An Open Letter to the Person Who Stole My Camera

Dear Person Who Stole My Camera:

You probably saw me sitting on the ledge outside the cafe in Valletta and saw an easy target. A girl, alone, her bag and camera beside her, not paying attention to her surroundings.

 I was distracted looking at my phone, trying to sort out something with my bill -- stressed over something that now seems so silly and inconsequential, but I digress. The key point is, I wasn't paying enough attention, and that's when you must have struck. I will give you this much: you must have been very skilled to snatch up my camera undetected. It wasn't until I had sat down in the cafe, eagerly searching for my camera to show my friend my photos from the day that I had even realized it was missing. And then came the panic. I stood up, swearing, frantically searching around, digging through my massive purse, feeling around for the hard, heavy, wonderfully familiar shape of my camera. But quickly, the reality set in. It was gone.

I don't know who you are. I don't know why you took my camera. But you don't know me either. Though perhaps you have learned a bit about me from flicking through my recently taken shots. Perhaps you have concluded that I love cats -- as evidenced by the many photos of cats leisurely lounging around by the docks that I had to climb down treacherous stone steps to find. Just earlier that afternoon, I had wandered around the rocky coastline, giving friendly 'hellos' to the aging, wind-weathered sailors peeking out of their windows as I snapped away. I felt proud to have found such a beautiful and serene setting just off of the beaten track. But I will never be able to share those memories in the same vivid colour that I experienced them in, because they're in your hands now. I wonder if you could tell how hard I had fallen for the city of Valletta. I wonder if that was obvious from the way that I intently documented every charming alleyway, every colourfully-painted door, and every possible angle I could find of the sparkling, turquoise sea. Or perhaps you wiped my card clean, without ever having looked at them. 

 Perhaps this city has not been as kind to you as it was to me, before you entered the picture. Perhaps that's why you felt the need to take something that was not yours. Maybe you will never know the joy and excitement I feel in my heart when I am exploring a new city, camera in hand. You will probably never understand the magnitude of what you have taken away from me. My photos are my art and my expression. They're my story. It saddens me to my core to know that I will never be able to share or look back through these small, beautiful moments from my first ever solo trip. It saddens me to know that my experience will forever be tainted by one selfish act by some faceless individual. I will never be able to look back on this trip without thinking "What if I had just sat inside to wait for my friend? What if I had just kept my camera around my neck?" These 'what ifs' will haunt me.

I will never know your story, but I pity you. I am lucky enough to have a family who loves me. Parents who comfort me when I'm in a crisis, who tell me they LOVE me in capital letters when I email to tell them what happened, and tell me to keep my eye out for used cameras because my 25th birthday is coming up. Parents that have taught me that it's not right to steal from others. I'm lucky to have a boyfriend who offers to call me right away and console me from work. Friends who send me their love and good vibes via WhatsApp message. I'm lucky enough to have met a kind friend at the hostel who patiently stuck by me through my breakdown and ran out of a vegan restaurant with me to file a police report. Maybe you've never known this kind of support. Maybe that's why you steal things from girls sitting alone outside of cafes. Whoever you are, I feel sorry for you.

I am heartbroken by your actions, and feel ashamed to have let this happen. I am wiping away tears as I write this. But I will not let you ruin my trip. I will not let you ruin Malta for me. You can take away my photos, you can wipe the card clean, but you can't erase my memories. I met a kind and gentle old man with three tiny birds in a cage. He had brought the cage down to the stone wall overlooking the sea to give his tiny friends some sun. He let me take photos of his birds, exchanged pleasantries with me and wished me a nice holiday. I have chatted with friendly people from all over the world, crammed together by chance in my hostel, people who don't speak English but will share their popcorn with a Canadian stranger. I have eaten vegan truffles, drank many cups of coffee, and had conversation over pints of Maltese beer. I have laughed as the wind whipped my hair around, struggling to get a decent photo in front of the majestic azure window. I have lived.

So go ahead. Sell my camera on Craigslist, or Gumtree, or the local pawn shop. I hope you really needed that money. I hope that someday, you won't have to resort to such desperate measures to make ends meet. You will get a nice hefty sum of cash, and I will have learned to be more cautious. You don't get to be the only one who takes something away from this. 

