Two significant barriers now exist.
My landlord thinks I'm suicidal and my local shopkeeper won't serve me.
Landlord: I tried to mime to my landlord that I would like the hideously ugly railing thing outside our balcony removed by shaking it furiously and saying 'Muy mal, muy mal'.
Shopkeeper: I then tried to explain to the shop lady that I needed a finely made kitchen knife, but not by miming the chopping of vegetables a la sous chef. Instead I chose the 'stabby stabby' motion , which don't translate too well.
A little help out here please, people.
Monday, 26 February 2007
Primary sized people
I teach two classes in the Primary School. After asking the kids to write down the title, I turned around to see four little people standing behind me, holding their work for me to see. I tried to walk away from them, but they followed me, as if I were a mother hen of some kind.
I really am not trained for this. I've spend almost all of the last two years teaching A level, trying to make it much as possible like a Robin Williams movie: the 'trendy young teacher with nothing but a book and some lefty ideas' look, sitting on a desk with students hanging on every word. I've of course never come anywhere close, partly because I don't teach in Narnia, but at least I had a vision of where I was trying to go.
These followers wanted to know if they had underlined the title well. While I'd love to say that I confirmed they had underlined the title brilliantly (they had, mostly), I regret to admit that I told them that if they followed me around the room again I'd tell them all about who really brought the presents at Christmas.
And then I was late for lunch because I had to do up 48 shoe laces.
And then I didn't get my lunch because I had to help them cut up their food.
I never once saw Robin Williams cut up his student's food.
I really am not trained for this. I've spend almost all of the last two years teaching A level, trying to make it much as possible like a Robin Williams movie: the 'trendy young teacher with nothing but a book and some lefty ideas' look, sitting on a desk with students hanging on every word. I've of course never come anywhere close, partly because I don't teach in Narnia, but at least I had a vision of where I was trying to go.
These followers wanted to know if they had underlined the title well. While I'd love to say that I confirmed they had underlined the title brilliantly (they had, mostly), I regret to admit that I told them that if they followed me around the room again I'd tell them all about who really brought the presents at Christmas.
And then I was late for lunch because I had to do up 48 shoe laces.
And then I didn't get my lunch because I had to help them cut up their food.
I never once saw Robin Williams cut up his student's food.
Asado
Friday lunch at school and I had my first asado. Sitting around tables outside on the grass with couple of bottles of wine. Lovely.
Instructions for an asado. (Serves 80)
1. Get a cow. A really, really big one.
2. Assemble many men.
3. Get a saw or a healthy sized axe.
4. Chop into lots of pieces, about the size of your head (if you have a really, really big head).
5. Grill it parillas - stylee.
6. Arrange meat like a scene from The Killing Fields (but a happy scene).
7. Pile plate until you have a wonderous meat pyramid.
8. Eat. (This may take some time)
9. Serve with a bottle of red or two. Wine tip for blaggers: look at the bottle suspiciously and say: ’Hmm. that’s brave…’ Someone will reply, ‘What is?’ And you say, ‘I never go north of Mendoza this time of year.’
10. Eat again. And unless you want to join ‘the disappeared’, finish your plate. (Disclaimer: following sentence deeply unattractive) Now just sit back and wait for the meat sweats.
Asado.
Useful private school Spanish phrase for the day:
¿Por favor. Que es una termínale autobús?
Sorry, Sir. What is a bus station?
And it was so funny, because I didn’t know either. How we laughed.
Instructions for an asado. (Serves 80)
1. Get a cow. A really, really big one.
2. Assemble many men.
3. Get a saw or a healthy sized axe.
4. Chop into lots of pieces, about the size of your head (if you have a really, really big head).
5. Grill it parillas - stylee.
6. Arrange meat like a scene from The Killing Fields (but a happy scene).
7. Pile plate until you have a wonderous meat pyramid.
8. Eat. (This may take some time)
9. Serve with a bottle of red or two. Wine tip for blaggers: look at the bottle suspiciously and say: ’Hmm. that’s brave…’ Someone will reply, ‘What is?’ And you say, ‘I never go north of Mendoza this time of year.’
10. Eat again. And unless you want to join ‘the disappeared’, finish your plate. (Disclaimer: following sentence deeply unattractive) Now just sit back and wait for the meat sweats.
Asado.
Useful private school Spanish phrase for the day:
¿Por favor. Que es una termínale autobús?
Sorry, Sir. What is a bus station?
And it was so funny, because I didn’t know either. How we laughed.
