Venice

Sunday ~
I arrived at the Marco Polo Airport after a nice flight on Jet 2, a no-frills airline that is actually very comfortable with nice employees, (so unlike Ryanair).  It was only a couple of hours or so across the English Channel and over vast, jagged snow-capped mountain ranges studded with the shiny rooftops of houses nestled in valleys and along snaking rivers. "Where are we right now?" I asked the man sitting next to me.  "We're over the French or German Alps," he responded nonchalantly.  There was nothing nonchalant about this to me.  I stared out my window, awestruck.                                                       


water taxi at airport

  

When we landed we were shuttled to the airport terminal on a bus and I went to see about my arrangement for the water taxi that would take me across the lagoona to Venice.  Once secured, I walked down to the pier, and after finally locating the right taxi service, I boarded my water taxi.  Now, I am very fearful of water (even though I love the sea), plus I'd never been on a speed boat before, and this was one!  It was a private water taxi, so I was the only one aboard.  The driver took off and before I knew it, I was zigzagging through the water at what I can only assume was about 300 miles an hour, and when the boat crossed the wake of another boat, it felt like we were hitting concrete as the boat rose up and came down hard with the driver turning sharp corners that tilted the boat.  I thought I was going to die right there in the lagoon before even getting to see Venice.  I kept telling myself that this guy knew what he was doing and that he does this dozens of times a day.  No big deal.  Except I thought I was gonna die.  Until I got my first glimpse of Venice.  What struck me right off the bat were the brilliant, sun-faded colors of the buildings that seemed to rise straight up from the sea like water colors on canvas.  And that took my breath--and  my fears--away.  I was in beautiful Venice, and it was surreal.



Rialto pier

I docked at the Rialto pier (I don't know why I thought the boat would just take me directly to my hotel, but it didn't).  It was about 6:30 in the evening and though I actually was quite close to where I needed to go, I didn't know it and wound up dragging my heavy suitcase up and then back down the steps of  several bridges and through narrow streets for about an hour and a half trying to find my hotel, looking in wonderment at where I was and uttering "wow" every ten steps or so.  I asked people along the way if they spoke English (no one did) and if they could tell me where South Lio Street was (no one could).  It was dark by now, and finally I found my little bed-and-breakfast tucked away on a narrow little street (among hundreds of narrow little streets) called S. Lio which I soon learned meant SAN (Saint) Lio, not SOUTH Lio.  I felt like that guy in An Idiot Abroad.  But I was relieved to find what would be my home for the next five days.  After dropping off my luggage I wandered back out onto the bustling street, careful not to stray too far away (I wanted to save straying for the light of day), and ducked into a little cafe (called a "bar") for a so-so pasta dinner.  Afterwards I got a gelato (yum) and strolled around a bit before heading back to my hotel room for a good night's sleep.

Monday ~
No need for a wake up call or alarm clock.  I was awakened by the clanging of the church bells in Campo San Lio.  A "campo" is a small square.  There are hundreds of them, and each--as far as I could tell--is named for the church that dominates it.  They are lined with bars, shops, and people's homes.  A "piazza" is a large square of which there is, I think, only one in Venice, and that's Piazza di San Marco.  My agenda was to have no agenda.  I just wanted to see where the day took me--to wander and explore and get lost (the latter of which I am expert at).  I didn't even bother with a map because maps are for people who know where they are going and need to know how to get there.  I had five days to figure that out.  Besides, the map of the city shows it to be just one huge spaghetti maze, and I wanted to be looking around and taking things in rather than focusing on the impossible map.  That's just me.

There are no cars in Venice.  The two modes of transportation are on foot and water.  I could have taken the popular vaporatti (water buses) all over the city, but I wanted to walk, so I didn't even bother getting a Venice transportation pass.
 

one of hundreds of lovely little canals



Grand Canal

I left my hotel bright and early, picked a direction, and started walking.  Venice is a much bigger city than I had thought it was.  It's a city of a gajillian tiny narrow streets, canals that move commerce and people, lovely bridges, and lots and lots of steps up and over the bridges.  The Grand Canal is the major canal that winds through and around the city and there are, I believe, only three bridges (huge bridges) that cross it so you can get from one district of Venice to another.  Then there are the many, many narrow canals swathing their paths snugly and quietly between pastel buildings with little arched foot bridges  under which gondolas pass.  On day one I crossed all three major bridges and, I'm sure, at least 50 small ones, including ones I crossed over and over again with the recurring refrain in my head of "hmmm...didn't I just cross over this bridge??"  My exploring took me down charming narrow cobblestone streets, each one veined with even smaller, narrower streets, one as intriguing as the next.  Eventually the streets would lead into an inviting little campo (square).  There doesn't seem to be any sort of rhyme or reason or pattern to the way the streets are laid out, and it's very easy to get turned around and just plain lost.  But that's part of the fun, especially when you have the time to do so.  Often I found myself on a deserted little street (what we would classify as alley).  That's where I would see people's laundry hanging outside of shuttered windows or strung up high across one side of the street to the other.  Or I would hear the echoing clang of a big heavy door as a resident exited or entered their home.  I found myself curious to know what those homes looked like inside.  There were just lovely little  surprises on every single street.

