Clump, scritch

Clump, scritch

Clump, scritch

The urban jungle of Los Angeles passed by me through the windows of the airport terminal as I limped along in my foot brace toward Gate 62. My companions and I had completed the first leg of our 17-hour journey to our destination of Veracruz, Mexico.

We had been planning this trip for months: A two-week expedition with a medical team in six different villages a few hours outside the city of Veracruz. Seven enormous suitcases full of medical supplies had been packed, and as the date of departure drew near, we felt well prepared.

That was before I smashed my foot into a cement parking bumper while running barefoot in the dark. Now, a week later, I was clumping through the airport bearing my luggage, and feeling relieved when we could find our gate and sit down.

The flight from Sacramento to Los Angeles was uneventful. I was traveling with five other people: a young Ukrainian woman who was a pre-med student in Davis, her eight-year-old son, and her mother, who was an expert at everything from massage/physical/hydro therapy to herbal remedies. All three spoke with heavy accents and were the most thorough, efficient people I have ever met. Also in the group was a Spanish-speaking Peruvian nurse and her nine year old son, who naturally got along very well with his Ukrainian comrade. The two of them joined forces and were soon in their own little world, chatting consistently and vanishing into the recesses of the terminal at inconvenient times. Somehow we managed to keep track of them, but were very glad to get them on the plane and strapped into their seats. During the flight, it was discovered that one boy had brought tree bark along in his backpack, which had unfortunately escaped and spread itself over the aisle floor. In the excitement of landing, a pair of glasses and game cards were also left behind, which were returned by very kind, albeit amused, fellow passengers.

After arriving in LA we made our way through the concourse to a large sign that said "CURRENCY EXCHANGE" and submitted our American dollars for Mexican pesos. The exchange rate is slightly more than ten-to-one; I put up 75 dollars and was handed over 770 pesos. It remains to be seen just how much this is actually worth, but for the moment we feel quite rich.

We are now waiting for our midnight flight to Houston, which is our connection to Veracruz. The boys are stuffing themselves with French fries and telling knock-knock jokes while the rest of us fiddle on computers. It's definitely passed my bedtime, and sleep sounds pretty good. Buenos noches for now, see you in Mexico!