no Berlitz, no cryin...

Finally, finally, I have cut the link.

Having bored my friends witless with my ranting over the months, and worn myself out with impotent rage, I promised myself that the next showdown would be the last. So when, last week, a student failed to show up and my use of "no show" time - the creation of a magnificent book stop to keep the mighty Berlitz instructor tomes from slooshing off the bookshelf - earned me yet another telling-off (I had judged this more useful than writing reports for students who finished their course five months ago), that was it; I quit.

For two days I was elated. Then the thoughts that have hitherto immobilised me, about what I will lose, crashed in: the pleasure of being an "expert", well within my comfort zone; the positive feedback loop of knowing that I do the job well and that the students like me; the stimulus of male company (all other aspects of my life exclusively female); the comfy routine, of "going to work"; the fun, despite Berlitz's pariah status in ELT circles, of working within the Berlitz Method... OMG, what have I done...?!

So here, for the record, is a reminder of why I dun the deed..

the offending book stop (10kg of stones from the garden, corporate blue paper - a pucker job; my legacy to the company); the real issue being that some nincompoop in Lyon rules, rather than me, an experienced teacher "on the ground"

airless teaching rooms - often empty, a sign of the times; the Berlitz clock top right pings the 5-minute "breaks" (ha ha, inevitably used for some aspect of admin); intermittently functioning CD players heighten stress - trainer looks a complete plonker
in front of students

a reminder of the cultural issues that have caused me to rub up against management time and time again - take a pill and
everything will be all right 

the Multimedia room where students save the cost of a face à face lesson by buying into embarrassingly dated software, and
Berlitz has no shame in charging good money for an online resource that they don't own, and that can be accessed
on the internet, for free 

the "trainers' room", all 4 square metres of it; space to stand up and eat your lunch in full view of students

door to the toilets; a recent dictate asked us to be vigilant, and observe who was taking a toilet break when, to try to pin down the culprit (the neighbours have been complaining); an example of the infinitely stretchy job description of a trainer

Plus, a key source of ennui, my timetable for the following day - confirmed only at 18h30 the previous evening. A game of roulette, planning things that might need to be changed at the last minute. And Berlitz' unrealistic attitude to kids' lessons - there is no way these can be delivered from the mind-numbing teaching materials without extra prep; most definitely not part of the deal with Berlitz.

Enough said. My last day will be 3 July. Let the good times roll. ..

No Berlitz, no cryin
No Berlitz, no cryin.
Everything's gonna be all right
Everything's gonna be all right.

the Oisans season opens

What was all that macho talk about in yesterday's blog - 2000m-level walks being out of bounds? Here's the reality at Lac Lauvitel, where we were entertained by marmots frisking on the shoreline rocks.

the ancient path up to Lac Lauvitel

a boat passes in front of a last nevé (fragment of snow) - see photo above for the context

ajuga something or other (Juan?!)

Atom Heart Mother on Cholonge - Villard St Christophe circuit

Is old age setting in prematurely? As we approach our ninth anniversary at Vaulnaveys, a 3-hour aller-retour drive for a weekend day-walk in the high mountains, with snow lingering above 2000m, is beginning to feel too much effort. So today we took the option of exploring a walk virtually on our doorstep: a lovely circuit between Cholonge and Villard St Christophe, on the Matheysine plateau near Laffrey.

It was - once again - a revelation; gorgeous rolling countryside that reminded me of England and Juan of León (!). How has it taken us until now to discover? Why have we driven guests hours away from home to experience the wilder side of chez nous when there is all this so close by? Apart from an unbelievable display of marsh orchids in a meadow at the start of the walk...

... and stonking views of the Obiou...

 ... we had glimpses of the Laffrey lakes (my top favourite in summer, especially with visitors):

shades of "Atom Heart Mother" (Pink Floyd, 1969), says Juan - and he's right; new to me - and what a great album!

But it's all to do with the season. This walk would be hot hot hot in July and August - when the attraction of lolling around the lakeside beaches would be too much to resist. Today was fresh, early summer with all the potential of summer treats ahead.

a new favourite local walk: Sénépy

Having walked around in a bewildered circle in fog 2 weeks ago, we returned to the same place - between the Signaraux (frequently blogged in winter, see e.g. here) and La Mure. I get intense satisfaction from 'joining up' places in a geographical jigsaw. It almost defies belief that it can be so, so different in early summer. Today the menu was swathes of pansy, orchid, cowslip, daffodils, gentian, saxifrage... Scrumptious.

all flower photos courtesy of Mr Sanchez

looking towards Corps

towards Picquet de Nantes, Alpe du Grand Serre etc

A fabulous walk, and tentative confirmation that, despite problems with my feet, our Turkish hol in 2 weeks time is still on.

a stony place a long way from home: Drigas

This post has been a long time coming: dysfunctionality at either end of the Easter weekend marring, and blocking my desire to write about, what was otherwise a sublime 5-day break in the "Grandes Causses" area of the Cévennes. But tonight I feel inspired once again.

In contrast to steeply valleyed chez nous, the big horizons were an invigorating change. Amongst numerous memorable moments were...
the drive down from the plateau to the town of Meyrueis, when the Jonte gorge suddenly opened in front of us:

the gorgeous little bergerie we stayed in, at Drigas:

Cabane de l'Adrech

the village of Drigas (originally a sheep-farming community, now also home to Millau commuters, and farmers shifting to arable as an easier way of making a living):

seeing sheep arrive at the village:

the seering yellow of adonis vernalis:

the abundance of pulsatilla vulgaris:

sweet-smelling daphne cneorum:

the extraordinary landscapes at the confluence of the Jonte and Tarn gorges:

and the wide-open, gritty expanses:

We both fell in love with everything about this varied and atmospheric area. If only it wasn't quite so far. The 10-hour return trip, for just 4 nights, was probably a bridge too far...