Marathon Man

Thursday is my long day.
I wake up at 05:05 and I prepare a hasty breakfast, fill a flask of much needed caffeinated buffer (i.e. tea) and make my way to the tram for the first part of my long journey into the depths of Austria (or a little picturesque town outside of Vienna).

I take the tram for about 15 minutes before changing to the U6 at Alserstraße, I take the U6 to Handelskai and then, I climb aboard a train to Stockerau for the penultimate part of my trip.  After riding on the train out to Stockerau I arrive at the last stop on the line (well, for the S3) and exit the station.  I see my bus across the way.  I often find the bus driver slouched over the steering wheel snaring a few zzzz before he begins his school run.

I often find the bus driver asleep and slumped across the steering wheel.  I dance around the stop for a bit in the icy morning air waiting for the beastly bus to stir so that I might buy my ticket and complete the final stretch of my journey.
The driver has the radio on.
Most mornings the driver listens to some kind of upbeat but ancient Austrian music.
I am first to board the bus.
Soon, the bus is packed with little kiddies on their way to school.  Screaming and shouting every morning.  On the first day they stared at me oddly.  Nowadays, there is always a chorus or chant of 'Stephen!'  Some even yell my name before diving behind the seats at the back of the bus.

On this busy one little boy once told me that Thursdays were his favourite day because the class had English.  My ickle heart wept with joy (almost)!

In this part of Austria there are two primary schools or Volkschulen; VS Leitzersdorf for the first and second grade and VS Niederfellabrunn for the third and fourth grades.  You can clearly and easily identify siblings in the 2 schools.

So, I come in and sing my songs and dance as I always do.  These kids are wonderful, so polite and energetic- they lap up every word of English with relish.

There is always a warm welcome. Children that talk of tractors and the many, many dishes you can make from pumpkins.  There is always a plate of pumpkin seeds in the staff room.  I much on these as I sip my coffee.

When in VS Niederfellabrunn I wait for the bus and return to Stockerau with the kids.  Usually I am back in Vienna around 1345.  My next class in VS Pastinakweg starts at 1530.  I stop in Praterstern and buy a coffee and some lunch before making my way to Stadlau and taking the busy to class.

However, on the weeks where I am in VS Leitzersdorf a taxi man collects me and takes me to Stockerau bahnhof.  We converse about a variety of things.

I love that he makes a special effort to speak slow enunciated Hochdeutsch with me.  He often jokes about the Austrian's need to shorten and abbreviate everything.
'Kurzer.'
He smiles as he glances in my direction  and back at the road pinching the air between his thumb and index finger.
I nod.
'Ich verstehe.'
He is a gentleman.
I genuinely look forward to our chats.  He has told me already he had no interest in learning English which suits my German just fine.

I offer some tutelage in the evening after my last class.

There are days where I suffer from chronic yawning, I dose off on the bus momentarily but so far I've managed to make it back to my apartment in one piece before turning the key and diving straight for the kettle for a revitalising cup of tea.

A Song and A Dance

I work with children from Kindergarten and Volkschule.  A typical class might consist of;
#Flying around like an aeroplane
#Pulling and twisting my tongue
#Dancing
#Singing
#Distributing stickers




It can be great fun running at high velocity around the narrow confines of a room dodging the blurry bodies as they speed by in full flight determined to break the sound barrier.
Collisions are inevitable.
Sometimes intentional.
The wings of these people planes finding their way to other's mouths, noses, and slapping them with a spin of their rotor.
Tears and snot are inevitable too.
A little green balloon of mucus expanding and deflating right in front of my eyes between sobs.

'Are you okay?  Do you want to sit down?' I ask the little 4 year old that falls smack bang on his face.  He gasps and quickly regains his composure.
'No!  I want to run!'

It's great, really.
These kids could teach a soul a thing or two about life.  I've always wanted to create my own children's show - this is research and practice.

I have an opportunity to revisit my childhood on a daily basis, singing the songs I heard many years ago and dancing like a madman on convulsions.  The kids love it and the sillier the better!
So many little memories of my youth are stirred on a daily basis.

