The border had a historically low number of migrants — only two cars preceded me in line. Was this a sign of the times or just Wednesday evening doldrums? “This is low,” the immigration officer told me. “Weirdly low.”
A process that usually takes upwards of an hour, sometimes half a day, was over in five minutes. Just like that, I was back. I texted my parents, called my girlfriend, and informed them that I had indeed survived.
“What was it like?” they asked.
“Insane. Some of the best waves I’ve ever seen.”
“No, no… Mexico. Was it crazy? Chaotic? Were the people enraged?”
I thought about their questions and laughed. Mexico was the same as ever. Beautiful. Unique. Simple.
Much less scary than here.