To add to what I was saying earlier, about the nose running, picking and eating problem, yesterday I had four students in class, seventeen children were home sick.
A couple of weeks ago I gave a nose-blowing lesson - the children loved folding the kleenex into a rectangle and then another rectangle as my previous boss taught me, and they especially loved looking in the mirror to check if they got everything.
But this new found love for nasal hygiene has come a month too late.
Today class was cancelled; all 21 children are at home sick.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
I stand corrected.
Instant coffee is not the drink of locals, it is mate´.
Mate´: Argentina
Green tea: Japan
Starbucks: Unites States
Mate´: Argentina
Green tea: Japan
Starbucks: Unites States
Thursday, June 11, 2009
bad-breathed bus stalker
Do I write about this or would it be too mean-spirited? Is anyone interested in hearing about Javier, a balding man with dyed hair and bad breath, whom I met on my charter to Lujan one morning? A man whom after sharing a brief conversation with me showed up at my school with flowers as a welcome to Argentina?
After knocking on all the doors around my bus stop, asking where the English teacher works, he ended up at one of my student´s homes because her mother is an English teacher. Confused, thinking perhaps he wanted English lessons, she directed him to my school where he then asked a staff member to let him in so he could deliver the flowers in person. Of course she did not let him in, told him I was busy teaching, and that afternoon I found the flowers lying on top of the recess bin in the kitchen.
Well, after the thought of him greeting me one more morning with a touch on the shoulder and a kiss on the cheek and asking to sit next to me (causing me to become one with the window) I knew I had to stamp out this growing irritation before it became a full-blown molestation. So after a few mornings of pretending to be asleep with my backpack occupying the seat next to me, I finally faced him. As he leaned over to put his hand on my shoulder and kiss me on the cheek, I held out my hand, and said ¨NO!¨ and felt quite empowered. He still managed to grab my shoulder, but he got the picture. He asked if I got the flowers. I said yes, but that my boss was very angry. I cannnot have any visitors at school. He must never come to see me again. He explained that the flowers were not out of desire, they were because he admired me, a foreigner, that has come here, who has a vocation; he doesn´t have a vocation, he hates his job, etc., etc. And while I felt sorry for this man, I could hear my Dutch friend telling me, ¨You´re pathetic! You´re too nice to these old people. What are you even getting out of it? Tell them to take a hike.¨ So, I ignored the man and looked out the window.
Now he gets on the bus, greets and kisses an older woman who knits all the way to Lujan, her knitting spilling into and occupying the seat next to her. He then slumps down in the seat in front of me, falls asleep, and breaks wind like a mule all the way to Lujan.
After knocking on all the doors around my bus stop, asking where the English teacher works, he ended up at one of my student´s homes because her mother is an English teacher. Confused, thinking perhaps he wanted English lessons, she directed him to my school where he then asked a staff member to let him in so he could deliver the flowers in person. Of course she did not let him in, told him I was busy teaching, and that afternoon I found the flowers lying on top of the recess bin in the kitchen.
Well, after the thought of him greeting me one more morning with a touch on the shoulder and a kiss on the cheek and asking to sit next to me (causing me to become one with the window) I knew I had to stamp out this growing irritation before it became a full-blown molestation. So after a few mornings of pretending to be asleep with my backpack occupying the seat next to me, I finally faced him. As he leaned over to put his hand on my shoulder and kiss me on the cheek, I held out my hand, and said ¨NO!¨ and felt quite empowered. He still managed to grab my shoulder, but he got the picture. He asked if I got the flowers. I said yes, but that my boss was very angry. I cannnot have any visitors at school. He must never come to see me again. He explained that the flowers were not out of desire, they were because he admired me, a foreigner, that has come here, who has a vocation; he doesn´t have a vocation, he hates his job, etc., etc. And while I felt sorry for this man, I could hear my Dutch friend telling me, ¨You´re pathetic! You´re too nice to these old people. What are you even getting out of it? Tell them to take a hike.¨ So, I ignored the man and looked out the window.
Now he gets on the bus, greets and kisses an older woman who knits all the way to Lujan, her knitting spilling into and occupying the seat next to her. He then slumps down in the seat in front of me, falls asleep, and breaks wind like a mule all the way to Lujan.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
minor miseries
Although I am from Minnesota and used to brutal winters, I am still finding myself quite cold these days in Buenos Aires, mostly due to the fact that the heat does not work in my apartment and we don´t yet have a heater installed in my classroom - so it´s coats, sometimes hat and scarves, all day. Sometimes the bus driver for my one hour-plus commute decides to not put the heat on as well. So I am at the point of constant chilled to the bone cold that makes you not want to get out of bed in the morning or take a shower. (I do both out of necessity of course.) I am hoping that my shoulder muscles do not freeze into a permanently hunched position; that mixed in with one bumpy neck-jerking busride makes for a rather jacked trapezius.
The energy I put toward warding off all the flourescent snotty-nose diseases floating around the classroom makes me rather tired as well. I´ve never seen more unattended runny noses and nose-picker-and-then-eat-´ems. The beso farewell has now turned into an air kiss, a safe three inches (or more, depending on the condition of the nose and amount of boogers eaten) away from the child. It´s time to start giving lessons on proper nasal hygeine. While we watched a video on swine flu, and the topic at one point was on keeping your fingers out of your orifices, I saw a boy pick his nose and wipe it in the girl´s poneytail sitting in from of him, and then look around to see if anyone was watching. It was gross, but I´ve seen worse.
Another minor misery I´ve encountered lately is the new flatscreen tv that has been installed on the ceiling of my charter bus. So now to and from school I am bombarded with music videos, advertisements for clothing stores and restaurants, and a rap song about a man that had to kill his wife because she got too fat. I nearly had a fit this morning when I was trying to read while getting blasted by the overhead speakers. I asked the busdriver to please turn the volume down (first he turned off the radio he had been listening to as well), that it was too noisy, but he said he couldn´t, there was no volume. Then I asked him to mute it or turn it off, he said he couldn´t. I sat down, wrapped my scarf around my head and put my hat on to try and block out the noise, but it didn´t help. I decided that if this continues, I will have to get some huge Bose headphones that completely block out all noise. Am I overreacting? I got over the toxic cleaner and now this? Maybe I have an oversensitivity problem but is it so much to ask to not have psychotic rap songs blasting in your ears at 8am?
Ok, I am ranting a bit. I complain about these things and then see someone in a doorway sleeping with a very thin blanket over him and wonder how on earth this person manages to stay warm. And what makes him get out of bed in the morning?
The energy I put toward warding off all the flourescent snotty-nose diseases floating around the classroom makes me rather tired as well. I´ve never seen more unattended runny noses and nose-picker-and-then-eat-´ems. The beso farewell has now turned into an air kiss, a safe three inches (or more, depending on the condition of the nose and amount of boogers eaten) away from the child. It´s time to start giving lessons on proper nasal hygeine. While we watched a video on swine flu, and the topic at one point was on keeping your fingers out of your orifices, I saw a boy pick his nose and wipe it in the girl´s poneytail sitting in from of him, and then look around to see if anyone was watching. It was gross, but I´ve seen worse.
Another minor misery I´ve encountered lately is the new flatscreen tv that has been installed on the ceiling of my charter bus. So now to and from school I am bombarded with music videos, advertisements for clothing stores and restaurants, and a rap song about a man that had to kill his wife because she got too fat. I nearly had a fit this morning when I was trying to read while getting blasted by the overhead speakers. I asked the busdriver to please turn the volume down (first he turned off the radio he had been listening to as well), that it was too noisy, but he said he couldn´t, there was no volume. Then I asked him to mute it or turn it off, he said he couldn´t. I sat down, wrapped my scarf around my head and put my hat on to try and block out the noise, but it didn´t help. I decided that if this continues, I will have to get some huge Bose headphones that completely block out all noise. Am I overreacting? I got over the toxic cleaner and now this? Maybe I have an oversensitivity problem but is it so much to ask to not have psychotic rap songs blasting in your ears at 8am?
Ok, I am ranting a bit. I complain about these things and then see someone in a doorway sleeping with a very thin blanket over him and wonder how on earth this person manages to stay warm. And what makes him get out of bed in the morning?
Monday, June 1, 2009
ooops.
Well, I guess my ESL student really is going to pursue his dreams in psychology and now I feel a bit bad about what I said in my earlier post and in my email to my students. I must be going through some sort lapse in mental clarity at the moment or perhaps this city has succeeded in making me crazy? I decided to exaggerate a developing cold and call in for a personal day. And what have I done? Slothed around in my freezing apartment drinking instant coffee. I should really cut back, what's even in that stuff? I drink it to be like a local. Before coming here I was an Illy snob. Anyway, I will meet my students Friday for (instant) coffee, luckily they didn't take too much offense to my accusations; hopefully I will have gotten a grip by then.
grass is greener?
I found this quote in the Herald here; it struck a chord with me, so I thought I'd share.
"It is said that the grass is always greenest on the other side of the fence, and many of us rather unthinkingly believe this fairly modern (mid-20th century) proverb without realizing that we may actually be passing up a great deal of luscious, green fodder right under our feet. Grass, as any farmer or gardener is well aware, is where you find it and how you treat it. As there is not just one grass but a vast number of different grasses provided by nature for our choice, the possible combinations of colour and usefulness is equally vast" (Dereck Foster).
(The author then goes on to speak about an excellent fish restaurant in his neighborhood.)
What happens when there is no grass under one's feet to even reject but rather cracked, uneven tiles that causes one to easily trip and sometimes fall? Perhaps in a puddle? What does this do to a person's psyche, I wonder?