Saturday, 24 February 2007
Telephone
How to make a phone call:
1. Lift handset, dial.
2. Left hand - squeeze handset (towards the middle).
3. Squeeze phone into side of head using left shoulder.
4. Right foot must be used to connect and hold wires from wall socket.
5. Right hand used to hold together wires from base to handset. (This may tingle a bit)
6. Massage base set gently thoughout conversation.
And would you believe I had JUST perfected this technique when the damn thing died.
UPDATE: It is now April 3rd, and we have a telephone. After four false starts and communication breakdowns, in no way aided by the fact that they give THREE WORKING DAYS notice (so we were asked to be in between Thursday 9am and Monday 6pm), the good men of ArgieTelecom have been and gone and we are now connected again with the outside world.
1. Lift handset, dial.
2. Left hand - squeeze handset (towards the middle).
3. Squeeze phone into side of head using left shoulder.
4. Right foot must be used to connect and hold wires from wall socket.
5. Right hand used to hold together wires from base to handset. (This may tingle a bit)
6. Massage base set gently thoughout conversation.
And would you believe I had JUST perfected this technique when the damn thing died.
UPDATE: It is now April 3rd, and we have a telephone. After four false starts and communication breakdowns, in no way aided by the fact that they give THREE WORKING DAYS notice (so we were asked to be in between Thursday 9am and Monday 6pm), the good men of ArgieTelecom have been and gone and we are now connected again with the outside world.
Wednesday, 21 February 2007
Bra comes off, shirt stays on.
Today - Medicals. Remise (cab) to hospital for 845am
There are few ice-breakers with new colleagues that can compete with today's little adventure. New staff must have a medical done. Therefore a happy 3 - the Director of Studies, a 37 year old man, the 'other new/chica' English teacher, who's 25 and myself (age not disclosed) - entered the waiting room to join a group of about 30 people sitting in a circle holding their own, er, 'samples'.
You go in, sign a form and receive a large questionnaire in Spanish, asking various questions, including one regarding how regular your bowel movements are, and a LOT of questions about your urine (stings? infections? blood?) Now, only our Director spoke (enough medical) Spanish to make any sense, hence answering these questions was a pretty public affair.
Oh, and Have you ever been under a psychiatrist? Have you ever become irritable? Do you flush your bowels every day?
Then, together, we had a blood sample taken, and we were given our pots to piss in. And when in Rome, we returned to our seats, with our samples, and continued to chat about anything other than the fact that we were holding our own pish.
Next up - ECG. Electro something, I think Sylvia Plath had some of this. I was called, I walked into a room, the nurse said something to do with la chamisa, and before I could stumble to the meaning I was having my shirt unbuttoned by the Argentine nurse. So not all bad but it didn't last. Strapped to the bed, with tubes and wires everywhere like a scene from Brazil I then had electrodes applied to my ankles, wrists and various parts of my chest before being told to leave now, gracias.
Then the X-ray. The Doctor called our Director in to translate, but then didn't say a word and mimed everything, except to an audience of one. Then, when our female colleage was called, a translator was required, this time to explain the immortal line:
'He says, um: bra comes off, shirt stays on.'
Finally, we were weighed together, and then had our blood pressures taken seperately. This is because rolling up a sleeve is a very personal and private matter and should be conducted only in presence of your doctor. Whereas carrying yer pish around for a morning is an ideal way to pass the time with colleagues and members of the public.
Bueno. Another day.
There are few ice-breakers with new colleagues that can compete with today's little adventure. New staff must have a medical done. Therefore a happy 3 - the Director of Studies, a 37 year old man, the 'other new/chica' English teacher, who's 25 and myself (age not disclosed) - entered the waiting room to join a group of about 30 people sitting in a circle holding their own, er, 'samples'.
You go in, sign a form and receive a large questionnaire in Spanish, asking various questions, including one regarding how regular your bowel movements are, and a LOT of questions about your urine (stings? infections? blood?) Now, only our Director spoke (enough medical) Spanish to make any sense, hence answering these questions was a pretty public affair.
Oh, and Have you ever been under a psychiatrist? Have you ever become irritable? Do you flush your bowels every day?
Then, together, we had a blood sample taken, and we were given our pots to piss in. And when in Rome, we returned to our seats, with our samples, and continued to chat about anything other than the fact that we were holding our own pish.
Next up - ECG. Electro something, I think Sylvia Plath had some of this. I was called, I walked into a room, the nurse said something to do with la chamisa, and before I could stumble to the meaning I was having my shirt unbuttoned by the Argentine nurse. So not all bad but it didn't last. Strapped to the bed, with tubes and wires everywhere like a scene from Brazil I then had electrodes applied to my ankles, wrists and various parts of my chest before being told to leave now, gracias.
