Independencia -- September 16ish

I got myslef a chamba (job)! I knew I would turn out to be a Cambridge Man... more because of my CELTA rather than actually setting a foot into Cambridge. But now there seems to be something else: The school I just started teaching for is called the Cambridge Academy. It is a language school with a friendly, relaxed atmosphere. I'll be teaching beginners ages 13-16 on Saturdays, so who knows whether I'll get to have some of that friendly, relaxed atmosphere in my classroom. But we'll see... can't be that bad. Pay is okay. 

It seems like I'm in the fifty pesos club. Fifty pesos (somewhere under 5 US-Dollars) is what I pay for a night, as well as what I spend on a day for food. At the same time it is also what I get paid for an hour of work. Comparatively, my worst paid job ever(!!!) but with these standards certainly something to get by on. Unfortunately it is only one class I get to teach in a week, so there is still lots of slots in my schedule to be filled up. But first of all I want to celebrate.Getting a job is one thing, but hey: WE'RE INDEPENDENT!!! (finally)

Mexican Independence is something not to be missed! A national holiday, yet it is celebrated in anticipation, like Christmas, Mardi Gras, or New Years. The actual holiday was on Friday, but you couldn't find an occupied office even on Wednesday. On Thursday we started out with a fiesta at the hostel, then went out to meet the crowd in the streets. Two constants at the hostel, Carlos and Ixmana, a Mexican couple dedicated to teach visitors life as it's supposed to be lived, had all of us throw together 50 pesos (there again) to get beer, mescal, cook lots of food, and throw an independence party that is still searching for its equal.

When I got back from teaching my sub-lesson, the kitchen was decorated with green-white-red banderas, and the food was just being served. The name of the soup was pozole, and there was lots of it, plus salad, and a load of spices for self-seasoning. It was so amazing: almost like a freak-show version of an American Thanksgiving. We had about 30-40 people sitting at a long table, half of which Mexicans, the others from Germany, USA, Canada, Slovenia, Kenya, Israel, Hungary, etc. having dinner, beer, and vibrant conversations. Later the mescal was being passed around, along with a few joints. Not surprisingly, the general mood reached a new peak. But then it got even better.

After all, Mexicans know how to party. Another influential group from Mexico City, four girls and a guy, rocked the party. They had previously attracted attention to themselves by playing cards on the roof while bursting out in loud laughter. At the mother of all parties, however, they made sure that everybody danced, even those who had previously thought they couldn't. (Man, how could anyone NOT want to dance at such an occasion.) Mescal, Salsa, Beer, Merengue, another Merengue, and back to Salasa, more beer, and another dance. You could hear people yelling from outside, accompanied by loud shots (only firecrackers...) so our group decided to finish the beer and dance to only one more song (or two), and head out.

Outside the atmosphere was something like a mix of New Years in Amsterdam and First of May in Berlin. Colors, excitement, smoke, lights flashing, things exploding, people laughing, horns honking. People were lighting firecrackers left and right. Kids were running around, spraying shaving-ream on everyone. It wasn't even late, 10:30 only, but it felt like the peak was just ahead.

We walked down to the Zócalo, the center square, where the crowd got so thick it was hard to stay together. On a stage a band was playing, people were moving to the music even though the crowd prevent you from actually dancing. Then around eleven the real (professional) fireworks were lit. Above the church the sky exploded in different colors, which went on forever. And still, there was more to come...

Around midnight (actually, it was much later than that, but we're in Mexico, right) the President (actually the mayor or maybe the governor of the state) stepped out on the balcony, and held a flaming speech. In fact, President Fox might have said some powerful words himself, but who wants to watch TV, when you can actually stand under a balcony where a fat guy yells with all his might into a microphone, and you still can't make out the words because of the loud cheering and clapping around you. I don't even think he was that popular, but hey, what can you do on the Day of Independence?

The celebration was just too powerful to escape from going with the crowd. As I was trying to interpret el presidente, while considering my current situation here in Oaxaca, I suddenly realized what made those people cheer so much. The guy took the opportunity to say whatever needed to be said, not matter the losses. Whatever he said, it had to be something along these lines:

"Dear Friends, Compadres, and other Mexicans! Today we are celebrating our Independence. Independence from outside forces, who tried to limit our freedom to do as we please. Indeed, they tried. But they failed. Failed miserably, because in the long run you cannot defeat the ever striving Mexican spirit for the right to have a kick-ass celebration, followed by a holiday, followed by a long weekend. We -- and I mean all of us out here -- are truly Mexicans, if we just want to be. So go ahead, and raise the Red-White-Green and be proud. Because a paper, or the lack thereof, has never stopped anyone from living out his independence! And where else could we live it out, than right here in our beautiful country. VIVA MÉXICO, CABRONES!!!"

After these truly heart-warming words, I couldn't help but scream "Viva México!" along with everyone else, and go on celebrating my independence, as well as my starting life as a Mexican, just like I had up to then, but with much more intensity. Eventually all good things happened, and it turned out to be a party that'll be remember for quite a while.

Typical Case of Mañana -- September 9

Déja vu... It's Friday again, and still no jobby-job on the horizon. 

Or what am I saying? I've gotten soooo many offers I can't even believe it. Mostly, however, they are just other rejections, expressed in the agreeable Mexican way of "well, maybe". Generally they are amazed at the fact that I can (theoretically) teach German. There I am with an expensive and reputable CELTA certificate, yet nothing for German, and they want me to teach German.

Picture that, a German class... how exciting! But they'll have to organize and advertise a class first. By the way, do I happen to have any German textbooks with me, cause they don't have any... but it would be great! And English? No, nothing for English teachers, sorry... At one university they are willing to give me a German class on Saturdays, but first they have to get over their change of administration. Right now nothing is certain, I should stop by tomorrow...

