La Vida Ecuatoriana

In an effort to keep the blog lighter from time to time, here is a look at some scenes from my daily life...and 10 things I am ADORING about Quito:

Before I left, my second cousin Michael suggested that I take pictures of what I see out my windows so that I could look back someday and remember the vistas of my life here. I thought it was sound advice.

Angle #1 from my bedroom window.

Angle #2 from  my bedroom window. A room with a view, just not a very appealing one. I've come to see past the "blemishes" of the city, though.

If you look down the street in the previous photo, you can make out Parque Carolina. Here is one of the landmarks of the park, which is totally bustling on weekends.

I am not David Letterman, so these next "loves" are in no particular order:
1. Flowers, such as roses, for $2 a bouquet

I always have at least one bouquet in the house at all times. 

2. Farmers' markets and super fresh produce (Broccoli tastes different here, I swear. I often eat it cooked and cold with no butter or salt because it is naturally DELICIOUS. I won't even start talking about the avocados and mangos...)

Some of the homemade options at the organic market. (Kelley Conley Reiter, I need a photo lesson at Christmas. I am not doing this food justice.)

3. I can afford a maid. It's amazing. I love her.

I come home on a Monday to a spic and span room and laundry that is folded much more neatly than I take the time for. 

4. I can drink coffee without it increasing my neurotic behaviors. They say it's the altitude.
5. Hot chocolate
6. Artesian chocolate bars such as Kallari (My dad will be getting a stockingful for Christmas.)
7. Easy travel to places such as the OCEAN
8. A classroom with a whole wall of windows
9. $6 pedicures--I am certain my sisters will pay $800 for a plane ticket to get a $6 pedicure. Absolutely certain.
10. It's light outside when I go to work. All school year.
I'm on a role. Let's make this a Baker's Dozen.
11. No. Winters.
12. My feet have no issues with raynaud's here--this means that they aren't turning purple and donning attractive sores
13. Markets where they don't sell food, but they sell great anillos and other beautiful treasures

My new little elephant ring. It was going to be one of Cass's Christmas gifts, but he really likes hanging out on my hand. Sorry sister. 

And just for good measure...
(See, Gram, despite the weekly tears, there is a lot I am appreciating about my new life.)
14. Yoga and spinning in Spanish--it's like happy hour; I get two for one: exercise and a Spanish lesson

My last blog was a little sad. That's life and that's the growing pains of change, I suppose, but today was a better day in the classroom. I brought cookies for all of my kiddos. They were grateful and suggested perhaps I bring them every Monday. I think maybe we should all switch off bringing treats. I mean, I'm not teaching in Dubai, I'm teaching in South America; the cost of living is lower than the States, and so is my salary. Anyway, today the students were presenting songs they had put on their soundtrack for The Crucible. These kids have great taste in music, and it was clear they had spent time coming up with songs to connect to characters, themes, tone, mood, and scenes from the play. To my students' delight, it was a pretty "chill" day, and Jamie (as they call their teachers by their first names) was quite tranquila. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but I will sleep soundly after today's progress.

Buenas noche a todos, mi queridos amigos and familia.

Jame

Sleepless in the Southern Hemisphere

I am incredibly close to both of my grandmothers. I extend endless gratitude and love to both of them for countless conversations on love, life, food, and Dear Caroline columns. They have taught me to cook, knit, appreciate art fairs and wine and ice cream (mmmm, didn't need much help there). I strive to be like both of them in dozens of ways. One thing I inherited from them, though, that isn't always pleasant, is sleeplessness. I got two great nights of sleep this week, but I hit a road block tonight. Bummer, dude. My room is warm, my bed is cozy, but I am tossing and turning. School's on my mind.

Fall is one of my favorite times of year. While the spring, seasonally, symbolizes a new beginning, being a teacher, autumn has always been when I feel freshest. My energy and excitement for a new school year has been rejuvenated over the summer, and I generally begin school in September feeling I have acquired new insights after a summer of reflection. The beginning to this school year has been tougher than the last several. It is no real surprise given most everything about my world changed. I'm the new girl again, to the administrators, to the other teachers, and to my students. No reputation precedes me. No norms or routines were already in place when September 4th arrived.

