Life as a first year teacher: Trimester 1

I am one third of the way through my first year of teaching.  It is hard.  It is fun.  It is scary.  It is frustrating.  It is confusing.  It is empowering.  It is exhausting.

I am exhausted.  Anyone that says that teachers have it easy and get lots of time off has absolutely no idea what they are talking about.  I regularly spend several hours a night on weeknights and time on weekends grading or planning.  I am getting up at 6:00 every morning (and as I've said before, I'm not a morning person) and I was spoiled by getting enough sleep in Albania that in order for me to function, I have to go to bed by 10:00.  More than the sleep thing though, is the mental exhaustion.  Most days I get home and my brain is just tired.  It is hard to do more than collapse in a pile on my bed and watch bad tv shows.  I have seen very little of my friends and family since school started. 

I am empowered.  It really is amazing being in the classroom and seeing students change and grow.  They are doing that, and I am helping them do that!  My students are amazing and when I see them succeed I feel like I am succeeding.  I feel empowered and powerful in the best way.

I am confused.  There are so many things to navigate as a new teacher.  District, school and classroom politics and policies can be overwhelming.  Nothing quite makes sense and I sometimes just have to sit back and hope that things will just work themselves out.

I am frustrated.  Some of the things that just don't make sense can also be super frustrating.  Why are they making us do it that way?!? What am I doing wrong?  Why isn't this kid responding to this? Why don't they turn in their homework?!

I am scared.  I live in a little bit of fear every day that I am doing something totally wrong, that this will be the day that my class completely falls apart and just when that happens the Superintendent is going to walk into my classroom and see the utter chaos that is reigning.  I am terrified that I am a bad teacher and that I will fail my students.  I lose sleep at night worrying that my students won't be successful in my class and I won't be able to teach them what they need to know to be successful later in life. 

I am having fun.  I am trying every day to have fun.  I am having fun teaching and I hope that my students are having some fun learning.  I am definitely having fun with my colleagues.  I love the teachers that I am working with and as a team we have done a really good job of making sure we are having fun.

It is hard.  Teaching is hard.  It is hard to get up every day and be on.  It is hard to go to school every day and not fail my students.  It is hard to make decisions every day that effect the lives of my students and not know if they are the right decisions.  I don't know that I've every pushed myself as much as I have for the past three months.  I am pushing myself every day to be the best teacher that I can be for my students and it is hard.  But it is worth it.

I am one third of the way through my first year of teaching.  It is amazing.  

Readjustment

Last week I had coffee with Connie, an older volunteer that I became close with in Albania when we traveled together for the holidays in Italy. Truth: when I grow up I want to be like Connie. When she came back from PC, she bought an RV and for the past two years has been driving it around the country, staying for a few months at a time near friends and family. During our conversation, she asked me about how I have readjusted to life in the US. I had to think a lot about this question. My first answer is "great!" everything is fine! Because that is the easy answer. And things are pretty good for me right now- I have a good job, I have a good place to live, I'm close to my family. I have stopped having panic attacks in the grocery store. The past three years have really been about settling into adulthood- figuring out what I really want to do with my life. So in many ways, readjustment has gone very well for me. There are a few things that I noticed however when I think a little bit more about how my life is different from my life before I left. While I have made many new friends (mostly through camp and school) and have remained close to some of my old friends, I have also noticed that I have grown apart from a lot of people that I used to be very close. Why is this? There are a whole bunch of reasons, I'm sure. I've been away for most of the summers since I've been home, I've been working and in school and am less likely to go out during the school year. I got used to a more solitary life in Albania, too. I value the time I get alone more than I did when I was younger. Some of it may also be my old friends. Many of my friends have gotten married and had kids in the past few years. While this obviously doesn't mean that we can't be friends anymore, it sometimes means that our paths don't cross as much anymore. This was also something I was thinking about a little while ago- in my life BPC (before Peace Corps) there were always tons of activities that my friends organized to get people together- there were parties all the time, regularly scheduled theater, kickball, cooking club, concerts and so many other things. In order to see people,you didn't have to plan or do much, just show up at the party. Now these sorts of things are fewer and farther between, so in order to see people, you have to make an effort and when events do happen, not as many people show up . . .

