Winter Isn't Coming

I promised I wouldn't do this religiously, didn't I? Well if it's good enough for George R. R. Martin, it's good enough for me. Hopefully there will be fewer deaths in this though. Life in Mexico is still rather enjoyable overall. As long as you aren't in a hurry you'll probably be fine; if you are though, you'll probably have a stroke.
Since we last spoke, I have been meditating on how to convey what daily life feels like in this frankly baffling place, of which André Breton allegedly declared "There is no need for our movement in this country", and the best I can come up with is that it is sort of like living in a really crap fantasy RPG. There are ancient temples and incredible villains and I'm told if one ventures down to Veracruz, plenty of blighters who fancy themselves as witches and wizards, dispensing advice to weary travelers. In cantinas (where I swear everyone is always sitting in exactly the same place), when you ask the guy behind the bar (still polishing that same glass) what there is, he will tell you just one thing, even though there is clearly more than that. If you ask again he will just repeat that one same thing. I don't think I've leveled up enough to get more options yet. Also, in order to get coffee in school I often have to get a cup, coffee and milk and sugar in 3 separate rooms at opposite ends of the school before I can put them all together and get my 'teacher potion'. All we need now is a ladder with a goat stuck halfway up it for no reason and for ALL TIME. Any day now.

In other news, I got my resident permit, so I am now officially legal. Being congratulated on this by Mexicans was not without its ironies. The new flat still feels like a good decision. Ramón is very much his own dog, not particularly needy and much more of an ally than a pet - basically he's just like Jon Snow's direwolf, which I feel like you really need in Mexico, even if there's never anything that might properly be described as winter. That said though, the flat's hot water is remarkably reliable and it does get chillier than you think here, especially up in the mountains where the school is. However, since it's still generally far warmer than back home right now (whilst all the Mexicans think it's freezing), I rather fancy I am garnering an image as some kind of man of steel, which is just the sort of rep the Supply Teacher needs to deal with those pesky wildlings cartels 7th graders.
Speaking of which, I have gathered quite the regular band of detention chaps now, and a meaner bunch of contenders you couldn't possibly wish to find. Oh sure, you could find a meaner bunch in about 5 minutes in this town, but you couldn't possibly wish to. I must admit, I am not very good at detention. (I think this is why they like me so much.) However, I do not feel that they should merely pass the time we spend together each Friday afternoon engaged in mindless frivolity. It is an opportunity for education, and I presume to call myself an educator. Being detention, there must surely also be an element of moral correction. That is why there is now at least a small contingent of pupils at Northridge School Mexico who are familiar with the fundamentals of cricket and how to make a passable G&T - only the very basics: Gordon's with lemon, Hendrick's with cucumber, Bombay at a push but never, ever Beefeater (consumed with regrettable frequency in this neck of the woods).

Whilst we're on the theme of refreshments, I rather think next time I will have to talk about Mexican food. For now though, I'll just leave you with this gem from today: you haven't seen cute until you've seen a bunch of Mexican primary school kids sing America's 'A Horse with No Name'. For once, these guys were unremittingly adorable.

An Unexpected Journey

So it took me a little while to get round to this. What did you expect? It took me long enough to decide between 'Tweed in Tenochtitlan' and 'Tea in Tenochtitlan', all the while conscious that whichever I chose, I would have an acronym problem.
Perhaps the main reason it has taken a few weeks to get to blogging is that it has taken this long for me to process that I am really here, seemingly all of a sudden despite the weeks of preparation, no longer in the Shire but in a strange and faraway land without so much as a stop in Rivendell (sorry Atlanta airport - you just don't cut it). At first it was all deeply confusing. I still haven't worked out how the post works, or succeeded in getting a haircut (when do those places open?). I am also living in a strange, US-style suburban neighbourhood where everyone drives and nobody speaks to their neighbours. It could be LA, except the rich people speak Spanish too (I imagine). On my road there are two shopping malls but no bar: that is no place to live. To make matters worse, rich Mexicans seem to enjoy paying the US price for things. I needed somewhere more down-to-earth.
Things are however, looking up. I am soon to move into new digs nearer the centre with actual life, chilled housemates (not least of whom is a dog named Ramón) and a double bed, all for less money. I have also acquired a pipe. Little by little, things are coming together. The next job is to get a bike, then I will be unstoppable.

As for my job, it turns out I am more of a what in England would be referred to as a 'cover supervisor'. This means no lesson planning, which I am obviously really struggling to adapt to. Expectations from the classes' permanent teachers for getting anything done seem pretty low, so as long as no one dies I think I'm sweet. One of my other duties is detention, so I'm getting to know my regulars pretty well. I think we may have the makings of the 'Cambridge Cartel' right there - give me a year and I could bring a whole new meaning to the term 'supply teacher'.

Many of the teachers are pretty cool too. I recently played pool with some of them after work in a place on Insurgentes (the city's main north-south thoroughfare). Predictably I was awful to start with and became marginally better when alcohol was added. The local brew is called 'Victoria' and isn't half bad. The place was very much a 'pool bar' with very few women and lots of middle-aged machismo on display. Let's just say I was somewhat conscious of wearing pastel blue chinos and pink socks. One of the Mexican teachers, JJ (basically a dude - middle-aged with spiky hair and a goatee, and a laugh like a minor Bond villain), was a regular so it was cool. Probably.
The music of choice in the place seemed both incongruous and appropriate at once, starting off with tunes from what I guess must be the current Top 40 (I never know) and descending ultimately into '70s and '80s cheese, which generally seemed to arouse the middle-aged machismo in a manner which I wasn't sure made me more or less relaxed about my attire. The DJ, if that's what we shall call him, definitely appeared to be enjoying himself at any rate. So much so in fact, that we were treated to two different versions of 'Never Gonna Give You Up', which even I thought was a bit much. His real coup came however, when he played a Bee Gees medley interspersed with samples from Hot Chocolate's 'You Sexy Thing'. Predictably at this point, the crowds went wild. Calm down Mexico, calm down.