"It is said that the grass is always greenest on the other side of the fence, and many of us rather unthinkingly believe this fairly modern (mid-20th century) proverb without realizing that we may actually be passing up a great deal of luscious, green fodder right under our feet. Grass, as any farmer or gardener is well aware, is where you find it and how you treat it. As there is not just one grass but a vast number of different grasses provided by nature for our choice, the possible combinations of colour and usefulness is equally vast" (Dereck Foster).
(The author then goes on to speak about an excellent fish restaurant in his neighborhood.)
What happens when there is no grass under one's feet to even reject but rather cracked, uneven tiles that causes one to easily trip and sometimes fall? Perhaps in a puddle? What does this do to a person's psyche, I wonder?
Saturday, May 30, 2009
I'm still alive!!!
Hello Everyone,
Sorry it's been awhile since my last entry - I got wrapped up in just living here, getting by each day where at times I felt like I was hanging on by my fingernails!!! Things have settled down quite a bit, I received my credit cards via FedEx (had them sent to a FedEx office where I was able to pick them up - an American friend had told me months ago that this was the only way to get anything, should've listened!), I've gotten into the swing of things with my job, the children are beginning to understand what I'm saying, speaking a bit in English, and some are even translating to the others after I have said something - it's quite fascinating to see the process of six and seven year olds learn a second language - and in the meantime I'm trying to learn Spanish via osmosis, which is not easy. Although when I listen to and understand whole conversations or am able to read an article, I realize I know more than I think. I hope that eventually I will be able to speak like a normal person - I just get so hung up on thinking how idiotic I must sound, and this holds me back. Not speaking English on a regular basis is rusting my native speaking skills as well, which is more than embarassing.
I was also teaching adults English every Friday afternoon, a piece of my schedule that I was beginning to loathe, and the more these students wanted grammar rules and tests the less I cared to continue the lessons, because let's face it, that is BORING!!! And for an extra $20 a week, not worth my time. I will happily teach conversational English. Anyway, the weeks went on, none of us was saying anything but the dissatisfaction was mounting on both ends, I was constantly apologizing that I did not know the specific name for a specific tense and my whole body definitions for words they didn't know wasn't getting anyone anywhere. So yesterday they told me that Leandro, my male student, would be leaving us to go back to his true passion, psychology and the other student wasn't sure how she could afford more lessons. LIES!!! I said I was probably moving to a farm in Lujan anyway in a month or so (true, I am looking into this...). I cannot tolerate liars and dishonesty. So this morning I sent an email saying let's be honest, the lessons weren't working out for any of us. And you need more practice speaking with a native speaker (not tests). They offered a going away party next Friday for our next lesson, but what kind of idiot do they take me for? I said let's meet for coffee and have a conversation, no more lessons (PLEASE!). I feel good about this, it was one of those things I needed to snip out of my life (ok, so I was snipped out first, but does that matter?), it was taking energy that I need to focus on other things, such as possibly opening a Montessori school here in Buenos Aires. I am talking with someone at the moment who would take care of the business side while I cover the academics.
We'll see.
Like I already mentioned, I am looking into moving to a farm in Lujan. I am interested in learning more about farming and being closer to my workplace. This would also support me in further enhancing my skills and knowledge necessary if I ever wanted to work at a Montessori farm school (or start my own). Maria Montessori came up with the idea of having a farm school for children 12-15 or so, where they can channel all of that teenage energy into manual labor while learning the makings of life through agricultural study. I wish I'd gone to a farm school at that age rather than being assigned a special seat where none of my friends could sit by me because I had a compulsive talking problem.
I've had the good fortune of being invited to a friend of mine's family farm twice now in Entre Rios and the only word to describe this place is enchanting. While there, I felt as though I was in a trance, hypnotized by the colors of the sunrise and sunset (did not miss one!). Waking up with the animals, going to sleep with the sun puts you in tune with nature and balances everything out, leaving you with a feeling of complete connectedness. I hadn't been on a horse in maybe six years and quickly got over my fears, only to find myself addicted to galloping down the roads and in between trees as fast as I could. It was the most fun I've had in ages!! We ate pumpkin from the pumpkin patch and fresh honey from a wasp's nest that was being smoked out by some guachos (although I later learned wasp honey can be toxic to humans and didn't eat any more).
When I got back to Buenos Aires after the first farm visit, I spent the next week daydreaming about the sunset colors, horseback-riding, the quiet, the fresh air (I swear the air pollution and lack of oxygen is making my hair fall out - I'm beginning to feel like that crazy lady in Five Easy Pieces, who wants to move to Alaska to get away from all the filth, and I don't think she's crazy, but right!!!). Anyway, it's a strange feeling to so quickly go from one polar opposite environment to the other and I would rather live on and with the land than monitor the now three-week old puddle of blood pooled in the crevice of a cracked sidewalk tile that I walk past every morning to my bus.
Since this is the first weekend I've had in a while with some down time, I decided it was time to get my bi-annual haircut and as a treat, a pedicure. My feet were beginning to resemble a kitchen that's been neglected for weeks with dishes piling up and maybe a few fruit flies (not that my kitchen has ever reached this state). My haircut was fine. The hairstylist kept asking if I wanted to touch up my grey hair, but after I got it colored the last time back in November and my scalp was burned from the dye and red for days, I insisted no. I am also afraid of doing anything that might make more of my hair fall out.
Then it was time for my pedicure, so I went up another level (this salon has 5 floors and the whole place smells like cooking wax - I walk by it everyday to and from the shuttle to Lujan and you can smell the cooking wax along the entire block). I met my pedicurist, a woman with long black fingernails and hair that was so peroxided and brittle that one can imagine it breaking off in wind that is just a bit too strong. So we went into a little compartment where I took off my shoes and socks and rather than putting my feet in a sudsy tub of warm water, the pedicurist wiped my feet with a wet-wipe. Then she put god know's what on the dry-skin parts to which she then stuck strips of cotton. After that, it was cutting and filing interspersed with cold spritzes from an atomizer, taking off old polish - I yelped in pain one or two times to hint that she was being a bit too rough. After the cotton came off, more wet-wipes, pausing in between to blow her nose with her rubber-gloved hands (I wondered how she fit them over her Elvira fingernails?). Then the razor blade on a stick. Did I have any open wounds yet? I occasionally glanced at what was going on while trying to focus intently on the Argentine magazine in front of me and realizing, wow, I really know a lot of words, I should read more! She left for a moment and when she returned had a power tool in her hand and was wearing a face mask. Hmmmm. Focus focus focus on the article about the girl from San Isidro who distributes tea and lived in Paris. This will be over soon. After the sanding was over, she left and came back with a tub of flourescent orange wax. Put my feet in. Wrap in cellophane. Then time for a color. Something light. French?? No. Just plain. When she was finished, I took a look at the result. I could still see my old polish underneath; the new polish was all over my cuticle beds. And my nails were a bit jagged. I expressed some dissastifaction with her work, but she said it looked like that because I chose such a light color. She gave me her card and said that when I come back, we'll put a brighter color on and it will look much prettier (yes, this was all in Spanish!). I thanked this woman for her work and left, hoping that in the coming days this pedicure will not result in infection, an in-grown toenail that needs surgical removal, etc. I guess this salon is not the place for pedicures and I will probably think twice next time before spending twenty bucks to be tortured.
Well, now it's time for another instant coffee and a trip to the gym - my way of maintaining balance in the city!
Until next time....
Besos,
Anne
Sorry it's been awhile since my last entry - I got wrapped up in just living here, getting by each day where at times I felt like I was hanging on by my fingernails!!! Things have settled down quite a bit, I received my credit cards via FedEx (had them sent to a FedEx office where I was able to pick them up - an American friend had told me months ago that this was the only way to get anything, should've listened!), I've gotten into the swing of things with my job, the children are beginning to understand what I'm saying, speaking a bit in English, and some are even translating to the others after I have said something - it's quite fascinating to see the process of six and seven year olds learn a second language - and in the meantime I'm trying to learn Spanish via osmosis, which is not easy. Although when I listen to and understand whole conversations or am able to read an article, I realize I know more than I think. I hope that eventually I will be able to speak like a normal person - I just get so hung up on thinking how idiotic I must sound, and this holds me back. Not speaking English on a regular basis is rusting my native speaking skills as well, which is more than embarassing.
I was also teaching adults English every Friday afternoon, a piece of my schedule that I was beginning to loathe, and the more these students wanted grammar rules and tests the less I cared to continue the lessons, because let's face it, that is BORING!!! And for an extra $20 a week, not worth my time. I will happily teach conversational English. Anyway, the weeks went on, none of us was saying anything but the dissatisfaction was mounting on both ends, I was constantly apologizing that I did not know the specific name for a specific tense and my whole body definitions for words they didn't know wasn't getting anyone anywhere. So yesterday they told me that Leandro, my male student, would be leaving us to go back to his true passion, psychology and the other student wasn't sure how she could afford more lessons. LIES!!! I said I was probably moving to a farm in Lujan anyway in a month or so (true, I am looking into this...). I cannot tolerate liars and dishonesty. So this morning I sent an email saying let's be honest, the lessons weren't working out for any of us. And you need more practice speaking with a native speaker (not tests). They offered a going away party next Friday for our next lesson, but what kind of idiot do they take me for? I said let's meet for coffee and have a conversation, no more lessons (PLEASE!). I feel good about this, it was one of those things I needed to snip out of my life (ok, so I was snipped out first, but does that matter?), it was taking energy that I need to focus on other things, such as possibly opening a Montessori school here in Buenos Aires. I am talking with someone at the moment who would take care of the business side while I cover the academics.
We'll see.
