Mrs. Tarnowski, the mother of one of my private students, stood in her kitchen this morning, in her pajamas, unlit cigarette in hand, crying. I had merely asked her how she was, but the answer was inevitable. She, and the rest of Poland, was ill. Ill, of course, over the deaths of so many of their leaders in a place crash in Russia yesterday morning.
“There were so many good people on that plane,” Mrs. Tarnowski sniffled at me. “I mean, good, smart Polish people. How could we lose so many of our good people at once?”
Of course, I didn’t know what to say. I felt my nose start to tingle with the urge to cry, but I couldn’t let myself. I had no right, did I?
I made the short, twenty minute walk from my apartment to the Old Town yesterday afternoon. It’s a walk I’ve made many times this year, heading out to meet a friend for dinner or just getting out for an evening stroll. But this time I went out as a voyeur. I wanted to observe grief in action. I wanted to surround myself with Poles, watch them, and try to gain some understanding of what they are feeling. Unforgivable, I even took my camera.
I walked past the shops and restaurants along Nowy Swiat, Warsaw’s main drag, and I noticed many more people out than usual, all walking in the same direction. Some were stopping at makeshift vendors along the way to buy some flowers or a candle to place at the memorial in front of the palace. Parents brought whole families, teenagers shrugging along, babies in strollers, toddlers giggling helplessly, completely unaware. Elderly women labored slowly down the sidewalks, arms linked. If I hadn’t known where everyone was going, and why, I might not have imagined that something terrible had happened. It might have just been another national holiday.
But there was something in people’s eyes that said otherwise. As I made my way through the growing masses of people, I found myself looking deep into people’s faces. Strangely, they were looking back. Their eyes would search mine, looking for some kind of recognition. My eyes told people I was sorry, and theirs said the same. Never before have I looked into so many Polish eyes – they’re simply not that kind of people. They keep to themselves. But yesterday, strangers were sharing grief through their eyes.
Signs of a country in mourning were apparent in other ways. Taxis, buses, shops, apartments – all were slowly beginning to display the red and white Polish flag with a strip of black fabric attached. An old woman and man simply sat on a bench in front of the palace and stared into the crowd for over twenty minutes, their faces showing disbelief at this new burden they’ve been forced to add to their load.
I know that I do not understand this tragedy, but I am trying to imagine. The deaths of the people on that plane – it’s so much more to the Polish people than just lives lost. The destruction and death this country has had to endure over the last century – WWII, the Holocaust, Communism, Russian rule, Katyn. I don’t even know it all. I’m shamefully uneducated on the history of the country I’m living in. But I’ve lived among these people for eight months. I see how rough around the edges they are, how hardened they’ve become after the things they’ve endured. I can feel how new the country is to the modernism and capitalism that has slowly crept in since Poland’s independence from Russia. The progress that’s been made in this country in the last two decades is a source of real pride here, and now, this.
It makes me feel sick.
Over the last two days, I’ve felt like an intruder at a funeral. It’s the funeral of a new friend’s mother, maybe, and though she’s been a friend for several months and I feel I know her quite well, I never met her mother. I didn’t even know her name, come to think of it. But I go to the funeral, anyway. How can I not? I sit in the back row of the service, trying to absorb the tide of love and remembrances and intimacies, growing more and more uncomfortable. I don’t belong here. I didn’t know this woman.
So I’m writing. I can’t say I’m sorry. What does it mean? But I’ll write, and perhaps the Americans I know will share some piece of this grief with me and understand a little better what’s going on this side of the world. I fear Poland is an unknown spot on the map to most people. It was to me before.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Excuses, Apologies, and Teaching
When I was a sophomore in college, I took a career development class. It was supposed to help me figure out what I wanted to do with my life, though I couldn't have been more lost at the age of 19. The class was mostly a waste of time, but I have remembered one thing from it. We had to take all of these personality quizzes, and one of them assessed whether you are an introvert or an extrovert. But they didn't follow the traditional definitions of these words - introverts are shy and extroverts are outgoing. Instead they said that introverts are people who get energy from themselves; extroverts get their energy from other people. In other words, it's not that introverts don't like being around people, but they feel completely depleted after it. I measured just slightly over on the introvert side.
I mention this now only as an excuse for my absence from writing. Teaching is sucking every bit of energy out of me - physical and mental - and I find myself actually working around the clock. The urge to write is simply not coming to me like it used to, when there would be days when I was just DYING to get to a computer and pour out some story.
Nevertheless, I do not intend to give up on the blog!
All is well here in Warsaw. It is Sunday morning, and I'm holed up in my little apartment here in the city center. It is a studio apartment (meaning there is just one room, a bathroom, and a little kitchen nook), but the location is perfect, the building has a ton of character, and the apartment itself is clean and modern. It's taken me two months to make the apartment feel somewhat homey, but it's quite comfortable now. It doesn't have everything a girl could want, but it does have everything I need, and I'm living much more minimally these days than I was two years ago.
Every morning I walk out my front door between 7:00 and 7:30 AM and walk five minutes to the bus stop. My bus, the 180, takes about 25 minutes, depending on traffic. The commute doesn't bother me at all (assuming I can get a seat), and it's fairly direct and easy. Many people I know have to switch buses several times, so I feel very lucky! The transit system here is very smart. You can buy a thirty day card that allows you unlimited access to the subway, train, and bus systems, and you don't have to do any swiping or anything when you first board. I thought this was quite weird at first and that people were probably riding for free all the time, but they do have these monitors who board the bus randomly and check everyone's pass. The great thing about this system is that you don't have to wait for every single person to pay at the front of the bus before you can leave the stop. You just get on and go. It's great.
I'm required to teach a total of 25 lessons per week - two classes of 6th grade English language, two classes of 7th grade language, two classes of 7th grade literature, one class of 8th grade language, and one class of 8th grade literature. I don't know if that sounds like a lot to you, but it is a lot. Most days I teach five classes, and my free lessons are spent planning or grading. There's never a moment when I'm just sitting around, reading a book or surfing the internet.
I know you've all heard that teachers work so hard and blah blah blah, but I'm going to tell you again because I do have a feeling that most people STILL think that teachers somehow have it easier because the school day technically ends at 3 PM, and we have so many holidays. I find that most days I wake up at 6 AM and spend at least 30 minutes, if not more, working before my classes begin. Some days I stay after school for an hour to try to get a few things done, but every day, I find myself working away in the evenings. Compared to the days at my old job when I would work from 8 AM to 8 PM, I find this more tiring. It's active work. You cannot decide to just take a break and spend twenty minutes emailing or checking Facebook. And you have to be on top of your shit all the time! Otherwise, you are going to find yourself standing sheepishly in front of a group of expectant 13 year olds and have to figure out on your feet what to do with them for 45 minutes!
Okay, enough about that. It's hard work.
And yet! I am truly liking it. I know everyone says they like their new job after they've started it, but I do like it. I read somewhere (probably in Melissa's teaching book) that teaching is the hardest job you'll ever love. And I do think there's some truth to that. I adore my students (at least 90% of them, and that's including some pretty naughty ones). I thought that I wanted to teach because I wanted to enlighten these kids and help them to love learning and reading and writing, but I find that what I am most loving about my job is the kids themselves. And loving your kids is pretty much essential if you are going to like your job at all.
