AdFRENCHures in Paris (Sorry. I am so sorry for that title).

When my friend Katrina -- currently working as an Au Pair in Paris -- messaged me asking what I was doing for Christmas, and if I would like to come visit her, I was mildly relieved. Okay, I was very relieved.

For a while, it had felt a bit like everyone I knew was going home to visit family -- something I decided was not the most financially wise idea for myself at the time. I had visions of spending the whole holiday season alone in Bristol, bingeing on Oreos, wine and Netflix. Luckily, I was not alone in deciding to stick around for the holidays, and I eagerly booked my flight to spend Christmas in Paris with my friend from uni.

Except somehow, I accidentally booked my flight out of Cardiff not Bristol and only realized this two days before flying out. I had a brief window of panic time before realizing EVERYTHING IS SUPER CLOSE IN THE UK. ITS GOING TO BE FINE. Booking a flight out of the wrong country is not as devastating an error as it would have been back home, since Wales is only an hour's train ride out of Bristol.

My time spent in Cardiff was very short, but I managed to find a vegetarian cafe to grab a coffee and lunch, and learned that the Welsh language is not super keen on vowels.

Like this sign for instance. I am sure that Welsh is a beautiful language but to my untrained eye, it looks like someone started typing up the sign, but then their cat walked across the keyboard and hit "send to print" by accident. Much respect if you can understand this language. (Also if you ever watch a documentary about Cardiff Airport and see a girl that looks like me, looking bored and eating a granola bar, ITS ME, HI).

When I arrived in Paris, my first order of business was the same as usual: Find food. I had a few hours before Katrina got back from her own travels, so I decided to walk in the direction of her train station and scope out some dinner on the way. Easy enough, right? WRONG. For a few reasons:

1. I am mostly vegan. France is mostly not. 
2. It's France. Everything is in French. All of my hard earned menu-scanning-for-veggie-option skills are useless here.
3. It's dark. 
4. My bag is really heavy and I am getting hangry, which is essentially turning me into an irritable she-Hulk. Hanger is real. Do not trust anyone who tells you otherwise.

Everything was going terribly. My back hurt. I couldn't find anywhere to eat. I tried to press the pedestrian crossing button only to realize those don't exist here and I had just been awkwardly patting a very low traffic light.

Finally, I find a restaurant near the station that seems vaguely "American Themed" and there is a veggie burger on the menu. The host says something. What did he just say? Is he talking to me? I am pretty sure he is talking to me but it's in French and my reaction time is off and now it's too late to reply without sounding weird so I am just going to pretend like I didn't hear him. "Bon soir..?" He repeats again, clearly not convinced by my strategy. "Bon soir" I mumble back. Good! I have successfully said words! But why isn't he saying more words? Is it still my turn? Oh god, what do I say now? "Juste pour moi" I manage, and soon I am seated at a table by the window. Success!

                                                Fries, not chips! At least some things are familiar here.                                                

I order a veggie burger and fries and it tastes amazing, though I ate it pretty quickly and still have time to kill. "Un cafe, s'il vous plait!" I ask the waitress, thinking that I can at least slowly and leisurely enjoy a coffee while waiting for Katrina's train. Wrong again. When the waitress returns with my coffee, all I can think is "What is this... A coffee for ANTS???" It was not a coffee for ants. The default coffee beverage in France is just espresso. By the end of my dinner, I had several other mini-crises such as "do I tip here??" (no) and "How do I ask for the bill??" (L'addition s'il vous plait) but all in all it went okay and I was soon able to meet up with Katrina at the station.

At that point, it had gotten quite late, so we chat a bit before heading to bed. The next day, I am awoken by the most beautiful words one can hear early in the morning: "I'm going to go pick us up something for breakfast!" When Katrina returns carrying a brown paper bag, she excitedly tells me: "This never happens! When I went to the bakery and asked for croissants, they were just coming out of the oven... they're still warm!"

All the squishy, oily grocery store croissants I've ever had at home pale in comparison to this piece of beauty. It was warm and perfectly flaky and crumbly. I probably could have gone home satisfied with my trip at this point, but we had a full day of sightseeing ahead of us -- so I brushed the crumbs off of

my clothes and got ready to go.

We went to the Arc du Triomphe, and I got to go up it for free as a UK resident... which was amazing because I wasn't even aware that it was something that you could go up. A long spiralling staircase rewarded us with the most amazing panoramic view of the city.

