Butterfly Effect
By Susan Ellis of Keylifejouenys
I've just got back from a trip to Puerto Vallarta Mexico, a favorite winter destination for me. What was a new experience was changing planes in Houston. I haven't been to the States for a while. It doesn't feel the same. When an action in one part of the world has an impact on events in another part of the world, they call it the butterfly effect.
Since we were changing planes in Houston on the outward journey, we went through American customs etc in Toronto. Traditionally I have always gone to ticket desks, immigration, customs, whatever, with my traveling companion. The world has changed. The American, now holding our passports, towered over us - two grey haired 60+ ladies - and demanded to know how we were related. "Oh we are just friends traveling together." We were then read the riot act about needing to come one at a time. I asked if he wanted me to go back to the line. He'd had his moment of power tripping and must have felt better as he let me stay. Hey, welcome to the US of A. I did not feel welcome as we walked past a mock up of the Statue of Liberty and an American flag in the middle of Toronto's airport.
At one point during security procedures, I was made to put my hands in my pockets and then have them tested for explosives residue. In days gone by it was our luggage which was inspected this way. Now I was wearing Tilley pants for heaven's sake - I had 4 pockets plus a secret one to choose from…not counting the ones at the back. Would the test recognize explosives on my hands if I had put my hands in two "clean" pockets?" I hope so; otherwise Mr. Tilley will do a roaring trade in terrorist apparel.
Having cleared security before leaving Canada it meant that our plane transfer in Houston just entailed getting from one terminal to another via a monorail train. But my brief in transit visit to the US had already been tarnished by one "little" man in big shoes. When one does not feel welcomed, why would one ever want to go back? Somewhere in the US a shop keeper, restaurateur or hotelier is going bankrupt for lack of business. This is the butterfly effect.
The sun and friendly people of Mexico soon made the stress of getting there disappear.
Mara is a young articulate Mexican woman working at the concierge desk in our resort in Puerto Vallarta. I have met her before on past visits and she is gracious and fully conversant in the English language.
Since I was on holiday it is natural to ask her where she planned to spend hers.
“I wanted to go to Canada again” she said. “I have been on vacation in Vancouver and loved it there. But now there is the visa problem so I don’t think I will try. So I will go to Cancun instead.”
I don’t know how much money she would have spend on hotels, restaurants and gifts in Canada on her holiday. Maybe more than I am spending in her country. I don’t suppose any Canadian company will be recompensed for lost business just as I see empty shops in Puerto Vallarta that thrived before Swine Flu closed down the tourist traffic here last year. I’ve been told 30,000 workers lost their jobs that day.
Meanwhile our Canadian Government no doubt is congratulating itself for stopping all those illegal immigrants from entering Canada from Mexico. Before returning to Mexico this year I was apprehensive that the Mexicans may have changed their friendly approach to Canadians. But they don’t seem to hold grudges. They are happy to see us spending money in their country again and not staying at home. I was aware nothing had changed, bless them. I’m not so sure I would have been so tolerant if the shoe had been on the other foot.
So Mira will vacation in her own country of Mexico this year although she would have loved to be a tourist in Canada. And in some slightly related story a Canadian shop keeper, restaurateur or hotelier is going bankrupt for lack of business. This is the butterfly effect.
The homeward journey again meant changing planes in Houston. I have decided America can do without me in the future. We were in-transit passengers after all, having got through one security check before getting on a plane and now were inside an American Airport. Our path took us to the great hall of all fear and suspicion. The words Homeland Security were printed in big letters. There were two streams of traffic - US citizens and residents and the rest. We started our snails paced zig zag journey. As our numbers increased they kept changing the flow of traffic and it seemed that we were always at the end of the line. After 45 minutes I saw a Stetson donned official and told her we were in-transit we had a plane to catch. A couple of others heard my statement and crowded over. Houston, we have a problem.
Many planes must have all arrived at the same time and no one had thought to open up a line for in-transit passengers. Or maybe they presumed all passengers would try to use this faster line. Everyone was moving so slowly and there were many idle staff, they could easily have checked all those with boarding passes and funneled us into another line. Our pleas were rewarded and we were successfully moved to the American Citizen line which was shorter but still requiring a long wait. Once our passports were checked we were on the run.