I will return home tomorrow with a lighter bag and a heavier heart, but with a renewed perspective. In the end, things are just things. Maybe you haven't learned that lesson yet. Maybe you have -- as I've said, I don't know who you are. But I know who I am, and I know that I am very fortunate. I'm safe and healthy, I have a warm home to return to, I have people that I care about, and who care about me in return. And I know that the most important things are the ones that can't be stolen out of a handbag on the street. The things that you will never take away from me.

-- C

Why "What's Next"? can be the hardest question.

Why do we do this to ourselves?

We tell ourselves we're fine with temporary. That we're okay with uncertainty. We're adventurers, after all. We're independent. We don't need to be tied down, nor do we want it. We set off on our grand adventures, too consumed with wanderlust and excitement and fear to worry about what comes afterwards.

But then we break our own rules. We fall in love with places. We fall in love with people. We start sprouting roots from our heels and by the time we've noticed, it's already too late.

And then, everything changes.

There are now certain things that we don't let ourselves think about. Isn't it better to live in the moment? Isn't it best to not get ahead of ourselves? But our thoughts become inconveniently unravelled at 2 AM on a work night, with blankets tangled around our restless feet. We feel the roots twitching in our heels again, but this time, we welcome the feeling -- if only for a few minutes. We start imagining what our lives could be like if only we could just plant ourselves somewhere and just stop moving.

Roots mean strength. Stability. Comfort. But stability is a luxury that can't be afforded by those of us on a two-year, non-renewable Visa.

It was our choice to begin our adult lives with uncertainty and adventure. We knew it would be difficult at the beginning. What we didn't realize is that we were signing ourselves up for a round-trip ticket into the unknown. We didn't think about how difficult it would be on the other side. You see, when your life as you know it is on a timeline, it gets harder and harder to ignore the fact that the end is and always has been in sight. Two years is a long time to let your roots grow. So when the time comes to rip them out again, it's inevitably going to be messy.

The year mark has come and gone on my Visa, despite any efforts I've taken to ignore that fact. I have a stable job. I love the city I live in. I've fallen into a comfortable, predictable routine. But lately, that routine has started to include little methods of disconnecting from my current life, of slowly pulling the roots out. Scrolling through job boards in cities back home. Researching post-grad programs. Worrying, constantly. What if I can't find a job back home? What if I can't afford to live where I want? What if I come back, and I'm just not happy?

I wish I could feel as effortless as I did when I thought "I'm just going to move to England for a year, maybe more". I didn't have any expectations. But now I've had a taste of how things could be, and even so, I'm still not quite sure what I want. Things aren't perfect here by any means, but at least I know that I have a job, a place to live, friends, a boyfriend... the list goes on. And yet, so does that ever-ticking clock.

So what now? What can us temporary, timeline-bound travellers do when our time is running out?

I don't have an easy answer. I think it's okay to be carefree and spontaneous for a while, to not think about the inevitable until it's the right time to do so. But once the worrying sets in, that means it's time to start making a plan, to start shifting your mindset. This shift in mindset has only occurred for me within the last couple of weeks. Before that, I would gently steer conversations away from the usual questions like: "What are you going to do when your Visa is up? Do you want to live in Ontario? Would you stay in England if you could?". But now, I am talking peoples' ears off about my mini quarter-life crisis, pitching my various hopes and plans to anyone who will listen in attempts to gain some clarity.

And what's been the result of all this?

Well for one, I'm now starting to see the end of my timeline as less of a jarring conclusion, and more as a new beginning. I've always been one to keep moving, to be happiest when I'm looking ahead to the next 'thing'. Once I can start constructing an idea of what this new beginning might look like, I can start directing my energy towards achieving it instead of throwing out aimless stress into the void. I'm appreciating the little moments that will come to define my time here in England, that I know I'll look back on some day with that bittersweet, nostalgic feeling in my heart. It's all I can do. It's all any of us can do.

So when you ask "what comes next?" and are met with a vague or dismissive response, this is why. We know that you're asking out of love, out of well-meaning curiosity. But sometimes we just don't know how to answer, because we're still sorting out the next step of our journey and it can be a scary thing to do. We'll figure it out in the end, though. Because somewhere deep down, we're still adventurers, despite the roots twitching in our feet. Once again, we will open up our arms to the unknown. And just as we've always found a way to do, we will be okay.

A road, because metaphors. 

- C.

A Week in Barcelona

Well, I promised I would write about Spain (mostly to myself) and have put it off long enough. So here I am, curled up with my laptop on a cool, rainy September day in Bristol. Today, sunny Barcelona in its sun-baked reds and oranges seems to be a world away.