We sit crossed legged in a circle bopping along to cute little songs, miming and smiling.  All hands move in unison, fingers flashing and curling up in the palm of your hand.

Stickers are distributed at the end and if I am feeling particularly generous I give myself one.

Flat finder

Jon was kind enough to offer me his couch until I found a home of my own.
After a few days of settling in I began my search for a flat in Vienna.

Most people did not bother to reply.  Some were kind enough to tell me they had found their new flatmate, for the rest the deposit or Kaution was of extortionist proportions.

Finding a flat

After a great deal of typing I received a reply inviting me to view the flat.  They suggested two possible times.  I e-mailed my potential flatmates and suggested I come to view the flat on the first date; a Sunday but I received no reply.  After loitering around Jon’s flat for a time, he inquired if I was going to view said flat.  I replied in the negative.  He then suggested that they were likely expecting me.  So, off I went searching unfamiliar streets to find the flat.  With much ado and having resorted to a phone call to Jon (who acted as oracle) and directed me in the opposite/correct direction to the flat in question.

When I got to the flat I realised I wasn’t the only viewer.  The flat was crammed with students speaking English and German puffing themselves up and auditioning for what was a mediocre flat at best.  It was absurd.  The rubbish some people come out with, especially me, when backed into a corner and desperately seeking accommodation.  I had gone to view a flat not for a job interview or X-factor audition.  I hadn’t prepared a party piece, a dance or a song.

I left feeling a little disappointed but met Jon who led me to a friend’s birthday barbeque at ‘Jetzt!’.

I continued to e-mail people regarding flats, constantly checking jobwohnen and willhaben online hoping for an acceptable flat at an acceptable price.

I went to view another flat and got lost.

I tried to contact the people who had placed the ad online but couldn’t reach them.

I set up a viewing for yet another flat but upon reaching the door of said flat and calling the number of the person I found out that the flat was already taken –nice of them to let me know.

All in all, I viewed a grand total of two flats.  I had ventured to view others but in the interlude between agreeing on a time and arriving to view the flat, the room was taken and some sneaky snake had slithered in before me.

The second flat was in the 16^th district of Vienna.

It was a small but luxurious flat and the rent was very reasonable.

I met with the resident and he seemed pretty cool.  He was keen to learn English and wanted to share with a native English speaker.

I took the flat but I couldn't move in until 8 October.

Jon and Liana kindly accommodated me for another week.

Working

I had a week of being largely idle but looking for a flat.  I attended a few classes taught by my colleagues to get a feel for what approach I might take.  I started working on 1 October.  My first class was a Kindergarten class.

I am not sure which party was more nervous-the children or me.

I was determined not to let them smell my fear and bravely smiled through my chattering teeth.

I held my breath and took a leap, careful not to stare at the depths below.  I sang, danced and jumped through the lesson-a glorified clown and for the most part it seemed to work.  

'When can you get here?' : Back to Vienna

After two weeks of drifting between Dublin and Maynooth, meeting with comrades, peers and old friends, venturing back to 'The Living Room' with John and Estelle, trips to the cinema and a trip to Howth with Imelda; I decided it was about time I ventured home.
As it happened I was to graduate on Friday.
There was some farm work in the brief interlude.

I took a further few days to myself taking the time to complete Mass Effect 3 and start Deus Ex: Human Revolution and write a story or two but I decided it was about time I got back to the job hunt.

I was not having much luck in Ireland or abroad.

It was Thursday and I got a call from my friend, Jon, as I completed an application for a teaching position in Germany.
'I have a job for you.'  He said.
I sent my CV and a cover letter to Jon's Boss.

The next day I got a call.
I chatted to the company's director.
He said he'd call me back.
Jon got in touch with me.
'Well, what do you think?'
I wanted it.
I wanted a job in Vienna.

'When can you get here?'

'Tuesday!'

I instantly began formulating plans to relocate.
I had to make a trip to the bank, the barbers and book my flight.
Suddenly I was packing bags when there were bags I had not yet unpacked from Austria.
It was surreal.
I barely had time to think.
I met with some friends on Saturday and informed them of my spontaneous decision.
I spent most of Sunday and Monday packing.

