Sunday, August 14, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Milan
Last weekend, I tagged along with the Barnwell family on a day trip to Milan. When trying to figure out the transportation plans for the day, taking our bicycles to explore the city was a possibility. The first time I rode my bike in our city, I fell off trying to get on the sidewalk, and this with no one around. The subsequent attempts were somewhat better, but I still have to take slow, wide turns and avoid braking suddenly so as not to fly over the handlebars or damage any baby making parts on the center bar. Even after lowering the seat, the bike is still a few vital inches too tall for me. Picturing the mass of pedestrians and crowded streets that would surely exist in Milan, they thankfully were up for taking the subway.
We took the train into the city. It was my first time riding a train. We bought first class tickets which were not much more than coach, especially considering that coach passengers often have to stand for the duration of the trip, depending on the quantity of passengers. It was well worth the upgrade. Although we were not offered a hot towel for our hands or a pre-trip beverage, they did have coffee that was actually good served black. Oh, how I longed for more of this non-bitter caffeine, rather than the 4oz. I was given. However, it was free, came with peanuts and a moist towelette (it was, after all, first class), and a sugar coated lemon gummy treat. I was happy.
(The view after we were on the train for a few minutes.)
(The view the closer we came to Milan)
From an aesthetical point of view the outskirts of Milan are not very impressive,. Milan is the industrial capital of Italy, so we passed countless factories whose brown and gray dreariness was only alleviated by the colorful graffiti scrawled across the exteriors. I didn’t pay the scenery too much mind, because I knew that better sights awaited us.
The train station we departed from in Desenzano only has three tracks. Milan’s station has at least 15. It was a bit overwhelming just making our way through the travelers, in search for the metro entrance. We spotted the big M and made our way downstairs. Along the way, it was suggested that we buy our return tickets now, so we wouldn’t have to worry about it later. Buying the ticket in Desenzano was not that difficult. However, this ticket agent looked like she wanted to break through the practically soundproof glass barrier and go for my jugular. All because the departure time I yelled through the window’s tiny mouse hole was either not said correctly or was not heard clearly. My ego says the latter. Thankfully, Heather came to my rescue and showed the departure schedule from her iPhone to the ticket agent. As she recreated my ticket with a scowl on her face, I wondered how many times a day she has to deal with such cases. You’d think she’d be used to it. When I finally had my ticket, I realized that I had forgotten to say first class. Nobody checked our tickets to Milan, so I hoped it would be the same on the way back home.
Once we had our return tickets, we ventured to the subway maps. At first glance, they were something akin to a circuit board. Thankfully, my travel companions figured it out and we never got lost.
When we arrived at the Duomo stop, we got off and headed toward the exit. As we were ascending the steps into open air, the massive cathedral appeared before us. There was no searching for it. There it was. Five centuries worth of work to create awe inspiring spires topped with statues of saints, Roman gladiators, and grotesque gargoyles. Emerging from every inch of the marble were scenes of David slaying Goliath, kings stoically standing guard against invasion, martyrs telling their stories of sacrifice… and flying duck-headed snakes. As we stood in the plaza taking in the view, we were surrounded by metropolitan rats with wings and accosted by panhandlers trying to give us bird food. Apparently, it’s a popular tourist desire to become the bird lady from Home Alone 2. They also offered to take our picture…with our camera.
(She was selling scarves while people waited in line for the cathedral.)
The line to enter the cathedral was long but it moved quickly. Once inside, we moved along past altars to the crucified Christ, huge paintings hung from the ceiling, and amazing windows of stained glass. There were several statues and reliefs of Christ, Mary, saints and church officials. I didn’t see any altars to saints like I have seen in other cathedrals, although I may have just missed it. There was too much to take in all at once. I don’t agree with placing so much emphasis on others and praying to anyone else but Christ. However, I did like see the statues and pictures of the saints around, even if some of them were kind of creepy. It reminded me of the encouragement Paul had from the “ancients” of the Old Testament. In Hebrews 11-12 (no, it doesn’t say that Paul wrote it, but since it is in his style, most scholars believe he is the author), he tells us to look at their stories and be encouraged by the faith of their lives. It made me examine myself: Would I be willing to suffer and die for faith in Christ as the saints before me did? I hope so.