Next, we walked the Champs D'Elysee -- the street shown in the black and white photo with the big ferris wheel at the end. This street was extremely busy, filled with extravagant and expensive shops, as well as about a million different movie theatres. There was also a Christmas Market going on at the end which was nice, but a bit busy. Christmas markets are really a thing here in Europe -- I assume it started in Germany as they are all vaguely German themed.

Tiny santa in pursuit of tiny dog. 

Chocolate pears.. Also known as CUTEST THING EVER

Can they chocolate it?? Yes they can.

Hot Christmas orange juice anyone?

Beauty in it's purest form.

Wow.. a shop where I can buy Floppy... 

AND Flooppy! All in the same place! What a world we live in.

At the end of the market, we found ourselves in front of a very large ferris wheel. I had to google "Big ferris wheel in Paris" just now to figure out the real name, which incidentally is "Le Grand Roue de Paris"... so basically, the Big Wheel of Paris. I suppose that's accurate at least, it is big, a wheel, and in Paris.

The wheel looking old-timey.

Place de Concorde

Place where you can sit and chill and watch seagulls doing seagull things

We went to "Jeu de Paumes", a photography museum which was super cool -- especially the exhibition on Philippe Halsmann and Salvador Dali... dudes made some crazy photos without using Photoshop. We also somehow sat down and accidentally watched almost an hour of some artsy film because it was so weird that we needed to find out what was going on. An hour later all we had was "Something...about war.. maybe?"

Jumping for joy at the photography museum?

That night, we went out to a pub (British themed, I felt right at home) and I successfully spoke French to some French people (for about 5 minutes before they took pity and switched to English). I was still really proud of my efforts.

The next day we were up bright and early. By bright I mean, "woah, there's actually sun here in the winter unlike England". We went to see Notre Dame and were met there with a long line that Katrina assured me is actually short compared to usual. Here, and at basically any tourist attraction we went to, the entry process was slowed considerably because everyone had to open their coats and purses for security. Katrina noted that this was not the case when she first arrived -- a sobering reminder that we were in a city that had been the target of terrorist attacks just a month ago. 

We climbed up the stairs (SO MANY), saw gargoyles, bells, and a beautiful view of the city. Apparently Notre Dame is so well  restored today largely because of Victor Hugo's novel The Hunchback of Notre Dame -- his writing essentially convinced people that it was worth preserving and saved the church from demolition. How badass is that? 

Sometimes in life, you see a bell and have to touch it.

Notre Daaaamn that's a nice view.

My quest for a good old Americano coffee continued and I figured McDonalds was about as Americano as it gets. On the menu I saw "Cafe Grand" and I thought "Good! A big coffee! This is exactly what I want." Unfortunately, it was not exactly what I wanted...

In what world is this "un grand cafe"??

We stopped by Shakespeare and Company -- an amazingly cute and quaint bookstore with a little reading nook. The inside was covered with scribbles, doodles and photos from people who had passed through the store.

The pun was not lost on me.

Later that day, we went to the Centre Pompidou -- the outside of the building was cool enough, but the inside was full of amazingly weird and wacky modern art. Some examples of which are below:

Interactive chalk walled room!

Perfectly size-ordered spheres!!

Houses made of candles!!

Pages and receipts from artists daily life, painted white!!

...this guy!!!

Once we had explored enough of the Centre de Pompidou, we journeyed to our next destination... Veg Art, a vegan pizza place! (What?? Vegan? In Paris?). I was extremely excited and for good reason. The pizza was delicious -- especially the one with roasted chestnuts, potato and mushroom.

Yessss

The metro stop near the restaurant happened to be right in the Place de la Republique -- the square where many gathered in solidarity after the attacks. What we saw there was solemn, yet striking: The monument in the centre of the square had been decorated in posters, flags, photographs, flickering candles -- they were still being lit --, and other symbols of solidarity, resilience and peace in the wake of the tragic attacks just a month before. I took a single photo, wanting to remember the sight, but not wanting to be a tourist in someone else's tragedy.

                                                          

                                                               

We had a quiet night in after dinner, tired out from walking around and doing all of the stairs. But more stairs awaited us the next day as we made our way through the Montmartre neighbourhood to see Sacre Coeur and the various other sights around the neighbourhood.

In the morning, something wonderful happened.... I FINALLY found my coffee. Pictured: Red Starbucks cup, Moulin Rouge in the background. It's like, I don't even care that they called me Courtney. I willingly accept my new identity if it means I can get a proper morning coffee that is not for ants.

