So, having decided, and agreed, that my last full day of employment here in Tampico shall be June 15th (a Friday - natch!), there now comes a hiatus in the settlement program while I consider (or not, as is my wont) the what, how, when and where of the next stage.
Probably, a stay in Houston is likely. SWMBO has indicated a stong preference for my spending the summer school vacations with her and the little potential canuck - which sounds like a very attractive proposition indeed - before I head north. This might also give me an opportunity to make multiple cargo-runs from Tampico to Houston to clear whatever chattels that remain after the inital load in the Big Blue Beastie Suburban. Personally, I would rather leave things in storage in TX than deal with them being left in MX.
As for employment, as my 48th anniversary approaches, I was recently congratulated by a (retired) American friend here on having the cojones to try for another career at this stage in my life. In passing, I am, indeed, disconcerted (even discombobulated) at this need to re-establish myself and wonder whether I do, in fact, possess the necessary fortitude.
We shall see.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Whistling 'Dixie'?
I am oft prone to wonder whether things really will be better in the snowy northern Dominion, and just what this 'better' might involve.
Of course, when the sundry roof-dogs of downtown Tampico are engaged in full-throated baying to vent their frustration, and the rabble of route-cars, the tangles of taxis, are bip-bipping their horns as a serenade to ensnare passengers, while the thrashing of gears and clapping of brakes from the monster buses next door are providing discordant counterpoint, I am fully aware of just what 'better' would mean.
Yet, despite our less than salubrious surroundings, I can often educe a little fondness for this place I have come to call 'home'. Grass may well be greener, but leaving the known is always challenging and one may be excused being afeared at the prospect.
It was my persusal of the calendar, late yesterday, that brought me the realization that I will, undoubtedly, be leaving almost two years to the day since my last Canadian Odyssey - the abortive trip to Ambassador's Bridge - and that the time between thence and now will almost certainly pass with astonishing rapidity.
For the nonce, I find myself working 12 hours a day - naught but sleep and work - and I know from bitter experience just how cruel such schedules can be towards the creative imagination. Indeed, I should be dreaming, aspiring, hoping, working towards making it happen. Yet my days are filled with labor and my mind is filled with the fruits of that labor - leaving little for purposeful planning.
Whistling dixie? I should be so lucky...
Of course, when the sundry roof-dogs of downtown Tampico are engaged in full-throated baying to vent their frustration, and the rabble of route-cars, the tangles of taxis, are bip-bipping their horns as a serenade to ensnare passengers, while the thrashing of gears and clapping of brakes from the monster buses next door are providing discordant counterpoint, I am fully aware of just what 'better' would mean.
Yet, despite our less than salubrious surroundings, I can often educe a little fondness for this place I have come to call 'home'. Grass may well be greener, but leaving the known is always challenging and one may be excused being afeared at the prospect.
It was my persusal of the calendar, late yesterday, that brought me the realization that I will, undoubtedly, be leaving almost two years to the day since my last Canadian Odyssey - the abortive trip to Ambassador's Bridge - and that the time between thence and now will almost certainly pass with astonishing rapidity.
For the nonce, I find myself working 12 hours a day - naught but sleep and work - and I know from bitter experience just how cruel such schedules can be towards the creative imagination. Indeed, I should be dreaming, aspiring, hoping, working towards making it happen. Yet my days are filled with labor and my mind is filled with the fruits of that labor - leaving little for purposeful planning.
Whistling dixie? I should be so lucky...
Sunday, January 8, 2012
So I Went To The Supermarket...
...on my way home from work the other day - it's invariably an exercise that makes me want to weep tears of frustration. Why? I'll tell ya'...
I live in a metropolitan area of 800,000+ people, with much industrial activity. The middle-class of this area isn't particularly large but it is growing, and gaining more disposable income. As is common in the culture here, traditionally, mothers stayed at home to cook meals for the family (or had the maid/housekeeper do it) and food tended to be bought fresh on a more-or-less daily basis.
All well and good, you might think. But it does mean that the supermarkets have a woefully inadequate range of pre-prepared foods of the kind that a working mother might appreciate being able to use as a basis for something tasty and nutritious. Why is this? When I compare what Walmart here has on its shelves (we have 4 stores of this chain), compared with the shelves of a typical Walmart just 5 hours away in the Texas Valley, I feel that ocular prickling coming on.
Additionally, we have 2 large stores of the Texas based 'HEB' chain - who import much of their stock from the USA. For this, I am always grateful as it is the sole source of whole milk in this area. Generally, milk here is of the 'Ultra-heat treated' (UHT) variety and sold by the liter in 'Tetra-brik' packaging and while I am forever grateful to the genius of the Rausing brothers for this innovation I am oft despairing at the lack of 'fresh' milk - although, in fairness, this is a supply-chain issue.
And yet, even our HEB stores here do not carry but 50% of the equivalent number of product lines found in the typical store in the Texas Valley. While in McAllen, just before Christmas, I shopped at a 10th Street HEB. In there, I counted 27 (yes, twenty-seven) different kinds of mustard on sale. Here, we have just three. Again, why is this? Why such lack?
Our other markets are the Mexican owned 'Soriana' chain (3 stores in this area), 'Chedraui' (3 stores) and 'Arteli' (8-12 stores, but mainly smaller types of 'express' market). The products carried by the Mexican-owned groups are dismally similar.
While economic considerations of supply & demand might provide a sensible explanation for the lack of some foodstuffs, I am going to present a short list of things I have sought, and failed to find, in the supermarkets here which I know, by experience, are on the shelves of the same stores in southern Texas.
I live in a metropolitan area of 800,000+ people, with much industrial activity. The middle-class of this area isn't particularly large but it is growing, and gaining more disposable income. As is common in the culture here, traditionally, mothers stayed at home to cook meals for the family (or had the maid/housekeeper do it) and food tended to be bought fresh on a more-or-less daily basis.
All well and good, you might think. But it does mean that the supermarkets have a woefully inadequate range of pre-prepared foods of the kind that a working mother might appreciate being able to use as a basis for something tasty and nutritious. Why is this? When I compare what Walmart here has on its shelves (we have 4 stores of this chain), compared with the shelves of a typical Walmart just 5 hours away in the Texas Valley, I feel that ocular prickling coming on.
Additionally, we have 2 large stores of the Texas based 'HEB' chain - who import much of their stock from the USA. For this, I am always grateful as it is the sole source of whole milk in this area. Generally, milk here is of the 'Ultra-heat treated' (UHT) variety and sold by the liter in 'Tetra-brik' packaging and while I am forever grateful to the genius of the Rausing brothers for this innovation I am oft despairing at the lack of 'fresh' milk - although, in fairness, this is a supply-chain issue.
And yet, even our HEB stores here do not carry but 50% of the equivalent number of product lines found in the typical store in the Texas Valley. While in McAllen, just before Christmas, I shopped at a 10th Street HEB. In there, I counted 27 (yes, twenty-seven) different kinds of mustard on sale. Here, we have just three. Again, why is this? Why such lack?
Our other markets are the Mexican owned 'Soriana' chain (3 stores in this area), 'Chedraui' (3 stores) and 'Arteli' (8-12 stores, but mainly smaller types of 'express' market). The products carried by the Mexican-owned groups are dismally similar.
While economic considerations of supply & demand might provide a sensible explanation for the lack of some foodstuffs, I am going to present a short list of things I have sought, and failed to find, in the supermarkets here which I know, by experience, are on the shelves of the same stores in southern Texas.
- Hoummus
- Pesto
- Basmati rice (in fact, any kind of rice other than Texas Long Grain)
- Wholewheat pasta
- Blue cheese
- Malt vinegar
- Curry powder (or curry sauce)
- 'Real' cocoa (without sugar and for making drinks rather than for cooking)
- Blue cheese dressing (for salad)
- A1 Steak Sauce (or similar, such as 'HP')
- Black Tea
- Ready-made, frozen items - such as meat pies, fish fillets in sauces, 'Oriental' type dishes etc
I could go on, but I have probably made the point. Despite rising wealth, our supermarkets here do not seem to reflect either a demand for more diverse foodstuffs or evidence of that wealth. perhaps the picture is different in larger cities of the Republic but, for now, I often feel denied and distraught - perhaps without reason - and frustrated by the easy means to feed myself in a healthful manner (and as a single man working 13 hours a day) when compared to my American (or even Canadian) compatriots.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Beasties, Bearings and Batteries - Oh My!
Well, after several days of not really wanting to deal with vehicular issues - especially since getting an estimate of $600 to repair the damage caused by DW's roadside argument with a deer, on a Stygian highway near Conroe, last week - I took the Big Blue Beastie to an auto repair shop to have the fuel leaks attended to. The shop was clean, and staffed by a friendly father and son team who fixed the problem with alacrity and economy.
Whilst yakking with the son, a mechanic friend (MF) of his stopped by to chew the fat (must have been a slow day in a lot of places). I got talking to him (he was a transmission and drive-line specialist) and mentioned the 3B's vibration issue at highway speeds. He asked a few pointed questions then grabbed a flashlight and dived under the mid-section of the truck with a cheery, "Let's check it out."
After a few seconds of "Hmmm" and "Ahhh!", a hand appeared from under the Beast with an instruction to, "Hand me that there five-eighths wrench, Bub."
I passed MF what he needed. There was a grunt, a thump, and a clang, whereupon MF then slid out, cradling the Beastie's entire rear drive-shaft in his arms (no mean feat, it's about 5 feet long) with an exultation, "Whoo-hoo! This here shaft was gittin' ready to fall right out! See here? The back bearing is completely shot."
Indeed, I may be no mechanic but even I could see that a needle-bearing assembly is not meant to move in the way it was doing, and that bearing yokes are meant to be round, not smashed-about egg-shaped. This explained the Beastie's vibration and general clanginess from underneath.
Well, my wallet was lightened to the tune of some $200 but it was money well spent in that it avoided a potentially fatal incident, should that drive-shaft bearing have separated on the road at high speed and the shaft assembly itself fallen away from the vehicle.
Next - new batteries and to do something about the balky starter solenoid. But at least I may return south, down old Mexico way, with peace of mind.
Whilst yakking with the son, a mechanic friend (MF) of his stopped by to chew the fat (must have been a slow day in a lot of places). I got talking to him (he was a transmission and drive-line specialist) and mentioned the 3B's vibration issue at highway speeds. He asked a few pointed questions then grabbed a flashlight and dived under the mid-section of the truck with a cheery, "Let's check it out."
After a few seconds of "Hmmm" and "Ahhh!", a hand appeared from under the Beast with an instruction to, "Hand me that there five-eighths wrench, Bub."
I passed MF what he needed. There was a grunt, a thump, and a clang, whereupon MF then slid out, cradling the Beastie's entire rear drive-shaft in his arms (no mean feat, it's about 5 feet long) with an exultation, "Whoo-hoo! This here shaft was gittin' ready to fall right out! See here? The back bearing is completely shot."
Indeed, I may be no mechanic but even I could see that a needle-bearing assembly is not meant to move in the way it was doing, and that bearing yokes are meant to be round, not smashed-about egg-shaped. This explained the Beastie's vibration and general clanginess from underneath.
Well, my wallet was lightened to the tune of some $200 but it was money well spent in that it avoided a potentially fatal incident, should that drive-shaft bearing have separated on the road at high speed and the shaft assembly itself fallen away from the vehicle.
Next - new batteries and to do something about the balky starter solenoid. But at least I may return south, down old Mexico way, with peace of mind.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
HAPPY NEW YEAR
Wherever you find yourselves, and wherever we will find ourselves this time next year, have a Happy and Prosperous 2012!
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Round The Flagpole
They call it 'flagpoling'. To land as a PR in Canada (when one is already in that country), one drives over the land border into the USA, does a smart U-turn then recrosses, immediately, back into Canada. The CBSA mark, on their forms, one's point of origin as "Flagpole".
So, after returning home from Buffalo yesterday morning I emailed the Immigration program manager in DF - whose personal email I had, fortunately. My pleadings worked as he responded within 30 minutes with an apology and a promise to look into the matter of daughter's "missing" application. Just two hours later, he e-mailed again to reassure me that all was now well and we could have the little one land as PR at a Port of Entry of our choice.
This morning, then, we drove to the Queenston/Lewiston crossing to flagpole. The CBSA officer who attended to us was assisted by the same officer who had dealt with us on Sunday - so we got sympathetic and very fast service. As a result, we are now, all three, landed Permanent Residents of the Dominion of Canada.
God Save The Queen, eh?
Merry Christmas to one and all from a potential Canuck now about to begin the next stage of this journey.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Landing - or not...
So, logistically, making it to Queenston Bridge - at the New York/Ontario border - yesterday was quite a schlepp. I drove the Big Blue Beastie to Houston - leaking fuel from the injector return hoses and with an ominous vibration from the transfer case - last Thursday/Friday, to enjoy some time with wife and daughter.
My journey was given a foreshadowing of the troubles to come by the unsmiling Officer Chavez - of the US-DHS, at the Pharr, TX border - who insisted that I unload everything from the truck (some 7 boxes of assorted household goods from Tampico for wifey) so she could closely inspect their contents, interrogate me about the subjects of photos in albums, ask odd questions about why I taught English at an American school, and generally give me the third-degree for making her evening difficult by having the temerity to present myself with a Canadian plated vehicle, a B1 visa in a British passport but also claiming Mexican nationality. No matter - pay peanuts, get monkeys.
Yesterday, Sunday, we flew from Houston on Southwest (via Baltimore) to Buffalo and rented a car to make the border crossing into Canada. The line at the bridge was almost non-existent and the border guard directed us to the main administration building to have our PR paperwork processed.
We presented ourselves inside and took a seat, as directed. My sense of consternation rose when I realized that there was a three-way conversation going on between the CBSA officer dealing with us and two colleagues, who had the mien of seniority. After twenty minutes or so we were beckoned over.
It seemed that there was no record, whatsoever, of a PR application for the daughter. Despite the fact she had a shiny, foil stamped Immigrant Visa and all the necessary paperwork, there was nothing in their system that matched any of the gallimaufry of reference numbers on said visa or papers. Naturally, she could enter as a visitor but this would entail the cancellation of her PR visa (as it can only be used once) and the need to reapply (an pay, again, the $1000 in fees and medicals)...I do NOT think so!
Fortunately, DW had brought the little one's British passport with her and she was able to enter Canada as a British visitor, while DW and I had our PR visas processed as normal.
Welcome to Canada, eh!
I made a dash back to Buffalo this morning to plead our case at the Canadian Consul there. They were of grim countenance and unable (or unwilling) to help. Daughter has to land before April 18th 2012 so I am now waiting (in Toronto, where we are staying for just 2 more days) for the Canucks in DF to respond to my anguished plea for help.
One way, one day, we will get there...
My journey was given a foreshadowing of the troubles to come by the unsmiling Officer Chavez - of the US-DHS, at the Pharr, TX border - who insisted that I unload everything from the truck (some 7 boxes of assorted household goods from Tampico for wifey) so she could closely inspect their contents, interrogate me about the subjects of photos in albums, ask odd questions about why I taught English at an American school, and generally give me the third-degree for making her evening difficult by having the temerity to present myself with a Canadian plated vehicle, a B1 visa in a British passport but also claiming Mexican nationality. No matter - pay peanuts, get monkeys.
