Monday, June 30, 11 pm
I'm up north again to visit the office, as is my wont. I checked into my usual hotel and got a sense of deja vu as I walked up to the room. As it turns out, I'm in the same room as when I was here the previous time. I spent the evening with friends, so it's already late. I'm putting my feet up to relax, switching on the radio...
It's still on the same station where I left it.
That's how you know you're on the road too much. Except that in my case, I work on the road and "travel" by working in the office. It's all topsy turvy.
Tuesday, July 8, 5 am
This week, I'm going to be spending a few days in Mexico visiting a contractor. The shuttle picks me up to go to the airport; it's irrationally early in the morning. The bald Asian driver, a man of indeterminate age, wishes me a good morning, although the sun is not yet risen, and ushers me into the van. The seats are velvety black and clad in deep plush. In the pre-dawn gloom, I can see that on the back of each is embroidered an eight ball, enveloped in a nimbus of orange flame. I close my eyes, pretending not to feel the fiery gaze of the one behind me boring into my back, into my very soul, like a Great Eye.
The driver turns on the radio; a children's choir bursts forth in a language I don't recognize. Japanese? Not quite. I place the melody after a second or two, though: "Do, a Deer," sung in unison by those perfect piping voices.
"These people, all Chinese," declares the driver, gesturing to the dawn-drenched houses as we drive by. The man in the passenger seat says nothing. I try, and fail, to fall asleep.
We draw near to the airport. "Italy," says the driver. He indicates an idling plane. "Alitalia." I open my eyes a crack to read the letters along its side: "United Arab Emirates," it says.
Wednesday, July 9, 9 pm
How much should one tip when abroad? In most parts of the world, they say, tipping is not expected -- in Japan, a too-large tip is even insulting. But they also say that foreign wait staff and cab drivers can smell a hefty American tipper the way a shark smells blood in the water, and may become disgruntled if stiffed.
I cope with this cognitive dissonance by tipping bulimically -- sometimes outrageously, sometimes a simple 15%, other times not at all. I never know which it's going to be until I've paid and walked off, and it doesn't help that the waiters like to stand nearby while I'm filling out the receipt. Tipping while under surveillance is like driving with a cop behind you: so much of your forebrain is watching the watcher that you just know you're going to make a poor showing.
The dollar/peso ratio is an easy one: about one to ten, where it's been for years. The trouble is, I still only know the cost of things when it's measured in dollars. Therefore, whenever I pay for anything, I read (or hear) pesos, mentally convert to dollars, and then convert from dollars back into pesos as I'm rummaging through my wallet trying to figure out how much I owe. It's like the way a temperate expressed in Celsius never evokes the same visceral response as one expressed in Fahrenheit, even after you've done the math. Here, I can prove it:
104 degrees.
Pretty frickin' hot, yeah?
(104 - 32) x 5 / 9 degrees.
Hot? Cold? Who can say? Is that even the right formula? Can't even tell you.
Scientists speculate about when our primitive ancestors acquired language. I wonder when they acquired units.
I'm staying at a place called the Novotel, which I suppose is intended as a shortening of "Nuevo Hotel" and therefore as an indication of its modern styling and amenities. It's much nicer than any place called "New-tel" in English would be expected to be, and its name in Spanish does not remind one so much of a chocolaty spread for one's breakfast toast.
And speaking of breakfast, they serve up a great one here. Tomorrow, I shall eat pancakes, methinks.
Thursday, July 10, 10 pm
I'm trying to post this, and Blogger is in Spanish. I discover that "acceder" is the Spanish verb for "to sign in."
Yo accedo, and suddenly English returns. Not that I'm unfluent after two whole days here, but it's late, and I'm tired.
Tomorrow morning, I head home again -- for a few days, at least. It'll be good to be home.