Then the X-ray. The Doctor called our Director in to translate, but then didn't say a word and mimed everything, except to an audience of one. Then, when our female colleage was called, a translator was required, this time to explain the immortal line:
'He says, um: bra comes off, shirt stays on.'
Finally, we were weighed together, and then had our blood pressures taken seperately. This is because rolling up a sleeve is a very personal and private matter and should be conducted only in presence of your doctor. Whereas carrying yer pish around for a morning is an ideal way to pass the time with colleagues and members of the public.
Bueno. Another day.
Spanglish
I tried to buy a lighter today so I could light my gas hob.
It took twenty minutes in my local tabac/newsagent without newspapers type shop. The ENTIRE family was called into the shop, including the 7 year old who'd clearly had his first English lesson that week, and had therefore surpassed my command of his language. And no matter how many times I repeated the word mercado (lighter) no progress as made.
I think they thought I was speaking English, as I was offered a number of marker pens. I mimed lighting a cigarette and it's very possible they thought I was trying to buy some drugs, and more than likely I had taken some.
The word, by the way, (sp?) is incinatador. I now no longer trust my dictionary, until now a loyal friend.
It took twenty minutes in my local tabac/newsagent without newspapers type shop. The ENTIRE family was called into the shop, including the 7 year old who'd clearly had his first English lesson that week, and had therefore surpassed my command of his language. And no matter how many times I repeated the word mercado (lighter) no progress as made.
I think they thought I was speaking English, as I was offered a number of marker pens. I mimed lighting a cigarette and it's very possible they thought I was trying to buy some drugs, and more than likely I had taken some.
The word, by the way, (sp?) is incinatador. I now no longer trust my dictionary, until now a loyal friend.
Same, same but so different
'This is Argentina'. I've been told this a LOT since getting to the school. Used generally to suggest you really need to forget how things were done at home
Pros come with the Cons
I haven't heard the term Target Grade, and it's clearly not just results driven, but I have no prior info on any of the kids. (To be honest, I never really found the numbers as useful as a two minute conversation, or one piece of written work).
It's blue skies and sunny. but you're meant to do some work during that.
Lesson plans are a little way away as yet, but I suspect a lot of the teaching is dictation, copying from the board etc.
Planning time is done in departments and built into the timetable. Then again days are 7 teaching hours long, starting at 8.15 and ending at 16.20
There is no SEN (Special Educational Need: dyslexia, dsypraxia, autism...) policy, provision, or discussion. People are just not really protected like they are in Britain. But on the other hand, you won't have a kid tell you to fu*k off, get out their 'Time Out' card, walk out of your lesson because they have 'Anger Management' and then get taken to McDonald's by a senior member of staff.
Department meeting have been hilarious. Everyone talking over each other, yabbering away. (It may be very lucid, but everything's in Spanish. I did learn el legudo - a legacy. Should come in handy.)
Argentine's are definitely cool and friendly. But they speak a funny language.
Ah, so many other things too. But these are some first thoughts.
Pros come with the Cons
I haven't heard the term Target Grade, and it's clearly not just results driven, but I have no prior info on any of the kids. (To be honest, I never really found the numbers as useful as a two minute conversation, or one piece of written work).
It's blue skies and sunny. but you're meant to do some work during that.
Lesson plans are a little way away as yet, but I suspect a lot of the teaching is dictation, copying from the board etc.
Planning time is done in departments and built into the timetable. Then again days are 7 teaching hours long, starting at 8.15 and ending at 16.20
There is no SEN (Special Educational Need: dyslexia, dsypraxia, autism...) policy, provision, or discussion. People are just not really protected like they are in Britain. But on the other hand, you won't have a kid tell you to fu*k off, get out their 'Time Out' card, walk out of your lesson because they have 'Anger Management' and then get taken to McDonald's by a senior member of staff.
Department meeting have been hilarious. Everyone talking over each other, yabbering away. (It may be very lucid, but everything's in Spanish. I did learn el legudo - a legacy. Should come in handy.)
Argentine's are definitely cool and friendly. But they speak a funny language.
Ah, so many other things too. But these are some first thoughts.
BA0247
BA0247
Dept Heathrow Sat 21.10, Arr Buenos Aires Sun 0940 to be met by Ian, the Headmaster (yes, Headmaster. Headteacher, and other such gender equalities are a long, long way away.)
