Only in Mexico. This is a phrase I’m hearing a lot recently. The long weekend started with an obligatory trip to Coatzacoalcos, the coastal town about a half hour drive away, in order to change our immigration status to that of ‘cooperante’ and not just illegal alien. If we don’t do this they have no problem with us staying in the country, we just won’t be allowed to leave...
We’d all acquired a cold beer to make the heat a bit more bearable, and when we arrived at the government stronghold, the guard had no problem letting us though security with our beers, not even taking the trouble to ask us to throw the cans away, but under no circumstance would he ket us through as long as Guy was wearing short trousers. We had to take a physical and economical detour via the market in order to get him some full-length trousers before we could start the laborious security process to get to the immigration office. Which was closed. Of all the things that have made me laugh recently, this beats the rest hands down. I either had to laugh or I would have pulled a knife on someone. This was our second attempt at sorting this out, and we were told to come back Monday. Oh well, we had a chilled day, eating, drinking, listening to live salsa music in palapas (grass-roofed open air bars), and frolicking knee-deep in the sea, so all was not lost.
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