As a traveler, the odds of running into someone you know in Mexico City aren’t very high. I only know about 10 people who live here, and last night I ran into four of them.
Diego was tying his shoe on the steps of the Spanish Cultural Center. We hadn’t seen each other since my abrupt departure from Pachuca, Hidalgo 18 months ago. Other integrantes of the Pachuca rock scene were waiting in line. “George is upstairs.”
George, and Diego were my best Mexican friends when I lived in Mexico. We met at the battle of the bands. They were the most notable group in the entire city. We were the most laughable. They appreciated the onstage antics of Los Extrangüeros, and regularly invited us to hang out with them. They were my link to the Pachuca party scene, heavy drinking with recent graduates of the school I taught at.
We drank Cuba libres on the roof of the Spanish Cultural Center. We shared the same jovial drinking customs that I’d never really understood, but always enjoyed doing.
I normally try to minimize the significance of ‘serendipity, it seems too mystical for me. Coincidences happen all the time, they only seem significant because our minds are searching for connections. When you see someone you know on a train, you find that to be amazing, instead of considering all the people you know who ride trains. Serendipity is a chance occurrence that resolves in a positive way. Coincidence resolves neutrally.
Panicky tourists often fret over Mexico City taxicab kidnappings. I often relate the point that there are 20 million people in this city, and even if there were 20 kidnappings a day, the chances of being abducted is still only one in a million.
The odds of my unexpected meeting were one in two million.
I’m going to start taking serendipity more seriously in Mexico City, because I only want positive accidents to happen to me, and I can’t afford a kidnapping ransom at this juncture in my life.
¡A huevo carnales!
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