter, pre-Covid vaccines, navigated his own fears about the virus, and he took the leap of faith that all would be okay for his annual stay there. Upon his return in the spring of 2021, he sought out his vaccine shots.
I am fully vaxxed, I thought, and the booster will be available to me later in November. Who knows, by January, what the world and the virus will look like. The Delta variant had surfaced, was spreading through late summer. The worse that could happen would be that I would not be allowed to fly, and might lose the price of the plane ticket.
According to online research, Merida seemed a really safe city. I wouldn’t want the risk with cartel activity, as a traveler, in other parts of Mexico. In the world these days, though, there is always some risk. But I would be with B. and all his travel savvy.
I made peace, and purchased the cheapest ticket I could-- (not even a carry-on….only one bag that fits under the seat). I offset the cost with credit card travel rewards, and felt okay about losing the rest of the money if need be.
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B. stays at an AirBnB with a second rentable room, both rooms alongside the main house. The host's price went up, though, between summer and December: now $15 US/ night rather than the $12/night originally negotiated. I could handle three weeks at that higher price, and B. paid the extra week for a full month of rental, payable after I arrive.
In my small backpack for under the seat, I pack two sundresses, a skirt, a couple of tops, and some underwear I can hand wash, some of which can double as a bathing suit if need be. Sandals, a sunhat. Toiletries and charging cords. I bring a jacket with pockets (not counted as carry on) and load the pockets with snacks for the plane and airports. I had read that a fanny pack is considered “clothing”, so I load up a small one with camera, phone, passport, wallet.
I just carry my ipad in hand....for tickets to scan, and access to other documents.
I drop my truck at a friend's place outside of Austin and he drives me to the Austin airport. Planes are running, and on time, even though many flights are being cancelled post-holiday due to pilots and crews testing positive for Covid.
I fly from Austin to Houston to Merida no problem, find my way through customs and immigration, grateful for those who speak English. My Spanish, one semester in college, is lost back there in the 1970’s. I have, however, jotted down a few stock phrases, and here on my new iPad is a translator…..I just need to figure out how to use that resource.
Once through the Merida airport, B. is in full waiting view, knowing just what to do to grab us a taxi to where we are staying in the Itzima section of Merida. The adventure begins.
“The Yucatan?” I responded last summer when my pal B. from Maine planted a seed. He has wintered over in Merida for a number of years, and last winter, pre-Covid vaccines, navigated his own fears about the virus, and he took the leap of faith that all would be okay for his annual stay there. Upon his return in the spring of 2021, he sought out his vaccine shots.
I am fully vaxxed, I thought, and the booster will be available to me later in November. Who knows, by January, what the world and the virus will look like. The Delta variant had surfaced, was spreading through late summer. The worse that could happen would be that I would not be allowed to fly, and might lose the price of the plane ticket.
According to online research, Merida seemed a really safe city. I wouldn’t want the risk with cartel activity, as a traveler, in other parts of Mexico. In the world these days, though, there is always some risk. But I would be with B. and all his travel savvy.
I made peace, and purchased the cheapest ticket I could-- (not even a carry-on….only one bag that fits under the seat). I offset the cost with credit card travel rewards, and felt okay about losing the rest of the money if need be.
...........................................................................................................................................................
B. stays at an AirBnB with a second rentable room, both rooms alongside the main house. The host's price went up, though, between summer and December: now $15 US/ night rather than the $12/night originally negotiated. I could handle three weeks at that higher price, and B. paid the extra week for a full month of rental, payable after I arrive.
In my small backpack for under the seat, I pack two sundresses, a skirt, a couple of tops, and some underwear I can hand wash, some of which can double as a bathing suit if need be. Sandals, a sunhat. Toiletries and charging cords. I bring a jacket with pockets (not counted as carry on) and load the pockets with snacks for the plane and airports. I had read that a fanny pack is considered “clothing”, so I load up a small one with camera, phone, passport, wallet.
I just carry my ipad in hand....for tickets to scan, and access to other documents.
I drop my truck at a friend's place outside of Austin and he drives me to the Austin airport. Planes are running, and on time, even though many flights are being cancelled post-holiday due to pilots and crews testing positive for Covid.
