I had my share of days of hunger and of cold and wet nights when broke in all these years of my travelling. And by broke I mean literally without a penny/cent/won/yen. It was bad, sure, and during the hard times I kept cursing myself and the decision to life a life like I do. And then it passed. And now it happened again, without being my fault. Documents, money, laptop, camera - gone. Even my reading glasses. Gone from my hotel room in Tijuana.Have you ever tried to sue the wind for stealing your hat? No? Well, you should try, you'd have better chances than I had complaining to the hotel Plaza de oro management. Or any other hotel in Mexico, I'm sure. Have to warn you - I'm still bitter and angry and I still hate Mexico and the Mexicans. Yes, I admit I met nice, friendly and helpful Mexicans - just the exception to the rule, as I see it. I know I will sound a raving lunatic, like a certain presidential candidate... I don't give a fuck. You were warned. If you're too sensible to hate speech... stop now. And go fuck yourself.
Let's talk about shit now. Mexicans, of course. Shit N.1 - the thief, whoever it (yes, it, I can't use he for a piece of shit) was. Shit N.2 - the receptionist. Which (again, not who) is possibly the same as shit N.1. Or at least a close friend (if shit knows what friendship is). You see, it was a "closed room" mistery, my small backpack disappeared from a locked room, without any signs of a break-in. So the thief had to have the room key. Should this be of any help to me? Get serious. After shouting in vain (not only in English, my rusted Spanish still remembers hijo de puta and que te hodan, coño) for 10 minutes I simply went to the police box that was really nearby. No, I'm not that naïve to think I was to get any kind of help from the Mexican shit police. I was right, they were just pissed of because I was interrupting their do-nothing time. Even when I explained that I really don't expect them to do a damn thing about my stolen belongings, that I only need a police report, with which I could go to the consulate... No no, es muy papel, long writing mister, go to Central station for report, I don't do. Shit N.3. Keept my cool, it's counterproductive to shout at uniforms, everywhere, not only in crappy Mexico. Went to the station, got my report, went back to the hotel. Taxi fare - 1200 pesos. Went to sleep, without bothering to lock the door. Nothing much valuable left, only some money in my wallet (you see, I was "wise" and was never walking around with all the money on me, in fear of being mugged on the street). Next morning, to the bus station. No sense trying to hitch out from Tijuana, too big. Funny coincidence, I thought, when I saw that the bus station is just near the Central Police, where I was the day before. Taxi fare, this time, 100 pesos. Added a mental note about a certain taxi driver, shit N.4.
From here I'm gonna cut it short. Mexicali, Santa Ana, Mazatlan, Guadalajara - the only names I remember from the hitchhike to El Jefe, Mexico City. I took me a week. Luckily, a friend's father lives near MC, in Tepoztlan, and I found shelter there. I contacted my friends in Slovenia and asked for help (I needed financial support, not moral). They were more than willing to buy me a plane ticket and I went happily to Mexico City to pay a visit to the Consulate. And things just went from bad to worse.
On the metro/subway/whatever you call it station of Chabacano, where I had to change the line I noticed a cyber spot with a big sign saying it's free for the passengers of the Mexico City metro lines. Wow, how cool, let's pinpoint the consulate position a bit better, now that I'm so close... You have no document. You can't use our computer. I'm sorry I was robbed by your Mexican friends, but that's the reason I'm asking for a little help, please, I would just like to check on googlemaps the location of.. You have no document. Well, do you maybe know where Avenida Alfredo Musset, somewher in Polanco... You can't use our sistema. I finally got it. THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR THE TIPICAL MEXICAN WELCOMING, GO FUCK YOURSELF, YOU FUCKING STUPID MEXICAN BITCH! And I ran away, really fast, knowing I wouldn't last long after calling her a bitch, even if she was, jumped on the first train, not caring where it goes - one good point of the MC Metro is that once you're in (for 5 pesos), you're in, and you can ride all day long, as long you don't exit. Anyway, I found the Consulate quickly, just to be told that it's only a Honorary Consulate. Meaning? They don't do shit and my trouble is of no concern to them. If I need help I have to go to the Belgian Embassy. At least they gave me the directions. At the Belgian Embassy everyone was sorry for me and no, no problem for the emergency documents, after they get the green light from the Slovenia Embassy in Washington it will be a matter of minutes. We just need the copy of the stolen passport, the police report, a picture and your ticket for Slovenia. Er... I had the copy, the report and the picture. But no ticket, clearly. No way, we can't issue a travel document since in it it will be written the exact itinerary. Get the ticket and come back when you have it. The only thing we can do in the meantime is send the scans of your papers to Washington, so when you come back everything will be ready. Back to Tepoztlan.
