Experience the World

I thought I’d said what needed to be said, but the homecoming was too sweet not to mention. The trip was fabulous and the students were eager to arrive back into the arms (literally) of their families.

It’s the hugging that deserves mention. Maybe it’s because I watched Avatar for the first time on the flight home and I was, naturally, intrigued by the way the various creatures plugged into one another.

Chrsytine’s mother met her open-armed at the airport, enfolded her, beamed her gratitude and whisked her off. The entire Collingwood contingent blocked Arrivals foot traffic with their happy reunions. My daughter met me with a yellow rose and a hug. Chris, Kelsey, and Nicole stood nearby in a little knot and decided to hug themselves to tide them over until they could get the real thing.

The ferry ride and the yam fries offered a little more homecoming, but when we finally docked, Chris, Kelsey and Nicole took the last stretch at a near run, luggage in tow. Soon Nicole was circled by her mother, father and brother and whisked off home. Kelsey and Chris met their mother in the parking lot and dove into her arms.

The journey was truly over. We went to experience the world. But, in the end, the best part really was returning home, having done exactly that.

Most Memorable Moments

by Nicole Chan

When asked to write about my most memorable moment on the trip I found it a struggle to choose one single moment that stood out above the rest.  The amount of independence we had on the trip allowed for various experiences that ranged from trips to the London Tower to consuming enormous amounts of ice cream at the Lagos beaches.

I am so grateful for all the friends I’ve made over the last month and for the amazing (and in most cases completely random and hilarious) moments we’ve had.  This trip was truly a once in a lifetime experience that I will remember forever.

A Favourite Memory from this Trip

By Chris Bjola

If I had to choose a favourite thing that we did on this trip, it would definitely be the football match in Lisbon.  I’ve been to many pro sports events, but I had never been to a football match before, so this was definitely a new experience for me.  About twenty of us went to the match, which featured Sporting FC, which is from Lisbon, and Lyon, from France.

The game was very exciting, but it was impossible to understand what the announcer was saying, mostly because it was in Portuguese.  The greatest part of the game was simply the atmosphere and the entire stadium going nuts when Sporting scored within the first ten minutes of the match.  The match ended with Sporting FC coming out on top, 2-0.

Beats

by Chrystine Beaumont

Portugal’s people definitely had a quick beat. It was like running while attempting to dance or dancing until you ran, feet kicking up dust and dirtying the tips of your shoes.

The beat of the people sitting next to me in this small, small shop that served delicious gelado—I was sorely tempted to buy another, but the reminder that it would sink down to my thighs stopped my hand as it wandered toward my wallet—was slower. It wasn’t as slow as North Dakotans on a hot, summer day, but it was noticeably slower than the beat of the Portuguese.

The woman sat across from the man with a decidedly unhappy look on her face. Wait, no—I take it back—it was more of a look of impatience than anything else. Her teeth seemed to be bared in a feral grimace as she bit into her sandwich and her fingers twitched as they tucked a lock of dark brown hair behind a small ear.

The man—obviously not picking up on his partner’s discomfort—was lethargic, head thrown back in the chair and feet spread into a V, below the table. When he finally dropped his head into his chest, he grinned across at the woman who was still grimacing around a half-chewed morsel of bread.

Were they honey-mooners? The woman seemed a bit too unhappy to be someone who’d just married the love of their life, but than again, maybe he wasn’t her love. Maybe he was the second best she’d settled for, having discovered her first choice to be unreachable. Perhaps he was actually her brother—their hair colours were similar enough, and I’m sure, if the woman had shed her aviators, that their eyes would’ve matched. It seemed a bit off that siblings would be at such a restaurant, but every culture has its differences.

I think they spoke French.

Continuing this thought, I leaned in my chair, away from the two, conscious of how conspicuous I was being in my spying on the two. Tilting my head a little, I tried to hear what they were saying. Portuguese, Portuguese, English, was that Italian? I couldn’t seem to place the language. I couldn’t even locate their voices in the mess that was the street.