Maybe that's why I've decided to reminisce a little -- the mental version of drinking a nice hot, comforting cup of tea (see how British I've become?). Speaking of which, I'm going to grab myself a literal cup of tea and then tell you about my top eight places, sights and moments in Barcelona. (Like Myspace top eight! Remember? Anyone?)

Just to set the scene a little bit, Tim and I flew into Girona airport in late July, with plans to make our way to Barcelona for a week. We'd been on a couple small trips since we started dating but this was the first big one that involved flying internationally and spending more than a weekend somewhere. I needed it badly. After a rough end to the school year and a slightly less than summery start to the British "summer", I was craving sun, relaxation, and a bit of adventure -- all three of which are to be easily found in Barcelona. Let's move along to the list!

1. Our Air Bnb

There's a time and a place for hotels, same goes for hostels. But I have had consistently lovely experiences staying at Air Bnb homes. They're often much cheaper than a hotel, and make you feel a little more "at home" in the city you're staying in, rather than just being a tourist.  Our flat in Barcelona was no exception. Our friendly host warmly welcomed us into her home, and had no shortage of ideas on where to go around the city and how to get there. The flat was located in the district called "Les Corts", which is a bit further out from the centre of the city, and home to Camp Nou, the FC Barcelona stadium (this would be cooler if I cared more about football, but still a notable fact). We had access to the balcony, which was filled with all kinds of plants and provided a beautiful view of the sun setting over the city. I ate my breakfast and drank my coffee on the balcony every morning, slowly and leisurely, sometimes with a book and sometimes just quietly enjoying the view.When Tim and I were feeling like we had spent too much eating out at restaurants, we sat outside on the balcony dipping fresh bread in olive oil and vinegar, and topping it with avocado and tomato slices. Basically, if I can't have a garden, a balcony is an acceptable consolation.

2. Sitges
If you take a train about 30 minutes outside the city, you can visit Sitges -- a gorgeous little beach town with gorgeous cobbled streets and whitewashed buildings. Interestingly, it is also a popular LGBT friendly destination with a thriving night life. (We didn't see said night life as we are lame and got tired and went home... but that's beside the point). Barcelona has its own beaches of course, but I found the ones in Sitges to be much nicer and less packed with people. We ended the day at a very fancy looking bar where you can overlook the sea from a huge, comfy sofa bed while drinking a bellini. I've never felt more like a lady of luxury.

3. The Food

Finding food in a foreign country can seem a little daunting when you have particular dietary needs/preferences. I try my best to stick to eating vegan, though I admit I do not do it perfectly. However, I always feel a little bad when I'm wandering around with a travel companion in search of food, and have to turn down restaurant after restaurant because they do not offer anything substantial for vegans. This is why I suggest doing a little research if you're in the same boat as me -- I google searched "vegan restaurants Barcelona" and wrote down the names of what I found (which was surprisingly a lot).

Cat Bar: Although containing no actual cats, Cat Bar served one of the best veggie burgers I've ever had alongside vegan patatas bravas and a glass of craft beer.

Vegetalia: We happened upon Vegetalia by chance while wandering around hungrily. I think I have some sort of hunger-powered vegan food sense. We ate outside in the sun and eavesdropped overheard some very loud Americans at the table beside us tell the tale of a slightly disturbing hostel experience. Lunch and a show!

La Boqueria Market: It's a huge market off of La Ramblas and definitely worth a visit. We only spent a little time here, because it was insanely busy. However, we were lured in by the bright colours and fun flavours of fruit juice and had to buy one each.

                                       

Lady Green: This was a lucky find in Sitges (thanks vegan sixth sense). I particularly enjoyed the huge sign saying "Animals are my friends, and I don't eat my friends". I was also obsessed with their potatoes.

Perfection.

Kino: Another lucky find, this time we happened to stumble upon a very "hipster-esque" neighbourhood. We were drawn in by the lively crowds enjoying a drink outside, and intrigued by the many skateboarders hanging out and skating in the square beside it. They also had some very tasty, veggie-friendly tapas.

This is the only photo I took there...

Hidden Cafe: This minimalist-styled cafe (found in our neighbourhood, Les Corts) is a must for any coffee snobs. It's one of those places that has more ways to brew the coffee than I even knew existed, but daaaamn do they make a good cup. The staff didn't speak much English and we didn't speak much Spanish but they were super welcoming and did little things to make our visit nice -- like giving us some free matcha green tea cookies to try (it worked... I came back another day and bought more of them).