And then, of course, there is the shopping.  Venice's streets are filled with shops that pretty much sell the same things: Murano glass, jewelry, Venetian masks, Italian leather goods, fabrics--a shopper's paradise.  I,  however, wasn't in shopping mode on this day (except for a pashmina I bought from a street vendor because I hadn't worn my coat and I was a bit cold).  There is also the shi shi district where you'll find the likes of Prada, Fendi, Dolce and Gabana, etc..  (I made a quick pass through that area.)  Street markets are everywhere along the canals and in the campos selling the obligatory souvenirs, art, and food.  But I wasn't buying; I was having so much fun snapping photos that I wore down my camera's charge on the first day!  In hind sight, I should have taken along a sketch book and tried my hand at drawing what I was seeing.  Quite a few artists were doing just that, and I loved stopping and watching them.  I was still a little chilly so I ducked into a cute little coffee house for a ciocolatte con parma (hot cocoa) before continuing my exploring.  I located (or rather, stumbled into) the Palazzo di San Marco where I marveled at Saint Marc's Basilica and vowed to go and see that another day.  I later stopped for a late lunch al fresco under the stunning Accademia Bridge that crossed the Grand Canal.  As I sat enjoying a pizza and a glass of vino in the chilly damp air, a gondolier passed by singing O Sole Mio in operatic splendor (yes, they really do sing!).  I felt like one big cliche, but it was oh so wondrous!

It was about 10:00 p.m. by the time I got back to my hotel. I had been walking and exploring for about 15 straight hours!!  The last three hours or so of that, I have to admit, were trying to find the hotel because I was totally lost.  Later when I looked at the map, I was astounded at how much ground I had covered (and how much I had traversed repeatedly)!  But even when you think you've seen all of Venice, you discover whole sections you've missed!  As I checked my email on the hotel computer I met and chatted with a retired couple staying there who were from Seattle and, it turned out, used to live in the Old North End of the Springs!  Talk about a small world!  I then walked up the three flights of stairs (yep, more stairs!) to my walk-in-closet of a room, threw open the shutters to let in some fresh air and hit the sack.  The opening of the shutters may not have been the best idea because I was plagued all night by the bzzzzzing of a little fly or mosquito or something, plus the cooing of pigeons roosting right outside my window (I was concerned they might actually fly into my room), not to mention the several languages I detected through paper thin walls.  Venice on a budget.  Never mind . . . it was Venice!

Tuesday ~
Rain.  I decided I wanted to do some Christmas shopping so I headed to the historic Rialto Market district.  Walking around in Venice, as wondrous as it is, is no stroll in the park.  The network of impossibly narrow streets are often congested with pedestrians--hurried Venetians intent on getting to where they're going and harried tourists stopping and studying THE MAP.  Now add to it all trying to negotiate this maze with an umbrella in your hand (you and everyone else).



Rialto Bridge

 

The Rialto Bridge is another one of the three grand arched bridges that cross the Grand Canal.  There are actually stores inside of the bridge, plus many street markets.  As I looked down from the top of the bridge I saw throngs of colorful umbrella tops moving along the streets.  I walked over the bridge and followed umbrellas to the famous fish and produce markets for a taste of daily Venetian life.  The smell of fresh fish told me I was close.  The fish market reminded me of Seattle's Pike Street Market.  I saw strange looking fish I had never heard of before, and the colors of the fresh produce was pure art.  I stopped at another outdoor cafe on the canal.  I chatted with a nice married couple from Greece and two ladies from Scotland, both retired teachers who convinced me that I needed to visit Edinburgh before my return home to Colorado.  These were among the very few people I encountered who spoke English.  That's the fascinating thing about being in Europe, being surrounded by so many people who speak so many different languages.

After lunch I did some more shopping and got lost once again trying to find my way back to the hotel--this time in the rain.  I'm sure I crossed over the same four or five bridges about 103 times.  I soon found myself in a square that was flooded with the sounds of a soprano singing opera.  It was coming from the wide open doors of an opera house.  What I excitedly thought may have been a rehearsal going on turned out to be just a recording being played while people were selling tickets for the performance that evening.  I stood in that square for a while, in the rain with pigeons fluttering about, listening to the music.  It was truly another cliche Italiano moment that called for a gelatto on the way back to the hotel.



gleaming store windows



Wednesday ~
More rain.  I awoke to the distinct sound of rain falling into standing water.  It had rained all through the night.  I wasn't going to let a little rain deter me from experiencing more of Venice and decided this would be a good day to do indoor things, like seeing Saint Marc's Basilica and a couple of museums on Saint Marc's Square. 