On the way to Montmartre, we also saw this beautiful Metro display based entirely around potatoes. This was something I felt I could really get behind, because potatoes are a very important part of my life.

Behold the glory of the potato

So wonderful, so delicious, so pure.

Potato displays aside, Montmartre was quite an interesting area, and we made our way past the Moulin Rouge and various "risque" shops and theatres, up cobblestone streets to Sacre Coeur.

The Moulin Rouge

Van Gogh lived here!

Another very old 'moulin'

Montmartre is just the cutest.

Sacre Coeur.. cropped just so that you can't see the 5000 tourists.

If Sacre Coeur weren't beautiful enough, directly in front of it was (wait for it...) ANOTHER amazing view! Paris is full of those. It helps that most of the buildings are very short so you can see almost all of the major landmarks from any given high point. There are some skyscrapers, but they're all in one area. It's like the city decided "Okay fine, you can build your skyscrapers.... just put them...right over...there..." *Points to tiny corner where all the other skyscrapers are huddled*.

Yep, right over there with the rest of them.

After that, we made our way to the Eiffel Tower -- I had seen it a few times since being here, as Katrina lives right within view of it. You can look out her bathroom window and see the top. But we hadn't really gone up close -- so we did. We braved the hordes of pigeons, other tourists and selfie-stick vendors and managed to get some lovely photos.

Always get someone holding a nice camera to take your photo. They know the angles.

We also grabbed some roasted chestnuts at the nearby Christmas Market (yes, another one) for part of our Christmas Day dinner. One of Katrina's Au Pair friends was also staying in town, so the three of us had a nice home-cooked meal.

These are dangerously addictive.

Sweet potato risotto. Meat stuff for meat eaters. Wine. More wine. Etc.

In the morning, it was time to say goodbye to Katrina and the lovely city she called home. 

I was glad to arrive back -- my camera filled with photos and my backpack filled with French cookies. Travelling is a humbling experience in a way. Nothing makes you feel like an idiot faster than fumbling your way through that first little while in an unfamiliar place. I think back to when I first arrived in England: starting a new job, finding a place to live, trying to be an adult, figuring out all the little details that made this place different from home. But you adjust and adapt. Given some time, almost anywhere can become home. Sometimes you need to be thrown off balance a little. Sometimes, you need to feel like an idiot. And sometimes, you need to eat French cookies -- and now is that time. Au revoir for now, friends!



C.

Kids Are Weird and it's Hilarious and Awesome.

Hey all,

It's been a while since my last post and that can be chalked up, in all honesty, to my serious fear of inadequacy. My last post was re-published as an article on The Plaid Zebra, which was really cool, but then I began to feel like every post from then on needed to be profound and article-worthy. So I put off writing another post for a while, because let's face it -- you don't come across profound and article-worthy situations every day. But then I remembered why I am keeping this blog -- to document my time as a new teacher living in a new place, and to share it with the people that care enough to read (hi Mom, hi Dad). Not to write a masterpiece every week.

Perfectionism and self-doubt can be paralyzing. I remember crying in Kindergarten because I couldn't remember how to spell the word "lighter" (darn those silent letters) and making many trips to the recycling bin throughout elementary school with crumpled up pieces of artwork that were "so terrible" that I had to start over. Now here I am, telling kids that it's okay to spell a word wrong as long as we give it our best try, and that their artwork looks beautiful and unique, not terrible. Guess I've gotta pay my dues for being an annoying kid somehow.

All that aside, I have decided to make a small compilation of some of the funny and adorable things that I have seen students say or do over the past couple weeks of supplying -- because when they are not crying over misspelled words or crumpling up their art, kids are actually hilarious. I suspect that this is part of the reason that I decided to work with them. Here are some moments that demonstrate what I mean:

• (Nursery)
  Girl: "Sam, why do you have tissues?"
  Boy: (Thoughtfully) "I have a cold...I have had a cold for 80 years."
  Me: "80 years? That's a very long time! You would be very old by then."
  Boy: (Pondering this deeply) "When I am 96 years old... I will have a beard, probably."


• (Nursery)
  Boy: (In tough, growling voice)"GRRRR. I'm the Hulk!!!"
  Me: "Oh no! Are you a nice Hulk, or a mean Hulk?"
  Boy: (Still in tough voice): "NICE HULK."



