That scary movie

On our way back from Mazatlán, Mom and I watched a thriller movie starring Liam Neeson.  I don't even remember the title in Spanish, so there's no way I'll know it in English.  At any rate, he was an ex-intelligence something or other who was a very protective divorced father.  His daughter lies to him about studying in France for the summer when she'll actually be following some band across Europe.  He finally consents when she promises to call every night and when she lands from the international cell phone he gives her.

Well, while in the airport, she and her friend meet a cute boy, end up sharing a taxi with him and he invites them to a party.  After he leaves, he calls his friends who eventually come and kidnap them.  The good news is that the dad is on the phone with her when they come so he knows what's up.  It's a decent movie, at least in Spanish.  However, when you're a girl (okay, so I'm a big girl, but sometimes I still feel 16) traveling to a big place like Mexico City, alone, this movie isn't exactly what you want playing in your head.  I'm a decent traveler.  I'm an independent gal if you ever met one.  But I've also been in Culiacán where my friend base was pre-made by Shania and I could trust everyone I met because they already knew her.  Being that comfortable in Culiacán and then seeing that movie made me realize that I still have to be on my guard (or as Vicki says- "Be aware of your surroundings").

So, I'm rolling two suitcases and juggling my always-too-big-backpack and purse through all these gates, passing taxi stands and who knows what else.  I'm in a hurry, people; please don't offer me something for sale.

I get to G, or should I say where G should be, but the arrow pointing to the left goes to an elevator.  That seems strange.  Everything else is on this level.  However, if I keep going straight, I'll have to go out the exit doors.

Hmm.

I try the elevator.

As I get in, there's a guy around my age who asks me what floor.  I tell him my issue and he pokes his head out saying G should be that way.  I explain further and he understands saying we'll look upstairs.  Enter scary music and scenes from the movie flashing in my mind.

The conversation starts.  He says he's never flown internationally before.  I have lots of thoughts.  Is this because he assumed from my accent that I was flying here internationally?  Why is he telling me this?  Is he arriving here from another country?

Through more (yet cautious) conversation, he tells me he's going to Italy.  We talk about my stay here and he compliments my Spanish (red flag red flag!).  We get off the elevator and he offers to help me find gate G.  Thanks, I guess.  

We pass a money exchange and he talks about the rate.  I'm thinking he wants me to exchange money to steal it!  Who am I?!

We get to Puerta G and I thank him, telling him I'm meeting a friend (only I said amigo instead of amiga) at Starbucks.  He smiles, tells me to have a good trip and turns the other way.

Whew!  I made it out alive!  (Though there's still a chance someone will be waiting by the taxis, right?)  

I walk up to the Starbucks, much like the one from Puerta A, and no Ashley.  I have a minor movie panic attack, thinking someone else has kidnapped her!

This, by the way is so unlike me, but so many people (including the US government) had been so worried and protective about Mexico City that I guess it got to me!

Turns out, not only does this airport have a thousand Starbucks, it even has them within 15 feet of each other.  Ashley was just around the corner!  Another whew!

I ran as well as I could with all my luggage and we were pumped to see each other.  I was dehydrated from not having had any water that day, so we bought some bottles and made our way to the taxi stand.