On a ramble

ram·ble (noun): a walk without a definite route, taken merely for pleasure.


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Pays Basque: A linguistic ramble, part deux

Is two and a half months of living in a French town enough to go from get-by-in-a-cafe French to confidently-manage-most-situations French (see the linguistic ramble, part one)? Probably, if you do it right. I didn’t.

First of all, two and a half months can go really fast. One week finding a place to stay, weekends in San Sebastian and Bilbao, a few days’ visit from a friend, a couple of weeks working on finding private English students – halfway through. A couple more visits to San Sebastian, lesson planning and teaching, a quick visit to Barcelona and Helsinki, a road trip in the mountains – one week left.

Second, as it turns out, if you want to learn by immersion, you kind of have to get out of the house and actually talk to people. I had no job and took no French classes, and just walking up to someone and saying hi is a lot to ask from a Finn. My home had fast wifi, a comfy bed and a well-equipped kitchen. Planning English lessons was time-consuming. The cafés were expensive and the coffee honestly not that good. Popping down to the boulangerie for a fresh baguette every morning gets old quickly when you’re not really a morning person. All this piled up into a considerable threshold for leaving the house, which my motivation wasn’t strong enough to climb over – at least not every day.

My French did improve, though, no question about that. Shopping in market halls, watching TV and looking up the unfamiliar words, using French cooking recipes, jogging along the Nive river listening to French podcasts – together these things improved my vocabulary, confidence and listening skills quite a bit.

Even more rewarding was talking to my lovely flatmate/landlady Virginie. Living in her apartment was really a brilliant stroke of luck. Partly because moving in where someone else already lives means that there are things like bedsheets, pepper mills and Scotch tape available, but mostly because we would chat a little bit every day. She has the capacity to slow down and speak simply enough for me to just understand, which is a rare talent. Merci, chère Virginie, pour m’inviter dans ta maison et ta vie!

Another stroke of luck were the weekly African dance classes at the local community college. I had spent all year without my dearest hobby, and walking into the studio for the first time, seeing the drums piled up against the wall, hearing two balafons playing – it felt like coming home! Amazing how rhythms and movements from West Africa can create such a common ground for a bunch of French people and a Finn.

Here, I made friends with delightful Basque sisters Maia and Teija, who even were nice enough to take me to a rugby game. In this part of France, football is not that popular, but rubgy is huge. The game was a lot of fun to follow, although Maia had to spend most of it explaining to me what was going on. In French, bien sûr.

It was also very rewarding to put my CELTA skills to the test with two private students: a young military man who was going to be stationed in Germany, and an elderly music and art lover who lived out in the country. The teaching experience I gained was good consolation for not achieving Grand Master Ninja level in French. Plus, it gave me a little pocket money. Most of which I spent on food.

So, before I knew it, it was time to leave. On my last night, Virginie asked what the best thing had been during my stay in France. I couldn’t really answer then and there. The answer only came to me on the airplane headed for Finland: After nine months on the road, a couple of nights here and a couple of weeks there, in shabby hostels and spartan bungalows, my soul had found peace in Virginie’s beautiful, cosy apartment. Travelling is necessary, but so is having a place that feels like home.

But before making a new home for myself in Helsinki and going back to being a responsible citizen, there would still be more adventure: two and a half weeks in Benin. In other words, more rambles to come!

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Phuket Town: Half-baked

No news is good news, I told my family before leaving. In the case of the past two weeks, no news means too much to do.

The CELTA (Certificate in English Language Teaching to Adults) course at ECC Thailand is very intensive, as expected – like four weeks of finals, only you’re teaching and writing lesson plans and assignments instead of taking exams. Every day Monday to Friday, we’ve got input sessions (teacher trainers educating us) from 11.30 to 3.30 pm, feedback sessions and lesson planning from 3.30 to 5 pm, and teaching and/or observing others teach from 6 to 8 pm. In addition to that, we’re planning our own lessons and doing written assignments. My working hours easily stretch from 10 am to 10 pm six days a week, and usually over lunch and dinner.

ECC Teacher Training Centre, Ratsada Road, central Phuket Town.

It’s worth it, though. CELTA is based on a very communicative approach to teaching, focusing on giving students language that they can use in real-life situations. It encourages constantly making the connection to practical situations, including lots of student-centred activities, and varying task types all the time. Compared to all the language classes of my life, what we’re doing here is quite different and makes a lot of sense.

For me, who has never taught a single language lesson before in my life, it feels like I’m learning an enormous amount of new things every day. (And that’s taking into account my minor in linguistics at university – boy am I grateful for those syntax and phonology courses now!) At this point, halfway through, it feels like my head is overflowing with methods and terminology. The teaching practice helps a lot in reorganising all you’ve learned, though: you’re forced to put things into practice right away and learn from your own mistakes. On day two already, I was standing in front of 15 enthusiastic beginners.

Watching other trainees teach is also very rewarding. Ours is a mixed group of 15 trainees, aged early twenties to late forties, most from the US or Canada, three from England and three near-native speakers from other European countries. Some have been teaching for years, others have never taught before.* In a sense, it may be easier for us newbies who don’t have preconceptions and set ways to unlearn – but then again, everything is unfamiliar to us, from having 15 mouths repeat your words (with the exact intonation) to working the overhead projector.

In any case, I’m enjoying myself immensely. Teaching beginners was very challenging and rewarding. Even during those first two weeks of being taught by a bunch of wavering, confused trainees, it was obvious how they were progressing. You really grow to like your students very quickly – it was heartwarming to see one of them wave excitedly at me on the street and to experience how well she was able to speak English with me outside the classroom. During the last two weeks, I’ll be teaching upper intermediates who already know a lot, at least in theory. I’ll probably grow just as fond of them, too.

It helps to have a nice place to stay as well. Patra Mansion is clean and modern, with a nice pool-and-sunbed area suitable for getting some suntime each morning before school**. My room is spacious and airy, with a big bed, satellite TV, fridge, AC, bathtub, hot shower, and housekeeping three days a week. Looking at the pictures on the website before booking, I thought “well, the photos always look a lot nicer than the real thing”, but it really is that nice. Five weeks for about 250 euros seems a steal. Even the neighbourhood dogs, who sometimes decide to put on a midnight howling concert, don’t bother me.

On top of that, the walk to ECC and downtown each day is an enjoyable 15 minutes, across a back-alley area away from the bigger roads, through parts of the old town, and past laid-back little shops and restaurants. People on the streets smile at you and say hello for no reason, which makes me intensely happy. One thing that leaves me a little ambiguous is living in a town where, when you order a cappuccino at a café, they ask you whether you want it hot or cold… but I’m choosing to like that as well.

An espresso macchiato (hot) at Bo(ok)hemian Arthouse. Phuket Town is full of little trendy arthouses and design shops.

More on Phuket Town in my next post. Stay tuned!

*Today’s quiz: Does 15 half-baked CELTA teachers make 0.5*0.5… = 0.00003 CELTA teachers or 0.5+0.5… = 7.5 CELTA teachers?

**I’m handling the heat a lot better than my poor MacBook. It needs to be wrapped in a protective towel for those poolside sessions to prevent it from overheating in the sun – and I don’t think it’d take kindly to a refreshing dip in the pool.

More pics on my Flickr page!

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