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.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
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.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Starting A New Chapter
Hello, all! Sorry for the lapse in writing, but I have been in Nashville for the last two weeks, completely consumed with job searching, recovering from jet lag, and avoiding running into people that want to ask me 103 questions about my life.
But today is a new day, and I am ready for questions! This is entirely due to the fact that I NOW have a plan!
Several weeks ago, in an act of desperation, I went onto the US embassy to Poland's website and found their listings of international schools in Poland. In general, access to international school teaching positions is limited to those who go through the proper lines of communication - big international school recruiters. These recruiters charge $200, let you attend a big fair with a bunch of international school representatives, and you can likely get a job.
Of course, most schools try to do all their hiring in February, so I was a bit late to get involved in the official recruiting process, not to mention I did not think it necessary to spend $200. So I took my list of schools in Poland and just blasted them all with my resume. I figured it was at least worth a try.
And, by some great miracle, amidst the thank-you-but-no emails that came back to me, there was one from Mira, the headmistress of the International European School in Warsaw, Poland. They were very impressed with my resume, she said. Would I be interested in a primary school position or a middle school history position?
So we started emailing back and forth, trying to find a time to schedule a phone interview, and last Thursday, we finally connected. We had an extremely brief conversation, and I told her that though I had no real experience teaching younger children, I was just certain I could do it.
And apparently that was enough for her! A degree and a positive attitude! On Tuesday, I had an email from her offering me the job, and did I accept? You bet I did. This is the DREAM job. In all my moping, I kept thinking, "if only that Warsaw school would work out! It would be perfect!"
Come September 1st, I will be teaching second grade at the International European School in Warsaw. The school is K-12 and is fairly small - only 200 students in total, with a limit of 12 students per classroom. The students will have a variety of backgrounds - Polish children whose parents want them to have an English education, children of American or British expatriates, etc. And of course, all classes in the school are taught in English (lucky for me!).
This job is going to give me medical benefits, a salary of more than twice that of language schools (that's right, Jason Michaels), and a regular, Monday through Friday schedule. I can't say that I know much of anything about Poland (or 2nd graders, for that matter), but I DO think that this is going to be a wonderful challenge and experience. I am absolutely thrilled.
And, of course, from a relationship standpoint, this is the next best thing to actually being in Sweden. There are budget airlines that have direct flights from Warsaw to Gothenburg (where Bjorn will be in school) for $50! And it's a 1.5 hour flight!
I hesitate to say that it's going to be perfect, but...
All of this is to say, the blog will go on. I'm sure being in Warsaw teaching second graders will provide excellent writing material.
A few recent photos - http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy. Much love to you all!
But today is a new day, and I am ready for questions! This is entirely due to the fact that I NOW have a plan!
Several weeks ago, in an act of desperation, I went onto the US embassy to Poland's website and found their listings of international schools in Poland. In general, access to international school teaching positions is limited to those who go through the proper lines of communication - big international school recruiters. These recruiters charge $200, let you attend a big fair with a bunch of international school representatives, and you can likely get a job.
Of course, most schools try to do all their hiring in February, so I was a bit late to get involved in the official recruiting process, not to mention I did not think it necessary to spend $200. So I took my list of schools in Poland and just blasted them all with my resume. I figured it was at least worth a try.
And, by some great miracle, amidst the thank-you-but-no emails that came back to me, there was one from Mira, the headmistress of the International European School in Warsaw, Poland. They were very impressed with my resume, she said. Would I be interested in a primary school position or a middle school history position?
So we started emailing back and forth, trying to find a time to schedule a phone interview, and last Thursday, we finally connected. We had an extremely brief conversation, and I told her that though I had no real experience teaching younger children, I was just certain I could do it.
And apparently that was enough for her! A degree and a positive attitude! On Tuesday, I had an email from her offering me the job, and did I accept? You bet I did. This is the DREAM job. In all my moping, I kept thinking, "if only that Warsaw school would work out! It would be perfect!"
Come September 1st, I will be teaching second grade at the International European School in Warsaw. The school is K-12 and is fairly small - only 200 students in total, with a limit of 12 students per classroom. The students will have a variety of backgrounds - Polish children whose parents want them to have an English education, children of American or British expatriates, etc. And of course, all classes in the school are taught in English (lucky for me!).
This job is going to give me medical benefits, a salary of more than twice that of language schools (that's right, Jason Michaels), and a regular, Monday through Friday schedule. I can't say that I know much of anything about Poland (or 2nd graders, for that matter), but I DO think that this is going to be a wonderful challenge and experience. I am absolutely thrilled.
And, of course, from a relationship standpoint, this is the next best thing to actually being in Sweden. There are budget airlines that have direct flights from Warsaw to Gothenburg (where Bjorn will be in school) for $50! And it's a 1.5 hour flight!