Like I already mentioned, I am looking into moving to a farm in Lujan. I am interested in learning more about farming and being closer to my workplace. This would also support me in further enhancing my skills and knowledge necessary if I ever wanted to work at a Montessori farm school (or start my own). Maria Montessori came up with the idea of having a farm school for children 12-15 or so, where they can channel all of that teenage energy into manual labor while learning the makings of life through agricultural study. I wish I'd gone to a farm school at that age rather than being assigned a special seat where none of my friends could sit by me because I had a compulsive talking problem.
I've had the good fortune of being invited to a friend of mine's family farm twice now in Entre Rios and the only word to describe this place is enchanting. While there, I felt as though I was in a trance, hypnotized by the colors of the sunrise and sunset (did not miss one!). Waking up with the animals, going to sleep with the sun puts you in tune with nature and balances everything out, leaving you with a feeling of complete connectedness. I hadn't been on a horse in maybe six years and quickly got over my fears, only to find myself addicted to galloping down the roads and in between trees as fast as I could. It was the most fun I've had in ages!! We ate pumpkin from the pumpkin patch and fresh honey from a wasp's nest that was being smoked out by some guachos (although I later learned wasp honey can be toxic to humans and didn't eat any more).
When I got back to Buenos Aires after the first farm visit, I spent the next week daydreaming about the sunset colors, horseback-riding, the quiet, the fresh air (I swear the air pollution and lack of oxygen is making my hair fall out - I'm beginning to feel like that crazy lady in Five Easy Pieces, who wants to move to Alaska to get away from all the filth, and I don't think she's crazy, but right!!!). Anyway, it's a strange feeling to so quickly go from one polar opposite environment to the other and I would rather live on and with the land than monitor the now three-week old puddle of blood pooled in the crevice of a cracked sidewalk tile that I walk past every morning to my bus.
Since this is the first weekend I've had in a while with some down time, I decided it was time to get my bi-annual haircut and as a treat, a pedicure. My feet were beginning to resemble a kitchen that's been neglected for weeks with dishes piling up and maybe a few fruit flies (not that my kitchen has ever reached this state). My haircut was fine. The hairstylist kept asking if I wanted to touch up my grey hair, but after I got it colored the last time back in November and my scalp was burned from the dye and red for days, I insisted no. I am also afraid of doing anything that might make more of my hair fall out.
Then it was time for my pedicure, so I went up another level (this salon has 5 floors and the whole place smells like cooking wax - I walk by it everyday to and from the shuttle to Lujan and you can smell the cooking wax along the entire block). I met my pedicurist, a woman with long black fingernails and hair that was so peroxided and brittle that one can imagine it breaking off in wind that is just a bit too strong. So we went into a little compartment where I took off my shoes and socks and rather than putting my feet in a sudsy tub of warm water, the pedicurist wiped my feet with a wet-wipe. Then she put god know's what on the dry-skin parts to which she then stuck strips of cotton. After that, it was cutting and filing interspersed with cold spritzes from an atomizer, taking off old polish - I yelped in pain one or two times to hint that she was being a bit too rough. After the cotton came off, more wet-wipes, pausing in between to blow her nose with her rubber-gloved hands (I wondered how she fit them over her Elvira fingernails?). Then the razor blade on a stick. Did I have any open wounds yet? I occasionally glanced at what was going on while trying to focus intently on the Argentine magazine in front of me and realizing, wow, I really know a lot of words, I should read more! She left for a moment and when she returned had a power tool in her hand and was wearing a face mask. Hmmmm. Focus focus focus on the article about the girl from San Isidro who distributes tea and lived in Paris. This will be over soon. After the sanding was over, she left and came back with a tub of flourescent orange wax. Put my feet in. Wrap in cellophane. Then time for a color. Something light. French?? No. Just plain. When she was finished, I took a look at the result. I could still see my old polish underneath; the new polish was all over my cuticle beds. And my nails were a bit jagged. I expressed some dissastifaction with her work, but she said it looked like that because I chose such a light color. She gave me her card and said that when I come back, we'll put a brighter color on and it will look much prettier (yes, this was all in Spanish!). I thanked this woman for her work and left, hoping that in the coming days this pedicure will not result in infection, an in-grown toenail that needs surgical removal, etc. I guess this salon is not the place for pedicures and I will probably think twice next time before spending twenty bucks to be tortured.
Well, now it's time for another instant coffee and a trip to the gym - my way of maintaining balance in the city!
Until next time....
Besos,
Anne
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
corruption frustration
After losing my wallet containing my credit cards last month (Did it fly out of my backpack as I ran to catch my shuttle or was it stolen? I don't know. That doesn't matter. I lost them.), I of course cancelled them right away and ordered new ones to then be mailed from my Minneapolis address. After not receiving three packages from my parents via regular mail and FedEx that they mailed back in November, I figured the best way to receive these new credit cards would just be in an ordinary letter sent via ordinary mail. Yesterday, a month after they'd been sent, I received the mail. I was so excited. And then I opened the envelope and inside was all of the credit card information (you know, that letter the cc company sends to you with your cc stuck on it with instructions) along with a letter from my mom. But the credit cards were gone.
I could not believe it!
I was speaking to someone about this yesterday, a Canadian living here and running a business under the table and asked how do you get anything in the mail that's important? She said that she usually finds a friend or a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend that's heading this way and has it arranged for them to deliver the goods, even if it takes months. It's kind of crazy. But at the same time, the corruption and looseness of the government allows for a lot of people to do things here they couldn't do other places, like work at a school without a work visa.
I could not believe it!
I was speaking to someone about this yesterday, a Canadian living here and running a business under the table and asked how do you get anything in the mail that's important? She said that she usually finds a friend or a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend that's heading this way and has it arranged for them to deliver the goods, even if it takes months. It's kind of crazy. But at the same time, the corruption and looseness of the government allows for a lot of people to do things here they couldn't do other places, like work at a school without a work visa.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
observations
I´m here writing on my blog at the moment because I took a sick day. Still have what a friend from home would call walking pneumonia. Yesterday I had such little energy and the children see this and take advantage of the situation; a very hyperactive boy threw a pencil at a girl´s eye. I felt it best to stay home before someone ends up in the hospital.
Lately there has also been quite a bit of trouble between the farmers and the government. The government is killing the agricultural industry by increasing export taxes and taking one-third of the profits for their own use. I simply don´t understand how this country will be able to work - agriculture is Argentina´s main industry. From what people say, it sounds like things are getting worse everyday. Farmers have been on strike and blocking roads. The Easter holiday is coming up and people don´t know if the roads will be clear to get through to their vacation destinations. It´s possible that I could face a situation where I can´t get to work due to a roadblock. Crazy!
I´ve noticed that the caretakers and shop-owners in my neighborhood, mostly men, like to stand in their doorways and say hello to people as they go by. They often congregate together on the sidewalk and socialize. I´ve started to say hello to these people as I walk by and often see my building´s caretaker among them. I am realizing that this is what a true neighborhood is like, people say hello, talk to each other, and in a way look out for each other; you get the sense that people would notice if you didn´t walk by for a week and wonder where you are. I don´t think I´ve ever felt this way living anywhere else.
I have also noticed that some people ride their motorcycles on the sidewalk. I´ve had to get out of the way several times in order to not be plowed over. I´m not saying this happens all the time, everyday, but it happens.
Lately there has also been quite a bit of trouble between the farmers and the government. The government is killing the agricultural industry by increasing export taxes and taking one-third of the profits for their own use. I simply don´t understand how this country will be able to work - agriculture is Argentina´s main industry. From what people say, it sounds like things are getting worse everyday. Farmers have been on strike and blocking roads. The Easter holiday is coming up and people don´t know if the roads will be clear to get through to their vacation destinations. It´s possible that I could face a situation where I can´t get to work due to a roadblock. Crazy!
I´ve noticed that the caretakers and shop-owners in my neighborhood, mostly men, like to stand in their doorways and say hello to people as they go by. They often congregate together on the sidewalk and socialize. I´ve started to say hello to these people as I walk by and often see my building´s caretaker among them. I am realizing that this is what a true neighborhood is like, people say hello, talk to each other, and in a way look out for each other; you get the sense that people would notice if you didn´t walk by for a week and wonder where you are. I don´t think I´ve ever felt this way living anywhere else.
I have also noticed that some people ride their motorcycles on the sidewalk. I´ve had to get out of the way several times in order to not be plowed over. I´m not saying this happens all the time, everyday, but it happens.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Continuing to adapt, a neverending process?
Today is a national holiday to celebrate those who were lost during the dictatorship during the late 70s-early 80s. I thought I´d take some time to catch up a bit on my blog and relax! something I´ve had a really hard time doing lately. I was most excited this morning that I didn´t have to get up and get on that stinking bus. I´m still sick, probably have some sort of sinus infection, but hope that it will go away with fluids and rest. Of course I wasn´t able to sleep in today, now that I´m on my early-rising schedule, and am spending another day tired (but a bit hyped-up on caffeine after two cafe con leches with the accompanying cookies, at my favorite tourist trap). It´s alright though. Sometimes I think when you are too well-rested all of the time, things get so cushy and comfortable that your perception gets mushy - kind of how I felt myself becoming these past few months of just hanging out in BA.
I´ve assigned for homework an article to my adult ESL students on how stress can actually be good for you, if you manage it productively. Even though I was seeking stress-free living these past months, I bought the article´s idea - after all, my stress-free living, as wonderful as it was to do whatever I wanted everyday, did not result in some sort of deeply fulfilling existence - which is a good thing because my resources were running out, which would have made living in my parents´basement a realistic option. Anyway, it was refreshing to hear some good things about stress since we are so concerned with how bad stress is for our health, worrying which can be stressful in itself.