32 And what more shall I say? I do not have time to tell about Gideon, Barak, Samson and Jephthah, about David and Samuel and the prophets, 33 who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised; who shut the mouths of lions, 34 quenched the fury of the flames, and escaped the edge of the sword; whose weakness was turned to strength; and who became powerful in battle and routed foreign armies. 35 Women received back their dead, raised to life again. There were others who were tortured, refusing to be released so that they might gain an even better resurrection. 36 Some faced jeers and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. 37 They were put to death by stoning;[e] they were sawed in two; they were killed by the sword. They went about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated— 38 the world was not worthy of them. They wandered in deserts and mountains, living in caves and in holes in the ground. 39 These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised, 40 since God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect. 1 Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, 2 fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. 3 Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.
We bought our tickets for the lift to the roof and soon were up on the first level of the roof. However, just because the lift is available, doesn’t mean that you won’t have to climb any stairs. In order to get the very top you’ll still have to climb a narrow staircase overlooking the plaza. Apparently, they have concerts on the roof, as there were chairs and a stage set up. There were great views of the city, but more than that, great views of the architecture and artistry of the building itself. Indescribable.
After we left the Duomo, we took the subway to the outskirts of Sempione Park, one of Milan’s largest. This was a greener, quieter section of Milan. The center is a must see because of the Duomo and the Galleria, but there is not a tree in sight and is crowded with tourists. It was nice to get away from the din of brown and gray, and enjoy pizza and panini in the shade with the sound of a fountain nearby. We walked through the park for a bit and noticed that they had several places set up where you could rent bicycles. Mike, the resident bicycle expert, stated that they were of good quality and we saw that they were only a few euro to rent for 24 hours. It was getting late, so we didn’t have time to take advantage of them but next time, that will be a possibility.
We soon took the metro back to the train station, where we had a few close calls with dive bombing pigeons that had found their way into the station and were hunting for snack crumbs wherever they could find them. Unharmed, we boarded the train and headed back home. On this train, the authorities were more vigilant and a man came by to check our tickets. I was scared he was going to kick me off when he saw I had a coach ticket. However, I just had to pay if I wanted to stay. I ended up paying a little extra than I would have if I had bought a first class ticket in the first place, but I was just glad that I would get to travel home seated, rather than potentially standing in coach. Another benefit of first class was the air conditioning. That was so nice.
We arrived safely in Desenzano. The day had cooled off and there was a nice breeze. A beautiful pink and orange sunset made it a fitting end to a wonderful day.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Ramblings from an Insomniac
This post isn't about the Italian experience, but more so about educational experiences while in Italy.
I have been co-tutoring English to a couple of Italian middle school age girls, who on are the cusp of their teenage years. Rather than "book work" or conjugation worksheets, the focus is on speaking the language. I have thoroughly enjoyed it. One girl is currently on a two month vacation and my "colleague" has been back home visiting family. So, for the past few weeks it has just been Irena and me. We have read and discussed children's books. One day, I wanted to make sure that she wasn't offended that I was bringing easy reader and picture books. Pre-teens can be dramatic. I brought a couple of Italian books I have to show her that I use children's books to help me with learning Italian. One of the books was "The BFG" by Roald Dahl, only in Italian it is "Il GGG." For those of you that have been deprived of this hilarious book, the story is about the Big Friendly Giant, or in Italian the Grande Gigante Gentile. Anyways, when I showed her the book she said, "Ah, si!" Her mom, who likes to hover around the lessons, went to the bedroom and returned with 5 Roald Dahl books in Italian. It warmed by heart. I bought "Il GGG" as soon as I saw it in the mall, Il Leone. It was one of the books I read aloud to my class of fourth graders last fall. It brought back memories of the class roaring with laughter hearing that frobscottle causes whizzpoppers. (If that reference eludes you, read the book. It doesn't matter how old you are, read it. The child in you will love it!)
