Wales

I had a great weekend.  It started Friday after school with my going for a nice long walk with Eileen, my friend and teaching assistant.  (Since class sizes are so huge, each teacher is assigned a teaching assistant.  Eileen is fabulous.)  Anyway, we went to Eileen's house, got her dog, Bonnie, and headed to a beautiful huge country park called Baggeridge.  The park is an expansive 150-acre open space with hiking paths through wooded areas, grassy hills, ponds, meadows, wildlife habitats, and even an aerial ropes course.  It was just so nice to be out in nature and a nice break from going home to an apartment.  We plan on doing this more often before the weather gets too cold and rainy.

On Saturday Julie picked me up early in the morning and we headed for her caravan in Wales.  Remember, a caravan is a trailer, so a caravan park is a trailer park.  But unlike the negative connotation of trailer parks in America, caravan parks are little seaside "villages" filled with caravans that families can get away to on weekends and holidays.  They are a very, very poplular idea here.  I learned that caravans have a "shelf life" of about 15 years afterwhich time they need to be replaced.  It keeps the caravan parks looking well maintained.  Rachael's family's caravan is in Barmouth, Wales.

The drive through the English and Welsh countryside was stunningly beautiful and the little villages through which we passed were old and charming.  Whereas the houses and buildings in the West Midlands are made of brick, the architecture of Wales is natural stone.  All the houses I saw were made of ages-old stone and slate that is mined in the area.  When we reached Barmouth it started raining and ominous clouds swallowed the surrounding mountains.  But the rain and clouds and mists only added to the mystique of the breathtaking Welsh seaside.  After depositing our bags at the caravan, we drove into Barmouth and explored the shops of the quaint little town.  When we got back to the caravan, I went for a long walk on the beach, collecting shells and stones along my way.  Later, we had dinner in a pub, and that night I was lulled to sleep by the rhythmic sound of the ocean's waves.

The next morning I went back down to the beach for more beachcombing only to discover that the tide was in too far to allow for a walk along the sand, so I hiked up a grassy hill.  When I reached the top I stood there for the longest time just breathing in the fresh sea air and the beauty of Wales.  I looked out on the Irish Sea, its whitecapped waves crashing against the rocky shore, and when I turned around, there were rolling hills, patchwork-green and sheep speckled, ascending shadowy mountains.  It was quiet except for the music of sea and gull, my two favorite sounds in the world.  I knew I had to capture this moment with my pen, so I walked back down to the caravan, grabbed pen and paper, then made my way back to my spot to write.  I was in Wales . . . writing.

I determined that I need to remember to carry a little journal with me now so I can write at the time of inspiration, not merely recall at my computer.  Steele students, keep journaling every day--especially when you are inspired--whether you are skiing in the mountains of Colorado or traveling in a foriegn country or just hanging in your backyard.  Just write.

Who Has an Accent? Plus, a Trip to Birmingham

It always amazes me when someone asks me where I'm from and that they like my accent.  Accent?  I'm not the one with the accent--they are!  The accents around here are just so fascinating to me, and apparently, the Black Country and Birmingham ("Brummie") accents are something of an enigma in England.  I remember my English friend and hairdresser in Colorado Springs, Andi, telling me, "Just wait until you hear that Birmingham accent," and she attempted to imitate it.  I can't imitate it.  I think I am pretty good at doing "foriegn accents", but I can't do this one!  It seems everywhere I go, people are asking me, "What do you think of our accents?"  Even my cab driver this afternoon (yep, had to take a cab home again) asked "What do you think of the way we speak?" and I got into yet another conversation about the difference between the Brummie accent and the Black Country accent.  When I went over to Carol's house for dinner (tea) last Friday, (and had a much-needed night of laughter), she and her husband, Phillip, demonstrated the regional "broad" dialect.  Now, apparently people in other regions, such as London, sort of look down on the way people in the Black Country or Birmingham speak.  But I don't know why.  There is definately a distinct difference--just like there is a distinct difference between a Texas accent and a New York accent.  But I love hearing the people around here speak.  I do sometimes have to listen very carefully to understand every word--especially with my students--but for the most part I am having no "language barriers" except for the occasional word or phrase that throws me for a loop!  (I'm trying to compile my own Brummie/American phrase guide for this blog.)  Like I've mentioned before, it's not just the regional pronunciation of words that's distinctive, it's also the sing-songy, unexpected up-and-down lilting of the spoken word.  (Do you Steele people hear it in Ms. Barrow's speech?)  I happen to think it's beautiful.  But I cannot imitate it!