The other thing I keep hearing is that I'll need an FM3, if I don't have one yet. Can the University help me to get one? No, sir. I'm just realizing how unusual it was for the UMAR to do that. So I have started looking into the requirements for it. So far it seems overwhelmingly complicated, along with the classic run-around: The universities send me to the government office, they send me back to the university. In between I find out that my certificate and my degree needs an "apostilla" which must be something like authenticate it. But mostly I keep hearing "mañana, mañana, proxima semana..."

So I'll have one more weekend for chilling out. But now it doesn't bother me that much any more. I found a place to stay at the Hostal Santa Isabel. Sure the place is on "travelers' standard", that is "Mexican travelers' standard" to be exact, but it only costs 50 pesos a night if I stay for a month. On the other hand, the youth hostel is a place for all kinds of interesting people and minds. Many peace-watchers on the way to, or returning from, Chiapas. Others are regular backpackers from France, Italy, Germany, the Basque country and the US. A lot from Switzerland. Some of them are thinking of staying longer, learning Spanish in Guatemala, or volunteering in Chiapas. Others are long-time travelers from way up North, or down South, making and selling jewelry, playing music, etc. The kitchen is a constant place of community, people preparing food, hanging out, etc. Somehow it is reminiscent of Tucson, with a little more Mexican touch in it. For a while certainly not a bad place.

Just yesterday I tried to make a Hungarian lecsó (a tomato based stew with lots of paprika, onions, and eggs and hot sausage in it) which turned out to be PICANTISSIMO! I ended up using what looked like the plain white peppers I knew from Hungary... only that these so called chiles gueros were a lot spicier. It wasn't bad though. The Mexicans liked it, the others not so much. The chorizo, however, was completely what a good lecsó needed, and it is safe to say that it's easier to make a good lecsó in Mexico than in Germany.

Alone the market is crazy. Kinda like a mix of a rich food-market (meat, fish, dairy, fruit and vegetables of an insane variety), a clothing market like the Chinese markets in Budapest, plus anything and everything that human mind can conceive: Raw leather, toilet-bowls, tools of all kinds, handicrafts and souvenirs, hard liquor, music, plus everything else. On the outskirts it still looks like a classic "market" with space in between the stands. Moving closer, however, one finds himself in a maze of densely packed goods, where every square inch is utilized. On the top several layers of plastic creates an illusion of being indoors. The stands are all so similar in appearance, that it's impossible to relocate one after you've left it behind. At least for the market-novice. Nevertheless, the quality of the goods seem to be okay, and as far as prices go, they are unbeatable!

So I guess I will go ahead and pay a visit there again, to get something for dinner tonight. Don't know what I want to cook yet, but I'm sure it'll be tasty.

Rejected! -- September 1

Today I climbed a mountain, swam around an island, and caused some deep impressions on the Director of the English Department at the Universidad del Mar, which I wouldn't have thought possible. Nevertheless, I am still unemployed, and trapped in Puerto Angel for the rest of the week. 

What happened really? Well, after traveling for three days, I finally made it into this tiny nest, called Puerto Angel, where the campus of the UMAR is located. From different sources I have heard that it's an awesome place to live and a wonderful place to work. They pay more than just a decent salary, take care of the costs of the immigration-procedure, and they are even hiring at this moment. Sounds too good to be true? Well, none of these rumors turned out to be false. Yet...

So I got up this morning to show my best looking face to my prospective employer. I showered, shaved, took my best clothes to the nearest (the only) lavenderia in town to have them ironed. After being told that they didn't have the required equipment, and in fact it's pretty hard to find an iron in the nearer vicinity, I took them back and decided that they weren't that badly wrinkled for a job-interview. I took a cab to the University, and started looking for the English department.

It wasn't hard to find, and the Director even had time to talk to me. She seemed very interested to begin with, said that there were four(!) openings at the moment, and when I mentioned CELTA she got seemingly excited. I couldn't believe it. This was exactly what they had predicted us on the last day of the course. Immediately she got into explaining what kind of documents I would need for my FM3 (the work permit), and that the University was certainly going to arrange all the paperwork for me.

'Something is fishy,' I was thinking to myself. This was going WAAAAY too smoothly. And I proved to be right. I was told I had to look somewhere else when she discovered my citizenship. GHHRRR!!! I'm still SOOO pissed at this! The University has a policy not to hire anyone who is not a citizen of an "English-speaking country." So we both were really sorry about this, she even apologized for assuming I was from Ireland. Yeah I know, I have this slightly repressed Irish twang(!)

English speaking country, my sunburned behind! Whatever is that supposed to mean? I guess the USA is out of question as it refused to declare an official language. Anyone from Barbados on the other hand would be welcome, as it is without a doubt English speaking. I guess I'd have more chances of employment if I was from Ghana! Of course I tried to convince her that I was from an English speaking part of Germany (not entirely incorrectly, meaning the American occupied zone), but she took it as a humorous attempt on my side to deal with rejection. I even asked her if I could be hired as a German teacher, teaching English on the side. I'm sure she would have, if there had been at least a German department. There is French one -for what I don't know- and they are working on a Chinese department, but no German.

Oh, well. Anyway, this is how things have gone. So after my fruitless consultation I decided to go back to Oaxaca and visit the universities there. But that has to wait until Sunday, as we're almost in the weekend anyway. If I hit the road first thing next morning, I'll get there Friday late afternoon. So I might as well stay by the ocean, in this tourist village that has seen its better days a long time ago. I've got everything here: cheap sea-food, an awesome surf, a supposedly nude-beach, which is just as nude as the main beach: devoid of people. The only thing it lacks are tourist. I just might be the only one right now. Feels kinda sweet after Playa del Carmen.