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It tasted as good as it looked . . . and the roses smelled delicious too!

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Hi Everyone,

It’s 7:01 p.m. on the 12th day out of 20 at this most wonderful CELTA course in Bangkok, Thailand.

Whew! It’s downhill from here on out! (I think : )

I was on my way home from yet another action-packed day (complete with practice teaching, today it was #5 out of 8).

So how is it? I can hear a chorus of you yelling across the byways, highways and seas.

Well, it’s intense.

Duh, it IS an intensive course I hear the teachers saying.

Yep, it is.

But it’s good. The people involved are absolutely wonderful. The teachers are very knowledgeable and caring. The students (who we’re teaching) are excited to be in the class and participate (mostly) fully with an excitement that can be contagious. And my cohorts are absolutely darling people, from the collection of beautiful and smart young ladies from Australia, England, and the U.S. to the varied men of all ages and nationalities.

We’re all here for different and similar reasons. To be with a sister who works and lives here. To be with boyfriends who work and live here. To be with Thai wives who work and live here. To be able to go back home and work (home being Vietnam, Malaysia, and the Philippines). To gain experience before starting a business in Thailand based around language schools. I’m sure there are even more reasons, but those are the ones who raised their hands and said, “Pick me! Pick me!”

What’s a typical day like? I think I mentioned before that the mornings are generally devoted to learning about all (and I do mean ALL) the different types of lesson plans. The below picture I took today during our one-and-only review session with all three teachers present at once.

We (okay, mostly me) were trying to get a handle on all the different types and their particular stages (sections, really, chapters. Pick a word, any word; I bet it’ll fit).

Then we meet with our tutor of the week and go over our plan to see what we’re going to do and if the tutor thinks it’ll work. Gradually, we’re becoming more and more responsible for the exact structure of the lesson.

Then, some people go out for lunch for a hot and spicy 30 BHT soup (30 BHT = $1). Some run downstairs to the British ex-pat who makes a mean tuna fish sandwich for 35 BHT (and a cookie’s only 15BHT), salads are around 80BHT. Some go to the Subway downstairs (haven’t gotten one, so I don’t know the cost). Regardless what they eat, they’re sure to not run out of choices. I’ve never seen so many food vendors in my life.

The mango smoothie in the shot at the top of the page? 30BHT. The veggie spring rolls that I ate (but didn’t photograph) were 100BHT. The going rate for a smoothie is between 30 (watermelon one, yum!) to this high-end mango one for all of 60BHT. I suppose the extra 10BHT are to pay for the wonderful ambience of this little tropical paradise in the midst of Bangkok madness. I feel a bit of Kauai-ness here, AND they have wi-fi. Can’t beat that!

When I left school this evening (around 6:15 p.m.—I generally arrive at 8 a.m. so that I have an hour to get my head on straight, papers in order, copies made, etc.), I thought I was going to grab a quick bite and then head straight home to start in on Written Assignment #3 out of 4. Well, I do still have plans to do the assignment tonight (or at least make major headway, it’s due Thursday by 6 p.m.), but this pleasant outdoor Thai café called out to me. “Susan Jane! Here’s where you want to have dinner. Remember that wonderful smoothie you had last week; you can get pupus too. And there’s wi-fi. And beautiful roses that smell wonderful too.”

Who could resist such a seductive call? Not moi, that’s for sure. So here I sit and type. It’s now 7:24 p.m., the smoothie is just about pau (finished for non-Hawaiians/Kauaians), and the spring rolls are long gone. And the assignment sits in my heavy backpack saying, “Ah, I won’t be too hard on you. Just a little this and that about writing lesson plans on reading, using skimming, scanning, detailed reading . . . it’ll be easy!”

Ha! I’ve heard that mischevious call before. Just last week it came from Written Assignment #2. The assignment that somehow turned into the exercise from *:#(! It just didn’t want to end, couldn’t say goodbye, wanted just one more peck on my cheek before it turned its back on me and found another. But end it did. Just in time for me to be free and go for a pint with all my fellow students at Molly Malone’s. An Irish Pub in Bangkok, you ask? You’ve got to be kidding! That seems so ordinary compared to: Bei Otto, a German restaurant; Chela, a Swiss restaurant; suchandsuch, a Mexican restaurant; somethingother, a Scandinavian restaurant; ad infinitum. You get the picture. There’s EVERYTHING here in Bangkok.