The timing of this for me is that I noticed the change when I returned from Peace Corps, but I realize that it is also just a sign of getting older and growing up. So it might not just be readjustment to life back in America, but adjustment in general to life as an adult.

Camp

Sunset at Sky High

The spring of 2011 found me home, but I didn't really know what that meant. I had been around the world and wasn't really sure what to do next. With a summer open, I decided to do something I always wanted to do, but never really thought I would, go back to camp. As a child, some of my best memories are of camp. I was that kid, the one that never got homesick because she was just having so much fun. From year to year I kept a list of my counselors real names in a notebook, but I always kept it secret until the end of the week (not my secret to tell). But by high school, my interests had broadened and new activities like marching band made camp harder to do.

The summer of 2011 was epic. I was home. All of a sudden I had a place and a family and I knew that I would keep coming back for as long and as often as they would let me. I grew up at Flying 'G', but Sky High had my heart. 2012 was going to be the best summer . . . Until fire disaster shut camp down and financial disaster kept camp closed. I had a few choices for the summer of 2013- look for a summer job in the city, work for day camp in Denver or look for a new camp to call home (at least for the summer). I knew I wasn't done with camp yet, so I started my search.

I found Barker and thought that it might just be perfect. Only four hours drive from Denver and in the most beautiful part of New Mexico, the Enchanted Circle. It ended up being a very hard summer for a variety of reasons. Construction at camp wasn't finished on schedule, leaving us without a kitchen or showers, we were understaffed for most of the summer and there were lots of difficulties with communication with the council office. But for all that, I still loved camp.

This month I have scheduled three weekends at three different camps- volunteering and working. I highly doubt I will be back in New Mexico next summer (although stranger things have happened) but I do think I will be at camp somewhere. I just can't stay away.

Isn't this exciting?

It is Saturday morning and after a hard hike the day before, my dad and I are taking our time eating breakfast and packing up our campsite on Mali Korabi, the highest mountain in Albania.  For the past three days we have seen lots of cows, sheep, donkeys, horses and the young men that tend to these animals, but no one else, so we are surprised to see a line of hikers with backpacks walking towards our campsite.

When they approached we talked to them for a few minutes and discovered that they were part of the same Polish hiking/climbing club that marked the trails.  We told them about our adventures the day before.  Based on out difficulty crossing the streams, they decided to try out the red/white longer trail up.  We said "shehemi me vone" (see you later) and they continued up the trail and we continued to pack up. 

A few hours later, we were hanging out in the village when the group arrived.  They made it farther up the mountain, but at some point they lost the trail and also didn't make it all the way to the summit.  They had to take one of their party back to Peshkopi but the rest of the crowd was staying for the night, meaning that they had space in their car for my dad, me and out gigantic backpacks.  So we piled into their van and headed down the (really nice!) road. 

And then . . . a few miles down the road there is a bridge . . . the bridge is a bit narrow and coming off of the bridge our back tire clipped the side of the bridge and made a loud noise.  Not good . . .

Then the real adventure started- Do we have a spare tire? Yes, ok good start! Do we have a jack? Yes, still going ok.  Does it have all it's pieces? Apparently not. Fail. Do we have a tire iron? Yes. Can we actually get the bolts off? No again.  After stopping a few passing motorists to ask for help, we found a jack that had all of its parts, but could still not get the bolts off.  What to do, what to do? After a bit of back and forth, we decided that we needed better tools, and we might be able to find them down the road a bit.  My dad, two of the Polish girls and I caught a ride with one of the passing good Samaritans and the driver of our van drove very, very, very slowly about 2km down the road.  We found a road crew that had some more tools and when the van arrived (avash, avash- slowly, slowly) we were able to get the tire changed (how many Polish climbers and Albanian motorists does it take to change a tire?).  I took pictures . . .  I wanted to be useful :).

