Claudia, who was probably once Klaus, barks something in German. "Gin and tonic?", is my hopefully response. "EIS?" she screams at someone 12 or 14 rows behind, all the while making bulging eye contact with me. Give me my effin gin and eff off, i want to shout, but this woman is scary, and i have a cold, and I'm starting to sweat, and can only nod. If she offers me lemon i'll probably surrender Poland.
This plane is taking me to Mexico, a place to which i've been excited about returning since about 4 minutes after I left it the last time. I've had mixed experiences going back to places. New Zealand gets better ever time, Thailand slightly worse. Of course, there are some places you should never go back to. LA for instance. Or any conversation with Americans about coffee, who inexplicable hold Starbucks up to be the best. As though combining a watery espresso shot with a litre and a half of burnt milk in a small bucket marks, on the evolutionary scale, the pinnacle of coffee presentation.
Those same Americans are afraid of Mexico. North of the border they believe that it is dirty, smelly and dangerous - a description considerably more appropriate to New York. In reality Australia is more dangerous for backpackers, and the United States itself is more dangerous for its own citizens. The fear is irrational, although if you are a drug trafficker or a policeman - and presumably bad at what you do - there might be something in it. For the rest of us, it is a warm, friendly, clean country, with welcoming people, stunning scenery, and exceptional food. i'm very happy to be going back.