I hesitate to say that it's going to be perfect, but...
All of this is to say, the blog will go on. I'm sure being in Warsaw teaching second graders will provide excellent writing material.
A few recent photos - http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy. Much love to you all!
Monday, June 29, 2009
The Worst Job Interview Ever
Thursday morning, admist packing for a weekend trip to Vaxjo (home of Johan and Sofia), I checked my email. Checking my email has become an obsession lately. I click that "enter" button on my gmail account and just pray that someone is about to tell me they want ME to work for them, that someone is finally going to decide my near future for me.
Sadly, my inbox is usually pretty empty of job-related matter. But Thursday morning, I had an email from the Intensity School of English in Rybnik, Poland. The subject line was "Interview".
My stomach dropped when I saw that word - it could only mean one thing! And, indeed, upon opening the email, my suspicious were confirmed. They wanted to have a phone interview with me at 8 PM that night. All I needed to do was confirm the time with them and send them the number of a landline on which they could reach me.
The five hour drive down to Vaxjo (pronounced Veh-qua), was a happy ride. It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day, and we were back on the road, listening to music, and high on the possibility of things actually working out. ("Working out" has gradually come to mean getting a job teaching English in a nearby Eastern European country, since Sweden is an impossibility.) I'd be in Poland, Bjorn would be in Sweden, and we could easily see each other every two or three weeks. We'd just be a two hour plane ride away from each other and in the same time zone!
The day passed, and after dinner, Johan, Sofia, Bjorn, and I, all got in the car and drove a short distance to Sofia's father's office, the site of the confirmed landline where my interviewer would reach me. I sat in the small office, behind a huge l-shaped desk, for about twenty minutes, feeling giddy and nervous, and waiting for the damned phone to ring.
At 8:01 PM, the phone finally rang. Jason Michaels, from the Intensity School of English, introduced himself briefly, and the interview began. There was no small talk, no getting to know you conversation, no warm up. Just straight to the questions, the first awful one being "Why Poland?" Well, I'm an honesty girl, perhaps because I'm no good at lying, so I don't even bother trying. And it probably wasn't the right thing to do in the situation, but I told him that it frankly had a lot to do with my relationship. I told him I knew that I wanted to teach English this year, and the location really wasn't that important to me, but if I could be somewhere close to Sweden, that would be ideal. (I'm cringing as I write this - are you?)
The next question was: What qualities do you think you have that would make you a good teacher? I answered that one pretty well, I think, but this interview was already not going well. I was so thrown off by the way the conversation started (or didn't start) that my pre-interview nervousness was quadrupled. My voice was shaking ever so slightly as I spoke, and words - common, every day words, like school or happy - just vanished from my head as I tried to form sentences. I could not speak properly to save my life.
"Okay, let's now do a little exercise," Jason said, after he'd asked his first two (and only two) slightly personal questions. "I'm going to give you a word, and I want you to imagine you are teaching this word to a class of beginner English learners. I want you to define the word and use it in a sentence. The first word is the verb "cause"."
This just took me to a new level of utter panic and unpreparedness. I was NOT expecting this. I managed to stammer out some kind of definition (though I cannot recollect what on earth I said), but when it came to using it in a sentence, I just couldn't do it. I was trying to think of the most perfect sentence - one that didn't involve any complex verb structures (You can't say "could cause" to a group of beginners because they don't know "could".). I sat silently for a good 10 seconds or so before Jason Michaels said, "Okay, let's move on to the next one."
Good Jesus. Please make this interview end.
Jason Michaels' fun little word game did get a little better (a little better meaning I was at least able to say something). But he, of course, chose all confusing words - wise, compare, proud, should. Given a little time and a piece of paper, I could beautifully define these words for a group of beginners. I could probably even use them in a sentence! But in this situation...it wasn't ideal, to say the least.
We then moved into what seemed like a short grammar quiz: Do you know what a gerund is? Can you explain the difference between quick and quickly? How would you explain the difference between look and see? Can you identify the verb in the sentence, "Teaching is fun."? Um, LOOK, Jason Michaels. I am NOT an idiot, and I have had just about enough of this!
Finally, probably about 10 minutes after the phone rang, Jason Michaels told me that he was finished with "his" part of the "interview". Did I have any questions? I managed to fill up probably another ten minutes with questions, which may have redeemed me somewhat - my voice finally leveled out, and I had prepared some excellent questions, if I do say so. When I was finished, Jason Michaels informed me that they'd be making decisions in two weeks, and they'd let me know. And it was over.