Okay, so there are lots of restaurants, Susan Jane. But what about the teaching? What’s that like?

Well, you know how you got ready for your first date? Did you hair (alright guys, this relates to you just as well as girls!) and nails. Took days to pick out the right outfit. Which shoes to wear? Should I bring that purse or the other one? Should we go to a movie? Do we get pizza first or after? And what if she/he doesn’t like pizza? What if we don’t have anything to talk about? What’s the best move to get my arm around her? Or hold her hand? (And with that: How can I get him to move his arm? Hand?) . . . okay, you get the picture. Remember????

It’s kind of like that. You plan and plan, but somehow it all falls part. Or, the pizza is served cold. Or, something gets caught in your braces and you don’t realize it’s been hanging out of your mouth all night. Or, you reach over to kiss her and you butt heads; your glasses get tangled in hers/his. Stop! Stop! I hear you all calling out! (It’s amazing how you’re all able to speak in unison from all parts of the world. : ) We get the picture; it’s painful!

Yes, it can be painful.

But it can be pleasant too. Remember when you looked over at him/her and exchanged the most precious smile? When you held hands and that warm palpitation rose up your entire body and made your cheeks glow?

Well, it can be like that too. In the midst of the uncertainty, the doubt, the worry. Sweet little moments rise up and say, “Keep going; it’ll be alright. Just smile. A smile goes a long way.”

So with that, my friends, I shall bid you adieu. Yes, the date bells are ringing that it’s time for my next rendezvous.

I wish you all well and thank you so very much for your little notes of encouragement. They mean a lot. Like that timid smile, they’re just what’s needed when you’re painfully aware that you’re in new territory, and the course is unclear.

Aloha,

SJ

p.s. photo collection from the past week . . .

Friday watching out the window . . .

What’s all the fuss?

That’s what. A election campaign parade. They’re the same the world over.

Then it was time to head to Molly’s somethingorother Irish Pub.

This was the first time we all got together to blow off steam. End of week two.

Yahoo!!!

It was Howard’s birthday too!

I managed to find a grocery store on my own, and then celebrated (e v e r y t h i n g: end of week 2, being healthy, being in BKK, having wonderful friends, family . . . yes, everything!) with a delicious café latte and chocolate cup of something yummy.

Yep, this is his hang.

Saturday afternoon/evening some of us gathered at one of the student’s beautiful home; she had graciously invited us over for a barbecue and dip in the pool!

And on the way home from the party, I saw yet another political rally. Nope, I didn’t linger. Good night ya’ll!

So much has happened . . . !

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But there’s just not time now to write about it all. I completed my third of eight practice teaching sessions this afternoon. Today’s was definitely the best. : ) I turned in my first written assignment this past Monday and am looking at a 13-page document that is the second written assignment; it’s due this Friday.

A rhythm to the school day has slowly emerged. Eighteen people are in the group. Morning sessions run from 9 a.m. to 12:40 p.m. with one of the three teachers presenting information regarding lesson plans, language systems, etc. They somehow manage to do it in an interesting way. Generally, they’re using the teaching methods that they want us to use.

Then, every afternoon around 1:45 p.m. the students begin to arrive. They come from all parts of the world: Thailand, Japan, Pakistan, Somalia, you name it! The 18 split up into three groups of 6. Two groups are currently teaching students at the intermediate level; one group is teaching more elementary level students. Next week we’ll switch so that we all have an opportunity to experience both levels. We’re each teaching two 40-minute classes per week (the first three weeks). The fourth and last week we’ll each teach two 60-minute classes. (I’m down to teach on the last day, Friday the 24th. Talk about coming down to the wire!)

