Friday night, Oct. 5. Temperature: 18 degrees Celsius/ 64 degrees Fahrenheit

I hear rain falling on the roof, a lovely sound.

I got home late, close to 9 p.m. tonight. The blogging class I’m teaching to maestras y maestros at the Centro de Idiomas from 5 to 7 on Friday evenings ended early when the internet went down. We decided to take a break and see if internet access would be restored. (The coordinator, Miguel Angel Murrieta, has thoughtfully arranged for us to have coffee and cookies during our breaks.) And sure enough, the internet came back up briefly, giving us false hope, and then went down again. So we called it a day.

After that, I took a taxi from the school to the Chedraui supermercado closest to my apartment. When I emerged from the store about an hour later, the sidewalks and streets were wet. I don’t know if it had rained or if it was due to persistent chipi-chipi, the gentle drizzle that falls here, more a sprinkle or a mist than actual rain. I tried to catch another taxi home, not because I objected to walking but because I was heavy laden with groceries—my payday splurge—and my satchel of books that I carry to and from school each day.

But could I hail a taxi? No. In this city that has somewhere between 3,000 and 3,500 of them—countless of which passed me by as I trudged home—I couldn’t get a taxi because they were all taken by others. Only when I turned down my street, Guerrero, did two taxis appear with backseats empty. But it was too late by then. Ah, well. “All part of life’s rich pageantry,” as Inspector Clouseau would say.
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At noon today, there was a meeting of faculty and staff on the topics calidad and mejorar continuo—quality and continuous improvement. (Déjà vu all over again. CNM is using a similar quality perspective for its accreditation process.) I dropped into the meeting late and left early because I was preparing for my blogging class, but while I was there, I took these pictures.



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I was sick with a cold for three days this past week. I taught my classes, but on Tuesday and Wednesday, I left immediately afterward. I slept a lot, and today I feel cured.

Margarita—and other Mexicans—call this the season of contagion, la estación de contagio. The phrase has an ominous but somewhat romantic tone, bringing echoes of the winter of my discontent and one hundred years of solitude and love in the time of cholera.

Here in Xalapa, Margarita explained, September brings cooler weather—although the change has been barely perceptible to me so far—and sickness. And it's true: I counted five out of 16 students in my first class who were coughing and sneezing and blowing their noses along with me on Wednesday.
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Yesterday afternoon around 1:30 as I left the Centro de Idiomas for home, I saw a man sleeping on the street, stretched out full length close to the curb and adjacent to a portable stand where produce, herbs, and tortillas are sold. I assume he was one of the people who worked at the stand. I was amazed by the sight of him. I had to wonder(1) how could he sleep on the hard surface of the street? He didn’t seem drunk; his repose seemed deliberate, and the people sitting next to the stand seemed unperturbed by his presence or his slumber. (2) How did he dare fall asleep on the street knowing that pedestrians—let alone sleepers—are the targets of many taxistas and other drivers who seem hell-bent on scourging the streets of them? And (3) how could he rest while people walked past, beside, and around him?

I am always grateful to people like him whose behavior or appearance is so very different, in a harmless way, from what is normal, accepted, customary. I appreciate that they jerk me out of life's "terrible dailiness," and I admire their bravery, or bravado. I fondly remember the first time I saw a young punk-rocker sporting a pink 6-inch spiked mohawk and the time I saw an overweight middle-aged balding man waiting outside the Albuquerque Airport who was wearing Little Bo Peep garb, minus the bonnet and staff, lifting a hammy leg in white tights to rest his foot on a bench while he puffed on a cigar.

Maybe I like these people for the same reason I like mimes: they ask us to look at them. And they enterain us.