In a couple of days the ticket was bought and one day before the flight I was back at the Belgian Embassy. YO, look, I have the ticket! Oh, we're so sorry, we didn't get any answer from your embassy. We can't give you the emergency documents without that. Are you fucking kidding me??? We will try to call them, so come back tomorrow morning. OK, at least I had some luck - the flight was scheduled at noon something and the Benito Juarez airport is incorporated in the city, one hour from the embassy by subway (=5 pesos). I went to sleep at the airport - in Mexico City as well as in Tepoztlan was raining all the time and it was pretty fucking cold, considering it was summer. Next morning, lo and behold, I finally got the fucking travel paper. Now just the tax... WHAT? It's 200 pesos, you can pay it at the bank at the corner. Get serious, I have 20 pesos left, just a bit more than I need for the subway. We're so sorry, we can't issue the... WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT? NOW I'M GONNA GO PUNCH IN THE FACE THE COP THAT IS GUARDING THE EMBASSY SO I'LL BE ARRESTED AND EVENTUALLY DEPORTED. GUESS IT'S THE EASIEST WAY. Silence. Wait, don't be stu.. don't act silly. We'll figure something. Think she had all figured already, if not, I have to congratulate her for hyper fast thinking. She called the honorary consul, told him the story and he agreed to pay the tax. I was free, finally. And things went from worse straight to fucking hell.
Went to the airport and started looking for the Eagle Aviation check-in counter. Can't find it. No wonder, Benito Juarez is a confused mess. There's not one check-in area, if I remember correctly there's more than seven of them, just on Terminal 1, hidden between a plentitude of arrival and departing gates and a myriad of small shops, currency changers and car rentals. I gave up on running up and down, went to the info booth. Eagle Aviation? There's no such airline. Well, there must be, they operate this flight for Condor Air. Condor Air? They don't fly from Benito Juarez. Yes, yes, I see that, it's the Eagle Aviation that operates for them... No Eagle Aviation here, sorry. Dag, patience. Thank you and I simply went to another info booth. Clearly the same answers, but the guy was much more willing to try to help me. Look, I found a flight to Cancun that is scheduled at the time as yours, operated by Volaris. It could be your flight, you should go ask them, it's here behind this corner. And if not, wait a moment, I will write down for you the companies that fly to Cancun so you can check them all. Wow, thanks, will do!
Volaris: Sorry, this is not a booking for our company.
Viva Aerobus: Sorry, this is not a booking for our company.
Interjet: Sorry, this is not a booking for our company.
AeroMexico (on Terminal 2, even): Sorry, this is not a booking for our company - I can tell without checking because we have no numbers in our booking codes. But let me check anyway... Sorry, this is not a booking for our company.