Yesterday, Sunday, we flew from Houston on Southwest (via Baltimore) to Buffalo and rented a car to make the border crossing into Canada. The line at the bridge was almost non-existent and the border guard directed us to the main administration building to have our PR paperwork processed.
We presented ourselves inside and took a seat, as directed. My sense of consternation rose when I realized that there was a three-way conversation going on between the CBSA officer dealing with us and two colleagues, who had the mien of seniority. After twenty minutes or so we were beckoned over.
It seemed that there was no record, whatsoever, of a PR application for the daughter. Despite the fact she had a shiny, foil stamped Immigrant Visa and all the necessary paperwork, there was nothing in their system that matched any of the gallimaufry of reference numbers on said visa or papers. Naturally, she could enter as a visitor but this would entail the cancellation of her PR visa (as it can only be used once) and the need to reapply (an pay, again, the $1000 in fees and medicals)...I do NOT think so!
Fortunately, DW had brought the little one's British passport with her and she was able to enter Canada as a British visitor, while DW and I had our PR visas processed as normal.
Welcome to Canada, eh!
I made a dash back to Buffalo this morning to plead our case at the Canadian Consul there. They were of grim countenance and unable (or unwilling) to help. Daughter has to land before April 18th 2012 so I am now waiting (in Toronto, where we are staying for just 2 more days) for the Canucks in DF to respond to my anguished plea for help.
One way, one day, we will get there...
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Next Steps
Well, flights have now been booked - Houston to Buffalo, NY - to enable us to cross the land border into Canada on December 18th and land as Permanent Residents. Even with car rental, this worked out (by Southwest) some US$800 cheaper overall than flying direct to Toronto.
We will be staying with friends in the GTA for a scant few days before returning, so that we may spend Christmas in Tampico and New Year's in Houston. Then the mighty educational machine kicks off again on 4th January 2012.
It looks as though I will stay right where I am until Easter - Spring Break vacation - before packing and leaving Tampico (for the third time in as many years!). There's lots to be done, and lots to be thought of before then and my priority is to enbiggen the bank balance by working for as long as possible.
Stay tuned for later adventures at the Gates of Niagara!
We will be staying with friends in the GTA for a scant few days before returning, so that we may spend Christmas in Tampico and New Year's in Houston. Then the mighty educational machine kicks off again on 4th January 2012.
It looks as though I will stay right where I am until Easter - Spring Break vacation - before packing and leaving Tampico (for the third time in as many years!). There's lots to be done, and lots to be thought of before then and my priority is to enbiggen the bank balance by working for as long as possible.
Stay tuned for later adventures at the Gates of Niagara!
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Hallelujahs - Part II
Well, well - this morning's crop of email spam, RSS feeds and Facebook announcements brought with it a message and letter from those Darling Canucks of DF!
Send passports for all applicants within 15 days and a cashier's check for the Right of Permanent Residency Fee - don't forget to include a pre-paid, return waybill.
WOOT!
WOOT!
Looks like we have been granted Permanent Residency for the Dominion of Canada! Hoorah! Another Golden Ticket!
But now what, eh?
Send passports for all applicants within 15 days and a cashier's check for the Right of Permanent Residency Fee - don't forget to include a pre-paid, return waybill.
WOOT!
WOOT!
Looks like we have been granted Permanent Residency for the Dominion of Canada! Hoorah! Another Golden Ticket!
But now what, eh?
Friday, August 19, 2011
Meanwhile, in Texas...
I am enjoying a week en famille in my wife's new apartment to the north of Houston. Armed with tools (some of which have not been used for a looooong time, which meant, yesterday, having to strip my Makita driver-drill to rebuild the switch and clean the gears), a 'honey-do' list and an 8 year old daughter to help, I have been kept busy.
The Tamaulipas PGJ (The Attorney General's Office, you may remember) will have certificates ready for collection by the time I return so they may be forwarded to the Canadians, as per their last request.
And yet it seems that the original anxiety, and raison d'etre, for moving has all but vanished. DW's new place has been tastefully furnished, and she is looking forward to the start of her first full day in the classroom. Daughter is speaking English with great aplomb and enjoying the swimming pool and fine facilities of this apartment complex, hard by Lake Houston.
Which leaves me facing the bete noire of a long and uncomfortable journey back to Tampico this weekend. I am driving the Nissan stake-side truck from the warehouse - a vehicle that, while air-conditioned, cannot go faster than about 65mph (and then at punishingly high rates of fuel consumption, which, coupled with a risibly small fuel tank, means frequent stops) owing to the rear differential being geared for torque (as a commercial chassis designed to carry heavy weight) rather than speed. Furthermore, it has no radio - this has meant I had to be inventive and use an MP3 player/FM transmitter with a 'Freeplay' type mechanical radio to receive - cue strange sight of frenzied cranking every half-hour to wind the radio up!
Back in Tampico, I start teaching English to the 6th grade at the American School - a very well-paid gig, to be sure, and one that may make me wish to stay...we shall have to see. In any event, should the Canucks issue PR visas, we may well activate them with a quick jaunt north and then return for three years - thus maintaining our Canadian PR status.
Lots of doors opening, many decisions to be made. We are living in 'interesting' times.
The Tamaulipas PGJ (The Attorney General's Office, you may remember) will have certificates ready for collection by the time I return so they may be forwarded to the Canadians, as per their last request.
And yet it seems that the original anxiety, and raison d'etre, for moving has all but vanished. DW's new place has been tastefully furnished, and she is looking forward to the start of her first full day in the classroom. Daughter is speaking English with great aplomb and enjoying the swimming pool and fine facilities of this apartment complex, hard by Lake Houston.
Which leaves me facing the bete noire of a long and uncomfortable journey back to Tampico this weekend. I am driving the Nissan stake-side truck from the warehouse - a vehicle that, while air-conditioned, cannot go faster than about 65mph (and then at punishingly high rates of fuel consumption, which, coupled with a risibly small fuel tank, means frequent stops) owing to the rear differential being geared for torque (as a commercial chassis designed to carry heavy weight) rather than speed. Furthermore, it has no radio - this has meant I had to be inventive and use an MP3 player/FM transmitter with a 'Freeplay' type mechanical radio to receive - cue strange sight of frenzied cranking every half-hour to wind the radio up!
Back in Tampico, I start teaching English to the 6th grade at the American School - a very well-paid gig, to be sure, and one that may make me wish to stay...we shall have to see. In any event, should the Canucks issue PR visas, we may well activate them with a quick jaunt north and then return for three years - thus maintaining our Canadian PR status.
Lots of doors opening, many decisions to be made. We are living in 'interesting' times.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Finger-nail Chewing & Frustration
I emailed the Canadian Embassy the other week - a simple query, designed to gently chivvy them along - asking if there was additional documentation they required.
I received my answer yesterday. They want new Clearance Certificates from the Attorney General of the State of Tamaulipas. Why? Allegedly, because I had failed to supply them within the relevant time-frame when making the initial Federal application.
Yet, this is patently untrue.
The certificates are dated February 24th 2010 and must be submitted within THREE MONTHS of that date. The Canucks received our application on April 18th - within that three month period.
However, they promptly sat on the application process and did not begin processing it until JUNE 20th. It is this delay that is, presumably, triggering the new request.
Now, several things spring to mind.
Methinks there is a left hand/right hand dichotomy at work here and the official who responded to my recent query did so in a 'form' manner. I have emailed a response, asking for the original certificates to be accepted on the basis the delay was within their control or more time to comply with their request.
We'll see what happens but, meanwhile, hoary old adages about breweries and celebrations are a-whirl in my head.
I received my answer yesterday. They want new Clearance Certificates from the Attorney General of the State of Tamaulipas. Why? Allegedly, because I had failed to supply them within the relevant time-frame when making the initial Federal application.
Yet, this is patently untrue.
The certificates are dated February 24th 2010 and must be submitted within THREE MONTHS of that date. The Canucks received our application on April 18th - within that three month period.
However, they promptly sat on the application process and did not begin processing it until JUNE 20th. It is this delay that is, presumably, triggering the new request.
Now, several things spring to mind.
- Firstly, why have they waited until now before making this demand?
- Secondly, if my assumption is correct, the 'expiry' of the original certificates is entirely due to the Canadian's own lackadaisical attitude.
- Thirdly, they are demanding replacement certificates with 30 days - under threat of PR being refused - yet unless we travel to Cd.Victoria to make a personal application at the Attorney General's office (as we have done once before) we cannot possibly stay within this time limit - especially not as DW leaves for Texas in three days time and I am busy working all day, every day.
- Lastly, they have not specified whether these certificates are to be translated and/or notarized - an unfortunate oversight that could delay the process yet further.
Methinks there is a left hand/right hand dichotomy at work here and the official who responded to my recent query did so in a 'form' manner. I have emailed a response, asking for the original certificates to be accepted on the basis the delay was within their control or more time to comply with their request.
We'll see what happens but, meanwhile, hoary old adages about breweries and celebrations are a-whirl in my head.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Forgive Me, My Followers!
I know that I should, perhaps, write a little more frequently than I do in order to keep things up to date and provide current perspectives. It is something, unfortunately, I seem to have lost the appetite for, of late.
Well, anyway, a mad Friday dash to Mexico City (back in May) was arranged at the last minute to visit the offices of the Federal Attorney General, there to obtain Clearance Certificates (similar to UK Police Certificates, saying they have no criminal record of you). These applications had to be made in person and required an additional visit to their technical offices to give fingerprints - and palm-prints, and thumbprints and prints of the edge of the hand...I had so much black ink on my hands I began to feel like giving a quick Al Jolson impression. These certificates were duly issued and picked up after 2 weeks for delivery to the Canadians by DF-based colleagues of the DW - which, fortunately, spared us another trip as the certificates also had to be collected personally.
The evening of June 1st saw us at dinner in a local taqueria (a restaurant/bar) with American friends and a recently-married cousin with husband and baby. Dinner was very rudely interrupted by the untimely arrival of three AK-47 toting Bad Guys, who ordered everyone to the floor (at gunpoint, obviously) while they interrogated a young customer concerning the whereabouts of an accomplice. They left after around three minutes with this young man - who knows what became of him - and this short, but frightening, episode was over. Initially, I was curious, rather than afraid, and while prone (covering DW an terrified child) I rather foolishly looked up to see what was happening - this was rewarded with a swift rifle butt to the shoulder and a growl of, "Bajate, pendejo!" (trans: "Get down, asshole!") from the Bad Guy on point duty at the window behind me.
So, after many years here, the first (and last, I most fervently hope) personal experience of the drug-war fueled violence that has been raging in the background of all our lives here.
Meanwhile, DW has gone on to Houston to secure accommodation - US Visas having been filed for and granted - and expects to return in a few days. I will take our transport up there, for her benefit, and follow in August with furniture. By then, I hope to be able to report that the Canucks are awaiting our passports so that visas may be affixed and we have another option at getting away from here.
That's all for now folks!
Well, anyway, a mad Friday dash to Mexico City (back in May) was arranged at the last minute to visit the offices of the Federal Attorney General, there to obtain Clearance Certificates (similar to UK Police Certificates, saying they have no criminal record of you). These applications had to be made in person and required an additional visit to their technical offices to give fingerprints - and palm-prints, and thumbprints and prints of the edge of the hand...I had so much black ink on my hands I began to feel like giving a quick Al Jolson impression. These certificates were duly issued and picked up after 2 weeks for delivery to the Canadians by DF-based colleagues of the DW - which, fortunately, spared us another trip as the certificates also had to be collected personally.
The evening of June 1st saw us at dinner in a local taqueria (a restaurant/bar) with American friends and a recently-married cousin with husband and baby. Dinner was very rudely interrupted by the untimely arrival of three AK-47 toting Bad Guys, who ordered everyone to the floor (at gunpoint, obviously) while they interrogated a young customer concerning the whereabouts of an accomplice. They left after around three minutes with this young man - who knows what became of him - and this short, but frightening, episode was over. Initially, I was curious, rather than afraid, and while prone (covering DW an terrified child) I rather foolishly looked up to see what was happening - this was rewarded with a swift rifle butt to the shoulder and a growl of, "Bajate, pendejo!" (trans: "Get down, asshole!") from the Bad Guy on point duty at the window behind me.
So, after many years here, the first (and last, I most fervently hope) personal experience of the drug-war fueled violence that has been raging in the background of all our lives here.
Meanwhile, DW has gone on to Houston to secure accommodation - US Visas having been filed for and granted - and expects to return in a few days. I will take our transport up there, for her benefit, and follow in August with furniture. By then, I hope to be able to report that the Canucks are awaiting our passports so that visas may be affixed and we have another option at getting away from here.
That's all for now folks!
Thursday, April 21, 2011
An Exploration
Finally, the Canucks responded to my query with one of their own - after months of relaxed tension. Where were the results of our medical examinations? asked they. Apparently, they had written to me on January 13th! However, in the absence of an e-mail notification, the hard-copy correspondence sat unknown and uncollected in our mailbox. I checked the CIC website for a list of approved doctors and made an appointment for the three of us on Monday 18th.
This threw the household into some small measure of confusion, as we had planned to visit DW's future abode of Dayton, TX, in order to see what was what, and for her to meet with her future employers and colleagues. However, we took a Sunday morning drive to Monterrey, to stay with DW's friends in their neat little house, on one of the newer developments in the Cumbres district, on the northwestern side of Monterrey.
The medicals consisted of a lot of questions, blood and urine samples, chest X-rays, and took a good few hours - most of the afternoon, in fact. My wallet was lightened to the tune of several thousand pesos and we were assured that the results and forms would be forwarded to the Canadians, with due haste and DHL, in about a week or so.
That done, Tuesday morning saw us at an early start on the toll road to the border. We crossed at the new bridge of Anzalduas - connecting the western side of Reynosa with Mission - and this would have been a rapid crossing were it not for the fact that the DW and daughter needed I-94 permits and the tiny, two-windowed immigration office was clearly overwhelmed by the large numbers of Regiomontanos who wished to cross in to the USA without having to brave the lawless streets of downtown Reynosa. The immigration process took well over an hour and even though we had already waited an hour to cross the bridge, we still had time in hand to look into the mailbox in McAllen and collect its contents.
This brought forth surprising demands and deadlines from Schiller Street - home of the Canadian Embassy. Not only did they want the medicals, they also wanted Mexican Federal police clearance certificates - and they wanted these things within 90 days of the letter! Color me cynical, but the Canadians acknowledge in their covering letter that it may take up to six weeks for the letter to reach the applicant, so why the insistence on 90 days? More disconcerting was the fact that the covering letter from the Embassy to the PGR Records Office also had a 90 day time limit!
Alas and alack! Ninety days from January 13 took us up to April 13th!
Now what? Well, I have written the Canadians to request an extension. The medicals have been done and I suppose the Police application will need a covering letter to explain the tardiness. We shall see.
