California dreaming

PINCH me I'm dreaming.
I mean, I must be... Did I really quit my job, house and life in the UK to land a Latin fiancé and a TV career in California?!

In San Diego? An ANCHORMAN in San Diego...?!
I'm sorry but that shit doesn’t happen.
Normally.
I currently find myself in the somewhat enviable position of having realized a dream.
A dream I guess I never dared to dream before.
Now, I'm not going to kiss my own ass and make out like “everything’s amazing, isn’t life great... la dee da...”
(Because everyone knows how the English hate someone who's found success and happiness), but wow... what a ride it’s been.
Today I can finally reveal the full detail of what the hell has been going on with me for the past 10 months.
As you all know I quit everything I’d known in the UK last June after meeting the beautiful Jacky.

I moved to Tijuana without even a hint of a plan, safe in the knowledge that ‘I’ had become ‘we’ (TJ team).

After two months of sitting in the house doing relatively little I dropped an email to the U-T San Diego (neighbouring San Diego’s biggest newspaper) asking if I could pop in to take a look at their set up.

The U-T had, at that time, just launched its own web and US cable television channel and as a result, fully integrated itself with web and TV.

It was something my previous employers at The Herald in Plymouth, had talked about doing but – for one reason or another – had not quite achieved.

So, out of pure curiosity, I popped over the border and visited the U-T.

And the conversation went something like this:

U-T: “So... um... remind me again why you’re here...?”

Me: “Well, see I met this Mexican girl and...”

*cue startled glance and paper shuffling.

U-T: Wait, wait, wait... hey... HEY GUYS... have you heard this? We’ve got a crazy romantic Englishman here... can we get him a job?! Do you want a job?!”

To cut a very long story short I met the U-T’s TV guys who asked if I could pop back the next day for a screen test.

I guess they must have seen something they liked because moments after the test I was offered a position.

And then came the visa application. And seven months of being in limbo.

Annoyingly everyone who has ever got a tourist visa stamp abroad thinks they are experts on immigration law and, at times, my head was spinning with conflicting information.

“You should have done this or that...”, “you should have changed lawyers...” “you don't need that visa you need this one..."
Jeez.
Okay... how about we play a game of f#ck off... and you go first.

So after seven months of providing US Immigration with everything they needed, about a month ago we finally heard that my O-1 visa application had been approved.

For a moment I was afraid that Piers Morgan’s views on US gun laws, and the resulting calls for his deportation from the US, had scuppered any plan for an Englishman ever to be shown the green light.
But thankfully not.

Three weeks ago I flew to Canada to get the visa stamp, which was an unexpected treat in itself. It also afforded itself its own hilarity.

On greeting me when checking into the Toronto hotel the guy on the front desk (who later turned out to be Argentine) said: “Ahhh... you're from Plymouth?”
Me: “Yes.”
“Aha, yes, your team is not very good...”

This man clearly knew too much about Plymouth and it’s football – or is that ‘socher’ team.

Anyway, sorry I digress... after a week in Canada I flew back to TJ, two days later I crossed over to San Diego, and a few days after that I started work officially.

“What the hell have you been doing for nine MONTHS in TJ?!” a lot of people have asked.

Well, I learned a bit of Spanish, became an expert in immigration law, got a bit of a tan, oh... and I got really good at playing Candy Crush.

So fully charged, SUPER excited, and still pinching myself that this is all actually real, I find myself sat in a downtown coffee shop having just completed my first week as a ‘show host’ at U-T TV.

Being in limbo for that length of time wasn’t good for the soul, but it just goes to show that sometimes you’ve got to leave your comfort zone to see what’s possible in life.

I mean, ME... a TV presenter?!

Crazy huh?

So now it’s a case of ‘ding ding’ round two.
I now need to source an apartment, a social security number, a car, a bank account, a phone (or is that ‘cell?’) contract or SIM, a TV, sofa, bed, other home furnishings, oh and of course a kettle... (that’s got to be easier this side of the border right?!)
Oh and I need to retake my driving test (theory and practical) because Californian state law doesn't recognize the international driving permit). Grr.

So I’m a British citizen, engaged to a Mexican girl, who is now living and working in America. Oh, and I flew to Canada to get the visa.

