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Suma y sigue

My stay in Mexico, and therefore the articles I write about this country that so graciously welcomed me, ended May 2008. My chronic
"From the island of Java (Jakarta, Indonesia) can read them on my new blog: http://desdejava.blogspot.com/ .
Thanks to all my readers. José Luis Mejía


jlmejia@gmail.com

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Any generalization is a bold but, as not talking to Pedro Paramo but Gabriel is one of the privileges we have foreigners when we go to visit the lands distant. "We see a country we want see, "he said while talking about his experience with the kindness and patience of the bank tellers and drivers Lima, gentleness and patience that I -" Peru Peruvian, "as the donkey Vallejo-not remember. How to escape from the arbitrariness of a comment that is constrained to the few paragraphs that follow, how to give an opinion without appearing complacent or "much more complicated, but becomes a vivisection, clumsy and without anesthesia, just to not accuse the writer of contemplative with the country hosting it temporarily? I have no idea.

Mexico is a vast country, friendly and hostile, peaceful and aggressive, tender and fierce, selfish and solidarity, a country of extremes, horrible and wonderful, that can not close in the few lines of an article and not on preconceived ideas which foreigners arrived at the airport.

This Mexico is more than Pancho Villa and his gold, rather than movies or Indian Fernández Cantinflas, rather than the eight Chavo Chespirito, but Infante and Negrete, rather than Cuauhtémoc and Cortes, more than Nezahualcóyotl Rulfo rather than Dona Marina and María Félix, rather than Mayans and Aztecs, but the Chivas and America, more than tacos and enchiladas, but the metro and peseros, rather than trajineras of Xochimilco and the murals of Diego Rivera, but the Zocalo and much, much more that the Tlatelolco massacre.

Mexico, and again I agree with Paramo, who said that Mexico is not Mexico City, although it contains in itself, tortured and transformed the essence that defines it-can be a beautiful and peaceful place where people, friendly and helpful, is able to stop traffic on a wide avenue just to give you directions on how to get this or that street, where, contrary to what would happen in Peru, the other Mexicans, whose cars are blocked because the kindness of taxi driver will wait patiently without the horn, can hit the body or to remember the holy Mother of good man. However, this friendly and tame the violence lies behind that, as a sudden surge can come and turn everything into a bloody carnage if, for example, two drug gangs shot and decide to hold who knows how to settle accounts or stop corrupt federal at a checkpoint on the wrong truck and, as in the song "Los Tigres del Norte", criminals (disturbed by the ambition of the police calling for "too much"), decide to take the "goat horn" and unleash hell.

Mexico is a violent country, so its people have chosen to live in a gray middle ground, a middle ground, broken only innocently and occasionally exaggerated, in the celebrations in the Quinceanera where families spend the they do not have to dance with girls escorts, or funerals, holidays, music, sumptuous and surreal, when Mexicans shake the dust of fear, sing, dance and make fun of death to that of both fear, have lost respect. Since

to choose between being a coward and murderer, the average Mexican, a devotee of the Virgin of Guadalupe, choose not to take away anyone's life, until it does. Then things do get ugly. Mexicans do not take the gun to impress, to pose as brave or off in front of the bride, they drew to kill. Fired at close range and not come with stories, cacerina is to be unloaded, not to play the shooting. Gang fights ending in massacres, crimes are vicious and it is rare to find mutilated bodies of people whose deaths did not happen before a long torture including burns, removal of fingers and genitals, and beheadings.

When the Mexican Mafia decides to kill someone, does not stop at trifles or expenditure measures, exaggerated at parties and in the horrors, send forty heavily armed thugs and as leaving "a job" is synonymous with prestige unfinished, it is not uncommon for the lucky survivor of a massacre to be executed in the hospital where he is recovering from the previous shooting. Paradoxically, the crimes are not indiscriminate and reckless, "it's getting to a restaurant and kill twenty people to shoot himself after the Yankees is, they're crazy." The hitman has its tradition and its school, not a makeshift, plans, provides and implements, it is not suicide, it is reckless. He has no problem sticking it a shot, "total, all going to die", but neither is daunted in a hail of bullets.

The violence is so prevalent that when a student told me that her father was murdered when she was a child, nobody in the room, blinked too. I then asked indiscreetly how it happened, "was an abduction or an assault?" I said, "was Mexico," she replied with the same tranquility. On another occasion, while talking to a dozen people came to me asking how many had been an assault on the family, all raised their hands. When I asked how they felt if they passed the night with a police patrol, answered "fear." But violence

is not the only tangible property, without the concept of "Malinche" the Mexicans could not ever explain all evils, because all the blame for the misfortunes of these people find their origin in "La Malinche", the "traitor." That, Dona Marina, unknowingly and unwittingly gave corruption, laziness and ignorance, birth and mother known (the father, not yet agree, it was Cortez or Uncle Sam, depends on moods and circumstances.)

Now that the "Spaniards" go too far, Mexicans are exercised hating Americans hating and admiring; because they envy and despise at the same level, in equal proportions, the flatter and spit, insult them and obey them, gouge their tourists and are exploited by their employers, all in the same circumstances, all at the same pace. Porfirio Diaz say the famous dictator, so loved and so hated, "said:" Poor Mexico! So far from God and so close to America, "and something that should explain that worship so devoutly and so pagan virgin Guadalupe, colonial and indigenous virgin, untouched virgin and never questioned, patient mediator between the creator of the conquerors and the people overwhelmingly Catholic who has found, however, its very Mexican way being and not being at the same time, leaving stranded on the sands of oblivion, hamletian dichotomy, because in Mexico, as well José Antonio taught me when I first landed in this land, everything is yes and no, while at same time.

Thus we have, for example, that the players are branded as incapable but not a single restaurant in Mexico without a TV for viewing at any time and every day, some of the hundreds of parties that are transmitted to the delight and national pride. We have a president calling itself "legitimate," the candidate who lost the election - that he called "spurious" (sic) democratically elected government like it or not, and which, therein lies the paradox, given their lucrative salaries all democratic congressmen, who, in order not to confuse us, participate legitimately illegitimate government. We have "My house is your house" and invitations wholesale rampant but it is rare that materialize into actual visits. We have the largest national company Pemex throws astronomical losses just in the time that oil has reached its higher prices due to an organic corruption which everyone wants to preserve the name of "national dignity" (delicious euphemism for clientage party and trade union jobs that are inherited "revolutionary", the style monarchy). We have the most popular songs are the narco-corridos (who sing and know everyone from the poorest to the privileged students of the universities "strawberries"), modern hymns that tell the "exploits" of drug traffickers and corruption insults police (compositions distributed on compact discs, obviously, require respect for copyright that protects corrupt police). We have dozens of journalists killed each year at the impassive gaze of law enforcement and the silence of the two large chains that monopolize television companies, however, put the outcry if the government intends to lower campaign spending, the dead pass, but does cut the budget for commercials? That one is an attack on freedom of expression! We have two community radio announcers are killed and the School of Communication's most prestigious (or at least most expensive) of the City, nobody says anything (worse!, Nobody knows anything). We have not, it happens and no one knows, is known and not, so and so, yes and no, definitely, possibly, eventually.

All these are or appear to be (yes, no) masks that are used not to hide a face, beautiful or hideous, false or true-but to hide the fact that sometimes fierce, many times, the continent has no content, fills the void around and beneath-the ridiculous or ferocious-masks is not any face.

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MEXICO OCTOBER THIS TOO MAY JUAN PABLO

Beatriz and Gilda, whom he named "in strict alphabetical order, as they say in the contests, have played, probably unknowingly and unwittingly, the chair that my mother left too many Octobers ago this May. No wonder that both are, in turn, mothers of two of the most important people in my life, Mario and Mercedes (I with the alphabet.)

write full of doubts, wandering between two fears: first, relegating other endearing love and affection after the stubborn habit of classifying and ordering him to walk around and, on the other sin of vanity and give reason to say I Josefa love to boast of many good friends I have. Julio Ramón Ribeyro once stated that he needed money because he had friends, I believe the same thing (although I confess that I have not asked what they think those potentially affected.)

Mario've known him since we were the two maladjusted children in fourth grade, ran 1979, we had ten years, so its thinness and my fat had reached its splendor but we spent several hours at a sedentary task of reproducing, in the tortured past pages of our notebooks, the fiercest battles in which the Luftwaffe was ravaging the British skies defended by those "very few" of the RAF that so many owe so much from the speech Churchill. A Mercedes first met in 1983 when on a retreat (yes, those priests, confessions and talks tear) misplaced a quotation mark (which until today still under discussion) allowed me to intrude on your group, talk, brag and meet Ricardo's girlfriend (another friend who retain infinity). Existence without them would not be what it is; thanks and have shared misery, anger and joy, closeness and distance, funerals and birthdays, births and deaths, words and words are, along with my brothers, those few people you would not think chest without ever pretending that they do for me.