4. La Sagrada Familia
Before visiting the Sagrada Familia, I got a message from my cousin stating that if I figured that the outside of the cathedral was cool enough and skipped out on the inside, I would be making the worst mistake of my life. I'm glad we listened, because the inside was truly breathtaking. My camera couldn't capture the way the different colours of stained glass played with the natural daylight, illuminating a forest-like network of columns in different shades of deep red and blue. There was also a little mini-museum inside, explaining the various ways in which Antoni Gaudi was influenced by nature in his architecture. My top tips would be to buy advance tickets -- it's worth it to skip the line, and to visit around 6:00 PM when it's a bit less busy.

Inside.

Outside.

5. The Walks
Barcelona's Gothic Quarter is bustling and full of tourists and travellers. However, it still manages to maintain a charming, artistic vibe with hidden surprises down every little alleyway. Venture out from La Ramblas, the main tourist street, and you'll find quirky modernist architecture, cute cafes and beautiful churches. We spent a lot of our time just wandering around, seeing what we could find.

6. Montjuic Outdoor Film
Another benefit of staying at an Air Bnb is knowing about local events that you wouldn't have heard of had you stayed at a hotel. A fellow guest at the flat filled us in on the outdoor concert and movie being shown at Montjuic Castle. We hopped on a bus that took us on a winding tour up Montjuic Hill, in perfect time to watch the sun setting. We hopped off at the Castle, which used to be a military fortress but now houses a museum. Tonight, it provided the backdrop for an all-female Balkan group performing lively tunes, and a foreign film called Mandarinas. Luckily, the Russian language film was captioned in both Spanish and English. Groups of people were laid out on blankets, drinking wine and sharing picnics as we watched the film. I have decided that I really like outdoor movies, maybe because they remind me a little of going to the Drive-In theatre as a kid.

Parc Guell

7. The Parks
Barcelona has many exciting things, but not a huge amount of green spaces -- so we had to seek them out. Before visiting the Sagrada Familia, we went to Parc Guell -- a park designed by Antoni Gaudi. We walked up what was probably the steepest hill ever before realizing that there was probably a better way to get there... Anyway, the park itself was lovely -- despite the fact that you now have to pay to get into the "good part", where the majority of the artistic features are. Still a nice way to pass an afternoon. The Parc de la Citaduella was another green space within the city with a bit less of a hike, and a huge, golden-detailed fountain. Fun fact: this park used to be the only green space in the city, and remained so for several decades following its creation in 1877. It also contains the Barcelona Zoo, I'm a bit torn on how I feel about zoos, but this one seemed to be one of the better ones, with lots of space and mental stimulation for the animals. 

Parc de le Citaduella

Also Parc de le Citaduella

8. Girona
We spent a day here before flying back home -- and I'm really glad we did. Girona is full of medieval architecture, adorable little shops and is watched over by a towering Gothic cathedral. It has also been used as the filming location for various Game of Thrones episodes (which I have yet to watch because I can't figure out how to watch them without HBO... if anyone has season 5, hook a sister up). We spent our last afternoon in Spain lounging at an oasis-like outdoor bar, while musicians set up for their show later on. However, we headed back to our hotel early and enjoyed a "picnic" of whatever vegan-friendly, no cooking required foods we could find at the small grocery store. (Gazpacho from a carton served in plastic hotel cups is just as you would expect... would not reccommend).

So that's it, in a nutshell. Barcelona is an amazing city to visit, and close to several other little gems to explore. Having seven days to get to know the city was really nice, because we really didn't plan much in advance and just decided what we felt like doing that day. I guess as a teacher, you get a little tired of planning by the end of the year and just want to be spontaneous for a while. I still remember how to do that!

That's all for now, hopefully I will have more adventures and daily misadventures to tell you about soon! And hopefully next time I won 't wait like a month to actually post about them... anyway.

Until next time,

-- C. 

Fall in Love With Places.

I've just returned from a week-long trip to Barcelona, Spain. I'm sure I'll write about it too, but for the moment I want to dwell in the now. I'm scared the summer holiday will go by too quickly if I don't stop to soak it in every now and then, so that is what I am currently doing.

There is a time for stress and there is a time to take a deep breath in and out, a time to rest your brain and your soul. Last week I let myself slowly grow golden in the sun, washed down crumbly pastries with espresso and explored narrow, inviting alleyways until my feet grew sore. Last week was the inhalation -- breathing in as much of a new city as I could. This week is the steady, restful exhale. Home again, nowhere to be and nothing of importance to do.