As we drove back to Johan and Sofia's apartment, I just felt wretched. I felt angry, embarrassed, stupid, and amused, all at once. How did I manage to blow this ONE opportunity I was presented with? HOW? And HOW could that have been the interview? They didn't try to get to know me at all! Do they not care about personality or fit? Do they just want someone who knows what a gerund is? And hmmm, come to think of it, damnit! I completely screwed up the definition of a gerund. Ellen! I don't want to work at stupid Jason Michaels' school, anyway! He wasn't even nice! He didn't even speak English as a native language!
Yes, yes. Lessons learned. I know, I'll never be this unprepared again. Or this caught off guard. And every interview is a learning experience. Yadda yadda. But it was awful. And really weird. The next day, I woke up and thought, "Did that REALLY happen?"
And I'm probably overreacting. I probably didn't do nearly as badly as I thought I did. In the back of my head, I keep thinking that this is going to be one of those terrible ironies of life, where they come back in two weeks and offer me the job! Probably not, though.
I have come face to face with a major personality flaw of mine. I am terrible at failing. I'm terrible at rejection. I won't try to do unrealistic things, things that I'm certain won't work out for me. One bad interview makes me think perhaps I'm being ridiculous for thinking I could get a teaching job, let alone be good at it. One bad interview! So I'm conjuring up spirits of friends who are persisitent and motivated and positive, and I'm pushing ahead. We shall see.
Hope you are all well! Much love.
Sadly, my inbox is usually pretty empty of job-related matter. But Thursday morning, I had an email from the Intensity School of English in Rybnik, Poland. The subject line was "Interview".
My stomach dropped when I saw that word - it could only mean one thing! And, indeed, upon opening the email, my suspicious were confirmed. They wanted to have a phone interview with me at 8 PM that night. All I needed to do was confirm the time with them and send them the number of a landline on which they could reach me.
The five hour drive down to Vaxjo (pronounced Veh-qua), was a happy ride. It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day, and we were back on the road, listening to music, and high on the possibility of things actually working out. ("Working out" has gradually come to mean getting a job teaching English in a nearby Eastern European country, since Sweden is an impossibility.) I'd be in Poland, Bjorn would be in Sweden, and we could easily see each other every two or three weeks. We'd just be a two hour plane ride away from each other and in the same time zone!
The day passed, and after dinner, Johan, Sofia, Bjorn, and I, all got in the car and drove a short distance to Sofia's father's office, the site of the confirmed landline where my interviewer would reach me. I sat in the small office, behind a huge l-shaped desk, for about twenty minutes, feeling giddy and nervous, and waiting for the damned phone to ring.
At 8:01 PM, the phone finally rang. Jason Michaels, from the Intensity School of English, introduced himself briefly, and the interview began. There was no small talk, no getting to know you conversation, no warm up. Just straight to the questions, the first awful one being "Why Poland?" Well, I'm an honesty girl, perhaps because I'm no good at lying, so I don't even bother trying. And it probably wasn't the right thing to do in the situation, but I told him that it frankly had a lot to do with my relationship. I told him I knew that I wanted to teach English this year, and the location really wasn't that important to me, but if I could be somewhere close to Sweden, that would be ideal. (I'm cringing as I write this - are you?)
The next question was: What qualities do you think you have that would make you a good teacher? I answered that one pretty well, I think, but this interview was already not going well. I was so thrown off by the way the conversation started (or didn't start) that my pre-interview nervousness was quadrupled. My voice was shaking ever so slightly as I spoke, and words - common, every day words, like school or happy - just vanished from my head as I tried to form sentences. I could not speak properly to save my life.
"Okay, let's now do a little exercise," Jason said, after he'd asked his first two (and only two) slightly personal questions. "I'm going to give you a word, and I want you to imagine you are teaching this word to a class of beginner English learners. I want you to define the word and use it in a sentence. The first word is the verb "cause"."
This just took me to a new level of utter panic and unpreparedness. I was NOT expecting this. I managed to stammer out some kind of definition (though I cannot recollect what on earth I said), but when it came to using it in a sentence, I just couldn't do it. I was trying to think of the most perfect sentence - one that didn't involve any complex verb structures (You can't say "could cause" to a group of beginners because they don't know "could".). I sat silently for a good 10 seconds or so before Jason Michaels said, "Okay, let's move on to the next one."
Good Jesus. Please make this interview end.
Jason Michaels' fun little word game did get a little better (a little better meaning I was at least able to say something). But he, of course, chose all confusing words - wise, compare, proud, should. Given a little time and a piece of paper, I could beautifully define these words for a group of beginners. I could probably even use them in a sentence! But in this situation...it wasn't ideal, to say the least.