I think it's also important, though, that the kids like me. I was torn at the beginning of the school year. Do I act tough and mean and try not care whether the students like me? Or do I try to get them to like me? It obviously has to be a combination of the two. You have to be able to get them to do work, but I do think it is important that they like you - at least with this age group. I cannot recall a single teacher during elementary/middle/high school that I didn't like but learned a lot from. The teachers I remember as being GREAT teachers were teachers that I liked. Teachers that talked to me like an adult. I think as a middle school teacher, your job is as much to teach them as it is to be an approachable adult figure in their life.
So for the most part, I think my student like Ms. Bucy. They all say, "Good morning, Ms. Bucy!" when they see me in the halls, which is, well, charming. It makes me feel so giddy to walk through the school and hear that.
Though I am liking my job, I can't say for sure if I am good at it yet. I arrived two weeks before school started, was told that I'd be teaching 6th, 7th, and 8th grade English, and was basically given no curriculum to follow. We have a textbook to plod through in 6th and 8th grade, and I know which books I am supposed to teach for literature, but I feel like I've been given free reign with what I actually teach. I suppose many teachers would love that much freedom, but in my first year, I'd really rather have someone telling me what to do. I'd really rather not have to write an entire 7th grade English Languge curriculum all by myself. And I obviously haven't had the time to write such a curriculum anyway. So I find myself doing a lot of what I learned NOT to do at Teachers College, which is planning lesson to lesson. I have had many successful lessons, so far, but I do find that I lack a clear idea of what the "bigger picture" is. It's not a great feeling. But the planning gets easier with every week, and now that I've got the first quarter under my belt, I think I have a better sense of exactly what I'm supposed to be doing with the kids and exactly what I can expect out of the kids. My task is much clearer to me than it was 8 weeks ago. It's a shame because I feel like I will have finally gotten the hang of this in June, when the year is over! Always next year!
On the personal side, life is good and getting better. I cannot say enough nice things about my fellow teachers at the school, and I've made a few outside-of-work friendships with them. My newest friend is Analisa, a 24 year old girl from Boston. She did her undergrad at Columbia, so we were actually there at the same time, and we have this bizarre list of things in common. At any rate, we clicked from day one, and I am so grateful to have met her (not to get sappy on you). As soon as Bjorn left, I felt this huge hole in my life - one that my girlfriends used to fill. And after being abroad for a while, and finding everyone so different from you, it's amazing how comforting it is to find someone that is so much the same as you. Yay Analisa. So we've been going to some yoga classes together and going running and whatnot - the things that make you feel like you have a life outside of your job! Analisa, by the way, has just started her third year at the school. She found herself making the move to Poland because her Spanish boyfriend (who she met in Spain) took a job here.
And Bjorn is great. The long-distancing isn't ideal, but I do think that it's going as smoothly as it could go. We see each other every 2-4 weeks, which is not bad! He is doing very well in his program at school, and I am going to go up to Gothenburg in a week for my fall break, so I will finally get to see everything! (He always has to come here, since I have no time off!)
So yes, tomorrow is the start of my last week before fall break, a whole wonderful week off! After fall break, there will be just a short six weeks til...Bjorn and I come to Nashville for Christmas! Yay! We are so excited.
Okay. That's my update. I will write more. I really will. I am just beginning to get my head above water after two months of drowning, so I am hopeful that I will be able to manage my time better in the coming months.
Hope everyone is well. Much love.
I mention this now only as an excuse for my absence from writing. Teaching is sucking every bit of energy out of me - physical and mental - and I find myself actually working around the clock. The urge to write is simply not coming to me like it used to, when there would be days when I was just DYING to get to a computer and pour out some story.
Nevertheless, I do not intend to give up on the blog!
All is well here in Warsaw. It is Sunday morning, and I'm holed up in my little apartment here in the city center. It is a studio apartment (meaning there is just one room, a bathroom, and a little kitchen nook), but the location is perfect, the building has a ton of character, and the apartment itself is clean and modern. It's taken me two months to make the apartment feel somewhat homey, but it's quite comfortable now. It doesn't have everything a girl could want, but it does have everything I need, and I'm living much more minimally these days than I was two years ago.
Every morning I walk out my front door between 7:00 and 7:30 AM and walk five minutes to the bus stop. My bus, the 180, takes about 25 minutes, depending on traffic. The commute doesn't bother me at all (assuming I can get a seat), and it's fairly direct and easy. Many people I know have to switch buses several times, so I feel very lucky! The transit system here is very smart. You can buy a thirty day card that allows you unlimited access to the subway, train, and bus systems, and you don't have to do any swiping or anything when you first board. I thought this was quite weird at first and that people were probably riding for free all the time, but they do have these monitors who board the bus randomly and check everyone's pass. The great thing about this system is that you don't have to wait for every single person to pay at the front of the bus before you can leave the stop. You just get on and go. It's great.
I'm required to teach a total of 25 lessons per week - two classes of 6th grade English language, two classes of 7th grade language, two classes of 7th grade literature, one class of 8th grade language, and one class of 8th grade literature. I don't know if that sounds like a lot to you, but it is a lot. Most days I teach five classes, and my free lessons are spent planning or grading. There's never a moment when I'm just sitting around, reading a book or surfing the internet.
I know you've all heard that teachers work so hard and blah blah blah, but I'm going to tell you again because I do have a feeling that most people STILL think that teachers somehow have it easier because the school day technically ends at 3 PM, and we have so many holidays. I find that most days I wake up at 6 AM and spend at least 30 minutes, if not more, working before my classes begin. Some days I stay after school for an hour to try to get a few things done, but every day, I find myself working away in the evenings. Compared to the days at my old job when I would work from 8 AM to 8 PM, I find this more tiring. It's active work. You cannot decide to just take a break and spend twenty minutes emailing or checking Facebook. And you have to be on top of your shit all the time! Otherwise, you are going to find yourself standing sheepishly in front of a group of expectant 13 year olds and have to figure out on your feet what to do with them for 45 minutes!
Okay, enough about that. It's hard work.
And yet! I am truly liking it. I know everyone says they like their new job after they've started it, but I do like it. I read somewhere (probably in Melissa's teaching book) that teaching is the hardest job you'll ever love. And I do think there's some truth to that. I adore my students (at least 90% of them, and that's including some pretty naughty ones). I thought that I wanted to teach because I wanted to enlighten these kids and help them to love learning and reading and writing, but I find that what I am most loving about my job is the kids themselves. And loving your kids is pretty much essential if you are going to like your job at all.
I think it's also important, though, that the kids like me. I was torn at the beginning of the school year. Do I act tough and mean and try not care whether the students like me? Or do I try to get them to like me? It obviously has to be a combination of the two. You have to be able to get them to do work, but I do think it is important that they like you - at least with this age group. I cannot recall a single teacher during elementary/middle/high school that I didn't like but learned a lot from. The teachers I remember as being GREAT teachers were teachers that I liked. Teachers that talked to me like an adult. I think as a middle school teacher, your job is as much to teach them as it is to be an approachable adult figure in their life.
