Pics from Sweden

Since I have nothing else to talk about now, here are some pics.

They’re randomly organized & I am too lazy to explain. Many from school, new ones from home, some from downtown & the park. Enjoy!

Ramblings from Sweden Part 2

WE CLEAN BEFORE WE FEAST

In case you weren’t already aware, my last post was written on Saturday while waiting for an internet hookup, which I still don’t really have. I arrived in Sweden on Friday afternoon, not yesterday… Though the difference, to me, is negligible.

 I’m not one for mass postings or group emails, but as you can imagine things are pretty hectic, and as I’m using Ida’s internet to post, I’m trying to minimize my time.  I figured this was a good solution. Plus, writing gives me something to do in my barren apartment when I’m bored & lonely.  I have to get a personnummer  before I can get a phone, internet, or bank account, so it might be a bit before any of those things happen.

            

As I mentioned before, my school’s facility was not intended for academia. Nej, it was once a textile factory and had lived many lives before becoming Internationella Engelska Skolan 5 years ago. It’s an interesting building in a very convenient location, and really it looks quite impressive from the outside—very large and brick… in fact, they’re those sepia-toned bricks you see quite often in Southern Ontario, which is comfy for me.

However, the inside is a different story altogether. There are… 4 floors… I think. There are 3 staircases, though only two go from top to bottom, and they’re on the far ends of the building… And the second floor creates a huge dilemma because it is not accessible from all sides. What I mean by this is that it’s got a quad of classrooms right in the middle of the floor, blocking access from one side to another. So, quite often, if you need to get from one side of the floor to the other, you need to hike up or down the stairs, cross over that floor, then go back up/down and around again. This may sound only mildly annoying, but what you need to know is that there are 1 or 2 staircases that only go up one floor (and not the right one), the hallways are like labyrinths that are nearly innavigable (not a word, but it works), and the whole process is a nightmare, even once you’ve finally figured out the snarl of halls and stairs that we call home.  Which I have not, as you may have inferred.

And, of course, you guessed it—I’m split between two departments, and their offices are on opposite sides of the second floor. And yes, you nailed it again; my schedule includes room changes that follow this stinkin route quite often… One more for the team, Ebie… One more.  At least I should build a nice set of stems, just getting between offices and classrooms… I’ll have to try not to raise my arms to write on the board… (“Why does Ms. Bingham always stink?”)

All that aside, the facility is quite nice. (Apart from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the show?) As I mentioned, the lunchroom is really quite amazing, and the food is really good! The classrooms are adequately furnished, bright, and clean, but no SMARTboards like back home in Ontario (no internet-based lessons for Ms. B… boohoo). My office is in the math and sciences department, which is great for me because it seems larger, brighter, and a little more lively than the English department. 

School is somewhat different here in Sweden, as our school is the equivalent of the Canadian “intermediate” or the US “junior high,” but the grades are 6-9. The kids seem to have a lot more freedom (which means we do too); for example they don’t have to come in until their first class (which may be as late as 10:30), and they can leave as soon as they are finished (as early as 1:30).  This also means that I have a lot more freedom with my schedule—namely, I can LEAVE in the middle of the day if I am free. Take THAT, Ontario.

Given I’m in Europe, there seem to be far less rules regarding physical contact, which is challenging for me… I never know whether to pull the boys off the girls in the halls or just let them go… On the other hand, they seem a far more intimate and less self-conscious culture, which may be attributable to this difference.  I find it sweet that grade 8 girls will still walk down the hall holding hands, and boys are unafraid to hug or throw an arm around each other– which is very European and seems so innocent & nice. There’s so much less of that typical North American awkwardness surrounding sex, sexual identity, and intimacy. It’s quite inspiring to see kids more comfortable in their own skin and comfortable with each other.

On the flipside of that, they are (perhaps) a bit too comfortable questioning authority for my liking. The kids are raised to expect explanations and to question authority, which I think is great… but (so far) they lack a basic respect for authority that I feel is necessary for a productive learning environment. I know, I never thought I’d say that either, but the old teacher snarl and stink eye just don’t work on these kids– and sometimes I just wish they’d poop their little britches and hop –to!! I prefer to teach, not discipline, and I fear there may be too much of that here… Perhaps it’s just a start of the year thing, but I’m finding it a bit of a struggle thus far…

As for the basics, the union agreement maxes us out at 35 hours a week, and I have a number of breaks throughout the day with which to plan—which makes my schedule seem quite nice (so far).  We have a really great system called SchoolSoft, which allows us to post homework, class notes, lesson plans, etc., all online—and it’s the kids’ responsibility to check every day and make sure they are up to date. What that means is that I don’t have to type those obnoxious Ontario lesson (etc) plans, I don’t have to write down homework on the board, and no one can ever say “I forgot my agenda,” or “I didn’t know it was due,” etc. They have more responsibility, which means less work for me.

HAHA, kiddies, HAHA.