platform walk ways in St. Marc's Square


I walked out of the hotel to discover that three-foot high platforms had been magically erected during the night in places all over the city because the streets were, for the most part, literally under water!  Apparently this happens every time it rains for an extended amount of time, and Venetians just take it in stride.  Some people in the know were bypassing the congested platform walkways by treading the water in tall rubber boots (Wellies).  Some Venetian men in business suits waded in, wingtips and Italian loafers in hand.  I made my way to Saint Marc's Square, carefully tight roping along the skinny platforms, umbrella raised high over my head, trying not to fall off or knock other oncoming people off.  What I found when I got there amazed me.  What had been a cement square the day before was now a virtual swimming pool!  The water reached right up to the doorways of the shops lining the square.  I stepped off the platform pathway into a fairly water-free area in front of the Basilica and watched as a huge line of people (queue if you live in England) stood on a long stretch of platforms waiting to go into various places in the square.  I stood there for quite a long time thinking about whether or not it was worth it to stand for that long in a line (queue) in pouring rain on top of a shaky platform when I discovered that there was actually a short line to get into the Basilica.  So I did that.  The platforms extended inside because there was standing water there as well.  The beauty of the ninth-century Saint Marc's Basilica is just as glorious on the inside as its facade.  Golden domed frescoed mosaic ceilings caused me to look up in awe as I walked on intricately patterned mosaic marble floors.  I was thankful that I got to see it, but I opted not to wait for the museums and shops on the square.  I hoped I would get to go back to see the Doge's Palace.

Wednesday must have been tourist-group day because the flooded streets were just filled with large groups of people.  Continuing my exploring and shopping I quickly learned that you are to leave your wet umbrella in a box by the front door of the shops before you enter.  As I splashed through ankle-deep puddles in my worn-out Merrells that I'm going to toss out anyway, I was soaked and beginning to feel tired, achy and a little bit cranky, so I went back to the hotel to take a nap.  The rain had won. 

When I woke up a couple of hours later, the rain had stopped so, still a little groggy, I ventured out.  It was dusk, the air was clean, the streets were glistening but there was no standing water.  I felt suddenly energized again as I wandered through now recognizable landmarks.  I was beginning to understand how to read the street signs and neighborhood signs (which you have to look up and see on the sides of buildings) and was pleased with myself that I now knew (sort of) how to get back to my hotel from almost anywhere.  I found myself in a square where there was a beautiful concert hall with someone out in front of it selling tickets to a concert that evening.  It was for Vilvaldi's Four Seasons, so I bought a ticket.  What better way to spend an evening in Venice than to listen to Vilvaldi.  The concert didn't begin until 8:30 so I walked around a bit more, and since the evening was pleasant and warm, I had some dinner outside in the square before going to the concert.  The concert hall was actually a school of some sort called Scuola Grande Di San Teodoro.  The musicians were a seven-piece string/harpsichord ensemble who played in 15th century costume.  The evening was a beautiful ending to a miserable day.


an evening of Vilvadi

 

vaparretto (water bus)

Thursday ~

The sun was shining again!  This would be a great day to travel to the islands of Murano (famous for glass treasures) and Burano (famous for their lace).  It was about a twenty-minute walk to the northeast side of Venice to find the pier where I could buy tickets for the vaporatti.  I was so looking forward to this little trip, but--horror of horrors--there was a strike on and the vaporattis weren't running.  I was gutted (a term I've picked up in England).  I went up to the ticket booth and asked the man how long the strike would last (I had heard rumors that it would be over by 1:30) and if the boats would be running later that day, but he was just very dismissive and rude and no help at all.  So I stood around and watched and studied what was going on since no one around me seemed to speak English.  I noticed people standing in the floating waiting room for a while, then getting off.  I saw no water buses.  I witnessed people trying to get information from the rude ticket agent and coming away looking confused.  After standing there for a while and almost leaving disappointed, I noticed that there was now a woman in the ticket booth, so I went up to talk to her.  She was most helpful and told me that the strike was expected to be over by 1:30.  I asked if I could go ahead and buy a ticket to Burano, and she said I could.  I decided that since it would be such a late start I would only go to Burano and not Murano.  I really wanted to see the colorful Burano houses I'd heard about.  Ticket in hand, I happily walked away to explore a part of the city I hadn't yet seen until it was time to go back to the pier.

What I found were little streets filled with workshops whose doors were open to the fresh air, and only a few locals were around--I think I was the only tourist.  There was a frame shop that made those ornate gold frames and a marble shop where an artist was carving statues.  There was a glass maker who was blowing glass into intricate little buttons and insects and animals.  I stood watching a woman making a handbag in a leather shop.  Now when I see "made in Italy" embossed in a leather purse or shoes it will take on a whole new perspective.  However, I had another Idiot Abroad moment.  I had noticed the words, "vera pele" stamped on all the leather goods I'd been seeing in shops, and I wondered if this woman in the leather workshop was in fact Vera Pele!  (I found out later that "vera pele" simply means "handmade leather".  Geez!)  I stopped for an espresso and people-watching in a little square before returning to the pier.