So for the most part, I think my student like Ms. Bucy. They all say, "Good morning, Ms. Bucy!" when they see me in the halls, which is, well, charming. It makes me feel so giddy to walk through the school and hear that.
Though I am liking my job, I can't say for sure if I am good at it yet. I arrived two weeks before school started, was told that I'd be teaching 6th, 7th, and 8th grade English, and was basically given no curriculum to follow. We have a textbook to plod through in 6th and 8th grade, and I know which books I am supposed to teach for literature, but I feel like I've been given free reign with what I actually teach. I suppose many teachers would love that much freedom, but in my first year, I'd really rather have someone telling me what to do. I'd really rather not have to write an entire 7th grade English Languge curriculum all by myself. And I obviously haven't had the time to write such a curriculum anyway. So I find myself doing a lot of what I learned NOT to do at Teachers College, which is planning lesson to lesson. I have had many successful lessons, so far, but I do find that I lack a clear idea of what the "bigger picture" is. It's not a great feeling. But the planning gets easier with every week, and now that I've got the first quarter under my belt, I think I have a better sense of exactly what I'm supposed to be doing with the kids and exactly what I can expect out of the kids. My task is much clearer to me than it was 8 weeks ago. It's a shame because I feel like I will have finally gotten the hang of this in June, when the year is over! Always next year!
On the personal side, life is good and getting better. I cannot say enough nice things about my fellow teachers at the school, and I've made a few outside-of-work friendships with them. My newest friend is Analisa, a 24 year old girl from Boston. She did her undergrad at Columbia, so we were actually there at the same time, and we have this bizarre list of things in common. At any rate, we clicked from day one, and I am so grateful to have met her (not to get sappy on you). As soon as Bjorn left, I felt this huge hole in my life - one that my girlfriends used to fill. And after being abroad for a while, and finding everyone so different from you, it's amazing how comforting it is to find someone that is so much the same as you. Yay Analisa. So we've been going to some yoga classes together and going running and whatnot - the things that make you feel like you have a life outside of your job! Analisa, by the way, has just started her third year at the school. She found herself making the move to Poland because her Spanish boyfriend (who she met in Spain) took a job here.
And Bjorn is great. The long-distancing isn't ideal, but I do think that it's going as smoothly as it could go. We see each other every 2-4 weeks, which is not bad! He is doing very well in his program at school, and I am going to go up to Gothenburg in a week for my fall break, so I will finally get to see everything! (He always has to come here, since I have no time off!)
So yes, tomorrow is the start of my last week before fall break, a whole wonderful week off! After fall break, there will be just a short six weeks til...Bjorn and I come to Nashville for Christmas! Yay! We are so excited.
Okay. That's my update. I will write more. I really will. I am just beginning to get my head above water after two months of drowning, so I am hopeful that I will be able to manage my time better in the coming months.
Hope everyone is well. Much love.
Monday, September 21, 2009
An iPhone for an A
A short story for your Tuesday morning.
Yesterday, I asked one of my sixth grade students - a girl - to stay after class for a few minutes. She hadn't come to class with her homework, so we needed to have a small chat about being prepared for class. We finished the talk, and I was ready to send her on her way and get out the door (it was my last class).
I could see, however, that something else was lingering on her mind. "Um, Ms. Bucy?" Yes...? "Well, I was just wondering. Because... is there anything I can do to make sure I get an A or a B in English?" Well...I started. "You see," she said, "my mom told me that if I could get an A or a B in English she would buy me the new iphone, so..." She drifted off. "I'm just really nervous about it," she summed up.
I assured her that she was doing just fine at this point (week two) and to just keep up the hard work and...do her homework! But I let out a loud grunt of disbelief when she finally left the room. What parents! Is this really how we motivate our children to do well? Bribe them with expensive electronics?
I did, however, spend a part of last night wondering if my own grades would have improved, had my parents set out some sort of special gift as a reward. It would have had to be something really good, though! And in sixth grade, I think I was still motivated to get an A just for the sake of getting an A.
Nevertheless, I have a feeling this year will be full of these gems. Have a good day!
Yesterday, I asked one of my sixth grade students - a girl - to stay after class for a few minutes. She hadn't come to class with her homework, so we needed to have a small chat about being prepared for class. We finished the talk, and I was ready to send her on her way and get out the door (it was my last class).
I could see, however, that something else was lingering on her mind. "Um, Ms. Bucy?" Yes...? "Well, I was just wondering. Because... is there anything I can do to make sure I get an A or a B in English?" Well...I started. "You see," she said, "my mom told me that if I could get an A or a B in English she would buy me the new iphone, so..." She drifted off. "I'm just really nervous about it," she summed up.
I assured her that she was doing just fine at this point (week two) and to just keep up the hard work and...do her homework! But I let out a loud grunt of disbelief when she finally left the room. What parents! Is this really how we motivate our children to do well? Bribe them with expensive electronics?
I did, however, spend a part of last night wondering if my own grades would have improved, had my parents set out some sort of special gift as a reward. It would have had to be something really good, though! And in sixth grade, I think I was still motivated to get an A just for the sake of getting an A.
Nevertheless, I have a feeling this year will be full of these gems. Have a good day!
Sunday, September 6, 2009
The First Days of School
I’ve gotten three emails today, complaining about my poor blog. So…here’s what I wrote last Sunday (when I promised I would write). I didn’t quite get it finished, and then I got whisked off to “Green School”, a WEEK-LONG all-school retreat (aka, five days of 24/7 babysitting). Anyway, I had no computer and no internet last week, so I got a little behind.
********
Three years ago, I completed a Masters degree in Secondary English Education. While I enjoyed the program, my student teaching experience was a nightmare. I had two classes of 36 eighth graders in a New York City public school and a cooperating teacher with whom I did not cooperate. Her classroom was one of yelling, harsh disciplining, and singling students out. She was constantly telling me I wasn't being hard enough on the students, when to me, a classroom is not a place for yelling. There's no part of learning that requires yelling. I finished up my student teaching feeling like I hadn't done my best. I was too busy with my coursework to devote any real time to planning; I hated teaching with my cooperating teacher constantly watching me; I went to bed every night and woke up every morning with dread. And if there's one thing of which I am certain, it is that a person's job should not involve daily doses of dread.
And so, when I started working – initially temporarily – as an administrative assistant at a financial recruiting company in New York, I felt relief. I had my life back. I could leave work at the end of the day and stop thinking. I could wake up in the morning and look forward to the day ahead. I could go to the gym, have dinners with my friends, and importantly, I enjoyed a great deal of responsibility at my job, and I felt valued. I had daily doses of praise from my boss. You’re doing a great job, Ellen. Please stay with us. So I did.
Of course, a year and a half later found me fleeing to South America. Work had offered me a promotion, and I wasn’t ready to see my life as a financial recruiter. I had never in my life been remotely interested in finance. The culture nauseated me, but more to the point, the job wasn’t me. It just made no sense.
Teaching has always made sense to me. I’ve always wanted to do something that encourages others to love learning the way I did, growing up (even though I was never an “academic” type). I’ve always wanted to do something that was meaningful and that I could walk away from feeling like I’d at least tried to do something useful for the rest of the world. “Ahhhh, so you’re a keener,” a fellow teacher – and a Canadian – said to me just today. (I guess this is some weird Canadian way of saying you’re idealistic.)