I wrote the entry below soon after the Mexican Independence Day celebration but hadn’t managed to post it—and the accompanying photos—yet. But today, during a club de conversation—a one-hour session of conversation for which students of English sign up and attend as assigned by their teachers—I discovered that one of the participants, Abigail, is a drama student and a mime whom I saw perform on September 15 and who in fact I photographed and wrote about. And that is my motivation for finally posting the entry and photos below:

On Saturday, September 15, Margarita and her 9-year-old daughter Miriam picked me up at my apartment, and we walked down (and I do mean down) steep Clavijero Street to Parque Juárez, which was already crowded with people milling around or sitting on benches or standing in one of seven or eight different food lines to be served a variety of different dishes—courtesy of the state government of Veracruz.


We didn’t eat—I was still full from la comida I’d eaten at Pery’s—but we watched one of several mimes who drew large crowds in the park that evening. The mime we watched was a young woman dressed and coiffed like Marie Antoinette who had us all spellbound, marveling first at her statue-like stillness and then at her slow, expressive movements of face and body.

An aside: Not long ago, Albuquerque’s city council passed a busking ordinance. Maybe when I get back, there’ll be mimes in Old Town and downtown and in the parks and on Central.

I always enjoy the opportunity to look at people—really look, really stare—because I find humans to be such fascinating creatures and because scrutinizing them is not allowed in polite society. We can look long and hard at children, but staring at others past the toddler stage is unacceptable social behavior. I remember taking a portrait-and-figure-drawing course in my 20s, and it was a freeing feeling to be able to intently study another person’s face and body. And this is what mimes invite us to do: to study them.

After that, Margarita, Miriam, and I wove our way through the crowds in the park and headed toward the cathedral and the palacio estatal (palace of the state government of Veracruz) located on opposites sides of the street. The streets of city’s center had been cordoned off, and people started to gather in front of the stage and runway erected for the entertainment to come.

We found a prime spot near the grandstand where the governor of the state of Veracruz, Fidel Herrera Beltran, and other dignitaries and their families would sit. From there, we watched some of the entertainment, beginning with a young woman named Sandra, a local talent who sang several songs. She was followed by three young women who sang operatic pieces; and then a danzon group, made up of six or seven couples in their late 60s and 70s who danced with rhythm and dignity.

At that point, we decided to find a place to sit and have something to drink. But as we pushed our way through the crowd—by now it was after 9, and the street was wall-to-wall people—I got separated from Margarita and Miriam. I assessed my chances of finding them again in the swelling crowd as nil, but I was determined to stay for el grito at 11:00 p.m. alone or in company. Then about a half hour later, almost miraculously, Margarita and Miriam found me, and we went for that drink.

We found a Cuban café, Cabanias, with tables outside in the callejon (alley) where Margarita ordered tequila served that night in three different shot glasses sporting the patriotic red, white, and green colors of Mexico's flag: the red one containing tomato juice and chile, among other ingredients; the "white" one containing tequila; and the green one containing lime juice. As for me, I had a glass of dry red wine.

When it got to be 10:45, we headed back to the centro to hear the grito de dolores—the cry of pain—first uttered by Miguel Hidalgo on September 16, 1810, and that over time has become a shout of pride: Viva Mexico! [If you’d like to see a very close facsimile of what I saw and heard last Saturday, view this YouTube video, which shows the stirring ritual as it took place in Mexico City at the same time that Xalapa’s celebration took place. In Mexico City, Mexico’s president Felipe Calderon was the principal actor, but in Xalapa, it was Veracruz state’s governor, Fidel Herrera Beltran.

As I listened to the people around me shout, “Viva…” in response, I could hear their pride in their mexicanidad, their country, their history, their culture, and I was moved by this demonstration of their national pride.

After the grito ritual, the fireworks show began—with great blossoms of red, white, and green exploding over our heads. We were so close, at times we could feel the rain of ashes in our eyes. And then, when the fireworks ended and the bands—the Banda Que Manda among them—were about to start playing, people behind us started pushing. It was a scary feeling, like being caught in an undertow while walking at the edge of the ocean. And there were little kids and babies in the crowd, on the shoulders or in the arms of their parents. Luckily, someone moved a barricade, and we were able to move around a large RV that otherwise might have become the windshield against which we bugs might have been squashed.

