Wending Home

The trip from Dangriga to Chetumal was uneventful, and a little bit faster than expected. When I went through Customs, I did not have enough for the exit fee, but I was able to borrow the extra from somebody else leaving Belize and repay her when we reached Chetumal.

The bus dropped us in Chetumal at a gas station, which was not where we departed from on my way down, so I had no idea where we were. No problem, I just took a taxi to my hostel, for a couple bucks. It was just getting on dark when I arrived at my hostel. The hostel in Chetumal was more like a hotel. I actually prefer hostels with shared dorm-style rooms and public areas to private rooms, because you get more of a chance to meet the other travelers. The restaurant across from the hostel was closed, but there was Domino's takeout just up the street, so I had a medium veggi pizza for dinner. No lunch, so I ate the whole thing.

The next morning, it was very easy to find the ADO bus terminal, because you go out the front door of the hostel, and the terminal is right there, across the street. There is a little park you have to walk through, but no big deal.

I arrived in Cancun in mid-afternoon, and walked to the hostel. It wasn't far, but the directions were not entirely clear, so I was actually grateful for the people who want to help you from the bus terminal for a few bucks. I found the hostel and checked in, and then went out to see some of Cancun.

Because I was only there the one evening and next morning, and because I'm pretty well past the whole partying scene, I stayed downtown and returned to the hostel pretty early, rather than heading down to the beach and engaging with the Spring Break crowd. I found some delicious veggie burritos for dinner and lunch the next day. The hostel served a very light continental breakfast of juice and toast.

I took the shuttle from the bus terminal to the airport rather than paying a lot of money for taxi the next morning. I got off at the wrong terminal, but the airport had its own free shuttle to take people between terminals. I checked in and got to the gate just a few minutes before they started boarding. The plane was in the air a few minutes late, but made up the time and landed at Dallas-Fort Worth International on time.

From there, its disembark, go through customs, reembark, and fly on to the Moline, Illinois airport where my parents were to pick me up. Customs was extremely slow. I got through customs at 7:25, and my flight started boarding at 7:20. I handed over my checked bag to the airline agents again, passed through security, caught the sky-tram to the proper terminal, and made it to my gate just before final boarding call. I think only one person got on the plane after me.

We flew to Moline, and I texted my folks to let them know I was on the ground as soon as we were allowed to turn our phones back on. It was just Dad to pick me up, so he greeted me when I left the secured area, and then we waited for my baggage claim. And waited. And waited. Then they announced that all the baggage had come through already. Okay . . . no luggage.

We waited for them to come open up the airline claims counter, and did the necessary paperwork, then made the drive to Cedar Rapids. Thus concludes the international portion of my trip. I still have the duration of my stay in Cedar Rapids and then my next visit in Utah before my return to Spokane, but I expect to be in Spokane March 27, in time for classes March 28.

On Waiting for Public Transit

I'm waiting for the bus, feeling the wind in my hair, hearing the clang of the trax bells, and the whoosh as the trains go by, the banging of the bus stop sign in the wind, gray sky, blue mountains frosted with snow...


There's still a slight breeze, the tracks almost buzz and hum as the most recent train whooshes by. A lone plastic bag, stuck to a tree too high to reach, waves in the wind, a warning to others to avoid its fate. Raindrops patter on the pavement, or make a metallic clicking sound as they land on the steel lengths of track. A young man rushes by, in a hurry to get to the nearer end of the platform, a race against nobody in particular. A woman methodically closes her umbrella, in preparation for the train to come.

Vehicles come and go, leaving their passengers to wait. We are all waiting, together, and yet apart. None of us know where another is headed, but we all travel together. The right train arrives, the one that will stop where we need. Those belonging to this train pile on and find seats, away from each other, because we do not feel kinship with those we have waited with. Spending eight minutes waiting for the same train has not changed the fact that we are strangers.

Once on the train we avoid eye contact; it is rude to be caught "staring." Most of us quickly plug into our musical contraptions, bury ourselves in a book, or gaze out the windows as if trapped in a prison; anything to be left alone. It is strange that as humans we need to feel loved, and yet avoid meaningful conversation, human contact, at all costs. Yet, even as I realize this, I sit alone, music ringing in my ears, writing.


Note: This is a guest post written by Xela. Hopefully more will come.

Blogs, Tweets, and Social Democracy

A little more than a month ago, my fiance took TRAX (Utah's local train transit) from her work to where she was going to meet me. She has a student pass, and didn't have her ID with her. She was stopped by a transit officer. He was rude, wrote her a ticket, made her miss her stop, and confiscated her pass. She was very upset about it, and we talked about it with my brother. He writes a blog about transit issues and parenting, and decided to do some research and write about her situation here. A few days later, he received a very polite email from the head of the transit police, who wanted to talk to her and discuss the situation. They got in touch, and she had a chance to tell him exactly what happened. He apologized for what happened, explaining that the officer would be reprimanded, and we were able to get the ticket rescinded and a new pass issued. A few weeks later, she saw the officer again on the train, and he approached her and personally apologized for being hostile.

With the election issues in Iran, Twitter has come to prominence as a way for Iranian Tweetizens to get the truth out about what's happening "on the ground" in Iran. I've even seen tweets warning to not retweet or post follow links of prominent Iranian Tweetizens, so that they can keep a lower profile. It's an interesting irony: They need their voice heard, but their identities unknown. How do you build a following without having any followers?
When Twitter planned some scheduled downtime last week (server upgrade? maintenance?), the canceled their original downtime and rescheduled it for 1:30 am in Iran. The middle of the afternoon in America. I think in EST, even though I live in Utah, because I do a lot with stocks and investments. I think the markets were closed, but barely. It was a beautiful case of human issues triumphing over blatant capitalism. Stocktwits and company had to wait, there was a crisis in Iran.

I haven't closely followed the situation in Iran; I've been thinking more about paying rent, finding a part-time job to sustain me while I get my trading and blogging figured out, and planning for an upcoming wedding. What I have noticed, though, is the new role that tweets are playing. Tweets are the new blogs, and blogs are the new. . . what? Superheros? Guardians of civic virtue?
Maybe it's from listening to the evocative rhymes of Ani DiFranco and Bob Dylan a lot lately, but my thoughts have returned again and again to this new medium. We never intended my brother's blog about the run-in with the transit police to be our medium for obtaining social justice. We were going to pursue the normal avenues: Call to get the address, present student ID to get ticket rescinded, submit formal complaint of mistreatment and request disciplinary action. All of that was made unnecessary by the favorable outcome obtained by my brothers blog.

Should we have to blog to obtain social justice? Should the Tweetizens of Iran have to tweet to bring freedom to their country, or to exercise freedom of speech? Of course not. The world is never quite as ideal we would like it to be, but it's the world we live in. It being the world it is, I'm just grateful we have blogs, and tweets, and whatever else it takes to make the world a slightly better place.