It was after 4pm. We were supposed to be at our next departure gate at 4pm. From then on every time we had to deal with a white male we were either ignored, patronized or purposely slowed down when seeking directions or going through more security checks. Every time we dealt with a black male we were shown respect, concern and helpfulness. Most of the smiling black men told us not to worry; all would be well, take a deep breath etc. We got the monorail from Terminal E to B and tried to hop on a golf cart - "my battery is dead." We started running. We had a gate number printed on our boarding cards - it had been changed - to the opposite end of Terminal B. We jumped on another golf cart. The young black driver happily transported us with relaxed smile, just knowing it would all be fine. We got to the gate. Another young black man was standing there, looked at our boarding cards and told us not to worry; they hadn't even called the flight yet. It had been delayed 20 minutes. We would never have got there in time otherwise. The two hours - a legal transfer time - would not have been enough. The officials in the hall of the Homeland Security wore Stetsons and I truly got the feeling that I was cattle being lined up for branding.
What is being gained by treating all people as if they are untrustworthy and definitely not welcomed? Why instill fear which contaminates the whole atmosphere? What don't I get? Will an American ask me do I personally know what the threat of terror feels like? Indeed I do. Not only have I seen a flattened Liverpool after German bombings but have been evacuated from railway stations and airports while officials searched for IRA bombs.
If I was entering the US for the first time as a tourist I might well learn that you stay away from white men and get your help from women and those with black skins. I might learn that Americans are not happy people. I might feel they are afraid of everything and everyone is potentially out to get them. I might get the impression that I am the problem for wanting to come to their country in the first place. I don't think I would want to go back. I wonder how many tourist dollars are being lost in the US at a time when jobs need to be created. The butterfly is certainly effected.
Finally we arrived in Toronto to a virtually empty immigration hall. A smiling young man looks at my custom declaration form.
"Where have you been?"
"Puerto Vallarta."
"And what did you spend your $4 on?"
"A fridge magnet."
"How many?"
"Just one." I added that since I had been to Puerto Vallarta before I didn't need to buy everything each time.
"No," he said "but one always has room for one more fridge magnet."
We both laughed. I was home. I felt safe and there was no tension in the air.
I only wish that Mara from the concierge desk at my resort in Puerto Vallarta felt free enough to fight for a visa and risk being welcomed into Canada as a tourist. Here are three countries with a free trade agreement. The Canadian Government does not want Mexicans, the Americans don't want anybody and the Mexicans are happy to say hola all round. Consequently Mexico will get my tourist dollar in the future. It’s the butterfly effect.
I've just got back from a trip to Puerto Vallarta Mexico, a favorite winter destination for me. What was a new experience was changing planes in Houston. I haven't been to the States for a while. It doesn't feel the same. When an action in one part of the world has an impact on events in another part of the world, they call it the butterfly effect.
Since we were changing planes in Houston on the outward journey, we went through American customs etc in Toronto. Traditionally I have always gone to ticket desks, immigration, customs, whatever, with my traveling companion. The world has changed. The American, now holding our passports, towered over us - two grey haired 60+ ladies - and demanded to know how we were related. "Oh we are just friends traveling together." We were then read the riot act about needing to come one at a time. I asked if he wanted me to go back to the line. He'd had his moment of power tripping and must have felt better as he let me stay. Hey, welcome to the US of A. I did not feel welcome as we walked past a mock up of the Statue of Liberty and an American flag in the middle of Toronto's airport.
At one point during security procedures, I was made to put my hands in my pockets and then have them tested for explosives residue. In days gone by it was our luggage which was inspected this way. Now I was wearing Tilley pants for heaven's sake - I had 4 pockets plus a secret one to choose from…not counting the ones at the back. Would the test recognize explosives on my hands if I had put my hands in two "clean" pockets?" I hope so; otherwise Mr. Tilley will do a roaring trade in terrorist apparel.
Having cleared security before leaving Canada it meant that our plane transfer in Houston just entailed getting from one terminal to another via a monorail train. But my brief in transit visit to the US had already been tarnished by one "little" man in big shoes. When one does not feel welcomed, why would one ever want to go back? Somewhere in the US a shop keeper, restaurateur or hotelier is going bankrupt for lack of business. This is the butterfly effect.
The sun and friendly people of Mexico soon made the stress of getting there disappear.
Mara is a young articulate Mexican woman working at the concierge desk in our resort in Puerto Vallarta. I have met her before on past visits and she is gracious and fully conversant in the English language.
Since I was on holiday it is natural to ask her where she planned to spend hers.
“I wanted to go to Canada again” she said. “I have been on vacation in Vancouver and loved it there. But now there is the visa problem so I don’t think I will try. So I will go to Cancun instead.”
I don’t know how much money she would have spend on hotels, restaurants and gifts in Canada on her holiday. Maybe more than I am spending in her country. I don’t suppose any Canadian company will be recompensed for lost business just as I see empty shops in Puerto Vallarta that thrived before Swine Flu closed down the tourist traffic here last year. I’ve been told 30,000 workers lost their jobs that day.
