So what do you do?

I hate Puebla. It is no fun. Everything closes at 10. There are good enchiladas. There is a really big pyramid (largest in the world by volume) in nearby Cholula. I yoinked some pictures from someone we met there. The pyramid is earthed over now, so it really just looks like a big hill with a church on top. It was pleasant, but not so impressive. You can also see a volcano from it. I might not hate Cuernavaca, but I may never know because I spent way too much time being sick in my hotel room there. I ate a lot of bread. If I had stayed in the first hotel (I'd rate it at about one fourth of a star) one more night, I'm pretty sure I would have died.

Irene and I returned to Mexico City and went to talk to the good people at International House Mexico. We really thought that we were just having a chat, but then we noticed that we were already on the teaching schedule and they kept refering to us as if we already worked there. Yeah, so now it looks like we work there. Oops! I do like the city, but I think I only want to live there for five or six months. I filled out a form and wrote something besides "student" as my occupation for the first time in my life. That somehow makes me feel both very old and very young at the same time.

The next day we went to the IH Mexico Christmas party. It was on the 47th floor (somewhere in that big round thing at the top) of the World Trade Center in Mexico City. The view of the city was stunning, mainly by virtue of just how expansive a city of 18 million people truly is. It is intimidating and thrilling all at once. Dinner was incredible, but I honestly wish that I hadn't eaten a bite so that I could have eaten more cake. Cake is good. Irene won a DVD player in the raffle. That is good, because it looks like the school is going to hook us up with an apartment, so I pretty much won a DVD player by association. The school is apparently going to furnish said apartment, so we are hoping that we get to help shop for furniture and the like. We have also been promised phones, visas, and the occasional paycheck.

When I checked the monitor at the airport in Mexico City, it showed that my flight to "Austin Robert Mueller" was right on time. That seems like excellent news until you realize that the last time a plane landed at Robert Mueller Municipal Airport was May 22, 1999. I felt like I maybe should mention that to somebody. Do I tell the pilot? Should I give him directions? Someone must have clued him in, because we landed safely at ABIA. Silly Mexico. Now I am back in Texas for a couple of weeks. I am enjoying the BBQ, drinkable water, and milk that doesn't make me see pretty colors.