I fly from Austin to Houston to Merida no problem, find my way through customs and immigration, grateful for those who speak English. My Spanish, one semester in college, is lost back there in the 1970’s. I have, however, jotted down a few stock phrases, and here on my new iPad is a translator…..I just need to figure out how to use that resource.
Once through the Merida airport, B. is in full waiting view, knowing just what to do to grab us a taxi to where we are staying in the Itzima section of Merida. The adventure begins.
Monumento a la Patria
The Monumento a la Patria (Monument to the Fatherland), at a traffic circle along the Paseo de Montejo, was made by Colombian sculptor Romulo Rozo. Featuring more than 300 hand-carved figures, it chronicles about 700 years of Mexican history from the establishment of Tenochtitlán to the mid 20th century, including Mayan cultural images like a Chacmool, a ceiba tree surrounded by butterflies and jaguars, and the city’s shield. Via taxi from the airport, we pass by the monument in red, and B. tells me we are within walking distance. Each night, a different color of lights shine onto the monument. We visited on the blue night, and even I am blue! |
Por Favor
“Buenos Dias”. “Gracias”.
There is a Starbucks one block away from where we are staying. “Por Favor, Chai Latte. Alto. Caliente. Con Leche regular.” Smug with myself for my new ordering fluency, I am only good if I have exact change. Otherwise, the young barrista asks me a question, and with humility, I have to own up.
“Habla ingles??????????Por Favor!!!!!!!” This results in some hassle getting the attention of another barrista who can help. Usually the question is about my change. I need to learn the phrase "Keep the change"!
Another block away in a different direction is a take-out Italian restaurant. With tablet translator already input with our order, B. tilts the tablet in view of the order-taker at the outside window. Several motorbikes wait for delivery orders and then motor off in different directions. We make several attempts at ordering a pizza with onions and mushrooms, but B.’s sub0standard translator app can’t quite find the right translated word for "mushroom", and our order taker laughs and laughs at our attempts. But, I refer back to high school French and “champignon” meaning mushroom, and we find our way to the right word on the large menu posted behind the young woman.
Our time in the city, my friend and I, evolves into what we do best together: aimlessly walk the streets, deep in philosophical conversation, stopping for coffee/tea/taco/margarita. We solve all of the world’s issues. If only the world would stop long enough to consider our answers.
Along the streets, we watch jeeps drive by, national guardsmen with machine guns scanning for crime. I like seeing them, feel safer for it. Merida is a modern city, multi-cultural, with a group of ex-pats. But B. avoids them, opting for being part of the Mexican culture only.
At the entrance to every public space, our temperatures are taken, we are required to hand sanitize, and to wear a mask. Otherwise, no entry. Along the streets, everyone wears masks. Bicyclists are wearing masks, motorcyclists are wearing masks. Anyone not is most likely a tourist. We walk, carrying our masks in hand, and don them when others are approaching. Covid safety is mandated, and I feel Covid-safe here.
We eat fresh fruit daily: bananas, mangoes, pineapple, papaya, with coconut yogurt. We shop for tropical veggies to cook/eat, like the chayote. We eat salads, and nosh on crackers and cheese. Every now and then, we go out to a nearby restaurant.
We walk/bus to English movies with Spanish subtitles.
We stroll along Paseo de Montejo boulevard, visit mansions and museums, eat ice cream. But not in the middle of the day, when the sun is out and hot, so we siesta. I work on poetry, he reads, we both nap.
We give each other space.
I luxuriate in the sun, the warmth, the flowers, the sleep, the breeze.
We stroll along Paseo de Montejo boulevard, visit mansions and museums, eat ice cream. But not in the middle of the day, when the sun is out and hot, so we siesta. I work on poetry, he reads, we both nap.
We give each other space.
I luxuriate in the sun, the warmth, the flowers, the sleep, the breeze.
Colonial Merida
Historical records show Merida as an early base for Spanish efforts to conquer the Maya. The city subsequently became an administrative and commercial center for the Yucatán region. and during the 19th century, its economy was based on the processing and export of locally grown henequen, a fibrous plant from which twine and rope were produced. By the early 20th century Mérida became one of Mexico’s most important commercial cities, but the henequen trade declined after World war II. Now, the henequen plantations grow citrus fruits (notably limes and lemons) and other crops.
