Mexico, D.F.

It seems that only the tourists call it Mexico City. The cool people say: D.F. (Districto Federal). And yeah, Mexico City is coooool. Cool people around. Cool looking places. Tijuana is light years away. Maybe that's just my rosy-tinted first impression, and tomorrow I'll find all the broken footpaths (sidewalks, pavements for all you non-NZ folk), homeless people, grime and dust.

I had about 44 kg of luggage, in two suitcases, including Maya's travel cot, and allsorts of accumulated schtuff. I'd say about 5 kg of that was the gigantic dossier that Aida handed me on Friday night. Probably more stuff than we'll need to apply for Maya's passport, but we're dotting all the i's and crossing all the t's, just to be on the safe side. I feel rather tentative carrying around these 14 months' worth of blood, sweat and tears (predominantly tears). Sat up late on Friday night reading some of these documents, our DIF reports, BM's DIF reports, final decree, etc etc. Everything has been stamped and signed to within an inch of its life.

Tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn, we'll be up and off to passport office, and should soon have an idea of how long it'll take before we're off and outta here.

Maya seems to take all this moving, flying, sleeping in strange places, in her stride. She is such a 'coqueta' - little flirt - and bats her eyelids at everyone, flashes cheeky grins, and does little dances, and offers people her half-chewed pieces of cheese.

Not long now...