Last night I had another dream about being lost, this time at Los Cabos airport in San Jose del Cabo. For those who’ve never been there, the deplaning experience is fairly orderly. One exits the jetway into the terminal, where well-marked hallways herd predominantly American tourists through Customs and Immigration lines. Then, one walks through a doorway into a scene of utter chaos.
In order to leave the terminal, there is an unruly mob of skycaps, taxi drivers, timeshare salesmen and tour operators who will say anything to get your business. Most typically, and most unnerving of all is “You’re going the wrong way.” It’s unnerving because you’re going exactly the right way – toward the exit – which seems to be less clearly marked each time I come to visit. My typical response, in Spanish, is “Vivimos aquí”, which means “We live here”. Once one salesman knows you are not going to stop, a telepathic signal seemingly informs all others simultaneously, and you become invisible to them all, free to exit the terminal without further molestation.
Except that in my dream, I never did find that exit door, the sliding glass windows leading to freedom from the vultures trying to sell me something I neither want nor need. Asking for help is always a last resort. “Buscamos la salida”, I say in broken Spanish, looking for the exit. A sympathetic woman with a clipboard motions me toward a counter. The counter is not an exit. I walk away from her. This continues.