How could it be strange, then, that Beatrice and Gilda, who in turn have been known since the days of their own youth-were these two amazing women who, with a statement, tenderness, solidarity and unselfishness, to rise up in my life as these names I can put next to Victoria, my mother, knowing that not only do not offend but, rather, the honor honor them with the devout, simple and deep filial love they profess? Being in what were the family homes of Mario and Mercedes, it feels like mine, in my parents' open the door, answer the phone, pillage the refrigerator, eat dessert, sit at ease in their chairs or talk to any of its inhabitants, are actions so natural, so common, so everyday, that can only be done freely in the home that shelters us and me, forgive the vanity, I harbor those houses like mine. Beatriz

existed since the first time I visited Mario, we had grown, as were the two friends talking in the courtyard of the school while other, less fat and less lean, more agile and coordinated, popcorn filled the football goal with cries, claims and balls more than once broke windows or embedded in the stomach outside the epic fight. Everything else was a matter of years, to transfer the grating frequency, to be there every afternoon, making primers and endless lunches, to stay talking to Victor, her husband died when Mario was a child, listening to the songs idealized and truncated that love wrote on the lips of Beatrice, to share the stories of other times, a thousand times to hear the story of love that only a infarction, early and fierce, expropriated permanently. Beatriz was the loving smile, patience, pate incomparable while devouring, hungry, we waited for dinner redemption, long conversations about this and that, the worldly, neighborhood stories, novels exaggerated in the old saw, immense and wonderful black and white TV which takes so long to heat bulbs once forgot how to do and went out forever. Beatriz has always been activist and generous love, motherhood Assumed who saw (and see) in me a brother man who was not Mario, the other brother man she would be easier to take care of adolescence Mariana, the late sister's daughter, Lucho, remarriage, whose splendor bright girl still gets me every time I return to that house.

Gilda has always been a teacher, never had maternal attitudes, not a gesture forwarding an almost teacher, almost masterful. I started talking to her when, sometimes, delayed Mercedes in the street or in the shower, you did not bother to interrupt one of his hundred thousand activities and we sat in the room, under the gaze of two ancient Chinese porcelain my volume and my clumsiness were about to turn to shreds on several occasions. I do not know how everything evolved, but one day we were already corrected my clumsy first poems under the patient and rhythmic baton of its expertise as a piano teacher. It was hours, days, long days in which a Mercedes, bored with our talks on the meter and rhythm, used to play the piano, watching TV or going out with Ricardo (where delays are not "exceeded the excess" usually tolerated) . Of the sonnets and romances teenagers, whose dubious quality and abundant good will was the victim of "Mrs. Gilda", we turn to the endless conversations about life, in my arrogant readings of Nietzsche, Sartre, Camus, Russell or Hesse faced in very long and controversial kind, with his knowledge and experience. There was a conversation I will never forget, I write poems I was sore for a side whose favors were me and she corrected that impassive and implacable, he paused, confident that the years had given us, wondering what was happening. A "business as usual" was enough and embarked on a long talk of which I remember, as clearly then, the last words: "This is not your time, your time will come later when you get older, when other things that matter, those things are really important. I know that every time I tell this reinvented the phrase that my poor memory artful twists, but the spirit and the love with which it was spoken and heard are kept intact. Gilda and Beatriz

probably do not know, but, beyond the distance voracious beyond kilometers multiply beyond the unpardonable ingratitude of exile within days of visiting the city, beyond my stills in my absence, my forgetfulness never remember anniversaries and birthdays, beyond the letters of my stories, sometimes clear and sometimes confusing, sometimes sad and sometimes ironic, "beyond time and beyond all, they survive with the serenity of accurate, with the calm of what is true, with the quiet friendly than it already does not require proof or evidence.

As I know my mother is not to be (without ever leave me) in each of the steps I walk the way, I also know that Beatrice and Gilda, in its forms, in their ways, their respect and caution, in this triad are superb unique love that make this too May-December and lights too far, again, of hopes and plans, dreams and illusions, roads and stations likely safe where it will be impossible to be alone, where loneliness that old wolf-hungry because they can not eat me, real mothers, body and soul mothers, mothers endless, tireless watch, each in its own way, because I-still-child for them to reach the port again and sleep in peace and recovery in their certainty as forces for the next battle day.

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At devotees who thought this article would be a kind of remembrance of Pope Wojtyla, sorry to disappoint, Juan Pablo is an Argentine of twenty years he has traveled much of Latin America on foot, by bus and boat, studies using their jewelry and their ability as a juggler.

I met him last night, had just seen a film that chronicles the anxieties of a young abortion in the midst of suffocating environment of Romania in the last years of Ceausescu, the dictator who would later be executed with his wife at Christmas 1989. The tape in question, worthy of European cinema was full of anxiety and distress, making digestion sluggish, so that to make the process less bitter, I decided to accompany it with strawberry juice and milk offered a kiosk has taken over the street only one block from the mall where I usually watch movies and a dozen of the door of the building that houses me.

Iba, mouth sweetened by the "strawberry milkshake," I thought I'd write this week. Had decided For several days talking about the rain, the rain comes, everything is flooded, all overflows and clean everything. Metaphors and ideas pondered looking at the light as usual, at the corner of the park, next to the gas station. The light had just changed and the red car stopped and I gave way in the opposite direction was up and slim blonde girl playing with something in hand, stood in the middle of the track, passing his hand, saw that manipulated colored balls with which he began to juggle.

closed as it was night, the balls, which were lit in colored lights and psychedelic, stood out. The juggler dominated his office, playing with them as the lead subject of some invisible thread, made them blow up, they are passed through the arms, shoulders, down his face, and performed her routine so well that he left me amazed spectator of the function. Ten seconds before the light turned green which again, work stopped, bowed and walked to the car smiling and more than a window relented and awarded more than one person working with a few coins.

I waited. Curiosity got the better of my desire to go to sleep and greeted him. He said friendly and soon we were talking animatedly about his adventures along the American continent.
is twenty
years and is Juan Pablo. It is Argentina's third generation, his great-grandparents arrived in Buenos Aires in the early twentieth century and his grandparents moved to Bariloche, where he was born and where the "ninth" founded a funeral home. In the blood carries more blood (Creole, Italian, English and even a gypsy form their genealogy), but "I am Argentine, although I am vegetarian and do not like football." Gypsy leads in the veins, "we know migrants to stay put," I said in that plural I confirm that I am a stranger in this land. America began to go "just gave me the passport," because "in my country you can manage and buy beer from eighteen but you can not travel without permission from your old until you have twenty-one ", so I just put together a backpack fulfilled them with their things and left to roam the world. Earlier in the transport truck guy had gone half Argentina.

has lived in recent years thanks to two talents, his studies of gold, which allowed him to create with their tools, earrings, necklaces and bracelets that were sold or exchanged for food and housing (one bedroom, a mattress on the floor, a little water, even cold, but of course the first thing you have to do to get to any city is to find out where to spend the night on the street ever, it pays to be adventurous but not stupid ") and his folly (" the plantains are stubborn, years ago, when I was studying jewelry, my then-girlfriend showed up one day in the workshop and it took me three balls to juggle and challenged me to learn to use them, the balls were there several days, looked and looked, until one evening I started to throw into the air and it seemed impossible, I fell, I could not coordinate, they do not was the trick, but I'm banana and foolish and did not stop until I did, I took over a month, but I did, then I learned it's all about rhythm, if you have a musical ear is much easier but if you're someone like me without musical talent, you always are the numbers, each movement has a number and combination of them gives you a routine, now I can teach anyone the basic work in an hour " .)

long ago, his best friend ("friend of the soul?", "No, friend of life") emigrated to Mexico ("they came for laburo and now works in advertising model and doing well") and he made him a firm promise to follow suit ("I do not know when, but I will.") He did not realize, but at twenty, when with his knapsack on his back began his journey "by travel a bit, "he began to keep his word.

