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June 05, 2005

The Fastest Columnist in all of Mexico

The Fastest Columnist in all of Mexico

Dear friends, in a tremendously unfortunate mix-up, this column comes to you from Mexico. Stripped of any choice whatsoever I have rather foolishly ended up here in a small town just south of Mexico City where I currently reside. I'm staying at 120 RUE DE LA GARE (in the French quarter) in a small, badly air conditioned apartment on the second floor. The humidity is, at times, stifling. It feels as though the air itself is trying to choke me on its heavy dulcet tones. What I would give for the icy air of New York at this time. It was there, JFK to be exact, where my troubles began at terminal number four. After a luxurious drive in an extremely attractive automobile from 34th street through Queens and Brooklyn and onto the airport, I was lucking forward to getting on my transatlantic flight back to Dublin. I intended to sleep, after all it was eight in the evening all ready and the day had been long and unforgiving. How was I to know that a transatlantic flight was not in my sights? The Atlantic would not be much in my sights from where I was going. It all began as I made my way to the check in desk yet managed only to bump into a man walking in relitively the same direction. Both the contents of ours hands fell to the floor. Two passports. Two airline tickets. We both apologised as we picked up our belongings and made our way to the check in desk. But in our haste, and in an incredible chance of fate, we both walked to the wrong check in points. Mexico was beside Ireland. Not only this but I later discovered that the Mexico airline had been down a member of check-in staff so a member of Air Lingus had been put forward to take their place.

Surely, you are now saying to yourself, that she would have seen that the ticket was for Dublin but how could she have spotted this grave error when I picked up the wrong ticket! The ticket for Mexico. And had then walked to the Mexican check-in point. It's quite unbelievable now that I think about it. So I proceeded along the normal route you go on to get on your plane. Showed my passport, showed my ticket and took the walk out onto the wrong plane where I proceeded to get into my seat, fastened my seat belt and fell softly asleep, thus missing the El captino's opening words mentioning the crucial fact - this plane was headed for Mexico. What an adventure. You can imagine my surprise stepping off the plane and wondering where the heat wave had suddenly come from and oh, doesn't Dublin Airport look different, and isn't there a terribly large amount of cactus growing outside and . . . that was when the penny dropped more or less. Both astounded and bewildered by the fascinating turn of events I followed the crowd who had just gotten off the plane and who we're getting aboard a public bus just outside the modest airport. It wasn't long before we came to a quiet town called Coyoacán where most people seemed to be getting off so I joined them. In the local watering hole, La Guadalupana. I managed to find a jolly gringo landlord who was willing to take my dollars as currency for a place to stay. So that place is here on 120 RUE DE LA GARE as I've said. I’m told Leon Trotski used take residence nearby on Río Churubusco Ave. From the window you can see the dusty cobblestone main street where all day long the towns children play yet something is amiss. The town appears to be haunted by the echoes of its sombre history. Just now a knock has come at the door so I must sent this via telegram straight away. El diablo sabe más por viejo que por diablo.

Trains, Buses & Automobiles by Liam Geraghty appears every week in the Kildare Nationalist (page 6)

Posted by LiamG at June 5, 2005 10:28 PM