There is something to be said for loving the place you live in. There are a lot of things to be said, really. But sometimes it's not quite something that you can explain. Sometimes you arrive somewhere and you just know. Know what, exactly, I'm not sure. But I've felt this way about a few places that I can remember. My university, small, quirky and weird as it may have been. Tzfat. Edinburgh. Bristol. My house here in Bristol. It's hard to believe that I've lived in this city for almost a year now.

When I was flat-hunting, I looked at a place before this one that didn't feel this way. There was nothing objectively wrong with it. It just wasn't quite right. Something was off. You should always trust your gut when something feels "off". I learned this the hard way from the first flat we rented here. A tiny sense of "off-ness" can slowly grow into a vague, constant unease and then quickly turn to anger, resentment and a need to get out fast. Home shouldn't feel like this.

But now I'm here. I'm sitting outside in my small, overgrown garden. A vine has made itself quite comfortable wrapped around the tiny wooden dining set. A fat, pollen-drunk bumblebee tumbles out of a flower, and bumbles off on its way. The neighbour cat is stretching up on its hind legs to lazily swat at a butterfly. I can hear distant wind chimes and see laundry flapping in the breeze.

Down the street is a local Indian grocery packed so tightly with spices and samosas, fruits, and veggies and rice, that only one customer can squeeze through the narrow aisles at a time .There are people sitting and chatting outside of a cafe and some tucked cozily inside. The air carries the warm, tempting smell from five different restaurants, serving food from from five different cultures. There's a local pub and its garden lit by fairy lights, where we sat with our new housemates to toast our new home. I can walk to a big, green park where there's a hidden lake and other little secrets.

There's a cycle path down the street. I can hop on my bike and get into town or even to the next town without worrying about cars. I don't worry about not having a car. I can get into town in fifteen minutes. There's always something going on. There's art around every corner. The weather changes about ten times a day but the colourful, pastel rainbow of houses stay consistently cheery.

Next week, I will be home too. This time, it's the one that I am talking about when I start a story with "back home...".  Back to the airport, back through security, back through Iceland, back home to Canada. To my childhood home. This is one of those places too, but in a different way. I didn't choose this place, but I grew up with it, and that's just as important. My boring, beautiful middle-sized suburban town. Sometimes, a place doesn't become a 'Place' until you leave it. The only way you'll know is by how you feel when you leave, and even more importantly -- how you feel when you finally return. I love where I live, but I am still cursed with a dual sense of home. I think it's a good thing, though. I think you should try to collect as many 'homes' and Capital-P 'Places' as you can.

But once again, today is for being here. Once you've found your place, you must do everything you can to not take it for granted. When you leave, if you leave, I guarantee you won't be thinking about the stress, or the confusion or anger or whatever it was that troubled you at the time. You'll think about the good things, and the people you shared them with. The first warm days of summer. You'll remember drinking coffee in an overgrown garden, the bumblebees, and the sun on your face.

C.

The Teacher Hunger Games -- My Job Interview Experience

I recently had a conversation with a friend about the interview process required to land a contract teaching position here in England. "Wow," she told me, "I never realized how intense teacher interviews are!" "Neither did I", I replied.

Just weeks before, I assumed that a job interview simply meant brushing up on answers to tried and true interview questions like "What qualities do you have that make you a good fit for this position?" and practicing your firm handshake. I did not realize that in order to become a teacher, I would have to brave what another friend described as "the Teacher Hunger Games". Luckily, I only had to go through this process twice before landing a job and I am extremely thankful. For those of you who don't know, here is my experience of the teaching job interview.

Even Katniss would be nervous.

1. The Email: 
It was a Thursday evening. I had finished work and was on my way home, when my phone lit up with an email. My heart raced when I read the words "you have been invited to interview". I read on. "Attached is a letter giving the full details for your interview day". I opened the attachment, and was met with a full-page-long letter explaining that I would need to prepare a 25-minute long lesson, complete a maths-based written task, and then, if I was successful, I would take part in a group task and then, finally I would sit down for a formal interview. My heart dropped a little bit. Not only did I need to brush up on how to answer possible interview questions (for a formal interview that I might not even make it to) and research the school, but I would need to plan a lesson on top of my usual lesson planning for work, and speculate on what this mysterious "maths-based written task" might be. On top of all that, my friend was visiting from Paris that weekend and I wanted to make sure that she had an amazing time in Bristol. The interview was first thing on Monday. In short, it was going to be a busy, anxiety-filled few days.

