Honestly, I’m kind of digging this theme. And it’s not terrible. I’ve got my donation button on the right that shows how many low-fat caramel machiattos you can donate. So far no one has donated, but I’ve also not advertised this blog at all. I will advertise it. I’ll advertise it with a vengeance. The thing that bums me out a little about it is that it’s basically the exact same blog as whereswetzler.com, just with a different name. The only difference is this blog has no readership. Which is liberating! It doesn’t make me as self-conscious about what I write.
To give you an update on my nomadic sitch (situation): I’m staying at an Air BnB right now near the Bosque de la Primavera, near Guadalajara. I’m officially employed. I work Saturdays at the Vancouver Language Centre and tomorrow have my first Spanish classes at the American Consulate in Guadalajara. Yes, that’s right, some of the finest minds the United States has ever exported to their consulates will now be subject to my rigorous teaching methods. The rate is still very low but apparently I might be able to pick up some side gigs there. And for private classes to gringos you can apparently charge upwards of $20 an hour, which in Mexico these days is an untold fortune. The pesos is weak right now.
But let me tell you more about where I’m staying! There’s a dog here named Laila who likes to nestle against my legs and get pet. There’s a cat named Campanita that doesn’t like to nestle against my legs and get pet. And there are Fernando and Miriam, the owners. Fernando is from Michoacan and wants me to teach him English in exchange for things like a free temazcal session. The temazcal is basically a sweat lodge. It’s a hut. It’s made out of clay. You go there until you almost have a heat stroke, or actually have a heat stroke, and then come out. Miriam is from Spain. Her Spanish accent still comes out in words with “c” though she has whole-heartedly embraced the “este…..” filler word Mexicans use which means, “Uh….”. She also said “Orale,” the first time I talked to her. “Orale” is the most Mexican word that exists. It roughly means, “Ok” or “Right on.”
My days here are boring but that’s exactly what I wanted. I wake up. I have a cup of instant coffee (this is a new tradition as of yesterday and makes me yearn for Chile with ever fiber of my fucking body; oh Chile, how I miss you; when will I be back?), I write. I work either on a blog post or on a post for fearthewall.com, which is where I write about Borussia Dortmund and, from time to time, Christian Pulisic. And then, at some point, I work on my novel. I’m already in the stage where I more or less hate working on it. But I’ve been here enough times to know that this stage always comes, and for some writers this is normal, and you have to keep going, it’s what’s called S-T-A-M-I-N-A. After writing I walk into town for lunch. Then I walk back to the ranch, or the house, or whatever you want to call it. Then I chill. Then in the evening I go for a walk in the bosque, which is supposedly magical. It certainly feels magical. There are some ruins that aren’t protected or cordoned off and don’t have signs and are so old it’s hard to tell they’re even ruins. I asked Fernando yesterday if they were from the Aztecs. “Oh no, much older than the Aztecs,” he said. Much older than the Aztecs? “From civilizations of which there is no record.”
This will be the first post I post on Facebook and Twitter. I might as well. Here we go. Ordinary Nomad is finally life. I hope you enjoy it as much as I don’t.