Paseo de Montejo was fashioned after the boulevards of France, flanked with trees, with several roundabouts. | It is named after Franciso de Montejo, the Spanish conquistador who founded the city in 1542. and is the location of some of the most iconic buildings and monuments of the city. |
. The mansions were built along the avenue by wealthy Yucatecans of the 19th century.
Details from life at Quinta Montes Molina mansion museum, still used by the family when visiting Merida:
Local Itzima chapels:
The Road Trip Launch
Cities have their place, don't get me wrong. There are the resources, the cultural offerings, ease of transportation, medical facilities, restaurants, coffee shops, and progressive thinkers.
It is nature that beckons us out of the noise, pollution, over-stimulation. Merida is a half hour from the Gulf waters of the north, another forty minutes into the Reserva Estatal Geohidrológica Anillo de Cenotes to the south.
B. researches rental car prices, added insurance, low-cost, but safe and clean, hotels. We peruse maps, and choose a three day loop out of five days of rental for a car. The other two days will be day trips out of Merida. We compare US dollars to pesos. We make decisions, B. makes reservations.
For US $4, on B's new DiDi app, we hop a ride to the airport and Europcar. Having used the company many times before, in many countries, he feels secure with them. We shuttle from terminal to the rental car row of companies and their lots. Then we get separated: "Only one person in the office for Covid safety," we are told. I settle in to wait in the waiting room while B. negotiates the rest of the reservation.
And I wait....and wait....and wait. Eventually he pops in: they will not honor the already paid-for online reservation or insurance, don't have cars at the online price anyway, and what they can offer is three times the online price. But, in pesos, the cost is still doable.
"Pesos?" I double check. "Not US dollars, right?" B. assures me he clarified it, and the clerk assured him. It is not until the transaction goes through his credit card as US dollars the next day that we feel scammed. B .is livid--he feels his road savvy has let him down. How could this have happened? It is a major blow to his nomadic awareness.
No way to call the car rental company for clarification, which has to be done via a phone app on his device, and no cell service for either of us while in Mexico, he cannot let go. He tries late afternoon with weak internet, and calls drop. He tries to text/message in Spanish. This eats at him, pre-occupies his sense of right and wrong. He calls the credit card company, and Europcar central, but his signature is all over pieces of paper. They all tell him they will look into it.
I check my financial resources for this part of the trip and offer to split the fiasco. We will both have to weather the set back once back in Merida, but we the extra cost won't break us.
I let him stew off and on when we are not engaged in distraction. He gives it is his best to enjoy what he can. I know I would not have done any better, so I keep reminding him we will be fine as we drive from Merida to Progreso and onto Rio Lagartos for our first night stay.
Cities have their place, don't get me wrong. There are the resources, the cultural offerings, ease of transportation, medical facilities, restaurants, coffee shops, and progressive thinkers.
It is nature that beckons us out of the noise, pollution, over-stimulation. Merida is a half hour from the Gulf waters of the north, another forty minutes into the Reserva Estatal Geohidrológica Anillo de Cenotes to the south.
B. researches rental car prices, added insurance, low-cost, but safe and clean, hotels. We peruse maps, and choose a three day loop out of five days of rental for a car. The other two days will be day trips out of Merida. We compare US dollars to pesos. We make decisions, B. makes reservations.
For US $4, on B's new DiDi app, we hop a ride to the airport and Europcar. Having used the company many times before, in many countries, he feels secure with them. We shuttle from terminal to the rental car row of companies and their lots. Then we get separated: "Only one person in the office for Covid safety," we are told. I settle in to wait in the waiting room while B. negotiates the rest of the reservation.
And I wait....and wait....and wait. Eventually he pops in: they will not honor the already paid-for online reservation or insurance, don't have cars at the online price anyway, and what they can offer is three times the online price. But, in pesos, the cost is still doable.
"Pesos?" I double check. "Not US dollars, right?" B. assures me he clarified it, and the clerk assured him. It is not until the transaction goes through his credit card as US dollars the next day that we feel scammed. B .is livid--he feels his road savvy has let him down. How could this have happened? It is a major blow to his nomadic awareness.
No way to call the car rental company for clarification, which has to be done via a phone app on his device, and no cell service for either of us while in Mexico, he cannot let go. He tries late afternoon with weak internet, and calls drop. He tries to text/message in Spanish. This eats at him, pre-occupies his sense of right and wrong. He calls the credit card company, and Europcar central, but his signature is all over pieces of paper. They all tell him they will look into it.