Once past the crush of people in the centro, we walked home through streets still full of kids, their parents, their grandparents, people still partying, people done partying and sitting in doorways, and people like us wending our way home.

This past week, I've been a guest presenter in other teachers’ classes at the Centro de Idiomas, talking to the students about New Mexico and the U.S. and giving students a chance to interact with a native English speaker. It’s been fun to talk with students and to hear their questions. In several classes, students have asked about the UFOs sighted around Roswell and whether I believe in UFOs. Students are interested in the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta when I tell them about it, and they have questions about the Trinity Site where the first atomic bomb was exploded (“Is there a big hole there?” “Is it still radioactive?”).

But some students have asked harder questions, like “What do you think about the wall your country is building on the border?” Then there is the fact—no news to them—that the land that is now New Mexico used to belong to México until the U.S.-Mexican War and the sale of a large parcel of land (called the Gadsden Purchase in the U.S., the Venta de la Mesilla here in Mexico) made it U.S. territory. These events were the beginning of the conflicted relations between Mexico and the U.S., and they continue to be conflicted today.
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During one of my classes in which we were talking about intercultural communications—which involves a lot more than simply speaking the language of another country—I asked students to describe the stereotypical American. “Go on,” I said, “I can take it.” And here’s the description I got:

• cold
• rude
• impatient
• thinks s/he’s better than other people.

I took the opportunity to give one possible explanation for people from the U.S. being perceived as impatient—outside of the possibility that many of us are in fact impatient people, used to fast, automatized service—by explaining that in the U.S., we are accustomed to waiting in lines to be served, and the rule is “first come, first served.” Anyone who cuts into the line or pushes to the front is quickly castigated and sent to the rear.

I witnessed a vivid example of this rule in action when I was standing in line to board the plane from ABQ to Dallas on my way here. The lines were long, and as I approached the X-ray machine to have my carry-on luggage scanned, a man hurried up to one of the security people and evidently asked to pass through security ahead of the line because he was about to miss his plane. In a loud voice, the official told the man, “Only if you want to ask each one of these people in line if you can go ahead of them.” Since there were probably 200 of us in line, this would hardly have sped him on his way in time to make his plane. Frankly, I would have let the guy through, but the security official clearly took the “first come, first served” rule seriously.

But in Mexico, the rule is different. I have been at pharmacies and supermarkets where people pushed ahead of me or stood beside (not behind) me and began talking to the clerk even while I was being helped. And the clerk has stopped and responded to that person while I waited. With the “first come, first served” rule ringing in my head, I would have been tempted to inquire, “Who is being impatient in this case—me or the person who demands the help of the clerk while I’m being helped?”

Thank goodness I had been prepared for this situation during the Fulbright Teacher Exchange Program Orientation last August, or I might have responded as an “impatient” American: “Excuse me. I was first in line. Please wait your turn.”

Craig Storti’s presentation on “The Art of Crossing Cultures” was the highlight of the orientation for me not only because he was such an engaging speaker but because what he said and demonstrated and had us role-play has been so useful to me ever since—to wit, the cultural rules I’ve grown up with are merely my culture’s rules. Other cultures go by other rules. We grow up believing strongly that our rules are the right way to do things, but in fact they are simply our way of doing things. The rules that people from other cultures act on aren’t necessarily wrong, only different.

In Mexico, the rule is that everyone gets a little help, a little service, at the same time. No one is ignored. Each person’s needs are important, and in fact some people’s needs just might be more important than others at a particular point in time.

That’s why intercultural communication is so complex—because it involves understanding the unspoken rules of the culture which govern people’s behavior.

And lest I leave the wrong impression, in many large stores where there are long lines, Mexican people wait in line without jumping ahead. But when the line is short, the other rule seems to apply.