The students at Americano are some of the friendliest I have taught. Muy amables we say in Spanish. They are also some of the most social. I thought having 12-16 students in a class would be a breeze; I sheepishly admit it still feels pretty tough...and when I have 28 students for a new research class I was gifted, uffff da. I am imagining the other teachers out there, and my peers at Jefferson, a bit astonished as I admit this. Most teachers would give their right foot for these numbers. I imagined these class sizes to feel like a gift from the Heavens.

So I'm struggling. My students are telling me I need to relax more. Some are also keen on wanting to tell me how to put together lessons. Others are expressing their appreciation for feeling challenged. I'm seeking a balance. It's taking time. Every so often I go through periods of questioning my career choice. Can I do this for several more decades? Maybe I'm just not cut out for this? How am I going to keep my passion? Each time I've been here, I am eventually buoyed by something, whether it is one of those rare magical moments you have with your students where the angels practically sing as each student is keyed in to the discussion and new depths are reached, or I am finally able to make a connection with a student with whom I am struggling to connect. Eventually I come back to reside in the belief that teaching is not my career, it is my vocation. Right now, I'm just not feeling that. Kind of like I imagine some days one doesn't feel like parenting. Or feel like being married. So I'm reminding myself that anything worth anything is hard work. And I'm picking up books from the library entitled When Teaching Gets Tough and Teaching Class Clowns (And What They Can Teach Us). As I'm reading Allen Mendler's introduction to the former, I'm nodding my head as he asks, "Do you often feel like a battered boxer, struggling to survive..." and "Have you gotten to a point where you are fed up and think about quitting?" Mendler, dude, you got my number. So I keep reading, and Al reminds me that "Nobody in the midst of stress wants to think about how there are still six months left to the school year or 25 years to go until retirement..." so he advices "Live each day as if there is no tomorrow" and "Understand that change is a roller-coaster ride." While a bit cliche, I find some comfort in his words. I'm intense. I have high expectations. I also know I have to regularly remind myself that change, in myself and my students, takes time. Even when we move forward, there are days we fall back.

I've always believed I have an abundance to learn from my students. In the midst of my angst right now, I also know by the end of the year....or even the end of this month, they will have taught me about culture, about myself, about being a better teacher, about teenagers. Some of my anxiety stems from the fear that I won't teach them as much as they teach me, actually. I don't want to be good enough. I want to really support them. I suppose I have some sense of failure right now, but I'm trying to be compassionate towards myself because I think that comes before the ability to be compassionate towards others, and compassion, an abundance of it, is needed in the classroom every day.

So, cookies. I think next week we begin with cookies. Chocolate chip cookies. My first attempt at baking at this altitude looks a bit flat, but they are still altogether tasty galletas. I'm hoping that the chocolate and butter and sugar will lead my students to forgive me the poor aesthetics. And I'm not trying to bribe them, but I think some peace agreements are needed, and I don't think I can bring, like, peyote to school. I don't have any anyways.

My inspiration comes from two old dead white guys tonight (sounds kind of like the American cannon, eh?):

“[Kids] don't remember what you try to teach them. They remember what you are,” comes the wisdom from Jim Henson.

William Arthur Ward argues that “The mediocre teacher tells. The good teacher explains. The superior teacher demonstrates. The great teacher inspires.” 

I'm working on it, mis estudiantes.

la playa se llama Same

I had a typical Ecuadorian moment last Tuesday. I was with Amanda and Michelle, two other teachers from Americano, and we had taken a taxi from school to the bus station to buy tickets for the beach for last weekend. Michelle had called ahead and was told that we could only buy tickets 48 hours in advance, hence our Tuesday trip to the station. So, we walk up to the ticket window and ask to buy 4 tickets to Same (Saa-may) for Thursday after school (the three of us plus my friend Vale, another teacher at Americano, my new Quiteña amiga, were planning to travel together). Well, as it turns out, there were only two seats left on the bus. Big groan. Okay, here comes Ecuadorian moment #2 (which is much sweeter than moment #1): I call Vale to tell her about our conundrum. Her response: buy the two tickets and then one of you can ride with me and my parents. While South America and its ever-changing rules can be mind-boggling at times, I have been so fortunate to be meeting and spending time with such wonderful people.