My flight was at 07:10 Tuesday morning.  I had to get a bus at 03:35 from my local town to the airport.  For a change the bus was close to running on time (a mere 5 minutes late).
Apparently my hand luggage was too bulky to take on board - I took a few items out and watched them slap a sticker on my bag.  I glanced back as I marched on and boarded the plane.
I don't remember much of the flight - I was quite tired I do remember drinking a black tea...
I took the S7 into Vienna and met Kirsten at Praterstern.  She helped me drag my luggage up to Ottakring where I met Liana and we waited for Jon.

That evening we went to the Highlander for a few drinks.
It was a late one.
Thankfully, we were not expected to be anywhere before 12pm.  At midday we rolled out of the flat and made our way to the outer limits of the city to be picked up by our new Boss for a brief induction and orientation session - the first of a few.

My Boss, he's a great guy.  We listened to some house music as we raced through the Austrian countryside the music wafting through the air as we head banged to 'Big Red ******* Bus'.  Good times.

At his house that resembled a missile silo in the quiet Austrian country side, we recruits assembled for a think tank session and introduction.

We ran through some of the games and activities typical in the programme.  All in all it was a day of fun and education - everything the programme should be.  We were dropped off at the train station and we made our way back to Vienna from Gänserndorf.

The next day we set out for the little village again for more educational games, props and approaches.
This time we met two of our colleagues, we had a few beers and played some of the games.  We had pizza and made our way back to Vienna.  Overall I reckon it was quite a productive day!

On Friday there was very little of anything going on but Kirsten had bought a chair and required the agility and strength of two young Irishmen to carry it through the streets of Vienna (see photos below).  To be fair it is a comfortable chair.

Post-CELTA

After 4 intensive weeks where I barely had time to wipe the sweat off my brow it was hard to know how to fill my time apart from de-constructing every element of speech and hugging my knees whilst reciting my 'th' tongue twisters.
I had a job interview in Tralee on Tuesday.
I made the journey back to Monaghan to collect my suit on Sunday afternoon.
I made my way to Maynooth the following day as a the first step in my long train journey to Tralee.
I could choose between a 6 hour journey on the bus or a marginally shorter journey via train.
From Celbridge it would take 4 hours (each way) with numerous changes.
It was also the last day of the Rose of Tralee festival.

I had a brief chat with two ladies from Prosperous who strangely had relatives at every milestone I had every reached.  I suspected they spoke of phantom families.  I nodded and smiled accordingly praising their good genes and parenting skills.

I got to Tralee and I had no idea which way was which.
I approached a burly beast of a man dressed as a steward and asked him but was hastily rebuked that he was a Corkman and not a native of Tralee.  I made my escape.

I attempted to walk a little of the way I hoped was in the right direction.

I was feeling a little hungry and I had a few hours to kill before my interview.
I popped into a diner and ordered a tea and burger.  I text my CELTA friend, John, who had told me he'd be in Tralee with his girlfriend, Estelle.  John told me he'd meet me.

I squeezed into my suit in the meantime.

John kindly offered to drive me to North campus of the Institute of Technology where the interview was scheduled to take place.

With much ado and confused wandering we found a building adjacent to where the interview was to take place.  John had left his car in the carpark which was becoming a distant dot on the horizon as we march up the hill to the designated venue.

Inside, there was one lady typing furiously on a computer (that I suspect was powered off).
She told me to wait and that I'd be called for interview in a moment.
I sat.

Within a few seconds an officious looking woman marched up to me with her hand outstretched.

I was brought into a room nearby where a middle-aged man sat.  We shook hands and I was offered water.

The interview went reasonably well.

But at the end I was told that the job I was being interviewed for may not actually exist.
What was happening I was not sure.
If a sufficient number of students enrolled there would be classes to teach.
I believed this to be something of a joke and I glanced stealthily sideways to see where the hidden camera was.

Why ask someone to travel to the bottom of a country for an interview for a job that likely won't exist.

I left a little confused and disheartened.

I met with John and Estelle and we went for a brief tour of Tralee.
John excitedly pointed out all the hotspots, including the podium where the winning Rose would pose after the ceremony, and a pretty little flower garden in the park.  We went for a drink and discussed the French language.