This is currently being written on DW's Ipad, in the hotel room in Dayton. We are going to Houston this morning, to stay with some other friends of SWMBO, before heading back to Tampico on Saturday. The price of gasoline here is deadly - almost US$4.00 a gallon! In Mexico, we are paying less than US$3.00 - quite a difference!!
This threw the household into some small measure of confusion, as we had planned to visit DW's future abode of Dayton, TX, in order to see what was what, and for her to meet with her future employers and colleagues. However, we took a Sunday morning drive to Monterrey, to stay with DW's friends in their neat little house, on one of the newer developments in the Cumbres district, on the northwestern side of Monterrey.
The medicals consisted of a lot of questions, blood and urine samples, chest X-rays, and took a good few hours - most of the afternoon, in fact. My wallet was lightened to the tune of several thousand pesos and we were assured that the results and forms would be forwarded to the Canadians, with due haste and DHL, in about a week or so.
That done, Tuesday morning saw us at an early start on the toll road to the border. We crossed at the new bridge of Anzalduas - connecting the western side of Reynosa with Mission - and this would have been a rapid crossing were it not for the fact that the DW and daughter needed I-94 permits and the tiny, two-windowed immigration office was clearly overwhelmed by the large numbers of Regiomontanos who wished to cross in to the USA without having to brave the lawless streets of downtown Reynosa. The immigration process took well over an hour and even though we had already waited an hour to cross the bridge, we still had time in hand to look into the mailbox in McAllen and collect its contents.
This brought forth surprising demands and deadlines from Schiller Street - home of the Canadian Embassy. Not only did they want the medicals, they also wanted Mexican Federal police clearance certificates - and they wanted these things within 90 days of the letter! Color me cynical, but the Canadians acknowledge in their covering letter that it may take up to six weeks for the letter to reach the applicant, so why the insistence on 90 days? More disconcerting was the fact that the covering letter from the Embassy to the PGR Records Office also had a 90 day time limit!
Alas and alack! Ninety days from January 13 took us up to April 13th!
Now what? Well, I have written the Canadians to request an extension. The medicals have been done and I suppose the Police application will need a covering letter to explain the tardiness. We shall see.
This is currently being written on DW's Ipad, in the hotel room in Dayton. We are going to Houston this morning, to stay with some other friends of SWMBO, before heading back to Tampico on Saturday. The price of gasoline here is deadly - almost US$4.00 a gallon! In Mexico, we are paying less than US$3.00 - quite a difference!!
Friday, April 15, 2011
Muted Huzzahs...
Well, in order to keep readers in the loop, up to speed, in the know, etc, I should make reference, briefly, to a message I received yesterday from the darling Canucks of DF - to whom I had written some time ago with a hesitant request for updates.
They tell me they had written to me in JANUARY, with instructions to go have a medical exam done by a Designated Medical Practitioner (DMP). Suffice it to say, this hard-copy correspondence was NOT notified to me by e-means (strange, they've been quite good about that) and so has sat forlornly uncollected in the mailbox in McAllen.
No matter - although it is irritating, there is nothing to be done other than call the nearest DMP (in Monterrey) and make an appointment - which I have done for Monday 18th April.
Light, it seems, shines a little more effulgent from the far end of this very long tunnel and I am wondering if it means we may have visas before DW leaves for Houston?
We shall see.
They tell me they had written to me in JANUARY, with instructions to go have a medical exam done by a Designated Medical Practitioner (DMP). Suffice it to say, this hard-copy correspondence was NOT notified to me by e-means (strange, they've been quite good about that) and so has sat forlornly uncollected in the mailbox in McAllen.
No matter - although it is irritating, there is nothing to be done other than call the nearest DMP (in Monterrey) and make an appointment - which I have done for Monday 18th April.
Light, it seems, shines a little more effulgent from the far end of this very long tunnel and I am wondering if it means we may have visas before DW leaves for Houston?
We shall see.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Pipped At The Post
Quelle surprise! Que sorpresa! And how!
DW is away in Houston at a recruitment fair at the moment, as part of her ongoing effort to establish a workable ''Plan B''. Incredibly enough, she has just advised me that she has been offered a job by an ISD about 20 miles NE of metropolitan Houston. Pending the US State Department approving an H1-B visa, she starts work there in August this year.
Well, I have almost managed to pick my jaw up from the floor at this news.
Part of me didn't really want her to get a job, but DW is a very determined lady and a damn good teacher - so it's no surprise that she has been snapped up by a State looking for bilingual teachers with Spanish mother-tongue and strong English skills.
But now, despite the bridge, needing to be crossed, still being some distance off, come the practical issues of what happens next. Do I go with her, despite not being able to work in the USA? Do I stay and hold down the fort in Tampico, and continue with my own teaching work and money-earning - whilst waiting for the Canadian process to wend its weary way towards completion?
Some tough decisions approaching...
DW is away in Houston at a recruitment fair at the moment, as part of her ongoing effort to establish a workable ''Plan B''. Incredibly enough, she has just advised me that she has been offered a job by an ISD about 20 miles NE of metropolitan Houston. Pending the US State Department approving an H1-B visa, she starts work there in August this year.
Well, I have almost managed to pick my jaw up from the floor at this news.
Part of me didn't really want her to get a job, but DW is a very determined lady and a damn good teacher - so it's no surprise that she has been snapped up by a State looking for bilingual teachers with Spanish mother-tongue and strong English skills.
But now, despite the bridge, needing to be crossed, still being some distance off, come the practical issues of what happens next. Do I go with her, despite not being able to work in the USA? Do I stay and hold down the fort in Tampico, and continue with my own teaching work and money-earning - whilst waiting for the Canadian process to wend its weary way towards completion?
Some tough decisions approaching...
Monday, February 7, 2011
How do I love thee, Internet?
Let me count the ways...well. possibly only two that readily spring to mind as having had the greatest, personal effect.
There's no doubt that the internet, in all its internationalized, data-sharing glory, has provoked profound changes to the lives of those who can access it. All areas of commerce - from the personal, to the professional and governmental - have been eased. The dissemination of news and information has been freed from the more traditional forms of bias and control that the 'dead-tree media' held - indeed, it is now possible to witness almost any observation on almost any subject from virtually anywhere along any number of political, social, cultural or philosophical spectra.
In wishing to begin the formal process of migration to Canada, we have been helped enormously by the internet. Not only has the Canadian government (Federal and Provincial) made all its forms, rules, regulations and processes freely available on-line, but fora have been organized to share the views, stories and opinions and to provide assistance to those with questions on all subjects that may affect the intended migrant. I have, in my turn, contributed to these fora with my own experiences of the process.
By the same token, I frequent other fora that serve my diverse interests. In these I may also contribute to the knowledge base as well as learn new things from others Information exchange has been made greatly easier, especially for those with niche interests. My own, narrow interests may intersect with others and it is now considerably easier to see and exploit those intersections on a personal level.
Trade in items that appeal to niche interests has been boosted by sites such as Ebay, which can offer global exposure and the widest possible market. When combined with on-line translation software and on-line payment transfer services, language can cease to be a barrier.
Ebay isn't perfect - not by a long shot - but it is a huge market place. Like any market place, it is open to exploitation by the charlatan, the impostor, the quack, the mountebank, the blackguard, the fraudster, the spiv. These may lure, trap, fool and deceive the unwary, the simple, the ignorant, the greedy, the hasty and the foolish. I have been buying on Ebay for more than 10 years and have only seen the worst end of a deal on a mere handful of occasions (of the 700 (or so)transactions I have engaged in). It does make me smile that so many think they may unload whatever junky old things they have simply by using the right words in their sales pitch - but as the internet has made selling easier, it has also made fraud-spotting easier...
And on this holiday Monday morning, I have somewhat lost the thread of what I was saying...still waiting for news from the Canadian embassy, as the 'norte' blows fiercely outside and I am writing essays and teaching notes, made a good deal easier by Wikipedia.
There's no doubt that the internet, in all its internationalized, data-sharing glory, has provoked profound changes to the lives of those who can access it. All areas of commerce - from the personal, to the professional and governmental - have been eased. The dissemination of news and information has been freed from the more traditional forms of bias and control that the 'dead-tree media' held - indeed, it is now possible to witness almost any observation on almost any subject from virtually anywhere along any number of political, social, cultural or philosophical spectra.
In wishing to begin the formal process of migration to Canada, we have been helped enormously by the internet. Not only has the Canadian government (Federal and Provincial) made all its forms, rules, regulations and processes freely available on-line, but fora have been organized to share the views, stories and opinions and to provide assistance to those with questions on all subjects that may affect the intended migrant. I have, in my turn, contributed to these fora with my own experiences of the process.
By the same token, I frequent other fora that serve my diverse interests. In these I may also contribute to the knowledge base as well as learn new things from others Information exchange has been made greatly easier, especially for those with niche interests. My own, narrow interests may intersect with others and it is now considerably easier to see and exploit those intersections on a personal level.
Trade in items that appeal to niche interests has been boosted by sites such as Ebay, which can offer global exposure and the widest possible market. When combined with on-line translation software and on-line payment transfer services, language can cease to be a barrier.
Ebay isn't perfect - not by a long shot - but it is a huge market place. Like any market place, it is open to exploitation by the charlatan, the impostor, the quack, the mountebank, the blackguard, the fraudster, the spiv. These may lure, trap, fool and deceive the unwary, the simple, the ignorant, the greedy, the hasty and the foolish. I have been buying on Ebay for more than 10 years and have only seen the worst end of a deal on a mere handful of occasions (of the 700 (or so)transactions I have engaged in). It does make me smile that so many think they may unload whatever junky old things they have simply by using the right words in their sales pitch - but as the internet has made selling easier, it has also made fraud-spotting easier...
And on this holiday Monday morning, I have somewhat lost the thread of what I was saying...still waiting for news from the Canadian embassy, as the 'norte' blows fiercely outside and I am writing essays and teaching notes, made a good deal easier by Wikipedia.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Happy New Year
...to all readers of "The Potential Canuck".
Next year, this will be brought to you from frozen, northern climes - I most fervently hope.
But, for now, the Tampico celebration was strangely muted. There were no ships tied up in the port, so the only sonorous horn to sound was that of the Harbormaster. Likewise, there were no crowds gathered in Plaza de Armas, the municipal government not having decorated the town hall, nor provided tree or decorations this year. There were still fireworks to be seen to the west - indeed, their percussive echoes are still sounding (at 00.21 Central Time) but I do believe that things were quieter this year than before.
Still, fond memories are made of such things...
Next year, this will be brought to you from frozen, northern climes - I most fervently hope.
But, for now, the Tampico celebration was strangely muted. There were no ships tied up in the port, so the only sonorous horn to sound was that of the Harbormaster. Likewise, there were no crowds gathered in Plaza de Armas, the municipal government not having decorated the town hall, nor provided tree or decorations this year. There were still fireworks to be seen to the west - indeed, their percussive echoes are still sounding (at 00.21 Central Time) but I do believe that things were quieter this year than before.
Still, fond memories are made of such things...
Thursday, December 30, 2010
A Blaze of End Of Year Blues and Grays
I did not believe, whence this process began in September/October 2008, that I would still be here at the end of a second year and in much the same position of uncertainty. True enough, it is now more likely that PR will be granted, eventually, but I find myself fearing lessened opportunities as time advances.
We are still waiting for word from the Canadian Embassy - the next stage being, presumably, medical examinations. I do not believe there will be much action this side of June 2011...but we shall see.
Meanwhile, the civil situation continues to degrade as unofficial curfews and late-night carjackings become, seemingly, more commonplace. The municipal workers were on strike for a week, recently, after the City's refusal to pay their legally mandated Christmas bonus. This resulted in no street sweeping, trash collection or street lights for a week. The local authority appealed to the State government for a loan to meet this financial obligation but, when last I heard, it had been refused. Elsewhere, the other Bad Guys do not seem to be lessening their terror campaign...
McAllen, for two days last week, was a fun diversion. I spoke with some of the store workers in Mercedes, TX, at the outlet mall there and discovered that business was much, much slower than this time last year. One store clerk gave me he opinion that the rest of Texas did not understand how important a healthy Mexican economy was to the local economy of the Rio Grande Valley along the border. The journey there and back passed without incident and the truck now has a new import permit sticker.
The big return to work is on 4th January - all planning and scheduling to be completed by then.
Entonces, desde Tampico, les doy felicidades por el Año Nuevo de 2011.
So, from Tampico, I give you all best wishes for the New Year of 2011.
I did not believe, whence this process began in September/October 2008, that I would still be here at the end of a second year and in much the same position of uncertainty. True enough, it is now more likely that PR will be granted, eventually, but I find myself fearing lessened opportunities as time advances.
We are still waiting for word from the Canadian Embassy - the next stage being, presumably, medical examinations. I do not believe there will be much action this side of June 2011...but we shall see.
Meanwhile, the civil situation continues to degrade as unofficial curfews and late-night carjackings become, seemingly, more commonplace. The municipal workers were on strike for a week, recently, after the City's refusal to pay their legally mandated Christmas bonus. This resulted in no street sweeping, trash collection or street lights for a week. The local authority appealed to the State government for a loan to meet this financial obligation but, when last I heard, it had been refused. Elsewhere, the other Bad Guys do not seem to be lessening their terror campaign...
McAllen, for two days last week, was a fun diversion. I spoke with some of the store workers in Mercedes, TX, at the outlet mall there and discovered that business was much, much slower than this time last year. One store clerk gave me he opinion that the rest of Texas did not understand how important a healthy Mexican economy was to the local economy of the Rio Grande Valley along the border. The journey there and back passed without incident and the truck now has a new import permit sticker.
The big return to work is on 4th January - all planning and scheduling to be completed by then.
Entonces, desde Tampico, les doy felicidades por el Año Nuevo de 2011.
So, from Tampico, I give you all best wishes for the New Year of 2011.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Life Does Not Stop
...not while waiting for the Canadian Embassy to make up their minds, extract their digits and tick their boxes!
Despite not knowing just when everything will be finalized, one has to make plans on the basis that nothing will change for the next 6 months or so. I have agreed to continue working another term at the private language school here and have accepted the responsibility to give classes in Socio-Linguistics and Anglo-Cultural Studies to BA students. This will take me up to around 30 hours a week, a point at which it becomes difficult to juggle everything whilst only being paid for 'face-time' (ie: not paid for planning, administration, assignment marking, writing homework and projects etc etc).
Still, it keeps one active and helps offset the cost of bills as they crop up. The Big Blue Beastie Suburban, that I continue to roar around in, has just had new shock absorbers fitted and will soon need new tires (although I might buy those in 'el otro lado'). There's an upcoming christmas shopping trip to McAllen, wherein the Great American Cornucopia shall provide (at reduced cost) some of the goodies I have been eyeing these last few months.
Meanwhile, the bad guys have not let up on their random mayhem of late. Classes were canceled one evening last week due to a shoot-out, causing a goodly amount of fear, panic and an 'unofficial' curfew imposed by the military. But, one keeps a stiff upper lip and takes the sage advice of previous generations, used to far greater privations than ours.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Updates and Impatience, Fear and Loathing.