In addition to packing me in her parents' car, Vale also gave us a great recommendation for accommodations in Same. Vale's friend Jaime runs beach cabañas at a place called El Rampiral. It was serendipitous that I ran into Vale in the teacher's lounge before booking a place in Atacames, a beach close to Same, because Atacames would have been a lot more action, when what the chicas needed this weekend was some good R&R. El Rampiral is a bit rustic, but we fell asleep to the sound of the ocean waves each night and our cabin had an ocean front view. Serendipity is one of my favorite words. So is tranquility.

Though, before the tranquilo life of the coast, one must drive to the coast, which was less tranquilo y mas loco. With Vale's padre in the driver's seat, the best way I can describe the drive is to compare it to being in one of those racing video arcade games. Most of the way to Same from Quito is a two lane highway with little light; the roads are winding with plenty of blind curves. It's just standard for cars to zoom in front of one another, and Vale's dad is an expert car weaver. I did my best to take my cues from Vale and her madre. They dozed in and out of sleep much of the way, and if they trusted our driver this much, who was I to question his methods?

We did make one pit stop on the way to the very green province of Esmereldas: a little roadside restaurant that serves fritada, or fried pork. This is a popular Ecuadorian dish that my students have been encouraging me to try. I wasn't disappointed. From time to time I'll be okay to put down some of that salty, fatty, fried meat.

Moving along here, about 6 hours after leaving Carcelen, where school is located, we arrived in Same. Vale's parents dropped me off at El Rampiral to wait for mis amigas who were still en route via the bus. When they arrived around 11 pm, they did have a story to tell of course. About an hour outside of Same, they heard a noise that Amanda describes as a necklace breaking and all the beads tumbling to the floor. Turns out it was a window shattering. Someone had thrown a rock from outside of the bus in order to create a diversion. The hope is that the bus would then stop and bandits could board to rob the riders. Fortunately the bus did not stop until a bit later to clean up the mess. So, all in all, they arrived safely and with a bit of a story for my blog.

After sleeping quite soundly Thursday night, I woke up at 7 and took a run down the beach. Yes, hello, tranquility, there you are. It was a pretty cloudy day, and so there didn´t seem much purpose in putting on our swimsuits. Instead we donned t-shirts and jeans for some horseback riding. Jaime had only to walk us across the street to have a bit of adventure in the Esmereldan forest. Amanda pointed out the machete hanging from his belt, and I shrugged curiously at the sight of the long sword.

My little pony. Not the one I rode.

After I mounted the mare (who was in heat), and the others mounted the two colts and a stallion (who were quite aware of my horse´s state), I better understood why Jaime carried the machete. Bush-wacking. We were traveling on a trail, mas o menos, but it seemed not to be a trail much traveled. Throughout our ride, I was both in awe of the beauty around me, and quite aware of the way fear works within me. While I have ridden horses before, this environment was new for me, and my horse was being a bit moody. The unknown of how the experience would turn out--whether I would spend the whole time on my mare´s back, or whether I would have to plan an escape--detracted some from a deeper enjoyment of the experience. This is standard for me; apprehension holds me back from fully immersing myself. I say this with a bit of humor: I have found myself often wondering here, "Will I survive this experience?" At its root, anxiety is a fear of death. Death is a reality with which I have yet to come to terms. I am not trying to morbid, but I feel I need to make peace with this reality to cut down my anxieties and fears. I find myself appreciating an experience after it is over sometimes because, well, I lived through it, so now it is less scary and more cool. I want all the coolness during the experience, not afterwards.

Just starting out. Such a lush landscape.

Well, after living to tell about the horseback riding adventure, we needed to find a restaurant to dine at, of course. Another of Vale´s friends recommended this awesome, eclectic place that looks like this:

As you can see, eating at 7:30 is a bit early for the South Americans.

And the drinks looked like this:

The perfect piña colada.

And the food looked like this:

I love art that you eat.

So we looked like this:

Michelle and Amanda.

Michelle and Jamie.

After dinner, we retired to our beachside cabin, happy as clams. Reading and more sleeping ensued.