But speaking of the children, can you imagine what a challenge it is to teach a phonics lesson when you don't pronounce things the way the children do?  For one thing, the kids at age 6 are learning sounds of letters and letter combinations instead of the letters themselves.  So they will spell words with their sounds instead of letters.  (And I have to say, the result is that lots of them have pretty strong phonics skills.)  That's hard enough on me to have to teach that way, but when you add pronunciations on top of that, it makes for. . . um. . . interesting lessons.  When the letter combination being taught is, for example, "ay", I will pronounce it as a long a, as in "may", but the children pronounce it as almost a long i, as in "my".   But we do somehow seem to be understanding one another--most of the time. 

Yesterday Father Paul, the school's parish priest who looks a bit like Harry Potter, brought his "little friend, Benji" to school to visit the children who were delighted.  Benji is the little white Westy dog that Father Paul found neglected and abandoned some years ago and nutured back to health and happiness.  I had my students draw pictures of Benji a couple of weeks ago, and they gave Father Paul the pictures, so Benji came to say thank you.  Father Paul lets little Benji think he's a big, tough guard dog, so the children are instructed to make sure they don't tell him otherwise.  Benji also will play a very important role in the Christmas nativity.  He will be the sheep.

Speaking of Birmingham, I spent last Saturday there with Rachael's sister, Sarah and had a wonderful day.  Birmingham is England's second largest city after London.  It was heavily bombed in W.W. II, so it does not bare the antiquity that London does, having lost much of its Medieval architecture, but it still is a mixture of old and new and is quite a lovely city.  There is a huge outdoor organic market where you can buy anything from vegetables I've never seen before to duck eggs to middle eastern fabrics to even cooked ostrich!  It definately had character and international flavor and diversity.  (The market, not the ostrich.)  I loved it.  We saw armed police (I'm talking machine guns!) walking about and we asked a bobby what was going on.  He told us that it was the Torry convention.  As I understand it, the three main political parties in England are the Conservative Party, the Labour Party, and the Liberal Democrats.  I think the Torries are the Conservative Party.  I remembered a history lesson or two from my childhood about the Torries, so I thought it was pretty cool that I was standing outside the convention hall where Torries were meeting.  Sometimes it just doesn't take much to amuse or amaze me.  We had lunch at Jamie Oliver's restaurant. (You know, the British bloak who's campaigning in the U.S. for healthier school lunches.)   I was a bit daring and had lemon risotto with bone marrow in it.  Enough said.

I'm looking forward to my little weekend get-away to Wales with Julie.  I've always heard how utterly beautiful Wales is, and I'm anxious to be at the coast.  Wasn't Richard Burton Welsh? 

Okay, here's the really exciting news.  Today I pulled the trigger and booked a trip for the October mid-term break to . . . VENICE!!  Of course, I kind of felt like throwing up after I booked and paid for it because am I crazy for thinking I can travel to Venice all by myself???  But I'm doing it!  I'm in Europe (kind of), for gosh sake, and that's what Europeans do--they travel!  When in Rome!  (I mean, Venice!) And, I'm just kinda thinking it's now or never.  You only live once.  This is my once-in-a-lifetime shot.  Why am I trying to justify this???!!!   And what I can't wrap my head around is--get this--I will be be picked up at the airport in Venice and taken to my hotel . . . by water taxi!!  Don't expect to see a picture of me (provided I ever figure out how to do that) in a gondola because I think that's cheezy.  But, then again, you never know.

Culture Shock at School

A funny thing happened at school the other day.  Well, for me it was funny.  Actually, it was more of a deer-in-headlights moment than funny.  For the kids and teachers, it was just life as usual.  Now, there are many, many differences in our two school systems.  Differences in curriculum and how the curriculum is delivered.  Differences in access to teaching materials.  Differences in teaching styles and methods.  Even, I've noticed, differences--fascinating differences--in the ways children play.  I acknowledge that things are not supposed to be the same in the two systems or else what's the point of my being here?  I'm observing the day-to-day differences and trying to overcome all the tough, fascinating, wonderous, aggravating, comical, bewildering problems that arise out of those differences.

