Mexico, continued: 31st October 2000
Nov. 1st, 2005 08:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellarienSorry about that: I ran out of steam half way through the story.
After a while, I was summoned back inside, to a window with an official behind it. We had a pleasant little chat -- it turned out that he was a former Tucson resident who seemed to know what I was talking about when I described the location of my apartment -- after which he had to dismember the stack of paperwork and slide it back under his window an inch at a time. I went back outside to wait some more. Periodically, officials would appear at the door with armfuls of passports and hand them out. After a reasonable interval, mine appeared. It was about three in the afternoon; I'd been awake for more than twelve hours and hadn't eaten for about nine. I found my way down the street to the hotel, which proved to be an odd oasis of Americanness among the Mexican streets, and sat in a leather armchair in a calm, shady, air-conditioned lobby until the shuttle driver came for me.
Getting back into the US, of course, was much slower and more involved than getting out. We spent about three quarters of an hour in a long queue of vehicles waiting to cross the bridge. Panhandlers and vendors of tacky souvenirs lined the side of the road and ran in and out of the barely-moving traffic. The crossing, when we reached it, had a small parking lot with the some concrete blocks to control the traffic flow. Forewarned, I'd kept six dollars in cash aside for this. I don't remember for sure, now, whether getting the I-94 to go in my passport was a two-step or three-step process; I know it seemed rather unnecessarily involved, with one clerk to take the money and another to stamp the card, at the very least, and took about half an hour. The driver just nodded to the guard at the gate and said the magic words, 'American Citizen', and we were on our way, back in America with its wide, straight, clean streets and empty sidewalks.
The driver dropped me off at my hotel -- a Microtel near the airport. The room wasn't huge, but it was clean, pretty, comfortable, and new. I drifted around it a bit, made a phone call, and then went over to the restaurant of the bigger hotel that the little one was attached to, and ordered dinner. I ate salmon and drank many cups of decaffeinated coffee and glasses of water in the almost empty dining room, waited on by a young lady wearing a cat's tail and whiskers, and then went back to my room. I was asleep within half an hour, only waking briefly at bedtime to undress properly.
I know it wasn't what the founders had in mind, but just then, what I appreciated most about America was the cleanliness, efficiency, and above all convenience. I'd had some exposure to foreign airports that year, and I much preferred the American ones.
Of course, this was 2000. A year later, it wouldn't have been possible to do that. I don't think they do same-day service any more, even now, and my last two visa renewals have been done in London, where at least I know I'm in reach of home if anything goes wrong.
After a while, I was summoned back inside, to a window with an official behind it. We had a pleasant little chat -- it turned out that he was a former Tucson resident who seemed to know what I was talking about when I described the location of my apartment -- after which he had to dismember the stack of paperwork and slide it back under his window an inch at a time. I went back outside to wait some more. Periodically, officials would appear at the door with armfuls of passports and hand them out. After a reasonable interval, mine appeared. It was about three in the afternoon; I'd been awake for more than twelve hours and hadn't eaten for about nine. I found my way down the street to the hotel, which proved to be an odd oasis of Americanness among the Mexican streets, and sat in a leather armchair in a calm, shady, air-conditioned lobby until the shuttle driver came for me.
Getting back into the US, of course, was much slower and more involved than getting out. We spent about three quarters of an hour in a long queue of vehicles waiting to cross the bridge. Panhandlers and vendors of tacky souvenirs lined the side of the road and ran in and out of the barely-moving traffic. The crossing, when we reached it, had a small parking lot with the some concrete blocks to control the traffic flow. Forewarned, I'd kept six dollars in cash aside for this. I don't remember for sure, now, whether getting the I-94 to go in my passport was a two-step or three-step process; I know it seemed rather unnecessarily involved, with one clerk to take the money and another to stamp the card, at the very least, and took about half an hour. The driver just nodded to the guard at the gate and said the magic words, 'American Citizen', and we were on our way, back in America with its wide, straight, clean streets and empty sidewalks.
The driver dropped me off at my hotel -- a Microtel near the airport. The room wasn't huge, but it was clean, pretty, comfortable, and new. I drifted around it a bit, made a phone call, and then went over to the restaurant of the bigger hotel that the little one was attached to, and ordered dinner. I ate salmon and drank many cups of decaffeinated coffee and glasses of water in the almost empty dining room, waited on by a young lady wearing a cat's tail and whiskers, and then went back to my room. I was asleep within half an hour, only waking briefly at bedtime to undress properly.
I know it wasn't what the founders had in mind, but just then, what I appreciated most about America was the cleanliness, efficiency, and above all convenience. I'd had some exposure to foreign airports that year, and I much preferred the American ones.
Of course, this was 2000. A year later, it wouldn't have been possible to do that. I don't think they do same-day service any more, even now, and my last two visa renewals have been done in London, where at least I know I'm in reach of home if anything goes wrong.