Officials on the Mexican/US border ask a few questions let me tell you...
We’re still working out the details of what exactly my new show will be about for U-T TV and it’s in development.

This week I’ve been finding my feet, explaining to my co-workers what the hell I mean when I’m saying things like I’m ‘cream-crackered’ (i.e. knackered... i.e. tired), and doing news reporting slots on U-T TV’s PrimeTime show.

A few members of the PrimeTime crew on set

In the next blog I’ll bring everyone up to speed with some of the crazy antics this past week has witnessed.

Where the magic happens...

Do you want to check out what The U-T San Diego and U-T TV is all about?

Those people that aren’t in the US can watch U-T TV live online by visiting http://www.utsandiego.com/tv/. Click on the ‘Watch Live’ link and you’re all set.

For now though I’m going to order another latte, breathe a little sigh, sit back in my chair, and carry on (California) dreaming.

Seasons in the sun

I’VE finally discovered, albeit reluctantly, what it feels like to be cooked like an oven chip.

The last week or so in Tijuana has seen temperatures rocket to somewhere near the obscene.

You know, the sort of temperatures where you could easily fry an egg on the pavement.

For a fairly pale-skinned Englishman it’s been a jolt to the system.

We have no air conditioning in the house so we rely on ceiling fans. Which, going back to my earlier comment, really does make you feel like you’re living in a fan oven without an ‘off’ switch.

By day temperatures have peaked at around 44 degrees. By night, a mere 25 degrees.

Feeling hot, hot, hot... and this was nearly three weeks ago

And the best is apparently yet to come.

Every year this region (Baja California) experiences something called the ‘Santana winds’.

Despite the name it has nothing to do with the legendary guitarists’ problems with flatulence.

It has everything to do with the blustery dry winds which sweep off the Arizona desert and across the region. They apparently make breathing difficult. And just to add insult to injury, you also have to close all the doors and windows because the wind brings with it dust and sand.

The mere mention of the winds brings a look of horror and discomfort to a Mexican’s face.

And seeing as we haven’t yet experienced this natural occurrence, I’m inclined to pull the same face just thinking about it.

For me it’s been strange adjusting to the ‘autumn’ in Mexico.

In England it’s one of my favourite seasons. That feeling when you wake up one day, and you just know, that autumn has arrived. You can sense it in the air and feel it in the breeze.

Well we might as well be living on the face of the sun because, despite the fact it’s now autumn here, it feels like the height of summer to me.

The heat in Afghanistan, where I spent three months mid-summer in 2010, was intense. But we had air con.

Here we literally just cook in our own skin. Even people who visit the beach mostly sit in the shade.

Oh we do like to be beside the seaside (albeit in the shade...)

Impromptu Mexican jam session en la playa

You walk outside on particularly hot days and TJ is like a ghost town. People stay inside until it cools off.

I’m minded to sit outside like a sun-worshipping rock star. But hey, I stand out enough as it is let alone with deep agonizing sun burn.

But hey, when we have ventured out and about, my new home-town is still as fascinating, fun and downright weird as it has been since I arrived.

As I keep saying, things are very different here.

Picture the scene, we’re sat in Burger King one night surrounded by kids with ‘happy meals’, or whatever the king calls them.

All their noise is drowned out by the volume of the large television screen which sits central and imposing in the restaurant.

We tuck into our food, I glance up and ask… “Um, what are these people on the chat show talking about?”

“Oh, the woman is teaching the guy how to control his ejaculation…” Jacky nonchalantly replies.

“Oh, okay…”

I’m loving it.

Only in TJ.

My mum asked a few weeks ago why I haven’t sent her a postcard.

It’s simply really. They don’t sell them here, at least... I don’t think they do.

I can’t imagine that pictures of armed men with blacked out faces standing next to a taco stand would really sell here.

I don’t know, maybe there’s a market there that I’ve just cornered?!

Besides for some reason unbeknown to me the postal service is, well, pants.

A letter takes between five and nine weeks (on average) to arrive here.

I think a postcard from an astronaut on the surface of the moon would arrive quicker.

I wish I knew why. A second class stamp here might as well boast a sticker saying ‘ignore until the moment the sender thinks it’s lost – and then send’.

And the postmen in TJ don’t wear uniforms. It’s like giving your post to a random guy in the street on a motorbike hoping that he is who you think he is.