2. Arriving at the Interview
On the bus, I listened to some meditation videos to calm my nerves. Upon arriving at the school (at 8:15 prompt for my 8:30 start time), I signed in and was taken to the Staff Room where about 5 other candidates were sitting around nervously. "Ok, this isn't too many others," I thought. But then another candidate would be escorted in, and then another, until there were finally ten of us making sporadic small-talk and trying to look (and feel) confident. The Head Teacher and a couple other Senior Management staff came in and briefed us on our day: We were each given different time slots for our interview lessons. Following that, we had time slots for our written task. Then, we were free to stay in the Staff Room over lunch time or go elsewhere, and we would receive a call telling us whether or not we were invited back for the afternoon. After filling out our name stickers, there was nothing left to do but sit around, anxiously awaiting our lessons.

3. The Lesson
Pretty much every teaching interview involves a lesson. This makes sense, as the school wants to see you in action, doing what you're going to be doing every day if you're hired. Sometimes they will give you a topic for the lesson, or tell you to base it around a particular story that the children have been learning. Sometimes they might just say "teach a 25-minute spelling, punctuation and/or grammar lesson for Year 4" and leave it at that. My first interview was the latter, my second was a bit more laid out for me. I think preparing for the lesson component is the worst part, as you agonize over how to write the perfect plan, differentiating your lesson for children that you have never met before and wondering if it's engaging enough. I found though that once I started teaching the actual lesson, my nerves largely disappeared and I just focused on myself and the kids -- not the looming panel of Head/Deputy Head teachers jotting notes in the background.

4. The Written Task
I won't go into much detail about this, as I thoroughly disliked this portion of the interview. We were sat alone in separate rooms, and given a copy of the Year Six SATS Arithmetic paper. We were then given a specific amount of time to complete this. Embarrassingly, I took too long worrying about whether I was answering the questions in the "proper" way that we are supposed to teach them, and I overestimated how much time I had. So I didn't complete the paper in time. With a seriously diminished confidence in my maths skills, I handed in my paper and went back to the Staff Room.

5. The Call-Back
Because we were all given different times to complete our lesson and written task, there was quite a long wait between the morning activities, and learning whether we would be called back. At first I thought I would just sit around the Staff Room and wait, but the tense atmosphere was beginning to get to me and I decided on a walk around the neighbourhood. By this point, I had decided that it was a win-win situation: either I I get called back and have a chance at the job, or I don't -- and I get to go home and the stressful day would be over. On my way back, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I nervously answered -- of course, it was the school. By some miracle, I had been invited back for the second part of the interview in the afternoon! I walked back with a smile on my face. The most awkward part of this was the fact that I couldn't avoid walking past some of the candidates who were packing up their cars or walking home, as they had not been invited back. The Teacher Hunger Games is a cruel game indeed.

6. The Afternoon
Upon arriving back, it became apparent that exactly half of us were invited back. Myself and the other four candidates were brought into a room and given our group task: We had to plan a Theme Day for Key Stage 2 (Years 3-6) and detail which topic we had chosen, what activities each year group was doing, and how we would divide up responsibilities. Then we had to make a brief presentation about our plan. We had 20 minutes to complete this, while the panel watched and took notes. The task flew by -- all of us trying really hard to show what great ideas we had and how well we could collaborate and so on.

Following this, we were brought back to the Staff Room, and given our time slots for the formal interviews. Each were spaced about half an hour apart, and I was 4th out of the five candidates. Meaning that I would have to wait around for almost an hour and a half, watching the others go one by one for their interviews. It was agonizing, and I ended up taking another walk. The interview itself was pretty much what I expected, and luckily the Head Teacher and two senior staff conducting it were very friendly and non-intimidating. After the interview, I shook their hands, thanked them, and was on my way home. It was about 3:30 by this point and I was exhausted and ready to go home, whether I got this job or not.

7. The Results

Luckily, it seems that most schools will decide only a few hours after the interviews who they have chosen to hire. This means that by the early evening, you will know whether or not you got it. In my case, I was unsuccessful in my first interview, and I tried to hide my disappointment on the phone with the Head Teacher. Especially as taking a day off for the interview meant one less day of pay that week. In the end though, I felt pretty good about making it to the second round on my first interview, and  I had another one lined up for Friday of that week. So I had no time to waste sitting around being disappointed, as I had another lesson to plan, and more research to do. The games would begin again -- and this time, I would win myself a job for September.