I was standing there, with the printed booking in my hand, and I suddenly saw that piece of paper moving by itself. Huh? Oh, I'm not hallucinating, it's just my hands shaking badly, without me realizing it. Oh crap, I said to myself, it's coming. I'm just about to flip and will start breaking things and people. Wrong. My vision blurred, to my utmost surprise I was crying. I was pushed way beyond the state of a senseless destructive rage. I was pushed in a pit of self pity, for I knew I was completely, absolutely, helpless. There was nothing I could do and it was already boarding time, IF that flight actually existed. It was most frustrating because I understood them - I was pressing on them with a booking for an airline that doesn't exist - if my booking was for any of the above mentioned airlines and I was told the same, there would have been hell. Yeah, for me, I know, but it wouldn't have been only my blood splattered on the airport floors. You think it's a bad joke? Well, it's no joke. I was partially insane at that moment. Stress, hunger, sleep deprivation (homeless sleeping on cardboard are allowed at the airport, but backpackers are constantly waked by security and told that we can be sitting but not sleeping on the floor). Think. Think. Am I still able to think? I need internet. My only way of communication. Just one spot at the airport and they charge 30 pesos as a start and then 1 peso for each minute. I don't have them. The subway. There's one spot at the Pantitlán station, maybe there.. Sorry, you have no document to use internet. I was just about to blow... But I understand your problem. I can give you 10 minutes, please no more. I didn't need 10 minutes. In two I sent a fucked up mail, it was mostly composed of fuck, fuck and fucked and that the only thing I can think of is going back to the Belgian embassy and to ask them to connect me directly with the Slovenia embassy in Washington. Or, otherwise, I'm really going to punch a policeman. I was dead serious about it at the time. I made it to the embassy before closing time, just to be told by Jorge, the Mexican assistant, that all the personell (the "important people") are already gone home and he can't help me in any way, I should come back the next morning. At the time I was so tired, without a molecule of adrenaline rage, that I just thanked him and asked him if he could be so nice to fill me my bottle with drinkable water. Water? Yeah, water, please, I would much appreciate it. I'm running on water for the past few days. Seriously? Yes, I swear I wasn't making up that I can't pay even the tax. He disappeared and it took him along time to come back - with water, a bag of snacks and a handful of pesos, 150 of them. Please, take this, all of this, go eat something decent. Thanks buddy, I'm taking the water, but not... No, please, I insist, it's not just from me, from a few friends, too. I can't stand you being in such situation in my country. Nice guy. Good point. Me hungry. Thank you, I gratefully accept. With a deep Japanese bow, looking at my shoes and not in his eyes when taking the money, ashamed. Fuck shame when you're hungry. I had a feast, spending more than 40 pesos on tacos on the subway. Near the airport (near, a 20-some minutes walk from it) I found a cyber cafe that charged 10 pesos for one hour (fuck you, airport!) and swallowed my pride one more time. Asked for money to be sent via Western Union, since they don't require an ID from the receiver (as advertised, fuck yeah). Slept (more or less, between constant moving) at the airport, in the morning went to check the mail, before going to the embassy. I knew how the replies would look like, I know my friends, but it didn't make me feel better. Yes, worse. Dag, don't worry, we're working out on how to make a miracle, all of us, we're gonna make it happen, no matter what, just wait, in the meantime there is already this sum of money on WU waiting for you. Do I deserve friends like this? It's a good question, but I don't know the answer. Belgian embassy, everyone is sorry for my tribulations, Jorge is more interested if I had something to eat the previous day. I just give him thumbs up and a grin, they connect me with Washington. I explain the situation, tell them there's no way I can ask folk again after all what happened and ask if there is any chance that they could buy me the ticket and send me the bill. I got a polite diplomatic (well, of course) answer, that translated to street language would be Dude, get serious, where did you get this sick idea we're gonna credit you? We've got nothing to do with you, but since a motherfucker of your fucking friends that works for the government keeps pestering us I'm gonna help you, and that's more than I do for others, so listen well, I just found a flight good for you, call your friends again and tell them to buy it and never call me again, be grateful I'm wasting my precious time on shit like you, drop dead, bye. That was what I heard - not by ears, they were filled with cold politeness with a dash of scorn, but my mind was doing an instant translation. Even if I'm wrong, it doesn't matter - they were (are) just useless. Even the Belgians were surprised. We do have this emergency option to repatriate OUR citizens, weird your embassy doesn't. They stressed the OUR well, to make it clear it's not for me. I just did an imitation of Terminator, I'll be back, since the travel document is valid only a couple of days and who the fuck knows the itinerary of any future tickets... wait, what tickets? Ah, who cares, let's go get the money, I have the reference number written and every single branch of the BaNorte bank (they are on every fucking corner) is in the WU system, piece of cake! Fuck, yeah. Ah, so this is your reference number, OK, can I have your ID, please? You don't need my ID, the WU terms are that the reference number is what I need, nothing else. You don't understand, I need your ID to make the payment. No, it's you who don't understand, I DON'T FUCKING NEED A FUCKING ID FOR THE FUCKING WESTERN UNION TRANSACTION! They were sorry to kick me out. Another branch, same story, my same yelling, but without being kicked out - I was instantly tamed by the clerk with her advice to check the nearest, very close, WU proper office. Guess what? Un documento, señor. In the next Jefe, documento. In another one they miracolously spoke English, so it was Where do you think you are to withdraw money without an ID? IN A FUCKING SHITHOLE CALLED MEXICO YOU MORON! And I kept going.