Meanwhile our Canadian Government no doubt is congratulating itself for stopping all those illegal immigrants from entering Canada from Mexico. Before returning to Mexico this year I was apprehensive that the Mexicans may have changed their friendly approach to Canadians. But they don’t seem to hold grudges. They are happy to see us spending money in their country again and not staying at home. I was aware nothing had changed, bless them. I’m not so sure I would have been so tolerant if the shoe had been on the other foot.
So Mira will vacation in her own country of Mexico this year although she would have loved to be a tourist in Canada. And in some slightly related story a Canadian shop keeper, restaurateur or hotelier is going bankrupt for lack of business. This is the butterfly effect.
The homeward journey again meant changing planes in Houston. I have decided America can do without me in the future. We were in-transit passengers after all, having got through one security check before getting on a plane and now were inside an American Airport. Our path took us to the great hall of all fear and suspicion. The words Homeland Security were printed in big letters. There were two streams of traffic - US citizens and residents and the rest. We started our snails paced zig zag journey. As our numbers increased they kept changing the flow of traffic and it seemed that we were always at the end of the line. After 45 minutes I saw a Stetson donned official and told her we were in-transit we had a plane to catch. A couple of others heard my statement and crowded over. Houston, we have a problem.
Many planes must have all arrived at the same time and no one had thought to open up a line for in-transit passengers. Or maybe they presumed all passengers would try to use this faster line. Everyone was moving so slowly and there were many idle staff, they could easily have checked all those with boarding passes and funneled us into another line. Our pleas were rewarded and we were successfully moved to the American Citizen line which was shorter but still requiring a long wait. Once our passports were checked we were on the run.
It was after 4pm. We were supposed to be at our next departure gate at 4pm. From then on every time we had to deal with a white male we were either ignored, patronized or purposely slowed down when seeking directions or going through more security checks. Every time we dealt with a black male we were shown respect, concern and helpfulness. Most of the smiling black men told us not to worry; all would be well, take a deep breath etc. We got the monorail from Terminal E to B and tried to hop on a golf cart - "my battery is dead." We started running. We had a gate number printed on our boarding cards - it had been changed - to the opposite end of Terminal B. We jumped on another golf cart. The young black driver happily transported us with relaxed smile, just knowing it would all be fine. We got to the gate. Another young black man was standing there, looked at our boarding cards and told us not to worry; they hadn't even called the flight yet. It had been delayed 20 minutes. We would never have got there in time otherwise. The two hours - a legal transfer time - would not have been enough. The officials in the hall of the Homeland Security wore Stetsons and I truly got the feeling that I was cattle being lined up for branding.
What is being gained by treating all people as if they are untrustworthy and definitely not welcomed? Why instill fear which contaminates the whole atmosphere? What don't I get? Will an American ask me do I personally know what the threat of terror feels like? Indeed I do. Not only have I seen a flattened Liverpool after German bombings but have been evacuated from railway stations and airports while officials searched for IRA bombs.
If I was entering the US for the first time as a tourist I might well learn that you stay away from white men and get your help from women and those with black skins. I might learn that Americans are not happy people. I might feel they are afraid of everything and everyone is potentially out to get them. I might get the impression that I am the problem for wanting to come to their country in the first place. I don't think I would want to go back. I wonder how many tourist dollars are being lost in the US at a time when jobs need to be created. The butterfly is certainly effected.
Finally we arrived in Toronto to a virtually empty immigration hall. A smiling young man looks at my custom declaration form.
"Where have you been?"
"Puerto Vallarta."
"And what did you spend your $4 on?"
"A fridge magnet."
"How many?"
"Just one." I added that since I had been to Puerto Vallarta before I didn't need to buy everything each time.
"No," he said "but one always has room for one more fridge magnet."
We both laughed. I was home. I felt safe and there was no tension in the air.
I only wish that Mara from the concierge desk at my resort in Puerto Vallarta felt free enough to fight for a visa and risk being welcomed into Canada as a tourist. Here are three countries with a free trade agreement. The Canadian Government does not want Mexicans, the Americans don't want anybody and the Mexicans are happy to say hola all round. Consequently Mexico will get my tourist dollar in the future. It’s the butterfly effect.
Posted by Key Life Journey's Blog at 3/13/2010 3:34 PM 
Categories: opinions and thoughts, Puerto Vallarta
Tags: Mexico Butterfly Effect Puerto Vallarta
Categories: opinions and thoughts, Puerto Vallarta
Tags: Mexico Butterfly Effect Puerto Vallarta
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