And then I realized they’d vacated the table and I was feeling embarrassed for eavesdropping on air.

Beers, Cheers, and Big Battles Too

by Kelsey Bjola

To go or not to go, that was the question.  Heading towards Shakespeare’s astounding Globe Theatre, excitement grew by the minute, knowing that our group would be standing in the same spot as those from four centuries ago.  Though separated by forty decades, the goal of both those from the time of Queen Elizabeth I’s reign, to those individuals today was the same: to go enjoy one of Shakespeare’s many astounding plays.  The current play in performance is a history play known as King Henry the Fourth Part I.  Although a history play, it also brings colossal amounts of drama and comedic relief to the audience, whether they are sitting, or standing in the pit for the three hour duration of the play.

Henry the Fourth Part I begins in the aftermath of a civil war which has caused much turmoil in England.  Not only that, but the King’s son is becoming quite a rebel rouser, hanging out at the pub with the local gang of thieves and their overweight, hilarious leader, Falstaff.  Although King Henry hopes some great person will be able to bring England back to a state of peace, ferment only builds, and a rebel group forms against the King, causing another great war in the end of the play.  Even if the play was not known, everyone was able to take in the different situations presented on stage by the brilliant cast from the Globe Theatre.  From Sam Crane’s dramatic performance as the hot-headed rebel, Hotspur, to Roger Allam’s side splitting, hilarious portrayal as the jolly and fat Falstaff, there was entertainment for all in the beautiful theatre.  Each actor and actress fit their role with pure perfection, inducing the audience to believe they really were these bizarre characters.  The costumes and scenery only augmented the cast’s first-class performance, with small details such as the antiquated lanterns carried by the commoners and the mountains of dirty beer jugs consumed by Falstaff truly completing the scene.  Diminutive add-ins such as songs and dances also gave great contribution to the already fabulous theatrical production.  Every part of the stage was used to the highest degree, with the actors even going so far as to run, fight, and fumble through the pit where the audience, known as the groundlings, stands.  What could have been just an okay performance, turned into an extraordinary one because of the extra in by everyone who had a job in the making of this performance.

If one had to decide whether or not to go to this play based on one thing, the amount of cheers and laughter that came from the audience would be a fantastic choice of reasoning.  Although it is recommended one reads the play beforehand, it is understandable even if the play is unknown.  Shakespeare lovers will drool over the perfection of this performance, and those a little less in love with the play master will still find this theatre production extremely enjoyable.

I asked each of the students to write a brief blog about this trip and they graciously agreed.  Kelsey (English 12) and Chrystine (English 11) offered material they wrote for their respective English courses and so you will read a synopsis of an oral presentation and a creative non-fiction piece.  Chris (English 10) and Nicole (Math 12) each wrote me a note on the plane from Faro to London yesterday in which case you will read their jotted conversational thoughts.  I’m delighted for the input that comes in all sizes and shapes and addresses whatever it was that moved them to write.  I am most happy to give them the last word.

I wrote the following blog yesterday morning in the bright yellow sunshine of southern Portugal. After writing, I took a walk for a last look at the town– the glittering water, a fisherman at work early in a small boat painted with wide blue and red stripes. I said goodbye to the postcard colours and the muscled heat, and the almost impossible access to the Internet. I am sending the blog from London. It’s early morning. The sky is high and streaked with a dramatic sunrise after yesterday’s bumpy thunderstorm. The air is clear. It already feels a little like home.

August 4, 2010: Last Morning in Lagos:

We celebrated the end of the course last night with a slideshow of snapshots of the entire trip. Happy faces, goofy poses, clusters of friends leaning together for the photos. In the background, a pastoral castle in Wales, the grey streets of London, the orange and terracotta streets of Lisbon, cityscapes and long views of land and water, the charm of little cobbled streets and their intriguing warren of stairways. We came to experience these places, but the photos remind me that the friendships mattered most, that it was our time together in these places that we will remember.