• Two girls in Reception (Kindergarten) came up to me and said "Miss! Want to watch our song?" "Sure!" I say, prepared for Twinkle Twinkle Little Star or Baa Baa Black Sheep. Nope. It was "Watch Me (Whip/Nae Nae)" complete with attempted actions. I watched them. They whipped. They Nae-Naed. I died laughing.


• A class of Year Four students had to write newspaper reports on Howard Carter's discovery of King Tut's tomb. One kid decided to describe how Carter "Peered through a hole in the wall". Only, she forgot the "R" in "peered". Guess there were no toilets in King Tut's tomb.

• Same assignment -- kids had to finish a sentence for their news article, beginning with "Howard Carter...". Expected answers were probably along the lines of "Is an archaeologist, is a passionate adventurer" etc.  Instead, a good third of the answers were just about his mustache. One read: "Howard Carter has a long mustache and seems posh". Come on, guys. I need hard hitting journalism here. You're all fired.

While I was taking the register in a Reception class, a little girl begins rubbing my boot. I look down to see what she's doing. "I'm keeping your feet warm for you!" she tells me. Heart = melted.

A little boy in Nursery came up to me at outdoor time and put a construction hat on my head. "You're Bob the Builder". he instructed me. When a 4-year-old tells you you're Bob the Builder, you are now Bob the Builder. It doesn't matter who you were in your former life. You put that hat on, start hammering at random things on the playground, and accept your new identity. There is no questioning it.

While taking the register in a Year One class I had been in a few times, I call a boy's name and ask what he's having for his lunch today. His answer was "Packed lunch, also, I love you." Woah, kid. That escalated quickly.

I told a group of Year One students the really corny knock-knock joke that ends with "Orange you glad I didn't say banana?". Then a little boy wanted to tell me his own joke that goes as follows:
Knock knock? (Who's there?) Banana. (Banana who?) BANANA DOCTOR!! (Cue him laughing hysterically at his own joke). This further confirmed my belief that little kids not understanding the concept of punchlines but trying to tell jokes anyway is the greatest thing ever.

A nursery school girl promptly walked up to me during outdoor play and demanded to know, with a pointed finger, why I wasn't wearing earrings... I have no idea why... but I felt ashamed of my obvious transgression.

I had to do a "long observation" on some Reception kids, meaning I basically follow a kid around for 10-15 minutes, write down the things they do and say, match it to age-level expectations and write their "next steps". The LSA told me to observe one girl, and I was ready to document some wonderful snapshots of learning and development...Except this girl decided she wanted to run around on all fours barking like a dog. For 15 minutes. She only broke character when she noticed someone else doing something they weren't supposed to do, for which she would promptly scold them -- and then right back to being a dog. Next Steps: Stay in character. Become the dog. Research dog's motivations -- Why does it bark? What are it's hopes and dreams? Who is it really?

Sometimes, these tiny humans and their are reminders to smile and to not take life so seriously -- a very important quality to have during the dark, damp Bristol winter. There is a time and a place to be serious -- but sometimes, ya just gotta put on a Bob the Builder hat and run around barking like a dog. (It's an analogy. Please don't actually do that). That's all for now, but stay tuned for more adorably silly tiny-human-moments in the future!


C.

Some Days are Reminders.

Teaching is full of extremes. Some days, you come home feeling like a mess. You sit on the bus feeling frustrated, your back sore and your voice even worse. A toddler on the bus begins wailing, and as you slip in your headphones, you wonder what strange force compelled you to work with kids. 'Why would anyone wish this on themselves?' you think. But then, miraculously, you have days that remind you exactly why.

It's 8:02 AM and I'm sitting on a bench downtown, thinking that the possibility of me working today is getting slim. But then my phone rings. "Hello!", my agency contact says in a chipper voice. "We've got no calls in today for primary supply teachers...but I'd still like to send you out to a school to help out in a classroom -- you're getting paid as part of your guaranteed work agreement, even though we're sending you for free. Is that okay with you?" "Sure, sounds good" I tell them. Work is work, even if it's not technically work... and anyway, it's good to get my face out there and better than sitting at home.

The assignment is Year Six -- equivalent of Grade Five back home. We talk about Remembrance Day, write letters to role models, and I help some small groups with math -- practical problem solving where they have to figure out which (made-up) cell phone plan is the cheapest. The kids are funny, and have tons of questions about Canada and my accent. The morning flew by pleasantly, but it was the afternoon that really got me.

