Adventures in Mexico

By John Pierre | Apr 20, 2012

There was a time, not too many years ago, when myself and my wife did a lot of corporate traveling.

We needed to attend various conventions often in some highly acclaimed resort area such as Hawaii or the Camelback Inn in Scottsdale and often out of the country in such places as Mexico City.

On one occasion I can recall, we traveled with our friends from the same company, Vince and Jeannie, to Mexico City.

We had earlier decided to extend our trip to include Acapulco on the coast.

On our way to the Mexico City airport, we saw a scrawny dog crossing the street.

Jeannie wondered what dogs were called in Mexico.  Vince thought they were called dingos.

As a great movie buff, including such as "The Sundowners" and "Quigley Down Under,"  I suggested that dingos were what they call wild dogs in Australia.

So the conversation continued until I mentioned that, in Mexico, they were eventually called tacos.

The taxi driver, who claimed not to speak English, smiled from ear to ear.

Upon arrival at the Acapulco airport, another cab agreed to take us to our hotel, a Hilton on the beach.

As we drove out, a uniformed person at the exit booth wanted a bunch of pesos to allow us to proceed.

I was required to pay the "toll."

Upon arrival at the hotel, I willingly paid the driver the amount he asked for the trip (including a generous tip) but, when I turned to walk away, a traveler more savvy than we asked, "Didn't you pay at the airport?"

I confirmed that we had and he explained that we had already been charged for the trip.

As I turned to ask the taxi driver why he collected a second time... there was only exhaust pipe smoke going down the street.

We live and learn.

When we tried to check in, the desk clerk informed us that all of the rooms were taken.

I made a lot of noise about the fact that our rooms were not only reserved but paid in advance.

No luck as others in the lobby appeared to be in the same boat.

Eventually our advance payment and reservation was forwarded to a "hotel" on the top of a small nearby mountain.

It turned out to be a delightful place completely covered with beautiful flowers.

The manager there agreed to credit us with the balance of the larger daily amount for the beach front Hilton.

When we checked out, three days later, he had plumb forgotten all of his English and had no idea what I was talking about.

As we were getting ready to get into our taxi, I hollered "Hey, Bandido!"

He showed up at the entrance with a toothy smile for me to take his picture.


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