Whenever someone tells that they think frequent business travel is a life of luxury, I tell them this story.
During the course of my employment with the firm it has been my pleasure to visit some rather interesting places. Chuquicamata and Antofagasta, Chile; Gary, Indiana; Blytheville, Arkansas; and Fukuoka, Japan, to name a few.
Some surely rate as monuments to the greatest ecological and social catastrophes of modern times. Torreon, Mexico falls into this category. Many may think it unkind to make this kind of remark about a place, but I can assure you that the people of Torreon are under no illusions about the city.
Torreon is a city that built itself around a lead smelter. Like most other unsightly mining operations, it is in the middle of the desert. Everything is coated with a fine patina of dust.
A situation made all the worse by the smelting operations belching out clouds of zinc and lead dusts. From time to time the air smells like someone just set off an entire pack of matches under your nose or worse. And it is, of course, hot.
unhappy arrival
I arrived in this charming location with my migraine headache in 5th gear, and in a foul mood because I had my credit card declined when I went to purchase the plane ticket to this charming locale in Monterrey (turned out to be fraud).Foul went to wretched when the clerk claimed he had no reservation for me. Nor did he have a room. The subtext of his responses to my increasingly anxious inquiries clearly said, "why don't chu p*** off, gringo?"
We finally sorted it out, and when it was finally determined that I was there rightfully, Eduardo, the clerk, became the epitome of hospitality.
"Perhaps the Señor would care to relax in our wonderful pool? With a margarita?" I cast a bloodshot and jaundiced eye at the pool that bore a close resemblance to Kipling's Limpopo River and declined the gracious offer.
I shuffled off to my room to indulge in dangerous quantities of Advil and mineral water. To my relief, my colleagues from Mexico City arrived and I was marginally better.
can't beat the meat
Torreon is a vegetarian's nightmare. The cattle industry is second to base metal processing. I have never seen steak served in so many new and interesting ways. No part of the cow is left to waste.Tripe is not my thing, but bone marrow was not as bad as I thought it would be. I will say that the restaurants did know how to cook a steak that was both tender and tasty. Dinner was unfortunately cut short by the return of my migraine.
dehydration situation
I woke up the next morning, fully clothed and mummified in the bedspread. The headache was gone, but my mouth felt like it was full of cotton. A quick shower and shave and I was ready to go.Lorenzo came to call -- more to check that I was still among the living than to invite me to breakfast. It was to be a full day. I had to leave before anyone else because of my connections to Houston, so I would give my part of the presentation early.
Actually, I never shut up the whole time. The more I showed the clients, the more they wanted to see. From 9 in the morning until 3:50 in the afternoon, I talked non-stop.
I was getting anxious about catching my return flight at 5. But the VP of Technology kept reassuring me that his secretary would look after me. Finally, Rodrigo stepped in and said "If Señor is to make his connection to Houston, he must leave now!"
Begrudgingly, I was allowed to go and was placed in the custody of the secretary.
charming secretary
The secretary, Juanita, was charming. I was beginning to relax. We got in the car where she turned to me and said, "I'm terrible at driving." To prove it, she ground her way into reverse and stalled three times in the parking lot.My heart sank. The ride to the airport involved more near collisions than I would care to remember. All the while, I was subjected to Juanita's life story. It wasn't that I was disinterested; I just wish she had paid more attention to the road... and oncoming traffic.
I arrived in good time, checked in and went to the waiting area. More like a stall. What do you expect from a 2-gate airport? And I waited. And waited. My plane never came. It was delayed, I was told. After 2 hours, I knew I wouldn't make my connection in Monterrey.
my grain again
My migraine was starting up again. At that point, Rodrigo showed up for his flight to Monterrey. He was surprised to see me. Thankfully, he latched on to a gate agent and demanded an explanation.The agent rudely informed us that she hadn't the foggiest idea about my flight and that they would fly me out the next day -- if there was a seat. Saturday.
It felt as though someone was trying to dislodge my eyeball with a red-hot poker from inside my skull. Visions of being sucked into the Limpopo pool flashed before my eyes. I guess one look at my troubled expression told Rodrigo how I felt about this.