Irena said she didn't mind using easy children's books because she understood that she could learn new vocabulary, but not be overwhelmed by it. I have her discuss the story as we go along, just as I would with my kindergarteners or elementary students: predict what the story will be about and what will happen next as we read through it, analyzing the pictures to gain understanding of the vocabulary and story elements, discuss the characters' feelings and motivations for their actions, etc. I realized new things as we read through "There's a Nightmare in my Closet." The roles of the boy and the nightmare are reversed when the nightmare acts like a crying child and the boy acts like a monster by shooting it. I didn't think about that until she thought that the monster was crying because he was tired. As any parent or teacher of preschoolers know, tired children turn into cranky criers.
Based on a tangent from that book, which I won't detail here, we started talking about the Three Little Pigs. Her mom brought out two versions. I had Irena tell me the story without reading it, since it's a familiar story. She started with the version in which the pigs get eaten along the way. She said she didn't like that version, so she switched books to show that all the pigs survived. That sparked a celebration in my mind, because now I could use a unit I had previously taught about comparing and contrasting different versions of The Three Little Pigs and having the student come up with their version of the story. Today, I brought The Alaska Pigs, which we just skimmed through to show her the idea of what we would be talking about. Then we started Three Cajun Pigs. It is written in authentic cajun dialect, so there was no way I was going to even attempt to have her read it. (I was able to include a mini Social Studies lesson with the geography and culture of the story.) Instead, we looked at the pictures and she told me what was happening on each page, where the mouse was hiding (to practice directional words), and how it was similar or different from the original story.
After we had gone through a few pages, her dad came in. He speaks English and this was the first time I had ever met him. He was very interested in the session, especially since this was the first time that he had been able to observe. He sat down at the table and began to participate in the lesson by asking questions about vocabulary and grammar. Judging by her facial expression, I concluded that teenagers worldwide get annoyed with their parents intruding on their experiences. It was still good to have him participate, especially since he could see his daughter use words that she has learned from previous sessions, words that he was unfamiliar with. We will finish the book next week, look at "The Three Little Wolves and The Big Bad Pig", and then I want to give her a summertime homework assignment of writing her own version, just something simple. We'll brainstorm it first to get her going.
I also got to talk about the difference between cookies and biscuits. Not British biscuits, which is what came up in her dictionary. Real Southern biscuits. Oh, how it makes me long for Hardee's. I'm going to make a batch of biscuits to take next week, for my own little show and tell. It amuses me how random topics get thrown into the weekly sessions. From now on, The Three Little Pigs will remind me of biscuits and vice versa.
I had an epiphany which washing dishes last week and thinking of writing an Italian Three Little Pigs. You can't fully appreciate your own culture until you learn about another. For instance, in her world, going to school on Saturdays, but getting out at noon each day, is the only think she knew. I think she came to appreciate it more when she found out that American high school students don't get out until 3pm. She said that was her schedule in primary school, with a slightly amused tone. I never came to fully appreciate Hardee's biscuits until I moved to Albuquerque, nor did I appreciate central air conditioning until I had to live without it. That's another bonus of tutoring. They have AC in their tiny apartment. Oh, it felt glorious!