17.00 Get on tube for Heathrow. Katie comes with me. initially I think this is a gorgeously thoughtful and lovely thing to do. In retrospect, given how much I've been freaking out this week, I think she was just making sure I actually checked in.
SHORT VERSION: I arrive 40 hours later.
MORE DETAILED VERSION. Read on...
21.10 On the place, ready for take off.
21.40 Get to end of the runway, the pilot announces that: 'There's a problem with the temperature of the right engine, we'll have to get it checked out. It should take about an hour.' Groans all round. Ah, if we only knew...
22.40 Pilot: 'Sorry. I was a little optimistic with my earlier estimate, it looks like it'll take a couple of hours.' Lots of groans.
Sunday
00.05 i wake up to hear the pilot saying, 'Sorry, we're obviously not going anywhere tonight. We'll see you tomorrow.' mostly swearing and shouting where groans once were.
01.00 We have to wait until immigration officials can check us back in to the country.
01.45 Reclaim our baggage. BA Customer Relations says they'll put us up in a hotel or pay for taxis to and from the airport, but be back here by 14.00 tomorrow (today).
02.20 Stand in the cold and dark and finally get a cab.
03.00 Arrive at Gemma's in Stockwell as Katie, Georgie and Jon arive home from G's birthday.
09.00 Check BA site for info. Flight estimated to leave at 15.00
13.00 Taxi back to Heathrow Check in, go through security etc again.
16.00 Flight leaves.
Can't sleep. It's so hard to sleep not even Babel can put me to sleep. (Sorry, I really didn't like Babel)
01.00 Arrive Sao Paulo.
04.00 Arrive Buenos Aires.
04.40 Met by Ian.
05.45 Arrive at our wee flat. About FORTY HOURS after leaving for Heathrow on Saturday (36 plus time zone, pedantics). Flat isn't awesome, but not complaining either. It's free.
Shower, shave, hurriedly unpack. Switch on laptop: we have 'free' WiFi!! Brilliant. Bless WiFi Arnet, whoever you are.
06.30 Phone Allyson – she can hear me, I can’t hear her. Great start: stalk your boss.
06.32 Phone Allyson on mobile. Arrange pick up spot. Hurray.
07.01 Leave the house, go to meeting spot. Smartly dressed young girl standing there. Turns out it’s Jacqui Thomas, fellow contract member of staff.
07.11 Minibus arrives. The minibus picks everyone up from the main road on a real old skool run type timetable. I jump in, Ilianna has my contact details 'in case of a disaster’.
Arrive at school and it all begins. How very odd.
Dept Heathrow Sat 21.10, Arr Buenos Aires Sun 0940 to be met by Ian, the Headmaster (yes, Headmaster. Headteacher, and other such gender equalities are a long, long way away.)
17.00 Get on tube for Heathrow. Katie comes with me. initially I think this is a gorgeously thoughtful and lovely thing to do. In retrospect, given how much I've been freaking out this week, I think she was just making sure I actually checked in.
SHORT VERSION: I arrive 40 hours later.
MORE DETAILED VERSION. Read on...
21.10 On the place, ready for take off.
21.40 Get to end of the runway, the pilot announces that: 'There's a problem with the temperature of the right engine, we'll have to get it checked out. It should take about an hour.' Groans all round. Ah, if we only knew...
22.40 Pilot: 'Sorry. I was a little optimistic with my earlier estimate, it looks like it'll take a couple of hours.' Lots of groans.
Sunday
00.05 i wake up to hear the pilot saying, 'Sorry, we're obviously not going anywhere tonight. We'll see you tomorrow.' mostly swearing and shouting where groans once were.
01.00 We have to wait until immigration officials can check us back in to the country.
01.45 Reclaim our baggage. BA Customer Relations says they'll put us up in a hotel or pay for taxis to and from the airport, but be back here by 14.00 tomorrow (today).
02.20 Stand in the cold and dark and finally get a cab.
03.00 Arrive at Gemma's in Stockwell as Katie, Georgie and Jon arive home from G's birthday.
09.00 Check BA site for info. Flight estimated to leave at 15.00
13.00 Taxi back to Heathrow Check in, go through security etc again.
16.00 Flight leaves.
Can't sleep. It's so hard to sleep not even Babel can put me to sleep. (Sorry, I really didn't like Babel)
01.00 Arrive Sao Paulo.
04.00 Arrive Buenos Aires.
04.40 Met by Ian.
05.45 Arrive at our wee flat. About FORTY HOURS after leaving for Heathrow on Saturday (36 plus time zone, pedantics). Flat isn't awesome, but not complaining either. It's free.