We then moved into what seemed like a short grammar quiz: Do you know what a gerund is? Can you explain the difference between quick and quickly? How would you explain the difference between look and see? Can you identify the verb in the sentence, "Teaching is fun."? Um, LOOK, Jason Michaels. I am NOT an idiot, and I have had just about enough of this!
Finally, probably about 10 minutes after the phone rang, Jason Michaels told me that he was finished with "his" part of the "interview". Did I have any questions? I managed to fill up probably another ten minutes with questions, which may have redeemed me somewhat - my voice finally leveled out, and I had prepared some excellent questions, if I do say so. When I was finished, Jason Michaels informed me that they'd be making decisions in two weeks, and they'd let me know. And it was over.
As we drove back to Johan and Sofia's apartment, I just felt wretched. I felt angry, embarrassed, stupid, and amused, all at once. How did I manage to blow this ONE opportunity I was presented with? HOW? And HOW could that have been the interview? They didn't try to get to know me at all! Do they not care about personality or fit? Do they just want someone who knows what a gerund is? And hmmm, come to think of it, damnit! I completely screwed up the definition of a gerund. Ellen! I don't want to work at stupid Jason Michaels' school, anyway! He wasn't even nice! He didn't even speak English as a native language!
Yes, yes. Lessons learned. I know, I'll never be this unprepared again. Or this caught off guard. And every interview is a learning experience. Yadda yadda. But it was awful. And really weird. The next day, I woke up and thought, "Did that REALLY happen?"
And I'm probably overreacting. I probably didn't do nearly as badly as I thought I did. In the back of my head, I keep thinking that this is going to be one of those terrible ironies of life, where they come back in two weeks and offer me the job! Probably not, though.
I have come face to face with a major personality flaw of mine. I am terrible at failing. I'm terrible at rejection. I won't try to do unrealistic things, things that I'm certain won't work out for me. One bad interview makes me think perhaps I'm being ridiculous for thinking I could get a teaching job, let alone be good at it. One bad interview! So I'm conjuring up spirits of friends who are persisitent and motivated and positive, and I'm pushing ahead. We shall see.
Hope you are all well! Much love.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Photos!
Here are photos from the first few weeks in Sweden. Enjoy!
http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy
http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy
Friday, June 12, 2009
Sweet Sweden
When we flew in to Stockholm two weeks ago, our plane was coming from Vienna, so we were flying due north, straight up the east coast of Sweden. I was very lucky that day; I had the good fortune of being seated by the window, and the skies were clear blue. My first view of Sweden was an excellent one.
Sometimes I think that travelling as much as I have this year has made me less appreciative of the things I see. You see one glacier, you've seen them all. You hear one funny accent, you've heard them all. It's not that you don't enjoy the nuances of the country you're visiting, but you have less of the culture-shocked-wow-everything-is-soooo-different-than-home feeling.
However, as we made our final descent into Sweden that day, I was just postively drooling over the watery landscape below me. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like this!" I kept saying to Bjorn. "I mean, seriously!" When you see other coastlines, there's a pretty definitely line drawn between water and land, but the east coast of Sweden is a bizarre mix of water and land. There is really no definite coast at all, in fact. Inland, there are huge, sprawling lakes, and as your eye moves farther out towards the sea, the land just sort of starts to disintegrate. Hundreds of tiny islands break off into the ocean, scattering pieces of brown and green and gold throughout the blue. Looking at the land of Sweden from the sky, it's impossible to convince yourself that it really is land at all. Water, water, everywhere.
Bjorn grew up in the country, about 15 minutes outside of a town called Strangnas, population 22,000. Strangnas is located about an hour west of Stockholm, and is situated on a sort of peninsula that juts out into the huge Lake Malaren. Bjorn's father lives in the house Bjorn grew up in, a charming ranch-style house, built in the traditional Swedish style - wooden siding, painted red, with white trim on the shutters. I thought perhaps that this style was something of a stereotype of Sweden, but in fact, practically all of the houses in the country are like this.
The land is incredibly flat in this part of the country, and when we drive from Bjorn's mother Siv's flat, in the town of Strangnas proper, out to his father Rolf's, I always feel like I might as well be in Iowa or Wisconsin. I've never been to either of those places, but I'm pretty sure they look Sweden. Field after field of deep green, spotted with these gorgeous red houses.
The only thing that reminds you that you're in Sweden is the churches. Magnificent brick cathedrals, remnants of the 13th and 14th century are everywhere. The main church in Strangnas was built in 1250. How crazy is that! Right in the middle of this tiny town is a giant relic. We actually attended mass there on Sunday, and since the service was in Swedish and my mind was in lala land, I constantly found myself gazing up at the magnificent ceilings, painted with sprawling Bible scenes, and marvelling at the mass of the red brick pillars holding the whole place up. How did they do this in 1250!? However it was done, I think it's so wonderful to have something like this - something that has been the center of your town for its entire existence. Something that you can be certain that your great, great, great, great, great grandparents saw. Some reminder of the past.