I’m teaching 3 math  (grades 8 &9) and 3 English classes (grades 7 & 9), but I only have to plan for 2 math and 2 English because some of the classes are repeats. And really, I don’t have a whole lot of planning anyhow. Unlike in Ontario, the English department here has pretty much given me lessons in a can. We all do the same thing at the same time in basically the same way—which is bad for creativity and my level of excitement/challenge, but really good for my personal life and sanity. Math is basically mapped out, but I have the freedom to teach it how I like… and since math is fun & easy anyhow (another thing I never thought I’d say), the planning should really be quite easy.

Aside from those classes, I have what is called a mentor class. It’s a grade 8 class of 31 kids that a woman named Barbara Lundin & I share. We meet with these kids twice a week, their parents at least bi-weekly, and basically serve as their advisors. They seem a pretty good lot; though they’re talkative to an extreme and one of the girls is so histrionic and self-absorbed I’d like to smack her already.  I know that’s awful to say, but we’ve just spent the full two day orientation with them, and I’ve already seen some behaviour from her (towards Mrs. Lundin) that I will NOT tolerate—even for an instant. I have no patience for little girls who talk back and storm out. (Isn’t that a little hypocritical, you say? BAH! I say!)

If you take one thing away from this, it should be that teaching in a school where the kids speak another language is very, very strange. They say things to you sometimes, and you’re not sure they’re speaking English, thanks to the accents. They say things that are obviously about you, and you have no idea what they’re saying… In co-taught classes, they talk to the other teacher in Swedish, and you are left clueless… Everywhere I go I have no idea what is being said around me… It’s strange, but I’m getting used to having a dumb smile plastered on my face & saying “engelska..?” often.

But enough of the teacher babble… Very few of you are interested in it, I’m sure, but it’s my life & I’m trying to tell you about my life here.

On the other side of life, Ida has given me a number of things for my apartment, so now I have sheets for my tiny little IKEA bed and curtains for my windows. She also gave me some towels, candles, matches, etc… It was a really thoughtful little package she put together, really. She is super nice & has shown me the ropes here in town. Her office is with mine, and she lives next door, so I think we ought to be friends. In fact, I am headed over to her place to use the internet and talk about math in just a few minutes.  Also, Barbara has offered me a set of leather furniture (sectional couch, recliner, ottoman), and Mousafa (the school custodian) is going to drop it off this weekend sometime. So, by this time next week I should be fully furnished for next to nothing!  No more echoes in my apartment! Woo!

I’ve rambled too much, so I’ll sign off for now. I’ve been far too busy to take any pictures, really, but I’ll go on a hike around the city this weekend and snap some to post– so hopefully I’ll have some good ones soon.

I hope you are all well, as I know many of you are traveling across countries yourself, and I hope that this post hasn’t bored you to death. They should be shorter & more interesting from now on. I miss you all very much, and I hope to actually SPEAK to some of you relatively soon. You’re all in my heart (if not my continent) always.

Ebie!

First Ramblings from Sweden

I have arrived. The Brickebacken moped mafia told me so. They said more, but when I shrugged, put my hands up, and sheepishly explained “English,” that was the response I got: “You are here,” with some smiles and not wholly unfriendly laughter.

Brickebacken (pr: Brickyabacken) is my neighbourhood in Orebro, Sweden. It’s a wooded area on the one hill in the city, just 5k from downtown. The university is up here, and apart from that there isn’t much but strange architecture, bike paths, huge slugs, and trees. Many, many, many large trees.  I quite like it so far, as it has a hodge-podgy international vibe, full of wanderlust, activity, and interest.

Brickebacken seems the student and immigrant mecca, which might explain the atmosphere: we’ve all chosen to uproot ourselves, we’re all learning, we’re all exploring.  Last night, as I meandered the bike paths, everyone was young or foreign and smiling, and they all gave me the Swedish “Hej Hej!”

Lena, who took me shopping and dropped me off, said that most Swedes don’t care to live up here. I don’t understand that. Up here, the roads give way to pedestrian and bike paths, and the inexpensive architecture is quirky and captivating. Just down the path from my building is the strangest little cluster of housing– built from storage units (yes, really). It was built years ago to accommodate an influx of University students and was meant to be temporary, but as the growth continued, they stuck and are now just super cheap, super strange apartments that look something like piles of multi-coloured shoeboxes with stairs.

I feel I’m living in some international hub in the woods. Everyone has a different skin colour, different attire, and even the smells are a feast unto themselves. I’m pretty sure most people I pass are speaking another language entirely—though my green ears may just not recognize Swedish on different tongues yet. Time will tell. Either way, it makes for interesting fare and keeps me feeling part of some international festival—which is far better than feeling a lone stranger in a strange land.