Saturday morning, dark outside. It's 6.45AM and I just let the ironing lady in - she comes every other week at this ungodly hour - as the cacophony of buses and route-cars begins to build in the street. I'm drinking coffee and enjoying the early-morning coolness, checking email, reading blogs, taking the intellectual temperature of the web.
And it occurred to me that I hadn't given an update here for some time, so...
The Canadian Embassy responded to my recent query of, "Hello? Anyone there?" with surprising alacrity and demanded proof of our having sufficient funds to support ourselves once in Canada. To this I replied with copies of the bank statements and translations that formed part of our original package and explained that their request for this information within 15 days did not allow sufficient time to have more recent statements printed, translated and notarized. To this they said that translations were unnecessary - please send the last six months of bank statements. Well, I admit, that sounds promising but it has sent us into a small-ish frenzy of visits to various banks, and financial jiggery-pokery to enbiggen the liquidity holdings therein.
Interestingly, the Embassy also demanded an account of how I came to seek and achieve Provincial Nomination. Methinks this is a somewhat crude attempt at fraud detection but, nevertheless, I gave them a single-paragraph summation of the two page letter that had originally sought our acceptance to Nova Scotia's Nominee Program.
So, the fleet flight of DHL will wing this information to the Federal District on Monday and, I most fervently hope, we will see some real progress on our visa application.
Meanwhile, down in the front trenches of the drug wars, the two big rival organizations are duking it out for control of the wholesale drug trade and logistical control of the onward shipment routes. In the last three weeks we have suffered two major gun battles - death toll 18 - and a particularly grisly multiple hanging from the overpass on Ave. Hidalgo by the Home Depot store (not to mention the decapitated bodies left in the roadway as well). The tension is almost palpable, at times, with all kinds of rumor and speculation abroad, adding fuel to the fires of 'insecurity' that flare and burn wildly from time to time. Add to this the recent discovery, near Cd.Victoria (some three hours from us), of the bodies of 72 illegal immigrants, and the dumping nearby - on a separate occasion - of some 18 cadavers, and one can, perhaps, understand the jitters of the citizens hereabouts.
I continue to teach and do my best to ignore it all, however. This is an approach that has something going for it as the British wartime maxim of, "Keep Calm And Carry On" is particularly, and peculiarly, appropriate.
Saturday morning, dark outside. It's 6.45AM and I just let the ironing lady in - she comes every other week at this ungodly hour - as the cacophony of buses and route-cars begins to build in the street. I'm drinking coffee and enjoying the early-morning coolness, checking email, reading blogs, taking the intellectual temperature of the web.
And it occurred to me that I hadn't given an update here for some time, so...
The Canadian Embassy responded to my recent query of, "Hello? Anyone there?" with surprising alacrity and demanded proof of our having sufficient funds to support ourselves once in Canada. To this I replied with copies of the bank statements and translations that formed part of our original package and explained that their request for this information within 15 days did not allow sufficient time to have more recent statements printed, translated and notarized. To this they said that translations were unnecessary - please send the last six months of bank statements. Well, I admit, that sounds promising but it has sent us into a small-ish frenzy of visits to various banks, and financial jiggery-pokery to enbiggen the liquidity holdings therein.
Interestingly, the Embassy also demanded an account of how I came to seek and achieve Provincial Nomination. Methinks this is a somewhat crude attempt at fraud detection but, nevertheless, I gave them a single-paragraph summation of the two page letter that had originally sought our acceptance to Nova Scotia's Nominee Program.
So, the fleet flight of DHL will wing this information to the Federal District on Monday and, I most fervently hope, we will see some real progress on our visa application.
Meanwhile, down in the front trenches of the drug wars, the two big rival organizations are duking it out for control of the wholesale drug trade and logistical control of the onward shipment routes. In the last three weeks we have suffered two major gun battles - death toll 18 - and a particularly grisly multiple hanging from the overpass on Ave. Hidalgo by the Home Depot store (not to mention the decapitated bodies left in the roadway as well). The tension is almost palpable, at times, with all kinds of rumor and speculation abroad, adding fuel to the fires of 'insecurity' that flare and burn wildly from time to time. Add to this the recent discovery, near Cd.Victoria (some three hours from us), of the bodies of 72 illegal immigrants, and the dumping nearby - on a separate occasion - of some 18 cadavers, and one can, perhaps, understand the jitters of the citizens hereabouts.
I continue to teach and do my best to ignore it all, however. This is an approach that has something going for it as the British wartime maxim of, "Keep Calm And Carry On" is particularly, and peculiarly, appropriate.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Doors Close, Doors Open
More employment prospects......than I know what to do with! Since my unplanned return, I have approached the secondary school I worked at last year and they gratefully, and relievedly, took me back and gave me a larger class - now they have more kids. Another institution advertised for teachers and I applied, without much hope as I consider my experience to be limited.
This second institution have offered me 20 hours a week (at MN$108 per hour) to teach a 14 week course on English Literature (to college age students) and advance level business English.
So, I find myself now being occupied for 30 hours a week, at a living wage, in air-conditioned comfort and in an atmosphere of quietly civil learning - a far cry from the sweating, madding crowd of the market.
Some days, I even wonder whether we might stay here - and then I know I'm dreaming!
More employment prospects......than I know what to do with! Since my unplanned return, I have approached the secondary school I worked at last year and they gratefully, and relievedly, took me back and gave me a larger class - now they have more kids. Another institution advertised for teachers and I applied, without much hope as I consider my experience to be limited.
This second institution have offered me 20 hours a week (at MN$108 per hour) to teach a 14 week course on English Literature (to college age students) and advance level business English.
So, I find myself now being occupied for 30 hours a week, at a living wage, in air-conditioned comfort and in an atmosphere of quietly civil learning - a far cry from the sweating, madding crowd of the market.
Some days, I even wonder whether we might stay here - and then I know I'm dreaming!
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Epilogue
Firstly, let me say that the Canadian immigration officials were, almost without exception, unfailingly polite and cautiously courteous. The senior official who interviewed me, and denied me entry on the grounds that I was not a 'genuine visitor' (in that I had a Canadian registered vehicle, packed to the roof with household goods, no guaranteed future date for departure - such as an air ticket - and no proof of binding ties to either of my 'home' countries), was genuinely apologetic and seemed concerned that I had either misunderstood the advice I had been given or had been badly advised. I had to sign a document to say that I had voluntarily withdrawn my application to enter Canada and that I would not seek re-admission for thirty days.
Then I was turned around and sent back over Ambassador's Bridge, fuming slightly, but more ashamed and embarrassed than anything else. The US officials were there usual unsmiling, curt, shade-wearing selves who could not fathom a)why I had a B1/B2 visa and b)why that visa was in a passport for a country I was no longer resident of - I thought they would have kittens when I pulled out my Mexican passport to 'prove' my national status in that country.
No matter. Formalities were concluded and I passed back on to the southbound I-75, somewhat dazed, thinking that I should make northern Kentucky, at least, before stopping. I stopped at around midnight at a rest area on the Wendell Howard Parkway, and slept solidly until 6.30AM the next morning, when I awoke resolving to make Milano, Texas my next stop. This was the same route I had taken last year so I new the distances and times.
Suffice it to say, I presented myself at the Reynosa/Hidalgo bridge on Sunday morning (the 27th) and crossed without incident. There were, however, incidents aplenty. The first came on the main road out of Reynosa - two traffic cops looking for breakfast hit me for US$15 or suffer being towed and face a MN$1000 fine for 'driving to close to the car in front' (a BS excuse if ever I heard one).
At the junction for Altamira, just 1 hour from home, I was hit for another 50 pesos - no reason given - but this time they came at me mob-handed and muttering darkly. Just 1 Km later, a bike-cop stopped me - he had been radioed by his colleagues that there was a walking-wallet heading his way - and hit me for 20 pesos. Normally, I am highly averse to paying mordida to cops when I have done nothing wrong but I just wanted to get home.
So what went right? Let's look on the bright side. In 8 days, I covered almost 4400 miles with nary a missed beat of that pounding diesel, a blown tire or a leak of vital fluids from the Big Blue Beastie - an admirable achievement for a 25 year old vehicle, especially as it was carrying me and around 1500lbs of possessions. I have returned in one piece, albeit with lighter pockets after 220 gallons of fuel, 2 nights motels and US$150 sundries.
Other bright news includes, finally, a letter from the Canadian Embassy acknowledging receipt of our PR visa application. This letter was dated 21st June - exactly 20 working days after they received my initial e-mail query. Furthermore, because I left Tampico without so much as a single charred bridge it looks as though there will be opportunities for teaching work again.
But, as ever, there are some dark clouds here and there. The gubernatorial candidate for the incumbent PRI was assassinated the other day near Cd.Victoria, along with 4 of his campaign staff. The state elections are in a few days and they have announced, today, that the replacement candidate is the dead man's brother.
Let us not forget, also, the other, internalized, black clouds that shift formlessly, receding and advancing, waxing and waning. I returned with tail between the legs, searching desperately for a shovel to get the egg off my face - such was the expectation that I had built up over the preceding months. Since my return, most unlike any sort of son, prodigal or otherwise, there is a palpable sense of disappointment that I shall have to work hard to overcome.
Firstly, let me say that the Canadian immigration officials were, almost without exception, unfailingly polite and cautiously courteous. The senior official who interviewed me, and denied me entry on the grounds that I was not a 'genuine visitor' (in that I had a Canadian registered vehicle, packed to the roof with household goods, no guaranteed future date for departure - such as an air ticket - and no proof of binding ties to either of my 'home' countries), was genuinely apologetic and seemed concerned that I had either misunderstood the advice I had been given or had been badly advised. I had to sign a document to say that I had voluntarily withdrawn my application to enter Canada and that I would not seek re-admission for thirty days.
Then I was turned around and sent back over Ambassador's Bridge, fuming slightly, but more ashamed and embarrassed than anything else. The US officials were there usual unsmiling, curt, shade-wearing selves who could not fathom a)why I had a B1/B2 visa and b)why that visa was in a passport for a country I was no longer resident of - I thought they would have kittens when I pulled out my Mexican passport to 'prove' my national status in that country.
No matter. Formalities were concluded and I passed back on to the southbound I-75, somewhat dazed, thinking that I should make northern Kentucky, at least, before stopping. I stopped at around midnight at a rest area on the Wendell Howard Parkway, and slept solidly until 6.30AM the next morning, when I awoke resolving to make Milano, Texas my next stop. This was the same route I had taken last year so I new the distances and times.
Suffice it to say, I presented myself at the Reynosa/Hidalgo bridge on Sunday morning (the 27th) and crossed without incident. There were, however, incidents aplenty. The first came on the main road out of Reynosa - two traffic cops looking for breakfast hit me for US$15 or suffer being towed and face a MN$1000 fine for 'driving to close to the car in front' (a BS excuse if ever I heard one).
At the junction for Altamira, just 1 hour from home, I was hit for another 50 pesos - no reason given - but this time they came at me mob-handed and muttering darkly. Just 1 Km later, a bike-cop stopped me - he had been radioed by his colleagues that there was a walking-wallet heading his way - and hit me for 20 pesos. Normally, I am highly averse to paying mordida to cops when I have done nothing wrong but I just wanted to get home.
So what went right? Let's look on the bright side. In 8 days, I covered almost 4400 miles with nary a missed beat of that pounding diesel, a blown tire or a leak of vital fluids from the Big Blue Beastie - an admirable achievement for a 25 year old vehicle, especially as it was carrying me and around 1500lbs of possessions. I have returned in one piece, albeit with lighter pockets after 220 gallons of fuel, 2 nights motels and US$150 sundries.
Other bright news includes, finally, a letter from the Canadian Embassy acknowledging receipt of our PR visa application. This letter was dated 21st June - exactly 20 working days after they received my initial e-mail query. Furthermore, because I left Tampico without so much as a single charred bridge it looks as though there will be opportunities for teaching work again.
But, as ever, there are some dark clouds here and there. The gubernatorial candidate for the incumbent PRI was assassinated the other day near Cd.Victoria, along with 4 of his campaign staff. The state elections are in a few days and they have announced, today, that the replacement candidate is the dead man's brother.
Let us not forget, also, the other, internalized, black clouds that shift formlessly, receding and advancing, waxing and waning. I returned with tail between the legs, searching desperately for a shovel to get the egg off my face - such was the expectation that I had built up over the preceding months. Since my return, most unlike any sort of son, prodigal or otherwise, there is a palpable sense of disappointment that I shall have to work hard to overcome.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Day 6
Eureka, Illinois to Detroit, Michigan to Rockport, Kentucky
830 miles
WTF? I hear you say. What's happening here? Kentucky?
Dear Reader, I awoke at 4.30AM and hit the road immediately. After driving for 2 hours along Hwy.24 (which I intended to follow to Toledo, Ohio), I pulled off the road in to a rest area to clean up and make coffee. I planned to present myself properly washed and shaved, with a clean shirt, to gain admission to Canada at Ambassador's Bridge, Detroit.
I pushed on throughout the morning and made the bridge by 2.30PM
I won't bore you here with all the details but, suffice it to say, I was refused entry. I turned the truck around and took I-75 south to Cincinnati, picked up I-71 to the West Kentucky Parkway and rolled westwards.
I stopped at midnight. Exhausted. Angry. Disappointed etc etc and slept uneasily in a rest area, wondering what next.
Eureka, Illinois to Detroit, Michigan to Rockport, Kentucky
830 miles
WTF? I hear you say. What's happening here? Kentucky?
Dear Reader, I awoke at 4.30AM and hit the road immediately. After driving for 2 hours along Hwy.24 (which I intended to follow to Toledo, Ohio), I pulled off the road in to a rest area to clean up and make coffee. I planned to present myself properly washed and shaved, with a clean shirt, to gain admission to Canada at Ambassador's Bridge, Detroit.
I pushed on throughout the morning and made the bridge by 2.30PM
I won't bore you here with all the details but, suffice it to say, I was refused entry. I turned the truck around and took I-75 south to Cincinnati, picked up I-71 to the West Kentucky Parkway and rolled westwards.
I stopped at midnight. Exhausted. Angry. Disappointed etc etc and slept uneasily in a rest area, wondering what next.
Day 5
Beatrice, Nebraska to Eureka, Illinois
483 miles
After a wonderfully air-conditioned night's sleep in the motel, I hit the main road for Omaha - there to visit the museum of the Strategic Air Command - that branch of the US military that was charged with protecting the skies over America and retaliating if necessary.
I arrived at about 10.00AM - just in time for opening - and was immediately struck by the beauty of the building. Admission was just $10, but the 'guide' was a miserable, badly photocopied sheet of A4. I was expecting to see a properly ordered, chronological display that told of the history of the SAC, its mission and role, its equipment and installations - the whys and wherefores. In particular, I wanted to know more about its role within the context of NORAD's defense system capability.