I felt guilty about leaving my Masters degree unused. And when I started looking for jobs at the beginning of this summer, I just HAD to get a teaching job. I knew that if I didn’t try teaching this year, I would likely never get around to it, and that would be something I wouldn’t be able to live with. When I got offered this job in Warsaw, I was elated. I was finally going to be given a chance to tackle this teaching thing I’d been toying around with for so many years. And I was determined to do it right.
Tuesday (Sept. 1) was technically "the first day of school" but didn't require much effort on anyone's part, save the parents, who were expected to be present. We had an all school Welcome To School assembly, at which students met and sat with their homeroom teachers; both the headmistress and the owner of the school gave formal remarks; teachers were introduced; and, of course, parents were treated to a lovely reception afterward.
The parents of this school are a sight. They have money, and they make sure it's obvious to anyone who looks at them. It's gaudy wealth. L.A. wealth. European wealth. It's Coco Chanel sunglasses and huge D&G handbags. It's manicured nails and skimpy clothing. And that's just the mothers. It's a private school, so I expected some overt displays of wealth, but I was genuinely shocked at the tackiness of it all. I actually saw one woman pushing a baby in a stroller, wearing a dark red, flapper-style, mini-dress, complete with layers of fringe. It was noon. Ah, we can't all be as tasteful as everyone at Harpeth Hall, I know.
After the festivities, a large group of teachers organized themselves to go out for a few drinks. I was torn. I still felt like I was not at all ready for the real first day, but I did feel it was important to try to get to know my fellow teachers. One beer couldn't hurt, right? Well, of course I had two, and by the time I got home at 6 PM, I realized I had asked for yet another meltdown. And the worst thing about this particular meltdown was that I couldn't blame anyone else for it. I was furious with myself. Ellen! This was important to you. You were going to do this the right way. This was not how you were going to start the year.
So I gave myself a few slaps on the cheek, banished all of those feelings of self-loathing, and set to work. I stayed up til 1:30 AM.
My dear friend (and a teacher), Melissa, gave me a book called The First Days of School right before I left Nashville in August. Read this book, she told me. Read it over and over until it all sinks in, she told me. If you do everything this book says, you will be fine. But I beg of you, she said, read this book. Generally, I think how-to books are silly, but I read this book. I took notes about the importance of organization and routine. I went over and over the sections on classroom management. Good classroom managers, the book said, do not have to be disciplinarians.
Wednesday morning, my first class walked into the classroom. I had a syllabus for them, outlining the grading procedures for the class and the materials they would need. I had a detailed list of classroom procedures (what to do when you enter the classroom, what to do if you come in late, what to do if you need to go to the bathroom, what to do if you don’t have your homework, etc.). I had a short list of classroom rules – and consequences. I had a seating chart prepared, and I had name-markers on those desks, so those students didn’t need to ask. I welcomed those students at the door. I told them to find their seat and get started on the assignment on the board. And let me tell you something. The first bell rang for the class to begin, and my students were sitting quietly, in their assigned seats, and they were WRITING! They were working. I was exhausted, but I took in the situation and thought, YES! This is exactly what was supposed to happen.
I had just three days of classes that week, but I had met all of my students by Friday, and I felt really positive about the task at hand. That’s all I’m going to say for the moment. I know I haven’t gotten to any of the fun details yet (like how naughty/charming/silly my students are), but I will get there, I promise. You just cannot imagine how busy and chaotic and exhausting the last two weeks have been! And the internet I got for my apartment (another story) isn’t working very well. So. Complications, as usual. But keep harassing me with emails. It actually helps.
Love to you all.
********
Three years ago, I completed a Masters degree in Secondary English Education. While I enjoyed the program, my student teaching experience was a nightmare. I had two classes of 36 eighth graders in a New York City public school and a cooperating teacher with whom I did not cooperate. Her classroom was one of yelling, harsh disciplining, and singling students out. She was constantly telling me I wasn't being hard enough on the students, when to me, a classroom is not a place for yelling. There's no part of learning that requires yelling. I finished up my student teaching feeling like I hadn't done my best. I was too busy with my coursework to devote any real time to planning; I hated teaching with my cooperating teacher constantly watching me; I went to bed every night and woke up every morning with dread. And if there's one thing of which I am certain, it is that a person's job should not involve daily doses of dread.
And so, when I started working – initially temporarily – as an administrative assistant at a financial recruiting company in New York, I felt relief. I had my life back. I could leave work at the end of the day and stop thinking. I could wake up in the morning and look forward to the day ahead. I could go to the gym, have dinners with my friends, and importantly, I enjoyed a great deal of responsibility at my job, and I felt valued. I had daily doses of praise from my boss. You’re doing a great job, Ellen. Please stay with us. So I did.
Of course, a year and a half later found me fleeing to South America. Work had offered me a promotion, and I wasn’t ready to see my life as a financial recruiter. I had never in my life been remotely interested in finance. The culture nauseated me, but more to the point, the job wasn’t me. It just made no sense.
Teaching has always made sense to me. I’ve always wanted to do something that encourages others to love learning the way I did, growing up (even though I was never an “academic” type). I’ve always wanted to do something that was meaningful and that I could walk away from feeling like I’d at least tried to do something useful for the rest of the world. “Ahhhh, so you’re a keener,” a fellow teacher – and a Canadian – said to me just today. (I guess this is some weird Canadian way of saying you’re idealistic.)
I felt guilty about leaving my Masters degree unused. And when I started looking for jobs at the beginning of this summer, I just HAD to get a teaching job. I knew that if I didn’t try teaching this year, I would likely never get around to it, and that would be something I wouldn’t be able to live with. When I got offered this job in Warsaw, I was elated. I was finally going to be given a chance to tackle this teaching thing I’d been toying around with for so many years. And I was determined to do it right.
Tuesday (Sept. 1) was technically "the first day of school" but didn't require much effort on anyone's part, save the parents, who were expected to be present. We had an all school Welcome To School assembly, at which students met and sat with their homeroom teachers; both the headmistress and the owner of the school gave formal remarks; teachers were introduced; and, of course, parents were treated to a lovely reception afterward.
The parents of this school are a sight. They have money, and they make sure it's obvious to anyone who looks at them. It's gaudy wealth. L.A. wealth. European wealth. It's Coco Chanel sunglasses and huge D&G handbags. It's manicured nails and skimpy clothing. And that's just the mothers. It's a private school, so I expected some overt displays of wealth, but I was genuinely shocked at the tackiness of it all. I actually saw one woman pushing a baby in a stroller, wearing a dark red, flapper-style, mini-dress, complete with layers of fringe. It was noon. Ah, we can't all be as tasteful as everyone at Harpeth Hall, I know.
After the festivities, a large group of teachers organized themselves to go out for a few drinks. I was torn. I still felt like I was not at all ready for the real first day, but I did feel it was important to try to get to know my fellow teachers. One beer couldn't hurt, right? Well, of course I had two, and by the time I got home at 6 PM, I realized I had asked for yet another meltdown. And the worst thing about this particular meltdown was that I couldn't blame anyone else for it. I was furious with myself. Ellen! This was important to you. You were going to do this the right way. This was not how you were going to start the year.
