Look Out, Kids!
"And today, we will be discussing the lyrics of the best band in the world. Can anyone tell me who that is?" [Eliciting Key Lexis]
"That's right, U2. Very good, Johnny." [Positive Reinforcement]
"Now, everyone say it with me. 'Yuuuu Tooooo'." [Pronunciation]
These poor kids really have no idea what they're in for. But they're in for it starting on Thursday!
Why We Don't Teach Phrasal Verbs to Beginners
Otherwise known as "Dorky-teacher-speak-101".
Setting: A classroom in an office building known as the "banana room". Two beginner students. Two teaching trainees, one of which is Dan. No teacher.
D: Well, the teacher is late. That's okay. We'll do something.S: D: I'll just make this up as I go along, okay?S: What means ... to make up?D: Oh boy... um. It means, I have nothing. No plan. No lesson. But I'm up here anyway.S: D: It's like 'to improvise'.S: To improvise?? D: M: D: Teacher walks in.T: Fantastic, did you do a warmer?D: Um.... we kind of, um, made one up ... .Lesson of the Day: Phrasal verbs bad. Very very bad.
Extreme Swimming in Prague - An Exercise in Spatial Awareness
I suspected that swimming pools would be a bit different here. Perhaps, I thought, the water would be warmer. The pools might be smaller. The,
ahem, attire could be different. There might not be lockers. The showers could be co-ed -- the
locker rooms could be co-ed. There might be naked children running about everywhere and women breast-feeding in plain sight
. Heck, there could be naked adults running about! This is Europe, after all.
Nothing really prepared me for the reality, which was, quite simply, very normal. Except for one small, tiny, almost un-noticeable thing, really: the pool had no lane lines. I wasn't ready for that.
The pool was an obstacle course, chaos theory in action. If you could have seen it from above, I have a suspicion it would have been reminiscient of ducks in a small pool. That is, ducks, in a small pool, on speed. You swam and looked up, swam and looked up. If there was someone in your way, it was common courtesy to begin swimming diagonally. If this took you into the paths of other swimmers, you could switch directions, but it was really up to you. If you started out on the left side, you might very easily end up on the right side when you got to the other side. Of course, actually getting to the other side was apparently optional as well, as many swimmers decided that 80% was very nearly there, and so, good enough for them. Perhaps they chose this because there was no good place to hold on to when you reached the side. Another common courtesy was to swim breast stroke. I believe this was to allow swimmers to more easily see the person swimming directly toward them, although my first deduction was that Czechs simply had one leg shorter than the other, (causing the aforementioned diagonal swimming).
At first I tried to swim against the stream. Or, perhaps, the flood. I swam straight, hoping to encourage the depth perception my fellow swimmers, and going under them when they charged me. This was working until on butterflyer I'd like to dub the tank came in. That was my signal to start dodging with the rest of them.
The Czech people are some of the nicest, meekest, intellectually stimulating, fun-loving people in the world. But the way they organize their swimming pools makes me wonder about their organizational skills.
Ahoj.
Doing Nothing in Prague.
Nedělam nic.That's czech for "I'm not doing anything". But in fact, what it really means is "I'm no longer a tourist". See, I think you know you live somewhere when it's saturday, the sun is out, the tour groups are clogging the streets, and you can sit quite happily in a cafe drinking coffee writing things like blogs. Give it another week and you're saying things like "Bloody tourists, what are
they doing here!?".
So instead, today is filled with looking for a job, looking for a new flat, and homework. There's really nothing to yank you back from dreams of dancing sugar plums (or whatever
you dream about) like homework does.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go wander around the city with my camera. :)
The Story of the Hanging Coffee
There is this cafe in Prague, called "U Zavesenyho Kafe", or, "The Hanging Coffee". It is a small place, tucked into the hill, atop of which sits Prague Castle. It's a touristy street in a touristy city, but at 11 in the morning, it is mostly empty, with a few Czechs in for an early lunch, and blues playing in the background. The food is good, and the beer is cheap, although this morning I will have only coffee. There are several rooms, all tiny, and in the evenings, packed to the brim. Typically, you have to sit at a table filled with strangers. But it's okay, because the food is good, the beer is cheap, and you're in what it quite possibly the most beautiful city in Europe. I am sitting in the garden, and I've learned that I no longer need to ask, when I walk in, "Muzu sedet na zahrady?" because that's how it works here. You just walk in and sit down and they come by to take your order or bring you a beer if they know you well enough. At least, so I suspect. But on to the story.
