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
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