But there are differences . . . and then there is just plain CULTURE SHOCK.  This was a culture shock moment.  Whereas American elementary schools have a P.E. teacher on staff, the school where I am teaching contracts with a company that supplies a P.E. teacher.  (I don't know how common this is among all schools.)  While the children are having P.E. one day a week with the young male P.E. teacher, I am having my planning time.  Last Monday was the kids' first P.E. class, and what I didn't know was that they change out of their uniforms into their gym clothes.  Well imagine my surprise when, upon returning to my classroom when P.E. was over, I opened the door and found 30 children--both boys and girls--in various stages of undress (mostly un), the P.E. teacher standing at the door hurrying them back into their uniforms.  The children were, of course, oblivious to any sense of awareness of one another--kind of like brothers and sisters.  But I was rather taken aback.  I can just hear Steele kiddos, if they heard this story, gasping a chorus of giggly "Ohhhhh's".

While I am trying to navigate my way through a quite different curriculum and attempting, in every way I know how, to "tame" 30 little wild six-year-olds (they are NOT going to beat me!!), I am finding such charm in them.  They call me "Miss".  As in "Miss, may I go to the toilet please?" and "Miss, is it almost dinner time?" and "Miss, So-and-so stole my rubber!"  And then there's the "register".  That means the attendance.  Twice each day we take attendance (or the register)--just like at Steele.  But here, as we are calling each name, we say, "Good morning (or good afternoon)."  And in the morning they respond with, "Good morning, Mrs. Montoya.  I'll have hot dinner, please" (or sandwiches or jacket potato--which is a baked potato).  From some of the children I get a "Bonjour, Madame."  And there is a before dinner (lunch) prayer--very sweet--and a prayer before going home.

We attend mass once a week.  Today was my second mass, and though I still feel like a fish out of water, I at least did not make the little faux pas I did last week.  At the end of the mass, children were walking up to the alter, hands posed in prayer, to receive the sacrament.  My T.A. told me that I needed to get in line as well and cross my arm over my heart.  Self consciously I made my way up to where the priest was and, doing what others before me were doing, I started to open my mouth so he could put the little wafer on my tongue.  But he just looked at me and made the sign of the cross, knowing full well that I wasn't Catholic.  Oops!  Not too embarrassing!

The staff at school continue to be helpful, supportive and just plain awesome.  Every morning Ken, the building manager, brings around a tray of hot coffees he's prepared just as people are coming to work.  I don't know how he times it just right, but he does.  Tuesday was my birthday, and although I hadn't told anyone (I truly forgot about it myself), they found out and put together an impromptu little birthday celebration in the teacher's lounge, and I am STILL getting flowers and cards from people three days later!  I'm having tea (dinner) at Carol's house tomorrow evening--my first time having curry.  (Indian food is big here.)  Carol's a hoot, by the way!  Plus, Karen is taking me to a little village or two in the Cotswolds in a couple of weeks.  I can't wait to experience quintisential England.  On Saturday Rachael's sister, Sarah and I are going to Birmingham, and I've been invited by Rachael's mom and dad to spend next weekend at their caravan on the coast of Wales.  Can't wait!  Wales!!

Carol has made my journey to work each morning a little easier by picking me up at the bus stop in Gornal Wood (isn't that a cool name?).  Now I only have to take one bus in the morning, which is much less stressful and saves me about 30 minutes.  The trip home, however, must be timed just right between the two buses.  The other day I missed my second one and it was going to be a whole 50 minutes before the next one and I didn't feel like standing out in the cold for that long so I hailed a taxi.  Fifteen minutes later and £8 (about $14) poorer, I was home.  I have noticed that it is getting dark a whole lot sooner, and I was told tonight that in another month or so, it will be totally dark by about 4:00 in the afternoon!  That means waiting for the bus in a questionable neighborhood in the dark.  Fun!  Today I caught the bus a little bit earlier only to find that it was crowded at that time, so I climbed up to the upper deck where I had to endure somebody's weird music, some weird conversations, and some pretty weird smells.  I do not heart the bus.

But I am digging funky England, and I look forward to exploring more of it!  Cheers!

We're Not in Kansas Anymore, Toto!