Our second beach day was no disappointment either. I started the day with another run down the beach. What struck me about Same is that the sound of the waves mutes all else. While you can see children playing and families enjoying each other's company, the waves crashing into shore was the soundtrack for the whole weekend. In her young adult novel, Tithe, Holly black writes, "She loves the serene brutality of the ocean, loves the electric power she felt with each breath of wet, briny air." The words that strike me most are "serene brutality." Let´s speak of oxymorons for a moment, mis estudiantes. There is a definite truth to this on the beach of Same. The waves crashed hard, almost violently against the shore all day and all night, but they were serene in their ability to mesmerize the woman watching their continual motion.

You know what brings deeper serenity? A massage on the beach, next to those constant waves. Yep, we all signed up for one of those. You know you´re in South America when the massuese comes to your beach and pushes around your swimsuit to kneed your booty with no hint of a shade or cover for your body. You also know you´re not in Kansas anymore when the massage costs a mere $20.

Despues de los masajes, we were invited to meet up with Vale and her family down the beach at Casa Blanca. The sun peaked in and out of the clouds all afternoon, and 30 spf sunscreen did not protect the gringita from a bit of a sunburn. Not to worry, though, it was nothing like the 2nd degree sunburn I got in Big Sky, Montana one summer years ago.

Around 4:00 pm Amanda, Michelle, and I followed the Izquerido family to their gorgeous flat overlooking the beach for a traditional almuerzo. Their cook served ceviche, pulpa (octopus), potato soup and for dessert Magnum ice cream bars. ¿Cómo se dice "I´m stuffed like a pig on Easter"? Do you ever get motion sickness from walking? Sometimes I almost do after such a delicious meal as that. We all needed to get horizontal to let our tummies rest, and then the plan was to go out with the rest of the locals for a seafood dinner around 10 pm. We never made it out of our beds that night. It was all good, though. A weekend of sleeping, eating, and reading is pretty perfect in my book.

We capped off the weekend with Vale and her family coming to the rescue once again (a good story will often end in a similar fashion to how it began). We were waiting for Jaime´s driver to pick us up and bring us to the bus station for our ride back to Quito and the clock was beginning to tick. After trying to call our driver and being thoroughly confused by his rapid speaking, I called Vale. She called the hombre and even she struggled to make out what he was trying to communicate, so she said she and her family would come and bring us to the station. When they arrived, Vale´s dad decided we would pile into the two cars (Vale´s brother and sister-in-law were with us now too) and head back to the city together. My gratitude towards her family is quite endless at this point, and then my heart is about to burst when we stop not once, but twice, on the way home in order to try some new, sweet foods: pan de yuca y yogurt and a tasty ice cream from an adorable little roadside shop. It´s a wonder my pants still zip.

This weekend I´ll be chilling in Quito, eating sushi, painting the living room and kitchen (well, repainting some), hopefully heading to the opening of a brewery, and hitting up the organic market. All good things.

How is Minnesota? or the States? or Europe? How is Jefferson? How are your beautiful children? Hearing from you is so wonderful, so please keep me updated.

Mucho amor,

Jame

The Goldilocks Effect

Well, the home makeover continues. I am taking a break from the painting the entryway here. I am on a mission, but losing some steam; I'm putting the paint away for a couple of weeks after I finish up today. To be honest, I am a little weary of the color for the kitchen/living area. I thought I had bought a light green, but it turns out to be more of a creamy yellow, which warms up the house and goes well with the bedroom color, but does not accent the gray and white granite in the kitchen the way I had imagined. Sigh and deep breath. It is still much better than florescent white walls.

This weekend has been altogether quite lovely. Something has happened in the past week and a half that leads me to feel much more settled and at home in Quito now. I think it's called the passing of time. Robert Frost says that "nothing gold can stay," but on that same token, the tough stuff does get easier. I am feeling much more like my spunky, fun-loving self than a few weeks ago. My students have been looking at me with some amused expressions on their faces because I have a bit more pep in the classroom. Buckle up, kiddos.

So, Friday night I painted the 2nd bedroom. Check it out.

Sooner than later I need to get a bed for the room. I have a number of guests that begin arriving in December, starting with Mrs. Hannah Julien and her husband Eric Antonson. I can't wait to have some others in my home spreading their good energy around the place. Someone to cook with and for also just tickles my fancy.

Anyway, I woke up at 6 am on Saturday morning to go with our school librarian Jeanette and her husband Bacil to a sleepy little town called Atahualpa, which is about 2 hours outside of Quito. The bus ride was actually quite enjoyable. I have come to realize that Americans really are much louder than many other peoples. Ecuadorians can get rowdy with the best of 'em, I think, but altogether, people talk more softly. While the bus was full, it was not loud. The Spanish music provided a soft ambient background as well.