Hurricane Dean landed on Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula this morning. Both Margarita and Pery have told me that Xalapa will probably get a lot of rain out of it, but that's all. But in the past, Pery said, the heavy rain has closed the school for a couple days.

I haven't yet bought a cell phone for local use. I was concerned at first with being able to communicate with family and friends in the U.S., and I solved that problem with Skype. In fact, with Skype, I was able to be part of a family party on Saturday night: my son Shane took his laptop and webcam to the party, and I was able to see and talk to everyone there. It was great! O what a brave new world the internet has opened to us!

And now that classes are about to begin, I need to be able to communicate with the school in the event that I have to call in sick And, of course, I want to be able to call the people I meet here.
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Laundry: I haven't dealt with this growing problem yet. I read somewhere that disruption of routines may be the real source of culture shock. In a new culture, so much of what is routine in one's life becomes anything but routine. Instead, much of what one could do without conscious thought now become tasks that require careful, conscious thought because accomplishing them entails unfamiliar approaches. That's where I am with my laundry:

I know I have to take my laundry to a lavaderia and then, after a day or so, pick it up, clean and neatly folded. Or I could find a lavanderia that has washers and dryers that I could operate myself, but the only one I've seen like that is located on the incredibly steep Sexta de Juarez street that I trek on my way to and from school. I would prefer to do my own laundry but NOT if I have to carry it along this street. I know that there's a lavanderia on Altamirano Street not far from my apartment, so that's where I've decided to take my dirty clothes. So now I need to separate my laundry into two piles: clothes that I want to wash myself and clothes that I want someone else to wash. What can I do without for a couple of days? -Not that this matters because even if I were to wash some item like a shirt or blouse by hand, it wouldn't be dry the next day--although I tell myself that in a pinch I could blow-dry or iron it dry. What do I carry my laundry in when I take it to the lavanderia? These are not momentous questions, clearly, but I haven't had to think about how to take care of my laundry in these ways before.
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Yesterday after the faculty meeting, Pery took me to a Japanese restaurant not far from the school. I had lots of questions for her about what was said at the meeting--I understood perhaps 50% of what said. I find that if I don't listen consciously and with intent to understand, spoken Spanish enters my head as mere sound, like the sound coming from a TV in the background. She filled me in on what I'd missed--I did get the gist of everything, but I tend to get the dates wrong--and we had a good meal of tasty rice and chicken.

I find myself writing a lot about food because I love food, and I love to eat. This is not a well-kept secret from those who know me or see me in the flesh. But I just realized that there is something of tradition involved in this interest as well.

I'm old enough to remember the days before the internet when loved ones and friends wrote each other letters during separations. When we were kids, we moved many times from our hometown, Park River, ND, and my mother would write to her own mother at least once a week. Likewise, when I went away to college, she would write to me often and I to her.

One of the prominent features of my mother's letters were the details of the meals she had cooked and the pastries and sweets she had baked that week. She was a wonderful cook and baker, and she took pains to balance her meals not only nutritionally but with an eye to the color of the food on the plate.

Cooking and baking were her creative outlets and sources of personal pride and high praise from those lucky enough to sit at her table--even in the lean times, of which there were many. In fact, part of her genius was her ability to take a sow's ear (some canned peas, some stale bread, for instances) and transform it into a silk purse (creamed peas on toast, one of our favorite meals). Her cinnamon rolls and pies spoiled me forever; I've almost never found them equaled since. And because cooking and baking took up much of her time as a a stay-at-home housewife with six kids, it took up space in her letters. I now see continuity between my attention to the food I encounter here and my mother's loving attention to food in her life and her letters of the past.

And speaking of food, on Sunday, Margarita, Miriam, Joaquin, and Doña Tere and I drove to La Antigua, a town near Veracruz. We stopped at a restaurant along the river called Las Delicias--delights--and there I had some delicious shrimp sautéed in butter and lots of garlic accompanied by rice and vegetables cooked and seasoned lightly. After the meal, we were treated to folk dancing from several regions of Mexico performed by six dancers in beautiful traditional dress.