an elderly street beggar in front of a church





colorful Burano

I boarded the vaporetto along with a million other people and stood for the 40-minute crossing of the lagoon to Burano.  Burano is very different from Venice.  Where Venice is intricate and complicated and congested, Burano is simple, coastal, more open.  Like Venice, there are no cars on Burano.  The canals in Burano are crossed by pretty little arched wooden bridges.  You can walk around the whole of Burano and not get lost.  You feel a sense of simplicity of life and that all the locals know one another.  It is just as colorful as Venice, but the colors of the houses in Burano are even more striking, more like the solid colors of crayons in a crayon box as opposed to the watercolors of Venice.  Unless you're looking for lace, the reason to come to Burano is definitely for the colorful architecture and whimsy, made even more colorful with people's laundry drying outside of windows.  I was just so glad I got to spend an afternoon in such a magical place.  Definitely a great way to end my stay in Italy.  When I got back to Venice, I took one more stroll and had one more gelatto before heading up to my room to pack and get to bed.

my favorite Burano pic



Friday ~
My plane left 30 minutes late from Venice.  That made me nervous because I had a tight train connection in Manchester.  Sure enough, when I arrived in Manchester I was already 10 minutes late for my train to Crewe, and I still had to collect my luggage.  I was about to go to the ticket office to see when the next train would be and purchase another ticket when something told me I should just go up to the train platform to see if maybe the train was running late, and it was lucky that I did because indeed, it was running 14 minutes late!  I boarded the train with exactly one minute to spare.  Whew!  Had to be Divine intervention.  But there was another problem.  If my train to Crewe was late, then that meant I would probably be late for my connection to Wolverhampton, my final stop.  I arrived in Crewe just as the train to Wolverhampton was scheduled to leave.  I frantically looked around for the departure schedule thing, and when I finally found it, I discovered it was malfunctioning because it wasn't showing all departures.  So I didn't know which platform to go to, and the information desk was way over on the other side of the tracks, I was told.  But just as I was about to enter the lift to go up and over to the other side, I heard an announcement that the train to Wolverhampton has arrived late and would be leaving from platform 5 in one minute.  I turned around, and there was the platform not ten yards away from where I was standing.  Again, Someone was watching over me.  I arrived in Wolverhampton and caught an expensive taxi home.

Venice was amazing, rain and all.  I tackled my fear of water and challenged my poor sense of direction.

This experience was, once again, an exercise in stepping out of my comfort zone which is what this whole journey is about.  And I couldn't have done it in a more beautiful place.

Planes, Trains, Automobiles . . . and Water Taxis!

This week began with being invited to Sunday lunch at my head teacher, Sharon's house.  As is typical and traditional in England, Sunday dinner means roast and all the fixings.  Sharon's husband, Roger, cooks on Sundays.  As I sat at the table I remarked that I felt as if I were watching a movie and this was the part where the lovely, close knit English family is having lively dinner table conversation about such topics as university, wedding plans, rugby, and Christmas markets.

Later that afternoon I went with Eileen to a pub in Wolverhampton for an open mic night where the daughter of a friend of hers was singing.  There had been a rugby match that day so the pub was filled with rowdy gents (mostly) who provided some great "entertainment" of their own.  Fun Sunday!  A wonderful lunch with lovely people, and going to a pub . . . on a SCHOOL night (certainly out of character for Mrs. Montoya)!

The day before, I went for a long walk in the neighborhood.  As I headed up a steep hill I heard a familiar sound.  It was a man's voice piercing the morning quiet with the sing-songy, repetitive refrain of "OLD SCRAAAAP!  OLD SCRAAAAP!"  This was the man I had heard at school a while back who I learned was the scrap man!  (Well, probably not the same one.)  You remember, he drives through neighborhoods picking up used stuff people leave out for him. Anyway, I saw his truck slowly rounding a corner, and I hurried my pace to catch up with him.  He was stopped in front of a house and getting out of the truck, so I walked up to him and told him I was from America and we don't have people who do this where I'm from and could I take his picture?  (I was packin' a camera.)  He looked a little uncomfortable but slightly amused and said sure.  So I snapped his photo in front of a truck heaped with old televisions, metal chairs and other unwanted household items.  I'm sure my daughter is cringing as she reads this.  Seriously, mom!

School is super busy right now and will get busier as the Christmas season approaches (just like at Steele).  I continue to be fascinated by how different--and yet how very much the same--the children at both schools are.  Basically, kids are kids no matter where you find them, and therein lie the similarities.  But it's just so interesting to observe the little differences in speech and manor.  The little boy I mentioned in reception ("Er's American!") is of particular interest, not just to me, but to everyone at the school.  The other day, my friend Carol, who is very, very tall, was working in reception.  This precocious little boy looked her up and down and announced, "Yow'm a biggun ay ya?"  Translated from the broad Black Country accent as "You're a big one, aren't you?"  (Cute, but he better not ever say that to me!!)  Then there's recess time (called play time here) which just seems different from back home.  For one thing, the older kids in year six (fifth-grade) help watch over the younger ones.  When I'm working at my desk at lunch time, I hear the older playground monitors being very authoritarian with the little ones yet also very caring as they often lead them in games and songs.  And when they're not leading the songs, one of the dinner ladies who monitors lunch recess leads them in her strong Irish brogue. 