These past weeks, however, I´ve had an enormous amount of stress starting my new job. The key is how to handle it. Being under the weather and incredibly rundown with very little energy has been my body´s way of telling me to let things go, to not obsess, to slow down, and to relax. I am forced to slow down; in my state I cannot force myself to think or move quickly. I got off my shuttle the other day and barely had enough energy to walk home! This is very frustrating, to have such little energy, especially when dealing with children. And yesterday, alone with the children, at the end of my English language activities, I had a fight break out in the classroom between two boys, right as the parents were all gathering outside of the door. I did all I could to try and stop it, but felt awful when I saw one of the boys so hurt, he wouldn´t look up or speak. I was haunted by my old boss, the master, who would´ve blamed me for this child´s pain due to my lack of classrom control. And when I dismissed the children and tried to explain to the parents of the battling participants what had happened (the climax was one of the boys kicking the other boy´s nose, really hard), I felt like I was speaking alien-ese, no one could understand what I was trying to say. Another reason that I have to learn Spanish, this seemed absolutely ridiculous that I could not communicate with the parents!
But I am taking all of this in stride and tryng to create a more balanced life. I´ve done it before when teaching (ok, so I typically have always become delirious after midnight when I´m on my 6am-rising schedule, but I´m not going to sacrifice weekends in order to avoid this), I know I can create this again here. And I had a lovely weekend in San Isidro, a town outside of the city. It was so nice to be by the river and along tree-lined sidewalks with charming family homes, clean and quiet neighborhoods, and a relaxed atmosphere. It feels like a different world in SI compared to BA. I never realize how much citylife is affecting me until I step out and remember what I´m missing. My friend and I inquired about a sailing course at a yacht club in the area, a beautiful place with a swimming pool and sprawling green grounds, something that is quite commonly found in the area and very affordable. A great place to spend part of the weekend for the next four months, just what I´ve been craving - fresh air, water, relaxation, peace and quiet; I hope it all works out! This would be a great way to work on my Spanish as well; I know a lot of the information already in English, learned years ago in the sailing culture of my family and Minneapolis, but this would enable me to rent a boat and sail all over S. America. Yikes, that´s kind of a scary thought, actually.
Anyway, continuing to meet more Argentines and getting to know previous acquaintances better. It´s a little embarassing when I see people that I haven´t seen in three months and my Spanish is probably worse than it was in December. I also feel like I lose 20 IQ points or more when I´m this tired, also frustrating. But I know I´m adaptable, people can get used to anything; it´s all a process. Paying attention to the process has been maybe the most interesting thing for me.
I guess that´s all for now.
Thanks for reading!
Chao.
I´ve assigned for homework an article to my adult ESL students on how stress can actually be good for you, if you manage it productively. Even though I was seeking stress-free living these past months, I bought the article´s idea - after all, my stress-free living, as wonderful as it was to do whatever I wanted everyday, did not result in some sort of deeply fulfilling existence - which is a good thing because my resources were running out, which would have made living in my parents´basement a realistic option. Anyway, it was refreshing to hear some good things about stress since we are so concerned with how bad stress is for our health, worrying which can be stressful in itself.
These past weeks, however, I´ve had an enormous amount of stress starting my new job. The key is how to handle it. Being under the weather and incredibly rundown with very little energy has been my body´s way of telling me to let things go, to not obsess, to slow down, and to relax. I am forced to slow down; in my state I cannot force myself to think or move quickly. I got off my shuttle the other day and barely had enough energy to walk home! This is very frustrating, to have such little energy, especially when dealing with children. And yesterday, alone with the children, at the end of my English language activities, I had a fight break out in the classroom between two boys, right as the parents were all gathering outside of the door. I did all I could to try and stop it, but felt awful when I saw one of the boys so hurt, he wouldn´t look up or speak. I was haunted by my old boss, the master, who would´ve blamed me for this child´s pain due to my lack of classrom control. And when I dismissed the children and tried to explain to the parents of the battling participants what had happened (the climax was one of the boys kicking the other boy´s nose, really hard), I felt like I was speaking alien-ese, no one could understand what I was trying to say. Another reason that I have to learn Spanish, this seemed absolutely ridiculous that I could not communicate with the parents!
But I am taking all of this in stride and tryng to create a more balanced life. I´ve done it before when teaching (ok, so I typically have always become delirious after midnight when I´m on my 6am-rising schedule, but I´m not going to sacrifice weekends in order to avoid this), I know I can create this again here. And I had a lovely weekend in San Isidro, a town outside of the city. It was so nice to be by the river and along tree-lined sidewalks with charming family homes, clean and quiet neighborhoods, and a relaxed atmosphere. It feels like a different world in SI compared to BA. I never realize how much citylife is affecting me until I step out and remember what I´m missing. My friend and I inquired about a sailing course at a yacht club in the area, a beautiful place with a swimming pool and sprawling green grounds, something that is quite commonly found in the area and very affordable. A great place to spend part of the weekend for the next four months, just what I´ve been craving - fresh air, water, relaxation, peace and quiet; I hope it all works out! This would be a great way to work on my Spanish as well; I know a lot of the information already in English, learned years ago in the sailing culture of my family and Minneapolis, but this would enable me to rent a boat and sail all over S. America. Yikes, that´s kind of a scary thought, actually.
Anyway, continuing to meet more Argentines and getting to know previous acquaintances better. It´s a little embarassing when I see people that I haven´t seen in three months and my Spanish is probably worse than it was in December. I also feel like I lose 20 IQ points or more when I´m this tired, also frustrating. But I know I´m adaptable, people can get used to anything; it´s all a process. Paying attention to the process has been maybe the most interesting thing for me.
I guess that´s all for now.
Thanks for reading!
Chao.
Friday, March 20, 2009
notes
1. Soccer is not a woman´s sport here. Girls do not play soccer in school or outside of school on teams. Yesterday when we got a soccer ball out for the children to play with in the courtyard, Guada´s daughter, also my student, started to cry, she wanted to play soccer and the boys wouldn´t let her. I asked, why can´t she just play? Guada explained that it´s different here than in the states, girls don´t play soccer in Argentina.
2. My morning shuttle busdriver doesn´t stop to let people off, he just slows down. Some people get let off on the highway. I have no idea where they go.
3. Must do something about the excessive nose-picking. I go home everday feeling like I have kid-boogers stuck to my clothes.
4. It´s the end of my third week of teaching and I have almost completely lost my voice. And have a small fever. Boogers.
More later.
2. My morning shuttle busdriver doesn´t stop to let people off, he just slows down. Some people get let off on the highway. I have no idea where they go.
3. Must do something about the excessive nose-picking. I go home everday feeling like I have kid-boogers stuck to my clothes.
4. It´s the end of my third week of teaching and I have almost completely lost my voice. And have a small fever. Boogers.
More later.
Monday, March 16, 2009
a few more things
1. When the children leave the classroom, they perform the typical farewell kiss on the cheek with the teacher, meaning me. I would really rather not do this. Especially after they've just finished picking their nose for five minutes.
2. In Argentina, the teachers wear smocks/jumpers over their clothes. Mine is a lightweight dark denim with the school's emblem across the top left corner.
3. The afternoon shuttle driver keeps a small wastebasket by his seat into which he dumps his mate' refuse. There was a lot in there today.
4. I may complain about the toxic cleanser fumes that seem to burn my skin and eyes in the morning, but after hours and hours and who knows how many passengers, the bus really begins to reek by the afternoon - so I suppose I can understand why they have to scorch the interior with these poisons. I'd hate to think of what could be growing inside the seat cushions.
2. In Argentina, the teachers wear smocks/jumpers over their clothes. Mine is a lightweight dark denim with the school's emblem across the top left corner.
3. The afternoon shuttle driver keeps a small wastebasket by his seat into which he dumps his mate' refuse. There was a lot in there today.
4. I may complain about the toxic cleanser fumes that seem to burn my skin and eyes in the morning, but after hours and hours and who knows how many passengers, the bus really begins to reek by the afternoon - so I suppose I can understand why they have to scorch the interior with these poisons. I'd hate to think of what could be growing inside the seat cushions.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Trying to teach, learning a lot, and other things of note in my surreal Argentine life
A lot seems to have happened in the past two weeks and everyday when I come home from work I want to write about it, but usually only have enough energy to prepare for the next day, eat, and zone out to a movie I might find on cable. Plus my computer is on the fritz so it takes forever to type anything! Like now, for instance. So forgive me if this is choppy, but I am working with less than adequate materials.
I had forgotten just how exhausting teaching can be - everyday after work, after the adrenaline has faded, my entire body feels completely exhausted. I know from experience that it takes a while to get used to teaching-mode and I will build my stamina back up, but at the beginning it is hard. And the language has been hard. And the commute. And the toxic cleanser fumes on the commuter shuttle (I've begun opening a little window and gasping for air during my ride, even though that air is toxic highway exhaust! Perhaps I'll purchase a face mask). And in the classroom we are trying to figure out how to do elementary Montessori from primary training mixed with the aid of elementary Montessori teachers through emails and phone calls.
This week I've started with the art and drama workshops and the 45-minute English lessons at the end of the morning which have been nearly disastrous because it's been difficult coming up with lessons for children that hardly know English and only a few can read and write. This will get easier as time goes on, I have faith that it will, it has to. I need to figure out a way to make this portion of the day Montessori, rather than a traditional lesson. I will need to find new ways to constantly hook the interest of these energetic children bursting at the seams. This is definitely a different plane of development from primary.
I wanted to simply not think about school for most of the weekend and just have a break, but after an English pictionary game we played on Friday that turned into chanting, screaming, and pounding on the tables, I have been desperately searching for solutions.