About an hour after we stopped we were on our way again with a spare tire.  By the time we got to Peshkopi all of the tire shops and garages were closed so even though they had planned to go back to the mountain, the Polish crew ended up spending the night in town.  Two things we remembered today- Albanians will always stop and try to help when you are stranded on the side of the road and even when the roads get better, driving in Albania is always an adventure.  

Hajde Korab, heren e dyte or What a difference three years makes

Right after my COS (close of service) from Peace Corps, I went with my father, three other volunteers and two kids from Peshkopi to climb Mali Korabi, the highest mountain in Albania and Macedonia. We had a great time, but there were some issues. On the Albanian side, the trail was not marked and when we asked for advice from the people in the village (Radomire), we were basically told to "go up" which is all well and good, except for the fact that there are easy and hard ways up mountains and this mountain has several peaks. We ended up on the hard way and on the wrong peak. Not a big problem, but kind of annoying. In fact, we didn't have time to continue even though we thought we could see the top because we had to get back down the mountain in time for our ride back to town. It took nearly four hours to get to or from Peshkopi, so leaving on time was important.

And now here we are three years later. I am here again with my dad, although it is just the two of us this time. The first big change: the road has been completely done and the time is cut in half. The second change, a Polish climbing club has marked the route up the mountain. Now when you ask in the village how to get up the mountain, they say "go up, and follow the painted trail marks."

Two marked trails!

A cow visits our camp

 There are two marked routes up the mountain. One (marked with red and yellow), is shorter and goes the the West Ridge. The second is longer and goes to the East Face (marked with red and white). We arrived in the village in early afternoon and wanted to find a place to camp on or near the route. We chose to start following the shorter route. After about an hour of walking with ALL of our gear (camping and climbing equipment weighing probably over 100 pounds between us) we found a nice flat spot to camp near a rushing mountain stream. It soon became clear that this route followed the rushing mountain stream up for at least a little ways and that the path crossed the stream a few times. Our campsite was near one of the numerous shepherd huts (stone houses) built at intervals up the mountain and we soon met several local residents. The cows and sheep tended not to bother us and we were lucky to not meet any dogs without their owners. Despite what we had been warned by nearly everyone we told of our adventure, the weather was quite nice and it did not get very cold, even at night.

On Thursday we decided to see if we could find some rocks to climb. As I've mentioned, one of the main reasons my Dad wanted to go back to Albania was that I did not allow him to bring climbing gear the last time he came and he saw lots of good rocks to climb. Of course, getting to those rocks turned out to be a major challenge. There was a group of good limestone rocks that we could get to pretty easily, but the base of most of these faces was a steep scree slope that was not safe to approach. We found one face that had a good approach and also a way to scramble up the side so my dad decided to try to set some anchors at the top. Unfortunately, when he got to the top of the rock, he found that the ground was uneven and had a lot of scrubby brush and trees that made walking around difficult. Therefore, he could only anchor from certain points . . . and the faces that were below these points were not accessible from the bottom! After about an hour of this, it had started to rain a bit and we basically gave up and returned to our camp. At least we tried . . .

The next morning, we decided to try to make the summit. We followed the red and yellow trail as it followed the river. We crossed over once with some difficulty and then had a good two-three hours of

My Dad and me on Mali Korabi

fairly easy hiking as the trail headed up. Around 2 in the afternoon, we came again to a place where the trail indicated that we cross the stream (for what I think was probably the last time). It was clear that we were not going to be able to cross the stream- it was flowing very heavy with snow melt and we did not see any safe place to cross. The place indicated by the trail markers was not very wide, but the water rushing below made a jump very dangerous and while I MIGHT have been able to do it, there was not way that my dad could. So we had a few choices: above the crossing was a rocky area with large patches of snow. We could have continued for a while on this side of the stream up the rocks and snow and see if there was a place farther up to cross or even if we could find the head waters and go around. After a while walking this way, we decided that crossing the melting snow was becoming dangerous and we took our second choice: turn back.