Lady Laura



Laura, the year 4 teacher, took her class on a field trip to Moseley Old Hall, in Wolverhampton.  They had been studying British history.  She and her students were decked out in Renaissance costumes (reminding me of my Shakespeare kids back home).  She explained to me that during the Reformation when the Catholics were persecuted as the Church of England became the government-mandated religion, Catholics had to hide their priests who were in danger of being imprisoned or put to death if discovered.  They often hid them in what were called "priest holes" which were holes in walls and floors of castles and country and manor  houses. Mosley Old Hall was just such an historic haven for priests.  (This made me have a connection to the Underground Railroad, the secret route through southern states to the north along which there were safe houses where escaped slaves took refuge, hiding under floorboards).  I will definitely have to check this place out.

Last night I went to a Wolverhampton pub with Eileen, Linda (another awesome staff member at school), and Linda's brother, Tom, who is an artist and university professor.  It was an old-fashioned English pub in an old house.  It was another open-mic night that was part of a contemporary arts festival.  The little room within the pub where the music was happening was crammed with music lovers of all ages and lots of local musicians.  There was comtemporary and folk music, but the best was an Irish folk singer at the end of the night.  Soon everyone was joining in the singing in the very intimate and congenial atmosphere.  Of course, I was the only one in the room who didn't know the words to the songs, plus I didn't get the joking references being made to certain places and things, but I sure enjoyed the laughter and joy and comradery that happens when music brings people together.  The music was pure magic, and I was in heaven in an English pub.  Plus, Tom surprised me with a festival tee shirt that he secretly had signed by all the musicians.  Very cool.  Tonight a bunch of us went to yet another pub for more music--this time a benefit for an orphanage in Africa that staff member Jane's daughter helped organize and at which she sang beautifully.  I learned a phrase tonight that is a Black Country retort for when someone makes you angry.  It goes like this:  Goo-on, tek a walk in the cut til yer at floats which means "Go and take a walk in the canal until your hat floats."  I just think that's hilarious!

Tomorrow's Saturday and I will be packing because on Sunday I leave for ITALY!!!  That is where the title of this posting comes in.  I will take a cab to the train station in Wolverhampton, then a train to Manchester where I will board a Jet 2 plane to Venice.  I can't wait!  Ciao!

The Queen's English

Here are more things, words, phrases, customs I've learned (in no particular order--not even alphabetical).  This will be an evolving list, so I will add to it from time to time.  (I'm sure my Brit friends will correct me on anything I didn't get quite right!)  Bear in mind that words and phrases are sometimes regional and differ from region to region.

do:  party
hen do:  wedding shower
You alright?:  For the longest time I thought people were concerned about me for some reason when they were asking, "You alright?"  Turns out it's just a greeting like "How are you?"
biscuits:  cookies
chips:  french fries
chippy:  fish and chips place
crisps:  chips (as in potato chips, etc.)
fringes:  bangs
Balti:  type of Indian curry invented in Birmingham--certain restaurants are called Baltis.
bap:  bread roll
brilliant:  great
"need to spend a penny":  need to go potty (the saying came from the fact that many public toilets charge a fee)
potty:  batty; bonkers; bananas; crazy . . . as in YOU KIDS ARE DRIVING ME POTTY!
toilet:  bathroom or restroom
rubber:  eraser (yep, you know this one already)
pants:  underwear  (say trousers here)
"kiss, kiss!":  when people greet one another--even for the first time--they often kiss you on the cheek
boot:  trunk of the car
bonnet:  hood of the car
garden:  yard
take-away:  to go (take-out food)
uni:  university (students go to "uni")
football:  soccer
jumper:  sweater
lorry:  truck

zebra crossing:  white striped pedestrian crossing   (The first time I saw a "zebra crossing" sign, I was on a walk and got excited that there was a zebra farm or something in the area!)
humps:  speed bumps
caravan:  trailer that is either stationary or mobile used for going on holiday
mobile:  cell phone
motorway:  freeway
maths:  math
car park:  parking lot
round-about:  round island in middle of an intersection around which traffic flows--always yeild to the right
sweet:  candy  (Do you want a sweet?)
cake:  cupcake
jacket potato:  baked potato
play time:  recess
rock:  big stick of candy (like a big candy cane)


school lunch (dinner) menu . . .
Wednesday is "roast day"--note the Yorkshire pudding