In Slovenia we have a saying that you have to try three times. For the shithole it's double. At the sixth try I was confronted with a decrepit old woman, I wouldn't give her more than a day or two of life left, no, actually she looked like she died a few months ago, but she still keeps her job and clearly, no habla Ingles. I was tempted to just wave her a "fuck you too, mexican crone", but instead I just repeated my story. She was far far from being a zombie, you don't hear a zombie swearing so much - I didn't understand more of half of what she said, just the main point, being that God will punish the thieves (which were sons of bitches and daily involved in copulations with animals, or something similar, just guessing) and He will bless me. Well, let's put the "He" on the side. SHE blessed me with giving me the money, filling the form with the data from the copy of my stolen passport and even making up an address in Mexico for me. Yay, I was "rich" again. Far from relieved, not even a shade of happy, but confident I can afford a real proper meal, a bed in the cheapest hostel, and even a beer. Got all of it.
Next news was a new booking, sent to me by mail. That was THE relief, far from happiness. I felt more and more like crap, blending in the surroundings, a little piece of shit in a shithole country full of shitheads. I was also forwarded the answer from the travel agency that sold my first booking, to a complain of the buyer. They answered that everything was like it should be, I was a "no show" case for the Volaris flight. Wait, what, what fucking Volaris, if the booking was for some Eagle motherfuckers? The signature held a Russian name and if this happened just a month ago, I would be dead sure it's them, the culprits, fucking Russians, famous criminals. After almost a month in Mexico, I wasn't sure anymore who is the scum of humanity. Still now I keep forwarding the mails I receive from both sides, from Volaris to myTrips and viceversa, not hoping a refund will ever be done, but I'm soothing my little ego calling both sides cheaters, liars and thieves. Volaris claims that no booking was done, myTrip insists it was. I can't afford a lawyer to fuck them in the ass so hard that they will be shitting blood for a year, but I can be... not their nightmare, but an annoying mosquito buzzing in their ear. Enough for my (still) little ego, while I'm surrounded with great friends in Maribor and waiting to meet all the others in Koper, just in a few days.
And for a goodbye: fuck you Mexico, fuck you Mexicans, without any apology to the good guys I met there - you're part of it, bear it. Love your crap country and your shitty folks. I don't. Never will.
Let's talk about shit now. Mexicans, of course. Shit N.1 - the thief, whoever it (yes, it, I can't use he for a piece of shit) was. Shit N.2 - the receptionist. Which (again, not who) is possibly the same as shit N.1. Or at least a close friend (if shit knows what friendship is). You see, it was a "closed room" mistery, my small backpack disappeared from a locked room, without any signs of a break-in. So the thief had to have the room key. Should this be of any help to me? Get serious. After shouting in vain (not only in English, my rusted Spanish still remembers hijo de puta and que te hodan, coño) for 10 minutes I simply went to the police box that was really nearby. No, I'm not that naïve to think I was to get any kind of help from the Mexican shit police. I was right, they were just pissed of because I was interrupting their do-nothing time. Even when I explained that I really don't expect them to do a damn thing about my stolen belongings, that I only need a police report, with which I could go to the consulate... No no, es muy papel, long writing mister, go to Central station for report, I don't do. Shit N.3. Keept my cool, it's counterproductive to shout at uniforms, everywhere, not only in crappy Mexico. Went to the station, got my report, went back to the hotel. Taxi fare - 1200 pesos. Went to sleep, without bothering to lock the door. Nothing much valuable left, only some money in my wallet (you see, I was "wise" and was never walking around with all the money on me, in fear of being mugged on the street). Next morning, to the bus station. No sense trying to hitch out from Tijuana, too big. Funny coincidence, I thought, when I saw that the bus station is just near the Central Police, where I was the day before. Taxi fare, this time, 100 pesos. Added a mental note about a certain taxi driver, shit N.4.