So I gave myself a few slaps on the cheek, banished all of those feelings of self-loathing, and set to work. I stayed up til 1:30 AM.
My dear friend (and a teacher), Melissa, gave me a book called The First Days of School right before I left Nashville in August. Read this book, she told me. Read it over and over until it all sinks in, she told me. If you do everything this book says, you will be fine. But I beg of you, she said, read this book. Generally, I think how-to books are silly, but I read this book. I took notes about the importance of organization and routine. I went over and over the sections on classroom management. Good classroom managers, the book said, do not have to be disciplinarians.
Wednesday morning, my first class walked into the classroom. I had a syllabus for them, outlining the grading procedures for the class and the materials they would need. I had a detailed list of classroom procedures (what to do when you enter the classroom, what to do if you come in late, what to do if you need to go to the bathroom, what to do if you don’t have your homework, etc.). I had a short list of classroom rules – and consequences. I had a seating chart prepared, and I had name-markers on those desks, so those students didn’t need to ask. I welcomed those students at the door. I told them to find their seat and get started on the assignment on the board. And let me tell you something. The first bell rang for the class to begin, and my students were sitting quietly, in their assigned seats, and they were WRITING! They were working. I was exhausted, but I took in the situation and thought, YES! This is exactly what was supposed to happen.
I had just three days of classes that week, but I had met all of my students by Friday, and I felt really positive about the task at hand. That’s all I’m going to say for the moment. I know I haven’t gotten to any of the fun details yet (like how naughty/charming/silly my students are), but I will get there, I promise. You just cannot imagine how busy and chaotic and exhausting the last two weeks have been! And the internet I got for my apartment (another story) isn’t working very well. So. Complications, as usual. But keep harassing me with emails. It actually helps.
Love to you all.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Someone's Teacher
I had been out on an evening stroll around Warsaw for all of five minutes when my stomach dropped. A terrifying thought popped into my head. What if I run into one of my students on the street?
It's Friday night, and I am someone's teacher. I have not just survived my first week; I think I've actually succeeded in having a good first week. But I feel like I've been run over by a big yellow school bus, and so, at 8:55 PM Warsaw time, Ms. Bucy is getting into bed.
Further updates tomorrow.
It's Friday night, and I am someone's teacher. I have not just survived my first week; I think I've actually succeeded in having a good first week. But I feel like I've been run over by a big yellow school bus, and so, at 8:55 PM Warsaw time, Ms. Bucy is getting into bed.
Further updates tomorrow.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tears and Cookies
Bjorn read yesterday's blog entry, and when I asked him if he thought it was an accurate account of the last few days, he hesitated. Well, he said, you're sort of leaving out some of the, um, low points. Ahh, yes. The low points!
I have cried every day this week. I cried Monday morning when I said goodbye to Bjorn. Not a big, heaving, let it all out, kind of cry, just a few minutes of boo hooing. It was to be expected. I knew it would happen before it happened. I collected myself - I had to - and moved on to the school for an enlightening day of medical testing and safety lectures. That evening, I went to go see an apartment (the expensive one I told you yesterday I had taken) and got completely lost coming home. Warsaw, as it turns out, is nothing like New York City. The streets do not have numbers for names, and if you don't have a map, forget it. I returned to the hotel exhausted, angry, and starving, so I went across the street to the MarcPol supermarket and bought a package of cookies and a large beer for dinner.
Tuesday. I had a short meeting at school with all teachers present. It was totally disorganized, and the teachers were unbelievably rudely talking over Ms. Mira during the whole meeting. Pieces of information were just getting thrown out at random. This is how we do this, this is how we do that. But are we going to put this all in writing for you? No. After the meeting, my new friend, Monica, (Polish and has just come from living in the states for six years - AND went to Nashville and loved it!) asked me if I wanted to come into the city center with her. She thought we could perhaps buy the classified newspaper, and she could help me look for an apartment, since everything is in Polish. What a nice gesture! So we did this, made many phone calls, and got nothing back. Places were already rented, or no one answered the phone. Nothing. I returned to the hotel, again around dinner time, again exhausted and frustrated and starving, but determined to have a REAL dinner. So I went to a sushi place in the neighborhood and spent too much money on sushi. It was delicious, but I felt guilty, as I really don't have any spare money these days. I was supposed to have a phone call with my father later that evening, which I had been looking forward to all day, but the Skype connection was terrible, and I could hardly hear him speaking. All I wanted was a few minutes of father comforting, and I ended up having to hang up without really saying goodbye. I cried - this time a big, fat cry - and went to bed. Oh, and, in an emotionally driven act of desperation, I agreed to take the expensive apartment through the end of December. I was supposed to be out of the hotel the following day, and I just didn't know what else to do.
Wednesday. Oh boy. This was a great day. Woke up immediately regretting my decision to take the expensive apartment. Monica and I had seen some MUCH cheaper apartments in the classifieds, and it was just really irritating to pay twice as much as I could. I showed up at school for yet another round of meetings, worse than the day before. We discussed school policies on discipline - what kinds of infractions are worthy of detention, etc. Excuse me, my friend Kathy said. Kathy is a 60ish year old British woman - and the only other non-Polish speaker at the school who is brand new. Is there a behavior policy written down somewhere? Mira scrambled, people started talking over her, and the question was never really answered. I later attended the Middle Years meeting and was totally overwhelmed with the masses of information being shoved upon me. I was expected to go ahead and make an order for the books and notebooks I wanted my stduents to have. Um, I'm sorry. You just showed me the program YESTERDAY. Do you think I am ready to order books?
Meanwhile, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had made a big mistake with my apartment. I finally went to a computer at the school and shot off an email to the owner, saying I had changed my mind and I was very sorry. (Of course, I started re-thinking THAT decision within about 10 minutes.) I left school in a huff, and went home to eat lunch sitting in my hotel room - cookies and a cup of yogurt I had stolen from the breakfast buffet that morning. I got on the phone with Bjorn and just exploded. I'm sick of eating COOKIES for meals! I am sick of not being able to buy things at the grocery store that I can refrigerate or cook! I'm sick of the school being so freaking disorganized! I'm sick of wondering where I'm going to sleep the next night! I'm sick of being stressed about money! This was the biggest cry, up to that moment. I had to get toilet paper from the bathroom. Mascara was running down my puffy, red face. Snot was pouring out of my nose.
I finally collected myself, and determined that I really needed to get back to the school and try to talk to some people. I needed perhaps to explain to Mira that I was extremely stressed out about my living situation. I needed to ask her if the school would pay for a few more nights at the hotel. I needed to find Kathy or Monica and talk to them about their apartment searching progress. But when I got back to the school, things had quieted down, and the school secretary, Anna, told me everyone had left. We chatted for a few minutes, but she started asking me questions like, Are you scared? and, Have you found a place to live? I had to bite my lip to keep from crying in front of her. I quickly left the school, put my sunglasses on, and wept, as I returned, defeated, to the Hotel Dipservice. On my way, I tried to stop at a kiosk and buy some extra credit for my cell phone, but the woman didn't speak any English, and that started another round of tears. Safe inside my hotel room, I just let it go. I cried and cried and cried.
