Ciudad de Mexico - Part 2
No one in line at customs. A glance. A stamp. A signature. I’m on my way. I exit customs and look for the sign with my name on it. The company has me being picked up by a security driver as they have a mandate against employees taking the taxis at the airport. The driver, Luis, takes my bag and heads through the terminal. He’s friendly and imposing. His eyes always scanning the area only briefly locking onto mine as we talk.
The traffic in this city is insane. Life rolls by outside the window. I’m stared at by the occupants in the cars next to us. Mopeds and motorcycles swerve through traffic finding openings that exist for fractions of second.
Luis has been a driver for 10 years. His clients include executives from Ford, Motorola, Ericksson and a few others. He pretends not to understand when I ask what he did before becoming a driver. “Yes, my boss”, he repeats while his eyes hold a dark secret. I move my gaze back out the window and watch the people in the street, the laundry on the roof tops, the traffic.
The highway twists and turns, impossibly narrow for three lanes. The landscape has begun to change. The poorer neighborhoods giving way to richer ones. The streets are now lined with trees. Huge houses hidden behind on concrete walls, security cameras and razor wire. We’re in the foothills now heading into Santa Fe. Along the hillsides, concrete boxes are attached precariously, drapes billow out of open windows. In the distance, sky scrapers loom, sparkling glass and concrete. There has been no gradual transition. The line between the poor and the rich is very clear.
The hotel is swanky, very modern and very busy. The service is impeccable which is something I am not used to. I get checked in, find my room then find the gym. It has been a long day and I need to get some blood moving.
I sleep fitfully, as I normally do when on the road, and awake with the sun.
