We're not in Cabo anymore, Toto!

A large pellet of Berocca sank slowly in the glassy sky, its deep orange stain being steadily engulfed by the shadows of twilight. Reverse effervescence, how fitting for a return journey home. My friends and I bear each road bump in our own exhausted silence.

We pass a grotesque mannequin dressed in camouflage, awkward beside its reflective traffic cone partner. Squinting out of the grimy windscreen in the strip visible next to the driver’s head I could see the military checkpoint's green tent, visually refreshing after hours of only having a choice between the rental Jeep’s synthetic interiors and the edgeless, parched Mexican desert.

Men toting huge guns and torches waved us to stop next to a stack of red and yellow tyres, flashing now-familiar Colgate smiles. Their words still alien to us, we produce our passports as a peace offering. The curt manner of the day shift soldiers had gone with the sun, and two of the young men jabbered in beautifully rapid Spanish over our precious little booklets, discovering the gold emblems with tender fingers.

The men dutifully skimmed over our bags, my pillow falling victim to a brisk squeeze. They were done when one of the soldiers made eye contact with me and waved a fist over his open palm, showing brilliant teeth. I found paper and a red marker, and in the confused scramble of numbers and letters I realise, he's only a couple of years my senior. Seeing unexpected cheerfulness in his face, I felt a swift, desperate wish to speak his language. We’re interrupted, hurried by another soldier, and too quickly they're waving us off into the dusty gloom.

Continuing on to find a rest stop for the night, I slumped against the car door and thought about my short time with the young man who may never catch a whiff of durian stench caught in the fibres of his clothing days after eating it, or discover the slightness of a koala’s frame disguised by downy fur. I wonder how long his optimism will last, and I hope it lasts him forever.