Next, we took a walk across a foot bridge suspended on ropes across the wide La Antigua River. Doña Tere, who has occasional vetigo, stayed behind and waited for us. Then we toured the nearby "Casa de Cortes," not actually Cortes' home but more like an outpost. Hernan Cortes landed on what would become Veracruz in 1519. He was able to conquer the Aztec people in part because of the help given to him by Marina--Malinche.

The walls of the buldings remain pretty much intact, in part because nature has shored them up. Trees have grown up and embedded themselves in the walls. Joaquin said he doesn't think the site has been excavated by archaeologists yet, and I'm intrigued by the thought of what might be found if it were.

Observe the 16th century cannon located right behind the "Casa de Cortes" sign. in the lower photo. Frankly, I thought it was a replica, but it turns out to be authentic.

I found a lot more information about Antigua and its history on John Todd's webpage about "The Second Veracruz: Antigua, Veracruz, 1523-1600." Now I want to go back and look around more carefully and, especially, to visit "the first church in continental America."

I’ve been in Mexico for a week now. Today is the first day that Margarita, Isabel’s sister, has NOT come to my apartment to take me to one place or another: the bank, the cable company, the grocery store, a restaurant, a seminar on Sequeiros at the university, nearby towns for outings, the school where I’ll be working, or some other destination. To be honest, I was ready for a rest today, and I’m sure Margarita was, too.

Margarita is retired—jubilada, as it is said in Spanish—from teaching primary school here for over 20 years. That’s why Isabel enlisted her to be my guide in Xalapa at the beginning of my stay. I can’t thank Isabel enough for her foresight in anticipating what I would need and enjoy in my first week here, and Margarita for her abundant energy and patience in taking me all around. Her daughter Miriam went with us, too, to most places, and her and Isabel's first cousin Joaquin has been the driver for out-of-town excursions and has been patient in answering my many questions.

Here are some observations and recollections from my first week here in Xalapa:

Banking: Margarita took me to her bank on the first day so that I could withdraw pesos from my credit union using my ATM card. After several attempts both at a teller window and the ATM machine, Margarita finally asked a man at a desk, clearly an officer of the bank, who told her that I would have to transact my business at Banamex instead because Santander Bank doesn’t handle these kinds of transactions for non-members.

Banamex was only a block or two away, and in no time, I had money to buy groceries and pay my first month’s rent. What a relief!

Walking: That’s how people get around here in Xalapa, along with taking buses and taxis. The steep streets of this city and the ease with which people climb up and down them amazes me! Xalapa is built on hilly terrain with mountains and a large volcano, el Pico de Orizaba, visible in the distance when the sky’s not covered in clouds. I’ve been physically tired at the end of each day because of the exercise I’ve been getting just going about my business--and that's a good thing.

The narrow sidewalks of the main streets are often crowded, and Margarita has warned me about walking in the streets when cars are approaching. Drivers here are definitely more aggressive than in Albuquerque—or perhaps I should say that more drivers are aggressive here than in ABQ—and evidently cars have the right of way, not pedestrians, except in intersections with stop lights.

Grocery shopping: Margarita took me to Chedraui’s, a supermercado near my apartment, to buy groceries on Friday, my first full day here. Since we’d spent so much time at the bank earlier, I bought only the most important items--cheese, dish soap, toilet paper, cream for my coffee [the closest I could get was a thick, barely sweet media crema in a can] and a few more odds and ends needed right away. (Isabel had given me a bag of coffee, Bola de Oro, grown and roasted here in the state of Veracruz, before I left ABQ so I didn’t have to buy any—and this coffee, I’ve discovered, is rich, dark and smooth.) Margarita suggested I wait until Sunday to buy fruits and vegetables at the outdoor mercado. By the time we left the supermarket, Margarita, Miriam, and I were running out of steam.