When we arrived in Atahualpa, we got off the bus and ended up quickly finding a large hill/small montaña to climb. On the way up, we saw plenty of hens, dogs, and it seems everyone in town was helping build a house. A couple of children scampered up behind us, laughing sweetly when they would catch up to us. It seemed they were playing a sort of game with us. After an hour of steep trekking, we arrived at the top to have quite the vista of the entire little town. We didn't have much time at the top because the bus back to Quito left Atahualpa at 1 pm (well, we thought 1 at the time, but as it turned out, it was 1:25, which meant really 1:35).

As we were making our way through town back to the bus stop, I stopped and got some fresh bread for .35 and then bought a banana for .05 from a fruit and vegetable truck that was going around. I cannot stop gaping at the prices for delicious, fresh food here.

Speaking of food, the girl who thinks about lunch as soon as she finishes breakfast, and dinner as soon as she finishes lunch had a fantastic dinner last night in the central historico. It was my friend Celeste's 26th birthday. A group of us from school met up at a restaurant called Vista Hermosa and beautiful view it did have! It was a little too chilly to dine on the rooftop, but we did take in the breathtaking site before sitting down inside. I ordered shrimp in a garlic sauce and was then introduced to the best drink of my life: a Pisco Sour. O.M.G. I just know the glass is rimmed with sugar and it has a fluffy, beaten egg white mixed into some smooth liquor.

Continuing with my food trend, I finally located the organic market that is open every other Sunday in Parque Carolina, right across from my apartment. Score. I bought some fresh produce for the week, and a homemade chocolate, pumpkin spread that reminds me of fall back home. I could spoon the whole jar into my mouth right now. Thoughts of a beach getaway next weekend are the only thing holding me back. Swimsuit time.

I am currently debating hard core about the color of my living room. Here's what I've got so far:

I'll live with it for a week and see where I am at. Ms. Independent would love if her female family members were here now to give their opinions....and help repaint if need be. 

To close today, I've been thinking about this new place I am in, feeling more at ease and comfortable with my new life. While life in Minnesota was beautiful for dozens of reasons, it felt something like when Goldilocks lays on the bed that is too soft. The first weeks of being in Quito I could compare to Goldilocks finding the bed that is too hard. Now, happily, Goldilocks is snuggled into the bed that is just right. She's relishing in that feeling while it lasts. 

I hope that at least part of your day felt like that, just right. 

Mucho amor,

Jame

Making a house a home: Part 1

So, you may be aware that mi madre has this awesome knack for interior decorating. My parents are currently building a house by Linds and her family, and I am enjoying hearing about all of the details and decisions they are making as the construction has been underway for a couple of months now. My mom has played a large role in the decor in my Minneapolis condo; I have appreciated her input a lot. When I made the decision to teach abroad, though, I decided that part of my evolution as an adult needed to include the ability to create a home on my own. I was tempted to do the roommate thing here as some of the perks, like crazy cheap rent and company in times of real loneliness, were tempting in the face of such a big change, but ultimately I stuck to my guns on the challenge of fixing up a place on my own. Some of my friends here have these amazing Ecuadorian flats that just feel, well, like Ecuador. My apartment, as it is new construction, isn't necessarily very South American feeling, but the stark white walls presented an opportunity for me to reinvent a space. This past Monday I, along with one of my new local friends, Francisco, went on an excursion to a paint store, Sherwin Williams, actually. I intended to take care of business on my own, but Francisco insisted on meeting up and going along. I was quite fortunate to have him with because, while my Spanish is improving, discussing types of brushes, paint primers, and level of gloss isn't currently in my vocabulary. 

Having purchased the paint, I was anxious to get started on Operation House 2 Home. After reading until 2:30 am Saturday morning, I still woke up at 7:30 am--it is nearly impossible for me to sleep in here--quite excited to get started on my project. After hitting up the gym to pump some iron and my weekly trip to Iñaquito, the market that is walking distance from my house, I donned the closet thing to painting clothes I have here: Lululemon cropped pants and a t-shirt.