 dinner:  lunch  (the "dinner ladies" serve dinner at school)
tea:  evening meal  (when you're invited to tea, you're being invited to dinner)
pudding:  generic term for dessert  (not necessarily actual pudding)
pudding:  can be a savory pudding that is not a dessert
Yorkshire pudding:  classic English savory pudding made from flour, milk, egg and beef drippings served with roast beef
dripping sandwich:  Okay, if you happen to be making roast beef on a Sunday, you take a piece of bread and pour the greasy beef fat (drippings) all over it.  That oughta hold you until dinner!
sorted:  problem solved
brolly:  umbrella
wellies:  Wellington boots (which I'm gonna need soon)
squash:  fruit drink
poorly:  sick or hurt (used as an adjective--a poorly leg)
trainers:  tennis shoes
shattered:  me at the end of a day of teaching--tired!
cracking:  great, as in "a cracking good time" 
cheers:  thanks or goodbye--sometimes "Cheers, mate!"
supply teacher:  substitute teacher
head teacher:  principal
deputy head:  vice principal
posh:  fancy or rich looking/sounding
ta ra:  good bye
ta:  thanks (I think)
quid:  slang for pounds (like bucks is for dollars)
cooker:  kitchen range (stove/oven)
gobsmacked:  amazed; flabbergasted
carvery:  restaurant or pub that offers roast dinners, expecially on Sundays
swimming costume:  swimsuit
gritter:  truck that spreads grit on the roads when it snows
"right":  alright (as in "Right, I want everybody to sit down.")
minced beef:  ground beef; hamburger
monkey nuts:  peanuts in shells
dodgy:  uncertain; not to be trusted
plaster:  bandaid
gutted:  disappointed; very unhappy by a situation
candy floss:  cotton candy
proper:  real (as in "a proper Sunday roast" or "he's a proper gentleman)
creche:  a childcare service or nursery (our school offers a creche when there is a parent event)
ice lolly:  popsicle



          

Bus Woes, The Cotswolds, London . . . And Oh, Yeah--School!

More bus drama!  The week before last I was waiting, early as usual, to cross the street to my bus stop when I saw my bus approaching--way too early.  Fortunately, the bus stopped at the bus stop for some reason (either because the driver noticed me frantically waving him down from across the street or because he was early and had to wait) and when traffic subsided, I darted across the street.  As I got right in front of the bus, the driver started moving forward!  I actually hit the bus with my hand (like that was going to stop it!) and shouted at the driver to stop.  When he did and I boarded I said to him, "Didn't you see me there right in front of your bus??!!  The turban-clad man just sort of clucked and shook his head at me disdainfully.  I showed him my pass and whispered something angrily under my breath as I stumbled my way to find a seat when the bus lurched forward.  And as if that wasn't enough of a traumatic experience, a few days later I waited for my 7:30 a.m. bus that never came!  I was fed up as I stomped back home and called yet another expensive taxi to take me to work.  I called the bus company and talked to no less than FIVE different people and departments about the problems.  I first filed a complaint about the man who tried to run me over, and then I tried to get to the bottom of why the other bus never showed up.  One lady told me that that route had been re-routed due to road work through November.  When I spoke to the SUPERVISOR OF BUSES (or whatever his title is), he didn't know anything about that and told me he would investigate the matter and get back to me.  Which he did.  (Jean, the school secretary, had answered his phone call back and told him that the American teacher at the school didn't think too much of English customer service!  And, I'm afraid she's correct.)  Anyway, the supervisor told me that there must have been some confusion on the bus driver's part as to whether or not the route was closed and that the route was in fact not closed and that he was sorry for any inconvenience and to call him in future if need be.  Fortunately, Sharon, my head teacher (principal) had put out an S.O.S. email to neighboring schools asking if anyone lived near me, and I heard back from a teacher from the school right next door.  I now have a ride to school in the mornings!  I'll miss riding the bus, but I'm sure I'll get over it.

This past week was busy, brutal, and beautiful.  Last weekend I traveled to the Cotswolds with Karen, a teaching assistant and parent at the school who generously gave up a Saturday to show me what I (and probably most Americans) think of as iconic England.  We drove an hour and a half or so through the beautiful English countryside to spend the day in two Cotswold villages, Bourton-on-the-Water and  Broadway (which I contend is just not a proper Cotswold name).  The Cotswolds is a region encompassing a few counties such as Gloucestershire, Wiltshire, Oxfordshire, and Warwickshire.  (I think there are a few more.)  I learned that the suffix "shire" means county.  It's pronounced "shur".  As you wind through this enchanting area of England, you pass through the charming little fairytale villages that define the region.  The two we spent the day in were the stuff of paintings and postcards.  A tree-lined river divides one side of Bourton-on-the-Water from the other, and both villages are characterized by cobblestone streets and the "cotswold stone" cottages and shops with their English gardens, window boxes bursting with flowers, and ages-old tiled rooves that we imagine when we think of England.  I was on the lookout for thatched-roof cottages and only saw one.  I understand that those are hard to maintain because it is sort of a dying craft.  Sigh.  Nevertheless, the villages that have lived in my imagination since I was a child were right there in front of my eyes.  It was another wonderful day in jolly old England.

