Sometimes networking will get you further than any job board, although there are some excellent ones out there. If I hadn't found a job in Mexico through serendipity, I would have traveled there and asked around until I found something. Just like in the US, sometimes it's who you know, or who you have happened to talk to.
Moving there was a piece of cake compared to most moves. Furniture was sold, and I quickly realized that I didn't need at least 90 percent of my possessions. With a suitcase and two boxes apiece, my seven-year-old son and I hopped on the plane to Guanajuato.
The first thing we did was find an inexpensive hotel. Paying about $12 a night, we hung about until we met a few people who were delighted to show us some apartments they knew about around town. Some were awful. I particularly remember one where the bathroom consisted of a shower with a toilet inside it. Finally, however, we found a gem. Located about a quarter mile up winding alleyways, it had three balconies, tiled floors, a stove and a refrigerator. It did not have hot water, at least not until the gas guy stopped by about a week later. The neighbors never did mention the screaming coming from our bathroom as I took icy cold showers. I've never washed my hair so fast!
On a trip to nearby Dolores Hidalgo, I discovered factories that produced that wonderful rustic furniture that costs so much in the United States. My most expensive purchase was an amoire for $150. Delivery was included. Thus the apartment was furnished.
A few days later, a new friend recommended a lady who would cook lunch for us and clean our house. Her charge was $100 a month. She kept the house spotless, and we were very well fed. I felt guilty about the going rate and gave her a washing machine so that she wouldn't have to wash her families clothes by hand after coming home from doing our family's laundry. The people who had recommended her, a Norwegian family who lived down the alley, were paying $400 a month for their not-as-cute apartment, by the way. I was really glad that I had waited until we were there before renting.
Fortunately, my job was literally next door to my son's school, a private one where all of the girls went gaga over his blond hair and the tuition was $100 a month. After school, he used to come over to my classroom, where he would do his homework and then serve as my helper. Life was good. These days he is a volunteer tutor for our local ESL program. He loves how the Spanish he learned as a kid comes in so handy.
My employer promised to pay for my FM3 work visa. I didn't get one until I had already been working in the country for four months. It was not a joyful experience. I had to hop on the bus three different times to go to the consulate in San Miguel de Allende, where I was told to come back with a different paper that I hadn't been told about the time before. The last time, they weren't going to give it to me because I was wearing earrings in my photo. My eyes teared up. I got the visa. I don't think the guy could stand to see a woman cry.
Other than the visa, the process was a remarkably smooth one, unlike our move to Portugal, which is a whole 'nuther story.
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