I finished priming and one coat of paint before it was time to get ready for a friend's 30th birthday party. A lot of good food and some salsa dancing somehow made for a terrible night of getting stomach sick. My mom used to tell stories about how I was a projectile vomiter as a little baby. Mom, it wasn't just about being a baby. Some things never change. TMI. I know. Sorry 'bout it. Today I was supposed to go on an excursion to el mitad del mundo, otherwise known as the equator. I got up, showered, and walked to meet the other teachers who had signed up for the adventure. While waiting for everyone to arrive, I decided I couldn't chance the bus ride and an afternoon of walking, so I made my way back home. El mitad del mundo another time.

This picture is out of order, but I am having a tiff with the blog right now. This is me doing the edging, which is usually what Dad does. 

The BRAT Diet served me well, and I got myself to put the second coat of paint on the bedroom. I still need to frame 3 great paintings I bought from an artist in Otavalo to hang on the wall, but take a look at the following pictures to see the room remodel.

Even the great natural light I get doesn't make me room sunny with such sterile walls. 

This does feel a little like an asylum to me.

One coat down, one to go. 

So much warmer. I love it.

As always, I miss you all. I hope you are enjoying the otoño. Nos hablamos pronto.

Jame

Summiting a Volcano

I was in my pajamas by about 7:30 on Friday night. I had that weird feeling in my throat that indicates you are about to get a cold. This felt especially ominous as I had to get up at 4:20 am on Saturday morning as Gustavo and Paypahuasi Tours were kind enough to be swinging by my house to pick me up on the way to the meeting grounds for the Pichincha climbing expedition. I tossed and turned all night, but having a new adventure on the horizon was enough to keep me feeling spry when my alarm clock went off.

By 5 am I was riding in the Paypahuasi bus, on the way to the meeting grounds where there would be a total of 28 people gathering to take on Pichincha and its 4 cumbres. By 6:15 am the sun had risen and the 2 buses were bouncing their way out of the city. I was seated next to a nice Ecuadorian man named Pierre, who was patiently speaking with me in Spanish...and then English when I got too confused. At one point he explained to me that Pichincha is a very unpredictable, active volcano. There is no warning when an eruption is coming, the last having been in 2004. Since I have a terrible sense of direction, there was no real way for me to get out of the bus and arrive back home safely at this point. What are the odds anyway, I reassure myself. (If you know anything about anxious people, such as myself, discussing odds and generally being rational does not always quell fears.)

The landscape outside of Quito turns out to be quite beautiful. I especially enjoyed the friendly cows who were grazing at the starting point of our climb. Even the cows are super tranquilo here. (It seems that they are naturally kind of laid back creatures, but, California, I think these cows are just happier.) I worked to hone some of that energy before we began our ascent.

I was pleasantly surprised as the altitude did not affect me and my muscles felt strong. The pleasant feeling escaped me, though, as we got closer to our first summit. That whole fear of heights thing grabbed hold of me, and I had to have a little "Come to Jesus" chat with myself to find the courage to scuttle to the very top. Facing fears here. The view at the top was quite the prize for doing so. We happened to have one of the clearest days. Ever. Check out the pictures, and you will see.

As I am taking in the view from the top of the first cumbre, it does dawn on me that we have 3 more to go. Uffff da, says the Minnesota girl. As we are descending to the spot where will break for some food, I cannot decide which is harder, going up or down the volcano. When we are climbing up, I am wishing we are going down, but now that my toes are slamming into the front of my hiking boots, and my knees are screaming at me, it seems that ascending would be better. Yay, yay, the grass is always greener, Jame, I say shaking my head at myself.

So, food is always a great inspiration to me, and after chowing down my peanut butter and honey sanduche and banana, I feel replenished. And so the 2nd ascent begins. To summarize, the 2nd and 3rd summits were pretty tough. I was reminded why mountains are so often used in metaphors about life. Looking back could scare the wits out of me because it appeared to be a steep fall if I lost my balance, and looking up was incredibly daunting. One of the best parts of the experience was probably the fact that it forced complete presence. In fact, my life depended on my focus on the present moment.

