Strikes.
As I arrived at my afternoon lecture on tuesday I found half the tables of the classroom had been used to barricade one of the main entrances to the building. None of my contemporaries had arrived, as I returned to the exit people were attempting to get in and others were restraining them. A girl shouted - please can all of those not 'blocking' please leave the building- I was aware that strikes were expected but I had no idea it would happen so instaniously.
Another entrance was being chained up at the same time.
So I am sat here twiddling my thumbs waiting for my erasmus grant to arrive so I can go and enjoy myself without fearing being overdrawn again. There is little I can do if I get into dept in my British account when I am abroad.
Right, I am off to make use of this day, perhaps some rollerblading.
Bye for now.
Thursday, 15 November 2007
Tuesday, 13 November 2007
Stepping into another dimension
In the second week of my Erasmus year, I managed to break a bone, the first of my life. I decided to take a friends newly bought bike for a spin, I misjudged a pavement and landed on my hand. After watching 'Sicko' at the cinema (being grateful to be in Europe) and night of discomfort, I finally accepted that I should get my hand checked out.
It was at the Hospital that I ran into a Doctor, M. Sananes who was keen to have somebody to speak to his children in English, I was interested and left him my mobile number. After two weeks I had'nt heard anything so I left him a note at his work, he responded the next day and I made a house call a few days later.
After 30 mintues walk on the other side of the city centre I arrived at a bourgeois town house. The door bell was exceptionally high for a family with young children. In the hall a white marble staircase lead to the front door, at the top of it, at my eyelevel- a small doll like creature with beautiful ringletted hair and clothed in a white victorian nightgown style cotton dress; their youngest child of two and a half. M. Sananes, on the phone, shook my hand and welcomed me into his mansionesque house.
I was soon ushered into the drawing room containing a long sofa of a floral cream upholstering and twin armchairs to match (Louis xiii, or so Mme Sananes claimed). A marble fireplace stood opposite a sideboard topped with marble also.
When it came to discussing what they wanted from me as a teacher I felt obliging. However things seemed to prove more and more unbelievable. They firstly wanted to know what sort of payment I expected, when I timidly admittted I had no idea they suggested a meer 6euros(4pounds or so) an hour, but I was keen to occupy myself, so politely smiled.
However what followed left me feeling hard done by; the parents wanted me to; show the children visual aids, to talk to the three of them whilst they ate their dinner and to teach the children english needed whilst visiting a city or vocabulary for household items. Baring in mind the oldest was but 7 years old and could only say his name in English, I had my work cut out.
There were so many things that made this whole experience seem out of this world;
-The suggestion of going with the family for weekends away.
-The Romanian piano teacher with inch thick make-up, fluffy white hair, a pink almost angora wollen cardigan and gold glitter glasses.
-The senile grandparents pushed into the playroom.
-The portugese Nanny
-The boys' en suite bathroom between their fancy bedrooms
-The cupboards covering the study/piano room walls in an eggshell blue.
-Friday evenings at 5pm were the proposed session times, usually before the parents would get home from their Medical and Psychiatry workplaces.
On leaving this dream, I realised that I wouldn't be able to enjoy this job; the parents seemed cold and distant, the children sweet but spoilt and I had a fear that I'd break the antique furniture in some way or another. It felt like a false reality and a return was dreaded.
I would gladly work for a family I felt I had something in common with; without pay. It was a shame that I went to so much trouble to get the job, but I couldn't justify 12euros as the only perk.
It was at the Hospital that I ran into a Doctor, M. Sananes who was keen to have somebody to speak to his children in English, I was interested and left him my mobile number. After two weeks I had'nt heard anything so I left him a note at his work, he responded the next day and I made a house call a few days later.
After 30 mintues walk on the other side of the city centre I arrived at a bourgeois town house. The door bell was exceptionally high for a family with young children. In the hall a white marble staircase lead to the front door, at the top of it, at my eyelevel- a small doll like creature with beautiful ringletted hair and clothed in a white victorian nightgown style cotton dress; their youngest child of two and a half. M. Sananes, on the phone, shook my hand and welcomed me into his mansionesque house.
I was soon ushered into the drawing room containing a long sofa of a floral cream upholstering and twin armchairs to match (Louis xiii, or so Mme Sananes claimed). A marble fireplace stood opposite a sideboard topped with marble also.
When it came to discussing what they wanted from me as a teacher I felt obliging. However things seemed to prove more and more unbelievable. They firstly wanted to know what sort of payment I expected, when I timidly admittted I had no idea they suggested a meer 6euros(4pounds or so) an hour, but I was keen to occupy myself, so politely smiled.
However what followed left me feeling hard done by; the parents wanted me to; show the children visual aids, to talk to the three of them whilst they ate their dinner and to teach the children english needed whilst visiting a city or vocabulary for household items. Baring in mind the oldest was but 7 years old and could only say his name in English, I had my work cut out.
There were so many things that made this whole experience seem out of this world;
-The suggestion of going with the family for weekends away.
-The Romanian piano teacher with inch thick make-up, fluffy white hair, a pink almost angora wollen cardigan and gold glitter glasses.
-The senile grandparents pushed into the playroom.
-The portugese Nanny
-The boys' en suite bathroom between their fancy bedrooms
-The cupboards covering the study/piano room walls in an eggshell blue.
-Friday evenings at 5pm were the proposed session times, usually before the parents would get home from their Medical and Psychiatry workplaces.
On leaving this dream, I realised that I wouldn't be able to enjoy this job; the parents seemed cold and distant, the children sweet but spoilt and I had a fear that I'd break the antique furniture in some way or another. It felt like a false reality and a return was dreaded.
I would gladly work for a family I felt I had something in common with; without pay. It was a shame that I went to so much trouble to get the job, but I couldn't justify 12euros as the only perk.
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