I check my financial resources for this part of the trip and offer to split the fiasco. We will both have to weather the set back once back in Merida, but we the extra cost won't break us.
I let him stew off and on when we are not engaged in distraction. He gives it is his best to enjoy what he can. I know I would not have done any better, so I keep reminding him we will be fine as we drive from Merida to Progreso and onto Rio Lagartos for our first night stay.
Rio Lagartos
From the wooden rocking chairs on our second story Villa de Pescadores hotel balcony, we sip glasses of wine. Thatch fronds flutter in the late afternoon breeze above our heads. Across the street, the dwindling fishing commerce slowly blossoms into tourism. Boats in the marina bob gently in the Ria Lagartos lagoon waters of the UNESCO protected biosphere here on the northern tip of the Yucatan peninsula.
Pelicans roost on weathered pier posts and on boat canopies. Thatch-roofed huts line the concrete sidewalk alive with walkers, tour operators waiting for the inspired tourist—"want to see flamingos? Mangroves? Crocodiles?" Walkers dip into restaurants for an early dinner, or a bar for a tropical drink.
As the light wanes, the full moon rises into clouds dappled in white and gray. Once high enough, and the sky dark enough, the bright moon tethers itself across the lagoon to the resting marina. Having finished our wine, we find ourselves down on the street perusing restaurants with available seating.
We eat local seafood and sip margaritas, stroll the side streets of this sleepy village, and dream of pink for our next day search for the wild flamingo!
Pelicans roost on weathered pier posts and on boat canopies. Thatch-roofed huts line the concrete sidewalk alive with walkers, tour operators waiting for the inspired tourist—"want to see flamingos? Mangroves? Crocodiles?" Walkers dip into restaurants for an early dinner, or a bar for a tropical drink.
As the light wanes, the full moon rises into clouds dappled in white and gray. Once high enough, and the sky dark enough, the bright moon tethers itself across the lagoon to the resting marina. Having finished our wine, we find ourselves down on the street perusing restaurants with available seating.
We eat local seafood and sip margaritas, stroll the side streets of this sleepy village, and dream of pink for our next day search for the wild flamingo!
In Search of the Wild Flamingo 1
Two locations along the Gulf are migration and breeding venues for the Pink (or American) flamingo. Not unlike my desire in New Zealand to see penguins in their natural habitat on the South Island, I want to see the flamingos here on the Yucatan. From Rio Lagartos, we drive to Las Coloradas and onto the dirt road through the Rio Lagartos protected reserve. Sometimes the waters are vivid pink, called the “Pink Lakes”. Both pink lakes and pink flamingos have pink shrimp in common. It is the shrimp that makes them all “pink”. The waters today are not that vivid, and as we drive, we scan the lakes for birds….pink birds, of course. | On leggy stilts, they bend a pencil-thin knee and step, step again, stop. Pulling one leg up, tucking it in, they balance in some kind of flamingo meditation. Are they napping? Coyly attracting shrimp? Waiting for the kill? They “S”-curve their long orange-pink necks, a deeper and more varied hue than that of the “Calamine lotion” sickly pink of ornamental, and somewhat cliche, plastic lawn flamingos. |
Valladolid Celebration
“Hoy es mi cumpleaños”
At the quaint El Zaguan Colonial hotel a few blocks from the Vallodolid square, in the courtyard surrounded on two sides by hotel room doors, I show my translator sentence to our waiter as I order a pieces of cake. He says something in Spanish, smiles, and heads off into the kitchen.
Upon his return, he places a small plate on the table in front of me, with my cake on it, adorned with birthday candles lit for festivity. As I make my birthday wish, B. brushes my cheek with a kiss, its own celebration of all of our years of friendship. The last time we shared a festive moment on my birthday was at the Salton Sea in southern California in January of 2019. Forget the cake, no where to be found nearby the Salton Sea. We celebrated at the date farm store up the road, birthday date shake straws funneling sweetness into our mouths. We find what we can, and we can celebrate anything, wherever we find ourselves.
After cake, we stroll the Vallodolid streets, lined with pastel colored architecture, down to the Plaza e Parque Francisco Canton Rosado in the Centro Historico de Vallodolid. On one end of the park, the iconic San Gervasio Cathedral looms in silence, decked with flags strung across to its perimeter fence, spiked and jagged iron.