As we were nearing the top of the last summit, I had a flashback to a camping trip with my dad, one of my best college friends, Jenn, and one of my best high school friends, Jake. We were climbing up the mountain, and as it was close to the peak, we were climbing in mostly shale. Shale that was slipping out from under my boots and making me feel panicky and unsteady. Perhaps a bit dramatically, I began thinking of all of the people I hadn't said goodbye to were I to parish on this mountain. And then I felt angry. My poor dad bore the brunt of the anger and panic. Obviously it was his fault I felt insecure and scared, right? Well, as we are making the final ascent, I am having to rock climb more than I ever have before. Did I mention my fear of rock climbing? A similar "I didn't sign up for this" irritation arises in me as it did that summer in Montana. I have no choice but to swing my short little legs up onto the next rock and keep trucking, though. I keep working on living for every moment in life, but it is true that some are more rewarding and enjoyable than others. When I finally stepped onto the very peak of that last summit, that was a cool feeling. And it is actually now, that I am looking back at the photos, that I can most appreciate the hard work of the whole climb. So much so that I am thinking I will be signing up for more in a week or two. (Mmmmm, maybe two.)

After climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. ~Nelson Mandela

My cama is definitely calling my name now. Suenos dulches a todos. (I have got to figure out how to access my Spanish keyboard on here.) 

Amor,

Jame

Colegio Americano and Thomas Jefferson High School

Buenas tardes a todos,

I have been reflecting on the similarities and differences between Jefferson and Colegio Americano in the last weeks. In the following comparison, I am not intending to present one as better than another. Both schools, as any, have their "strengths" and "next steps" (as I like to point out in my students' writing). 

Similarities:                                       

Teachers make SMART goals

...

I am actually kind of coming up blank here, 

unless I am going to be obvious and name things like

both schools have a library...

Differences: 

Drills

Americano: volcano eruption and earthquake drills

Jefferson: tornado and fire drills

Security

Americano: a number of armed guards circle the perimeter of the campus all day, teachers use a machine that scans their fingerprint to check in and out

Jefferson: 4 (I believe) hall monitors peruse the halls while class is in session, a teacher or volunteer signs in guests at front door

Class size

Americano: 12-15 students in English classes (surprisingly it doesn't feel that small because this is an incredibly social culture)

Jefferson: 30-35 students in English classes

Campus

Americano: outdoor campus which includes pre-K through 12th grade, a closed campus that I am not sure how a student could escape from

Jefferson: indoor (definitely indoor) campus which includes 9th-12th grade, a closed campus that students can find their way out of

School lunch

*After careful thought, I cannot comment here because it would appear I was trying to make one school look better than another

Schedule

Americano: eight 45 minute class periods each day, a rotating 6 day cycle, Two 25-minute recesses (which is when high school students also must eat lunch)--I still actually do not know my schedule; I have it posted behind my desk

Jefferson: a modified block schedule--Monday, Tuesday, Friday: six 54 minute periods; Wednesday, Thursday: three 90 minute periods

Transportation

Americano: most teachers ride the bus; all kids ride the bus; Morning: buses (there are many) round up teachers and students around the city and bring them to Carcelen, where the school is located, which takes about 40 minutes from my stop and gets us to school 15 minutes before class begins; Afternoon: most teachers leave on teacher bus at 3:30, which means I am home around 4:30; students leave at 3:00 (there is another bus at 4 and 6, but I am a firm believer in my work-life balance)

Jefferson: Teachers drive (and carpool), arriving by 7:15, 35 minutes before class begins; students take the bus, drive, and carpool

Meetings

Americano: Mondays after school=grade level meetings (admin. usually discusses something at these, such as reading off the names of students who struggle for different reasons; no paperwork given, just take notes); Wednesdays after school=department meetings; other various meetings come up throughout the week to discuss drills, insurance, or the Ministry of Education's latest requirements

Jefferson: Once a month staff meetings (sometimes canceled); PLC meetings after school on Wednesdays; IEP meetings at various times throughout the year

I could go on a bit more, but I need to get to spinning class, especially important tonight because I have signed up to climb Pinchincha with Paypahuasi, a company started by Jenny and Esteban Rivera's friend Gustavo. I hope I can make it to the top for a spectacular view!

                                                  

I will leave you with a couple of pictures from Americano...

One of the courtyards at Americano

View right outside of my door, turning to the right

View outside of my classroom windows

Americano is awesome, but shout out to my peeps at Jefferson. I miss you abundantly.