From here I'm gonna cut it short. Mexicali, Santa Ana, Mazatlan, Guadalajara - the only names I remember from the hitchhike to El Jefe, Mexico City. I took me a week. Luckily, a friend's father lives near MC, in Tepoztlan, and I found shelter there. I contacted my friends in Slovenia and asked for help (I needed financial support, not moral). They were more than willing to buy me a plane ticket and I went happily to Mexico City to pay a visit to the Consulate. And things just went from bad to worse.
On the metro/subway/whatever you call it station of Chabacano, where I had to change the line I noticed a cyber spot with a big sign saying it's free for the passengers of the Mexico City metro lines. Wow, how cool, let's pinpoint the consulate position a bit better, now that I'm so close... You have no document. You can't use our computer. I'm sorry I was robbed by your Mexican friends, but that's the reason I'm asking for a little help, please, I would just like to check on googlemaps the location of.. You have no document. Well, do you maybe know where Avenida Alfredo Musset, somewher in Polanco... You can't use our sistema. I finally got it. THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR THE TIPICAL MEXICAN WELCOMING, GO FUCK YOURSELF, YOU FUCKING STUPID MEXICAN BITCH! And I ran away, really fast, knowing I wouldn't last long after calling her a bitch, even if she was, jumped on the first train, not caring where it goes - one good point of the MC Metro is that once you're in (for 5 pesos), you're in, and you can ride all day long, as long you don't exit. Anyway, I found the Consulate quickly, just to be told that it's only a Honorary Consulate. Meaning? They don't do shit and my trouble is of no concern to them. If I need help I have to go to the Belgian Embassy. At least they gave me the directions. At the Belgian Embassy everyone was sorry for me and no, no problem for the emergency documents, after they get the green light from the Slovenia Embassy in Washington it will be a matter of minutes. We just need the copy of the stolen passport, the police report, a picture and your ticket for Slovenia. Er... I had the copy, the report and the picture. But no ticket, clearly. No way, we can't issue a travel document since in it it will be written the exact itinerary. Get the ticket and come back when you have it. The only thing we can do in the meantime is send the scans of your papers to Washington, so when you come back everything will be ready. Back to Tepoztlan.
In a couple of days the ticket was bought and one day before the flight I was back at the Belgian Embassy. YO, look, I have the ticket! Oh, we're so sorry, we didn't get any answer from your embassy. We can't give you the emergency documents without that. Are you fucking kidding me??? We will try to call them, so come back tomorrow morning. OK, at least I had some luck - the flight was scheduled at noon something and the Benito Juarez airport is incorporated in the city, one hour from the embassy by subway (=5 pesos). I went to sleep at the airport - in Mexico City as well as in Tepoztlan was raining all the time and it was pretty fucking cold, considering it was summer. Next morning, lo and behold, I finally got the fucking travel paper. Now just the tax... WHAT? It's 200 pesos, you can pay it at the bank at the corner. Get serious, I have 20 pesos left, just a bit more than I need for the subway. We're so sorry, we can't issue the... WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT? NOW I'M GONNA GO PUNCH IN THE FACE THE COP THAT IS GUARDING THE EMBASSY SO I'LL BE ARRESTED AND EVENTUALLY DEPORTED. GUESS IT'S THE EASIEST WAY. Silence. Wait, don't be stu.. don't act silly. We'll figure something. Think she had all figured already, if not, I have to congratulate her for hyper fast thinking. She called the honorary consul, told him the story and he agreed to pay the tax. I was free, finally. And things went from worse straight to fucking hell.
Went to the airport and started looking for the Eagle Aviation check-in counter. Can't find it. No wonder, Benito Juarez is a confused mess. There's not one check-in area, if I remember correctly there's more than seven of them, just on Terminal 1, hidden between a plentitude of arrival and departing gates and a myriad of small shops, currency changers and car rentals. I gave up on running up and down, went to the info booth. Eagle Aviation? There's no such airline. Well, there must be, they operate this flight for Condor Air. Condor Air? They don't fly from Benito Juarez. Yes, yes, I see that, it's the Eagle Aviation that operates for them... No Eagle Aviation here, sorry. Dag, patience. Thank you and I simply went to another info booth. Clearly the same answers, but the guy was much more willing to try to help me. Look, I found a flight to Cancun that is scheduled at the time as yours, operated by Volaris. It could be your flight, you should go ask them, it's here behind this corner. And if not, wait a moment, I will write down for you the companies that fly to Cancun so you can check them all. Wow, thanks, will do!