In the afternoon, the students had PSHE -- Personal, social and health education. To sum it up in the most basic terms, this subject revolves around being kind to yourself and others. Today, the topic was disability. The students pushed their desks back and sat in a circle, and the teacher introduced the talking point: we were to go around the circle, and students could choose to share either a disability that they knew about, or talk about someone in their life that has dealt with disability in some form.

We began passing around a stuffed animal as a sort of "talking stick", and the students began sharing. One by one, they told stories in small voices about friends and family members who had been affected by disability or life-altering illness -- some still living and some not. It became clear very quickly that some of these students had dealt with some pretty heavy things at the age of 10 and 11: parents with brain damage, grandparents with dementia, seeing beloved family members battle with injury and illness. But amazingly, despite how chatty this group was earlier, not a single voice could be heard speaking out of turn. These children understood the seriousness of the discussion and sat in respectful silence for their friends who were sharing.

As the discussion went on, I noticed some eyes welling up with tears. Emotions can be such tricky things. Even as adults, we sometimes find it difficult to know how to handle the strong emotions of our friends, and can feel really uncomfortable when we see someone we know crying. But these children knew exactly what to do. I saw students rubbing their friends backs to comfort them, arms around shoulders, quiet acts of kindness. When the discussion ended, I noticed one girl starting to tear up, unnoticed by her peers. When a boy finally noticed, he raised his hand and said "I think Katie needs a tissue" in a concerned voice. Now I was struggling to hold back tears.

"I just wanted to say, thank you all so much for sharing." the teacher said. "You are all brave boys and girls, and some of you have dealt with some very tough things. But look around you. In this class, and at this school, we are like a family. If you ever feel sad or upset, you can talk to me, or any adult here, or any of your friends around you... we are all here to listen. You're not alone." His words were sincere. I felt it, and I could tell the students did too.

As I walked home that day, I thought: "This is it. This is why I wanted to teach". To me, being a teacher is about creating a safe and welcoming space for children to learn. A place where they feel accepted, and where they are unafraid to express themselves. I was reminded that day that every student is experiencing life in a different way, and their experience goes far deeper than what you see at school. Yes, it takes less time to scold a student for bad behaviour than to pull them aside and ask: "I noticed you seem troubled today. What's bothering you?". But you would be surprised what you can learn from the latter. Yes, sometimes kids are just being kids...but sometimes their parents are fighting, or their grandma is sick, and they don't know how to properly deal with their fear and anger. It can be hard to give them the benefit of the doubt when it can feel like they are purposefully doing everything in their power to drive you up a wall...but it's so important to try.

Teachers can't solve every problem for every child -- that would be an overwhelming and impossible task. But we can listen and encourage. We can provide helping hands and shoulders to cry on. We can be on a child's team when they feel like the world is against them. And sometimes, that is enough.


-- C

Supply Teacher Problems: All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go

I've got my teacher clothes on: A smart pair of black dress pants (trousers for any Brits reading), a nice blouse, and a comfy cardigan. My purse is packed with lunch, my day planner, an umbrella, my police check, a water bottle, and some animal stickers. Yes, I am totally prepared. Prepared to sit on my bed, on my laptop, sadly eating dark chocolate soy pudding. As one might guess, my morning didn't go exactly as planned.

Supply teaching is great for many reasons: The spontaneity. The flexibility. A new challenge every day. It can also be quite frustrating for a few reasons: The instability. The unpredictability. A new, potential Google Maps disaster every day. I try to focus on the positives, and enjoy the amazing opportunity that I have been given. But it wouldn't be a blog without a little venting, right?
This morning, I got a call around 7:35 to get to a school that I've taught at a few times, and really like. This school is a bit far on the bus -- almost an hour, and that's if I leave at the right time to catch the most direct bus. However, you don't always have the chance to leave at the right time when you're on-call. I did a quick Google Maps check. It said that if I leave at 7:45 I could catch a 7:57 bus that would take me almost straight to the school. I still wouldn't arrive until quarter to nine -- a bit later than I am technically supposed to show up, but on short notice it's sometimes difficult to be extremely punctual. I let my agency know that I would be a bit later, but still arrive before school started at 9:00. They said they would let the school know. All is going okay so far.