But! The wonderfully strange thing about being human is that amidst such conditions (which I know are perhaps very petty compared to some, but they are mine), you can find a way to talk yourself out of it. You gather yourself. You try to start over. You recognize that there's nothing you can do to solve anything at 5 PM, so you might as well do something productive. So you read one of the books you're expected to teach and try to start planning for your classes. You realize that fresh air might help things, so you get out for a walk. You try again to get the extra credit for your phone and feel victorious at succeeding this time. You eat dinner at McDonald's, and though it's McDonald's, and it's gross, those french fries sure do put you in better frame of mind AND you don't have to feel guilty about spending too much money. And, when you finally return to the hotel, you find your friend Kathy sitting in the lobby, and you spend the rest of the evening talking, commiserating, and delighting in just having someone to talk to in person. Someone who can tell you it's okay that you're feeling like such a wreck.
So, yes, there have been some low points this week. And I'm still looking for an apartment. I'm still in the damned Hotel Dipservice. I'm still feeling extremely lost and overwhelmed with my job. But I'm determined to stick this out. And I'm determined to not cry today.
I have cried every day this week. I cried Monday morning when I said goodbye to Bjorn. Not a big, heaving, let it all out, kind of cry, just a few minutes of boo hooing. It was to be expected. I knew it would happen before it happened. I collected myself - I had to - and moved on to the school for an enlightening day of medical testing and safety lectures. That evening, I went to go see an apartment (the expensive one I told you yesterday I had taken) and got completely lost coming home. Warsaw, as it turns out, is nothing like New York City. The streets do not have numbers for names, and if you don't have a map, forget it. I returned to the hotel exhausted, angry, and starving, so I went across the street to the MarcPol supermarket and bought a package of cookies and a large beer for dinner.
Tuesday. I had a short meeting at school with all teachers present. It was totally disorganized, and the teachers were unbelievably rudely talking over Ms. Mira during the whole meeting. Pieces of information were just getting thrown out at random. This is how we do this, this is how we do that. But are we going to put this all in writing for you? No. After the meeting, my new friend, Monica, (Polish and has just come from living in the states for six years - AND went to Nashville and loved it!) asked me if I wanted to come into the city center with her. She thought we could perhaps buy the classified newspaper, and she could help me look for an apartment, since everything is in Polish. What a nice gesture! So we did this, made many phone calls, and got nothing back. Places were already rented, or no one answered the phone. Nothing. I returned to the hotel, again around dinner time, again exhausted and frustrated and starving, but determined to have a REAL dinner. So I went to a sushi place in the neighborhood and spent too much money on sushi. It was delicious, but I felt guilty, as I really don't have any spare money these days. I was supposed to have a phone call with my father later that evening, which I had been looking forward to all day, but the Skype connection was terrible, and I could hardly hear him speaking. All I wanted was a few minutes of father comforting, and I ended up having to hang up without really saying goodbye. I cried - this time a big, fat cry - and went to bed. Oh, and, in an emotionally driven act of desperation, I agreed to take the expensive apartment through the end of December. I was supposed to be out of the hotel the following day, and I just didn't know what else to do.
Wednesday. Oh boy. This was a great day. Woke up immediately regretting my decision to take the expensive apartment. Monica and I had seen some MUCH cheaper apartments in the classifieds, and it was just really irritating to pay twice as much as I could. I showed up at school for yet another round of meetings, worse than the day before. We discussed school policies on discipline - what kinds of infractions are worthy of detention, etc. Excuse me, my friend Kathy said. Kathy is a 60ish year old British woman - and the only other non-Polish speaker at the school who is brand new. Is there a behavior policy written down somewhere? Mira scrambled, people started talking over her, and the question was never really answered. I later attended the Middle Years meeting and was totally overwhelmed with the masses of information being shoved upon me. I was expected to go ahead and make an order for the books and notebooks I wanted my stduents to have. Um, I'm sorry. You just showed me the program YESTERDAY. Do you think I am ready to order books?
Meanwhile, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had made a big mistake with my apartment. I finally went to a computer at the school and shot off an email to the owner, saying I had changed my mind and I was very sorry. (Of course, I started re-thinking THAT decision within about 10 minutes.) I left school in a huff, and went home to eat lunch sitting in my hotel room - cookies and a cup of yogurt I had stolen from the breakfast buffet that morning. I got on the phone with Bjorn and just exploded. I'm sick of eating COOKIES for meals! I am sick of not being able to buy things at the grocery store that I can refrigerate or cook! I'm sick of the school being so freaking disorganized! I'm sick of wondering where I'm going to sleep the next night! I'm sick of being stressed about money! This was the biggest cry, up to that moment. I had to get toilet paper from the bathroom. Mascara was running down my puffy, red face. Snot was pouring out of my nose.
I finally collected myself, and determined that I really needed to get back to the school and try to talk to some people. I needed perhaps to explain to Mira that I was extremely stressed out about my living situation. I needed to ask her if the school would pay for a few more nights at the hotel. I needed to find Kathy or Monica and talk to them about their apartment searching progress. But when I got back to the school, things had quieted down, and the school secretary, Anna, told me everyone had left. We chatted for a few minutes, but she started asking me questions like, Are you scared? and, Have you found a place to live? I had to bite my lip to keep from crying in front of her. I quickly left the school, put my sunglasses on, and wept, as I returned, defeated, to the Hotel Dipservice. On my way, I tried to stop at a kiosk and buy some extra credit for my cell phone, but the woman didn't speak any English, and that started another round of tears. Safe inside my hotel room, I just let it go. I cried and cried and cried.
But! The wonderfully strange thing about being human is that amidst such conditions (which I know are perhaps very petty compared to some, but they are mine), you can find a way to talk yourself out of it. You gather yourself. You try to start over. You recognize that there's nothing you can do to solve anything at 5 PM, so you might as well do something productive. So you read one of the books you're expected to teach and try to start planning for your classes. You realize that fresh air might help things, so you get out for a walk. You try again to get the extra credit for your phone and feel victorious at succeeding this time. You eat dinner at McDonald's, and though it's McDonald's, and it's gross, those french fries sure do put you in better frame of mind AND you don't have to feel guilty about spending too much money. And, when you finally return to the hotel, you find your friend Kathy sitting in the lobby, and you spend the rest of the evening talking, commiserating, and delighting in just having someone to talk to in person. Someone who can tell you it's okay that you're feeling like such a wreck.
So, yes, there have been some low points this week. And I'm still looking for an apartment. I'm still in the damned Hotel Dipservice. I'm still feeling extremely lost and overwhelmed with my job. But I'm determined to stick this out. And I'm determined to not cry today.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
I Don't Speak Polish (or, Hi, Do You Speak Any English?)
I'm sitting in my teeny single room at the Hotel Dipservice (and I hope "dipservice" means something of significance in Polish). It is Wednesday morning, and I've now been in Warsaw, Poland, for a whole week! It has been an eventful week, and I'll try to tell you about the highlights, but I do intend to start keeping the blog more regularly now, so stay tuned. Officially back from summer vacation!
I arrived in Warsaw last Wednesday, after a week in Sweden. Bjorn came with me, and we were greeted at the airport by Ania, a teacher at the school, who was holding a sign with my name on it!