We sit and listen to street musicians, then walk by all the tourist shops around the square’s perimeter, all selling the same tourist goods. The second largest Yucatan city, Vallodolid was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1998, and hordes of tourists weave themselves into the bustling city center.
At the quaint El Zaguan Colonial hotel a few blocks from the Vallodolid square, in the courtyard surrounded on two sides by hotel room doors, I show my translator sentence to our waiter as I order a pieces of cake. He says something in Spanish, smiles, and heads off into the kitchen.
Upon his return, he places a small plate on the table in front of me, with my cake on it, adorned with birthday candles lit for festivity. As I make my birthday wish, B. brushes my cheek with a kiss, its own celebration of all of our years of friendship. The last time we shared a festive moment on my birthday was at the Salton Sea in southern California in January of 2019. Forget the cake, no where to be found nearby the Salton Sea. We celebrated at the date farm store up the road, birthday date shake straws funneling sweetness into our mouths. We find what we can, and we can celebrate anything, wherever we find ourselves.
After cake, we stroll the Vallodolid streets, lined with pastel colored architecture, down to the Plaza e Parque Francisco Canton Rosado in the Centro Historico de Vallodolid. On one end of the park, the iconic San Gervasio Cathedral looms in silence, decked with flags strung across to its perimeter fence, spiked and jagged iron.
We sit and listen to street musicians, then walk by all the tourist shops around the square’s perimeter, all selling the same tourist goods. The second largest Yucatan city, Vallodolid was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1998, and hordes of tourists weave themselves into the bustling city center.
Chichen Itza, one of the famed Yucatan Mayan ruins is our morning destination, but upon arrival, the parking lots are full, the roads are lined with cars, and specific leftover parking spots are for rent. Tour buses park in a snake-like row along the entrance road. Inundated already, we drive on. The crowds are not for us. We are on the Archeological Trail road, and within a few kilometers, we see a small, rusty sign pointing down a dirt road. This is more our speed, and we navigate potholes to a small parking lot containing a tiny open air hut. The local Mexican caretaker gets up from his seat, and sign languages the fee and instructions to us. Nested over a couple of acres are the preserved, unguarded and overgrown, ruins of a small satellite community to the Chichen Itza Mayan center: Archeological Zone of Yaxunah.
We are the only ones here, and we read simple signs in Spanish, trying to decipher each building’s relevance in the community. A nearby cow grazes on the other side of a low fence, eyeing the new distraction in her day. We climb crumbly steps, peek inside closet like rooms, look out over the scrubby terrain. We are alone in the history of this place.
Research later on informs us that due to its location on important crossroads, Yaxunah thrived for over 2,000 continuous years beginning around 900 B.C. The site functioned as an inter-regional trade hub, but political changes resulted in destruction and reconstruction of public buildings around 300 A.D.
We are the only ones here, and we read simple signs in Spanish, trying to decipher each building’s relevance in the community. A nearby cow grazes on the other side of a low fence, eyeing the new distraction in her day. We climb crumbly steps, peek inside closet like rooms, look out over the scrubby terrain. We are alone in the history of this place.
Research later on informs us that due to its location on important crossroads, Yaxunah thrived for over 2,000 continuous years beginning around 900 B.C. The site functioned as an inter-regional trade hub, but political changes resulted in destruction and reconstruction of public buildings around 300 A.D.
- On the map, there is a sac-be ("white road")--an ancient road built between two points-- and an arrow to Coba. It was slightly raised from the ground level and flat. Here at Yaxunah there is a sac-be that went all the way to Coba some 66 miles away. This is believed to be the longest road built by the Maya. Over 650 structures exist at this site, about 500 years older than Chichen Itza.
Cenotes
Reserva Estatal Geohidrológica Anillo de Cenotes:
A cenote ( “seh-no-tay”) refers to an underground chamber or cave which contains permanent water-- a natural sinkhole where the ceiling of the cave has collapsed.
The importance of the cenotes goes back to the Mayan times, the pre-Hispanic population that inhabits this area. They used the cenotes not only as precious and unique sources of water provision but also sacred places for their religious ceremonies.
