She's speaking to me again in German. She knows I don't speak German. It's 7:00 am, I am physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted and all I want is three cups of coffee, but Silvia our robust, smiling cook continues on with our morning ritual. '"Guten morgen Silvia....ja.....ja....kaffee, bitte......danke....." I say. Great peals of laughter disappear into the kitchen for my jug of coffee. On returning it is always the same, something to the effect of "Ra-hell, you still don't understand German yet? You've been here a week! Tomorrow I try again." And then the jolly woman erupts in laughter once more.
The change from living in my van in New Zealand to teaching German children English in the Alps has been extreme. My work day starts at 7:00, we get between 30-40 kids up, ages 9-16 and usher them down to breakfast. We play English games in the morning, then are usually off hiking, rock climbing, and doing high ropes courses in the afternoons. Dinner at 6:00, then an intense hour of physical exercise I like to call "fun time" and if we exhaust them enough they'll be in bed by 11:00. My "free time" are the hours I get to sleep in between when the children go to bed and when they wake up again. As you might imagine, it's very full on.
Although quite stressful at times, I'm having a lot of fun. I wake up every morning and look up to the stunning green alps that technically belong to Austria. I'm living in a village of about 50 people called Baad in the Kleinwasertal, which is a funny area in that it's a part of Austria but only accessible from the Germany side due to the towering Alps blocking any sort of road. I'm leaning German slowly and understand more than I speak, but it can be frustrating being the only teacher/instructor there that only speaks English. My Vietnamese has not helped me one bit.
The kids, for the most part, are great. I pretty much let them do what they want as long as they aren't too loud, and operate under the basic principles that when you grow up it is socially unacceptable to be muddy so have fun now kiddos! I find that I'm not here to be a parent, but more of a mentor giving out some good, general information about life they might not get from their parents or school teachers. However, that does not mean that I'm any good at it. Enter Maxim, age 12:
"Rachel, what is a booty call?"
I choke reflexively, not knowing if I heard him correctly. I look over at Jordan, one of the other teachers, who is wide-eyed and thanking the Gods she was not the one asked.
"Well...errr...Maxim. Well, when two people love each other..."
At that Jordan cracks up laughing and I have to laugh because how am I supposed to explain this?? I have to tell him because if I don't he'll hear it from another kid and will undoubtedly be misinformed. I have to tell him because I used to hate it when people said "I'll tell you when you're older." I have to tell him because it's the right thing to do. And I did.
Maybe I'm cut out for this, maybe not. Patience has been my best friend thus far, and I haven't beaten any of the kids yet so that's a good sign. Although I have come close.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Wandering Downfall
It's 5:00 am and I can't sleep.
Maybe it's because I'm still a bit jetlagged from the 41 straight hours of travel I recently survived. From Auckland to Hong Kong to London to Munich by plane, to a small town called Immenstadt by train and then to a tiny village called Kranzegg by car in the middle of the mountains in southern Germany. Somewhere in between I pulled a classic Rachel move and lost my wallet and a little bit of my heart. The wallet I can find through the airlines, the heart piece I'm pretty sure I left in New Zealand and will be much more difficult to retrieve.
Or maybe I'm awake because my head is flooded with memories from the last month. Pete, Crazy Carl and I left Queenstown at the beginning of July, boosted up to say goodbye to Nelson and my Kiwi family there then headed to the North Island. A few days out and about in Wellington with James and Stina, through Napier to Taupo with it's beautiful lake and hot springs, up to Rotorua which smells like rotten eggs, and west to Raglan, a small hippie community and surfers paradise. (*Note: If I ever dissdisappear the face of the Earth, you can find me in Raglan.) Up through Auckland to Whangarei, Kerikeri, Paihia, Kaitaia and all the way to Cape Reinga, the northernmost point of New Zealand. Back down and around the Coromandel Peninsula for a few days and back to Auckland to pick up my shiny new passport and sell Crazy Carl with a tearful goodbye. Harder still was saying goodbye to Pete at the airport and leaving the land I have grown to love and think of as my home.
Why I tend to leave the people I care about most at airports I will never know. That will be my ultimate downfall, the fact that I have got on every single bus, train and plane I have ever bought a ticket for. How many times should I have stayed? How many happy lives could I have had, if not for this insatiable urge to move, travel and grow? Whether it's a genetic defect or just itchy feet, it drains me physically, mentally and emotionally every single time I go. It's heart-wrenching to know, as I step on the plane, that I might never come back or see those special people who have made me a better person ever again. It's one of many sacrifices I have had to make, again and again, to enjoy the freedoms I enjoy and the life I have chosen to lead. And here I am, staring out the window at the sunny, green countryside of Germany, smiling and looking forward to my next adventure.
Tomorrow I leave to start work as a language assistant in a kids summer camp. I don't have a clue what I'm supposed to do, but that's nothing new is it?
Maybe it's because I'm still a bit jetlagged from the 41 straight hours of travel I recently survived. From Auckland to Hong Kong to London to Munich by plane, to a small town called Immenstadt by train and then to a tiny village called Kranzegg by car in the middle of the mountains in southern Germany. Somewhere in between I pulled a classic Rachel move and lost my wallet and a little bit of my heart. The wallet I can find through the airlines, the heart piece I'm pretty sure I left in New Zealand and will be much more difficult to retrieve.
Or maybe I'm awake because my head is flooded with memories from the last month. Pete, Crazy Carl and I left Queenstown at the beginning of July, boosted up to say goodbye to Nelson and my Kiwi family there then headed to the North Island. A few days out and about in Wellington with James and Stina, through Napier to Taupo with it's beautiful lake and hot springs, up to Rotorua which smells like rotten eggs, and west to Raglan, a small hippie community and surfers paradise. (*Note: If I ever dissdisappear the face of the Earth, you can find me in Raglan.) Up through Auckland to Whangarei, Kerikeri, Paihia, Kaitaia and all the way to Cape Reinga, the northernmost point of New Zealand. Back down and around the Coromandel Peninsula for a few days and back to Auckland to pick up my shiny new passport and sell Crazy Carl with a tearful goodbye. Harder still was saying goodbye to Pete at the airport and leaving the land I have grown to love and think of as my home.
Why I tend to leave the people I care about most at airports I will never know. That will be my ultimate downfall, the fact that I have got on every single bus, train and plane I have ever bought a ticket for. How many times should I have stayed? How many happy lives could I have had, if not for this insatiable urge to move, travel and grow? Whether it's a genetic defect or just itchy feet, it drains me physically, mentally and emotionally every single time I go. It's heart-wrenching to know, as I step on the plane, that I might never come back or see those special people who have made me a better person ever again. It's one of many sacrifices I have had to make, again and again, to enjoy the freedoms I enjoy and the life I have chosen to lead. And here I am, staring out the window at the sunny, green countryside of Germany, smiling and looking forward to my next adventure.
Tomorrow I leave to start work as a language assistant in a kids summer camp. I don't have a clue what I'm supposed to do, but that's nothing new is it?
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