In two days we will be home. We take a bus to Faro this morning after breakfast, fly to Gatwick, transfer to College Hall, our London home. Out to Mr. Wu’s for Chinese buffet, then off to bed in anticipation of morning travels to Heathrow and the long flight to Vancouver.

It’s been a great trip. I’ve only written about a thin slice of this experience—the fact is we’ve been busy with our courses, our excursions, and our friendships (that and the 8 Euro / hour Internet charges on this last leg of the journey). I haven’t said too much about the classes because, as perennial students and teachers, classes, study, essays, tests and exams are a fact of life—like eating breakfast or finding a way to do the laundry. But the courses deserve their own mention. Yesterday was test and exam day, final course marks and student progress interviews. We’re still digesting the results.

Experience the World is, first and foremost, a travelling school. Mr. Hughes and Mr. Waterhouse address administrative matters daily. We teachers plan, teach, mark, talk to students, adjusting our tasks from day to day as need and opportunity arise. The students study a great deal. They spend four hours a day in class with very few days off. They do homework during the afternoons and evenings, attend tutorials and interviews with teachers. They might do this poolside, on a friend’s balcony or in the lounge chairs of the hotel next to the band with the trombones, but the point is they do it. They take an entire course in one month, and they work hard at it. In the end, they are students taking a course. They might be elated at their results or a little disappointed, but this is normal, and they wouldn’t be real courses if it were otherwise.

Congratulations to all 39 of our students! You accomplished a great deal in one month. A special congratulations to our 4 SMUS students who travelled without their familiar company, but who made new friends in fabulous places. Well done, each of you!

In the Algarve, it’s all about the heat. We arrived in Lagos one week ago yesterday to slightly cooler temperatures, somewhere in the high 30s. It had hit the mid to high 40s a week or so earlier and people were still talking, someone even mentioned 50 degrees but I can’t imagine it. Some of the students had prepared themselves for the intensification by spending a few afternoons at Estoril just outside of Lisbon. I almost envied them their preparations although I couldn’t have endured the lizarding process. I’m not one for beach culture—I prefer a private kind of torpor and, as a working teacher, I’m primed for schedules and industry.

The beach lovers among us are in the majority, as it should be on a trip that brings us to a tourist hotspot such as this. Our hotel is situated on the edge of the charming neighbourhood of old Lagos. A shuttle bus provides transport every twenty minutes or so from the hotel to the beach that stretches in a great curve from Lagos to the next town of Portimao. The distance between the two towns is packed with resort hotels and, of course, tourists. Our hotel owns a piece of the beach, several long rows of shaded beach chairs, a thatched roof beach house, and, most important, it provides lifeguards.

The beach lovers tell me that on the days the guards put out the red flags the tide runs high and the waves crash over the berm to form a kind of lagoon that almost reaches the deck chairs. The undertow is strong at the best of times–on red flag days, swimmers don’t swim. Yellow flags mean they can go in up to their knees. I made my first beach foray yesterday, hoping Saturday morning would be a quieter, cooler time to plunge into the Atlantic. It was a no-flag day, the beach stretched a long way down to the water, I could have waded out a great distance in the shallows. The shaded beach chairs were free, the Atlantic was buoyant, the breeze was cool, the view of Lagos was beautiful. I floated in the water, stretched out on the lounge chair and let my dialed-up teacher brain unwind on the breeze and drift with the voices of surrounding families—Dutch, Swedish, Spanish, German—I was in many places at once.

We´re already in the Algarve, having travelled here from Lisbon yesterday. The week in Lisbon sped by as we reached the midterm point in the course and reports came due.

Nonetheless, we certainly saw wonderful sights and had the chance to get to know the city a little. It´s an intriguing place, one that grew on me. There isn´t one particular feature that stands out, rather there are many small details that resurface and inspire reflection.

I loved the ancient Moorish quarters with their little cobbled stairway streets winding along the hillside. The Alfama is one of the few truly old sections of Lisbon still standing after the devastating earthquake in the late 1700s.