Which brings me to the journey. That stupid cliché reminds us that life is a journey, not a destination, and to me that has been the most important part of my move. It is now Saturday evening in Orebro, and I am thinking back to Thursday morning in Vermont. My poor mother bore witness to my inevitable breakdown as I prepared to head out the door, and I made her vow not to tell anyone of it– but now I will. Looking at my hugely overweight bag ( I won’t even admit the true weight of the thing) and thinking ahead to the trip, the beginning of school with no planning, and all of the inevitable changes and fears, I fell apart. I sat down on my parents’ kitchen floor and bawled, head in hands. “I can’t do this… I can’t do this…” It turned into my mantra. I cried much of the drive to Boston. I cried all through the airport, where they took me aside for “additional security screening.” I was terrified. I wanted to back out.

But traveling is good for that. Anyone who’s traveled overseas knows the timeless, surreal quality of a long journey in the hands of airlines, trains, and busses. I was removed from reality for a little over 24 hours, focused on nothing but the next step.  That helps you to forget. Dazed and clueless, the only reality I had was rushing from one point to the next. It began with the ridiculous security screening in Boston, where they stuck me in some chamber and puffed air all over me, swabbed all of my belongings and tested them for heaven knows what, and made me turn on my computer to prove it wasn’t some type of explosive. That was followed by delay after delay, leaving me with impossibly short moments between each leg of the trip. Somehow I managed to make each change, and in the end the trip was a miraculous success. It really shouldn’t have been, but for once luck was on my side.

By the time the reality hit again, I was squinting out the window of a 747 at 41,000 feet. Below me were the mountains of Norway, reaching up with rocky crags and snow caps, full of glacial lakes that looked more like spilled teal paint than water. Shortly I found myself in Stockholm, removed from the fear and ready to explore a new life in a new land… If only my train ticket and all the signs had been willing to help me with a little English… But I found my way eventually, just as the train was leaving. There’s still some residual fear for my first teaching days, but most of it has been replaced with excitement.

If nothing else, the journey is good for redirecting your mindset. I have to assume the vast differences help as well. When I moved to Ontario last year, I believe my expectations were a little skewed… I had some sense that I was going home, and I didn’t expect to feel so lost and out of place. Here, I can’t help but feel totally lost, as I can’t even buy milk without investigating the package and guessing at its contents. On the other hand, the landscape looks hauntingly familiar… Ontario, with funny architecture.

So far I’m trying to settle in, but most of last night was spent wandering, searching for a payphone. With no real sleep in 48 hours, I walked about 8 miles (yes, really) before I gave up my search. My boss had actually given me a mobile, but it had some Swedish message I didn’t understand and wouldn’t work. I stopped into a gas station near my apartment and the girl working there ( a Kurdish immigrant herself) helped to “fix” the phone, and I finally called home. Today one of my fellow teachers (and neighbour!), Ida (pr: EEda),  took me into the city and helped me spend all my money on power adaptors, bus cards, and other necessities.

The city is beautiful. Old and cobblestoned like most of Europe, the center is mostly pedestrian streets dominated by a Castle, rambling black river, and an enormous and beautiful park with elaborate gardens. Ida explained much to me today and kept me laughing. She’s Swedish by birth but was raised in Papua New Guinea and returned here 10 years ago. She’s been teaching in a refugee camp here for 4.5 years, and she’s lived in Orebro for 10 and seems to know everyone. I’d very much like to get to know her, as she seems very interesting and nice—besides, she does great stuff like mushroom and berry picking with friends then makes a feast of the loot. Today she gave up a crayfishing expedition to show me around, but tonight she’s headed to the crayfish party, which she says is pretty common and involves much cooking, drinking, and music… Me, I’ll be unpacking and sleeping. I ought to do that at some point, I guess.

I barely remember the wine and cheese party at the school, but I met about 30 people and promptly forgot their names. The school is large, housed in what was once a factory, then a bowling alley. I’ve only seen the lunchroom, but it’s quite beautiful, with a 150 gallon fish tank full of African Cichlids… We have a lunch cook who will apparently make me vegetarian meals, and all of the staff is quite young. In fact, I think my Mathematics Department Head may be younger than I. Either way, it seems a great international staff, and I’m really excited to get teaching and get to know them all.

And finally, the moped mafia. As I mentioned, we have mostly bike paths up here in Brickebacken, and they seem ruled by what my new friend Ida (pr: Eeda, by the way) called the moped mafia. Mostly Middle Eastern boys, they look a little rough and live a little loud, but their smiles betray their appearance. The teens mostly live at home but work, Ida told me, so they’re proud to ride their expensive Ferrari mopeds, and the younger ones (7 or 8 years, I’d say) drive the smaller, louder hand-me-downs. They race each other up and down the paths, stopping only for the cutest of teenage girls, or to tease their male friends relegated to (ugh) pedal bikes or (gasp) foot. They are adorable in their self-importance, and so far they make me smile.

So, there be the 1636 good words for the day. If you’ve read all the way to the bottom, you must either be a true friend or truly, truly bored. No really, thanks. I love you all.

God natt och lycka till, USA och Kanada.