a cold, grey spring in the mother country

Part 2 of Bill Palmer's shiatsu course was my excuse for a week in the UK.

At B on Avon all was well. We had our usual food-management debate (Dad had to use a chisel and hammer to blast a wizened lime in two and even then Mum's protests were such that I returned it to the fruit bowl!)

Stourhead was looking wintry dour, but put on a spectacular show of daffs:

Dad powered on ahead of me, as he always has:

... while Mum contemplated the trees...

Back at Sandy Leaze Mum and I had good times playing the Beethoven violin sonata that we had been working on, independently, and Dad and I had fun with his recorder sonatas. I got to see Buff and Olly, too. So a great visit. Thank you, dear family.

Big Bad Berlitz post 1

I've kept quiet on this subject as it causes me all manner of anguish. But some blogging is overdue - Berlitz can represent up to 3 days of my week, after all. I need to write or go completely nuts with it.

So the short story is: I started with Berlitz in November 2009, since when all the financial incentives used to get me to sign up have been removed. Last March I stepped down from my Lead Instructional Supervisor role, which I found an organisational nightmare. I am now an "ordinary" teacher. Earning just 8 euros an hour before tax doesn't sit well (on a day when I only have 1.5 hours of teaching I can even lose money because of the cost of getting to work); and the terms and conditions are execrable, with a need to keep myself available for lessons that can be cancelled as late as 18.30 the night before. But the health insurance and little salary are seductive. And, above all, the contact with students, some of whom I get to know very well, is rewarding. I've become good at the "Berlitz method" and this gives me the freedom to be myself during lessons. Students like my style and have a positive experience of learning English. If I can keep the dragons at bay it's worth it, and the "routine" - headbashing though it can be - gives me a sense of purpose and stability.

Now the long version...

It takes either a certain kind of nerdiness, or an ironic sense of humour, to settle into the Berlitz method. Once taught, new material is practiced via a sequence of questions ("Yes", "No", "Or" and "Key"). For the Method to be successful students have to "let go" and allow me to take them over hill and dale, repeating new language and structures in different ways, tenses, contexts - that can be real or as silly as I'm feeling. 

So, for "yourself/myself", it could be: Do you drive to work yourself? ... do your English homework yourself? ... brush your teeth yourself?

It requires trust and hard work, and some students don't take to it. They may have well-established coping strategies, using a mixture of pidgin English and body language, and a vocabulary level that is way ahead of their syntax and grammar. These students are usually very smart, and find the business of submitting to the Method, a woman, a foreigner a bit of an ask. This is a disaster for me (and them). I end up embarrassed or bored by the material and look for opporunities to go off piste. This in itself isn't a problem - the Method can be applied to any piece of text. But I have to be on the ball, and choose the text carefully. 

Last week, with Farid (learning English prior to relocating to Beijing in July), on an impulse I went with his interest in English song lyrics. Fatal. Printing off the lyrics for Simon and Garfunkel's "The Boxer" I found myself teaching "squandered my resistance with a pocketful of mumbles, such as promises...." hmm. Squandered? pocketful? mumbles? such are? And that was before we got to "I got no offers, just a come-on from the whores on 7th Avenue. I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome I took some comfort there. La la la la". La la la la, indeed. Farid got to learn "come-on" and "whore" (but I didn't push it to the nth degree - Does Mr Bennet take comfort from whores? Do you take comfort from whores? Do you take comfort from whores or chocolate? Why do you take comfort from whores? Great.

bons citoyens

We know it's spring because it's Vaulnavey-le-Bas' annual clean-up operation. With just a little arm-twisting Juan joined the team...

who are those two foreigners skulking at the back?

... the mayor, a handful of mairie employees and three or four eco do-gooders like us. Whilst the majority opted for picking up beer cans along the main road we chose the big stuff - diving into our local wood and hauling out a prodigious quantity of long-buried plastic, tyres and metal. An edgy business - what might we disturb under those piles of decaying synthetics? Luckily just a surprised salamander. A very worthy and satisfying morning. Vive la solidarité.