Bjorn is the second of three boys. He has an older brother, Johan (pronounced Yowahn), who is 28, and a younger brother, Tomas, who is 20. Johan has just finished his second year of university, studying political science, in a town about four hours south of here, and Tomas is working at a retirement home in Strangnas and trying to get himself accepted into medical school to start in the fall. (They roll the bachelor's degree in the actual MD together into one long program here.)
Bjorn's parents have been incredibly welcoming and accpeting of me. Bjorn's mother speaks very good English, and though his father's is a bit rusty, he tries very hard, which I appreciate. I cannot imagine trying to get to know them without being able to communicate at all. I have felt right at home, in both of their homes, from day one. Bjorn's mother, Siv, is about the sweetest woman I've ever met, incredibly doting on both Bjorn and I. She is a dental hygenist in Strangnas, and has a little bike that she rides to work on nice days. Bjorn's dad, Rolf, is an electrician, and his best friend is Douglass, the crazy Labrador-Jack Russell mix of a dog who rules the roost out there in the country.
Bjorn's paternal grandparents, Borge (pronounced Bore-yeh) and Ella live on the same piece of land as his dad, and they, on the other hand, speak no English. We have had many meetings with them (they have a way of wanderng into the house without knocking quite a lot), and though I can tell they like me, we cannot communicate without Bjorn. They seem to have no real understanding of the fact that I don't speak Sweidsh, though, and always just start talking at me, looking at me very intensely, wondering why I don't immediately respond to them. The Swedish names for grandfather and grandmother are farfar and farmor, which I think is just the greatest thing ever. Farfar has even told me that I can call him farfar, which makes me so happy. FARFAR!
Farfar is quite a character. He's 86, and he always gets right up in my face, as if to tell me something very important. He's constantly warning me about Swedish men and begging me to sing something for him (since Bjorn informed him that I could sing - Bjorn!). There's an old wood-working shed on the property, which has been around since the 1700s, I believe. Last week farfar took me on a tour of the shed, and we must have stayed in there for an hour, as he picked up practically every little thing in there and explained to me how it worked.
Farfar and farmor regularly invite us over for "fica", a Swedish tradition I have grown very fond of. Fica is something like afternoon tea - everyone gathers around 4 PM for coffee and cinnamon rolls or cookies or cake. It isn't exactly a formal affair, but it does feel a bit like a fourth meal. Plates are set around the table and everyone is expected to sit and eat and chat for about an hour. Bjorn and I, along with Johan and his girlfriend Sofia (who were up visiting for a few days) went down to fica with farfar and farmor the other day, and I was FORCED (forced! I am serious) into eating a cinnamon roll, a piece of chocolate cake with homemade whipping cream, and several pieces of chocolate candy. Farfar, I can eat no more! But the box of chocolates just came around again. It was quite funny. And everytime we go to farfar and farmor's, they are constantly walking around the house, picking up old photos and knick-knacks, and bringing them over to tell me about them. No matter that farfar showed me his 1986 fishing championship trophy the day before! I will get to see it again! It's incredibly endearing.
So, despite the fact that Sweden does not seem to want me to stay here and work, I have been taken very good care of by Bjorn and his family and am enjoying myself very much. We have spent the greater part of the last two weeks focused on my job search, and while I still have nothing positive to say about that, I am pushing forward! It is becoming more clear that getting a work permit here is going to be impossible for me, so I am trying to think through my options.
But I promised Bjorn I would write my blog today and not get bogged down in job searching, so I will not go into that any further!
I hope everyone is well. I will post some new pictures soon...
Much love to you all!
Sometimes I think that travelling as much as I have this year has made me less appreciative of the things I see. You see one glacier, you've seen them all. You hear one funny accent, you've heard them all. It's not that you don't enjoy the nuances of the country you're visiting, but you have less of the culture-shocked-wow-everything-is-soooo-different-than-home feeling.
However, as we made our final descent into Sweden that day, I was just postively drooling over the watery landscape below me. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like this!" I kept saying to Bjorn. "I mean, seriously!" When you see other coastlines, there's a pretty definitely line drawn between water and land, but the east coast of Sweden is a bizarre mix of water and land. There is really no definite coast at all, in fact. Inland, there are huge, sprawling lakes, and as your eye moves farther out towards the sea, the land just sort of starts to disintegrate. Hundreds of tiny islands break off into the ocean, scattering pieces of brown and green and gold throughout the blue. Looking at the land of Sweden from the sky, it's impossible to convince yourself that it really is land at all. Water, water, everywhere.