And then Monday came and it was back to work.  As I let 30 enthusiastic children in the door, one of my little ones announced that she had gotten me some rocks when she was at the seashore over the weekend, and that her mom would bring them when she picked her up at the end of the day.  I told her that I was glad because I liked to collect rocks and shells when I was at the beach, too!  Well, she and her mom came up to me at the end of day and handed me a huge stick of colorfully striped candy.  Her mom told me that her sweet daughter had said, "I'll bet Mrs. Montoya has never had rock from the beach before," which is what this candy stick is called.  All the kids know about the "rock" that you get when you go to the shore.  And now, so does Mrs. Montoya.

There is one very precocious little boy in reception (equivalent to kindergarten) that has stolen my heart.  Every time he sees me he points out to someone quite loudly that " 'er's from America!"

Tuesday and Wednesday were Parents Nights.  In our school back home kids have the last Thursday and Friday of October off while we schedule parents for 20-minute parent-teacher conferences.  That looks a little different here.  After teaching all day, we met parents at tables set up in the hall (gym/cafeteria) for five minutes each!  Five minutes!  Someone mentioned the term "speed dating"--and that's sort of what it felt like!  But, I have to say that it was very nice to finally get to meet the parents and touch base with them.  However, by Wednesday evening's conferences I was pretty wiped out because I went to a play with Eileen on Tuesday night after my last conference.  We went to Wolverhampton to a beautiful old theatre called The Grand and saw a British play called Journey's End that was about life in the trenches during World War 1.  It was very long with lots of talking and no action plus British references, words and phrases that were lost on me.  But the ending was very powerful and left both of us weeping (mostly Eileen).

One day I was teaching a lesson when all of a sudden I heard some shouting coming from outside on the street.  I got it quiet in the room and asked Eileen what it was and she said, "Oh, that's the scrap man."  This is a man who wanders around neighborhoods collecting old metal pots, furniture, stoves, anything metal, shouting, "ANY OLD IRON?" and then blows a horn.  It just reminded me of when I was a child in Georgia and the vegetable man would come rattling up the street in my grandmother's neighborhood selling his produce.  It's like being in a different time and place.  I just love stuff like that!




They call them "sausage dogs" here.



Father Paul and Benji

A grandma and her chicken



The highlight of the week was the Blessing of the Animals.  This is a very sweet religious tradition where parents and grandparents bring in their family pets and animals to be blessed by the parish priest.  At the end of the day, all the children lined up around the playground with their parents and four-legged friends on the other side (including, of course, Father Paul's Benji).  Each class memorized and recited an apropos poem (ours was Hurt No Living Thing by Christina Rossetti), and there was singing and laughter as impatient dogs strained at their leashes and hamsters crawled around their cages.  There was even a chicken. Then Father Paul talked of being kind to all creatures great and small and proceeded to bless all in attendance.



Tudor whimsy



The week ended with a trip to London!  My head teacher, Sharon accompanied me Friday on the train to London for a reception at the U.S. Embassy for the American Fulbright teachers to the UK and their heads or mentors.  We arrived in London early in the morning and the reception didn't start until the afternoon, so the two of us enjoyed a day of exploring Covent Garden and the surrounding area.  That afternoon it was wonderful seeing colleagues and friends once again.  We communicate online often, but there was definitely an air of excitement in the room when everyone was together sharing their experiences and making plans to visit one another.  A time for bonding, for sure!  The reception was great and we were made to feel very special. We got to meet with prior UK Fulbright teachers (some of whom I'd recognized from a You Tube video I'd come across last year while researching the program) with whom we got to swap "war stories".  Later that night it was pub grub and a hunger for sharing more stories.  Sharon joined us for dinner and then left on Saturday while the Fulbrighters met for a day of discussions and seminars at the British Embassy.




Portobello Market signs

 

After the seminar we splintered into groups doing different things and made a plan to meet for dinner.  A couple of other teachers and I headed to Portabello Market in Notting Hill (remember the movie with Hugh Grant and What's-Her-Name?).  That's one place my daughter Lauren and I didn't get to when we were in London two years ago, and since I love the movie, I've always wanted to see the place.  So we made our way on the tube to Notting Hill and found the market which is the mother of all outdoor markets, stretching probably a mile in length!  It was crowded (as all of London is), but oh so inviting as we passed street vendor after street vendor selling antiques (yum!), silver, fabrics, clothing (of questionable origin), Persian rugs, foods, fruits and vegetables, --EVERYTHING!  Not to mention the hundreds of shops along the way as well.  A shopper's paradise!  And I walked out the other end without spending a dime!  (Or, should I say, a ten-pence.)  Sometimes it's just more fun to look.  And less expensive.