And so, on Sunday, we went—Margarita, Miriam, and I—first to her cousin Joaquin’s house to pick up him and his mother, Dona Teresa—and then to the mercado.

What amazed me was the variety of fruits and vegetables for sale. Stall after stall stretching for several blocks featured vegetables—but especially fruits—that I had never heard of before and in sizes I had never seen before. The avocados! Ay, que grandotes! I bought them and red grapes and oranges and limes and tomatoes and cantaloupe and guayavas and a fruit the size of cherries only yellow in color and different in flavor and whose name I now forget—and corn
tortillas freshly made. My kitchen is still full of fruit four days later. I’ll know to restrain myself at the mercado next time. But the guacamole I made from the avocados and spread on my homemade tortillas—delicious!

Speaking Spanish: People here have been so helpful and patient when I ask them to "habla más despacio, por favor," and I've been surprised at how much I can understand when speaking to someone in person versus when I listen to TV in Spanish. I've also encountered many people who quickly switch to English for my benefit and, I'm sure, to take the opportunity to practice their English skills. And as eager as I am to learn more Spanish, I find I'm always happy to switch to English and be able to express myself without wracking my brain for words that I know I don't possess. I said to Margarita (but I don't know if I expressed myself clearly, lacking verbs as I did) that I wanted to go to the verb store and buy some verbs, some Spanish
verbs, preferably on a card similar to the phone cards here that would allow me to download Spanish verbs to my brain and from there to my tongue.

I finally looked carefully at the Proposed Assignment Form that Isabel sent me back in May. I had skimmed the document when I first received it, but today I really paid attention to the information it
contains--to wit:
Here's my fall teaching schedule at the Centro de Idiomas. The fall term begins for teachers on August 7 and ends February 8, 2008. The spring term begins February 8 and ends July 8, 2008. Each semester lasts 15 weeks--but "there are 2 periods between semesters called 'periodo intersemestral' when teachers must spend time at school or present a plan of work that can be done outside of school." I am not expected to be there by August 7, though, thank goodness, because I will be finishing up my term by submitting grades August 6 or 7 here at CNM.

I am expected to work 40 hours a week. In addition to the assignments above, I will also be expected to provide "support for checking spelling/grammar of some standard exams, support for
MEIF and EXAVER recordings."

My immediate supervisor will be Miguel Angel Murrieta Rosendo, Academic Coordinator. The head of the school is Luz del Carmen Rivas Morales. My mentor will be Esperanza Zamora Lara, and there are two other teachers who have agreed to help me as well: Rosa Elena Lopez Jimenez and Laura Gonzalez Oliveros.

I have an appointment to meet with Sr. Murrieta Rosendo on August 16, 10:00am, in his office in the Centro de Idiomas, located at Galeana Esq. 7 de Noviembre, CP 91000, Xalapa. (I don't know what CP 91000 means. Perhaps the numbers are similar to a zip code?) The purpose of the meeting is to meet him and my mentor, Sra. Zamora, to receive the textbooks I'll be using, and to learn my way around the center.

The Centro de Idiomas is part of the Universidad Veracruzana, but it's not located on the UV campus, I learned. It's actually located in downtown Xalapa. Students who attend "are of different
backgrounds: high school students, university students and professionals, they only attend here to take their language classes--that is one hour a day. Some university students take our courses to get credits in their studies."

I learned that the following equipment is available for teachers to check out in advance: "There are two laptops , overhead projector, one electronic board, [maybe this is like a SmartBoard?] VHS, TV, DVD and a self access Center to be used by the students."

In response to this question on the Proposed Assignment Form--"In your opinion, is there an aspect of life in your school/community to which a foreign teacher may have trouble adjusting?"--the following answer was given:

Maybe personal space: we Mexicans tend to get closer to people when we talk. Also Punctuality may be something to be considered since we Mexicans have the reputation of not being punctual ( not the case with school schedule but maybe with students arrival to classes or other “social” events. And of course paperwork or having to attend government offices. Which is really slow. But I don't think any of these aspects would be too serious to create trouble.

