The Final Frontier

Although you may not believe it, I am here for a legitimate purpose other than to watch the World Cup (I'm absolutely heartbroken over the elimination of Argentina) and to eat tacos (I'm totally digging anything al pastor), although I do take these activities very seriously. I am here in this lovely country to research my dissertation topic, which is Mexican immigration policy. I want to figure out exactly how the Mexican government is dealing with Central American migration. This means that, in addition to my aimless walks and road trips to Guadalajara, I have also been conducting interviews with various officials and accumulating a lot of new books. Very exciting stuff.

I have found that Mexicans are fantastic to interview. They are incredibly accomodating and love to talk. Therefore, the interview is the easy part. However, the logistics of getting there and finding the right person is another story completely.

My first interview was with the Instituto Nacional de Migracion (INM), which is the governmental institution charged with the application and direction of Mexican immigration policy. Due to the fact that this is my fifth time in Mexico City and I had yet to enjoy the delights of underground public transportation, I decided it was about time to take the plunge. Armed with my hand sanitizer, I descended into the abyss and emerged 25 blocks off target. After going North instead of South and East instead of West (my internal GPS is awesome), I finally pointed myself in the right direction and found the INM without asking directions. This stubborness and refusal to ask for help is not something to be proud of, but flares up often...especially when I'm lost.

I successfully and uneventfully passed through a metal detector and purse scan and then was essentially bathed in even more hand sanitizer by a very nice, and excessively armed, policeman. I haven't seen this quantity of hand sanitizer anywhere, not even in the United States, and find it interesting that I came across it in Immigration headquarters in Mexico City. I quickly signed in, trading my passport for a visitor's pass, and rushed into the elevator with at least a dozen other people. This is when I realized that there were no buttons to push to indicate the floor you want to go to. Nobody else seemed to notice or care. Randomly the doors would open and someone would exit the elevator, having magically, and without buttons, been delivered to their floor. Scared that I would be deposited on the roof if I didn't do something quickly, I finally asked where the damn buttons were and how to get to the 12th floor. The answer was to get out at the next stop and take the stairs. It's still a mystery to me. The good news is that I finally arrived and was greeted warmly by my interviewee with the question every professional woman wants to hear. Oh, so you're a girl? I couldn't even make that up.

My second interview was with a man who wishes to remain nameless and wanted to rendezvous outside the office to maintain discretion. Although I had my doubts, I agreed to meet him in a bakery downtown and was supplied with a complete description of his attire so I could easily find him. I considered bringing a rose and a copy of Pride and Prejudice, but I didn't think he would appreciate the shout out to You've Got Mail. Once again, getting there was challenging due to yet another demonstration that shut down traffic and the fact that I forgot my map. I finally found the bakery smelling like marijuana thanks to the young gentleman who decided to walk right next to me for 5 city blocks while casually smoking a joint. I just couldn't shake him.

I was greeted by Mr. grey shirt and blue tie and we proceeded to have a nice conversation over freshly squeezed orange juice. He kindly ignored the aroma of weed and I politely refrained from staring in amazement at his Elvisish hairdo. His poof had serious height, which made it difficult for him to hide as he kept ducking under the table so his colleagues wouldn't see him (the bakery he chose was literally adjacent to his office building). Needless to say, not much was achieved during this interview due to his incessant ducking and my slight buzz from the pot, but it was still highly entertaining.

Perhaps my favorite logistical adventure was when I was leaving an interview at the Colegio de Mexico. Even though the college is in Mexico City, it is still over an hour away from my neighborhood. I have found that the immense size of Mexico City often results in cabdrivers who are completely unfamiliar with large parts of the city. I have had to climb into the front seat on more than one occasion and direct my drivers, equipped with virtually no knowledge of the city and a poorly drawn map spanning 8 pages in Lonely Planet.

I finally flagged down a taxi, jumped in, and stated my destination. The cabdriver didn't even bother to turn around or take the green lollipop out of his mouth as he told me that it would probably be best if I got out and found a better informed driver. He's never even heard of the Condesa. My inner GPS immediately took offense and gave a rousing speech about embracing adventure and conquering new frontiers, completely disregarding the fact that I was once again map-less. He bravely agreed and we were off. As he pulled onto the highway, our conversation went something like this:

Taxista: Just so you know, I'm an expert in losing people

Me: You do realize you're a cabdriver, right?

Taxista: At least I'm an honest one.

Me: Amen, brother.