Some contrasts really struck me when I returned to the San Francisco airport this time.

In Merida, anywhere people congregate there will be a profusion of food carts and drink vendors. All sorts of snacks and refreshments, with people lounging around enjoying each other's company. Families with kids, affectionate sweethearts, Mayan ladies in traditional dress, old people alone and stylish teens in packs.

Arriving at the airport after my flight via Houston, I was hungry and thirsty, but anxious to get to the BART station for the trip to the East Bay. I probably should have stopped at one of the terminal food vendors, but I was a little stunned by the prices and the glitz of it all.

When I arrived at the BART station it occured to me that I had passed up all opportunity for a drink or a snack. I'd say the BART platforms and station were sterile, antiseptic, and inhuman, but I don't want to make it sound more warm and inviting than it really is.

In case someone had somehow managed to smuggle in food or water from elsewhere, a recorded threat looped now and then reminding the dull herd of waiting riders BART and the stark little mini-BART that runs between terminals are NO eating NO drinking areas. Not even a water fountain could be found (God forbid someone might dribble a little on the cold concrete floor after quenching their thirst). The entire long platform provided one little hard round bench to sit on. I needed to sit down, but when I made my way to it, the only remaining space was next to a suited businessman where he had laid his briefcase. I reached to scoot it into the center a little so there would be space to sit, and he grabbed it roughly and set it on his lap without looking at me. In Mexico I would have approached and asked "Se puede?" (May I?) and there would have been an exchange of pleasantries and a quick "Por favor, sientese!" (Please, have a seat!)

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