Something akin to a verbal scuffle ensued. Could I not go back on the same flight as Rodrigo? No. That flight was full and if Rodrigo did not board now, the agent would not answer for the consequences.
Rodrigo bade me farewell and left to catch his plane. On the way, he accosted another agent and a very expressive exchange of words took place out on the tarmac. I watched Rodrigo's plane take off.
The sun was setting and I was alone. If I didn't have a wife waiting for me, it would have been a different story. But "She Who Must Be Obeyed" was not going to be happy. My migraine took on new and sinister dimensions. My Advil was in the bag I had checked. I was hot, tired and hungry. What a mess.
things got serious
A gate agent approached me, calling me by name. Now what!? Let me guess, my bag is on its way to Monterrey, but I'm staying here. Right? A change of underwear is always nice, but I wanted my Advil! No, this was more serious. I was asked to accompany him out of the waiting area and back into the terminal -- to the manager's office.The manager, Gloria, reminded me of Odd Job from James Bond and had enough gold dental work to open a jewelry store. One of the perks of being a manager, I guess. She introduced herself and the other minor officials that had congregated in her far from spacious office.
We all shook hands -- a very important aspect of social and professional interaction in Mexican society. We all sat down. First came a series of apologies. Then I was asked to surrender my tickets. All of them.
These were examined in detail by the entire staff. There was a lot of tut-tutting and tsk-tsking. There was much debate, but a consensus seemed to be forming. For a moment I thought I was back in Japan. Finally, Gloria took control.
A series of commands were issued to individual members of the staff and they departed to execute them. It was just me and Odd Job. With the aural dentures.
Curiously I was less anxious. Whatever was going to happen would happen and there was little else for me to do but accept it. I was offered an assortment of beverages from the manager's personal stock in her small refrigerator.
fresca gloria
We settled into our drinks. Mineral water for me, diet Fresca for Gloria. We passed the time in idle conversation comparing the relative virtues of a dry climate versus the near arctic conditions in Montreal.Gloria had never seen snow and asked many questions on what it was like to be knee-deep in the stuff. I'm afraid I didn't leave her with a favorable impression. The gate agent that had brought me in returned, dabbing his forehead with a lacy kerchief, and handed my ticket folder to Gloria.
It was bulging with a wild assortment of colored paper that looked something like an experiment in miniature piatas gone wrong. There was a quick exchange of words and then he left.
explanations were due
Gloria then proceeded to explain the contents. I was guaranteed a seat on the next flight out -- in 20 minutes. My luggage would arrive with me. My reservations back to Montreal had been rearranged so I could go back on the first flight in the morning.The airline would cover all my expenses in Monterrey -- hotel, food, taxis, etc. I was shown what paper I was to give to whom and when I should give it. I was given the name of the manager in Monterrey. I was given telephone numbers, in case I had trouble.
And finally, I was given a card with a phone number and the message "call me" written on it. "This is the private number of your friend in Monterrey. You call him when you arrive at your hotel. He is very concerned that we make sure you are there tonight."
I made it to the hotel in Monterrey and called Rodrigo. I thanked him for his help. The next day I was on my way to Montreal. I arrived home late in the evening, but was glad to be back. This should have been the end of the story, right? But there was the little matter of the credit card.
credit card crud
Monday morning, I checked the messages on my business phone. One was from my credit card company. Over my limit? I wondered. When I called, they informed me that they had stopped all transactions on my card due to suspicious activity.Define suspicious activity. Did I purchase $5000 in theatrical supplies, while I was in Mexico? No. Yes, I would say this is a fraudulent use of my card. So this means that someone was having a great night out on the town while I was stuck in my hotel room with HBO?
The casual traveler would see an incident like this as being a nightmare. As someone who travels a lot for work, this sort of thing happens about once a month.
Any sane person would wonder why anyone would subject themselves to such adventures so frequently. I'm afraid I'm not equipped to give an answer.
Article provided by http://www.cultureconnect.com/.
Resources:
Mexico Travel Guide
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