With passport in hand he headed north by train, first to Buenos Aires, this wonderful wilderness, later, Mendoza, Cordoba, Tucuman, Salta and from there on, start jumping borders. Bolivia seemed a beautiful place, "especially the part of Santa Cruz", the people are friendly and welcoming, then Peru, "a spectacular country, Puno, Cuzco, Arequipa, Lima, Trujillo, Cajamarca, Piura," I I toured all, working everywhere, I was living in Barranco, do not you think that look Barranco and Countess?, I think so, but most like Palermo in Buenos Aires, I loved Huanchaco, what beautiful beach, lived in an academy of surfers, eating ceviche, because the best of Peru is the food is delicious. " After Ecuador, "where they live half self-conscious about the issue of the dollar, the police chasing you because you expect to take their dollars, as their own and not of the gringos." After Colombia, "a beautiful country with friendly people and educated, but Cartagena is a very hot, a lot of drugs, many raids" and, finally, Venezuela "where I came twice and I do not know why, is where worse they treat you, do not let you work, you pursue, if they see someone laburando in the streets and stop it if you stop you put against the wall, you take all the money you have and will eventually rob you and go, I've been everywhere, I've gotten to poor areas and dangerous areas I never felt afraid, after I went to Brazil, Venezuela, I lived in favelas and I never had fear, the only place where I was afraid it was in Venezuela, and only when he saw police everywhere in America the police want something, Indeed, in all countries if they stop you, they'll make money, they ask for a contribution, some coins, some mangoes, and they know that you like them and you have to earn a living, but you get bullied Venezuela , say there are many Argentine hit you and steal; here in Mexico, for example, do not bother with one that is working on the streets, on the contrary, the patrol pass by and stare, even invite me a drink, the other day a girl half I cried out of place in this same corner, he said it was a cheapie, the patrol was watching my juggling stopped the traffic and the speaker said he would identify the person who committed the offense against good manners, was very funny see the police defend myself .... "

America has traveled a lot, "I could not continue my journey by land to Central America because there is no road, you have to take a plane to City Panama hundred dollars and require you to guarantee, in addition, being in Caracas I found out I was going to be an uncle, so I decided to turn around to see my sister, I went through the savannah, I went through the jungle, I was in the rivers, Amazon toured the ship and seen the sunsets, lying in my hammock on the deck, Mateando and pursued by a dozen pink dolphins that accompanied the ship as playing, I crossed all over Brazil and fell in love several times, which mines most beautiful after I went through Paraguay and Argentina and I was with my sister for the birth, I still spent a couple of months, bought new tools, new gems did, I put together some money and threw me back when I came to Peru for the second time I called my friend and said that now that I was doing a field in their depa, who was already there, a year after the plane took Caracas and arrived in Mexico. "

"The future? I do not know, I would not worry too much, I keep traveling, I want to know people and places, I think I'll stay a while in Mexico, I love, I live in the Condesa, a fifth, fourth little hard for me and with what I get working, I reached, of course, do it all, working as a waiter and model for commercials and extra in soap operas, I move all day, call here and there and always get something, thankfully I have never gone hungry, I always had something to eat and a place to spend the night, I have a backpack with my stuff but almost nothing is indispensable, several times I have sold everything to buy passage to the next city, I like to stay in one place for very long, but here the barbaric way, so I'm regularizing my papers to a lawyer working on migration trucho still owe five hundred dollars and still not give me back my passport, but I have a work permit when I get tired I'll go, as always, where?, I go to Europe, I have friends there, what I do and do very well and returning each year to see family, I first wanted to go to Mexico to fulfill my promise, then we'll see, if not together enough, maybe I'm going to Central America for a while and return to Argentina to see my old lady my mom always tells me wonder .... "

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COUNTESS

If I had to migrate back to Mexico, which inevitably abandon in four weeks, live, without thinking twice, in Condesa.

When my circumstances (yes, those that vary as much as a teenager undecided) forced me to find a place to deposit my humanity and six bags with my clothes and four dozen books, traveled half the city looking for the perfect place to move (first mistake, the "ideal" does not exist, it is only a pretense of our minds, claims useless but indispensable, as love, happiness or eternal life).

reviewed tens or hundreds of economic announcements, made so many calls that irritated me the ear and walked the streets and avenues of Mexico in the most devious and processional schedule that can be imagined. For starters, my circumstances (again) attempted against me, a guy who wants to rent an apartment for five months is suspect, uneconomic and uncomfortable, it is not uncommon negative soon began to happen. Then find a spacious but not huge, comfortable but not luxurious, small but claustrophobic, it becomes a way of the cross, so that among the "no" to those who have never been my home and "not" mine, the result was a disaster. Finally, something closer to despair than an epiphany led me to revise my notes and call back to the hotel that was ruled by the bizarre propaganda ("Your home away from home") and because their rates were a clear threat to my budget . Expert

already reading the ads that appear in newspapers and the Internet (which a "secured parking" was "the space you find on the street" and a "bathroom" infamous shower under a ladder) I was not surprised that the bar and gym were just in the imagination of the writer and the friendly staff actually be "fluent in two languages, English and Mexican ... None of that was important, the place was clean, had been doing relatively little remodeling, furniture were quite good and the "junior suite" had enough space for ten paces separated the table of the king bed that was offered generous. Josefina have known that not only was responsible for cleaning who negotiated politely but washing my clothes were the last reason I needed to decide.

Until then Condesa neighborhood was like a completely unknown which had heard a thousand things (bars, restaurants, bohemian nightlife) but where there was only gone twice, the first by half a bar on the roof snob recycling an old hotel where neither the sushi or the attention justified the amount of a bill that canceled the gold corporate card of one of the guests (those were the days!) and the second, a bar room where I was listening to delight Rejas voice, my student, one of the few names I carry in his pack of Mexican souvenirs.

go on both occasions had been nothing more than an adventure, streets and parks and avenues were crossed with no apparent order, made strange circles and lost rookie, each time, three or four runs were necessary to find the respective premises. In addition, parking is impossible and must submit to the goodwill (and price) of the valet parking, an institution in Mexico. So decide for that quarter (with the little information that we had) was little more than a loose cannon, to my luck, hit home the only duck that flew over the site.

I soon discovered that Countess is walking, so I decided to recover I had lost the habit in my laziness. I was determined to wear out the streets, as Borges said, giving me no other guide than a couple of points of reference and some common sense to walk every street, every room, every park, going into every shop, every café, waving and asking, kindly letting Mexicans inalienable foreign guided steps lost in the middle of the streets of a friendly and beautiful neighborhood, but Mario says no, I found your Barranco and Miraflores my old and decadent teens. An old space but definitely not old, because with lonely ladies who walk their dogs and gentlemen solos melancholy drinking coffee in the same place as always, also coexists a multitude of young couples with children excited about excess blood sugar that roam the gardens hysterically happy (nothing is perfect), and it also looks like someone is an appearance, running dozens of girls in tight pants (to rejoice more and gain less) by a huge park not only has the natural scenery of trees but has a tireless supply vendors offering from a juice fresh fruit and tortured to a delicious slice of greasy french fries.

But what I fell in love with Countess were not its parks and its streets taken by trendy bars, cafes and restaurants that can not keep up because they look permanently crowded the Mexican middle class that can be spent between ten and forty dollars without jeopardizing the family budget. No, what I fell in love with Countess were the four or five streets around the hotel where I live (whose inhabitants, as far as I've seen and as far as the concierge told me, are a varied fauna ranging from the employer who uses sexagenarian modosita shelter to foreign-prostitute-and high-flying home established here in the months remaining in the city and the environment, temporary workers, students from the provinces, migrants seeking home, lovebirds and even a noble discreet old woman who has decided to spend his last days in a bathrobe and curlers sharing his room with memories and ghosts). About

"home" is possible to find a butcher shop (those in the neighborhood who sell meat only and not intended to act as supermarkets, and whose services will no longer use because I do not cook-), an academy of flamenco (in which I inscribe only by sharing "tablao" with women, arrogant and stylish, whose silhouettes, which are behind the curtains, with that gesture and the rudeness with which I imagine all the gypsies), a bakery pretentious (not only smells delicious hot cakes but also has an oven bodeguita and up from where some chickens worthy of note and whose door of the bakery, not the oven-positioned vendors offering unforgettable avocados, tacos the way, crackling crispy and sauces and dressings "home" I have not tried but the ladies of the neighborhood buy in huge quantities), a pharmacy unserved mildly (which still serves the owner, as is de rigueur, is old and cranky and always cleaning the glass in the futile effort to improve their image), a movie rental store (which I can not access because I have a utility bill and the border of the window does not include "live in a hotel, Miss"), a "beauty salon (which I always empty), an ice cream (which, like all ice cream shops in Mexico, is called" Michoacan "), a fancy restaurant ( I say "the boys in the valet parking to those who provided health-specialty is duck, which I love, and which I promised to invite me before the end of May and with it my Mexican season), a library old (full of used books, filled with shelves and shelves where lies the wisdom of mankind at a bargain price, which sometimes I go just to remember the combined aroma of wood, cardboard the covers and leaves worn and hands of thousands of volumes that lie there), two cafeterias (one modern and apparently comfortable that no one goes and the other with old furniture and stiff wooden chairs, which always is full), a chocolate (which prepares a delicious hot chocolate is superb along with a cake of the same flavor and Homeric proportions whose only fault is the pile of shredded pecans with which I deal with for a long time before such delicacy wage a dispensable ornament and annoying), a center of "spinning" (whose schedules whimsical cross-happy-with mine), a therapy center slimming (where the promoter me lustful looks from your desk and not because my slender figure but tempted by the juicy commission would imply a contract to get off weight), two stations (one I have ever used and another whose only virtue is my attachment to the more mundane routine customs), a seafood restaurant (which I would never go for the absurd but pervasive prejudice that Mexico is "very far from the sea"), a Japanese food (not tempt me) and another pasta (which I have not entered because it is always full and I consistently refuse to queue for a youth trauma left me President Garcia in his first term, where supply and shortage symmetrically increased corruption).

