I promised I’d come back to Mexico

Of course, it’s taken me a while. The last time I was there was the summer of 1966, as an exchange student attending classes and seeing the sights, living in a crowded apartment with two university students and their sister who worked at the Volkswagen plant. There’s a story there, for sure, but it will have to wait for another time. I am heading to Oaxaca to hang out with a couple of friends for ten days, and it seemed as good a time as any to start blogging again.

Airport adventures: I arrived at Baltimore-Washington airport the requested three hours ahead of time, fearing long lines due to the government shutdown. There were two people ahead of me. Two people. I was probably through security before my husband was outside the airport limits. That was ok; it gave me time for a leisurely lunch, after finishing a movie I’d started the night before. Now I am in Atlanta waiting for my flight to Mexico City. The Atlanta airport is big, crowded, and lacks decent food choices, at least in the international terminal. I checked out a couple of places and ended up deciding I was not very hungry.

On the the other hand, there is currently an exhibit of “book art” that is exactly my cup of tea. Every few yards along each concourse there is a display of altered books, books on handmade paper, pop-up books, hand-printed books, even a gorgeous column of laser-cut Arabic calligraphy.