Teaching is not an easy job, so it makes sense that the interview process would be equally challenging. My advice to any teachers entering the interview Hunger Games: I think the key is to see it as a learning process. This takes the pressure off a bit and avoids too much disappointment if you aren't successful. If you don't get the job, make sure you ask for feedback as to what you could do better next time. Most schools are willing to give it. My other advice would be to make use of your resources -- ask an experienced teacher for feedback on your interview lesson, and tips for answering questions. I did, and it was more helpful than I could have imagined. But most of all, try to relax and remember that this is what you've been trained to do, and you are even better than you give yourself credit for. May the odds be ever in your favour. You've got this.

-- C.

The Top However Many UK Road Trip Moments I Can Think Of In No Particular Order (TTHMURTMICTOINPO)

This post has been a long time in the making, but mostly because I have had a crazy few weeks. So it's nice to think back to a few weeks ago, when my only care in the world was whether I would ever see a Highland Cow in the flesh (fur?).

Over half-term, my two friends and I went on a road trip across the UK -- they started in London, met up with me in Salisbury (near Stonehenge), and came to stay for a couple nights in Bristol. Then we made our way through Liverpool, up to Glasgow, then onto the Isle of Skye, before finally ending in Edinburgh.

Instead of the tiresome process of explaining the whole trip in order, I thought I would pick out some highlights to share. So here it is, a semi-exhaustive list of The Top However Many UK Road Trip Moments I Can Think Of In No Particular Order. Or, TTHMURTMICTOINPO. Catchy right? Here goes.

1. Reuniting With Friends
   Taylor and Nicole are two of my dearest friends, so I greeted them in the only way appropriate for our reuniting -- by banging on their car window and scaring the crap out of them. I know they would do the same for me, because that's what friends are for.
2. Stonehenge
   We shelled out the big bucks in order to get up close and personal to the mystical stones themselves. When you arrive, a shuttle bus takes you a couple kilometres down the road to see them -- and the driver briefs you on the rules. However, we sat at the back of the bus and had no idea what he was saying for the most part. The only rule we heard was "don't touch the stones". Of course, I wasted no time in accidentally breaking this cardinal rule when losing my balance during a particularly "animated" Stonehenge-photoshoot pose. I am pretty sure I can never go back there again.
   

   

   Before I touched the stone.. so innocent, so naive.

3. Being a Tourist in My Own Town
   I've basically got my "Bristol Experience" whirlwind tour for visitors down pat. It involves some sightseeing (Cabot Tower and/or the Suspension Bridge), some "authentic" British cuisine (you will eat beans on toast and you will enjoy it), some local pubs, and cats. How could there not be cats? Our team also won at our local Pub Quiz, which would be really impressive if not for the fact that there was only one other team. Still proud of us.
   

   

   We all wore our most summery outfits

   

   Bag of Nails aka Cat pub aka My Happy Place

4. The Playlist
   With this being a road trip, we spent a lot of time in the car. So we spent a long time leading up to the trip virtually screaming song suggestions at one another in a Facebook group chat. We thought that we had crafted the perfect mix of cheesy karaoke jams, British inspired tunes, and what we called "Majestic mountain driving music". However, we forgot to take into account that these songs were in no way separated by "genre". So we would be driving through the gorgeous, breathtaking Scottish Highlands, when suddenly "My Humps" would come on and RUIN EVERYTHING. Like, damn it Fergie, can't you see this is not the time?? Takeaway point here -- make sure to categorize your playlist. However, some happy accidents did occur -- like the time we were racing against time to see the "Hogwarts Express" train passing over the famous viaduct from the films, and Hedwig's Theme came on. You win some, you lose some.
   

   

   But we missed the train anyway.

5. The Weird Conversations
   When you hang out with anyone for long enough, the conversations tend to take a turn for the weird, as you run out of "normal" topics to talk about. Somehow we ended up planning the plot of an entire novel about the three of us being stuck in pods and imagining our whole lives up until this point, while evil sheep scientists performed experiments on us. Other conversational highlights included the birth of Lady Baa-Baa, and the writing of several of her greatest hit songs such as Baa Romance, Baa-barazzi, and Shepherdo (to the tune of Alejandro). There were a lot of sheep around, okay? What else were we supposed to talk about??
6. Getting Beatle-Mania
   When we went to Liverpool, we planned on seeing the famous destinations behind Strawberry Field and Penny Lane. And of course, we played both songs on repeat on-route to said destinations. As a result, I never want to hear either song ever again, thanks.
   