That's it. Condesa love because it reminds me of my youth sites, the directions of my early years. Condesa love it preserves the serenity of the old neighborhoods illuminated by the vitality of its young tenants. Most conservatives are complaining about the proliferation of shops, the traffic every day more complicated, the buildings standing on the corpses of old houses that housed families that the time apart, the bars and music, the plans to build more parking lots and dark intentions to close some avenues for the benefit of traders. Maybe

doomsayers are right, it may be that traditional Condesa is dying, but I've never seen a more flowery decay. Ever, as now, I have returned to those parks and those streets beat my childhood, where I believed in dreams, where he was a child.

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9

As you said Borges, "the solution of the mystery is always less than the mystery therefore be brief.

I went to the elevator to go to my eighth meeting, this time with a school in Romania (whose location I was excited but whose work-with four children eight years filled me with dread). While waiting, I met again with Philip, "what?" He asked. I told him I had two offers "strong", UAE and Indonesia, asked his advice. "Emirates is very good place to work, but Indonesia is extraordinary, is one of the most prestigious schools, teachers are so coveted they say that after working in Jakarta can go to work anywhere." "Yes," I replied absently, dizzy in my own ramblings, without noticing too much on what he told me what I'm thinking. " "What are you thinking?" Retorted surprised, without that little tone and mocking irony that characterizes it, something happened ... "After I talked to them for an hour!". I looked at and understood. "That information was missing," I said and he did not understand anything. uttered "thanks" and walked away, lit.

with Romania was a friendly conversation about ... Emirates and Indonesia. Tammy, a charming and beautiful woman in the home stretch of their quarantine, I was greeted with much enthusiasm but immediately saw my face so that only women who are mothers can see and asked, "Have you offers that interest you, no?". I looked sorry and guilty, she smiled. I said yes and agreed that, with two proposals to teach in high school, the position she was in primary, was not ideal, "if I gave you an appointment but have no experience with children, was by your books Children and your recommendations, I liked. " From then on he told me of his experiences both in the Middle East and Asia, had over twenty years in the international schools circuit. I spoke of advantages and disadvantages, customs and traditions and, as if it were an old friend, I spent half an hour of your time (which in these circumstances is crucial) giving me all the advice imaginable to make my next life more bearable expatriate teacher.

What followed was a process, a tour of the hotel.

First, Korea, to tell the nice lady who was waiting there, who declined the appointment so graciously gave me because "I have accepted a job offer", then to Indonesia , to say "yes" (smiles, shaking hands, hugs, congratulations, welcome, "for now there is nothing to sign, we need only your word, tomorrow you will receive an email making it a formal offer, just answer and the process start "), and finally, to United.

Alan greeted me with that kindness so natural, so human with that gesture, it is impossible to be fascia. received the "no thanks" with the same calmness with which he spoke and said "so this business, do not worry." I asked about the new job, where it was, how good were the conditions and, after listening narrate the whole story, reflected: "It's hard to compete with that offer, if I were in your position would have taken the same decision." We parted as two friends who attend (and something tells me see him again.)

Everything else was predictable, the congratulations, laughter, greetings, good wishes, camaraderie among strangers who met here this weekend. I talked to Sally, who received happy news, as if it were his child, I spoke with Philip and Carol celebrated the new and congratulated me.

was Saturday night and the show ended for me.

Marc took a job in Thailand (so we'll see), Jessica is up to us to Poland (to choose among half a dozen very good deals), Gail will explore the Middle East in a Maki school in Dubai and decided to stay another year in Mexico. Of the other knew that Judy decided to Brazil and was chasing Randall position in Argentina. The interesting Cuban never saw her again.

On Sunday morning I left for the airport. still owe them a long visit to Nicolas, Paco, Simon and Varun, Stephanie and Catherine, my former students, my friends now, how well I did and with whom I spent those nights eating hamburgers and talking endlessly, so the fierce cold warmth of Boston seemed to fall apart.

Now I'm here in the Federal District that looks more cloudy since I know that I'm, like I say "stay" as if the streets me invited to continue walking as if his offer me one last coffee cappuccino, as if the meter promised to take new routes to new stations and new destinations, as if it were possible to get a life here, remake, complete, find the lost path I same. But Caesar said, "the die is cast" and throw me to this new challenge, excited and curious, as the child I was, like the child I am, sometimes, when it rains in the afternoons, when she smiles a woman, when a bird sings, when a man cries, when the sun and moon are at the same time. I figure since coming to my new room with the same emotion that I entered my first class, Mary Grace, my first former student, whom I love so much does not let me lie.

The ships burn in the bank, the past is a lot of memories (sometimes hot, sometimes cruel, but necessary) and I am not of those who stand and wait for the salvation or death come from the sky. I keep walking and if the old gods want, the next tread on July 25, even with thirty-eight, Jakarta, Indonesia, Asia, and begin, once again, another day.

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I do not know if my attitude changed, I do not know if my self-esteem suffered a sudden overdose of adrenaline, I do not know if the stars aligned or the gods, the old gods did their thing, I only know that from that moment I knew my destiny was beginning to weave far, far away, in a place that even I could not imagine.

The second meeting with representatives of the school in China was the head of it could be my boss, an older man, traditional, traditional asked questions. I noticed that we were interrupted twice by bureaucratic, and although the girl who knocked on the door was close to a temptation I remained unmoved. I do not know what might be, but felt that she was going to be my director (who told me "we are the two" on Friday) I did want to hire me as your boss (the superintendent) was not convinced. It ended with a nice long "before five in the afternoon you leave a message in your folder."

Although the interview with China ("great school, great opportunity") had not been very encouraging, I felt relaxed, had an offer in my pocket and I am filled with peace and calm. I went down to "place" and I got to talk to Jessica while we waited for Marc to go to eat something, he arrived after an hour and fly to the cafeteria. Before the advice of the beautiful, we went to see if we had mail. Do I have written to China? I was surprised not to find anything about them and, instead, found a message from Indonesia found me unprepared. Asking me to communicate "just might" and I called them. "We'd love to see you again," Joseph told me and said "great, I can at this moment." He asked me half an hour "to complete an interview," and I quoted "at 14:30. I let go of Jessica and Marc, my lunch would have to wait.

That half hour passed slowly as a procession and I, like a caged animal (and hungry), paced the corridors. When the time came I walked to the elevator and passed through the room where Philip recruiters lunch so I thought it was a fruit salad. I greeted him and said, "Hi, boss, I'm going for a second interview with those of Indonesia", "I know," he said, "I talked with them," and that's good? "I asked intrigued "We'll see," replied the phlegmatic English tone that characterizes it, "then tell me." I went

more curious (more impatience and hunger), and waited. About two and forty opened the door, came a lady who had that ageless aspect of primary teachers, all made her a smile, said goodbye to Joseph and David. They accounted for the dismissal sparingly as friendly and greeted me, made me go and apologized for the delay. I had not yet established itself well in the chair when David shot, "Actually the purpose of this second meeting is to provide a place in Jakarta." I guess the confusion came over my face but before he could utter a word, Joseph spoke to me and said, in twenty minutes, what was the job offer that I was doing, I spoke of the benefits, requirements, needs and challenges of the position, adding "we are convinced that you're the right person." Something that gave me great joy was knowing that, beyond my papers or my CV, which had decided to propose to the job were "your references, not just those of parents who speak highly of your relationship with students, but those of your boss, with whom we just speak at length. " They said they did not want to take a hasty decision and asked "when do you think you can give us an answer? "I, I hate going to sleep with uncertainties (you never know if you'll wake up tomorrow), I replied," before the end of the day. "

I went, not yet recovered from the shock, our "headquarters." My friends had returned to eat a hamburger and began with the recounting of events. Jessica was already about four job offers, Marc had not convinced him and was waiting for two that appeared to be very attractive. For its part, Gail had received two proposals, one that not too excited and over that he loved but whose economic package was less attractive. If I did twenty-four hours tormented us know if we were going to get even an offer, now lay in what concerns Hamletian accept. Sally

As previously announced, things moved quickly that day, were not three-thirty in the afternoon when there appeared the famous little signs stuck in the door, "my roommate and got a job and went to Boston if anyone wants to share room to lower costs, call me at .... "

"The hard part begins when you have to decide," Sally had said, and he was right. Countries began to compare offers, possibilities and, in conversation, Marc said "I would not go anywhere where you need to share my apartment with others, not that it is not too exquisite, I'm already too old for that, what if the other likes the music you hate or have other customs or is messed up? ". I had not thought of that, but what he said was quite true. Like Marc, I have my year travels, my hobbies, my habits and change is sufficient and live in a distant country where they speak another language surrounded by coworkers who do not speak your language (I said in every interview, "I know that I will be an expat even among expatriates, but I like the challenge and improve my English. ") Willing

to find "the best among all the offers" general review of each school that we had proposed work or that we believed we could do (in my case, China was still pending and I still have interviews with Romania and Korea, two cards without playing that showed interesting, especially one that would allow me to go live in old Europe, that place so many centuries left some of my blood). We use all tools at our disposal, magazines, inserts, brochures, advertisements, web pages and, above all, the program that has the association. It is a very useful and allows recruiters to have the information base of applicants, in the same way, offers teachers a very clear summary of the work packages that each institution offers, which makes it easy to research.