Another favourite was Sintra, a village located in the hills behind the city. I spent a magical afternoon with several students exploring a fantastic park set in the side of the hill. We rambled along grand avenues past marble statues of gods, crept through tunnels that connected various buildings and architectural follies, and climbed many towers that offered fabulous views of the valley on one side and the ruins of the ancient fortress on the hilltop on the other.

I think of the people too.  There is a quiet dignity, a sense of deep history, an understatement.

Athough we are now in the Algarve, Lisbon lingers. I think that is the way with the place.

We just returned from an evening at Stonehenge– four and a half hours on a bus in order to spend a fantastic long hour with a guide and two security guards walking among the ancient stones. The rain cleared just before we arrived and as we approached a rainbow appeared over the standing stones. It’s hard to describe the energy of the place: powerful, ancient, awesome in the true sense of that word. My wrists are still tingling from holding my hands several inches from the magnificent stones.

We have to be up early tomorrow to catch the plane to Lisbon, so we’ll only get a few hours of sleep tonight. If this year is like last year, by the time we get to the south of Europe and its predicted 35 degree daytime temperatures, London will feel far away. Before this wonderful week fades, I want to take a moment to remember this city and our time here.

Monday’s Big Bus Tour whisked us all around the city, dropping us at various points of interest, picking us up when we were ready for more. My small group topped off our day with a trip upriver from the Tower of London to Westminster Bridge. The Thames is wide and choppy under a sky that often sees high scudding clouds and weather patterns chasing each other on and off stage. We noted, on our day of gazing at London, that there is always a lone plane in the sky overhead. Perhaps that sounds like a silly observation, and I’m sure there is a simple, reasonable explanation having to do with the timing of the flights in and out of Heathrow, but if I were an artist, I would have to paint a lone plane in the London sky over the choppy Thames, a skyline of solid grey buildings with their many peaks and towers, people leaning into their strides, red buses, cars and cabs leaning into their corners. I would have to paint movement, because that’s what strikes me most about London–the city is solid and staid, but it moves! In spite of high heels and business suits, streets crammed with pedestrians, the necessity of queues and courtesies, London moves fast and it’s easy to get caught up in the excitement all that movement generates.

Tuesday a small group went on an excursion to Windsor Castle, Wednesday we ambled through the National Gallery, Thursday evening we went to the Globe Theatre to see a production, and this morning we visited the British museum. There has been plenty of time for shopping and eating at familiar places (who knew that Macdonald’s, Burger King and Starbucks offered comfort food?) or from the endless strings of quaint little eateries that offer “English” food: cooked breakfasts, sausages, mushy peas, and, of course, fish and chips.

Our visit to the Globe deserves special note. The English classes saw Henry IV, Part One last evening and we stood through the entire performance as groundlings after which, despite the hours of standing (or maybe because of it), we marched our way home across the Thames over the Millenium footbridge through the late night streets in search of a restorative snack and then bedtime. The play was terrific. It would seem that a history play that deals with serious matters of state and the succession of kings might not be funny. But Falstaff made us laugh and we groundings were kept on our toes by various actor-soldiers running through the crowd and fighting battles in our faces as we leaned on the stage.

Last, but not at all least, I must mention that the classes are progressing very well. We’ve had more than 24 hours of in-class time in this past week and plenty of additional tutoring and enrichment assignments outside of class. The math students couldn’t find a play about logarithms so they stayed home last night to study for today’s unit test. The students are working diligently and it is remarkable how much they are learning, how much they can accomplish in a day and how the excitement of this city energizes all of us. As an English teacher, it’s impossible not to love a place whose buildings bear plaques noting that Charles Dickens lived in a house on this site while he wrote his greatest works, or that T.S. Eliot worked here, or that Shakespeare ate there. We are truly in good company and the spirit of this place, like the standing stones and this city itself, makes my fingers itch to write to you to tell you about it.