So the day was spent entirely at the mercy of the rather wonderful Mexican bus service. Leigh got off the bus somewhere in the middle of nowhere to climb a mountain, and so I was left with only the movies to keep me company. Eventually we rolled in to Mexico City; unlike silly places (like London), Mexico City doesn’t cram all of its long distance buses into a shed in the middle the town – it’s got a different station for each of the four cardinal points (pay attention, London), so getting in and out of the vast metropolis is fairly straight forward.
A short taxi ride to the North Bus Station, and a wonderful selection of buses to choose from heading up to the US border (unlike the ‘socialised’ bus service of the US, which gives you the option of Greyhound, Greyhound or (if you’re REALLY lucky) Greyhound.
The bus was due in the next day at 11am. The Greyhound bus I was planning to get to New York left at 1.45pm.
Everything going to plan. I love timetables, don’t you?