"What they offer is what we offer," said Jessica when at some point I commented that maybe what was written on the page was more referential than real, "recalls that standard contracts, it is difficult for a company to change its policy for you "Then I thought of Eddie (who was in the midst of all this), he already had told me that," except an interest or special need of the school ", which was offered what existed and that the margin trading was very limited. "The Americans are not like Latin letters are kept up his sleeve to see how much you order and how much can be saved, they have a fare and stick to it, for better or for worse", and it was true, the "bargaining" that wonderful Latin custom means that the seller raises the price of the product only to give the buyer the pleasure of "turn down" the cost, is something that I have rarely seen in North America, which includes many "deals" and "auction" but not depend on the customer's negotiation skills but of the willingness (or necessity) of the company. Yes, the famous and sometimes odious, "take it or leave it" for the gringos also applies to international contracts.
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While all proposals Marc found the insert of a school and had interviewed him and that he ruled, "Yes, yesterday I met with the school that is in the UAE and they told me, in the Middle East is restricted housing supply, so those who will share their own department. " She handed me the paper and looked at every page that information and found he was right. Clearly read in the section entitled "Holidays": "The school offers an apartment for marriages and an apartment for every two teachers traveling alone, with bedroom and private bathroom, thinking it was not so serious - "private bathroom" - but it was a weak point to take into account.

I guess when one is eighteen years old is fascinated by the idea of \u200b\u200bliving in an apartment with friends but, twenty years later, they weigh other considerations. The house is the corner that you have to be after a day of work, to collect himself, to find peace and rest, no matter who is occupying a mansion or just thirty square meters, it is important that you have a room "yours" to receive your friends or enjoy your solitude, to listen to music or read silently, to enjoy mental, physical, and even that digestive-privacy and intimacy that allow us to remake, complete it and be social beings most of the time.

"This is a fair, comprehensive framework," they come to choose the teachers they love and we also accept the best offer you is clear, "the pragmatic view of my new friend from long ponytail I left thinking ...

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began early Saturday. He was a key day, the highlight of this fair, since the first interviews conducted on Friday (and logic to "convert the first with whom I am most interested"), and several colleges have offerings that morning for many of the five hundred teachers inundábamos corridors, cafeterias and bathrooms of the hotel. According to Sally told us, "the institutions are asked to give them to applicants within 24 hours to assess the proposals and make a decision." We knew the pressure would be great, and "bid" for hiring teachers was a separate battle would deliver directors and personnel managers. Jessica, who knows everything, finished very well explain, "It starts Saturday when the real tension, because Friday arrived with the worry of getting interviews and, if things went well, we get two or three bids and so begins the most difficult, choice. Worse is when the school you are really interested in Paris or Tokyo, you just cited the Saturday afternoon and that day in the morning, you get a tempting offer from a school that is in Samarkand and Tanganyika, places where has no plans to move out next semester, then, do you expect to risk losing this offer, accept the risk of losing the dream of opportunity or stay stagnant and out of work? "Poor Hamlet!

Amid such uncertainty, at least one certainty we lit; and we were there because we needed a job, they-managers of dozens of schools around the world also needed to fill their vacancies and had not traveled to Boston to enjoy the magnificent, icy winter wind that weekend. We try to get a minute in the shoes of "them" and had not understood that his best days ahead. Many came from Africa or Asia, in endless flight, with three or four levels, and crazy time zone changes that were made "back in time" ten or twelve hours (which then "lost" to return). They, like us, ran the same risk of leaving with empty hands and no signed contract. Sure, the budget allowed them to go even to the next three or four missing fairs held in other parts of the world (although Boston is the largest-so given the trot, and, therefore, is where offer more and better teachers). However, as time was running against him and against the strict sense of planning for these institutions to put together calendars a year in advance. It was not hard to imagine, then, that the mere idea of \u200b\u200bgetting to Budapest, Thailand, Zimbabwe or elsewhere to work, without adequate teachers, necessary and indispensable the start of classes next semester, should not make them very happy. Speculated as to avoid thinking about our own good or bad luck, to return a month on tour with empty hands (and blank contracts) could not see very well in giving explanations to the "Board" which is, after all, that ratification of these organizations or non-managers.

animatedly talked all this while having breakfast. Last night we agreed, "the group" meet at seven in the morning in the hotel restaurant where the fair was taking place. Jessica was a clock and when I arrived, it was early, and was waiting. Gail went down after a while, he was staying at the hotel and minutes later Maki, and had taken the first orange juice when Marc arrived man carrying a sleeping face unpresentable, "What happened?" Said Jessica and I "Sure he went to bars with a guest of his hotel," I said sarcastically and all laughed. No, never been so fun sleepless the night before the fire alarm rang in his hotel at three o'clock, he ignored sovereign alarm until a policeman, a very bad temper, attacked his door telling him not was a sham and should "evacuate the building." What had happened?, "A short circuit, a pump, a cigarette is not put out? No, it was a false alarm on a young worshiper of Bacchus in the impunity of his drunkenness.

Marc told us all this while and we laughed a buffet despachábamos americanísimo (such as cholesterol and triglycerides sends recommended), with tons of fat evenly distributed between scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage and ham on the grill. Huge banquet and a hilarious story, told with the sarcastic tone of Marc and seasoned with my cynical, encouraged us mentally as we were speculating about what might happen in this day "crucial." All had at least a second interview with a school and several "firsts" that allowed us to suppose that things still going well, that nothing was written and as someone said, "the ball is still rolling." A tower of pancakes, with lots of maple syrup were the last, silent witnesses of our early-morning chat.

At eight o'clock we left the table and went to wash the watch calmly as did his thing. Each developed its role of activities and launched into the adventure. I had no trouble, just at nine o'clock had agreed a meeting with Malaysia and a little later, with Indonesia. China had asked me a second meeting and we agreed it was about noon. After lunch, Romania and Korea, closed my list.

The Malaysia meeting was formal, friendly but very formal, stuffy, full of formulas and conventions which lasted during these interviews and a handshake stayed at "communicating." Without much trouble and time to spare, I went to the penultimate floor where it would be my meeting with Indonesia.

I received two gentlemen, very nice. You could tell they had done their homework because they knew exactly who he was and what my experience, we talked many things, from me, my stories as a teacher, my stay in Mexico, the new circumstances that made me re-emigrate. It was all very informal, within the formality of the situation, "very nice" as far as three strangers are pleasing, and very comfortable, as far as can be comfortable to wear the suit that disguises me who I am, sitting on a couch made for standard sizes and not for "extra large" like me. Half an hour passed in a flash and parting, when the next interview and knocked on the door-I asked if any of the people I had tested was at the fair. I said "yes, Carol and Philip", and explained who they were when they gave their room numbers. With a smile and a "we are in contact," he closed the meeting.

I was on the first floor corridors, waiting for my second meeting with the school in China, when it happened the first revelation (thanks to good advice of Sally, "stay visible, walking through the different rooms, the hallways, buy a coffee shop where everyone more than once been offered a job in an elevator. ")

While I was doing in line to buy a diet soda ("those who do not get fat but give cancer "), Alan approached me, one of the nicest recruiters with whom he had spoken, who, although he was director in Cyprus, was looking for a school teacher of one of the UAE belonging to the same company he works for . He greeted me with affection, I asked "How are things going?" And said "I want you to someone." I left the row that led to the kingdom carbonated water and walked a few steps up the escalator leading to the restaurant where I had breakfast while Alan reported: "He is the director of our school in the UAE for which I am looking for a teacher English, I want you to know. " We waited a moment until he had to say goodbye to a lady who riddled him with questions and we approached, we shook hands, exchanged a few pleasantries, I made a couple of questions and leave with the same courtesy with which he greeted me. Alan went with him but he said, "do not miss, that after we speak."

I returned for my gas, I found an interesting Cuban professor who also was looking for a job "English teacher" and I got distracted talking to my friendly competitor, as almost all, huge black eyes opened when I said to one of telling questions "I'ma writer." The conversation with the Cuban (divorced, childless, New York, thirty-two) ended when the clock told me it was time to move again toward the floor corresponding skeleton.

I stopped the elevator thinking how would this second interview with China. I had explained to be invited to a second meeting with a school was great, which is usually done to deepen the knowledge of the likely teacher and citing only those who had "great potential". That encouraged me, and go to Asia, to know that ancient culture, the Great Wall, pagodas, rice fields, large industrial cities, Beijing and the mystery of that country with such people, as they say someone said, "If all the Chinese to agree and kicked the floor at the same time, would stagger the world."

I was "enmimismado" front of the elevator, in the midst of my Asian fantasy, when Alan approached me again. Came with that sincere smile that won my respect, a natural smile, quite distant from the other thousands who had been so practiced, so imposts, so cartoonish that reminded me that, finally, we were selling the pictures for us to buy. I asked if he had "a minute" and took me to one side of the corridor as I explained with that paternal tone which he perceived honest, "the director wanted you to know it is with him that would work."