At 5 o'clock I boarded the train.
I whipped out my notebook and sulked to myself.

It was going to be a long 4 hours to Dublin topped off with a 40 minute journey to Maynooth.

The rest of this post traumatic CELTA week was largely uneventful.
But I suspect the stress and fatigue of the previous four weeks had taken their toll or it may simply have been my fool's errand to Tralee, but I wasn't feeling the best.

I met with a few friends, lunching and drinking coffee.  My time was littered with tv, internet browsing and job applications.

I hoped that the weekend and week after might bring some excitement into my life.
Or at the very least hope for change!

CELTA Week IV: okey dokey!

After piecing together what was left of my sanity I set off to begin my final week of CELTA.
I was pleased to have passed Assignment 3 first time and was keen to maintain the upward curve with my TP lessons.
We, the class, had discussed what we might do on Friday the last and final day of our course.
It was suggested that we go for a meal and a few drinks after.

In the fourth and final week of CELTA I taught my last two hours of TP.

So, the pressure was on.
I was keen to make an impression and leave on a high (as much for my own gratification and self-esteem!).
My 'th' problems persisted but I was improving (and I still am!).

I was feeling the fatigue this week but finally there was light at the end of the tunnel and we were pretty confident that it was not the light of an oncoming train to flatten us and any vestiges of hope.  We were almost ripe for the real world.

I had a short grammar lesson on Tuesday.  Admittedly I struggled a little but thankfully some of the students were able to navigate my labyrinthine explanations and enlightened the other students regarding the obscure grammatical of English (when to use -ed and -ing).

These were the days were we made our last excursions to Londis for the infamous chicken baguettes and lo-and behold (John) we did not succumb to rickets.  CELTA be praised!

I met with one of my old war buddies, Karl, from my MA class on Tuesday and we went to the Woolshed for some grub and a catch-up.  Twas a positive experience and although we were almost out the door once we found ourselves turning around and partaking in more conversation.  Karl convinced me (well, one of the many convincers) to attend my MA graduation.

The next day I was a little tired.  I got up hastily threw a breakfast together and dashed for the train only to find it had been delayed.  Normally, I believe this would have left me unperturbed but because I was feeling a little guilty I called up CELTA and apologised for iarnroid eireann's shortcomings...
This was acceptable.

Copious mugs of tea later I was feeling re-invigorated.
It was Wednesday and our month long test of endurance was almost at an end.  We had lost no more troops, day one was the only time we witnessed any casualties.
We heard many wonderful stories of students throwing down their CELTA 5, books by Parrot and Swan and simply walking out of the room and out of the building without so much as a glance behind.  This dramatic gesture was made all the more ridiculous by the fact that one gent even left his coat behind.
I reckon he got as far as the street before blushing.
No possessing any special ninja skills his only other option was to either endure humiliation or buy a new coat.
Sounds like he chose the latter.

Apart from the set back with trains Wednesday proved uneventful.

Thursday was my last day of TP.
I had the best intentions of playing various game and doing so many wonderful things leaving my students enlightened and energised.  It didn't go quite like that but I believe it went very well!
I taught a vocabulary lesson and it involved household items.
My old enemy 'th' made an appearance in the form of 'needle and thread'.
After wrestled with my tongue for a number of seconds and trying to savagly bite it into submission I realised that one of the students, Jaime, had mastered the art of 'th' so I immediately encouraged him to speak louder and proceeded to 'spread the knowledge' drilling the class.

One of the most bizarre occurrences in the class was when the students insisted I teach them the meaning of 'okey-dokey'.  A slip of the tongue on my part but they were fascinated by the expression.  Little did I envisage the ripples it would have...
After drawing, miming and dancing I conveyed the meaning of each piece of vocabulary and shortly thereafter the lesson was over.  Time was up.

I left elated.
The burden of CELTA lifted and as I swaggered to my seat at the back of the classroom one student even took the time to commend me on my lesson.
'That was a great lesson.'
I am not sure how sincere he was but I was willing to graciously accept all compliments.
The tutor agreed I was much more comfortable in that TP.