The plan was to meet up with the others at Leicester Square in front of the M&Ms store (yes, there is a whole store/amusement place that is a mecca for M&Ms lovers) to decide where to go for dinner.  One of the teachers I was with teaches physics at Eaton College, the boarding school that Prince William and Prince Harry attended (how cool is that!!) and lives in nearby Windsor, so she headed home on a train.  When Chris and I finally made it to Leicester Square we were 30 minutes late because on weekends some of the underground lines close for maintainance, and so you have to figure out alternative routes to take.  We didn't see the others, so we decided to look for a place to have dinner.  Italian sounded good, and we spotted a little Italian place on the square where we could sit outside and watch the gajillians of people walking by.  As we neared the restaurant, we noticed our friends already sitting there!  So we joined them and had fun sharing more of our experiences and finding comfort in the fact that we were all facing similar issues.  What a remarkable group of people this is, I was thinking to myself, and how grateful I felt to be a part of this very special group of like-minded, passionate and adventerous educators who have completely turned their lives upside-down.  I think we have bonded as a group, and even more so since this meeting in London.  Kumbaya.

After dinner, some of the group were going to various theatres to see a play.  A couple of the plays I would like to have seen were sold out, and there really wasn't another one I felt I just had to see, so three of us decided to walk around a bit and maybe find a pub with some live music.  We went back to the hotel to fetch jackets, but by then I wasn't feeling the pub idea so I opted out.  It was only 8:30 and, though I was tired, I decided to go for a walk.  I was in London for gosh sake, and I wanted to be "Londony" and walk around at night like I knew where I was going!  I really wanted to walk down to the River Thames which I knew had to be about two blocks or so north of the hotel, so I ventured across the street and found an alley with stairs leading down to what I thought could be the way to the river.  As I descended the stairway leading to God-Knows-Where I thought, "Here I am, in London.  In a dark alley.  Walking down sticky alley steps.  The voices of people on the bustling street above fading away.  Maybe this is a bad idea."  So I turned around and headed back up.  I figured the river idea would be better experienced in the light of day, so I tucked it away for the next morning.  I walked a bit more and found Charing Cross Station, so I went in to study the subway map on the wall to figure out the line I'd need to take to get me to my train station for my return home the next day.  It would be the Northern Line.  When Lauren and I were in London and getting around on the tube, those maps were nothing but colorful tangles of silly string to me, and I relied on my daughter's incredible sense of direction to get us to where we needed to go.  But now, I can actually read those maps and make sense of them!  There would be no need to call a taxi to get me to the station the next day.  I would make my OWN WAY on the Tube, the Underground, the subway.  Or maybe I would walk.

When I had accomplished that little exercise in self-empowerment I still felt like exploring.  The night air was Indian-summer warm and breezy and there was just this energy all around me that I suppose one can only sense in the big city.  So on I walked.  I determined that I really should stick to my usual M.O. of only walking a straight path so I wouldn't get lost, until I came to an interesting looking side street that beckoned me to enter.  It led me through to another little square with cute shops (all closed), pubs and cafes, when all of a sudden I noticed above the tree tops an arch of bright blue lights that, as I crept forward, turned into a massive circle of blue lights.  "Oh, my gosh!" I whispered right out loud.  This was the London Eye!  The London Eye is a huge farris wheel with egg-shaped glass cars.  The view from the top is supposed to be amazing.  I walked toward it and there was the River Thames!  I strolled along the riverwalk, marvelling at the river referenced by Shakespeare, the reflections of the moon and blue lights dancing on its murky surface.  I continued walking toward a bridge that crossed the river when in the distance I spied St. Paul's Cathedral, all aglow with the shadow of a smaller spired structure resting on its facade.  I walked up the stairs to the bridge and wandered across to the other side of the river.  When I looked back, there was Parliament and Big Ben uplit and bathed in moonlight.  Glorious!  I was seeing these gifts of man and nature for my second time, but they were no less wonderous.  I decided I would venture back the next morning with my camera to get some last-minute shots before heading back home to Wordsley.

True to form, I sort of lost my way back to the hotel and found myself at a large central square characterized by ornate statues, fountains and a huge ship-in-a-bottle that I recognized as Trafalgar Square (another oh-my-gosh moment)!  Even though I found it by accident, I was thrilled that I knew right where I was--even in the dark--and that I was successful in solo-navigating my way back to the hotel.  Sounds silly, but it was another little victory to me.

Sunday morning after my last breakfast together with Fulbright cohorts I headed out, camera-ready, to capture the images from the night before, a little less dramatic in daylight but no less awe inspiring.  I still had some time before I had to be back to check out of the hotel, so I wandered over to the National Gallery at Trafalgor Square for a quick peek at rooms full of portraits and paintings dating back to the 1200's by artists such as Vincent Van Gough, Leonardo Da Vinci, Cezanne, and Michelangelo.  I was surprised it was open on a Sunday morning.  So many treasures, too little time.  I'll have to return.  All art galleries and museums are free to visit except for the private ones.  Lucky London.

On my way back to the hotel, a family stopped me and asked for directions, and I was able to oblige them.  That felt good.  I took the tube to the Euston train station (all by myself--my daughter will be proud of me) and boarded the train for Wolverhampton where I would catch a bus home.  Between the subway and the bus, the bus is much scarier.