We can’t believe it, but it’s already been two weeks since we landed in Mexico. Two weeks today, actually (December 2, 2021). As with all good things, the time has flown, and yet it feels like we’ve done so much.

Looking back, it’s still a miracle that we made it here in the first place. Our journey to the airport was like something straight out of a nightmare. What was supposed to be a seven hour drive was swiftly thwarted with re-routes and winter storms. An hour into our trip, we discovered the Rogers Pass was closed due to rock slides and we were forced north to take the Yellowhead highway through Jasper towards Edmonton and then south again to Calgary. In good weather this would be a devastating detour, but what we encountered was nothing short of horrific. As we sped north, the weather changed. Rain turned to snow and soon the road was slick with ice. We saw an increasing number of cars in ditches, and when we got to Valemount (dark, already at 4:30 in the afternoon), the power was out from the storm. Our plans to stay there for the night and continue our journey the next day were dashed, and we crept onward towards Jasper for the night. Inching along the normally 110kph highway at 50kph we passed at least four semi-trucks in the ditch, one with a smashed windshield, another jack-knifed across the road. We have never felt so grateful to make a place for the night, and luckily for us Jasper had a cheap room for the four of us (Braden’s parents were driving us to the airport).

The next morning, with another ten hours of driving ahead of us, we weren’t out of the woods yet. Braden and I were still waiting on the results of our PCR test, our ticket to freedom even more so than the plane tickets were. Without a negative result, we wouldn’t be able to get on our flights. Finally, we couldn’t wait any longer. I called the lab to inquire about our results. The answer was even more gut wrenching than the storm the night before. Due to the excessive rain fall and flooding of all the highways leading into Vancouver, our test samples hadn’t even made it to the lab. We wouldn’t have our results in time. In fact, we’d likely never have those results, since the samples were, of course, time sensitive. From the front seat Braden said in disbelief, “So that’s it, it over?” My stomach was in my throat. Tears spilled from my eyes involuntarily at the realization that we wouldn’t be getting on a flight that day… but only for a moment. I pulled myself together. Like HELL we weren’t going to Mexico. Almost immediately, I had Braden searching for rapid PCR testing facilities in Calgary, and I was on the phone with AeroMexico to reschedule our flight. After an hour on hold, I finally connected with an operator who was able to get us on a flight for the following day, and Braden found a lab that could have our results ready within four hours…at the cost of $420 (a whole month’s rent in Mexico). We were back on track!

After a night of too much drinking with Braden’s brother Dair, his lovely wife Beth and his parents (in celebration of our unlikely good fortune - can we call it that?), we awoke the next morning to a second PCR test and a long, but successful overnight flight to Mexico City.

WE FUCKING MADE IT!

Landing in Mexico felt like a relief, that is, until we got to the cavernous room that housed the immigration kiosks. As we descended the stairs into the main room for arrivals, we saw many hundreds of people pushing and shoving about, trying to figure out where to go. It looked like pandemonium. Airport employees were yelling over the crowd for organization and to grab the attention of travellers making connections to other flights. The spanish equivalent of “CONNECTIONS THIS WAY!” “FORM A LINE HERE!” “MEXICANOS THIS LINE, FOREIGNERS OVER HERE!” The smells of sweat and groans of tired people (it was 5am) filled the commodious hall.

Two hours later we found ourselves outside the airport hailing a cab. On the way to our hotel room, as we sped along the highway riddled with potholes, past crumbling buildings defended with barbed wire and adorned with spray paint, I wondered whether all this trouble had been worth it. At the time, my road weary mind didn’t think so. I felt like crying but sat stoically in the back of the cab not saying a word.

My mind has, of course, changed. After a few hours’ nap and some time to collect ourselves, the sights and sounds of the city became welcoming and vibrant rather than seeming gritty. With tacos in our bellies and the sounds of mariachi in the air, it’s hard to not love the country we’ve landed in. Almost immediately we started to brainstorm how we might be able to prolong our stay. On day two, five months didn’t seem long enough. Now, we look forward to seeing what the next four and a half months have to offer!