Griselda, the other teacher, is hanging in there. I could tell by the end of the week she was a bit fed up - constantly being corrected by the director and receiving hesitant answers from me when asking if a material she prepared for class is okay. It is really hard to make someone get how to teach Montessori in just a couple of weeks without being able to explain it in a language they can understand. I just hope that things continue to improve and that Griselda doesn't lose faith in this project altogether. She seemed pretty unenthused during our class meeting on Friday, an important time for this age group because it gives them a chance to be heard, fostering justice and fairness in the classroom, essential for establishing peace. I also found out last week that at 25 she is married, has two kids, and is at her other job until 530pm each day.
Even with all the craziness and chaos, the children have learned a lot in the first two weeks. Right now we're discussing the solar system and doing related activities. Along with that is reading and writing and math. We have a volcano in the room that we made and they can watch it explode when adding sodium bicarbonate and distilled vinegar together, an experiment to go along with our discussion on how the earth was made. We get outside to play games when it's not completely muddy or raining (it's rained almost everyday for the past month, it seems) and out of the small, stuffy classroom (we have to keep the windows closed because the noise from street traffic bounces off the concrete walls and you can't hear anything). For the drama workshop, I had the children make animal masks and one boy, who seems to be a quiet genuis, made a bat mask and turned into a different person when he put it on, flying around and terrorizing all the children.
At the beginning of the week we had the official school commencement day and celebrated the opening of the first Montessori elementary classroom in Argentina. All of the parents came and since it was early, I slept in Lujan at Guadalupe's home and enjoyed a late-night chat and sandwiches with her and her husband and slept in her daughter's mickey mouse bed while the girls slept with their parents. Of course, this meant I got probably 4 hours of sleep, but I thought, this is all part of the experience I was seeking. This was after a weekend of going out both weekend nights, and on Saturday, since it was my Italian-American friend from Spanish class's last weekend night, I ended up staying out until 6am. I thought throughout the night, as a group of us sat and watched some crazy accordian players in a huge warehouse that had a giant toilet paper roll hanging from the ceiling, playing on a stage behind plastic netting, all coordinated by an orange umbrella-holding plastic hot-dog-throwing MC, that oh, yes, this is that old familiar out-of-body feeling brought on by complete teacher exhaustion (and perhaps the setting had something to do with this sensation). I hadn't felt that way in a long time, where I have absolutely no energy that I just float along, resistant-free. Of course when feeling like this it is essential that I am staying with safe people at safe places or this can be a hazard to my health - or maybe a sign that I need to go home. Oh well, I am still finding a balance, how to be able to teach and still live a life in BsAs. But when you show up tired to teach, the children find the little holes, tear into you, and eat you alive. Knowing this is enough to get me into bed on time.
Last night I went to a friend of a friend's birthday party at his parents' home outside of the city. We didn't get there until nearly 10pm and I was already getting that out-of-body feeling. I found the best thing to do was sit down and not move for the entire evening. This actually worked well and I spoke to people all night without a problem. Interestingly enough, the birthday boy's great-grandfather was an interim military president of Argentina some years back and two of his sisters are English teachers - one seemed rather bent on telling me all about the Montessori method; after telling her that I was trained and had some years of experience, she continued to explain.
I also learned some unsettling things about the beef industry here, why it is so cheap. The government will not let the ranchers export most of the beef and they are forced to sell it at cheap prices so that the people feel that it is a gift from the government, that all, poor and rich, should be able to eat the country's great beef. Well, this is forcing the ranchers to sell their cattle to ever-growing feedlots (rather than the traditional grass-fed) and some are killing their cattle because it is too expensive to raise them and not make any money. There is a preditction that the cattle industry will be wiiped out by 2011. This was all told to me by the parents', worried ranchers themselves.
All in all, it was a great party with great people; some were there from the river cruise on the Delta back in January, apparently they had no recollection of what a silent starer I was that day (not that I asked or anything); there were others that I had met at another birthday party back in December. And when asked about what I'm doing, why I'm doing it, etc., I explained that I really enjoy being able to live somewhere and work, to live like a local and gain a deeper understanding of another culture; like being invited to a friend's parents' home for a birthday party.
Well, it's a beautiful day out and I have my whole Sunday free to wander around town, enjoy a cafe con leche, and try not to obsess too much about my job (although I woke up with my head buzzing with ideas this morning!). Ahhhh. Free time is nice.
Thanks for reading.
P.S. In my ESL class on Friday we had a little stereotype discussion as a lead-in to a dictation about eastern European stereotypes, a letter wrtten in by a Pole to the Economist, and when I asked my students what sort of stereotypes they had of the U.S. they replied: Homer Simpson, he is the typical American.
I had forgotten just how exhausting teaching can be - everyday after work, after the adrenaline has faded, my entire body feels completely exhausted. I know from experience that it takes a while to get used to teaching-mode and I will build my stamina back up, but at the beginning it is hard. And the language has been hard. And the commute. And the toxic cleanser fumes on the commuter shuttle (I've begun opening a little window and gasping for air during my ride, even though that air is toxic highway exhaust! Perhaps I'll purchase a face mask). And in the classroom we are trying to figure out how to do elementary Montessori from primary training mixed with the aid of elementary Montessori teachers through emails and phone calls.
This week I've started with the art and drama workshops and the 45-minute English lessons at the end of the morning which have been nearly disastrous because it's been difficult coming up with lessons for children that hardly know English and only a few can read and write. This will get easier as time goes on, I have faith that it will, it has to. I need to figure out a way to make this portion of the day Montessori, rather than a traditional lesson. I will need to find new ways to constantly hook the interest of these energetic children bursting at the seams. This is definitely a different plane of development from primary.
I wanted to simply not think about school for most of the weekend and just have a break, but after an English pictionary game we played on Friday that turned into chanting, screaming, and pounding on the tables, I have been desperately searching for solutions.
Griselda, the other teacher, is hanging in there. I could tell by the end of the week she was a bit fed up - constantly being corrected by the director and receiving hesitant answers from me when asking if a material she prepared for class is okay. It is really hard to make someone get how to teach Montessori in just a couple of weeks without being able to explain it in a language they can understand. I just hope that things continue to improve and that Griselda doesn't lose faith in this project altogether. She seemed pretty unenthused during our class meeting on Friday, an important time for this age group because it gives them a chance to be heard, fostering justice and fairness in the classroom, essential for establishing peace. I also found out last week that at 25 she is married, has two kids, and is at her other job until 530pm each day.
Even with all the craziness and chaos, the children have learned a lot in the first two weeks. Right now we're discussing the solar system and doing related activities. Along with that is reading and writing and math. We have a volcano in the room that we made and they can watch it explode when adding sodium bicarbonate and distilled vinegar together, an experiment to go along with our discussion on how the earth was made. We get outside to play games when it's not completely muddy or raining (it's rained almost everyday for the past month, it seems) and out of the small, stuffy classroom (we have to keep the windows closed because the noise from street traffic bounces off the concrete walls and you can't hear anything). For the drama workshop, I had the children make animal masks and one boy, who seems to be a quiet genuis, made a bat mask and turned into a different person when he put it on, flying around and terrorizing all the children.
At the beginning of the week we had the official school commencement day and celebrated the opening of the first Montessori elementary classroom in Argentina. All of the parents came and since it was early, I slept in Lujan at Guadalupe's home and enjoyed a late-night chat and sandwiches with her and her husband and slept in her daughter's mickey mouse bed while the girls slept with their parents. Of course, this meant I got probably 4 hours of sleep, but I thought, this is all part of the experience I was seeking. This was after a weekend of going out both weekend nights, and on Saturday, since it was my Italian-American friend from Spanish class's last weekend night, I ended up staying out until 6am. I thought throughout the night, as a group of us sat and watched some crazy accordian players in a huge warehouse that had a giant toilet paper roll hanging from the ceiling, playing on a stage behind plastic netting, all coordinated by an orange umbrella-holding plastic hot-dog-throwing MC, that oh, yes, this is that old familiar out-of-body feeling brought on by complete teacher exhaustion (and perhaps the setting had something to do with this sensation). I hadn't felt that way in a long time, where I have absolutely no energy that I just float along, resistant-free. Of course when feeling like this it is essential that I am staying with safe people at safe places or this can be a hazard to my health - or maybe a sign that I need to go home. Oh well, I am still finding a balance, how to be able to teach and still live a life in BsAs. But when you show up tired to teach, the children find the little holes, tear into you, and eat you alive. Knowing this is enough to get me into bed on time.
Last night I went to a friend of a friend's birthday party at his parents' home outside of the city. We didn't get there until nearly 10pm and I was already getting that out-of-body feeling. I found the best thing to do was sit down and not move for the entire evening. This actually worked well and I spoke to people all night without a problem. Interestingly enough, the birthday boy's great-grandfather was an interim military president of Argentina some years back and two of his sisters are English teachers - one seemed rather bent on telling me all about the Montessori method; after telling her that I was trained and had some years of experience, she continued to explain.
I also learned some unsettling things about the beef industry here, why it is so cheap. The government will not let the ranchers export most of the beef and they are forced to sell it at cheap prices so that the people feel that it is a gift from the government, that all, poor and rich, should be able to eat the country's great beef. Well, this is forcing the ranchers to sell their cattle to ever-growing feedlots (rather than the traditional grass-fed) and some are killing their cattle because it is too expensive to raise them and not make any money. There is a preditction that the cattle industry will be wiiped out by 2011. This was all told to me by the parents', worried ranchers themselves.
All in all, it was a great party with great people; some were there from the river cruise on the Delta back in January, apparently they had no recollection of what a silent starer I was that day (not that I asked or anything); there were others that I had met at another birthday party back in December. And when asked about what I'm doing, why I'm doing it, etc., I explained that I really enjoy being able to live somewhere and work, to live like a local and gain a deeper understanding of another culture; like being invited to a friend's parents' home for a birthday party.