But then 7:57 rolls around, and the bus is nowhere to be seen. Whatever, sometimes they're a minute or two late... So I wait until 8:00. Nothing. 8:05. Still nothing. 8:10. Starting to seriously wonder why these buses even have timetables. I call my agency again, who are beginning to sound quite flustered, and they suggest I call a cab, as the schools don't like when teachers are late and will be less likely to request you again. Okay, mildly freaking out now. I call the first cab company, but they won't have anything until 9:00. I call the second, they don't have anything either. I call the third, and they won't have anything for another 25 minutes at least. The bus drives by as I'm on the phone. Okay, definitely freaking out now. I call my agency again, apologizing profusely. They tell me that it's okay, but they will need to find someone else to send that can get there sooner.

Great. I've let them down, let the school down, and now I won't have work today. I should have just hopped on my bike. Why didn't I just bike? I mean, no, I wasn't super confident on my cycling directions to get there and would have likely shown up moderately sweaty... But I probably could have at least made it on time. The walk back to my house felt a bit like a walk of shame.

A First Bus getting ready to make some people late -- An artistic rendering.

Surely this wouldn't have happened if I were a better teacher, more responsible, better at decision making under pressure. Right? Well, Yes and no. There is a well-known proverb that states "Shit Happens" and I choose to stand by those words. Sometimes, for whatever reason -- be it dumb luck or bad karma or what have you -- things just don't fall together in the way you would have hoped.

There is no way to account for all of the thousands of factors involved in a simple decision like 'how will I get to work today?'. It's easy to start playing mind games with yourself, such as "If I Had Only...", "Why Didn't I..." or the classic "Why am I Such an Idiot?". Especially if you're a chronic over-thinker like me. Would I have liked to work today? Yes. Am I disappointed? Yup. But I am going to suck it up, eat my chocolate pudding, and move on. Tomorrow, I will be ready again at seven AM. My bag will be packed, I'll be wearing my teacher clothes, and it will be a new day.


C.

Homesick? Nah... Just a Bit Under the Weather.

I wouldn't say I'm feeling homesick.

To me, that word conjures up the image of a 6-year-old, crying on her bunk bed on the first week of overnight camp. Admittedly, I was that girl once, but now I am a fully grown adult. I am not at summer camp, nor am I crying. I am not homesick.  But sometimes an expat Canadian gets a bit under the weather, and feels like the only cure is a watery coffee and soggy bagel from Tim Hortons.

This past week was a big one for Canada; a casual scroll through my Facebook news feed makes that strikingly clear. We have a new Liberal Prime Minister with great hair! Stephen Harper's reign is over! The Blue Jays are doing really well! A cat cafe is opening in Guelph! (Okay, that last one is maybe just exciting to me). Yes, it does seem like a really good time to live in the great white north, but I can still follow the news from abroad and share in my Canadian friends' excitement.

And the memes. So many memes.

The real reason I feel under the weather? It's the little things. The things that don't seem like a big deal at the time, but they creep up on you slowly and silently. You could be having a shower, or putting a pot on the stove, or plugging in your phone at night, when you hear it: That little voice in your head that says "you're not quite at home here". Suddenly, all the other little reasons come crashing into your mind, uninvited guests that somehow make you feel like the unwelcome one.

There's a point when "new and novel" becomes "unfamiliar and frustrating", and for me, that moment happened in the kitchen. We had just moved into a new place, and were starting to get settled. I had just gotten home from a tough day at work that involved dodging a pencil being lobbed at my head by a 5 year old, and writing on the whiteboard in permanent marker. I just wanted to make a veggie patty in the oven for dinner. I pulled out the patties, lettuce, pita bread, hummus, all the fixings needed to construct a delicious veggie burger. Then I went to turn on the oven, and the confusion began. First of all, instead of a dial with temperatures on it, there was one with single numbers: 3,5,8, and dots in between. Okay, not sure what those mean but I can deal with this. I turned the knob. Nothing happened. I lift up the cover over the burners, confirming my suspicion that this was a gas stove. But could the oven be gas too? I have never dealt with that in my life. Maybe Beth has, she's been camping a million times and knows her way around fire better than I do. I knock on her door and drag her downstairs to investigate. She's got nothing. We spend a few minutes searching "How to light a gas oven" on Youtube to underwhelming results. We could try doing it...but what if we accidentally blow up the oven/kitchen/entire house? With the landlady out of the house and my veggie burgers melting on the counter, I felt helpless and hungry.