I completed my first week of teaching in an English Catholic primary school.  I have 30, yes, 30 very um . . . lively six-year-olds (are you reading between the lines??) in a small classroom in a small school.  Fortunately each classroom teacher has a teaching assistant (otherwise, I don't know how a teacher would manage 30 little ones for six hours a day!).  The T.A.s are virtually co-teachers and are treated and respected as such in this school. The staff are truly, truly some of the nicest people I have ever met, each going out of their way to help and support me.  There is a loving spirit that seems to permeate the school.  I don't know if it's because this is a parochial school or simply because of the makeup of the incredible staff.  The staff are very firm but loving and caring and dedicated, and they seem to really care about one another.  This is definately a team.

Having said that, my first week was rather tough.  As much as many things are similar to our American system (i.e. we're all talking about the same philosophies, strategies, and expectations--they're just wrapped up in different lingo), many things are different, and it's mostly the little things.  Also, not being Catholic, I feel quite like the perverbial fish out of water.  One of the major differences is the relationship between parents and teachers.  In the American system (especially in a school like Steele), parent involvement and frequent and accessible parent/teacher communication is just part of the school culture and is encouraged.  This seems not to be quite the case in European schools.  I say European schools because in our Fulbright siminars we were told this is the case all around Europe, and several former Fulbrighters reported this as what they had experienced.  The children in my class (did I say there were 30 of them?!) are adorable (especially when they're praying--positively angelic), and they are definately testing their limits with this new teacher from America.  The Fulbright people told us time and time again that we would feel like first-year teachers, and that is exactly--after 21 years of teaching--how I felt my first week.  It is a blow to the ol' confidence.  But I know that it will get better, and it is up to me to make it better.  I will get the routines under my belt, I will find out where the ding dang erasers are (called "rubbers" in England) and I will remember who I am as a teacher.  It will take some time, and I have some terrific coworkers that have my back.

A little about the U.K. school system.  It's quite confusing to me, so hopefully I've got this right, but I'm not so sure I do.  Briefly, school is compulsary to the age of 16 (though it's been changed to 18 starting in 2013).  Within the primary school system are the key stages.  Key stage one includes reception (like our preschool) and years one (kindergarten) and two (first-grade), and key stage two is years three through six.  I think there is some sort of junior school at this point, and then a child can then choose to go to two more years of school called sixth form, (which is like our high school and is sometimes called "college"), and then go on to University for a three-year Bachelor degree (as opposed to our four-year Bachelor degrees) or to some sort of trade school.  There are a number of types of schools that are funded in different ways by varying entities and run by different governing bodies.  For example, the school where I teach is run by a board of governors, as opposed to our Boards of Education.  Parochial or faith schools of the Church of England or the Roman Catholic Church are schools that teach religion as an integral part of their curriculum and some are tuition-free (though funds can be donated).  All public schools include religion as part of the curriculum as well, and primary school children pray (or can be made to pray) daily.  That's it in a nutshell.

Speaking of nuts, here's a random thought:  I haven't seen one squirrel since I've been here!

On another note, I have decided to start booking some weekend trips and to come to a decision about where I want to go for our October term break (one glorious week at the end of October).  I am still flabbergasted (or gobsmacked as they say in the UK) how people just go skipping from country to country here!  I even talked to one person who told me that her mother took a day trip to Venice!!  There are litte travel agencies absolutely everywhere--even in grocery stores--that advertise cheap excursions to Rome, Paris, Edinburgh, TUNISIA for gosh sake!!  Though people around these parts seem to be born here and die here, what they do do is take these wonderful trips around Europe and even Africa!  It's like in America traveling from Colorado to New Mexico.  So, I have my ever-growing list of places I want to see.  I need to make the most of being here--and that means trying to travel as much as possible, if even for weekend jaunts.  But in October I'm thinking about Italy.  I can't believe that's a possibility!

But for now, it's going to be a week of figuring out how to implement the curriculum.  And I'll let you know if I locate the erasers!