"Putain!" expletes our mayor.

spoilt brats at Chamrousse

Despite fears of a Bank Holiday Monday skiing crush, we had a fabulous time - enjoying the first sun in five days.

Happy Easter

chez nous, by Juan

difficult to start eating, then difficult to stop...

A day of squally, chaotic weather; shiatsu; cooking...

our first attempt at "French" apple tart is a bit funky, but an outstanding success - we think!

 ... and the absurdly drawn-out decision-making process that I specialise in. I finally drive to Gresse en Vercors to return (and not buy) the nordique skis hired for the season.

winter bites one more time

As rain and snow swept across Europe we kept part of our Easter weekend plan, driving up a godforsaken valley south of St Jean de Maurienne for a night in a B & B (600 sq m of converted barn!). After a rich and boozy supper I was surprised to find myself giving shiatsu to a fellow guest on the living-room floor, responding to the concern of his (very assertive!) wife.

Spring (not) at the Chalet de St Roch

The next day we ventured out on snow shoes, trying to glimpse the iconic Aiguilles d'Arves. There was great excitement when the Tête du Chat loomed, gigantesque, through the cloud.

At St Sorlin d'Arves we had tantalising views towards the Aiguilles, once again - and here was yet another place we'd like to return to in more clement weather...

over the border again

Juan had kept me away from his Swiss bachelor pad for over 4 months. But I was keen to touch base with the place that takes up so much of his time and energy. (And, who knows, this could yet end up being my home, too. So at least a bit more familiarisation seemed pertinent.)

Despite drear weather, and the "crowding" effect of an additional person and her paraphernalia in Juan's 40 sq m, we had a good weekend. I had thought I was saving Juan time and energy, myself driving. But I now understand his weekly trips to France are a choice: clear blue water between work and play. Everywhere we went was new for both of us. But whereas I was in tourist mode, for him it just felt a bit weird - why was he there at the weekend...

On Friday Juan finished early and we took advantage of the best weather of the weekend to go cross-country skiing in the Jura, near Ste Croix, 20 minutes west of Yverdon.
Rebecca: But if you like walking, and enjoy the fun of traversing a winter landscape on skis, and know that you need some exercise, and the place is empty, and it doesn't cost anything... why don't you like cross-country skiing?
Juan: I do. I did it.
Rebecca: Yeah, but you'd had enough after 30 minutes...

So Juan went on strike and I found myself on my own for the second part of the short circuit.

On Saturday we joined John, Matilda and Sophia at Les Mosses - a family ski resort an hour NE of Lac Leman. Our ski gloves hadn't made it (my imperfect packing). So, whilst John and the girls downhilled on empty, mushy, late-season pistes, Juan and I snow-shoed up to the café at the top of the resort.

... crossing paths with family Pannell on the way down:

On the Day of Rest Lausanne, under leaden skies, was dead as a door nail. But we enjoyed an exhibition:

... that was more varied than might have been expected from the theme: from 17th century Dutch still lives, with tiny windows reflected in wine glasses, to a 21st century photo project of people staring anonymously from their New York flats.

electricity installation by gallery car park

We took the long route back to Yverdon, through the Jura once again, this time via Le Pont, a chillsome spot by Gad:

Back at the flat Juan allowed himself to be bullied into a yoga session, using one of the stack of DVDs Kelli has lent me, opting in and out as he felt so inclined.
Juan: I can do this bit.
Rebecca: But the point is to hang on in there and explore the bits you can't do, not cop out.
Juan: That's enough. I did half of it.

By the end of the weekend I think Juan was beginning to get used to having me around. But he'll be happy to reclaim his bed tonight (gentlemanly, as ever, he took the cheap IKEA sofa-bed option for my 4 nights).