Well, it's a beautiful day out and I have my whole Sunday free to wander around town, enjoy a cafe con leche, and try not to obsess too much about my job (although I woke up with my head buzzing with ideas this morning!). Ahhhh. Free time is nice.
Thanks for reading.
P.S. In my ESL class on Friday we had a little stereotype discussion as a lead-in to a dictation about eastern European stereotypes, a letter wrtten in by a Pole to the Economist, and when I asked my students what sort of stereotypes they had of the U.S. they replied: Homer Simpson, he is the typical American.
Monday, March 2, 2009
bad luck, bad karma?
After my computer overheated and died yesterday and then my wallet was either stolen or fell out of my backpack this morning as I ran to my shuttle, I thought, I need to take out some of what I said in my last post, pronto.
Also, had first day of school with the students.
I should´ve paid more attention in Spanish class.
Also, had first day of school with the students.
I should´ve paid more attention in Spanish class.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Getting ready to teach....
This past week I have felt posessed.
I have been extremely busy trying to prepare the classroom with Griselda and Guadalupe and any obsessive tendencies I may have are getting channeled into school shopping and making materials for the 23 incoming students. I'm up until god-awful hours into the early morning obsessively thinking about what we need, what I can make, what books I need to buy, how we don't have enough places for all of the children to sit, how we will need to teach the children two different alphabets (the Argentine handwriting is different, so they will be learning 4 sets of handwriting, print and cursive in both alphabets, and up to now, most have only learned all capital letters), who's shopping for recess equipment, how will we blend the classroom that will predominantly have children coming in from tradtional schools, how will I teach when we are missing material or when I'm not elementary-trained? Did someone buy a guillotina yet so I'll be able to cut paper to the right size? Is there a prepared first-aid kit for the room or am I supposed to do that? I sit up at night going through these questions and imagine each scenario being resolved, only to dissolve and present the next mess. And I can't stop thinking about the portion of empty shelves in the classroom, it looks so barren, incomplete. The language presentations will need to be presented in Spanish first and then English, meaning that there will need to be two sets of everything, one for each language. I will need to teach Griselda how to give these presentations since I will only be speaking in English to the children. When will we be able to do this, since she leaves at noon for her other teaching job?
These things have been preoccupying me lately and are pushing me to push myself beyond my limits, because even if this seems semi-impossible, I want to do it, and I want to do a good job, the best I am able, otherwise what's the point in doing it at all?
And although I've been working in Montessori schools for the past four years or so, I only had my own classroom for one year. This was three years ago. I suppose it says something that I only had my own room for one year. It was, at the time, a year of hell. To have such an enormous amount of responsibility for the first time in my life, these bright young children absorbing everything like sponges (and with parents that oftentimes demanded more from me than their children) along with a challenging boss, some children that were terrors, biting, spitting in people's faces (mine included), and stabbing people with needles and scissors, was just too much, and I began to unravel.
I am now having a flashback of an ultimate low point: the six-year-old boys running around the room playing Star Wars, papers flying everywhere, someone's clogged the toilet again with paper towels, in comes the janitor with his mop and plunger for the fifth time that week, a boy having another self-induced bloody nose, a girl doing cartwheels, another boy using a small work table as a pommel horse, and my assistant trying to keep one of the terrors occupied with a book so that he doesn't attack anyone; and me? I just remember standing there thinking, oh my god. Maybe this doesn't sound all that bad, you might say they're just being kids - but at this school, kids were not allowed to just be kids. My boss told one of my student's mothers that her daughter needed new shoes, her shoes made too much noise when she walked; another time she told a parent she needed to take out her gum, as, well, you know! it sets a bad example for the children.
I made it through the year, but when I was done thought, forget it, I'm never doing this again! So I walked it off in Ireland and went back home to Minnesota to finish my master's in literature.
Now I look back on that year as the year I had to grow up, and it was painful. Everything in my life felt easy in comparison to that year. So while I thought this job was ruining my life, I actually look back and see it as an antitode to my laziness.
While at school in Lujan, besides getting the room in order and making lists of what we need to buy, to make, and to do, I've been working on the lesson plan for the first week with Griselda, explaining my ideas in what I imagine is impossible to understand Spanish, broken up with fast sentences of English and gestures along with my struggling to grasp onto anything to help me explain what I am trying to say. She often laughs and says she won't be at school Monday (she has said this more than a few times now). I keep telling her it will get much easier as the year goes on, which is met with a look of skepticism.
We had a meet-the-parents night on Thursday, where I said a few sentences to introduce myself in Spanish and spent the rest of the time listening. The parents were a little concerned with the language factor - how will Griselda and I communicate? How will their children learn Spanish and English grammar and writing? When will they be able to get out? Of course this all set off a series of thoughts that didn't end until 4am. But I suppose this is good and my obsessiveness will pay off as long as I don't forget to enjoy what I'm doing. I don't want to be so caught up in the details that I forget what Montessori is all about: the child; and if I'm wrapped up in my head, I will not be serving the child to his or her benefit. I just keep hearing that old boss of mine, pointing out the dust and crumbs on the floor around the shelves, telling me my classroom is filthy, a pigsty! stressing the importance of math facts and beautiful handwriting, suggesting I see a therapist, and telling me that my students will be fine next year, when they have a good teacher.
But at the Montessori school in Lujan, I am relieved to know that I won't be dealing with parents who worry whether their four-year-old will be accepted to an Ivy League school in 13 years or a head of school that has a vision of Montessori that focuses on academics, only a fraction of the whole. But once again, that experience led my here. And when my new boss suggested I read a book written by my old boss to learn more about the Montessori elementary program, I could only smile.
I have been extremely busy trying to prepare the classroom with Griselda and Guadalupe and any obsessive tendencies I may have are getting channeled into school shopping and making materials for the 23 incoming students. I'm up until god-awful hours into the early morning obsessively thinking about what we need, what I can make, what books I need to buy, how we don't have enough places for all of the children to sit, how we will need to teach the children two different alphabets (the Argentine handwriting is different, so they will be learning 4 sets of handwriting, print and cursive in both alphabets, and up to now, most have only learned all capital letters), who's shopping for recess equipment, how will we blend the classroom that will predominantly have children coming in from tradtional schools, how will I teach when we are missing material or when I'm not elementary-trained? Did someone buy a guillotina yet so I'll be able to cut paper to the right size? Is there a prepared first-aid kit for the room or am I supposed to do that? I sit up at night going through these questions and imagine each scenario being resolved, only to dissolve and present the next mess. And I can't stop thinking about the portion of empty shelves in the classroom, it looks so barren, incomplete. The language presentations will need to be presented in Spanish first and then English, meaning that there will need to be two sets of everything, one for each language. I will need to teach Griselda how to give these presentations since I will only be speaking in English to the children. When will we be able to do this, since she leaves at noon for her other teaching job?
These things have been preoccupying me lately and are pushing me to push myself beyond my limits, because even if this seems semi-impossible, I want to do it, and I want to do a good job, the best I am able, otherwise what's the point in doing it at all?
And although I've been working in Montessori schools for the past four years or so, I only had my own classroom for one year. This was three years ago. I suppose it says something that I only had my own room for one year. It was, at the time, a year of hell. To have such an enormous amount of responsibility for the first time in my life, these bright young children absorbing everything like sponges (and with parents that oftentimes demanded more from me than their children) along with a challenging boss, some children that were terrors, biting, spitting in people's faces (mine included), and stabbing people with needles and scissors, was just too much, and I began to unravel.
I am now having a flashback of an ultimate low point: the six-year-old boys running around the room playing Star Wars, papers flying everywhere, someone's clogged the toilet again with paper towels, in comes the janitor with his mop and plunger for the fifth time that week, a boy having another self-induced bloody nose, a girl doing cartwheels, another boy using a small work table as a pommel horse, and my assistant trying to keep one of the terrors occupied with a book so that he doesn't attack anyone; and me? I just remember standing there thinking, oh my god. Maybe this doesn't sound all that bad, you might say they're just being kids - but at this school, kids were not allowed to just be kids. My boss told one of my student's mothers that her daughter needed new shoes, her shoes made too much noise when she walked; another time she told a parent she needed to take out her gum, as, well, you know! it sets a bad example for the children.
I made it through the year, but when I was done thought, forget it, I'm never doing this again! So I walked it off in Ireland and went back home to Minnesota to finish my master's in literature.
Now I look back on that year as the year I had to grow up, and it was painful. Everything in my life felt easy in comparison to that year. So while I thought this job was ruining my life, I actually look back and see it as an antitode to my laziness.
While at school in Lujan, besides getting the room in order and making lists of what we need to buy, to make, and to do, I've been working on the lesson plan for the first week with Griselda, explaining my ideas in what I imagine is impossible to understand Spanish, broken up with fast sentences of English and gestures along with my struggling to grasp onto anything to help me explain what I am trying to say. She often laughs and says she won't be at school Monday (she has said this more than a few times now). I keep telling her it will get much easier as the year goes on, which is met with a look of skepticism.
We had a meet-the-parents night on Thursday, where I said a few sentences to introduce myself in Spanish and spent the rest of the time listening. The parents were a little concerned with the language factor - how will Griselda and I communicate? How will their children learn Spanish and English grammar and writing? When will they be able to get out? Of course this all set off a series of thoughts that didn't end until 4am. But I suppose this is good and my obsessiveness will pay off as long as I don't forget to enjoy what I'm doing. I don't want to be so caught up in the details that I forget what Montessori is all about: the child; and if I'm wrapped up in my head, I will not be serving the child to his or her benefit. I just keep hearing that old boss of mine, pointing out the dust and crumbs on the floor around the shelves, telling me my classroom is filthy, a pigsty! stressing the importance of math facts and beautiful handwriting, suggesting I see a therapist, and telling me that my students will be fine next year, when they have a good teacher.