We had one more lesson to prepare but it was to be unobserved.

That evening my classmate, Peter, and I went next door to enjoy a few winding down drinks.  We discussed the month we had almost completed, the people we had met and the friends we had made.  We chatted for many hours before we agreed that we had best go our own way.  We had discussed war and women in adequate detail.

On Friday we had our last hours with the class.  There was a cocktail party and a board game among other activities.  At about 10 o'clock we went upstairs to present the students with a certificate and dip into the buffet food.  There was plenty of tea to enjoy and a few doughnuts.  We took some photos and it seems the Spanish students opted for 'okey-dokey' rather than the traditional 'cheese.'  It's nice to leave a lasting impression!

We made provisional arrangements and agreed to meet the class later in the evening when we would head out and hit Dublin city with a ferocious coiled fist that could only have come from 4 intense weeks of study.  Caged animals we were and now we were being re-released into the wild.
We pondered briefly what post-CELTA trauma might be like and where we would all end up within the next few weeks and months.

We went next door for some dinner and drinks.
Afterwards, we lost some of our group who had to such rudimentary things as change their clothing and power nap.

And then there were men.
The lads wandered around aimlessly (as they tend to do without women to guide them) and eventually we decided on the Pav.  So, in our little mob we walked up to Trinity and sat down on the grass to pontificate and philosophize.
There we stayed until 9 o'clock before we decided to move to our agreed rendezvous point by the Spire.
We met with some of our classmates and students and proceeded toward Messrs Maguire to continue the conversations we had been kindling.

We lost a few of our troops shortly after the first hurdle but many of us persevered.

It was suggested we reconvene at Hogans and so we set off.
Sadly, we were separated from the herd but Imelda, her sister Joanne and myself pushed on through the crowds of Templebar and with much ado we reached our destination.
We met our troops within the premises sometime later and were collectively relieved to find they had not deserted us.

We talked on; deliberating and liberating minds.  We watched the taxis roll in and pundits fall in.

Our month long tour of the English language was almost at an end.  We delayed for as long as we could but it was time to return to our 'normal' lives.

We vowed to keep in touch.

Time will tell where the winds will scatter us.
Austria, Peru, France, Spain, China. . .

CELTA Week III

CELTA WEEK III

30.VII.2012 - 03.VIII.2012

It was Saturday and I didn’t much feel like moping around Maynooth on my own.  My little sister was driving back to Monaghan so I thought I’d tag along.  After a few cryptic messages and confusing phone calls I agreed to meet her at (or around) Samuel Beckett bridge.

I was running a wee bit late so out of courtesy I sent her a text.  She told me she’d be there around 1pm.  I got there and I waited.  She was late.

A group of small boys rushed by me and climbed onto the walls of the bridge.  Most of them, bar one or two, were dressed in wet suits.  No sooner had they mounted the wall that they jumped off of it.  All of them.  One after the other.  I was relieved to see they could swim but alarmed to see them climb out and back onto the bridge wall.  I looked around to see if there was a parent or guardian nearby.  There were none.  I began to worry that people would assume I was the guardian, and a pretty lousy one at that.  Then, the real fear struck me-that the public would not view me as a concerned bystander but an active pervert.  I loitered for a while but slowly and inconspicuously put some distance between myself and the reckless children.

After a while of nervously glancing over my shoulder fearing I would become a victim of circumstance I got a phone call.  When I was doing my best not to be noticed my sister had drove past in her car.  Further confusion ensued.  Eventually we established her location in relation to mine.  I found the car climbed in and we were off to Monaghan.  Thankfully, the most dramatic part of the day was at an end.  I didn’t much feel like doing CELTA work so I relaxed making only a cursory glance at my TEFL notes to soothe my guilty conscience.

My older brother and I discussed the prospect of going to the cinema.  I had seen the new Batman movie but unfortunately he had not.  I was certainly not opposed to viewing it again and we settled on a Sunday evening show.

