My window in Puebla, and my former window in Chicago.

I got on a plane in Chicago at 6 and arrived at 12 in México City. You know you're getting close to México City by the billowing smog that lies over the town. I got off a plane, got through immigration, and was on my way to booking a bus to Puebla.
This was very easy, and cheap. For 10 bucks, it was a smooth, cushy ride through mountains and tiny communities. I was feeling confident, everything was going exactly as I thought it would.



Then I arrived at the CAPU, which was nothing like I thought it would be.

It was the central bus terminal of Puebla, but it was nothing like the AICM (México City Airport).
As we all got off the bus, I saw that all our luggage was thrown into a large pile. Passengers were to stand behind a low fence and push through the the front to get the attention of an attendant. The attendants, rushed around grabbing bags and hoisting them over the fence, while everyone jockeyed for position and shouted out the describing features of their bags. I just waited till there were only a few left so I could point.

Then I bought my ticket for a taxi, with all my luggage in tow, I hustled out onto the curb. The taxi ticket system (like the streets, and the busses) works because people know what they are doing.
I, a la otra mano, don't know. So I accidentally cut a bunch of people and went directly to a taxi without going to the dispatcher first.
Meirda.
It was fine, it was fine, no drama. No drama, until I handed the direcions to the driver, who then asked, "Que fraccion?, Conozces que calle?"
Muchas meirda.
I showed him the directions, I showed him my ticket, I showed him the sentance that my homestay provider had written as directions.
At a stoplight, after looking very very thoughtful for a few moments, my driver gleefully shouted, "aaahh! Calle Jacarandas! Sí!" And then we were on our way to my new home.