My first official Mexico post (home sweet temporary home)

Before even stepping foot on Mexican soil, a Mexican man (a Mexican-American named Rigaberto flying from Chicago to visit his family in Leon to be exact) reinforced my often ill-advised blind faith in mankind. Never has my heart sunk on an airplane as much as it did when I picked up my bag as we were about deplane in Dallas, and I get motion sickness, horrible motion sickness. I noticed that a few items had fallen out, chapstick, a granola bar. But upon further inspection I realized that not only had these trivial items fallen, but that my wallet was missing. I turned to the man sitting next to me, Rigaberto, and asked the people in front of me and the row in front of them. I got on the floor after everyone got off the plane, still no wallet. I had to catch my connector, and since I had my passport and some cash, I had decided even walletless I’d be on the plane to Guadalajara. As I was leaving my name and contact information with the flight attendant, Rigaberto walked back to the flight attendants with my wallet in hand. He had seen a man in the row ahead pick something up, and after I asked him about my wallet he had the courage to follow the other passenger, as him if he had my wallet, and retrieved it. Not only returning it, but returning it will all of my money still inside. I was speechless. I wanted to give him a hug, but didn’t. I thanked him profusely, and still in awe, rushed to my connecting flight.

At nearly 10 p.m. my flight landed in Guadalajara. I made it through the long customs and immigration lines without being recalled for random inspection. You push a button and if it’s green you’re free to go and if it’s red, they go through all your bags. I held my breath, pushed the button and walked on through when it lit up neon green. The teacher training program I’m in covered my taxi from the airport to Posada San Pablo where I’m staying, and within 40 minutes I arrived at my new temporary home. I have my own room, a room about one and a half times the size of my bedroom at home with two queen size beds in case I want to switch it up every once in a while. I share a bathroom with the other guests and have access to the kitchen. Tonight, one of my classmates, Nathan, cooked a fantastic pasta dinner after we taught our first classes. Anyway, Posada San Pablo is just one and a half blocks from the training center, and right next door to a bakery. I’ve managed to resist the sweets every day except for Tuesday. The chocolate croissant had my name on it (ok, not literally, but seriously having to pass it every day is rough).

I’ve been in class for about eight hours a day since Monday learning how to teach English as a Foreign Language. We spent three days covering techniques, classroom management, grammar, lesson planning and more. Today I taught my first class. I think there’s a phrase for that, something with a little more of a bite than “hitting the ground running.” Regardless of what we call it, at 6:15 this evening I found myself writing “Ms. Mysker” on the board with a blue dry erase marker waiting for my students to arrive. I was teaching, and will teach nine more classes, as a substitute for a teacher at the training program’s partner school. I was supposed to have eight semi-beginner students. When only two arrived I was a bit thrown off. My lesson plan and activities were all designed for a larger class. I tried to adapt the best I could. I tried to shake my nerves, and once I got rolling they all but disappeared. I hope that as I teach more classes my nerves will calm down a bit, and I’ll be more at ease. And since this was my first class, the only way I can go is up. Each of my classes will be observed, and end with a short feedback session. It was a little intimidating at first, but definitely helpful and reassuring. Who knows, I might even be good at this some day?