This place is indeed fascinating and I guess, that’s what makes each day so captivating.

Thanks for reading.

Oh, and ‘привет’ to my Russian readers!

People are strange when you're a stranger

YOU know, most of the more interesting and funny moments of my new life in Mexico have happened around the dinner table.

Telling my girlfriend’s mother that I was feeling ‘horny’ when I meant to say I was feeling ‘hot’ (due to the sun) is a moment which those in attendance will never let me forget.

Another standout moment has got to be when numerous members of Jacky’s family tried to teach me to roll my R’s to get the perfect Spanish accent.

The sound that came out of my mouth was not a rolled ‘R’, it was more like the sound of a bee slowly dying (probably of embarrassment).

Having five or six people rolling R’s at me at the same time in perfect harmony was one of the most surreal moments of my life.

“It’s easy!” Jacky told me.

“Er... it’s really not,” I replied.

It is one of the most difficult things I have ever tried to learn. And now I am so self conscious of doing it wrong and simply making a noise at someone, that I can’t possibly EVER try it again.

I don’t understand how people can wake up one day knowing how to do it.

I’ve even tried googling it to find a video tutorial. To be honest the comments – mainly from half-wit Americans – are more entertaining.

So yes, I’m trying new things. I’m eating different food, I’m exploring new places, and I’m learning a new language (well, new for me).

An Englishman here in Tijuana (known as ‘TJ’) is a rarity.

And to say I stand out like a sore thumb is a massive understatement.

My skin colour is different, my accent is weird, and I’m literally about three feet taller than your average Mexican.

I stand head and shoulders above everyone. When I’m in a supermarket I peer out over the aisles like the Statue of Liberty gazing out over Manhattan’s ant population.

Jacky bought me a pair of boots as a welcoming gift and, while the size and length of the boots are fine, they are so narrow that I’m sure the daintiest British tinkerbell supermodel would have a job squeezing into them.

I now honestly believe that I – like many men who derive from the West Country – have ‘pasty’ feet.

Such has been the intensity of people’s stares here that they’ve nearly walked out into traffic.

I, more often than not, smile politely and say ‘hola’.

I’m not sure exactly what people expect me to say, but they often look bemused and give me a look to suggest ‘wow... it speaks’.

It’s strange being in a foreign land. And my foreign mind works in strange ways.

Wherever I am, somewhere in the chasms of my brain I immediately look for an indication of where the next toilet is. You know, just in case nature calls.

Last week Jacky and a contact of hers took me to a kind of TJ chamber of commerce event.

It was a weekly update for a huge expo style event called ‘Tijuana Innovadora’ going on over here in October.

It will undoubtedly be a big deal as they’ve lined up the co-founder of Apple as well as many other important speakers from the US and Mexico.

The event is all about celebrating TJ and its relations and standing with the world.

So unbeknown to me, my attendance at last week’s event – as an (award-winning... well, I can say that now right?!) English journalist – was seen as a ‘big deal’.

I walked into a room of around 100 people and people stopped talking and stared.

You know like the classic scene in a Western when the stranger character walks into the saloon?

People stopped sipping their coffee, they fixed eyes on me, the guy in the back stopped playing the piano... (okay, there was no piano player but you get the gist).

The next thing I know someone thrust a microphone into my hand and signalled for me to introduce myself.

I spoke some Spanish, I spoke some English, and I spoke something which is a cross between the two incorporating hand movements and weird facial expressions.

And I got a round of applause. Oh, and then everyone started dancing. Honestly.

I must have said something right? Right? People even wanted their pictures taken with me.

In that single moment I felt like I’d announced my arrival to potential future employers.

So watch this space.

At the weekend I also encountered something else which was new and weird in equal measure.

We drove past a hardware store (TJs equivalent to B&Q) and there was a large group of men shouting at the passing vehicles.

It turns out that these men were actually plumbers and electricians who were plying for trade.

Yellow Pages? Facebook group? Who needs em. Just shout loudly at your potential customers!

Personally I wouldn’t want to employ someone who scared the living cr*p out of me but hey, when in Rome... or Mexico.

It got me thinking that maybe I should just massively over pronounce my R’s and growl at people to show that I’m actually trying?

Hmmmm... maybe not.