So, that’s the deal pickle. I’m enjoying it, but I’ll admit that when we came across the sentence, “She’s looking forward to the end of the course” in one of our exercises the other day*, I had to chuckle to myself and say, “Well, yes, I too am enjoying it, but I’m also looking forward to the end of it.” What’s the saying? It’s not the destination; it’s the journey? Fortunately, this girl IS enjoying the journey.

Love to you all. Below are some shots of Bangkok life, which the school accurately calls “the charming chaos of your new environment.”

Aloha,

SJ

*We were making CCQs (concept checking questions) to see if they students understand the meaning of the underlined portion. This statement’s CCQs were: “Will she be happy when it is finished?” (Yes), “Is the course finished?” (No), “Does she often think about the end of the course?” (Yes is the “official” answer, but from where I’m sitting, there’s not time to think about anything but the course! : )

The dog days of Bangkok

Do you see what I see?

Found a park about 10-minutes away (by foot) from where I’m staying. : )

Soccer-like Volleyball (really fun to watch!)

A nice place to hang-out

Plenty to look at . . .

There are construction sites everywhere!

View from Sky train when enroute to school one day

Thank God for flowers !

The first vélo weekend

1 Reply
 Fred from Brésil

date:  Mon, Jan 26, 2009

subject:  Highlight of the weekend: faire du vélo!
Hi Everyone,
I hear through the grapevine that you are enjoying my emails, alors, I will continue  . . . .
After trying to rent one of the groovy red and industrial silver bikes which can be seen throughout Lyon at many, many stations but NOT succeeding, I decided to approach a bike shop to see if they rented bikes. The very kind lady instructed me to go two doors down where another kind lady searched on the internet for me. She found 2 places in Lyon that rent bikes and she then proceeded to give me fliers with their addresses (one of the shops refurbishes bikes from Holland . . . Tony and I can attest to the fact that approximately 62,584 bikes are pulled from the canals around Amsterdam each year. We actually witnessed a huge machine dredging the canal and pulling out bikes 11 years ago on our retirement trip!)
When I got back to the pad and joined la Madame for a verre (our almost daily routine of sharing a glass of something before dinner, this usually takes place around 7 or 8 or 9 pm), I asked her if she knew anything about these shops. Non, non, she replied. She then proceeded to get on the phone and call the VÉLO office of Lyon and ask if there was a way around having to have a special European credit card (their cards seem to have some special power in this little golden patch underneath the number). Non, non, they told her.
After we sat there a minute she said (as if she had just had the most extraordinary idea ever, which it was after all !), Oh, but of course (in French of course) you can use MY vélo.
Oh wow, really, may I?
I knew she had a vélo because she had told me so; but there was no way that I was going to ask if I could use it (when I asked her if I could please possibly borrow a knife to take to school to cut my cheese–no, no, not like you think!–she said Non; but did offer up the tiniest swiss army knife known to man . . . . but I digress–and to digress even further, I splurged and spent 2 euros today on a knife and spoon for lunch  . . . Alas, I shall return the tiny da kine without ever even trying to slice into a creamy camembert . . . I think my nice new red handled and stainless silver knife with a pretty edelweiss flower at the joint shall do just fine, merci beaucoup!).
Where was I?
Oh, so she offered me her vélo for the weekend! Yahoo! Was I every excited. She gave me the key to the cave in the basement AND the key to the bike lock. This one came with a very stern look about not loosing it since it’s the only one she has. I won’t loose it, I promise; I told her. She was too tired that evening to show me where the bike was (a fellow teacher hurt an ankle and she had to work with 31 rather than 24 6 to 7 year olds 2 days in a row and she was wiped out!) but she promised to later.
As it turned out, we never had the tour since I HAD to leave Friday evening early (8:30 p.m.) for a party and that meant we had to have dinner VERY early (which probably caused her much stress–we usually eat anywhere between 8 and 10 p.m.). Alors, one mention of the party–it was a blast. Imagine going back in time to when you were between 19 and 21 years old and you’re away from home and there’s a party in an apartment for 4 to 8 foreign exchange students.