Volaris: Sorry, this is not a booking for our company.
Viva Aerobus: Sorry, this is not a booking for our company.
Interjet: Sorry, this is not a booking for our company.
AeroMexico (on Terminal 2, even): Sorry, this is not a booking for our company - I can tell without checking because we have no numbers in our booking codes. But let me check anyway... Sorry, this is not a booking for our company.
I was standing there, with the printed booking in my hand, and I suddenly saw that piece of paper moving by itself. Huh? Oh, I'm not hallucinating, it's just my hands shaking badly, without me realizing it. Oh crap, I said to myself, it's coming. I'm just about to flip and will start breaking things and people. Wrong. My vision blurred, to my utmost surprise I was crying. I was pushed way beyond the state of a senseless destructive rage. I was pushed in a pit of self pity, for I knew I was completely, absolutely, helpless. There was nothing I could do and it was already boarding time, IF that flight actually existed. It was most frustrating because I understood them - I was pressing on them with a booking for an airline that doesn't exist - if my booking was for any of the above mentioned airlines and I was told the same, there would have been hell. Yeah, for me, I know, but it wouldn't have been only my blood splattered on the airport floors. You think it's a bad joke? Well, it's no joke. I was partially insane at that moment. Stress, hunger, sleep deprivation (homeless sleeping on cardboard are allowed at the airport, but backpackers are constantly waked by security and told that we can be sitting but not sleeping on the floor). Think. Think. Am I still able to think? I need internet. My only way of communication. Just one spot at the airport and they charge 30 pesos as a start and then 1 peso for each minute. I don't have them. The subway. There's one spot at the Pantitlán station, maybe there.. Sorry, you have no document to use internet. I was just about to blow... But I understand your problem. I can give you 10 minutes, please no more. I didn't need 10 minutes. In two I sent a fucked up mail, it was mostly composed of fuck, fuck and fucked and that the only thing I can think of is going back to the Belgian embassy and to ask them to connect me directly with the Slovenia embassy in Washington. Or, otherwise, I'm really going to punch a policeman. I was dead serious about it at the time. I made it to the embassy before closing time, just to be told by Jorge, the Mexican assistant, that all the personell (the "important people") are already gone home and he can't help me in any way, I should come back the next morning. At the time I was so tired, without a molecule of adrenaline rage, that I just thanked him and asked him if he could be so nice to fill me my bottle with drinkable water. Water? Yeah, water, please, I would much appreciate it. I'm running on water for the past few days. Seriously? Yes, I swear I wasn't making up that I can't pay even the tax. He disappeared and it took him along time to come back - with water, a bag of snacks and a handful of pesos, 150 of them. Please, take this, all of this, go eat something decent. Thanks buddy, I'm taking the water, but not... No, please, I insist, it's not just from me, from a few friends, too. I can't stand you being in such situation in my country. Nice guy. Good point. Me hungry. Thank you, I gratefully accept. With a deep Japanese bow, looking at my shoes and not in his eyes when taking the money, ashamed. Fuck shame when you're hungry. I had a feast, spending more than 40 pesos on tacos on the subway. Near the airport (near, a 20-some minutes walk from it) I found a cyber cafe that charged 10 pesos for one hour (fuck you, airport!) and swallowed my pride one more time. Asked for money to be sent via Western Union, since they don't require an ID from the receiver (as advertised, fuck yeah). Slept (more or less, between constant moving) at the airport, in the morning went to check the mail, before going to the embassy. I knew how the replies would look like, I know my friends, but it didn't make me feel better. Yes, worse. Dag, don't worry, we're working out on how to make a miracle, all of us, we're gonna make it happen, no matter what, just wait, in the meantime there is already this sum of money on WU waiting for you. Do I deserve friends like this? It's a good question, but I don't know the answer. Belgian embassy, everyone is sorry for my tribulations, Jorge is more interested if I had something to eat the previous day. I just give him thumbs up and a grin, they connect me with Washington. I explain the situation, tell them there's no way I can ask folk again after all what happened and ask if there is any chance that they could buy me the ticket and send me the bill. I got a polite