After introductions, the first thing Ania said was, Good news! You're not going to be with the little kids anymore! They found someone else who was very keen to work with the little ones, so they've moved you up to middle school - teaching English literature and language! Well, I think this was good news, at least. I've spent the last three weeks getting excited about the idea of second grade, and now, with just ten days before the students arrive, I have to change gears!
Ania led us to the cute, little school van, with the IES logo on it, where a driver was waiting to whisk us away to the hotel, where we were to have our first of many laughts at its name. Ania is a petite thirty-something woman, and though I can't quite pinpoint what it is, there's something very Eastern European about her. She teaches middle and high school chemistry at the school and has been there for 5 years, and as far as she knows, she knows everything about everything.
The van took us through some fairly unremarkable scenery into Wilanow (and the w is pronounced as a v here), a residential neighborhood about 8 km south of the city center. Wilanow is apparently where all the wealthy folks live, and it feels very suburban. Tree-lined streets are filled with large homes with expensive cars parked outside. But don't think Golf Club Lane. The houses are smaller, and they sit on small pieces of land, each enclosed by a gate.
There's something about Warsaw that continually reminds me of some of the big cities of South America. Things feel vaguely European, but without the polish and shine of "Europe". Patches of grass next to sidewalks grow wild, untrimmed, making things look a mess to someone who grew up in the land of manicured lawns. But things aren't a mess; people just don't prioritize grass cutting. Instead there are trash cans on every corner, which people do put their trash into, and special boxes for doggie poo. So things are certainly not dirty, by any means, just pehaps a bit - je ne sais pas.
I threw my things down in the hotel room, and then, with Ania leading, made the short walk over to the school. IES is a pre-K through 12 school, and the school is spread out into three separate buildings within a 2 block radius. These buildings are really more like residentail houses, and they are all very attractive from the outside, done in a Californian white with orange tiled roof.
The main administrative offices of the school are in the primary school building, and when we walked in, things were very much in disarray. Men drilling things, huge boxes of books sitting everywhere - a work in progress, I suppose. And after touring around the building a bit, I saw that none of the rooms were decorated yet, which was actually rather comforting. One of my largest anxieties prior to arriving was that I would be behind everyone. I'd walk around the school peering in everyone else's perfect rooms and then come to mine, barren and empty. And then, of course, all of the other teachers would sneer and laugh at me for being so completely inexperience and unprepared, and I'd probably run away crying. But everyone was unprepared! How wonderful!
At the center of all this mess was Ms. Mira, the headmistress of the school and my main contact at the school thus far. Ms. Mira is an attractive woman in her late forties, I'd guess. She has short, wavy, dyed blonde hair, and a curvaceous figure, which she accentuates with her dress, more than you might expect a headmistress to. Not in a tacky way, though. Just not Harpeth Hall. Mira is Polish, but she lived in the States for 11 years (which, maybe oddly, always makes me feel closer to someone). Nothing of her manner suggests a person of authority, really. She's incredibly friendly, and sort of endearingly discombobulated. Whenever she says hi to you, it's as if she's just walked out of a gruelling four hour meeting, and she has 800 things to do before 5:00. But with a smile and a laugh! Mira and I had a short chat, and we made plans to go out to lunch the following day, which I appreciated.
Aside from that lunch, the next several days were pretty much mine and Bjorn's. The school had given me a list of apartments in the neighborhood that an agent was offering, and the hope was that Bjorn and I would spend the weekend getting me settled in - finding an apartment, dealing with cell phone business, getting acquainted with the city.
The apartment search has unfortunately not been a walk in the park, and I can't say the school has been all that helpful. Well, the school has been somewhat helpful, but they are really only able to put me in touch with agents, whose apartments are the most expensive in the city, and they charge a fat agent fee on top of it all. We went to see two very depressing apartments on Friday morning - even further out of the city than Wilanow, in a sterile and isolated neighborhood, in a sterile and isolated apartment building that smelled like cigarettes and felt like a hotel. I don't want to be picky, but I do feel like the upcoming year has the potential to be a scary and lonely one, and I think a depressing apartment will only make things worse if I've had a bad day. I also feel strongly that if I'm going to live in Warsaw for a year, I'd like to live in Warsaw. I'd like to walk out of my apartment and get a little...local flavor!
After hitting a total dead-end with the apartment searching (any classifieds out there are all in Polish!), we decided to spend some time being tourists. And let me just say, Warsaw is a fabulous city. I was shocked, actually. It seems unfair to me that WWII could make everyone feel like Poland is a scary place and not...Germany. Tourists flock to Germany! But not Poland. Well, it will be our little secret, then, because Warsaw is charming, beautiful, and full of life. And when you walk around the streets and realize that 60 years or so ago, the entire city was in complete ruins, it's even more impressive.
Of course, there is a kind of darkness that hangs over the city. Walking down a street, you might notice a spot on a building where flowers and candles have been left, and you remember that this was a place where someone was executed during the war.
But then you walk into the main market square of Old Town, and music is playing, outdoor restaurants are serving drinks, people are wandering around eating ice creams and taking photos - all against the backdrop of these exquisite, colorful townhouses. We sat out here and had a beer one afternoon, and I mean, I could have sat there all afternoon. I'm not sure if I can think of a more pleasant place. And I've seen a few pleasant places!
We walked the hell out of this city over the weekend, and I now feel like I have a fairly good grip on the layout of the place. What I do not even have a slippery grip of is the language. Mira encouraged me to not be afraid to just ask people if they speak English because, especially if you ask a young person, your chances are pretty good of finding someone who does. But still, it's embarrassing to have to start every single conversation with, Do you speak English? And every time someone speaks to you first in Polish, you have to say, I don't speak Polish. It's a crazy language. Nothing is pronounced the way you think it is, and the street names are seriously complicated. And while this was all sort of amusing when Bjorn was still here, and we could feel ridiculous together, now that I'm on my own, it's just plain irritating.
But I am reminded of my first week or two in Buenos Aires, when I pretty much refused to go anywhere that would require me attemping to talk to anyone. And that DID get better. After two months, I could communicate! I get the sense that Polish is much, much harder than Spanish, but perhaps I will be able to learn at least enough to ask for a bus ticket or order a meal without feeling like a 2 year old. We shall see.
Bjorn left on Monday morning, at which time I started a week of meetings and school related activities. I am still in the Hotel Dipservice, and my week of free stay here ends today. I have tentatively agreed to move into a super nice apartment tomorrrow morning (and I do LOVE the apartment, but I do not love the price) through the end of December. However, if someone else comes along today, I am going to jump on it. I haven't signed a contract yet, and no money has been exchanged.
At any rate, week one is over, and though tears of frustration have already been shed, I feel very positive about what I am getting into. It is going to be an incredibly challenging year, but I am ready for it. I'm very ready to work again (and not as a waitress), and I couldn't be happier with the city I've landed in.
I have a few new photos up if you are interested - http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy . More soon. Much love to you ALL!
And PS - I'm sort of thinking I may have to lock this blog up. Seems dangerous to leave it open to the public...if I want to really tell you EVERYTHING! But we'll see.