Cenotes come in all sorts of different shapes and sizes. The most common types of cenotes are Cave, Semi-Open and Open Cenotes. Cave cenotes being the youngest and the open cenote being the oldest as it’s cave ceiling has fallen into itself.
And at least 900 of these are considered to be a part of the ‘Ring of Cenotes’ located near the city of Merida.
More info on cenotes:
https://cenotefinder.com/what-are-cenotes/
A cenote ( “seh-no-tay”) refers to an underground chamber or cave which contains permanent water-- a natural sinkhole where the ceiling of the cave has collapsed.
The importance of the cenotes goes back to the Mayan times, the pre-Hispanic population that inhabits this area. They used the cenotes not only as precious and unique sources of water provision but also sacred places for their religious ceremonies.
Cenotes come in all sorts of different shapes and sizes. The most common types of cenotes are Cave, Semi-Open and Open Cenotes. Cave cenotes being the youngest and the open cenote being the oldest as it’s cave ceiling has fallen into itself.
And at least 900 of these are considered to be a part of the ‘Ring of Cenotes’ located near the city of Merida.
More info on cenotes:
https://cenotefinder.com/what-are-cenotes/
Mayapan Ruins
Covering four kilometers, the walled city of Mayapan was founded during the second half of the eighth century. Containing nearly four thousand structures, the city reached a population of 12,000 inhabitants. Although influenced by Chichen Itza, the building proportions are smaller than its sister city, and encompass buildings used for residences, governing, religious purposes, an observatory, shrines and temples.
With only a handful of tourists her to visit the Mayapan ruins today, we have little wait for climbing up pyramid steps that challenge my fear of heights. I ascend the smaller ones on site, asking B. to climb up below me in case I slip. I wave to him atop the bigger one seen in the photo to the upper left. Most folks went up the front over to the right for less crumbly climbing. But, on the right side of the structure, the steps were in better shape, and B. just scrambled up them like nothing. Plenty for me to explore lower down.
Celestun
Celestún, a fishing village on Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsula, is home to secluded beaches backed by thatched-roof restaurants. It’s a gateway to the Ria Celestún Biosphere Reserve, which has large flocks of flamingos, plus birds like herons and pelicans.
Arriving early, we find an easy free parking spot on a side street parallel to the beach. Already, at the walkway entrances through the beach restaurants and shops, tour operators are panhandling boat tour spots to explore the Ria Celestun mangroves for wildlife and flamingos.
Fares are by the boat, not the person, and we find a sitting spot on the sandy beach under a thatch umbrella to wait for more folks to wander onto the beach. Eventually we meander over to a waiting area to inquire, and are teamed up with three others to make five, the maximum boat limit. Once we all pay, we are given life vests and herded onto one of the small motorboats resting alongside the beach.
We zip through the shallow blue-green Gulf waters for an entrance into the mangroves along the Ria Celestun feeding into the ocean. Once onto the brackish river water, we slowly motor through, giving us time to look for wildlife. We see a sole white egret farther ahead, skittish as we close the gap.
At the mouth of the river, pelicans fly by and other birds balance on tree branches protruding up out of the water. From there, we motor back and disembark along an old crumbling tower on a rocky beach. From here, a labyrinth of sandy paths leads to another section of the river and an opening where groups of flamingos wade and fish.
In Search of the Wild Flamingo 2
Our group joins other boat tour groups along a small beach to watch the flamingo groups in the opening until we are nudged back to the boat and back to the Celestun beach.
Doors and Windows
No matter where we walk or drive, doors and windows are influenced by colonial architecture and personal protection, or the natural resources at hand.
Leaving Mexico in the Time of Covid
I had not thought this through last summer when I booked my round trip plane ticket. For the cheapest price I could find with a carrier NOT flying through Mexico City, Monday to Monday on United Airlines seemed like the best bet. Had I foretold….assumed….predicted, I would have flown back on a Tuesday.
“We need more than one plan for this, Gail, in case something goes wrong. You won’t be able to leave Mexico. The US won’t allow you back in,” B. tells me.
He needs to figure all this out, too, for when he returns to the US April 1st. It is possible the hoops to jump through will change by then, or be worse. We can’t possibly know right now. We assume he will also need a negative Covid test, with appropriate lab diagnostic paperwork, no more than 24 hours before flight time. My plane leaves at 8 am for Houston, then onto Austin. Which means I need to get tested on a Sunday. Are the right clinics open? Lab work done on a Sunday? B. goes to work researching options.
