I had everything so well scheduled (direct flight from LAX to PVR, a decent time out and a decent time in, etc.) but we were foiled again by the airlines. Well, actually, it was sort of our fault. In our cavalier way, we had a cab pick us up just before 8am. The driver turned out to be one who had driven us to the airport before (are there that few cabs in LA?) and was super chatty. The problems was that the faster he spoke, the slower he drove, and the day after the Presidential Election, we all had a lot to talk about. We didn't arrive at LAX until 8:30 and Big Dog couldn't stop expounding his views on energy (the cab driver had worked for major petroleum companies.)
"Come onnnnn," I grimaced and pointed to my imaginary watch.
Once I pried him away from his sole audience, we hustled inside the terminal.
It took us a while to find the Mexicana counter (Tom Bradley, downstairs) but by then, they had closed check-in.
"What?! We're here an hour and a half before departure!" cried BD.
"I'm sorry, sir. This is an International Flight. Check-in is three hours before the flight." The ground hostess was not doing her mostess to put us chronologically challenged passengers on their booked flight. We were not the only ones denied -- there were several groups who also arrived too late.
After our initial moment of surprise, however, we chilled out. Oh well. They did book us onto another flight and it's not like we're really on some kind of schedule or anything. However, it did mean several hours trapped at LAX, several more hours trapped at GDL and coming into PVR after 9pm.
I was proud we were so calm and nonchalant about our wasted hours.
"We're already in Mañana Mode."
But that was then. Once we got to our little fishing village (quickly becoming Gringo Winter Haven) I realized how Norteño we really were. It takes time to get the buzzzz out of a person. We think we're different from the regular North Americans who have 9 to 5 (or longer) jobs, regular responsibilities. It's only when you get to a place as sleepy as this that you realize what a busy bee you've been all these months.
That bizzzzy-ness is seeping out, though. And soon, maybe mañana, after all the bees are gone, there will only be slow-moving, sweet, amber honey.