Grrrrrrrrr

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For reasons that are perhaps only comprehensible to the Mexican mind, they built Acapulco´s airport at least an hour away from the city itself (Jean Drapeau would be proud). Having been greeted warmly and persistently by about a hundred taxi drivers upon exiting the airport, I decided we would try our luck on a local bus (our mission being to get into Acapulco and find a bus terminal to extract us from that hell hole). About an hour of traffic jam later, we had succeeded in finding a tiny bus station on the outskirts of Acapulco that would take us back North towards Mexico City, but in no other direction. Darkness having fallen, and with no sign of a bus to take us into the center of town, I caved and we got in a taxi that claimed he could take us to the right place.
A harrowing twenty minutes later, having divested ourselves of the Mexican schoolgirl and the middle aged matron who had prior claim on our cab, and having flown at breakneck speeds up and down the mountain range that seems to guard Acapulco from the interior, alternately accelerating at full speed around hairpin turns and slamming on the breaks whan traffic (rather predictably) turned out to be waiting just around said curve, we threw ourselves gratefully to the pavement at our destination.
A matter of a few minutes and we had secured ourselves seats on an overnight bus to Puerto Escondido, where friends awaited. All seemed to be in order, and Vanessa and I set off to explore the area and find some dinner. But after walking up and down the cursed street outside the bus station, disaster struck (or so it seemed to me at the time). While perusing a menu, I glanced at my daypack to fins it half open, and a quick inspection revealed that my sunglasses, purchased just days ago, were gone. I was furious, having been enormously fond of these sunglasses. In the few hours I had enjoyed them in Montreal and Mexico showed themselves to provide me crisper and clearer vision than my regular, rather beaten glasses. Calculating quickly, I figured the time I had worn them had cost about five dollars a minute. Cursing God and dirty Mexicans, I flew into an unconsolable rage. It seemed, for a time, an irremediable disaster.

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Comments

[anonymous]

tacos and sun glasses
the only thing you've ever had stolen is a pair of shades? and there you go and give your girlfriend away to some raver on cheap e. that's trust. love to all blanshays and blonde people - Maya's Dad

[Caribe]

Stay home- stay safe
Why going to a latin american country if you expect it to be perfect? just stay home then... I am latinamerican, I've traveled into Sao Paulo and Rio without troubles but was stolen in Brussels woohoooo!!! So shit happens EVERYWHERE. Try to stay home and be safe. I am not sure where you are from, but us citizens should be proud of them since they keep their country running. Open your mind, become angry because you were stolen but try not to put everyone into the same package, I've had one of the best vacations of my life in Mexico. Tant pis pour toi. Cheers!

[Chrissy C]

no offense meant
I had to read this comment a few times, trying to understand why I was under attack. Then I reread my post. Allow me to respond by stipulating a few points: 1) Shit does happen everywhere, and nothing in this post was intended to imply that bad shit happens more often in Mexico. You can be robbed anywhere. You can and will find good people everywhere, and you can and will find bad people everywhere. 2) I have had three of the best vacations of my life that included time in Mexico. I love the country and the people. 3) I reserve the right to get angry when I get robbed, regardless of where I am. Unfortunately I chose a manner of communicating that anger in this post that was subject to misinterpretation. I intended the use of the ugly cliche to illustrate the way a person's thoughts get twisted when angry, and to be understood as criticism of myself for allowing myself to get into that state rather than as putting everyone in the same package. I apologize if anybody took offense to this post. Finally, Caribe, you say you don't know where I am from, but you clearly have some connection to my homeland. Only a Quebecer could write 'Tant pis pour toi'. Cheers and happy travels.