Shower, shave, hurriedly unpack. Switch on laptop: we have 'free' WiFi!! Brilliant. Bless WiFi Arnet, whoever you are.
06.30 Phone Allyson – she can hear me, I can’t hear her. Great start: stalk your boss.
06.32 Phone Allyson on mobile. Arrange pick up spot. Hurray.
07.01 Leave the house, go to meeting spot. Smartly dressed young girl standing there. Turns out it’s Jacqui Thomas, fellow contract member of staff.
07.11 Minibus arrives. The minibus picks everyone up from the main road on a real old skool run type timetable. I jump in, Ilianna has my contact details 'in case of a disaster’.
Arrive at school and it all begins. How very odd.
Monday, 19 February 2007
Sleepy
So much to say but so much will have to wait. The highlights, which I will develop in good time:
Flight delayed by 27 hours, meaning travel time was approx 41 hours.
Arrived 4am, met by Ian at about 5am, driven to the flat by about 6am (which is fine, with stunning views).
Quick shower and shave, picked up by the school bus at 7am.
Met EVERYONE. Kissed everyone. As in EVERYONE, including the students. No, don't rush for your nearest child protection agency, that is what they do here. You meet Palita, a year 9 girl who you'll be teaching English, you are introduced, and you kiss on the cheek.
Either that or I am being PROPERLY stitched up.
Lots of lots of other things to say, almost all of them good. But for now, I'm going to sleep.
Suerte.
Flight delayed by 27 hours, meaning travel time was approx 41 hours.
Arrived 4am, met by Ian at about 5am, driven to the flat by about 6am (which is fine, with stunning views).
Quick shower and shave, picked up by the school bus at 7am.
Met EVERYONE. Kissed everyone. As in EVERYONE, including the students. No, don't rush for your nearest child protection agency, that is what they do here. You meet Palita, a year 9 girl who you'll be teaching English, you are introduced, and you kiss on the cheek.
Either that or I am being PROPERLY stitched up.
Lots of lots of other things to say, almost all of them good. But for now, I'm going to sleep.
Suerte.
Thursday, 15 February 2007
T - 49 hours
Checklist
1. Visa, check.
2. Passport, check.
3. Tickets, check.
4. Upgrade to First Class through my mate Sam whose Dad is a BA pilot, check. (Believe this when I'm lying on a king size bed, cystal flute bubbling with champers and become sick and tired of the back rubs)
5. Clothes packed. Well, not quite. I have to wear some.
6. Learn handy Private School Spanish phrase for the day:
Pueden limpiarme los zapatos, Jeeves. Gracias.
I want these shoes cleaned, Jeeves. Thank you.
Done.
1. Visa, check.
2. Passport, check.
3. Tickets, check.
4. Upgrade to First Class through my mate Sam whose Dad is a BA pilot, check. (Believe this when I'm lying on a king size bed, cystal flute bubbling with champers and become sick and tired of the back rubs)
5. Clothes packed. Well, not quite. I have to wear some.
6. Learn handy Private School Spanish phrase for the day:
Pueden limpiarme los zapatos, Jeeves. Gracias.
I want these shoes cleaned, Jeeves. Thank you.
Done.
Wednesday, 14 February 2007
T - 72 hours
Prologue.
After fours years of teaching at what he continues to describe as a tough Inner City comp, in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary (such as the postcode), Dougal, a brilliant 27 year old English teacher, is off to an exclusive English speaking private school in Buenos Aires.
You can catch up with some of your favourite characters from previous blogs, like Katie the Wife, star of The Adventures of a Terrifying FishWife Blog and Papa The Beard, from The Adventures of the Pirate Politician's Blog.
Trading in knife fighting and happy slapping for public speaking and polo, you can find out all about this latest adventure at the snappily named: dougsandkatieinargentina.blogspot.
Adios (that's Spanish people).
After fours years of teaching at what he continues to describe as a tough Inner City comp, in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary (such as the postcode), Dougal, a brilliant 27 year old English teacher, is off to an exclusive English speaking private school in Buenos Aires.
You can catch up with some of your favourite characters from previous blogs, like Katie the Wife, star of The Adventures of a Terrifying FishWife Blog and Papa The Beard, from The Adventures of the Pirate Politician's Blog.
Trading in knife fighting and happy slapping for public speaking and polo, you can find out all about this latest adventure at the snappily named: dougsandkatieinargentina.blogspot.
Adios (that's Spanish people).
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