I experienced the smaller area of personal space--the space people keep between themselves and others when communicating--when I taught at the University of Texas at El Paso. When students, most of them from Juárez, came up to talk with me before or after class, they got closer to me than did my students at the Doña Ana Branch Community College just 47 miles away. At first, I found myself stepping back to re-establish my personal space--and then they would step forward to get closer. Finally, I got comfortable communicating with them at closer range.

As for the punctuality issue, I had to laugh. Last Thursday, I had lunch with Cynthia Woolley, a CNM instructor of ESL and GED who lived and taught in México for eight years. She suggested the Grove, a restaurant on Central. Shortly before we were to meet, I did a Google search for the place and ended up on the Albuquerque Convention and Visitors Bureau website, which provided a map to the Grove, showing it near 8th Street. By the time I figured out that the Grove wasn't located at 600 Central SW but SE, I was a good half hour late. I apologized first and then asked Cynthia if she thought I would fit well in México--referring to my timing--and she said I should fit right in. Also, my son Shane is always commenting on my [lack of] punctuality, so maybe I'm about to find my cultural home. (Nevertheless, I am punctual about arriving to my classes on time.)

An aside: Cynthia Woolley--who describes herself as "obsessed with México"--emailed me after our lunch to recommend several books:

• Mexican Days by Tony Cohan
• Guanajuato, Mexico (survival manual by Doug and Cindi Bower): "Much of the info on renting, etc., will pertain to Xalapa. They also stressed we should use the ATMs that take the whole card rather than swipe them, as people have been known to make false machines from that kind in order to steal acct. #s. --Not trying to get you paranoid, just prepared." (It's not just in México that such things hpappen, of course. There are plenty of ATM scams in this country.)
  
  

  The U.S. State Department's "Tips for Travelers to Mexico" webpage advises that "U.S. citizens should be very cautious in general when using ATMs in Mexico. If an ATM must be used, it should be accessed only during the business day at large protected facilities (preferably inside commercial establishments, rather than at glass-enclosed, highly visible ATMs on streets). U.S. and Mexican citizens are sometimes accosted on the street and forced to withdraw money from their accounts using their ATM cards." The wording, "if an ATM must be used...," sounds ominous. But I have read elsewhere that getting cash from an ATM is the way to go when in México, allowing one to withdraw money deposited in the U.S. in pesos at a good rate of exchange.

• In a Village Far Away by Catherine Finerty
• Mexico, A Love Story (women write about Mexico) Camille Cusumano
• Mexico in Mind by Maria Finn
• A copy of the latest Lonely Planet guidebook on Mexico might be good to take as well - "that's my fave guide to Mexico."

Finally, the letter from the Fulbright Foreign Scholarship Board that says, "It gives me great pleasure to congratulate you on your selection for a Fulbright award to Mexico." Correspondence until now has been tentative pending my submission of paperwork and acceptance of the information contained therein. So...finally, yippeee! Xalapa! Acquí vengo!

Here's a photo of my cat Fred, who will take on a new caretaker in my absence. He seems amenable, provided the next caretaker gives him his food on time--and the food he likes--while letting him in and out as he feels inclined, scratches his head when he desires it, and puts fresh water in the bathroom sink when he wants a drink.

That caretaker will be my friend Sharon, who is in the process of selling her house and wants to live in mine while the money from the sale of her house sits in the bank for a year. Of course, this plan is contingent on her selling the house before or fairly soon after I leave for México.

I've been looking for an apartment for Isabel and her husband César near CNM's Main Campus. Isabel tells me she would like to walk to work rather than take a bus. And Isabel has been looking for an apartment for me near the Centro de Idiomas in Xalapa. A few days ago, she emailed me about an ad in the paper for an apartment for rent that was located two blocks from the school, but I haven't heard from her since then, so I don't know whether she found it to be suitable.