Need I say more? Michele, I know that you remember what that’s like! (for those of you who want to know what other nationalities were represented at the party . . . Danemark, Argentine, Ireland, Brazil, Switzerland, Saudi Arabia, Japan, England . . . I think that about covers it.)

So the next morning I managed to get up bright and early and leave the apt. at 10 a.m. The first step was finding the vélo. Right across from “one of the world’s smallest elevators” ® is a black metal door. Open it with la Madame’s bright silver key and you’ve gained admittance into the past.

As soon as you step down one measly step you’ve entered the world of WWII and what it must have been like to hide during an air raid. I don’t know if there were air raids in Lyon, but I’m sure there must have been plenty of hiding. Down the narrow circular staircase and voila! There’s Madame’s blue funky, old vélo.

It was perfect! (for those of you with enquiring minds, there were maybe 5 other bikes down there in a space the size of our guest bedroom and our main bathroom.  What else was down there? A mattress or two (for real!) and several buckets full of something. It’s not a uniform space but rather a narrow chamber that twists around a bit.)

Okay, as you can imagine, it was a bit tricky getting the bike back up the stairs and somehow opening the door.
But I did without too much trouble . . . . but I will jump forward and tell you that the return that afternoon was a bit like a skit with Laurel & Hardy. I did much better the next day.
Saturday I took a pleasant spin across la Saône into the main part of Lyon, then across le Rhone to ride along its side on the wonderfully wide and diverse bike path. I more or less went to the end (before it branched off and took a turn into the industrial section) taking photos along the way. One highlight was watching one of two dirty-white horses roll in a field.
Seems he had a bit of an itch.

They weren’t tied up but they did have bits in their mouths. As I began to head back, the rain began to fall. It wasn’t that hard and I did have my trusty gortex jacket with me and nice Northface backpack complete with yellow rain cover, so like the girlscout I never was, I was quite prepared. (Thanks again for the great backpack Mom and Dad! I still talk to Dad on occasion and he makes appearances now and then.)

BUT, since it was approaching lunch time, I decided to find a restaurant . . . . and I did find the perfect place. I was having a hankering for a warm meal (after a week of cold sandwiches, albeit with wonderful French cheese). Le Restauant a la Maison de Lucy, or something like that, was perfect. I went for the 13euro50 deal of a main course and dessert with coffee. They served a piece of classically roasted chicken (the thigh and leg) with champignons, a side salad, warm penne pasta and a glob of some wonderfully warm cream something or other. (That’s exactly how the waiter described it when I asked.) Of course this was accompanied with a half bottle of red wine and some tap water. I took my time and enjoyed every bite. I did take a picture of the place setting since it was so beautiful . . . the shot has a nice misty look to it since I dropped the camera on the first day (So sorry Tony! It was really cold and slipped out of my hand!) The camera still works well, it just doesn’t close its nice little cover when I turn it off.

Hence the mist on the lens when I pulled it out of the backpack, now inside a warm room . . . you get the drift you fellow nerds who know what it’s like to walk into a warm house after being outside in the cold!

Okay, lunch was great. The waiter instructed me to choose a dessert. I stood up and gave the board a quick glance. There was crème brûlée, which I adore, but since I OD’d on them a few years back, I have to approach them quite carefully. Towards the bottom was something or other with chocolate. When the gentle waiter returned, I quickly thought how to say the name of that which I had immediately proceeded to forget. Alors, je voudrais le dessert avec chocolat, s’il vous plait. Le ???///095§ ? Oh oui, bien sûr!
Guess what I got? The kid’s dessert which was 3 waffle pieces, covered (and I do mean COVERED) in nutella with a large blob of whipped cream on the side. Well, for those of you who have never tasted nutella, imagine a creamy, thick chocolate goo with a hint of hazelnut. Voila! That’s it. Europe’s answer to peanut butter.
I proceeded to eat the whole darn thing. And was it ever good. Sometimes it pays to be the clueless American; you get to eat the kid’s dessert and not be embarrassed!
Which may be why the next day’s bike ride was over 6 hours long; I was trying to work off the nutella!
To close out Saturday, after lunch I found a place to get my haircut. After I carefully told the one guy (seemed like the owner, a man from Peru who looks like a native Peruvian, who speaks Japonais) who washed my hair that I didn’t want more layers, I was sat down with another guy (there were only 2 men working there) who proceeded to give me the MOST layered haircut I’ve ever had. Oh well, Ca va.  I really, really needed a hair cut, and it’s a good 6 weeks until I’ll be home, so it’ll grow out. Though the classically French man sitting next to me did manage to drool. Oh oui, ca va, ca va! I think that guy really wanted (or needed) a date . . .
After the haircut I jumped back on the bike for several laps around the lake at park Tete d’Or. I never did manage to find the head of gold but I did make one old man’s day as he waved at me go past several times.
I think he was enjoying being out in the rain as much as I was (which was a LOT, as those of you who know me know, I like to ride a bike like a kid . . . and it had been almost 3 months since I’d been on a bike . . . need I say more?).