In that moment, I started thinking about other unfamiliar encounters: First of all, why does nobody here have a clothes dryer here? Do they enjoy using crunchy towels? Why is the shower so confusing? And the washing machines are so tiny. And the fridges. And the roads. And who came up with the idea of outlets that you have to switch on and off? I had my phone plugged in all night and woke up to 20 percent battery. It's easy to let the negative thoughts overwhelm you, and everyone deals with this differently. Beth and I dealt with it by packing the veggie burgers and toppings back into the fridge, putting on our coats, and going for Indian food. It was delicious. There were no leftovers.

It's easy to feel homesick on your bad days. It's easy to start thinking that all of your problems are a direct result of not being at home. But what's tougher, is to accept that there were good and bad days back home too. You can't escape from all of your problems by moving. What you can do is think of all the positive experiences you've had, wherever you are. Yesterday, I went for a beautiful, scenic walk across the Clifton Suspension bridge, watched deer grazing amidst the fall colours, and met a herd of curious cows while waiting for the bus. I have had some amazing experiences here, and I will not let any landlord problems, crunchy towels, or gas stoves ruin that for me.
                                   

The view from Clifton Suspension Bridge

More bridge times.

Cow photobombs other cow.

Magical woodland moments.

I think that if I were to give up and come home so soon, I would feel homesick in a different way. There's a lot that I would really miss about Bristol. When we travel, we are essentially building a collection of places and times to be nostalgic for. Keeping that in mind seems to put things in perspective a little bit. To anyone reading this who is far from home and going through similar feelings, you're not alone. Just try to keep yourself busy and think about all the awesome things you've seen and done so far. There will be more awesome things ahead, I promise. But if all else fails, I find that a big plate of Indian takeout also does the trick.


C.

Chips, Crisps and Lucky Dip: A Muggle's Guide to British English.

When I first decided that I wanted to teach abroad after graduating, I remember telling people "I'm going to go teach English in Korea!". I had Korean English academies bookmarked on my laptop and dreams of Kimchi and K-Pop in my heart. However, as graduation crept closer and closer, something changed.

 I can't explain what it was that flipped that switch in my head, but all of a sudden, Korea seemed really far away, and the prospect of committing to a full year in a country where I don't speak the language seemed terrifying. Where England had seemed like a boring option in the past, it now seemed like a much more reasonable choice for my first teaching and "big" travel experience.

I figured that at least speaking the same language as everyone around me would be a comfort in an unfamiliar place. As it turns out, I was right...and wrong.

The first thing you need to understand is that British English is not just Canadian English with an adorable accent. I thought I had prepared myself by watching Skins and The Inbetweeners, not to mention having a whole childhood's worth of Harry Potter etched into my subconscious. But the sad truth is, I have often found myself feeling like a muggle amongst a whole country full of English wizards. So I have compiled a small Muggle's Guide to some of the most common confusing words and phrases that I've encountered in England:

You Alright/Okay?: This is an important one, because it is so commonly used. At first, it seems like British people are just really concerned about your well-being. Then, you start to wonder -- 'Do I look like I'm not alright? Do I look sick? Or worried? I just have a naturally worried face! That's just how my face looks!' However, when British people ask "You alright?", it is a casual greeting along the lines of "How's it going?". But it gets more confusing, because apparently a proper way to answer this is to just say "Alright?". Quite honestly, I still feel weird answering a question with the same question, so I usually mumble something like "Yeah I'm good, how're you?" and immediately sound a hundred times more Canadian.

Toilets: In Canada, a toilet is a toilet -- the thing you flush. In England, it is the room where the toilet is located. This does not work the same way for other rooms/appliances. Just go with it.

Nick(ed): This refers to stealing something.  I've heard this one before, but it's much more common here and sometimes catches me off guard. For example: A little girl in reception (kindergarten) came up to me and said: "Miss H... Katie nicked my Barbie doll!" "She...licked...your doll??" I replied, only slightly bewildered because they are in kindergarten and it would have also been plausible if she had licked it.

Bin: Refers to the rubbish bin/garbage can. It is a really bad idea to tell your students to put their work in their bins.

Hob:  Burner, like the ones on your stove. No relation to hobbits.

Cheers: This is just much more widely used as a way to casually say "thanks" or "goodbye". I honestly have only been able to slip in a "cheers" a few times without feeling like an impostor Canadian.

Quid: I had finally started using 'pounds' and 'pence' regularly instead of 'dollars' and 'cents', when someone threw in a 'quid' and I was all like "Woah there pal. Now you're just making up words to confuse me". But it means 'pounds' in the same way that we would say 'five bucks'.