Bjorn grew up in the country, about 15 minutes outside of a town called Strangnas, population 22,000. Strangnas is located about an hour west of Stockholm, and is situated on a sort of peninsula that juts out into the huge Lake Malaren. Bjorn's father lives in the house Bjorn grew up in, a charming ranch-style house, built in the traditional Swedish style - wooden siding, painted red, with white trim on the shutters. I thought perhaps that this style was something of a stereotype of Sweden, but in fact, practically all of the houses in the country are like this.
The land is incredibly flat in this part of the country, and when we drive from Bjorn's mother Siv's flat, in the town of Strangnas proper, out to his father Rolf's, I always feel like I might as well be in Iowa or Wisconsin. I've never been to either of those places, but I'm pretty sure they look Sweden. Field after field of deep green, spotted with these gorgeous red houses.
The only thing that reminds you that you're in Sweden is the churches. Magnificent brick cathedrals, remnants of the 13th and 14th century are everywhere. The main church in Strangnas was built in 1250. How crazy is that! Right in the middle of this tiny town is a giant relic. We actually attended mass there on Sunday, and since the service was in Swedish and my mind was in lala land, I constantly found myself gazing up at the magnificent ceilings, painted with sprawling Bible scenes, and marvelling at the mass of the red brick pillars holding the whole place up. How did they do this in 1250!? However it was done, I think it's so wonderful to have something like this - something that has been the center of your town for its entire existence. Something that you can be certain that your great, great, great, great, great grandparents saw. Some reminder of the past.
Bjorn is the second of three boys. He has an older brother, Johan (pronounced Yowahn), who is 28, and a younger brother, Tomas, who is 20. Johan has just finished his second year of university, studying political science, in a town about four hours south of here, and Tomas is working at a retirement home in Strangnas and trying to get himself accepted into medical school to start in the fall. (They roll the bachelor's degree in the actual MD together into one long program here.)
Bjorn's parents have been incredibly welcoming and accpeting of me. Bjorn's mother speaks very good English, and though his father's is a bit rusty, he tries very hard, which I appreciate. I cannot imagine trying to get to know them without being able to communicate at all. I have felt right at home, in both of their homes, from day one. Bjorn's mother, Siv, is about the sweetest woman I've ever met, incredibly doting on both Bjorn and I. She is a dental hygenist in Strangnas, and has a little bike that she rides to work on nice days. Bjorn's dad, Rolf, is an electrician, and his best friend is Douglass, the crazy Labrador-Jack Russell mix of a dog who rules the roost out there in the country.
Bjorn's paternal grandparents, Borge (pronounced Bore-yeh) and Ella live on the same piece of land as his dad, and they, on the other hand, speak no English. We have had many meetings with them (they have a way of wanderng into the house without knocking quite a lot), and though I can tell they like me, we cannot communicate without Bjorn. They seem to have no real understanding of the fact that I don't speak Sweidsh, though, and always just start talking at me, looking at me very intensely, wondering why I don't immediately respond to them. The Swedish names for grandfather and grandmother are farfar and farmor, which I think is just the greatest thing ever. Farfar has even told me that I can call him farfar, which makes me so happy. FARFAR!
Farfar is quite a character. He's 86, and he always gets right up in my face, as if to tell me something very important. He's constantly warning me about Swedish men and begging me to sing something for him (since Bjorn informed him that I could sing - Bjorn!). There's an old wood-working shed on the property, which has been around since the 1700s, I believe. Last week farfar took me on a tour of the shed, and we must have stayed in there for an hour, as he picked up practically every little thing in there and explained to me how it worked.
Farfar and farmor regularly invite us over for "fica", a Swedish tradition I have grown very fond of. Fica is something like afternoon tea - everyone gathers around 4 PM for coffee and cinnamon rolls or cookies or cake. It isn't exactly a formal affair, but it does feel a bit like a fourth meal. Plates are set around the table and everyone is expected to sit and eat and chat for about an hour. Bjorn and I, along with Johan and his girlfriend Sofia (who were up visiting for a few days) went down to fica with farfar and farmor the other day, and I was FORCED (forced! I am serious) into eating a cinnamon roll, a piece of chocolate cake with homemade whipping cream, and several pieces of chocolate candy. Farfar, I can eat no more! But the box of chocolates just came around again. It was quite funny. And everytime we go to farfar and farmor's, they are constantly walking around the house, picking up old photos and knick-knacks, and bringing them over to tell me about them. No matter that farfar showed me his 1986 fishing championship trophy the day before! I will get to see it again! It's incredibly endearing.