The two hangars of the museum were simply a collection of the various planes that SAC had used - incredible enough but one could not climb a gantry, for example, to see inside - the presentation was static and dull. Oh well... onwards.
I took Hwy.34 towards Burlington, intending to press on and make the other side of Peoria, IL before dark. I had seen a line of black storm clouds on the horizon as I was moving towards them, and the radio had kept up a constant wittering of what powerful, damaging storms these were. But in the sunshine, the small town of Chariton was especially charming.
There were a few spots of rain falling but the storm seemed to be moving faster than I was. At 3.51PM, the radio gave an ear-splitting skreech, followed by a burst of tones that immediately put me in mind of the Emergency Broadcast System. Indeed, it was a warning from the National Weather Service for imminent tornadoes, storms, hurricanes and all matter of assorted climatic mayhem. Intrigued, I listened to the report of impending doom and hailstorms in Warren County, Iowa and I wondered where I was. Just then, from the gloaming, appeared a sign "Entering WARREN COUNTY". Eeek! The rain was really starting to hammer down and God had seen fit to provide a wonderful firework display. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, I pulled in to the parking lot of the Walmart in Otumwa and paused a while.
Soon the storm abated. Judging from the reports, there had clearly been extensive damage to those areas that had borne the brunt of the storm's force. There were many reports of power outages and, indeed, when I arrived in Peoria, Illinois, in the fading twilight, it was to an under lit scene with many dead traffic signals, roadworks, police barricades, enforced diversions etc etc. It took some hours of crawling and groping through the air scented of yeast or coal-tar, according to whatever the factory, one was passing at that moment, produced.
I managed to find an open gas station in the small town of Eureka - just the other side of Peoria. It had been a long day. It was late. I needed to sleep. Despite the humidity, I did sleep soundly.
Beatrice, Nebraska to Eureka, Illinois
483 miles
After a wonderfully air-conditioned night's sleep in the motel, I hit the main road for Omaha - there to visit the museum of the Strategic Air Command - that branch of the US military that was charged with protecting the skies over America and retaliating if necessary.
I arrived at about 10.00AM - just in time for opening - and was immediately struck by the beauty of the building. Admission was just $10, but the 'guide' was a miserable, badly photocopied sheet of A4. I was expecting to see a properly ordered, chronological display that told of the history of the SAC, its mission and role, its equipment and installations - the whys and wherefores. In particular, I wanted to know more about its role within the context of NORAD's defense system capability.
The two hangars of the museum were simply a collection of the various planes that SAC had used - incredible enough but one could not climb a gantry, for example, to see inside - the presentation was static and dull. Oh well... onwards.
I took Hwy.34 towards Burlington, intending to press on and make the other side of Peoria, IL before dark. I had seen a line of black storm clouds on the horizon as I was moving towards them, and the radio had kept up a constant wittering of what powerful, damaging storms these were. But in the sunshine, the small town of Chariton was especially charming.
There were a few spots of rain falling but the storm seemed to be moving faster than I was. At 3.51PM, the radio gave an ear-splitting skreech, followed by a burst of tones that immediately put me in mind of the Emergency Broadcast System. Indeed, it was a warning from the National Weather Service for imminent tornadoes, storms, hurricanes and all matter of assorted climatic mayhem. Intrigued, I listened to the report of impending doom and hailstorms in Warren County, Iowa and I wondered where I was. Just then, from the gloaming, appeared a sign "Entering WARREN COUNTY". Eeek! The rain was really starting to hammer down and God had seen fit to provide a wonderful firework display. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, I pulled in to the parking lot of the Walmart in Otumwa and paused a while.
Soon the storm abated. Judging from the reports, there had clearly been extensive damage to those areas that had borne the brunt of the storm's force. There were many reports of power outages and, indeed, when I arrived in Peoria, Illinois, in the fading twilight, it was to an under lit scene with many dead traffic signals, roadworks, police barricades, enforced diversions etc etc. It took some hours of crawling and groping through the air scented of yeast or coal-tar, according to whatever the factory, one was passing at that moment, produced.
I managed to find an open gas station in the small town of Eureka - just the other side of Peoria. It had been a long day. It was late. I needed to sleep. Despite the humidity, I did sleep soundly.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Day 4
Hardtner, Kansas to Beatrice, Nebraska
400 miles
The day began early - 5.30AM when the birds began singing, the cockerels began crowing and my own body clock woke me up. Thanking my foresight in putting an inverter in the truck, I made strong coffee, then washed and dressed cleanly. By 6.10, the pre-dawn was lightening and I left Hartdner and the small memorial park whence I had stayed.
Continuing on Hwy.281, I stopped in the town of Pratt for breakfast. Right at the junction where I had to turn for Hutchinson, there was a McDonalds. Say what you like - McDonalds is consistent and always has clean bathrooms, hot food and fresh coffee. I partook - and did not feel guilty.
That Titan I rocket is not falling over - it's what happens when you don't have a tilt/shift-correcting lens!
I arrived at the Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center at 8.30 - I was not the first, even if they did not open until 9.00AM! Admission for all parts of the center was just $17 - excellent value! The museum has many, many artifacts from the Soviet and American space programs, including Gus Grissom's 'Liberty Bell 7' capsule and the Apollo 13 command module 'Odyssey'. It traces the history of rocketry from the 1920's, through the Von Braun V-2 program and Operation Paperclip. There are parallel threads - Von Braun's efforts in Mercury, Gemini and Apollo - with the thing I had come to see, a detailed history of Sergei Korolev's efforts to continually upstage NASA. I was surprised to see that it was after 2.00PM when I came out - I had had a thoroughly engaging time and my only criticism was that the gift shop did not have a very good selection of books. No matter.
My next stop was Lebanon, to see the geographic center of the USA - as so well described by Bill Bryson in "The Lost Continent". I stopped there for a while, with sandwich and refreshment, and wrote an update for this blog. "Currently writing this from the Geographic Center of the United States, just by Lebanon, Kansas. It’s a windy, lonely place although there is a small chapel and picnic area close by the marker stone and flag."
So, after playing at being the center of the known universe (hah!), briefly interrupted by some other visitors, I headed off to Red Cloud, there to pick up Hwy.136 for Beatrice. Red Cloud was a prosperous looking place with a typically picturesque main street - I snapped the picture below with the tractor to show the agricultural nature of this part of the USA, where dealers for John Deere and Massey-Ferguson outnumber those for Chevrolet or Ford.
I followed Bryson's route, via Deshler and Hebron, noting that, as he had done, distant towns were easily spotted by the huge white grain silos that all these communities had. Indeed, this was farm country.
On the map, Beatrice looked large enough to support motels but I had almost passed the city limits before I came across the EconoLodge - an establishment which I heartily endorse. It is clean, cheap and comfortable and beats another hot sweaty night in the truck!
Tomorrow, it's off to Omaha and the Strategic Air Command museum, thence...hmmm...some planning needed methinks! We shall see.
Hardtner, Kansas to Beatrice, Nebraska
400 miles
The day began early - 5.30AM when the birds began singing, the cockerels began crowing and my own body clock woke me up. Thanking my foresight in putting an inverter in the truck, I made strong coffee, then washed and dressed cleanly. By 6.10, the pre-dawn was lightening and I left Hartdner and the small memorial park whence I had stayed.
Continuing on Hwy.281, I stopped in the town of Pratt for breakfast. Right at the junction where I had to turn for Hutchinson, there was a McDonalds. Say what you like - McDonalds is consistent and always has clean bathrooms, hot food and fresh coffee. I partook - and did not feel guilty.
That Titan I rocket is not falling over - it's what happens when you don't have a tilt/shift-correcting lens!My next stop was Lebanon, to see the geographic center of the USA - as so well described by Bill Bryson in "The Lost Continent". I stopped there for a while, with sandwich and refreshment, and wrote an update for this blog. "Currently writing this from the Geographic Center of the United States, just by Lebanon, Kansas. It’s a windy, lonely place although there is a small chapel and picnic area close by the marker stone and flag."
So, after playing at being the center of the known universe (hah!), briefly interrupted by some other visitors, I headed off to Red Cloud, there to pick up Hwy.136 for Beatrice. Red Cloud was a prosperous looking place with a typically picturesque main street - I snapped the picture below with the tractor to show the agricultural nature of this part of the USA, where dealers for John Deere and Massey-Ferguson outnumber those for Chevrolet or Ford.
I followed Bryson's route, via Deshler and Hebron, noting that, as he had done, distant towns were easily spotted by the huge white grain silos that all these communities had. Indeed, this was farm country.On the map, Beatrice looked large enough to support motels but I had almost passed the city limits before I came across the EconoLodge - an establishment which I heartily endorse. It is clean, cheap and comfortable and beats another hot sweaty night in the truck!
Tomorrow, it's off to Omaha and the Strategic Air Command museum, thence...hmmm...some planning needed methinks! We shall see.
Day 3
San Antonio, Texas to Hardtner, Kansas
579 miles
I awoke at about 7.30AM, feeling refreshed and ready for the next stage of the journey onwards towards Kansas and the Cosmosphere in Hutchinson. I had decided against Cadillac Ranch and the town of Adrian as being too far off my route to be worthwhile. So after calling for supplies at a local store I took Highway 281 north out of San Antonio.
Pretty soon, I was entering Johnson City (although it is but a hop-skip-and jump from San Antonio), the birthplace of Lyndon B. Johnson, proudly proclaimed a roadside sign, and I wondered whether it was named thus after he became famous. All the towns on this road had an agreeable air about them. Mineral Wells had its original main street of Victorian and 1920’s buildings in full commercial use. However, the 1 block center of Rocky, on Hwy.183, had all its buildings intact yet boarded up, with that peculiar half-dead air that such places tend to have.
The road unwound, to the constant strain of country music from FM radio - which was not unpleasant. I stopped for a late lunch in Jacksboro, just south of Wichita Falls and parked in a shady spot in a picnic area to make coffee and eat my sandwich.
I crossed into Oklahoma at Davidson on Hwy.183 - a more direct route to Kansas that avoided the tollways, parkways and other meanderings and maintained a steady pace, past fields and fields of corn, waving in the breeze across the Oklahoma plains. I resolved to cross the Kansas border and stop in the tiny village of Hartdner.
I pulled in to a truck repair workshop, at about 9.00PM, and asked the man working there if I might park in his yard for the night. He was not keen on the idea and directed me to a small public park, a few blocks away. I drove inside the park - it was deserted - and parked well back from the road, adjacent to the village water tower.
It was hot. It had been hot all day. The radio had been bleating that it was a 100 degree day and was going to be a hot night too. I settled down to sleep on the wooden platform I had built but there was so much stuff I could not stretch out and it was not as comfortable as I had imagined it might be. Mosquitoes whined around my ears, their stuka-screech preventing sleep for some time. At last, around midnight, I dozed off - uncomfortably hot.
San Antonio, Texas to Hardtner, Kansas
579 miles
I awoke at about 7.30AM, feeling refreshed and ready for the next stage of the journey onwards towards Kansas and the Cosmosphere in Hutchinson. I had decided against Cadillac Ranch and the town of Adrian as being too far off my route to be worthwhile. So after calling for supplies at a local store I took Highway 281 north out of San Antonio.
Pretty soon, I was entering Johnson City (although it is but a hop-skip-and jump from San Antonio), the birthplace of Lyndon B. Johnson, proudly proclaimed a roadside sign, and I wondered whether it was named thus after he became famous. All the towns on this road had an agreeable air about them. Mineral Wells had its original main street of Victorian and 1920’s buildings in full commercial use. However, the 1 block center of Rocky, on Hwy.183, had all its buildings intact yet boarded up, with that peculiar half-dead air that such places tend to have.
The road unwound, to the constant strain of country music from FM radio - which was not unpleasant. I stopped for a late lunch in Jacksboro, just south of Wichita Falls and parked in a shady spot in a picnic area to make coffee and eat my sandwich.
I crossed into Oklahoma at Davidson on Hwy.183 - a more direct route to Kansas that avoided the tollways, parkways and other meanderings and maintained a steady pace, past fields and fields of corn, waving in the breeze across the Oklahoma plains. I resolved to cross the Kansas border and stop in the tiny village of Hartdner.
I pulled in to a truck repair workshop, at about 9.00PM, and asked the man working there if I might park in his yard for the night. He was not keen on the idea and directed me to a small public park, a few blocks away. I drove inside the park - it was deserted - and parked well back from the road, adjacent to the village water tower.
It was hot. It had been hot all day. The radio had been bleating that it was a 100 degree day and was going to be a hot night too. I settled down to sleep on the wooden platform I had built but there was so much stuff I could not stretch out and it was not as comfortable as I had imagined it might be. Mosquitoes whined around my ears, their stuka-screech preventing sleep for some time. At last, around midnight, I dozed off - uncomfortably hot.
Day 2
Sunday In San Antonio
Get up, 9.00AM. Shower and shave. I had slept well on my inflatable mattress on the floor of my friend - after a late night of pizza and iced tea.
Yak yak yak. Coffee.
Yak yak yak. Breakfast.
Yak yak yak. Lunch.
Yak yak yak. Watch NASCAR on TV.
Yak yak yak. Coffee & cookies.
Yak yak yak. Watch movie.
Bed 11.00PM. A thoroughly restful day spent in friendly company and a needed rest for the journey ahead.
Sunday In San Antonio
Get up, 9.00AM. Shower and shave. I had slept well on my inflatable mattress on the floor of my friend - after a late night of pizza and iced tea.
Yak yak yak. Coffee.
Yak yak yak. Breakfast.
Yak yak yak. Lunch.
Yak yak yak. Watch NASCAR on TV.
Yak yak yak. Coffee & cookies.
Yak yak yak. Watch movie.
Bed 11.00PM. A thoroughly restful day spent in friendly company and a needed rest for the journey ahead.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Day 1
Tampico, Mexico to San Antonio, Texas
6oo miles
My wife has often said that I have a tendency to be over-optimistic with regard to such things as space, time and distance. When estimating how far away another place is, or how long it might take to get there, or how many bags and boxes the vehicle might hold for such a journey, she tends to err on the side of caution.
Not I.
Hence, I found myself, at 8.00AM yet, still trying to pack and squeeze many last minute items into the belly of the big blue beast - whose capacity had been sorely taxed by the inclusion of a queen size mattress that took up more volume than I had figured.
So, I did not manage to make the early start that I had wanted. Nevertheless, the Big Blue Beastie rode a lot smoother when loaded, even over the rough Mexican roads, and soon it was 1.00PM and I was at the military checkpoint at Tres Palos. I kibbitzed with the soldiery in the shade whilst two of their compadres poked and prodded and pushed and asked what was in the various boxes.
That done, I pushed on towards the border at Reynosa/Pharr.I had chosen to cross at Pharr, despite the risk of meeting up and crossing swords with the fearsome Officer Hernandez, as I knew the routine for vehicle return. The actual line on the US side was surprisingly short and I was on my way, along US281, by 3.30PM.
A typical, blazingly hot Texas day and I was thankful that the truck's A/C worked well, even if the blower was a little weak. I chose the route to San Antonio by the little used farm roads and Hwy.16, only to be stopped by Border Patrol near Hebronville - as expected.