If it were a movie, that had been the right time to put the music on hold, however, the silence that surrounded us was enough. For three seconds I looked incredulous face the castaway who does not know whether what we see on the horizon is the island that is going to save sharks or a piece of wood that distance and fatigue becomes a cruel false hope . Alan comprehensive smiled and added, in case of doubt, do not let me understand what was happening: "I'm offering the position Professor. "

What will have been my expression that I said, "take it easy, Meditate, and afternoon talk, surely you have several more appointments?". I told him that I had meetings, made some mental calculations and fired: "perfect, there's no hurry, I wait at six and a half, there I will cause the financial offer and give you the details of the school, meanwhile, go thinking the ability to go live in the Emirates. "

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6

waive torment me who read a full description of each of the interviews I had, just say that, with specific differences in style, all followed a similar pattern, a common format generated, probably, in the repetition year after year, the same procedure: general questions about education, youth and international work, specific questions about my teaching, my teaching experience, my current circumstances, "Why do you want to leave the country where you live?", "How do you feel about the idea of \u200b\u200bliving abroad?", "do you think you can adapt?" (Climate, region, customs).

had talked with everyone I could about these interviews, which to me, without much experience in this kind of shows, I fancied mysterious and even uncertain. People with more generous mileage gave me advice, keys, tricks, right words, taboo subjects, I can say that in a month I learned "the ABCs of a successful interview" and was instructed, with affection, something that did not perform much, a job interview.

The first-and last-remembered going back to 1992, I was a young arrogant master of the world and I feel capable of anything, so, encouraged by my sister who watched with concern my penchant for literature and my probable future of indigent poet-Byzantine I got the idea to go with my new obtained Bachelor of Law and Political Science, to offer regional sales manager for a huge crime that until now sells, shampoo, soap, toilet paper, feminine pads and other subtleties. What was he doing there? I'll never know for sure, but I think the Human Resources Manager was surprised when I asked where I saw myself in ten years and I said, loose bone, "in his post" (this step and would be General Manager of the Year car at the door or, more likely, an illustrious unemployed).

course, my job prospects were affected by minor problems, for starters, he had never sold anything in my life (unless you count the ice creams, water and soda sachet, which he sold to my mother when the boys wanted to make the park Spain that helped load the shopping basket, or perhaps the booming business of chicken sandwiches I left a few weeks because I felt that my friendship with Mario, we've managed to keep three decades, was more important than the profits we generated Lilliputians my partner and me), but I told the interviewer, with displeasure of my twenties, that "it is very easy, right?", then there was the matter of English, that the years have evolved my absolute illiteracy at more or less enlightened self-confidence that shines on me now, "was not exactly a banner defend me though, of course, I said that" anyone learn English "(as certain as inconsistent statement) and, finally, the tiny they do not know how to drive but "a matter of days" so he could drive like Niki Lauda the van they were going to give me for use in the rugged mountain roads of my country.

As it is difficult to infer, I was hired. From then on I got work as is done in Latin America, know someone who knows someone who is looking for someone to do something that you can do, a call a recommendation, an informal conversation, and presto, you are already employed by someone who, if you did it right, it will contact and reference for the next position you aspire.

said this is easy to deduce that my alarm at the interviews that came up was more than just a product of my neurosis amazed that my concern was increasing every minute, was more than a "simple and understandable nervousness" , especially after the disastrous and demoralizing interview I had with the school in the Middle East where my "no title" resulted in "not working".

However, when the desolation was weighing on his shoulders more excess kilos that normally creep, I remembered my dear friend Eddie, the cause of all this, the father of this situation that I was working at the crossroads. While walking down the hallway floor where the room was the school director in China, Eddie and clarity came to me with the simple words that cleared my picture in one of the many emails that I wrote: "Stop worrying, I know who you are and you'll do well, that's the whole meaning of the interview, be honest, I assure you, moreover, no half measures with you, or are you or hire you. " So I did.

talked with each of the interviewers with an ease that can have one in front of someone who knows some time, of course, not the freedom of the speaker with an old friend but with clarity and candor. I said what I thought and what I knew, I did not know or did not say if they asked me, I said I did not know. I fled from that old habit of assuming that we have an answer for everything and I took the "do not know" as an option is humanly possible, I realized that these people, who have spent many years doing the same in a dozen regular fairs around the world have experienced enough to realize that old weakness of wanting to look perfect against whom we are evaluating, I told my story as I know it, which is like I have lived, with its good and bad times, my successes and my failures, with great satisfaction that being a teacher has given me over time and also with those seasons where everything seems to be heading for disaster, I talked about my students as they speak of me with the same informality and closeness with which I have tried in these almost twenty years of teaching, with the daily life to which I refuse to resign, that establishing horizontal relations with boys and girls - Today many men and women, fathers and mothers with whom I keep the old friendship that began in the classroom. I thought about my students as he spoke of them, young people who do not intend nothing more to be considered as equals in the most humane sense, they do not want anything other than talk, be heard, be sure you know that before them a little longer because it has a little more experience, but over all things, is interested in them, their lives, their dreams, their sorrows, their loves and their adventures. So, inspired by these reflections, I discussed what I learned at this time, of how I became a teacher by mistake or, worse, by necessity, how was a teenager when Manolo, one of my close friends, had the idea to open Byzantine pre-college academy and began to teach history to win few cents to let me take my own life more lightly and how well student gradually, without noticing it, I was wandering from academia in academia, I was collecting names and stories and friends and one day, without much awareness of what ago, I finished high school teacher in a wonderful school where the crazies in Barranco important were the guys and not the ratings, where the concern was that students were good and not to know by heart the table of chemical elements or dates each of the battles of World War II, where the daily work of teachers was not lost in a thousand meetings "coordination" or "analysis" or "programming" but to verify that the young were well in the broadest sense of the term, friendly and feel part of a community that cared about their opinions, their experiences and fears.

In each interview, I went deep into my memories with the freedom of those who say only what he knows and he knows because he has lived and remember and relive it, I talked about how I came to the world of international schools Cecilia's hand one day I was reading poetry and believed in me, my experience in the different system but at the same time like, "because young people are young people everywhere" I narrated my experiences while working with kids different cultures, different language, traditions and beliefs even distant and often conflicting and competing, I explained how fascinating it can be to take the same class Catholics, Christians, Jews and Arabs, and how they already knew, with certainty, that dialogue, coexistence, understanding, tolerance and mutual respect for ideas are not only necessary but absolutely possible.

Driven by my own enthusiasm, I went from interview to interview with confidence that he will tell his little truth, a truth that can not be contradicted or that will never hunted at fault because, with its ups and downs, with their bad times and good morning, was what was and that's what I've seen in recent years when I was discovering as a teacher, because although I started almost by mistake, it is even more true that the teaching I was slowly gaining, which was becoming part of my life and that, without my realizing it, only I knew last year when I teach many months away from my students and my books became part of my existence.

so forth and so I talked and talked in English (still do not know how I get) and I responded with my simple truths all the questions I did, I raised my doubts, I was curious and asked who I am. "Bad, good, regular?, I do not know why I left the trial of the others, those others who were, in short, who were in me or not I was looking for work. In short, I followed the advice of Eddie, I was real or, at least as authentic as I can be a human in these times that deify the image and form, in these days of plastic and silicone.

It went very well. Well, I felt I did very well. Although the five interviews that day did not get any confirmation or any offers from China, not two of the Emirates, or Scotland or the United States, I was pleased with me and my journey, as someone taught me, "that we pay for who we are, not what we are not. "

That night, before going to lunch with Jessica, Marc and Gail, I spent the last room where the folders where we had left the notes. I found one, China wanted to talk with me again ...

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At midnight began the second phase. The grant you an appointment, recruiters gave you your room number, converted into office where the meeting would materialize. The half dozen lifts was saturated by hundreds of teachers frantically up and down (stairs were athletes, but only talk about them exhausts me). It was interesting to see how, at first, the smiles were suspended as if one knew well what this would end the interview, then again, fascia and practiced ad nauseam, as the sign that things began to acquire their proper context.

was funny to see the candidates straightening his tie and ordered the skirt, fitting the neck, touching up make-up late in a review against the umpteenth compact mirror, checking that the shoes were well polished, inspecting her hair again the luster of the car door and, in general, concentrating on the task of intelligence seems all the good that their resumes and letters of recommendation said (by now had discovered that this "image is everything", he says some propaganda of soda, summarizes the philosophy of those who developed the art of advertising was a science it is, and I am not surprised, and I guess the recruiters either, "read" resumes "that confuse the extract and the job market with a work of fiction, why is it that many showed an excessive concern for her outfit or that I was becoming paranoid?).

My first appointment was arranged for 0:30, so I did not run. Had enough time to observe how others hurried pace as I moved slowly towards my destination. I got to the corresponding floor, knocked on the door and I was a man in his fifties, friendly and cordial, was the representative of a school in a Middle Eastern country.

Everything looked good start, but the situation soon became daunting.