So, despite the fact that Sweden does not seem to want me to stay here and work, I have been taken very good care of by Bjorn and his family and am enjoying myself very much. We have spent the greater part of the last two weeks focused on my job search, and while I still have nothing positive to say about that, I am pushing forward! It is becoming more clear that getting a work permit here is going to be impossible for me, so I am trying to think through my options.
But I promised Bjorn I would write my blog today and not get bogged down in job searching, so I will not go into that any further!
I hope everyone is well. I will post some new pictures soon...
Much love to you all!
Monday, June 1, 2009
Invisible Lines, But Real
When we checked in at the Austrian Air counter in Bangkok, eager to receive the boarding passes that would take us to Stockholm, a delicate question was posed to me. When was I returning to the States? You don’t have a return ticket? What is the purpose of your trip to Sweden?
I flushed. I stuttered. I stood open-mouthed and turned to Bjorn, whose expression had also turned to confusion and worry. Well, I said, I don’t have a ticket, but I’m just going to visit Sweden for a couple of months. No, of course, I’m not planning to overstay my tourist visa’s three month allowance. Just visiting Bjorn here’s family!
The woman frowned at me, then, distracted by another service representative, she turned away. I don’t know if she forgot her line of questioning or if she decided it wasn’t worth it, but when she came back to me, she smiled, handed me my boarding passes, and told me to have a nice trip.
We walked away from the counter, feeling like we’d just dodged some heart-bursting bullet, but also feeling incredibly stupid. Here we’d been, all these months, dreaming of this master plan to go to Sweden. Bjorn would start school in August in Gothenburg, and I’d spend the summer finding a job there, preferably teaching ESL. Sure, it would be tricky, there would be obstacles, but it would work out. Of course it would!
We sat down in a restaurant and ordered two beers with our remaining Thai money, and suddenly, the difficulty of the path ahead hit us. I stared at the sterile, white, tile floor and watched one miserable scenario after another come to life. I’d get stopped at customs in Stockholm, grilled about my intentions, and then promptly put on a plane to the United States. We don’t want you here, they’d say. What, were you trying to sneak in?
We discussed strategy. Is it better to just lie? To say I’m just here visiting? Or should I go with the honesty policy and just hope for the best? Surely they can’t refuse me entry to the country because I don’t have a return ticket, can they? Couldn’t I be doing a tour of Europe?
I decided that, when questioned, I’d be charming. I’d giggle and roll my eyes and tell them that my boyfriend was trying to get me to move to Sweden so I was coming to investigate. Get a job and stay? Well, I’d say, I suppose it’s a possibility, but we certainly haven’t gotten that far yet! We’ve been in New Zealand for eight months, you understand. We haven’t made any plans yet!
When we had to go through passport control in Vienna, Bjorn and I were forced into separate lines. The fast line, for EU citizens, and the slow line for non EU citizens. I know it sounds silly to say that I have just, in the last few days, fully understood that Bjorn and I are from different countries, but as I stood in that line, watching Bjorn pass quickly through the EU line, I felt my status as an outsider. I’m not a member of this EU club, and if this stern-looking man behind the glass decides to not let me through, that’s his call. This man, these invisible lines between countries, could keep me from something as everyday as my relationship. How is it possible that I could be separated from the person I have spent practically every minute of the last 9 months with?
Luckily, I was overly worried, and when I was finally invited to the glass window, the stern-faced man merely looked at my passport and ticket, asked me if I was going to Sweden, and hearing me reply in the affirmative, handed my things back to me and waved me on. And when we finally landed in Stockholm, we walked straight out of the airport without even having to have our passports looked at! We had made it.
My mom once told me that in reality, love doesn’t conquer all. It’s a nice thought and all, but some things can simply put too much stress on love. As I’ve begun to research work visas and residency visas and job opportunities, I have been reminded of this. This is not to say that I think my relationship is any danger but just that I am now aware – sadly aware – of just how hard this is going to be. In order to apply for a work visa here, you have to first have a written job offer, and once you have that job offer, you have to apply for the work visa from your country of origin. Once that application is in process, you are not allowed to enter Sweden, and the turnaround time for a work permit is usually 2-3 months. You must have the work visa attached to your passport BEFORE you enter the country. What I think that means (and perhaps I shouldn’t just to too many conclusions just yet) is that I can search for jobs while I am here and go to interviews, but as soon as I actually have that job offer, I have to return to the States until my permit has been approved.
It seems so lame to me, so limiting, really, that there are such stiff rules. The world is not at all encouraging of international romance. It’s so hard to understand how a country could not want to encourage this relationship that has been so good for me. Aren’t I the center of this universe, anyway? Ha.
Despite all of this, I am optimistic. And for the moment, I just want to enjoy this time. Bjorn and I are fighting off the gloom and doom thoughts with our greatest energy. Things will work out. I know they will. But trying times are ahead.
