Last week I began telling the story of one of my more adventurous trips to Mexico. What started as a predictable business trip quickly turned into a dangerous encounter with hostile locals. My driver was in a shouting match with the hostiles while I was preparing for the worst. If you didn’t read part one of this post it check it out here.
A lot was being said between my driver and the hostiles. My Spanish is limited to being able to find the restroom and asking for more beer, so I really had no idea what was being said. It turns out my driver was in heated negotiations. After what seemed liked an eternity the yelling stopped, my driver reached down under his seat, and pulled out a wad of cash. The cash was handed over to the what appeared to be the leader of the group, who yelled something to his cohorts and they all began laughing. The group in front of the van moved out of the way and let us pass.
We made our way to the coast and enjoyed the seafood dinner that I had been looking forward to since leaving Mexico City. At the dinner table we discussed the event over beer and tequila. The beer was good, the food was great, and the tequila was fantastic. The sun had set and we had an hour drive to the airport. My colleagues and I loaded into our van and rode in silence, in the dark, to the airport. The tequila took the edge off the events of the day but we were all concerned that something could happen. This time I had a plan, and a steak knife unknowingly donated by the restaurant.
The rest of the trip was uneventful. No cash was needed, nor was a knife. I ditched the knife in the trash can, O.J. style, and caught the last flight out to Mexico City- never to return to el Chapo.