However, an alarming prospect came to mind.  It was a Bank holiday weekend and neither buses nor trains would travel regularly on Monday.  My plans to disembark early Monday morning disintegrated.  I tried to find a feasible solution but sadly I had no choice but to make my journey to Maynooth Sunday evening.  A little over 24 hours since I left.  I begrudgingly accepted defeat.

I had a mug of tea to ease my pain.

They warned us that CELTA week three was when most students cracked.

I made a personal vow that they would not break me.

I had two half hour lessons that week and an assignment.

My first Teaching Practice (TP) was on Tuesday.

It troubles me to admit that at some point during the week I began to lose the plot a little.  Subtle at first.  The madness and fatigue crept upon me.

I was still feeling bruised after Friday’s lesson and avalanche of criticism (even if the tutorial suggested iit was a once off and things were going rather well).  Bror is a rather charming man.  If I am honest, my ‘bad’ lesson probably taught me more than my good lessons.

Events with quiet recollection can offer retrospective triumph.

In haste everything always resembles tragedy, moments evolve later defining you.

Week 3 was a week when the light never went out especially Wednesday-I tried to get a head start on the mountainm of work I had to prepare for my lesson and assignment.  I heard every tick of the clock those nights.  I scribbled a lesson plan and began scanning secondary literature for my next assignment.

I watched others like John and Imelda and listened to them talk of ‘all nighters’ when I could barely keep my eyes open.  I needed sleep.  The warmth of my duvet.

No amount of tea, coffee or red bull could prop my eyes open.

As usual I stayed back Wednesday evening flicking through the vastly meagre selection offered by the Academy.  As was often the case everyone left before me but one of my colleagues loitered for a while and we enjoyed a wonderful venture in the conversation of procrastination and oon occasion swapping sources for our assignment, before she left me to my own devices.  I pottered around and accumulated materials before packing it in and making my way to the train station (oh faithful rocky commute how you cradle me on the wings of sleep!).  Having ingested copious amounts of tea, a hasty dinner and stressed sufficiently over the assinment I decided to surrender for another night and give in to sleep.

The tutor gave me a few tips for my next lesson and because of her input it went splendidly.  I learned from the mistakes of past lessons anticipating problems.

It was a good lesson.  I got my satisfactory grade and I believe the students learned something as well (always a bonus).

I complain a little, as I often do, joking that if I passedd assignment number 3 on first submission it would leave me feeling perturbed so much so I would have to resubmit it regardless…

I got my assignment number 3 back to learn I passed on first submission.

I had stood on the precipice of madness and I had fallen (fortunately) backwards into sanity.

As was fast becoming a Friday tradition, John and I decided to go to the pictures.  We met Caroline in ‘The Living Room’ for a drink before making our way to Cineworld.  We had a choice of Ted or Grabbers.  We opted for the MacFarlene flick (I certainly wasn’t opposed being a Family Guy fan).

We enjoyed Ted and the general consensus was after that we should get some food.  We bumped into our classmate Shane and some of his buddies.  They were off to MacTurcails and so we followed suit.  There was no food but there were many fine beverages.

After some chat, John and I decided it was in our best interests to find grub of some description.  In the end we settled for diabolically bad Chinese.  I ate Thai Green Curry that I believed some drunken fool regurgitated.  Looking at it I was sure that some other poor unfortunate must have puked on the plate before it was placed before me and my knife and fork.  I ate what I could.

We rejoined Shane and the lads and swapped some more stories.  Shane offered some good advice regarding nights out while we lingered in the smoking area (ie outside the pub’s door).  I made an attempt for the night-link but my efforts were fruitless.  I returned to the pub but John had since gone.  We then moved on to Doyles for more drinks, chat and dance.  It was getting into the wee hours at this stage.  I was conscious of the fact that I had an exam to invigilate the next day and decided it would be good for me to get the next nightlink.  After briefly dancing with a young Russian lady I bid my fair thee wells to the lads and dashed for the nightlink.  I made it in good time.

Thankfully, the exam invigilation the next day was not overly strenuous (there were only two students in the venue) and I was able to siit and read some Graham Greene.  I had a lazy evening and for the most part took the rest of the weekend off-catching up on my TV.  I felt I was right to do so.  I had just survived week 3 of CELTA next week brought the final hurdle.