I am also constantly appreciating the richness of the English language, little things that I had never thought of. For example, today I explained the difference between holding something and holding onto something, so you don't fall. I hold a book, but I hold onto the pig's tail so I won't be left behind to be eaten by the crocodile (reference from the book). It's not a huge difference, but it is about control. I may be reaching a bit too far with this, but if you hold something you have control over that object. If you hold onto something, the object has the control. (How often do we try to hold Christ in place instead of holding onto Him?) Of course there are exceptions, but the point is why I love language. It's all about expression, and the more proficient you are in any language, the better able you are to define a situation or feeling. Yes, I like using big SAT words, not because it makes me sound smart (well, maybe that is a bit of the motivation), but because I can more accurately convey what is in my head. At least that is the goal.
As a teacher, I am glad to be getting practice and honing different methods. For example, a teacher does need to plan too much for the day, just in case the class breezes through the lesson. However, I tend to try to pack ALL of my plans and ideas into each lesson, which leaves me frustrated and results in unfinished units and stressing over time limits. I started to fall into those habits the first couple of times I tutored on my own. I was grateful for the chance to put myself in check, in an environment that didn't compound the situation with grades, conferences, and several subjects full of the same bad habits. I am grateful for the chance to teach one on one. That's the part that I miss about teaching, connecting with a student and hearing that sweet sound of "Oh, ok. Now I understand."
I have been co-tutoring English to a couple of Italian middle school age girls, who on are the cusp of their teenage years. Rather than "book work" or conjugation worksheets, the focus is on speaking the language. I have thoroughly enjoyed it. One girl is currently on a two month vacation and my "colleague" has been back home visiting family. So, for the past few weeks it has just been Irena and me. We have read and discussed children's books. One day, I wanted to make sure that she wasn't offended that I was bringing easy reader and picture books. Pre-teens can be dramatic. I brought a couple of Italian books I have to show her that I use children's books to help me with learning Italian. One of the books was "The BFG" by Roald Dahl, only in Italian it is "Il GGG." For those of you that have been deprived of this hilarious book, the story is about the Big Friendly Giant, or in Italian the Grande Gigante Gentile. Anyways, when I showed her the book she said, "Ah, si!" Her mom, who likes to hover around the lessons, went to the bedroom and returned with 5 Roald Dahl books in Italian. It warmed by heart. I bought "Il GGG" as soon as I saw it in the mall, Il Leone. It was one of the books I read aloud to my class of fourth graders last fall. It brought back memories of the class roaring with laughter hearing that frobscottle causes whizzpoppers. (If that reference eludes you, read the book. It doesn't matter how old you are, read it. The child in you will love it!)
Irena said she didn't mind using easy children's books because she understood that she could learn new vocabulary, but not be overwhelmed by it. I have her discuss the story as we go along, just as I would with my kindergarteners or elementary students: predict what the story will be about and what will happen next as we read through it, analyzing the pictures to gain understanding of the vocabulary and story elements, discuss the characters' feelings and motivations for their actions, etc. I realized new things as we read through "There's a Nightmare in my Closet." The roles of the boy and the nightmare are reversed when the nightmare acts like a crying child and the boy acts like a monster by shooting it. I didn't think about that until she thought that the monster was crying because he was tired. As any parent or teacher of preschoolers know, tired children turn into cranky criers.
Based on a tangent from that book, which I won't detail here, we started talking about the Three Little Pigs. Her mom brought out two versions. I had Irena tell me the story without reading it, since it's a familiar story. She started with the version in which the pigs get eaten along the way. She said she didn't like that version, so she switched books to show that all the pigs survived. That sparked a celebration in my mind, because now I could use a unit I had previously taught about comparing and contrasting different versions of The Three Little Pigs and having the student come up with their version of the story. Today, I brought The Alaska Pigs, which we just skimmed through to show her the idea of what we would be talking about. Then we started Three Cajun Pigs. It is written in authentic cajun dialect, so there was no way I was going to even attempt to have her read it. (I was able to include a mini Social Studies lesson with the geography and culture of the story.) Instead, we looked at the pictures and she told me what was happening on each page, where the mouse was hiding (to practice directional words), and how it was similar or different from the original story.