The next day I awoke to an incredibly clear (for Lyon) day. The sky was actually blue and it didn’t rain at all the entire day; and the pollution was negligible.

Sunday I proceeded again in the same direction, took a quick spin around the lake at Tete d’Or and then set off for parts unknown. This took me to a street faire with lots of cheap junk . . . really, nothing that drew my eyes expect for a pile of romance books in French.
giratoire = roundabout
La Madame had mentioned a lake called Mirabel. All I knew was that it was east of Lyon. I headed East and went as far as a town called Mayzieu. My route took me along a bike path, which follows the Tram #3 through an industrial section,
down main thoroughfares, into the country and along a country road, past a prison (well, they’ve got to have prisons too!), past many schools and recreation areas, past a few high falutin neighborhoods (which honestly have that look of mainland USA), past a campground with thousands of little campers and then the little train station for Mayzieu.
Along the way I had been looking at the maps next to the bus stops and knew to look for rue Victor Hugo. This was my ticket to the other side of a lake called Grand Large (really, that’s its name! kind of like lake big big).
Now I was in the magic of riding along a lake. There were families on bikes, people on the lake rowing, dogs running free not on a leash (one came by to say hey, he was really sweet but stinky like Rocket Girl).
le crayon in the distance
some cool looking communal gardens
I then worked my way back to town and somehow magically back to parc tete d’or where I could grab a bite. It was now 3 p.m. and I was hungry. I went for the incredibly healthy but tasty choice of crêpe au sucre and grande café crème followed by the ubiquitous sandwich jambon.

(Okay, okay, what about the fine French cuisine you ask? It was 3 p.m. already and I just wanted to hang in the park on a bench in the sun. Okay?)

The return took me back down le Rhone
simple pleasures
to the far south side of town where I then crossed back over to the “island” and managed to find a pleasantly quiet road.
One side note–despite the large population of this city (for the accurate amount explore wikipedia s’il vous plait . . . just looked and got this #: 472,305) I managed to find MANY places empty of people. Just what this Kaua‘i girl needed. Not to wander too far though from my purpose for being here, I did listen to a French radio program twice on my iPod, some French dialogue stuff, some French music (Samedi Soir by what’s his name), some Jacque Brels stuff along with Zap Mama . . . the immersion continues.
To backtrack, the highlight of Saturday afternoon was listening to an incredible (and attractive) Brasillian woman play classic guitar.

I found a listing in the journal for a free concert at 5 p.m. at Le Salon de Music on rue Saint George, not far from chez moi. A fellow °student joined me . . . it’s quite a long story but suffice it to say that people are the same everywhere and this student (she) hadn’t been invited to the gathering the night before. Not as a slight I think, but just because the guys didn’t think to invite her. She reminds them of their mothers I found out later. I also found out later that she’s all of 40 years old . . . needless to say, me with my 48 somehow fit in. Okay Mom. Here’s your confirmation that I haven’t yet grown up. (°I invited her to join me . . .)
So, on that note, seems like a good time to close.  It’s 4:36 p.m. and my books (for studying) are calling.
Ciao and bisous mes amis,
Susan
Rocket Girl towel portrait

Rocket Girl

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Our girl.

: )