    
7. Encounters with the Locals
   While wandering Liverpool near the Cavern Club, a lady came up to us and struck up a conversation in hopes of luring us into whatever club she was promoting. However, she had the thickest Liverpool accent you can imagine. We are pretty sure she complimented Nicole's eyebrows, but we're not 100% sure...
8. Living the City Life in Glasgow
   Much of our time in Glasgow was spent just wandering around this modern, art-filled city and taking in the sights. However, the best part was discovering the green spaces that were hidden among the busy streets. Near the People's Palace, we lay out in the grass and enjoyed the uncharacteristically sunny weather, resting our feet from a long day of walking. A detour after a lovely brewery dinner took us to the Necropolis -- a towering and sprawling cemetery. We climbed up winding paths that led us to the top of the steep hill and watched the sun set over Glasgow. It was a welcome sight after Nicole and I were forced to unwillingly stare at some guy's butt crack at the table in front of us during dinner.
   
   
   
                                             
9. The Wildlife
   Somehow, seeing adorable sheep frolicking the hills of Scotland just didn't get old. But I was on a mission... I needed to see a Hairy Coo (highland cow). So when we were driving up a terrifying single-track road on the Quirang mountain range, and spotted a glimpse of brown fur and horns, we immediately made Taylor pull the car over. This was it, this was my moment, it was a real life Highland Cow. But it wasn't facing the right way and we NEEDED photos. So we did the only logical thing -- we started mooing at it. At first it didn't work, so we switched up our moo-ing strategy: from sounding like an angry cow, to attempting to mimick a baby cow in trouble, in hopes that the cow's parental instincts would kick in. Well, somehow it worked and we managed to get this beauty of a photo. Sometimes it pays to look like an idiot.

   

   So glorious, so free.

10. The Views
    As we drove further North through the highlands toward the Isle of Skye, we got increasingly excited as the hills got bigger and more majestic. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves here.
    
    

    

    How is anywhere allowed to be this pretty?

    
    

    

    Just some casual sheep.

    
    

    

    Views from the Quirang

11. Dipping our Feet in the Fairy Pools
    If you ever plan to visit the Fairy Pools of Skye (which you should), I would suggest doing so in the early evening. As the sun begins to set, the landscape becomes drenched in gold and the light catches and sparkles in the clear blue water. It's truly magical. However, I nearly ruined this magical moment by slipping on one of the rocks while wading through one of the pools. I nearly fell into the water -- and even scarier, I nearly drenched my camera. Luckily, I caught myself in some kind of weird push-up position, my arms locked to save my precious camera, and only like eight people saw me wipe out. It's cool.
    
    
    
    
12. Our Stay in Skye
    We stayed in Dunvegan, a tiny town on the Isle of Skye. Disappointingly for me, this name has nothing to do with actual vegans. We called a cute little cottage our home for two nights. It was a relaxing and cozy stay -- I already miss having crumpets and coffee made by our lovely host, while watching sheep frolic outside. While in Dunvegan, we took the chance to experience the beauty of some of Scotland's most breathtaking parks. And by breathtaking, I mean we couldn't breathe from laughing when Taylor fell off the see-saw in a playground made for children. We are totally mature adults. 
    
    
    

    

    Before she fell. So innocent, so naive.

    
                                     
    
    
    We also saw Dunvegan Castle --the oldest continuously inhabited castle in Scotland. However, my favourite part was definitely the gorgeous gardens that surrounded it. (Though I mean, they were a bit underwhelming after that exceptional childrens' playground...).
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
13. Going Home
    We drove from our Air Bnb in Skye to Edinburgh, about a five and a half hour journey. It was here that I said goodbye to Nicole and Taylor, and started my equally long train ride back to Bristol. I got a little bored on the way, and started illustrating some of the nearby town names that I passed. For example:

    

    When you're on a train for 5.5 hours, this is the height of comedy.

    
    Our UK road trip was definitely one of the most amazing things I've experienced in my 24 years on Earth. But there's something comforting about arriving back to the city you've grown to call home, devouring two bowls of porridge, and crawling into your own bed. But the thing about travel is, the more of the world you see -- the more you realize there is to see. And what better way to see it than stuck in a car for endless hours, making up songs about sheep with your best friends? In my opinion, probably none.
    
                                        

Until next time,

C.