Arriving in the darkness in San Antonio, I easily navigated my way to the northwestern side of the city and the home of my former Tampico acquaintance, who had now relocated to Texas and was able to offer somewhere to sleep and the opportunity to catch up on a few years of missed life.
Tampico, Mexico to San Antonio, Texas
6oo miles
My wife has often said that I have a tendency to be over-optimistic with regard to such things as space, time and distance. When estimating how far away another place is, or how long it might take to get there, or how many bags and boxes the vehicle might hold for such a journey, she tends to err on the side of caution.
Not I.
Hence, I found myself, at 8.00AM yet, still trying to pack and squeeze many last minute items into the belly of the big blue beast - whose capacity had been sorely taxed by the inclusion of a queen size mattress that took up more volume than I had figured.
So, I did not manage to make the early start that I had wanted. Nevertheless, the Big Blue Beastie rode a lot smoother when loaded, even over the rough Mexican roads, and soon it was 1.00PM and I was at the military checkpoint at Tres Palos. I kibbitzed with the soldiery in the shade whilst two of their compadres poked and prodded and pushed and asked what was in the various boxes.
That done, I pushed on towards the border at Reynosa/Pharr.I had chosen to cross at Pharr, despite the risk of meeting up and crossing swords with the fearsome Officer Hernandez, as I knew the routine for vehicle return. The actual line on the US side was surprisingly short and I was on my way, along US281, by 3.30PM.
A typical, blazingly hot Texas day and I was thankful that the truck's A/C worked well, even if the blower was a little weak. I chose the route to San Antonio by the little used farm roads and Hwy.16, only to be stopped by Border Patrol near Hebronville - as expected.
Arriving in the darkness in San Antonio, I easily navigated my way to the northwestern side of the city and the home of my former Tampico acquaintance, who had now relocated to Texas and was able to offer somewhere to sleep and the opportunity to catch up on a few years of missed life.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Last Full Day In Tampico
It's been raining for 2 days - almost non-stop. And remember, Dear Reader, these are full-on torrential downpours rather than piddling little Euro-weenie showers. The heavens are sundered with mighty roars, burning forks of lightning and lake-making rains.
All rather entertaining, in it's own way - if it wasn't for the fact that I need to finish truck-loading and crawl underneath the belly of the Beast to change its oil. Such things cannot be done with such climatic confusion.
That aside, preparations continue...
Thursday, June 10, 2010
More Thoughts On The Great White Job Hunt
I had said, in the past, that the culture of employment searching is somewhat different in Canada, when compared to, say, the UK, in that there is greater reliance on networking. I had also touched upon the use of automated screening systems that mean one's resume submission can fall at the first HR hurdle if the 'right' key words are not present.
Many years ago, during my last round of extended job-hunting (during the summer of 1994, to be exact), I had experienced what it meant to scatter-shoot a whole bunch of replies to the wanted ads. Invariably, and after a two or three week delay in that pre-Internet age, one might receive a form letter addressed "Dear Applicant" that would say, in essence, 'thanks - but no-thanks'. Although such results were always a disappointment, and the form rejection letter an n generation photocopy, at least it was a sign that your missiveth and reached its recipient, even if it was found wanting.
Flash-forward to our age of instant communications and it seems, at least as far as the majority of Canadian employers are concerned, the acknowledgment to one's application is superfluous. Now, naturally, it is unreasonable to expect a personal response to an email - given the volumes that must be received - but lately I have taken to writing personalized letters and faxing them to named individuals but to no avail.
This lack of response is disheartening and makes it harder to stay positive - as one must, and I do.
I had said, in the past, that the culture of employment searching is somewhat different in Canada, when compared to, say, the UK, in that there is greater reliance on networking. I had also touched upon the use of automated screening systems that mean one's resume submission can fall at the first HR hurdle if the 'right' key words are not present.
Many years ago, during my last round of extended job-hunting (during the summer of 1994, to be exact), I had experienced what it meant to scatter-shoot a whole bunch of replies to the wanted ads. Invariably, and after a two or three week delay in that pre-Internet age, one might receive a form letter addressed "Dear Applicant" that would say, in essence, 'thanks - but no-thanks'. Although such results were always a disappointment, and the form rejection letter an n generation photocopy, at least it was a sign that your missiveth and reached its recipient, even if it was found wanting.
Flash-forward to our age of instant communications and it seems, at least as far as the majority of Canadian employers are concerned, the acknowledgment to one's application is superfluous. Now, naturally, it is unreasonable to expect a personal response to an email - given the volumes that must be received - but lately I have taken to writing personalized letters and faxing them to named individuals but to no avail.
This lack of response is disheartening and makes it harder to stay positive - as one must, and I do.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Packing Up & Counting Down
Well, it's been a few weeks so I thought that some sort of update was needed as I am leaving Tampico in a little over a week.
So what's new? I have arranged accommodation in the village of Brookfield, some 12Km south of Truro. It looks as though I may be buying a bicycle to get around on, rather than using the truck, for supermarket shopping etc. The Big Blue Beastie itself is almost ready - I just have to change the oil - and this morning I was busy building a sleeping platform in the space occupied by the front seat. I also now have an inverter to power a coffee maker - which can also be used to heat water for washing & shaving in the mornings I am on the road.
Packing continues apace - a chore in itself - and there are twinges of feelings of selfishness when I look at what is being boxed...almost all personal possessions, such as books, CD's etc. I am reminded of another time, long ago, with another vehicle packed with all my worldly chattels, setting out into another stab at life and not having much of an idea where it would lead.There are still things like pots & pans, clothes and bits & pieces to box-up but back of this arduous task has been broken. Of course, my office-cum-workshop has hardly been touched and I guess that the many radios will have to be taken care of later.
DW is currently in Texas, again, at two more job-fairs and has announced her intention - should these attempts come to naught - to join me in Canada come September. Meanwhile, the Canadian Embassy in DF has still not responded to my email query or sent an AOR for the application they received on 14th April. My cynical view is that they have been infected with the 'mañana' virus and are in no hurry...
More job applications being filed...the subject of the next post.
Well, it's been a few weeks so I thought that some sort of update was needed as I am leaving Tampico in a little over a week.
So what's new? I have arranged accommodation in the village of Brookfield, some 12Km south of Truro. It looks as though I may be buying a bicycle to get around on, rather than using the truck, for supermarket shopping etc. The Big Blue Beastie itself is almost ready - I just have to change the oil - and this morning I was busy building a sleeping platform in the space occupied by the front seat. I also now have an inverter to power a coffee maker - which can also be used to heat water for washing & shaving in the mornings I am on the road.
Packing continues apace - a chore in itself - and there are twinges of feelings of selfishness when I look at what is being boxed...almost all personal possessions, such as books, CD's etc. I am reminded of another time, long ago, with another vehicle packed with all my worldly chattels, setting out into another stab at life and not having much of an idea where it would lead.There are still things like pots & pans, clothes and bits & pieces to box-up but back of this arduous task has been broken. Of course, my office-cum-workshop has hardly been touched and I guess that the many radios will have to be taken care of later.
DW is currently in Texas, again, at two more job-fairs and has announced her intention - should these attempts come to naught - to join me in Canada come September. Meanwhile, the Canadian Embassy in DF has still not responded to my email query or sent an AOR for the application they received on 14th April. My cynical view is that they have been infected with the 'mañana' virus and are in no hurry...
More job applications being filed...the subject of the next post.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Journey Planning (Part I)
Many of the things I had considered, for my sojourn in Toronto last year, are still relevant - with particular regard to the essential specifics of finding accommodation and employment.
But this time, I am able to plan, thanks to desire and 'teh Interweb', a greater range of diversions and meanderings - although very much in the spirit of Bill Bryson rather than Kerouac - from the route of my return. Striking north from San Antonio, on Highway 281, I will head into the north-central Texas plain before heading for Amarillo and the Cadillac Ranch, thence to Adrian and the mid-point of the old Route 66.
From my namesake town, it's off on another diagonal towards Kansas and the Cosmosphere Space Museum at Hutchinson. This is conveniently close for Lebanon, and the center of the continental United States. Next stop will probably be Omaha, for the SAC Museum - I think I'm getting a little geeky over historical spaceflight. Then it's wide open and needs more perusal of the web's resources to see what lies between Omaha and Florence, WI, where I shall be even geekier over a small boutique shaving soap manufacturer.
All this forms part of that aforementioned latent desire to cross the continental vastness that is America, to see more than I have experienced on its coasts. There is myth and folklore to be found, the mounded memories of long-dead writers and their done-and-dusted tomes.
Many of the things I had considered, for my sojourn in Toronto last year, are still relevant - with particular regard to the essential specifics of finding accommodation and employment.
But this time, I am able to plan, thanks to desire and 'teh Interweb', a greater range of diversions and meanderings - although very much in the spirit of Bill Bryson rather than Kerouac - from the route of my return. Striking north from San Antonio, on Highway 281, I will head into the north-central Texas plain before heading for Amarillo and the Cadillac Ranch, thence to Adrian and the mid-point of the old Route 66.
From my namesake town, it's off on another diagonal towards Kansas and the Cosmosphere Space Museum at Hutchinson. This is conveniently close for Lebanon, and the center of the continental United States. Next stop will probably be Omaha, for the SAC Museum - I think I'm getting a little geeky over historical spaceflight. Then it's wide open and needs more perusal of the web's resources to see what lies between Omaha and Florence, WI, where I shall be even geekier over a small boutique shaving soap manufacturer.
All this forms part of that aforementioned latent desire to cross the continental vastness that is America, to see more than I have experienced on its coasts. There is myth and folklore to be found, the mounded memories of long-dead writers and their done-and-dusted tomes.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Not So Fast...(Change Of Plan - Part 2)
Well, it looks like the original June date will be adhered to, largely because DW needs help and is attending several job fairs in the early part of that month. June 19th is an absolute deadline because the truck's permit (and my tourist visa) expire the day after. However, I have already told my employer I am leaving May 15th and, because plans for a replacement have already been finalized, I do not wish to retract that date.
Still no word from the embassy in DF.
Well, it looks like the original June date will be adhered to, largely because DW needs help and is attending several job fairs in the early part of that month. June 19th is an absolute deadline because the truck's permit (and my tourist visa) expire the day after. However, I have already told my employer I am leaving May 15th and, because plans for a replacement have already been finalized, I do not wish to retract that date.
Still no word from the embassy in DF.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Change Of Plan (Part 1)
Well, I suppose that maintaining a certain flexibility over one's plans can be a good thing in case of changing needs. With that in mind, I have brought forward my departure date to the end of May (around the 22nd).
Tampico, until recently a tranquil place that had been spared the attentions of the narco-wars, has seen much mayhem and murder these last few weeks as the Gulf Cartel battle it out with Los Zetas (their former armed enforcement wing). The faster I leave, the better, we think - the federal application is being submitted tomorrow and should take about six months.
I have been looking at likely routes back to British America that will allow me to indulge that latent desire of seeing the country. I will stay in San Antonio, to see old friends, then take the county back-roads to Hutchinson, Kansas - there to visit the Cosmosphere Space Museum - thence Omaha, Nebraska (for the SAC Museum), Florence, Wisconsin (for a famed soap maker) and cross the border at Saulte Ste. Marie. Naturally, my whimsical perusal of the atlas may well cause this route to deviate!
DW has successfully passed her TExES certification and is looking for an internship along the San Antonio-Dallas corridor, but is also willing to consider the Greater Houston area.
I am quietly grateful that such escape-hatches exist for us and can be taken advantage of.
Well, I suppose that maintaining a certain flexibility over one's plans can be a good thing in case of changing needs. With that in mind, I have brought forward my departure date to the end of May (around the 22nd).
Tampico, until recently a tranquil place that had been spared the attentions of the narco-wars, has seen much mayhem and murder these last few weeks as the Gulf Cartel battle it out with Los Zetas (their former armed enforcement wing). The faster I leave, the better, we think - the federal application is being submitted tomorrow and should take about six months.
I have been looking at likely routes back to British America that will allow me to indulge that latent desire of seeing the country. I will stay in San Antonio, to see old friends, then take the county back-roads to Hutchinson, Kansas - there to visit the Cosmosphere Space Museum - thence Omaha, Nebraska (for the SAC Museum), Florence, Wisconsin (for a famed soap maker) and cross the border at Saulte Ste. Marie. Naturally, my whimsical perusal of the atlas may well cause this route to deviate!
DW has successfully passed her TExES certification and is looking for an internship along the San Antonio-Dallas corridor, but is also willing to consider the Greater Houston area.
I am quietly grateful that such escape-hatches exist for us and can be taken advantage of.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
It Hath Been Decided...
That, barring any unforeseen emergencies, deaths, broken bones or broken-down vehicles, I will leave for Truro, Nova Scotia - by way of McAllen, San Antonio, Omaha, Wisconsin, Saulte Ste. Marie, Sudbury and Toronto - during the week of June 13th.
A strange calm has descended, tempered only by occasional rising panic as I survey the available cargo space versus what I need to move...something tells me a trailer might be useful, but I would prefer not to.
We shall see.
That, barring any unforeseen emergencies, deaths, broken bones or broken-down vehicles, I will leave for Truro, Nova Scotia - by way of McAllen, San Antonio, Omaha, Wisconsin, Saulte Ste. Marie, Sudbury and Toronto - during the week of June 13th.
A strange calm has descended, tempered only by occasional rising panic as I survey the available cargo space versus what I need to move...something tells me a trailer might be useful, but I would prefer not to.
We shall see.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Future Tensed
One day, I'll look back upon this time with some wonder. I'll wonder what led me to believe things would be any better here. But here is not the same as there, and so I have to trust that it will be different, one day.
One day, I'll be able to laugh - more than I do now - about the things I saw and heard and felt here. For here is not the same as there, and although there are common ties between these two places (and shared hopes in each two spaces) I will wax cynical and forget that, one day.
One day, when the twilight falls on the place where I will find myself, I'll be caught napping and dreaming. Dreaming of those times when life seemed good (despite railing 'gainst the dirt and degradation) and the sub-tropical climes whispered infinite promise of things being better, one day.
One day, I'll look back upon this time with some wonder. I'll wonder what led me to believe things would be any better here. But here is not the same as there, and so I have to trust that it will be different, one day.
One day, I'll be able to laugh - more than I do now - about the things I saw and heard and felt here. For here is not the same as there, and although there are common ties between these two places (and shared hopes in each two spaces) I will wax cynical and forget that, one day.
One day, when the twilight falls on the place where I will find myself, I'll be caught napping and dreaming. Dreaming of those times when life seemed good (despite railing 'gainst the dirt and degradation) and the sub-tropical climes whispered infinite promise of things being better, one day.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Waiting, Hoping, Wishing etc.
Well, the next stage is all about waiting for various sundry authorities (whose members are usually blue-bedecked) to sent reports of the lack of malfeasance in our lives. I have sent requests to the FBI (in West Virginia), along with DW's fingerprints, and the Central Police Records dept. of the UK (in Fareham). Returns are expected in 6-8 weeks.