But at the Montessori school in Lujan, I am relieved to know that I won't be dealing with parents who worry whether their four-year-old will be accepted to an Ivy League school in 13 years or a head of school that has a vision of Montessori that focuses on academics, only a fraction of the whole. But once again, that experience led my here. And when my new boss suggested I read a book written by my old boss to learn more about the Montessori elementary program, I could only smile.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
This work thing is kicking my butt
Forget culture shock, I am now experiencing work shock. While there's a part of me that needs and desires to contribute and be a part of the community through hard work and service, there's also a battling side that just wants to be lazy and spend endless hours at outdoor cafes writing in my journal. And although I was almost beginning to loathe all of my free time and finding it to be a tad bit destructive, the second I knew it was gone was when I just wanted more than anything to continue doing nothing.
I went more or less from doing nothing to now trying to put together an empty elementary Montessori classroom that is still under construction in a school that is over an hour's commute away by shuttle where I will be co-teaching with a local traditional schoolteacher who does not speak any English. Mix in my extreme jet-lag and my gimpy foot, and well, I've been under a bit of stress.
But Grisella (the co-teacher) and I are bit by bit putting the classroom together as I try to explain the Montessori method in Spanglish before we begin class on Monday. We have a lot of math materials, brand new, that one would normally find in a primary classroom (3 to 6-year-olds), but as the student body of 24 children is all six-years-old, and more than half are coming from traditional schools, a few from Waldorf, these materials will serve us well for many months.
Maybe you're wondering how I was placed in elementary when I don't have the training? (I did the AMI Montessori training for primary.) The teacher that was supposed to be in the room bailed on the director, Guadalupe, three weeks ago due to personal reasons. Guadalupe was desperate and while Montessori is practically unheard of here along with anyone having any sort of training (at the school, Guadalupe is the only one trained on the staff, besides me), I was the next best thing around. I was supposed to be teaching in a primary classroom. In July, an Argentine elementary teacher who is now in Germany, will take my place, and I will move to primary. I will also be having ESL workshops with the elementary children in the afternoons; I plan to start with poetry and then move on to drama.
While I was home in Minnesota, I spent a lot of time speaking with my Montessori friends and received many positive words of encouragement. I was able to observe and work with some elementary children at the same school my sisters and I went to, Lake Country. I will be in regular contact with an elementary teacher there for advice and guidance and I hope throughout the year the students can exchange photos, letters, and stories. Two of the girls in his room showed me their salt map of South America that was labeled with flags, one signifying Buenos Aires. As soon as they pointed out this was where I would be, another girl turned around and said she was supposed to go there for Christmas but then didn't because there'd been too many taxicab kidnappings.
This morning as I was running to catch my bus, in a daze, trying not to slip on the newly washed sidewalks and dodging taxis as I crossed the street, I had to tell myself, it's all material. This honestly helps me get a handle on an overwhelming situation, I detach and look at it objectively. And when I arrived at the bus, the busdriver, finishing his cigarette, welcomed me aboard the interior of the shuttle, which reeked of its now famliar odor of toxic cleaner fumes. Trying not to inhale the fumes too deeply, dozing on and off and looking out the window, we were approaching Lujan before I knew it, signaled to me by the handful of horses roaming around and grazing right up against the highway guardrail.
In addition to teaching children, I've also started teaching ESL to adults. So far I have two students and it looks like a third coming soon, all of whom an Argentine friend of mine connected me with. Yesterday I had my first lesson with the two at their office, at a university branch that's only four blocks from my place, quite convenient. It's fun and they're nice, but I forgot how much time it takes getting materials ready. The students are quite fluent and know the ins and outs of English grammar better than me, but I try not to let on to this; we'll just have to focus on the conversational part.
Well, as I've been up since 4am today, I can barely keep my eyes open. I feel like there's still so much I need to do, but will have to leave it for manana.
Hasta luego!
I went more or less from doing nothing to now trying to put together an empty elementary Montessori classroom that is still under construction in a school that is over an hour's commute away by shuttle where I will be co-teaching with a local traditional schoolteacher who does not speak any English. Mix in my extreme jet-lag and my gimpy foot, and well, I've been under a bit of stress.
But Grisella (the co-teacher) and I are bit by bit putting the classroom together as I try to explain the Montessori method in Spanglish before we begin class on Monday. We have a lot of math materials, brand new, that one would normally find in a primary classroom (3 to 6-year-olds), but as the student body of 24 children is all six-years-old, and more than half are coming from traditional schools, a few from Waldorf, these materials will serve us well for many months.
Maybe you're wondering how I was placed in elementary when I don't have the training? (I did the AMI Montessori training for primary.) The teacher that was supposed to be in the room bailed on the director, Guadalupe, three weeks ago due to personal reasons. Guadalupe was desperate and while Montessori is practically unheard of here along with anyone having any sort of training (at the school, Guadalupe is the only one trained on the staff, besides me), I was the next best thing around. I was supposed to be teaching in a primary classroom. In July, an Argentine elementary teacher who is now in Germany, will take my place, and I will move to primary. I will also be having ESL workshops with the elementary children in the afternoons; I plan to start with poetry and then move on to drama.
While I was home in Minnesota, I spent a lot of time speaking with my Montessori friends and received many positive words of encouragement. I was able to observe and work with some elementary children at the same school my sisters and I went to, Lake Country. I will be in regular contact with an elementary teacher there for advice and guidance and I hope throughout the year the students can exchange photos, letters, and stories. Two of the girls in his room showed me their salt map of South America that was labeled with flags, one signifying Buenos Aires. As soon as they pointed out this was where I would be, another girl turned around and said she was supposed to go there for Christmas but then didn't because there'd been too many taxicab kidnappings.
This morning as I was running to catch my bus, in a daze, trying not to slip on the newly washed sidewalks and dodging taxis as I crossed the street, I had to tell myself, it's all material. This honestly helps me get a handle on an overwhelming situation, I detach and look at it objectively. And when I arrived at the bus, the busdriver, finishing his cigarette, welcomed me aboard the interior of the shuttle, which reeked of its now famliar odor of toxic cleaner fumes. Trying not to inhale the fumes too deeply, dozing on and off and looking out the window, we were approaching Lujan before I knew it, signaled to me by the handful of horses roaming around and grazing right up against the highway guardrail.
In addition to teaching children, I've also started teaching ESL to adults. So far I have two students and it looks like a third coming soon, all of whom an Argentine friend of mine connected me with. Yesterday I had my first lesson with the two at their office, at a university branch that's only four blocks from my place, quite convenient. It's fun and they're nice, but I forgot how much time it takes getting materials ready. The students are quite fluent and know the ins and outs of English grammar better than me, but I try not to let on to this; we'll just have to focus on the conversational part.
Well, as I've been up since 4am today, I can barely keep my eyes open. I feel like there's still so much I need to do, but will have to leave it for manana.
Hasta luego!
Sunday, February 22, 2009
arrgghhh....
If anyone is sensing a mood of hostility and frustration in my blog entries, then I'm probably getting my emotions across successfully. I have been back for less than a week, and while I consider myself a patient person, I suppose I have the least patience when it comes to me. I've been really struggling with the time zone difference of four hours and have found myself up til 2am, trying to sleep, knowing I have to wake up before 7am on a regular basis for work. And not being able to exercise has really created a feeling of restlessness - I ask my foot each night to please heal, I promise I will take better care. I no longer walk with my super obvious limp and have much less pain than even a few days ago, but I need to be able to run as fast as I want and feel free and be able to completely exhaust myself or the stress starts to build. A friend of mine did leave me his bike while away on business, but do I dare brave the city streets on my own? I'm thinking about it.
I'm also feeling a bit stressed that my luxurious mornings spent at outdoor cafes writing in my journal followed by strolls around town, reading in the park, striking up conversations with whomever, are coming to an end, and it is time to start (yikes!) work. Of course, there is no way I'd be able to stay here doing nothing, financially or for fear of completely losing my sense of worth in the world, feeling a need to help others, contribute, and be connected to a community. So while it's all good and positive, and I am so thankful that I have these projects before me that seemed to manifest themselves out of nowhere (I count myself as very lucky and very fortunate to have had circumstances arise at the right time), I can't help but have that feeling that one has before they take a leap off a cliff, or something similar. I have taken many leaps in the past months, and so far have consistently landed on my feet, so I have that to go on and quell my fears - it all seems to work out. It goes contrary to what one might usually think feels "right," stay safe and secure, stay where you feel comfortable, where you are protected. It seems that when I try to do that, everything goes wrong and I find myself painted into a corner. When I am out in the world, teetering on the edge, often feeling completely strung out, going through a full range of emotions on a regular basis - while this is uncomfortable, to me, it's worth it. I feel alive. I am growing and expanding and this can be painful. But what's even more painful is watching yourself wither away from decay and lack of growth.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Why I'm compatriot weary
I went out last night for my Dutch friend's birthday at a Dutch bar called Cafe van Koning in the Las Canitas neighborhood (an up and coming part of town with lots of trendy restaurants and bars). This is perhaps the only Dutch bar in all of Buenos Aires, a Disney-esque replication of an Amsterdam tavern with faux-wood cavernous walls made from plaster decorated with Rembrandt posters and a life-sized seated Van Gogh, propped up to paint. I felt a bit like I was back in Rippongi Tokyo, where themed bars and restaurants abound, and where I once had dinner in a jail cell at the prison-themed "Alcatraz" (a meal which was often interrupted with frequent "jail breaks" and arrests).