I arrived in Warsaw last Wednesday, after a week in Sweden. Bjorn came with me, and we were greeted at the airport by Ania, a teacher at the school, who was holding a sign with my name on it!
After introductions, the first thing Ania said was, Good news! You're not going to be with the little kids anymore! They found someone else who was very keen to work with the little ones, so they've moved you up to middle school - teaching English literature and language! Well, I think this was good news, at least. I've spent the last three weeks getting excited about the idea of second grade, and now, with just ten days before the students arrive, I have to change gears!
Ania led us to the cute, little school van, with the IES logo on it, where a driver was waiting to whisk us away to the hotel, where we were to have our first of many laughts at its name. Ania is a petite thirty-something woman, and though I can't quite pinpoint what it is, there's something very Eastern European about her. She teaches middle and high school chemistry at the school and has been there for 5 years, and as far as she knows, she knows everything about everything.
The van took us through some fairly unremarkable scenery into Wilanow (and the w is pronounced as a v here), a residential neighborhood about 8 km south of the city center. Wilanow is apparently where all the wealthy folks live, and it feels very suburban. Tree-lined streets are filled with large homes with expensive cars parked outside. But don't think Golf Club Lane. The houses are smaller, and they sit on small pieces of land, each enclosed by a gate.
There's something about Warsaw that continually reminds me of some of the big cities of South America. Things feel vaguely European, but without the polish and shine of "Europe". Patches of grass next to sidewalks grow wild, untrimmed, making things look a mess to someone who grew up in the land of manicured lawns. But things aren't a mess; people just don't prioritize grass cutting. Instead there are trash cans on every corner, which people do put their trash into, and special boxes for doggie poo. So things are certainly not dirty, by any means, just pehaps a bit - je ne sais pas.
I threw my things down in the hotel room, and then, with Ania leading, made the short walk over to the school. IES is a pre-K through 12 school, and the school is spread out into three separate buildings within a 2 block radius. These buildings are really more like residentail houses, and they are all very attractive from the outside, done in a Californian white with orange tiled roof.
The main administrative offices of the school are in the primary school building, and when we walked in, things were very much in disarray. Men drilling things, huge boxes of books sitting everywhere - a work in progress, I suppose. And after touring around the building a bit, I saw that none of the rooms were decorated yet, which was actually rather comforting. One of my largest anxieties prior to arriving was that I would be behind everyone. I'd walk around the school peering in everyone else's perfect rooms and then come to mine, barren and empty. And then, of course, all of the other teachers would sneer and laugh at me for being so completely inexperience and unprepared, and I'd probably run away crying. But everyone was unprepared! How wonderful!
At the center of all this mess was Ms. Mira, the headmistress of the school and my main contact at the school thus far. Ms. Mira is an attractive woman in her late forties, I'd guess. She has short, wavy, dyed blonde hair, and a curvaceous figure, which she accentuates with her dress, more than you might expect a headmistress to. Not in a tacky way, though. Just not Harpeth Hall. Mira is Polish, but she lived in the States for 11 years (which, maybe oddly, always makes me feel closer to someone). Nothing of her manner suggests a person of authority, really. She's incredibly friendly, and sort of endearingly discombobulated. Whenever she says hi to you, it's as if she's just walked out of a gruelling four hour meeting, and she has 800 things to do before 5:00. But with a smile and a laugh! Mira and I had a short chat, and we made plans to go out to lunch the following day, which I appreciated.
Aside from that lunch, the next several days were pretty much mine and Bjorn's. The school had given me a list of apartments in the neighborhood that an agent was offering, and the hope was that Bjorn and I would spend the weekend getting me settled in - finding an apartment, dealing with cell phone business, getting acquainted with the city.
The apartment search has unfortunately not been a walk in the park, and I can't say the school has been all that helpful. Well, the school has been somewhat helpful, but they are really only able to put me in touch with agents, whose apartments are the most expensive in the city, and they charge a fat agent fee on top of it all. We went to see two very depressing apartments on Friday morning - even further out of the city than Wilanow, in a sterile and isolated neighborhood, in a sterile and isolated apartment building that smelled like cigarettes and felt like a hotel. I don't want to be picky, but I do feel like the upcoming year has the potential to be a scary and lonely one, and I think a depressing apartment will only make things worse if I've had a bad day. I also feel strongly that if I'm going to live in Warsaw for a year, I'd like to live in Warsaw. I'd like to walk out of my apartment and get a little...local flavor!
After hitting a total dead-end with the apartment searching (any classifieds out there are all in Polish!), we decided to spend some time being tourists. And let me just say, Warsaw is a fabulous city. I was shocked, actually. It seems unfair to me that WWII could make everyone feel like Poland is a scary place and not...Germany. Tourists flock to Germany! But not Poland. Well, it will be our little secret, then, because Warsaw is charming, beautiful, and full of life. And when you walk around the streets and realize that 60 years or so ago, the entire city was in complete ruins, it's even more impressive.
Of course, there is a kind of darkness that hangs over the city. Walking down a street, you might notice a spot on a building where flowers and candles have been left, and you remember that this was a place where someone was executed during the war.
But then you walk into the main market square of Old Town, and music is playing, outdoor restaurants are serving drinks, people are wandering around eating ice creams and taking photos - all against the backdrop of these exquisite, colorful townhouses. We sat out here and had a beer one afternoon, and I mean, I could have sat there all afternoon. I'm not sure if I can think of a more pleasant place. And I've seen a few pleasant places!
We walked the hell out of this city over the weekend, and I now feel like I have a fairly good grip on the layout of the place. What I do not even have a slippery grip of is the language. Mira encouraged me to not be afraid to just ask people if they speak English because, especially if you ask a young person, your chances are pretty good of finding someone who does. But still, it's embarrassing to have to start every single conversation with, Do you speak English? And every time someone speaks to you first in Polish, you have to say, I don't speak Polish. It's a crazy language. Nothing is pronounced the way you think it is, and the street names are seriously complicated. And while this was all sort of amusing when Bjorn was still here, and we could feel ridiculous together, now that I'm on my own, it's just plain irritating.
But I am reminded of my first week or two in Buenos Aires, when I pretty much refused to go anywhere that would require me attemping to talk to anyone. And that DID get better. After two months, I could communicate! I get the sense that Polish is much, much harder than Spanish, but perhaps I will be able to learn at least enough to ask for a bus ticket or order a meal without feeling like a 2 year old. We shall see.
Bjorn left on Monday morning, at which time I started a week of meetings and school related activities. I am still in the Hotel Dipservice, and my week of free stay here ends today. I have tentatively agreed to move into a super nice apartment tomorrrow morning (and I do LOVE the apartment, but I do not love the price) through the end of December. However, if someone else comes along today, I am going to jump on it. I haven't signed a contract yet, and no money has been exchanged.
At any rate, week one is over, and though tears of frustration have already been shed, I feel very positive about what I am getting into. It is going to be an incredibly challenging year, but I am ready for it. I'm very ready to work again (and not as a waitress), and I couldn't be happier with the city I've landed in.
I have a few new photos up if you are interested - http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy . More soon. Much love to you ALL!
And PS - I'm sort of thinking I may have to lock this blog up. Seems dangerous to leave it open to the public...if I want to really tell you EVERYTHING! But we'll see.
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