I hate Aeromexico

I hate Aeromexico. I’ve flown with them three times and three times it has been horrible. The first time they attempted to reassign me to a flight that would have made me miss my connections. In the end, I missed my connection anyway because, after boarding, the plane sat on the runway for two hours. I was stuck in Dallas for 24 hours. The second time, they lost my bag.

This time they didn’t put my gate number on any screens in the airport. They didn’t say whether it was delayed either, so about 40 minutes before my flight was scheduled to leave I found an employee and asked what’s going on. He told me the flight had already boarded and I was too late. I asked someone else and they confirmed it; I was too late. I was forty minutes early and I was too late.

Except that I wasn’t, and the Aeromexico employees were talking crap. If I had listened to them I would have missed my flight and had to pay for another one. And the company I would have had to pay is Aeromexico.

What had happened was the flight was delayed. No info on the screens, I had to search for someone to tell me. I found the gate and saw the flight was going to leave an hour late. They hadn’t even begun boarding yet.

When they did start boarding I waited in line and watched the numbers on the screen change from 20:00 to 20:30 to 20:42. The plane had been delayed again as I and a hundred other travellers stood in the 30-degree heat for over an hour. When we eventually got onto the plane we were given a half-cup of water to drink and an-hour-and-a-half later we landed. By this point I had been travelling for 28 hours and I slept through the landing.

I grabbed my stuff and walked off the plane. I walked up to the baggage carousel and grabbed my suitcase. I wheeled it to the sliding doors where Cesia was smiling at me from the other side. And as tired I was, and as annoyed at Aeromexico, and as sweaty and dehydrated I had become, I didn’t care anymore. I wanted a hug, and my hug was only ten feet away, and I couldn’t help but smile.

Airport

This morning Cesia and I woke up at 3 o’clock. She showered and I dressed, and then we called for an Uber to take us to the airport.
 
The last time this happened was in December and the plan was that she would go home to Mexico for a month before flying back to England. Unfortunately her job needed her in Michigan for a project, and it extended her time away for bout three weeks. That was hard.
 
It was frustrating having our plans messed up, and it meant I was bored. I am easily bored and when I’m bored I do one of two things: get lazy to the point of self destructivness, or I get productive and healthy. Back in December I had finished my assignments for that semeseter, and was working on first and second drafts for the assignments for my next semester. I was bored and alone. I spent my time watching too much netflix and opening a bottle of wine at four most afternoons. This time I’ll go the other way and be healthy and productive.
 
At the airport we checked her bag and then found somewhere to sit until it was time for her to go through security. We’ve done this a few times and it’s pretty easy now.
 
There was one time when she left and neither of us new when we would see each other again. It turned out it would be five months, after which I flew to Mexico for Valentine’s day and we decided that five months is too long.
 
This time it will be a little over two weeks. There were no tears as we said goodbye and I watched her disappear through the barriers. I took a bus home and slept for a couple of hours and woke up when she messaged me to say that she had landed in Frankfurt and that she was all set for her next flight to Houston.
 
We bought her some new luggage tags yesterday, and instead of writing her parents address on them she wrote her email. In a little over two weeks I’ll be flying out there too and I’m hoping that she’ll have been able to find us a flat in that time. I like the idea of writing my own Mexican address on my tags.
 
When she went through security and I could no longer see her there was a moment when I felt a little emotional. It reminded me of the times we’ve said goodbye for months, and the sadness and fear that comes with a long time apart. But then I realised that this would be the shortest period of separation we have ever gone through. We could do this. I bought a Tropicana and cheered up.
 
As I’m writing this Cesia is still in the air. I’ve done some laundry, cleaned the kitchen, and listened to some Spanish lessons. Our flat feels a lot emptier without her so I’m playing netflix and podcasts and audiobooks to stop the silence driving me crazy. I pressed pause to write this post but now I’m going to watch another episode of Archer, decide what to have for dinner, and wait for Cesia to message me and let me know she’s safe on her way home.

Quesadilla

I have a plane ticket for 25th May, about six weeks away, to Monterrey, Mexico. I’ll be there for probably a year if not more and am I ready? Well, I had to double check how to spell Monterrey so that should give you an answer.

Cesia and I were walking home after buying some wine and sausage rolls and we were talking about Mexican food, or as she calls it, “food”. She said that there is a north/south divide as to the definition of quesadillas. To me, a quesadilla is a tortilla with melted cheese in it. That makes sense to me; queso means cheese, so it’s a thing with cheese, and since mexicans have tortillas with everything, queso + tortilla = quesadilla.

It’s not so simple. In the south there are those who believe a quesadilla’s essence lies in the way in which it’s folded. Specifically it is to be folded in half, as opposed to rolled or folded like a taco. The filling is irrelavant. I wondered what the limit would be. I assume it has to be a food item. If you tried to put soup in a folded tortilla would a southerner call it a quesadilla? What about a rack of ribs, or a sushi roll? What about a quesadilla? Northern or southern, could you take a quesadilla, put it in another tortilla and call it a quesadilla? Could you then take that quesadilla, put it in another tortilla and call this triple layered thing a quesadilla?

I don’t know, but I will find out after the 25th of May. Until then I have two university deadlines, a flat to deal with, the various bills that attend it, a job to quit, and a stack of documents to get in order. Oh, and a wedding to plan.

So the next several months might not be filled with sunbathing and sipping tequila, but I bet it’s going to be exciting. And probably scary.

And there will be some tequila.