"Do you know what 'hanging coffee' is?" the menu asks. "You don't? Well ..." You see, a guy comes to a cafe, and drinks a cup of coffee, and he says "I pay for two cups - the one I just had and another one I leave hanging here." Another guy, who is broke, comes in and asks "Would you by any chance have a hanging coffee here?" And if there is one, he drinks it and goes home. And if he is later able to afford it, he comes back and pays for another hanging coffee.
But as we all know, everything changes over time. Now, instead of a hanging coffee, it seems to be a hanging wireless internet hotspot. Not bad. :)
Day 1 or 2 - The Hazy Period
As anyone who's ever traveled across 8 or more time zones can tell you, the first day is always somewhat of a blur. For example, when I traveled to Ireland. I distinctly remember having a Guinness in O'Neill's pub. And when I woke up, I realized I had no idea what Dublin looked like, but I was sure excited to find out.
Yesterday isn't quite so hazy as all that. After all, I seem to remember...
(a) Lugging my suitcase (the only one that made it onto my connecting flight) up six flights of stairs. Of course, I thought, of course.
(b) Passing the swedish bikini team on their way to tour Prague castle.
(c) Getting asked directions by French people.
(d) Having a beer for less than a dollar, in a beer garden that overlooked the city of 10,000 (or some other large number) spires.
(e) Getting a european number for my phone (and if you are nice, I just might give it to you). :)
(f) Hearing entirely too much 80s music.
And that's about a wrap. For those concerned, I did receive my missing luggage. And I found Tesco Value tee-shirts for 49kc (that's about 2 bucks). Look out, fashion world!
Na schled.
38,000 Feet and Counting
Na letadlo. That's Czech for "on the airplane". The one to Prague. I wouldn't normally have my computer with me in my seat. I hate those businesspeople that have to be on their laptop computers 24-7-52. They make me think of mushrooms. Not necessarily because they smell (though they often do), but because of a line in Le Petit Prince where the little prince looks at such a businessman and suddenly realizes that il n'était pas un homme, mais un champignon! That's why it reminds me of mushrooms. But no, I sit here with my laptop perched happily in my lap because of a long series of events, which in reality started 4 weeks ago as I made my packing list, but in practicality started when I realized my checked baggage was too heavy for me to lift. This occurred yesterday, or whatever day was the one before I left Seattle. I'd been wondering if I had purchased luggage big enough for my trip and my grandiose aspirations. After all, I was to be gone for (possibly) two (don't tell Mom) years. I wanted to fit everything in, including, but not limited to my espresso maker and yoga mat. When I'd packed to my heart's content I had a sinking feeling. I had the feeling because there was extra room in my suitcase. While this might normally be considered cause for joy, I had the suspicion (later to be confirmed) that it was not a question of volume, but of mass. Sort of like ... (fill in brilliant analogy later). So I compromised, and had to give up some of the items that just weren't important enough - I left out several tee shirts and my green khaki pants. So finally I could lift my bags, even though I far preferred not to.
But I digress. The real reason I sit here with a laptop on my lap top is that I had entirely too much carry-on baggage.
One camera in camera bag.
Extra lens for camera, in separate camera bag.
Filters, extra camera, in camera bag.
Tripod, in tripod case, which also houses two Guinness posters.
Hiking backpack, housing smaller backpack, housing computer case, housing laptop.
Books for the flights: “How to Teach English”, by Jeremy Harmer. “Colloquial Czech”, by James Naughton. “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time”, by Mark Hadden. “The Financial Times”, by … I guess the editors of the Financial Times.
Needless to say, when I arrived in Amsterdam after a 9 ½ hour flight from Seattle with 45 minutes to race from E17 to D55 in an airport where everything was written in English (wait… hm), I was NOT expecting to go through security again before boarding the airplane. And I knew I was in for it, too, as I looked around and saw all those nice, tidy little European carry-ons. And there I was with a hiking backpack, a canvas bag, and a tripod case with a winter jacket looped through it.
And they let me through. But of course, not until I had voluntarily repacked my backpack with my jacket and tripod, decided to carry my laptop, and camera bags, which are now sitting under the seat back in front of me, where, in a perfect world, my legs would be outstretched. Tant pis.
Na schled for now. That’s Czech for … later. My next post will be from a lower altitude.