Daily Life and a "Field Trip"

This has been a fairly uneventful week, the week before school starts--FINALLY.  My new friend, Jane, brought it to my attention that I hadn't written anything in my blog lately which, on the one hand, was very flattering because it meant she was reading it!  But on the other hand, I was thinking that I hadn't "reported out" this past week because I hadn't done anything that could top Ireland.  But then I thought, that's not what this experience is about.  It's not about travel and adventure (although that's certainly a part of it--and, I'm hoping, will be a fair amount of it!).  It's really about experiencing the day-to-day stuff in another culture.  Getting around town and finally recognizing lankmarks.  Shopping.  Working.  Becoming proficient at operating an indescribably complicated washing machine.  Checking out the public library.  Stopping for a cup of coffee.  Making new friends.

And yes, still figuring out the bus system since I have definately decided not to purchase a car.  Well, a funny thing happened on the way back from the mall the other day. (I make no apologies for yet another bus story--it's my life right now!!)  I had just gotten my bus pass for the month so I can get back and forth to work a little cheaper (thanks to Rachael's mom, Julie, for taking me to get it).  I wanted to try out the pass and decided to go to the mall.  I got on the bus, showed the driver my pass, and he told me that it wasn't good for this bus.  But then he let me on for free.  Nice man!  I was chatting with a woman on the bus who explained to me that there are two rival bus companies in the area--one that is a family-owened business, and the other a bigger company that is trying to take over (her words).  The confusing thing is, both buses have the same exact routes with the same exact numbers.  Anyway, on the way back from the mall, I witnessed this rivalry business first hand.  The bus I was on (the local one) pulled out of the mall station right on the tail of the rival bus.  We followed the other bus street by street, which I just found peculiar, when all of a sudden we came to a dead stop right in the middle of an intersection.  We waited there for quite a while, holding up other traffic. The other bus had apparently stopped at a bus stop and was setting up camp there or something because it wasn't moving.  People began wondering what was happening, when all of a sudden, our female bus driver slammed out of the door, abandoning her riders and leaving us to the mercy of snarling traffic, and marched up to the bus in front to apparently confront the situation.  As everyone was speculating about what might be going on up there, I, the trouble-making American that I am (yeah, right!), suggested that we all clap for her when she got back on the bus.  At which point, when she boarded the bus, we did . . . as we watched the bus up ahead proceed on its merry way. 

I've made some wonderful friends the short time I've been here who have squired me around to the sights of the area and treated me to lunches and tea.  A few days ago I went with Jane and her cousin to a magnificent National Trust holding called Wightwick Manor.  It's a beautiful Victorian mansion surrounded by splendid gardens, woodlands, and a pond.  A knowledgeable, if slightly haughty, docent led us from room to room relating the home's illustrious history as we ogled its original furnishings, artworks, and fabrics and wallpapers designed by William Morris who I learned was the founder of the British Arts and Crafts movement.

And then yesterday, I spent a lovely afternoon with Jane and Michele, a former teacher at my school, at a quaint little French cafe in Stourbridge.  Stourbridge is the closest main town to me.  The town is laid out in quite a unique way.  It's situated inside a "ring"--Ring Road defines the perimeter of the central shopping and business area. Like all other villages in the area, its stone and brick buildings are very old and charming.

The village where I walk to to do my grocery shopping is Kingswinford.  It's about a 20-minute walk or so, which is great--but the schlep back with groceries stuffed in my backpack every few days is making me feel rather like a pack mule . . . and it's starting to get old.  But then Jane told me about a service that a lot of grocery stores have here.  Home delivery!  (Do we have such a thing in Colorado Springs??)  When she shared this bit of news with me, I could have sworn I heard the angels singing.  For a smallish fee, I can actually go online and order the things I need for a few weeks at a time, and they will be delivered to my front door.  What a concept!

We have a teacher work day tomorrow, and the kids come on Tuesday.  In their little school uniforms.  (The girls wear green-and-red kilts--don't you just love it?!)  I've met most of the lovely people on staff, now I can't wait to meet the children.  But I confess I'm very nervous.  The Fulbright mentors have advised all along the way that we will feel like first-year teachers in our new placements--and I have no doubts that they are right.  But when I think back to my first day of teaching 21 years ago, I just remember how excited I was to the point of being almost oblivious (naive??) to the nerves.  That is another part of this Fulbright experience--to bring that feeling back to teaching.  I'm just glad that I will be working with such a supportive and seemingly FUN group of people who, I'm sure, will help me get through those first floundering days of being a "new" teacher.  Wish me luck!