I've told Isabel I'd like a sunny, two-bedroom apartment near the school so that I can walk there. She tells me the bus service in Xalapa isn't punctual and is usually very crowded. I don't mind the crowding, but I have to be able to get to work on time, so it sounds like I will need to walk. Riding a bike is out of the question, too, she tells me, because the traffic is "a real problem here."

I'm also starting to think about getting internet and phone access. The information I found on the Mexico 501: Learning to Live in Mexico blog makes it sound difficult to choose a cell phone service, but maybe it's because I don't know beans about cell phones. I'm more encouraged about what I read about internet access. I'll ask Isabel for her recommendations.

Another thing on my to-do list is to buy and send teaching-and-learning materials to a U.S. consulate near to Xalapa. The Fulbright Program will reimburse me for purchases up to $500 that will be stay in México when I leave.

Jennifer Herrin, a CNM ESL instructor who is currently living in the Ukraine on a year-long English Teacher Trainer fellowship (check out her blog, which recounts her adventures there) kindly sent me a long list of books she recommends, so I will start there. Also, other CNM ESL instructors--Amy Christensen, Tom Pierce, Bill Ancker, Carol Culver, and Penny Mortimer--and I fear I'm forgetting others--have shared favorite books and materials with me and offered advice. Now I just have to buy the stuff and ship it. Actually, $500 isn't a lot of money for books these days.

Bright idea! Start an English as a Foreign Language blog to store some of the resources others have suggested so far, and then when I get to Mexico, I can add to it and share it with my fellow EFL teaching colleagues at the Centro de Idiomas--and add their resources as well.

An aside: Awhile back, Jennifer and her husband Joe kindly compiled a top-ten list to help me prepare to go on my exchange:

1. Label all the boxes you pack with numbers; keep a list of what each numbered box has inside it. Recently, we needed a tax form retrieved and my Mom had a hell of a time finding it as I didn't put it in my list!

2. Bring souvenirs from NM to give as gifts (good ones are those litte NM calendars they sell at Walgreen's); they also have some good ones in Old Town at the souvenir shops. I go to Palms Trading Company and get pretty Indian-made pins (many people don't have pierced ears or are picky about gold/silver). Pins seem to be universally loved. Keychains are good for guys.

3. Bring a pack of "pretty" thank you cards. They sure come in handy for when people give you gifts or if you stay with someone.

4. Always pick up a business card where-ever you stayor go.

5. Ship yourself a box of paperbacks (Joe's tip). Start hitting the garage sales. There is usually aspecial rate to send books. I think they call it"media mail."

6. Keep in mind that you may not have a washing machine or dryer; so bring clothes that you wouldn't mind a housekeeper washing by hand and hanging on the line.

7. Bring dollar bills for tips when going through theairports, hotels, etc. It's a shame when you don't have a tip for someone who's helped you; also keepthem in a special pocket. Not near your "real" money.(If you don't have pesos, everyone loves a dollar bill.)

8. ATM cards work everywhere and you can draw Pesos on your account. At the airport, you can directly pull pesos instead of messing with changing money.

9. Bring your own business cards to hand out.

10. Make sure your digital camera has a one-Gig memory card; bring family pictures and pictures of your colleagues at work maybe? People are always curious...

The Fulbright Pre-departure Orientation, which is required of all exchange teachers, takes place in Alexandria, VA, from July 30 to August 3. I've already made my flight reservations and arrangements to stay with my brother Guy and his wife Carla, who live in Alexandria, rather than stay at the hotel where the orientation will take place.

Comexus, the U.S.-Mexico Commission for Educational and Cultural Exchange, also invited U.S. exchange teachers heading to Mexico to meet with Mexican exchange teachers for a pre-Pre-Departure Orientation meeting from July 29 to July 30, so I'll fly to Alexandria early on July 29 in order to attend the dinner and introductions that evening. This will be my first opportunity to meet Isabel and her husband.