All apologies for the Negative Nancy entry here. I’ll write about all of the unbelievably good and happy things that have been happening since our arrival in another day or two. Bad news first, you know!
And…here are some more photos from Thailand. http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy
Hope everyone is well and enjoying the start of summer! Love to you all.
I flushed. I stuttered. I stood open-mouthed and turned to Bjorn, whose expression had also turned to confusion and worry. Well, I said, I don’t have a ticket, but I’m just going to visit Sweden for a couple of months. No, of course, I’m not planning to overstay my tourist visa’s three month allowance. Just visiting Bjorn here’s family!
The woman frowned at me, then, distracted by another service representative, she turned away. I don’t know if she forgot her line of questioning or if she decided it wasn’t worth it, but when she came back to me, she smiled, handed me my boarding passes, and told me to have a nice trip.
We walked away from the counter, feeling like we’d just dodged some heart-bursting bullet, but also feeling incredibly stupid. Here we’d been, all these months, dreaming of this master plan to go to Sweden. Bjorn would start school in August in Gothenburg, and I’d spend the summer finding a job there, preferably teaching ESL. Sure, it would be tricky, there would be obstacles, but it would work out. Of course it would!
We sat down in a restaurant and ordered two beers with our remaining Thai money, and suddenly, the difficulty of the path ahead hit us. I stared at the sterile, white, tile floor and watched one miserable scenario after another come to life. I’d get stopped at customs in Stockholm, grilled about my intentions, and then promptly put on a plane to the United States. We don’t want you here, they’d say. What, were you trying to sneak in?
We discussed strategy. Is it better to just lie? To say I’m just here visiting? Or should I go with the honesty policy and just hope for the best? Surely they can’t refuse me entry to the country because I don’t have a return ticket, can they? Couldn’t I be doing a tour of Europe?
I decided that, when questioned, I’d be charming. I’d giggle and roll my eyes and tell them that my boyfriend was trying to get me to move to Sweden so I was coming to investigate. Get a job and stay? Well, I’d say, I suppose it’s a possibility, but we certainly haven’t gotten that far yet! We’ve been in New Zealand for eight months, you understand. We haven’t made any plans yet!
When we had to go through passport control in Vienna, Bjorn and I were forced into separate lines. The fast line, for EU citizens, and the slow line for non EU citizens. I know it sounds silly to say that I have just, in the last few days, fully understood that Bjorn and I are from different countries, but as I stood in that line, watching Bjorn pass quickly through the EU line, I felt my status as an outsider. I’m not a member of this EU club, and if this stern-looking man behind the glass decides to not let me through, that’s his call. This man, these invisible lines between countries, could keep me from something as everyday as my relationship. How is it possible that I could be separated from the person I have spent practically every minute of the last 9 months with?
Luckily, I was overly worried, and when I was finally invited to the glass window, the stern-faced man merely looked at my passport and ticket, asked me if I was going to Sweden, and hearing me reply in the affirmative, handed my things back to me and waved me on. And when we finally landed in Stockholm, we walked straight out of the airport without even having to have our passports looked at! We had made it.
My mom once told me that in reality, love doesn’t conquer all. It’s a nice thought and all, but some things can simply put too much stress on love. As I’ve begun to research work visas and residency visas and job opportunities, I have been reminded of this. This is not to say that I think my relationship is any danger but just that I am now aware – sadly aware – of just how hard this is going to be. In order to apply for a work visa here, you have to first have a written job offer, and once you have that job offer, you have to apply for the work visa from your country of origin. Once that application is in process, you are not allowed to enter Sweden, and the turnaround time for a work permit is usually 2-3 months. You must have the work visa attached to your passport BEFORE you enter the country. What I think that means (and perhaps I shouldn’t just to too many conclusions just yet) is that I can search for jobs while I am here and go to interviews, but as soon as I actually have that job offer, I have to return to the States until my permit has been approved.
It seems so lame to me, so limiting, really, that there are such stiff rules. The world is not at all encouraging of international romance. It’s so hard to understand how a country could not want to encourage this relationship that has been so good for me. Aren’t I the center of this universe, anyway? Ha.
Despite all of this, I am optimistic. And for the moment, I just want to enjoy this time. Bjorn and I are fighting off the gloom and doom thoughts with our greatest energy. Things will work out. I know they will. But trying times are ahead.
All apologies for the Negative Nancy entry here. I’ll write about all of the unbelievably good and happy things that have been happening since our arrival in another day or two. Bad news first, you know!
And…here are some more photos from Thailand. http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy
Hope everyone is well and enjoying the start of summer! Love to you all.
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