The recruiter, who read my papers in front of me (I guess they did not have time to do it before), I asked: "Do you have the title of professor?", Which I realized I had not checked my data with necessary calm. I explained what was pristinely cleared up on my resume, I have no title of professor but for twenty years he taught, I am Bachelor of Laws, I studied a Masters and a Ph.D. in Literature, which also studied a degree course in education and, as was indicated in my papers, had not made those blessed thesis which had many transcripts but only a title.

In those moments, I thought of my father and all of the reasons why "if you want to know killer flies, but with title", he, a man whose knowledge I have rarely found in others, a curious man who never left study and who was always learning something and in which the brain stores more wisdom than almost all other human beings I've known, never obtained a title, never made of cardboard that read "yes, he knows what we certify here" and saw many, with fewer lights, less knowledge, with less features, benefits obtained by the mere fact of having the blessed board. "A degree does not guarantee anything," he repeated, "but schooled in the world today is indispensable." I think both tormented me with what to "be a degree" that never got, of course, I have a BA in law for which you have passed all required courses of the race, but could have four more. I would have to ask when hiring a psychiatrist, but I guess that paternal insistence was born in me a kind of aversion to theory, every study I have undertaken I have done, however, make the argument generates some urticaria paralyzing me and unwieldy, and though I have taught "Methodology research in college and although I have been advisor to several monographs-all-approved International Baccalaureate, I never wanted (or could) go on a. The day I give titles to write books, I sign up with a couple ...

was thinking about my father and ignored advice when the interviewer's question again tore my chaste ears: "Do you have title of professor or something similar? ". I gave to repeat what had already explained, I quit again show copies of my certificates that more than eleven years of college, and said laconically:" no. "I am very sorry he is of praise "for your excellent summary and your wonderful references", but he said that the country was the school where he presided over was indispensable for the title of professor that I granted the visa, "a taste" and "good evening. "

I must confess that his honesty was like a punch to the chest, but since I lost my composure and the show must go on, I smiled, told him to just take out my Title warn him and walked toward the exit as full as I entered. He kindly accompanied me in the door and said goodbye to me at the same time giving him a warm welcome to another candidate waiting in the corridor. Greeted him with the same smile, the same sympathy, the same gesture probably repeated a thousand times in as many fairs and interviews. I left.

already in the lift, the weight of the fourteen-storey building fell on me. One moonless night and overcast sky could not be black. The desolation, the hungry beast of our defeats, showed his teeth.

I did not lose his poise, because, as you know, it is not feasible lose in the midst of battle and Benedetti is right when he says "it is forbidden mourn over the books / because it looks good smudging." However, I wondered, as I almost always wonder if all this was worth it, if the effort is justified, if all the bet in this game had a meaning, if not better turn back, making bags, back where I came and end refuge in the house of my parents.

Ah, the questions, since when I do them, since when I have no answers or the answer is not unique, which is the same thing? I do not know, but what I have clear is that there is nothing more appropriate for a million abstract questions that few concrete answers. The facts tend to make our way and intellectual musings do not stop being a wonderful exercise that helps the brain to oxidize and turn away from the terrible possibility of becoming automatons-fascinating subject, especially now with so much young living in autism, voluntary and perpetual, between the computer, cell phone, ipod and TV. So the questions of performance, thoughts and reflections brought forced responses. Answer simple, simple, pedestrian, but essential at the time.

lucid and, I realized that my parents died in June and in October two years different too long ago that the house was theirs to Miraflores, where I spent my last college, he bought my sister in Lima my teaching position had been filled by someone else two years ago in Mexico I have not permanent employment and part-time work is very comfortable but very unprofitable in a city as expensive as the Federal District, I'm already too old to get discouraged and untimely to call for help, I understood I understood my circumstances and Ortega y Gasset ( who never read in depth but whose sentence completely out of context, I have always pursued), I understood especially Cortés, Hernán Cortés, the conqueror of the Aztecs who at thirty-four years she decided to go all out and burned their ships so there was no option of going back, for the temptation of return falls upon the impossibility of a return without regard to the cowardice-if-not reached a rope bridge, footpath or road and had to be "value and forward", and when a man discovers that never again can be a child. Thus, thinking of Cortez stopped the elevator and found myself on the first floor where forced smiling faces of a hundred thousand teachers made me understand that the game was not over and that much remained to destination.

I walked to our "Headquarters." Jessica, Mark and I had taken over "our" table and there promised to get together after each interview. In addition, the group had joined Gail, my former colleague in Lima, and Maki, a friendly Japanese who lived in Mexico and, like me, looking for work as a teacher of English, although she had a priority to teach children six years, something quite remote from my expectations.

I told everyone what happened. I listened to the joint care of these friendships born in the midst of a forced and stressful situation where, somehow, we all played the foreseeable future.

Jessica, serene and beautiful, said, "you do not have title of professor is not conclusive, is only slightly more complicated" and Marc, cynical, loyal, said I was not going to have trouble getting a job, " how much as you speak and managed with increased security and the self-esteem? "," only you, Marc, "I replied," exact ", retorted the gringo," but I teach physics, not literature, so I'm not competition for you ". We all laughed heartily. My mood changed completely and I was, like someone decided to fight (with the decision of who knows what all their old ships burn in the bank) to my next meeting.

was two in the afternoon, and the school was in China.

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The procedure for obtaining an interview with a recruiter is very simple and devoid of any modern technology. I mean, you come at seven in the morning to the hotel (many were staying there, others were in a close, some, like Jessica, spent the night with a relative and a few others, like Marc, had rejected large hotels in the vicinity and were housed in more traditional hotels in downtown Boston) and walk through the large hall where at that time and have plenty of tables positioned behind them-stuck on the wall are great roles in which each school is identified and declared what teachers need ("There is no updated list it, everything on the Internet is outdated compared to this information," Jessica explained to me with whom I met at the door of the hotel and who, like me, was in the group of early risers.)

When the bus left us at 6:45, it was not yet seven. However, the line of impatient waiting and have sleepless fifty people, that was nothing, in a few minutes we would be five hundred. doors were opened the room and income. People moved wildly, as if trying to locate hasty schools that were in the top of their preferences (as I did not, in these new circumstances I have stated, most claim to get a job, looking indifferent to the plight of others and proceeded leisurely to the broad environment saturated with teachers dressed in their finest fabrics-which is no less a fiction, because it does not teach classes, except some college too traditional and conservative, more English than American-).

walked next to Jessica who suddenly pulled out of portfolio that block that never left and began to write with the dedication that she usually does things. "What do you score?" Curious asked, "I make a list of schools that need teachers of music, compared with that I have, I delete those who no longer have vacancies, which have added new seats, and I a map of the room to know where should I go first. " Yes, that's it, at that time did not know whether to envy or to thank my genes for the bohemian chaos that protects me. Against this girl so orderly, so farsighted, so ready to exit gracefully from the trance that was coming, I was dragging, without much attention, backpack where my computer would (probably the only material that he kept some appreciation today, unless we take into account my clothes sized only find in some cities in the world where obesity is not a dirty word but a good deal) , the twenty copies of my resume and some samples of the books I have published (such as an ace in the hole because the writers, who knows why, we have some work impunity and some social prestige). "Will not you write?" He asked when we finished going around the place and I looked with the same eyes of uncertainty with which I see every time I do not know something and not know what hidden awaken maternal instincts women, "Come, I will score," said the beautiful, young and friendly music teacher and retrace the space filled with teachers who could not hide his excitement under his freshly ironed shirts and skirts below decentísimas knees.

At eight entered recruiters. be placed on their tables. started dancing. front of the area for each school were formed ranks, a long and others short, depending on who knows what act of selection and discrimination that applicants understand Pearl and to me remains as mysterious and fascinating as faith, love and ice cream served right in the middle of winter. Before tables where recruiters feverishly coordinated appointments, marching one by one the applicants. The heads of the institutions had a minute or two to see if you knew (if I had written previously) or to take a look, as the crow flies, the curriculum handed over. They read, I saw, I scrutinized a few moments with the experience of those who for years "reading" people in a few seconds, talking two or three words between them and gave you an appointment or you say "sorry, not what we are looking "or came to "Right now I have no free space to make appointments, but leave me your resume and if the occasion arises we communicate with you," an empty phrase, but full of hope (of course, there are variations on the table in Russia For example, a lovable woman told me "you have the experience we need and would love to hire you, but in the Russian Republic by visa issues, only hired American and British" or so).

This lasted two hours. At ten emptied the room, changed roles, put others in other schools with new vacancies and again started the second round of the hunt for a quote that could be the promise of a job somewhere in the world. With so many participating schools and more than five hundred candidates, there was no room in the hotel where we could be together, so the division.

Using the plane kindly Jessica had drawn me, I went to the tables looking for teachers of Castilian and chose, first, the shorter lines (and Sally had warned "do not despise a school because not know where it is or they hear a faraway place or causes fear to know nothing of that region, all institutions participating in this fair have been verified by the Association and are outstanding places to work ") and, once it had secured some interviews, I made the longer tails (usually in very large schools with lots of job offer). The procedure was simple and expeditious ; those first hours passed ferocious.