After we had gone through a few pages, her dad came in. He speaks English and this was the first time I had ever met him. He was very interested in the session, especially since this was the first time that he had been able to observe. He sat down at the table and began to participate in the lesson by asking questions about vocabulary and grammar. Judging by her facial expression, I concluded that teenagers worldwide get annoyed with their parents intruding on their experiences. It was still good to have him participate, especially since he could see his daughter use words that she has learned from previous sessions, words that he was unfamiliar with. We will finish the book next week, look at "The Three Little Wolves and The Big Bad Pig", and then I want to give her a summertime homework assignment of writing her own version, just something simple. We'll brainstorm it first to get her going.
I also got to talk about the difference between cookies and biscuits. Not British biscuits, which is what came up in her dictionary. Real Southern biscuits. Oh, how it makes me long for Hardee's. I'm going to make a batch of biscuits to take next week, for my own little show and tell. It amuses me how random topics get thrown into the weekly sessions. From now on, The Three Little Pigs will remind me of biscuits and vice versa.
I had an epiphany which washing dishes last week and thinking of writing an Italian Three Little Pigs. You can't fully appreciate your own culture until you learn about another. For instance, in her world, going to school on Saturdays, but getting out at noon each day, is the only think she knew. I think she came to appreciate it more when she found out that American high school students don't get out until 3pm. She said that was her schedule in primary school, with a slightly amused tone. I never came to fully appreciate Hardee's biscuits until I moved to Albuquerque, nor did I appreciate central air conditioning until I had to live without it. That's another bonus of tutoring. They have AC in their tiny apartment. Oh, it felt glorious!
I am also constantly appreciating the richness of the English language, little things that I had never thought of. For example, today I explained the difference between holding something and holding onto something, so you don't fall. I hold a book, but I hold onto the pig's tail so I won't be left behind to be eaten by the crocodile (reference from the book). It's not a huge difference, but it is about control. I may be reaching a bit too far with this, but if you hold something you have control over that object. If you hold onto something, the object has the control. (How often do we try to hold Christ in place instead of holding onto Him?) Of course there are exceptions, but the point is why I love language. It's all about expression, and the more proficient you are in any language, the better able you are to define a situation or feeling. Yes, I like using big SAT words, not because it makes me sound smart (well, maybe that is a bit of the motivation), but because I can more accurately convey what is in my head. At least that is the goal.
As a teacher, I am glad to be getting practice and honing different methods. For example, a teacher does need to plan too much for the day, just in case the class breezes through the lesson. However, I tend to try to pack ALL of my plans and ideas into each lesson, which leaves me frustrated and results in unfinished units and stressing over time limits. I started to fall into those habits the first couple of times I tutored on my own. I was grateful for the chance to put myself in check, in an environment that didn't compound the situation with grades, conferences, and several subjects full of the same bad habits. I am grateful for the chance to teach one on one. That's the part that I miss about teaching, connecting with a student and hearing that sweet sound of "Oh, ok. Now I understand."
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Zipline
On July 4th, a few of us went ziplining in the Italian Alps. I've been ziplining a couple of times before but nothing compared to this experience. The company, Xtreme Adrenaline Adventures, is located in a small, quiet town that seems to make most of its revenue during the ski season. It was a Monday, so the town was quiet with a few offseason tourists taking advantage of the beautiful hiking paths in the area.
The zipline itself was amazing. It felt like we were flying from one mountain to another, over the valley. There's a map at the end of the post that shows the sections. I also included a few sample pics from their website that show more of the perspective from the line. I knew I would drop my camera if I tried to take pictures midway on the line.
The view from one of the stops
My friend, where are you going? I am your Redeemer. Don't forget that I have suffered much for you, therefore stop and give me your greeting! My Jesus, mercy
Pictures from the company's website. It was incredible to be that high above the ground and get this view on both sides as you cross the valley.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
A Few Random Pics
Below are random pics from Montichiari. The first few are from a popular gelateria.
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