Or try to. As soon as we collected our luggage and found our way out of the bustling maze of the Aeropuerto Benito Juarez, the combination of heat and smog hit us. Even with a breather on, I felt as though I had been wrapped in an electric blanket that was set on high and dropped into the smoky haze of a forest fire. My clothing stuck to my sweating skin, I could taste the pollution in the air, and my lungs felt as tight and raw as the first time I’d tried smoking. And this was with the breather on. Pity the peasant who was too poor to afford one. El humo grande —the "big smoke"—would lay him low in seconds.