Next week, we shall both go to the Tamaulipas State Attorney General's Office (the 'Procurador General de Justicia') for Mexican police reports. These will have to be translated and notarized.
Finally, with yet more photos, forms, payments and other papers I can submit the application package to the Canadian Embassy for processing...then the waiting really begins!
Let's go, already!
Well, the next stage is all about waiting for various sundry authorities (whose members are usually blue-bedecked) to sent reports of the lack of malfeasance in our lives. I have sent requests to the FBI (in West Virginia), along with DW's fingerprints, and the Central Police Records dept. of the UK (in Fareham). Returns are expected in 6-8 weeks.
Next week, we shall both go to the Tamaulipas State Attorney General's Office (the 'Procurador General de Justicia') for Mexican police reports. These will have to be translated and notarized.
Finally, with yet more photos, forms, payments and other papers I can submit the application package to the Canadian Embassy for processing...then the waiting really begins!
Let's go, already!
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Hallelujah!
NS-PNP (CI) Nomination Received!
Sing choirs of angels & hosannas etc etc - Nova Scotia, here we come!
I received the message, and attachment, this morning from Halifax. Our application has been approved under the 'Community Identified' Stream of the Provincial Nominee Program. We have until July this year to file the federal PR visa application with the embassy in Mexico DF.
So, the plan is for me to move sometime in March to look for work etc. My DW, meanwhile, hopes to secure employment in Greater Houston, Texas, to complete a teaching internship for 12 months, after passing her certification exam. So, we will be apart (except for vacations) and daughter will stay with her mom if this comes to pass.
NS-PNP (CI) Nomination Received!
Sing choirs of angels & hosannas etc etc - Nova Scotia, here we come!
I received the message, and attachment, this morning from Halifax. Our application has been approved under the 'Community Identified' Stream of the Provincial Nominee Program. We have until July this year to file the federal PR visa application with the embassy in Mexico DF.
So, the plan is for me to move sometime in March to look for work etc. My DW, meanwhile, hopes to secure employment in Greater Houston, Texas, to complete a teaching internship for 12 months, after passing her certification exam. So, we will be apart (except for vacations) and daughter will stay with her mom if this comes to pass.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
A Christmas Update
" 'Twas the night before Christmas
And all I wanted to see
Was a letter from Halifax
With a new PNP! "
Alas, I am still waiting. I know that NS Immigration has been in touch with my past UK employers recently, but when I called them to see what news I was told that my caseworker was now on vacation until January 10th and had not seen fit to delegate her caseload to colleagues. So, until then, there will be nothing to be learned.
The last six months have passed with startling rapidity and the temporary import permit for the Big Blue Beastie (that is my Suburban) was set to expire at the end of the month. This provided the perfect excuse for a dash to McAllen and a break on the border. The Great American Cornucopia could be taken advantage for, for xmas gifts, and, furthermore, the mailbox rental for the forthcoming year was now overdue.
I had been a-tinkering with my truck in the last few months - varnishing the wooden floor in the load area, fitting new door strike bolts and hinge pins etc - and the 3B was now sporting fresh, new, white pin-striping on the outside as well as a new center console and speakers on the inside. The boosting of the stereo by means of an additional amplifier at least meant that the music could be heard over the roaring of thew wind, necessitated by driving with an open window as the AC still has yet to be repaired.
I set off, at a relaxed pace, in the mid-morning. Alannis Morissette was dripping venomously, yet catchily, and I found it hard to believe that she could ever have been marketed as a Canadian answer to Debbie Gibson. The road was as quiet as ever in the mild winter sunshine as I growled along, wearing my battered driving cap. At Soto la Marina, I stopped for refreshment and can happily report that Highway 180 is now widened and improved from that town to the Tres Palos junction - with the small exception of about 2Km in progress. I wonder if they will ever do the same to the 150Km from Soto back to Aldama?
Arriving at the Reynosa/Pharr border crossing, at around 3.45PM, the formalities were quickly dispensed with and I returned the truck's old permit to the Banjercito office. Arriving on the US side, I was very happy to see that each lane had only one or two vehicles waiting and I was soon speeding, on the silk-smooth American road, towards McAllen. The BBB ("mi camioneta") is perfectly happy, and supremely comfortable, growling along at a sedate 45mph along these luxurious American highways.
McAllen was as busy as ever, positively heaving with Mexican folk out spending their Christmas bonuses. The major stores all had long, snaking lines but such is the range of goods, the diversity of man's ingenuity in these jewel-boxes of consumption, that I actually enjoyed thronging and shopping. With a little single-mindedness, I managed to complete all my purchases by 9.30PM and sank gratefully in to my bed, at the usual hotel, after snacking sandwichly.
The next morning, I awoke early and made ready. By 9.00AM I was pulling in to a used tire dealer - as the truck needed a new spare tire - and on the road for Progresso, where I intended to cross back in to Mexico. The bridge there is only 100m long and only for cars and light trucks. There are just two entry lanes on the Mexican side and these open directly on to the long, dusty main street of Nuevo Progresso, Tamaulipas.
I had expected the traffic to be light but, in fact, there was a goodly crowd of people inside the immigration and customs building. The offices were small, awkwardly shaped and cramped (compared to the large, new facility at Reynosa/Pharr), and the lines were long, especially at the Banjercito payment windows.
I waited just short of a half-hour to see the immigration official. He looked at the truck's papers and announced that I could not enter Mexico with it due to the registration having expired back in August.
WTF?
Thinking fast, I explained to him that on Canadian vehicles, the license plates are permanent and one pays an annual tax to use the roads there. As I had left Canada in July I had not bothered to pay the tax as I was not using the roads there. The official was nonplussed and referred me to his compadres at the Banjercito counter.
So I waited in another line for another half hour and, when I made the head of the line, explained my position to the official there. Whilst he examined my documents and ruminated, a strong smell of burning was suddenly apparent. Alarmed, the official asked his colleague, seated at the next desk, if she could smell it. But as she sniffed, a man's loud voice came from behind a partition, telling all not to worry as he was responsible for the burning smell.
As my official turned his attention back to me, I raised a quizzical eyebrow and asked, "What happened? Did he burn the toast again?" This produced a mighty guffaw and the immediate sharing with co-workers of this example of gringo humour.
"Do you have insurance?", asked the official.
"Of course", I replied.
"OK. Tell the immigration officer we approve the import and come back here with your FMT."
And that was that - no proof was sought or offered and, after another 45 minutes of to-ing and fro-ing, I had a new six month tourist visa and vehicle import permit. I drove slowly down the rutted, potholed, dusty main street of Nuevo Progresso - wondering at the walking crowds of white Americans, and the proliferation of dental offices - and hit the toll road to Reynosa. I took out my cellphone and called SWMBO to report that all was well and I could be expected in about six hours, bearing gifts and sweetmeats from the Great American Cornucopia.
" 'Twas the night before Christmas
And all I wanted to see
Was a letter from Halifax
With a new PNP! "
Alas, I am still waiting. I know that NS Immigration has been in touch with my past UK employers recently, but when I called them to see what news I was told that my caseworker was now on vacation until January 10th and had not seen fit to delegate her caseload to colleagues. So, until then, there will be nothing to be learned.
The last six months have passed with startling rapidity and the temporary import permit for the Big Blue Beastie (that is my Suburban) was set to expire at the end of the month. This provided the perfect excuse for a dash to McAllen and a break on the border. The Great American Cornucopia could be taken advantage for, for xmas gifts, and, furthermore, the mailbox rental for the forthcoming year was now overdue.
I had been a-tinkering with my truck in the last few months - varnishing the wooden floor in the load area, fitting new door strike bolts and hinge pins etc - and the 3B was now sporting fresh, new, white pin-striping on the outside as well as a new center console and speakers on the inside. The boosting of the stereo by means of an additional amplifier at least meant that the music could be heard over the roaring of thew wind, necessitated by driving with an open window as the AC still has yet to be repaired.
I set off, at a relaxed pace, in the mid-morning. Alannis Morissette was dripping venomously, yet catchily, and I found it hard to believe that she could ever have been marketed as a Canadian answer to Debbie Gibson. The road was as quiet as ever in the mild winter sunshine as I growled along, wearing my battered driving cap. At Soto la Marina, I stopped for refreshment and can happily report that Highway 180 is now widened and improved from that town to the Tres Palos junction - with the small exception of about 2Km in progress. I wonder if they will ever do the same to the 150Km from Soto back to Aldama?
Arriving at the Reynosa/Pharr border crossing, at around 3.45PM, the formalities were quickly dispensed with and I returned the truck's old permit to the Banjercito office. Arriving on the US side, I was very happy to see that each lane had only one or two vehicles waiting and I was soon speeding, on the silk-smooth American road, towards McAllen. The BBB ("mi camioneta") is perfectly happy, and supremely comfortable, growling along at a sedate 45mph along these luxurious American highways.
McAllen was as busy as ever, positively heaving with Mexican folk out spending their Christmas bonuses. The major stores all had long, snaking lines but such is the range of goods, the diversity of man's ingenuity in these jewel-boxes of consumption, that I actually enjoyed thronging and shopping. With a little single-mindedness, I managed to complete all my purchases by 9.30PM and sank gratefully in to my bed, at the usual hotel, after snacking sandwichly.
The next morning, I awoke early and made ready. By 9.00AM I was pulling in to a used tire dealer - as the truck needed a new spare tire - and on the road for Progresso, where I intended to cross back in to Mexico. The bridge there is only 100m long and only for cars and light trucks. There are just two entry lanes on the Mexican side and these open directly on to the long, dusty main street of Nuevo Progresso, Tamaulipas.
I had expected the traffic to be light but, in fact, there was a goodly crowd of people inside the immigration and customs building. The offices were small, awkwardly shaped and cramped (compared to the large, new facility at Reynosa/Pharr), and the lines were long, especially at the Banjercito payment windows.
I waited just short of a half-hour to see the immigration official. He looked at the truck's papers and announced that I could not enter Mexico with it due to the registration having expired back in August.
WTF?
Thinking fast, I explained to him that on Canadian vehicles, the license plates are permanent and one pays an annual tax to use the roads there. As I had left Canada in July I had not bothered to pay the tax as I was not using the roads there. The official was nonplussed and referred me to his compadres at the Banjercito counter.
So I waited in another line for another half hour and, when I made the head of the line, explained my position to the official there. Whilst he examined my documents and ruminated, a strong smell of burning was suddenly apparent. Alarmed, the official asked his colleague, seated at the next desk, if she could smell it. But as she sniffed, a man's loud voice came from behind a partition, telling all not to worry as he was responsible for the burning smell.
As my official turned his attention back to me, I raised a quizzical eyebrow and asked, "What happened? Did he burn the toast again?" This produced a mighty guffaw and the immediate sharing with co-workers of this example of gringo humour.
"Do you have insurance?", asked the official.
"Of course", I replied.
"OK. Tell the immigration officer we approve the import and come back here with your FMT."
And that was that - no proof was sought or offered and, after another 45 minutes of to-ing and fro-ing, I had a new six month tourist visa and vehicle import permit. I drove slowly down the rutted, potholed, dusty main street of Nuevo Progresso - wondering at the walking crowds of white Americans, and the proliferation of dental offices - and hit the toll road to Reynosa. I took out my cellphone and called SWMBO to report that all was well and I could be expected in about six hours, bearing gifts and sweetmeats from the Great American Cornucopia.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Stymied...but not for long (I hope!)
I called the Nova Scotia department of immigration the other day to see how things were coming along. I was given, at that time, a nasty surprise! It seems that they have two concerns. The first is an easy one to address - they need names, addresses and contact details of my last two UK employers and line managers. Despite the fact that those individuals have since moved on, thanks to "teh Interweb" they are easily found.
They are also concerned over our apparent lack of funds and how I might support my family whilst looking for work. This will be addressed by a transfer to a joint bank account and providing a translated statement. I also have to write them and explain our proposed time-line, as I had said we did not wish to remove our daughter from school before the end of her first academic year. Hence: I would go first; become established and then send for them.
Reasonable queries - it just puts the fear of gawd up me that this plan might not work.
I called the Nova Scotia department of immigration the other day to see how things were coming along. I was given, at that time, a nasty surprise! It seems that they have two concerns. The first is an easy one to address - they need names, addresses and contact details of my last two UK employers and line managers. Despite the fact that those individuals have since moved on, thanks to "teh Interweb" they are easily found.
They are also concerned over our apparent lack of funds and how I might support my family whilst looking for work. This will be addressed by a transfer to a joint bank account and providing a translated statement. I also have to write them and explain our proposed time-line, as I had said we did not wish to remove our daughter from school before the end of her first academic year. Hence: I would go first; become established and then send for them.
Reasonable queries - it just puts the fear of gawd up me that this plan might not work.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Fall Would Be Coming...
...if there were such a season here. Instead, we have a season of "big rains" that give us a daily drenching. With the omnipresent pitter-patter, I thought I had perhaps better give an update.
The Nova Scotia Office of Immigration wrote me on 3rd September, requesting "further information". Practically, they just wanted translations of the two financial statements I had appended to our application, and some proof of prior employment in the UK (they gave, as examples, such things as references, contracts, performance reviews etc - alas, all I had were a few payslips and some tax notices). They also demanded an explanation of why we maintain a mailbox in the USA and asked that I resubmit three forms with some minor corrections that had slipped past my proof-reading.
Simple stuff, and praise be for scanners, email and the internet in making it even easier to comply with their requests. Yet it still took three weeks to organize a translator and dig up whatever documentation was to be discovered. No matter...all was sent and things progress in fervent hope of near completion.
In between teaching, and the afternoons in the market, things have once again settled in to a comfortable routine. Well, as comfortable as can be expected.
...if there were such a season here. Instead, we have a season of "big rains" that give us a daily drenching. With the omnipresent pitter-patter, I thought I had perhaps better give an update.
The Nova Scotia Office of Immigration wrote me on 3rd September, requesting "further information". Practically, they just wanted translations of the two financial statements I had appended to our application, and some proof of prior employment in the UK (they gave, as examples, such things as references, contracts, performance reviews etc - alas, all I had were a few payslips and some tax notices). They also demanded an explanation of why we maintain a mailbox in the USA and asked that I resubmit three forms with some minor corrections that had slipped past my proof-reading.
Simple stuff, and praise be for scanners, email and the internet in making it even easier to comply with their requests. Yet it still took three weeks to organize a translator and dig up whatever documentation was to be discovered. No matter...all was sent and things progress in fervent hope of near completion.
In between teaching, and the afternoons in the market, things have once again settled in to a comfortable routine. Well, as comfortable as can be expected.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Those Who Can, Do...
...And those who can't, teach. So the old saying goes. A bit of hoary, folkish nonsense, to be sure, else I would find myself at a total, inarticulate loss, now that I am an English teacher.
...And those who can't, teach. So the old saying goes. A bit of hoary, folkish nonsense, to be sure, else I would find myself at a total, inarticulate loss, now that I am an English teacher.