Plan A: The clinic that we can walk to is open today, days before my flight, as we walk back from a stroll on Paseo de Montejo. B. writes his questions on his tablet translator app and heads into the clinic while I wait outside. Upon his return, the answers are yes to being open in the morning on a Sunday, and the lab results by email within two hours. Cost is $150 pesos.
But what if something doesn’t go as planned there? We need a Plan B.
Plan B: There is another clinic across the city doing the same according the website and the English translation we can manage to do on the Spanish text. Costs more, but is open until late afternoon. But if going there late afternoon, would the lab results be done in time?
Plan C: For a whole lot more money, we can make an appointment for someone to come to the hotel we plan to stay at near the airport, since my flight is so early. Can we even make the appointment the same day we are checking in?
Plan D: The airport has testing for even more money with a guarantee of results in half an hour, but we cannot find out anywhere what hours they are available for this service. Plan D is out. Too risky unless I can go Sunday afternoon. Sundays again….who knows.
When Sunday arrives, we take a taxi to arrive at the first clinic by the time they open. We are the first ones there, and try to communicate with the person intaking folks, who does not speak any English at all. But, luckily, once called, my test taker does, and I feel great relief that Plan A might do it for me. After the test, we walk down to Paseo de Montejo to a coffee shop with internet to wait for results.
Nervously, I order an omelette with cheese, and some orange juice. Every fifteen minutes, I check my email.
Sure enough, about an hour in, my email inbox has the link for the documentation needed, and I click on it. Later in the day, I upload the rest of the documentation and forms needed for my return into the United Airlines app, and I am checked off as “Travel Ready”: passport info, covid test documentation, covid attestation form, contact info, et al. All of this assures me easy navigation through security and customs, both in Mexico and the Houston. Phew! B. will havae an easier time, he leaves on a weekday!
“We need more than one plan for this, Gail, in case something goes wrong. You won’t be able to leave Mexico. The US won’t allow you back in,” B. tells me.
He needs to figure all this out, too, for when he returns to the US April 1st. It is possible the hoops to jump through will change by then, or be worse. We can’t possibly know right now. We assume he will also need a negative Covid test, with appropriate lab diagnostic paperwork, no more than 24 hours before flight time. My plane leaves at 8 am for Houston, then onto Austin. Which means I need to get tested on a Sunday. Are the right clinics open? Lab work done on a Sunday? B. goes to work researching options.
Plan A: The clinic that we can walk to is open today, days before my flight, as we walk back from a stroll on Paseo de Montejo. B. writes his questions on his tablet translator app and heads into the clinic while I wait outside. Upon his return, the answers are yes to being open in the morning on a Sunday, and the lab results by email within two hours. Cost is $150 pesos.
But what if something doesn’t go as planned there? We need a Plan B.
Plan B: There is another clinic across the city doing the same according the website and the English translation we can manage to do on the Spanish text. Costs more, but is open until late afternoon. But if going there late afternoon, would the lab results be done in time?
Plan C: For a whole lot more money, we can make an appointment for someone to come to the hotel we plan to stay at near the airport, since my flight is so early. Can we even make the appointment the same day we are checking in?
Plan D: The airport has testing for even more money with a guarantee of results in half an hour, but we cannot find out anywhere what hours they are available for this service. Plan D is out. Too risky unless I can go Sunday afternoon. Sundays again….who knows.
When Sunday arrives, we take a taxi to arrive at the first clinic by the time they open. We are the first ones there, and try to communicate with the person intaking folks, who does not speak any English at all. But, luckily, once called, my test taker does, and I feel great relief that Plan A might do it for me. After the test, we walk down to Paseo de Montejo to a coffee shop with internet to wait for results.
Nervously, I order an omelette with cheese, and some orange juice. Every fifteen minutes, I check my email.
Sure enough, about an hour in, my email inbox has the link for the documentation needed, and I click on it. Later in the day, I upload the rest of the documentation and forms needed for my return into the United Airlines app, and I am checked off as “Travel Ready”: passport info, covid test documentation, covid attestation form, contact info, et al. All of this assures me easy navigation through security and customs, both in Mexico and the Houston. Phew! B. will havae an easier time, he leaves on a weekday!