Around 11pm, the normal time things get started here, people began to arrive at the bar: a couple of French girls (one with her tango dancer boyfriend hanging off her torso), a handful of very friendly and normal Argentine men . . . and then came an American guy I had invited who a few of us had previously met at a superbowl party; he was on vacation in BA for the year after making a crapload of money on movie script rewrites and apparently has hung out with Francis Ford Coppola on numerous occasions (and perhaps his "hanging out" with said celeb could be comparable to my time spent with Philip Seymour Hoffman, when I saw him on Broadway, just rows from the stage, where we shared an annoyance with the same buzzing insects). Anyway, I thought he'd be interesting to get to know and add to the international mix of the group.
It turned out that this guy and his friends were exactly the kind of people I have made an effort to avoid socializing with and in between conversations about how much superbowl friend loves the drugs in BA, refilling my wine glass with wine he'd brought from home, his strange Canadian friend telling me he was a stripper, me believing him, followed by chuckles, "it's only a joke!" (funny Canadians are apparently freak accidents) and then superbowl friend going on and on to the Argentines about how cheap everything here is (he can't believe it!), I just kept thinking: leave! Please. And when I said that everything is actually quite expensive when you are making pesos (hint, hint: shut up!) his response was, but I'm spending US dollars, it's great! This is all true of course, it is much cheaper, but to go on and on about it? well? god help these idiots.
Around 11pm, the normal time things get started here, people began to arrive at the bar: a couple of French girls (one with her tango dancer boyfriend hanging off her torso), a handful of very friendly and normal Argentine men . . . and then came an American guy I had invited who a few of us had previously met at a superbowl party; he was on vacation in BA for the year after making a crapload of money on movie script rewrites and apparently has hung out with Francis Ford Coppola on numerous occasions (and perhaps his "hanging out" with said celeb could be comparable to my time spent with Philip Seymour Hoffman, when I saw him on Broadway, just rows from the stage, where we shared an annoyance with the same buzzing insects). Anyway, I thought he'd be interesting to get to know and add to the international mix of the group.
It turned out that this guy and his friends were exactly the kind of people I have made an effort to avoid socializing with and in between conversations about how much superbowl friend loves the drugs in BA, refilling my wine glass with wine he'd brought from home, his strange Canadian friend telling me he was a stripper, me believing him, followed by chuckles, "it's only a joke!" (funny Canadians are apparently freak accidents) and then superbowl friend going on and on to the Argentines about how cheap everything here is (he can't believe it!), I just kept thinking: leave! Please. And when I said that everything is actually quite expensive when you are making pesos (hint, hint: shut up!) his response was, but I'm spending US dollars, it's great! This is all true of course, it is much cheaper, but to go on and on about it? well? god help these idiots.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Settling in BA (again!)
I’ve just returned to Buenos Aires from a ten-day visit to the Midwest to see friends and family and gather my things together for what looks like will be at least a year's stay in Argentina. Along with continuing to learn Spanish and absorb Argentine culture, I will be teaching Elementary students at a Montessori school and ESL to adults, privately. My visit home was great, but too short, and I knew the first day I was in Minneapolis that my trip could be dangerously comfortable: constantly surrounded by loved ones, home-cooked meals, quiet long walks in nature with clean air, no language barrier . . . .
Since my return yesterday, I’ve been trying to do everything I can to dissolve the dark pit in my stomach that developed as soon as I was settled back into my apartment. Today I visited my favorite tourist-trap cafe, wrote in my journal while drinking coffee and listening to the accordion player’s “La Vie en Rose” compete with the construction workers’ boom-box blasting a techno remix of “My Milkshake,” and tried not to itch a rash that has developed on my limbs caused by who knows what (I’ve never been allergic to anything except for piles of used hay on the sheep ranch, but I think that can kill you). I went to my favorite nearby park with the huge metal flower to read a bit and spent some time admiring how the scorched grass has been transformed into a vibrant green due to a newly installed sprinkler system.
While at home, I was able to go through my storage bins of clothes I left stacked in my parents’ attic. I’ve been getting by here for the past months wearing the few things I packed in my small suitcase and backpack. But needing more to wear besides skirts and tank tops as the seasons change, I dug everything out, took what I wanted for Argentina, and left the rest for my sisters (hand-me- downs is still a valued practice in my family). I could not believe the clothing collection I had going – I could’ve opened a store. The excess disgusted me and I decided I must’ve developed some sort of compulsive shopping problem over the years without even knowing it. How did I even afford all this stuff? My approach to clothes has completely changed while traveling. But even now, with the things I did bring, standing in stacks around my apartment (as I’ve been too lazy to put everything away), I cannot believe the excess.
More excess: eating out at home; shockingly expensive. The amount of money spent on a nice dinner in Minneapolis rivals what I pay a month in groceries here. There is amazing and addictively delicious food to be found at home. Here, I’ve grown accustomed to cooking very simply for myself, taking advantage of all the fresh produce, just eating and appreciating what I have. But then I went out for sushi with my family in Minneapolis and I found that the food had some sort of power over me, it tasted sooo good! I was drugged and couldn’t get enough. Here, that doesn’t happen. Ever. (Except maybe with some dulce de leche sweets.) I also discovered that my peanut butter cravings are no longer. It tasted so-so and I found myself missing my Lebanese tahini. Going to Whole Foods was fun, and I got my fill of organic produce and kombucha drinks, but the variety and choices were overwhelming! Here at the grocery, I can choose between red or green apples – no organic Braeburn, so get used to it. And I have. I appreciate just being able to have food, especially when I see someone outside of my apartment eating an old pizza crust out of the garbage.
Among my personal discoveries, I've also unfortunately returned with a limp caused by a combination of an alternative jogging gait to try and allow a broken toe to heal and walking in flip-flops for ten months. Anyone that has walked anywhere with me knows I like to walk a lot and walk fast. Now my gringa badge seems to shine a bit too brightly as I no longer walk with the quick confidence letting all know I am fully aware of where I am headed and was approached by strangers today a few more times than I’m comfortable with. This is a city for walking and while I complained about having to drive everywhere at home and how much time it seemed to waste just to get somewhere, I also can appreciate how driving is a bit more conducive to letting a hurt foot heal, or any other body part that would need to move in a non-sedentary setting.
So here I am, sedentarily typing away on my computer, still in limbo, but working my way out of it, ready to integrate on a deeper level, and getting ready for my first day of work!
Thanks for reading!
Since my return yesterday, I’ve been trying to do everything I can to dissolve the dark pit in my stomach that developed as soon as I was settled back into my apartment. Today I visited my favorite tourist-trap cafe, wrote in my journal while drinking coffee and listening to the accordion player’s “La Vie en Rose” compete with the construction workers’ boom-box blasting a techno remix of “My Milkshake,” and tried not to itch a rash that has developed on my limbs caused by who knows what (I’ve never been allergic to anything except for piles of used hay on the sheep ranch, but I think that can kill you). I went to my favorite nearby park with the huge metal flower to read a bit and spent some time admiring how the scorched grass has been transformed into a vibrant green due to a newly installed sprinkler system.
While at home, I was able to go through my storage bins of clothes I left stacked in my parents’ attic. I’ve been getting by here for the past months wearing the few things I packed in my small suitcase and backpack. But needing more to wear besides skirts and tank tops as the seasons change, I dug everything out, took what I wanted for Argentina, and left the rest for my sisters (hand-me- downs is still a valued practice in my family). I could not believe the clothing collection I had going – I could’ve opened a store. The excess disgusted me and I decided I must’ve developed some sort of compulsive shopping problem over the years without even knowing it. How did I even afford all this stuff? My approach to clothes has completely changed while traveling. But even now, with the things I did bring, standing in stacks around my apartment (as I’ve been too lazy to put everything away), I cannot believe the excess.
More excess: eating out at home; shockingly expensive. The amount of money spent on a nice dinner in Minneapolis rivals what I pay a month in groceries here. There is amazing and addictively delicious food to be found at home. Here, I’ve grown accustomed to cooking very simply for myself, taking advantage of all the fresh produce, just eating and appreciating what I have. But then I went out for sushi with my family in Minneapolis and I found that the food had some sort of power over me, it tasted sooo good! I was drugged and couldn’t get enough. Here, that doesn’t happen. Ever. (Except maybe with some dulce de leche sweets.) I also discovered that my peanut butter cravings are no longer. It tasted so-so and I found myself missing my Lebanese tahini. Going to Whole Foods was fun, and I got my fill of organic produce and kombucha drinks, but the variety and choices were overwhelming! Here at the grocery, I can choose between red or green apples – no organic Braeburn, so get used to it. And I have. I appreciate just being able to have food, especially when I see someone outside of my apartment eating an old pizza crust out of the garbage.
Among my personal discoveries, I've also unfortunately returned with a limp caused by a combination of an alternative jogging gait to try and allow a broken toe to heal and walking in flip-flops for ten months. Anyone that has walked anywhere with me knows I like to walk a lot and walk fast. Now my gringa badge seems to shine a bit too brightly as I no longer walk with the quick confidence letting all know I am fully aware of where I am headed and was approached by strangers today a few more times than I’m comfortable with. This is a city for walking and while I complained about having to drive everywhere at home and how much time it seemed to waste just to get somewhere, I also can appreciate how driving is a bit more conducive to letting a hurt foot heal, or any other body part that would need to move in a non-sedentary setting.
So here I am, sedentarily typing away on my computer, still in limbo, but working my way out of it, ready to integrate on a deeper level, and getting ready for my first day of work!
Thanks for reading!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
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