Yes, it is true. The Third World Shopkeeper has morphed into the Mexican-by-naturalization teacher of English-as-a-foreign-language at a small, private school here in Tampico town. It came about from my wife asking a friend of hers (at the same school) if there were vacancies there or elsewhere. Indeed, said the friend, my employer needs a native-English speaker to take an intermediate-level class of secondary schoolkids. So, I went along to speak to the head of the English program (who, as it turned out, was related to my brother-in-law's partner), and the Director of the secondary school.
Long story short, I was duly hired to work for 10 hours a week (2 hours a day) at MN$100 per hour - not a princely sum, but not chump-change either. The first paycheck will be used to pay for repairs to the Suburban's AC system! I was sent on a three day, government-mandated course concerning competencies in basic education - which had material of a sufficiently Latinate structure and vocabulary that I was able to comprehend about 75% with ease.
So, I began my first day on the 24th, with a class of just five students, quickly reduced to four once it was realized that one was hopelessly out of her depth. The day, being a Monday, began with the flag ceremony, as always. There were introductory speeches wherein I, and the other members of staff, were presented to the watching parents and serried ranks of pupils. The Mexican tricolor was paraded to our salutes and we then sang the Himno Nacional. This was followed by the raised-arm 'Bellamy' salute to the flag, whilst reciting the 'Juramento a la Bandera' - the Mexican Pledge of Allegiance.
Stirring stuff, and all to inculcate national pride in those participating.
This initial week's classes are in preparation, as I get to know the strengths and weaknesses of my pupils. There is no homework, and we are jumping around various subjects in a fairly unstructured way so I can determine their interests. The structured, text-based lessons start next week. I am also required to teach a class of Basic Science, in English. This will cover the same material as the equivalent Spanish-language class but its emphasis is on the reinforcement of the linguistic aspects, rather than the scientific.
I am enjoying this hugely. Enthusiasm and conscientiousness make up for my lack of experience. The mental stimulation, after years of brain-mush work in el mercado is a most welcome stimulation.
So, I spend my mornings teaching. My afternoons, naturally, are still with the family business but, I most fervently hope, but for this brief period to the end of the year. By then, our CIC-PR application will be well advanced at the Federal level.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Something Old, Something New
"Well... and here we are again!", as the late maestro of Gonzo used to say. I am firmly back in Tampico town, but, hopefully, for no more than 9 months.
And so what's new here? The creeping Americanization continues apace as the 'zona dorada' district of Hidalgo Ave. gains both a Carls Jr. and an IHOP. I will be interested to see how long they last as new restaurant ventures oftem seem to fail after a year or so here. Our Indian restaurant (The Ganesh) didn't even last nine months, but then it was hideously expensive and aimed at the chic, rather than the masses.
Word is that ground will be broken soon on yet another planned mall - this one on lands just to the north of the Home Depot. However, given that this is the third such proposal in as many years, I am not holding my breath. The demand seems to be for exterior strip developments rather than high-rent, covered, climate controlled malls. Since the VIPS/Dixies restaurant chain pulled out of southern Tamaulipas, they have left many empty buildings.
Meanwhile, we travelled to Cd.Victoria the other day to secure passports for both myself and daughter (Anglo-Mexicans that we are). The whole process, by appointment, took less than two hours and cost MX$885 for each three year passport. I am now, demonstrably, Mexican.
The old steam baths, at the side of our house, have been duly flattened but nothing, yet, has been placed in their stead. Downtown Tampico's last cinema, in front of the luxury hotel Mansion Real, has also been demolished to make way for a car park for the hotel. There used to be four cinemas downtown, now one has to travel out by the airport.
In the meantime, there are distractions aplenty from family and business. A maintenance backlog has built up in the house and at the business premises. One of my very first jobs, upon returning, was to level a depression at the rear of the parking area we use to allow my Big Blue Beastie of a Suburban to be parked all the way to the back - the store's Nissan truck having been banished to the warehouse, where it damn well belongs. Alas, thievery has struck my truck and jackdaws have stolen the shiny blue tire valve caps I put on the other day.
I have been listing the work I need to do to said vehicle before it returns to Canada. Prime importance is being given to the repair of the air conditioning, for which I will have to travel to McAllen for parts as my Flint-bought used compressor does not work! I am also putting in foam insulation and a thin plywood headliner to the interior roof as there was nothing.
Our Provincial Nominee Program Application was submitted today to the government of Nova Scotia. I expect there to be an acknowledgement of receipt within a couple of weeks and their answer within 3 months. I hope, and pray, that this succeeds.
I have discovered the joys of traditional wet shaving - with soap, brush and double-edged blade. I am enjoying it so much I am shaving twice daily, delighting in the choice of soaps, razor, blades and balms. This is part of a newer approach wherein I am making a greater effort with personal grooming and appearance on the basis that habits become character.
"Well... and here we are again!", as the late maestro of Gonzo used to say. I am firmly back in Tampico town, but, hopefully, for no more than 9 months.
And so what's new here? The creeping Americanization continues apace as the 'zona dorada' district of Hidalgo Ave. gains both a Carls Jr. and an IHOP. I will be interested to see how long they last as new restaurant ventures oftem seem to fail after a year or so here. Our Indian restaurant (The Ganesh) didn't even last nine months, but then it was hideously expensive and aimed at the chic, rather than the masses.
Word is that ground will be broken soon on yet another planned mall - this one on lands just to the north of the Home Depot. However, given that this is the third such proposal in as many years, I am not holding my breath. The demand seems to be for exterior strip developments rather than high-rent, covered, climate controlled malls. Since the VIPS/Dixies restaurant chain pulled out of southern Tamaulipas, they have left many empty buildings.
Meanwhile, we travelled to Cd.Victoria the other day to secure passports for both myself and daughter (Anglo-Mexicans that we are). The whole process, by appointment, took less than two hours and cost MX$885 for each three year passport. I am now, demonstrably, Mexican.
The old steam baths, at the side of our house, have been duly flattened but nothing, yet, has been placed in their stead. Downtown Tampico's last cinema, in front of the luxury hotel Mansion Real, has also been demolished to make way for a car park for the hotel. There used to be four cinemas downtown, now one has to travel out by the airport.
In the meantime, there are distractions aplenty from family and business. A maintenance backlog has built up in the house and at the business premises. One of my very first jobs, upon returning, was to level a depression at the rear of the parking area we use to allow my Big Blue Beastie of a Suburban to be parked all the way to the back - the store's Nissan truck having been banished to the warehouse, where it damn well belongs. Alas, thievery has struck my truck and jackdaws have stolen the shiny blue tire valve caps I put on the other day.
I have been listing the work I need to do to said vehicle before it returns to Canada. Prime importance is being given to the repair of the air conditioning, for which I will have to travel to McAllen for parts as my Flint-bought used compressor does not work! I am also putting in foam insulation and a thin plywood headliner to the interior roof as there was nothing.
Our Provincial Nominee Program Application was submitted today to the government of Nova Scotia. I expect there to be an acknowledgement of receipt within a couple of weeks and their answer within 3 months. I hope, and pray, that this succeeds.
I have discovered the joys of traditional wet shaving - with soap, brush and double-edged blade. I am enjoying it so much I am shaving twice daily, delighting in the choice of soaps, razor, blades and balms. This is part of a newer approach wherein I am making a greater effort with personal grooming and appearance on the basis that habits become character.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
The Long Way Home
Day 6 - McAllen to Tampico & Afterword (310 miles)
There's no map for this one, as Google cannot hack directions on Mexico's roads. My route was the usual, well travelled one via Cd.Victoria as I know that the 'Angeles Verdes' - the 'Green Angels' breakdown service - patrol those roads.
I was wide awake whilst it was still dark - at 5.00AM. Oh well, I felt rested and thought I may as well get an early start by being at the front of the line to cross the bridge at Pharr (which opens at 6.00AM). After showering, packing and finding a gas station with good, fresh, hot coffee I arrived at the bridge at 6.30AM - feeling pleased with myself as the grey pre-dawn light began to fade into sunrise proper.
However, this feeling disspated quickly when I realized that the Federal administration office (which handles immigration, vehicle permits etc etc) did not open until 7.00AM! Que ridiculo, I could hear my wife exclaiming at such nonsense. So I sat on a low wall by the door to the office, drinking coffee and waiting. I was joined by others and soon there was a goodly crowd of people. I heard someone ask where was the line, to be told by another that it was more or less this way and 'he' (meaning, me) was first.
The doors opened. Processing for a 6 month tourist visa was swift. Remember, dear reader, I no longer have an FM2 as I am now, technically, Mexican. However, my British passport is the only travel document I still have and, additionally, I needed an import permit for the truck - which can only be gained whilst playing the foreigner.
The truck's permit took a little longer. I was required to post a bond of US$200 in cash or offer a credit card. No problem - I passed the official my Banco Serfin card, which he refused to accept. Why? Señor, he explained, we do not accept cards from domestic financial institutions as you are supposed to be visiting from outside. Hmmmm....well, I had an HSBC credit card but their machine required the card's PIN number (which I don't have - damn these new Chip/PIN cards!). However, when I offered my HSBC debit card it was accepted without problem and I was thankful that there was enough sterling in that account to cover the US$32 administration charge for the permit.
All this took almost an hour but, by 8.00AM, with permits affixed, passport stamped, visa attached, truck inspected by sullen soldier cadets working for Customs, I passed on towards Reynosa. I espied a new sign, saying that the new road direct from the bridge to the San Fernando/Cd. Victoria highway was open. Excellent news! Not only would this shave 20 minutes off the journey time, it would also allow me to avoid the infamous 'Retorno de Muerte' (the 'Turnout of Death', as I called it) - where one has to merge, without a separate lane, into fast moving traffic to change direction and take the southern highway.
But, the sign lied. The new highway was still under construction and not yet open. Fortunately, traffic was almost at a standstill at my least-favourite junction in all of Mexico and I was able to muscle in to the stream with ease. But, oh! Those roads! I had thought that Quebec was bad and my memory of driving to Tampico in our modern minivan had given me a false sense of the condition. The Beast's solid chassis, leaf springs and worn shock absorbers transmitted every bone-jarring fold of the road straight to my jaw - my teeth ached from the hideous, banging shocks. Unfortunately, conditions did not improve much once clear of Reynosa.
And so the miles and minutes ticked by. Window down, suncream applied, MP3 player playing, I rolled towards Tampico town at a steady 65mph, listening anxiously on the steep grades, cut through the rocky hills near Victoria, for the sound of the torque-converter lockup releasing.
I arrived home at around 2.15PM. Wife and I went to collect daughter from school who, literally, could not believe her eyes and, when realizing it really was Papi, clung to me, sobbingly.
It's good to be home - smells, yells, horns, loud 'thumpa-thumpa' music from every street corner, roaring buses, honking taxis, demolition next door, heat and humidity, the blatting roaring noise of our water pump, the shouting of pedlars in the street outside.
Get me outta ' here!
So - here are the statistics:
Total mileage (km): 3232m (5171Km)
Average mileage (km) per day: 538m (861Km)
Total fuel consumed US gals (Imperial gals./liters): 174 (135//609)
Avg. consumption miles/USgal. (miles/Imp. gals.//Km/liter): 18.6 (24//8.5)
Day 6 - McAllen to Tampico & Afterword (310 miles)
There's no map for this one, as Google cannot hack directions on Mexico's roads. My route was the usual, well travelled one via Cd.Victoria as I know that the 'Angeles Verdes' - the 'Green Angels' breakdown service - patrol those roads.
I was wide awake whilst it was still dark - at 5.00AM. Oh well, I felt rested and thought I may as well get an early start by being at the front of the line to cross the bridge at Pharr (which opens at 6.00AM). After showering, packing and finding a gas station with good, fresh, hot coffee I arrived at the bridge at 6.30AM - feeling pleased with myself as the grey pre-dawn light began to fade into sunrise proper.
However, this feeling disspated quickly when I realized that the Federal administration office (which handles immigration, vehicle permits etc etc) did not open until 7.00AM! Que ridiculo, I could hear my wife exclaiming at such nonsense. So I sat on a low wall by the door to the office, drinking coffee and waiting. I was joined by others and soon there was a goodly crowd of people. I heard someone ask where was the line, to be told by another that it was more or less this way and 'he' (meaning, me) was first.
The doors opened. Processing for a 6 month tourist visa was swift. Remember, dear reader, I no longer have an FM2 as I am now, technically, Mexican. However, my British passport is the only travel document I still have and, additionally, I needed an import permit for the truck - which can only be gained whilst playing the foreigner.
The truck's permit took a little longer. I was required to post a bond of US$200 in cash or offer a credit card. No problem - I passed the official my Banco Serfin card, which he refused to accept. Why? Señor, he explained, we do not accept cards from domestic financial institutions as you are supposed to be visiting from outside. Hmmmm....well, I had an HSBC credit card but their machine required the card's PIN number (which I don't have - damn these new Chip/PIN cards!). However, when I offered my HSBC debit card it was accepted without problem and I was thankful that there was enough sterling in that account to cover the US$32 administration charge for the permit.
All this took almost an hour but, by 8.00AM, with permits affixed, passport stamped, visa attached, truck inspected by sullen soldier cadets working for Customs, I passed on towards Reynosa. I espied a new sign, saying that the new road direct from the bridge to the San Fernando/Cd. Victoria highway was open. Excellent news! Not only would this shave 20 minutes off the journey time, it would also allow me to avoid the infamous 'Retorno de Muerte' (the 'Turnout of Death', as I called it) - where one has to merge, without a separate lane, into fast moving traffic to change direction and take the southern highway.
But, the sign lied. The new highway was still under construction and not yet open. Fortunately, traffic was almost at a standstill at my least-favourite junction in all of Mexico and I was able to muscle in to the stream with ease. But, oh! Those roads! I had thought that Quebec was bad and my memory of driving to Tampico in our modern minivan had given me a false sense of the condition. The Beast's solid chassis, leaf springs and worn shock absorbers transmitted every bone-jarring fold of the road straight to my jaw - my teeth ached from the hideous, banging shocks. Unfortunately, conditions did not improve much once clear of Reynosa.
And so the miles and minutes ticked by. Window down, suncream applied, MP3 player playing, I rolled towards Tampico town at a steady 65mph, listening anxiously on the steep grades, cut through the rocky hills near Victoria, for the sound of the torque-converter lockup releasing.
I arrived home at around 2.15PM. Wife and I went to collect daughter from school who, literally, could not believe her eyes and, when realizing it really was Papi, clung to me, sobbingly.
It's good to be home - smells, yells, horns, loud 'thumpa-thumpa' music from every street corner, roaring buses, honking taxis, demolition next door, heat and humidity, the blatting roaring noise of our water pump, the shouting of pedlars in the street outside.
Get me outta ' here!
So - here are the statistics:
Total mileage (km): 3232m (5171Km)
Average mileage (km) per day: 538m (861Km)
Total fuel consumed US gals (Imperial gals./liters): 174 (135//609)
Avg. consumption miles/USgal. (miles/Imp. gals.//Km/liter): 18.6 (24//8.5)
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