At noon was concluded that stage. Recruiters rose and went to their rooms, converted into makeshift offices, where dozens of talks would enter into with dozens of strangers to those with specific questions, with experience, with the eye used to "read" people beyond their papers and recommendations, all I learned in years of work as administrators, they would discriminate in a "this interests me, this is not" all our best teachers and our best smile suits us we presented as an "option" as the best choice in this sea of \u200b\u200bhundreds of teachers looking for work.

After the first part of the process we were all there with our few or many interviews agreed, ready to go. Quotations pact had made all my appointments would be possible (but opened the next day a "last resort" where schools have not yet hired, gave a new opportunity to get an appointment for Saturday afternoon or Sunday morning, I was curious, really there were few remaining job opportunities, although the theme of opportunities we know that, like the lottery-just one, if the award).

I got nine citations (three of which had been previously agreed with the blessed text messages you left in the folder and only reconfirmed here, for example, a recruiter from a college in China, I was in line, called me and said "you know we are interested in you, do we see each other? ", and that was it) Jessica got fifteen, Marc, whom she later we met and who was very clear where he wanted to go and where not, had agreed a just over half a dozen meetings (good numbers, because then I knew of others who only got three or four).

After the first function is one with a lot of paperwork in hand and pledges " at that hour talk "with their risk nothing and silence, with his previous troubles, his nerves, his hopes, his walk through the halls turning his clock time consuming and wholeness, their comings and goings, their people going up and down the stairs or the elevator to face "this job is mine", or around, with the vague expression "I have gone right?". The "free time" are heinous, the time between interview and interview is a kind of black hole from which they all leave again reviewing brochures, inserts, advertising, searching the Internet (as I am I like that tree of wisdom of Good and Evil which I read in the old legends of the religion in which my parents raised me), seeking information, seeking information, looking for previous experience, looking for maps or photos of the cities where the schools those aims as "see" the world would serve to get an idea of \u200b\u200bthe future.

Thus the waiting period began to despair, with the minute hand forward or not moving very fast, with not knowing, with its expectations, with the urgency of holding his composure and not get win the very human temptation to run away ...

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3

Our first meeting was "only candidates" (the "only recruiters had been before.) When the time drew near, those who were there in the "rooms for teachers," hoping and consuming time while distracting our nervousness, some-many-dipped in their papers, book reviews, manuals and websites, and a-few-with jokes, laughter and cynical enough to allow us to survive the tension, like a smell that sneaks imperceptible until it seizes the environment, was there among us, reminding us where we were and why we were there (finally, the truth was that we would find work and, except an occasional eccentric who seeks employment because you are bored of their millions, all other mortals need to develop certain work activities to ensure these vulgarities as paying the rent, telephone, gas and, of course, hamburgers).

Arrival time, all as moved by invisible alarm clocks which sounded in unison in our consciousness (this is called anxiety, a Christian), we got up and, with more fake than real quiet, move toward the elevators; there, a few steps ahead, opened the doors of an uncertain future as all future (although the uncertainty is usually work more bearable). It was a wonder how there could be seen, we all behaved civilly, acting like any self-respecting teacher, waiting in line patiently and calmly advanced as if nothing really we altered. Entered. The hall where the meeting would take place was the same the next day would be the first battleground, but still lacking for that. The atmosphere was immense, and for a reception gown. Had been arranged several hundred folding chairs, and when we entered, was full lock to lock. We were there all the teachers we wanted to find a job this weekend and all, oh marvel of staging!, Friendly smiled, looked with confidence, and we behaved as if they were a club meeting social camaraderie or tea in the nearby neighborhood. Only then I could see a clear idea of \u200b\u200bhow many we were and how we were, a motley crew of men and women, young and old, experienced and inexperienced. However, young people, where I guess I did not tell me-I formed the largest group. Boys and girls who hardly reached his thirties and, at that time they considered ideal, were about to begin this adventure travel the world teaching classes in places as different from each other, in miles, in customs, in reality, as Lima and Jakarta, as Budapest and Abu Dabhi. Others, like me, were there because the circumstances, that some unstable as the waves of the sea, we were put in back to ride in the back of the adventure, uncertain sands of the great changes.

Although nothing was said again at the meeting tellingly, by the reaction of many of those present, I realized that for the experience of the organizers is evident, few who read the post and less than follow the instructions (if that happens between teachers, imagine what happens to the students!).

singer's voice took John, the creator of this organization that has placed more than 1500 of its members in positions of teachers, managers and administrators in dozens of international schools around the world. Without doubt, must have been a great Professor, simple, cheerful and fun, an old hand who knew how to defuse the charged atmosphere of concern and anxiety. Did more than repeat the thousand signs we already knew by heart, passed quickly which meant that we knew (but then some questions would show how little attention many gave the messages we had sent) and then set tell a series of anecdotes about the lives of international teachers, stories that are in Africa, Asia or South America, places, all of them, including our Latin America, so exotic, distant, distant and full of mystery novel for the vast majority of those who were there (of the five hundred knew we were not more than ten Latinos, except for a very nice lady and I Nicaragua, others were more blond gringos that roamed around, Latino origin but, second or third generation of Cuban, Puerto Rican or Central American-born there raised in the customs and even the language of Shakespeare for whom a hamburger is usual and the Andes or the Amazon, they are as alien as the Himalayas or the Desert Sahara). The stories had a goal, chart how interesting and exciting it can be life "abroad" and John the master had the of whom have years in office, with that humor is so right for the Americans, the mood almost naive, almost innocent, that humor that sometimes we, the Latinos, we sound so strange.

All the stories were the same place, at the same show us how interesting the situation and encourage us to muster the courage to start the day tomorrow. The intention was to reassure us, convince us how exciting this game and make us share the view that, regardless of the outcome, get a job or not-was an experience worth living. I agreed, "at least write an article," I said to Jessica, who, distracted a moment of a thousand notes he took on his block, he replied, with that infinite and natural smile that redeems any guilt and neurosis. Marc, more pragmatic, ironic, said that fortunately did not have to be convinced of anything "in my case, the worst scenario is that I retired to my brother's house in the mountains with my retirement pension ..." "I can hate you? "I said and he told me" of course "with a delicious sarcasm that only the disciples of Diogenes understand without offending.

Then, an hour later, raised the main session, "new", ie that we were going to a job fair for the first time we stayed there and we gather around Sally willing to emancipate any doubt. It was another hour of platitudes and irrelevant questions (again, Sally was not his fault that many did not read the thousands of suggestions and recommendations that it so neatly, sent us), however, there were two or three good Sally dimensions in which we deepened and clarified some issues on how to deal with the interviewers and how to behave in the midst of a series of difficult or embarrassing situations that could arise, but the final recommendation was clear: "Be yourself, be natural" and to hell with Hamlet. Sally explained

that the "battle" began the next day, a particular struggle in which many teachers are looking to be one of the few places that schools offer to their subject. Never drove the statistics and know that officially there were none (because Sally never made mention of them), however, I knew from the morning, an old colleague who I met there, some information was, at least unofficially, because It was the most quiet ("there are ten vacancies around the world and we have only been three professors of theater," he told me very confident as we greeted each other). Not only I met Randall and his confident handling of statistics (and women), also found that attending the fair Gail (whose daughter, Camilla, was student of mine) and Judy (also a teacher at the school where we all work). Gail then introduced me to the school librarian who knew me "for your books," who, with her husband, was also at the fair looking for a new destination for the next two years (which is the usual time of the contracts offered by colleges, both because many of these teachers prefer to live roaming the world and because, I suppose, is a way to be on the safe if the master knew that the only fair and just know that by references to his former bosses - not to be as extraordinary as letters of recommendation and evaluations suggested). Finished

rounds of questions and answers, Sally adjourned the meeting and advised us to "rest for the day tomorrow" obedient, all slowly leave the place. Eight o'clock at night when we parted. Jessica went to the house of the guy who stayed, forty minutes away, Marc went to a traditional hotel in the center that obtained for a better price ("I am frugal"), Gail went to his room he was staying put in the same hotel for the event and I, along with a dozen other teachers, take the free bus gracious and brought us back to the building that housed us.

the way back, about six or seven minutes, was quiet, all of us on the bus we were too absorbed in our thoughts as to maintain an even casual conversation. The next day at seven in the morning, begin a fraternal and friendly battle, but battle at last to get one of the vacancies offered by schools that had attended the fair. Everyone had their preferences clear, all-as he had spoken with my new colleagues in the hours of waiting, had made inquiries, had reviewed manuals, brochures , inserts and websites and, apparently aimed at one or two possibilities that seduced, either by the exotic country, the prestige of the institution or the economic package offered.

Yo-relapsed into confessions-just looking for a job. When early in the afternoon he had told Jessica: "If I hire to make Swahili in Kathmandu say yes" had been absolutely honest, although she, seduced by the delight of sarcasm, he laughed so heartily that until I came to convince me that my sentence was not desperate but a joke. On behalf of the hope-el useless most beautiful gift we have been given, I went to sleep believing Eddie, my old friend, and that "Believe it and you'll conseguis laburo."