diplomatic (well, of course) answer, that translated to street language would be Dude, get serious, where did you get this sick idea we're gonna credit you? We've got nothing to do with you, but since a motherfucker of your fucking friends that works for the government keeps pestering us I'm gonna help you, and that's more than I do for others, so listen well, I just found a flight good for you, call your friends again and tell them to buy it and never call me again, be grateful I'm wasting my precious time on shit like you, drop dead, bye. That was what I heard - not by ears, they were filled with cold politeness with a dash of scorn, but my mind was doing an instant translation. Even if I'm wrong, it doesn't matter - they were (are) just useless. Even the Belgians were surprised. We do have this emergency option to repatriate OUR citizens, weird your embassy doesn't. They stressed the OUR well, to make it clear it's not for me. I just did an imitation of Terminator, I'll be back, since the travel document is valid only a couple of days and who the fuck knows the itinerary of any future tickets... wait, what tickets? Ah, who cares, let's go get the money, I have the reference number written and every single branch of the BaNorte bank (they are on every fucking corner) is in the WU system, piece of cake! Fuck, yeah. Ah, so this is your reference number, OK, can I have your ID, please? You don't need my ID, the WU terms are that the reference number is what I need, nothing else. You don't understand, I need your ID to make the payment. No, it's you who don't understand, I DON'T FUCKING NEED A FUCKING ID FOR THE FUCKING WESTERN UNION TRANSACTION! They were sorry to kick me out. Another branch, same story, my same yelling, but without being kicked out - I was instantly tamed by the clerk with her advice to check the nearest, very close, WU proper office. Guess what? Un documento, señor. In the next Jefe, documento. In another one they miracolously spoke English, so it was Where do you think you are to withdraw money without an ID? IN A FUCKING SHITHOLE CALLED MEXICO YOU MORON! And I kept going.
In Slovenia we have a saying that you have to try three times. For the shithole it's double. At the sixth try I was confronted with a decrepit old woman, I wouldn't give her more than a day or two of life left, no, actually she looked like she died a few months ago, but she still keeps her job and clearly, no habla Ingles. I was tempted to just wave her a "fuck you too, mexican crone", but instead I just repeated my story. She was far far from being a zombie, you don't hear a zombie swearing so much - I didn't understand more of half of what she said, just the main point, being that God will punish the thieves (which were sons of bitches and daily involved in copulations with animals, or something similar, just guessing) and He will bless me. Well, let's put the "He" on the side. SHE blessed me with giving me the money, filling the form with the data from the copy of my stolen passport and even making up an address in Mexico for me. Yay, I was "rich" again. Far from relieved, not even a shade of happy, but confident I can afford a real proper meal, a bed in the cheapest hostel, and even a beer. Got all of it.
Next news was a new booking, sent to me by mail. That was THE relief, far from happiness. I felt more and more like crap, blending in the surroundings, a little piece of shit in a shithole country full of shitheads. I was also forwarded the answer from the travel agency that sold my first booking, to a complain of the buyer. They answered that everything was like it should be, I was a "no show" case for the Volaris flight. Wait, what, what fucking Volaris, if the booking was for some Eagle motherfuckers? The signature held a Russian name and if this happened just a month ago, I would be dead sure it's them, the culprits, fucking Russians, famous criminals. After almost a month in Mexico, I wasn't sure anymore who is the scum of humanity. Still now I keep forwarding the mails I receive from both sides, from Volaris to myTrips and viceversa, not hoping a refund will ever be done, but I'm soothing my little ego calling both sides cheaters, liars and thieves. Volaris claims that no booking was done, myTrip insists it was. I can't afford a lawyer to fuck them in the ass so hard that they will be shitting blood for a year, but I can be... not their nightmare, but an annoying mosquito buzzing in their ear. Enough for my (still) little ego, while I'm surrounded with great friends in Maribor and waiting to meet all the others in Koper, just in a few days.
And for a goodbye: fuck you Mexico, fuck you Mexicans, without any apology to the good guys I met there - you're part of it, bear it. Love your crap country and your shitty folks. I don't. Never will.