Potatoes: *A separate illustrated section is required on potatoes, both because of their personal importance to me, and also the sheer number of potato-related words that are different here.

• Jacket Potato:

No.

Yes. Delicious.

• Chips: Fries, but more specifically, thick cut fries.

True, natural beauty.

• Fries: Not as commonly used but can refer to thin, long cut potatoes such as good old Micky D's. 

  

  I am salivating.

• Crisps: Chips. Like the kind you get in a bag, or the kind that people put out in a bowl at university residence parties, and then accuse you of eating all of them and knock on your door demanding a dollar. Purely hypothetical example.

                                        Love your curves and all your edges, all your perfect imperfections.                                           

Lucky Dip: A kind of raffle-like draw where you can win prizes. I am including this in here for Beth's sake. At her work, she was told that there would be a lucky dip later. Naturally, she anticipated some sort of magical guacamole. There was no guacamole, but she did win a men's shower gel so there's that.

Although there are many more small differences between Canadian and British English, I will leave it at that for now. Those photos of potatoes are making me really hungry, so I think I'll go grab some fries. I mean chips. I mean crisps. ...Can someone pass the lucky dip??

-- C.

Why is Nobody Clapping?? -- My First Week as a Supply Teacher.

Imagine: You are a newly qualified Elementary school teacher. You have folders on your laptop overflowing with successful lesson plans from your student teaching placements. You know your way around a rubric and have learned to harness the power of "If you can hear me, clap once". You know so many teaching acronyms that you feel you've achieved second-language fluency. You feel armed with knowledge, ready to teach engaging lessons and make a difference in students' lives. You feel totally prepared to walk into your first day of teaching with a smile on your face and the best intentions in your heart.

But it is on that first day, that you will realize that you are completely and utterly wrong.

You are standing at the front of the class, register in hand, trying to accomplish the seemingly simple task of getting 25 small humans to sit down on the carpet quietly. There are children running around the classroom. Children yelling across the room to their friends. One is tugging on your sleeve asking to use the toilet. Another stands in front of you complaining: "Miss! He's calling me names!". "I AM NOT!", the culprit protests from across the room, adding to the growing noise level. You've tried clapping once, twice, three times. They can hear you. Why aren't they clapping back?? "Miss, do you want me to write the names of everyone being silly on the board?" asks a well-intentioned girl, but you don't even know where to start -- it would be much easier at this point to write a list of who's not being silly. You don't want to yell. You told yourself you wouldn't be the kind of teacher who yells, but what choice do you have? "EVERYONE, PLEASE SIT DOWN OR WE ARE ALL STAYING IN FOR BREAK!" you shout, vocal chords straining to be heard amidst the chaos. A few children yell out in protest, but the noise continues, and you wonder to yourself -- out of all of the professions in the world, why did I choose to become a teacher??

On Monday, I began my first full week of supply teaching in Bristol, UK. The scenario described above was my first day in a nutshell. I didn't imagine that I would need to call the Head Teacher in to discipline the class on my very first day of teaching, but I did. I felt disheartened and inadequate, and I questioned whether I was really cut out for this whole teaching thing. But I thought to myself, it's just one day. Maybe it's just a bad day. Tomorrow will be better.

And by some miracle, it was.

That's not to say that there haven't been ups and downs since then, but I'm learning. I'm learning that not every classroom is as chaotic as the first, but some are. I'm figuring out strategies to deal with behaviour, to motivate students...and to hold myself together when these things occasionally, but inevitably fail.

Supply teaching is not an easy job: You are a stranger with no authority coming into a classroom and trying to tell students what to do. But it can be a rewarding job too, as I've found out over the past week.

Never underestimate the power of the
 "mystery prize box".

I've been drawn pictures, given lots of hugs, and greeted by name in the hallways. I've learned that five year olds don't quite get the concept of knock-knock jokes, but their attempts are more hilarious and adorable than the actual punchline would have been anyway. I've gotten to witness Year One boys performing an impromptu song and dance routine to "Uptown Funk" without fully knowing the words, but they tried really hard and that's what counts. I've answered many a curious question about Canada, and discovered that reward stickers are truly magical in their power to silence a noisy classroom. I've taught Spanish with no knowledge of Spanish whatsoever. I've tied shoes, sang songs, and comforted a little girl who was crying because her pet cat was "in the sky" now.

In summary, I've survived. And for a new supply teacher, I think that's an accomplishment in itself. And for now? It's enough.


-- C.