The peak (maybe next time . . . )

Both my dad and I were of course disappointed to fail to reach the summit for a second time, but I don't think that either of us regret our choice to turn back. When we had to recross the stream to get back to the campsite later in the afternoon, both of us struggled to get across safely and my dad took a stumble that could have ended very badly had he not anchored himself with his ice axe. In any event, he got a bit wet and banged his leg, but didn't get washed away. We learned that like in Lura, April/May may be too early, because the melting snow made this track almost impossible. But we also learned how easy it is now to get to the mountain, how much the village has improved for visitors (there is a hotel now) and that at least for now, no one minds if you camp in the middle of a cow pasture. Based on these facts I do not think it is impossible to think that this will be my last time on this mountain. Who knows, maybe third time is a charm . . .

The seven (four) (frozen) lakes of Lura

One of thee places in Albania that I always wanted to get to but had never had the chance to visit was Lura National Park. This park is in the Diber (Peshkopi) region, and is supposed to be one of the most beautiful parts of the country, but is very remote. I had heard that the road up was really bad and also that some of the park had been damaged by illegal logging and fires in recent years. Over the two years I lived in Peshkopi, I was always kept my ears open for chances to go to Lura and asked people I knew every once in a while how to get there. Pretty much I was told that you needed to have a 4-wheel drive car. For this trip, my dad and I talked about trying to get up there, but in fact, I didn't think we would have much chance unless we rented a car in Tirana. Renting a 4x4 is not impossible, just expensive and we eventually decided we didn't want to spend the money. When we got to Peshkopi I started asking around about how to get to both Lura and to Korab, our other planned destination. I hadn't heard much yet, when on our first full day in town we had lunch with my good friend Ermal (pastor of the church and also all around great guy) and Sarah, an American living in town and working with the church. When I told him that we were planning on going up to Korab on Sunday and (a bit jokingly) did he want to come with us? He responded that he would love to, but he had made plans to go somewhere else on Monday . . . Yep, you guessed it, Lura. It turns out that Sarah's parents were coming for a visit and that they all, along with the American family that Sarah is living with here were all going up to Lura together in two 4x4s.

Our whole group in Fushe Lura

Two things: first, wow there are a lot of Americans in Peshkopi now; second, did they have space for two more? The two turned out to be three when Joe decided he would join us as well. So we had 13 total: 11 Americans and 2 Albanians squeezed into two 4x4s holding 6-7 each on the worst road I've ever been on, and that's saying a lot. Luckily, the road did not twist and turn too much, it just had the worst surface I've ever been on. My perception may have been colored a bit by my location: in the way back seat in one of the cars bouncing around with Joe and our knees up to our chests. After four hours (for 50km) we finally arrived in the village of Fushe Lura (Lura field) located in the valley below the park. We had a quick lunch and then headed the mountain. If it is even possible, the road got worse. We went from a pitted and rocky dirt path to just rocks. At a certain point, we decided that the cars could not go any farther without damage so we got out and walked. As we went higher, the road was increasingly a river of melted snow and we took off our shoes to walk across several rushing streams. Even higher, we found the unmelted snow. At this point some of our party decided to turn around and some of us pressed on. Luckily, it was actually pretty warm and so other

A little snow can't stop us!

than having wet feet, we were not too cold. After about an hour of walking on the snow, we finally arrived at the first set of lakes. The
lakes were beautiful and frozen. Unfortunately they weren't frozen enough to walk out on (we tested by throwing some rocks, they went right through the soft ice). Knowing that the sun was going down and that we didn't want to walk down in the dark, we quickly took some pictures and headed down. We were only able to see four of the seven lakes as the other three were probably another hour (at least) walking through the snow and our wet feet would not have handled that well.

Me and my dad at Liqeni i madhe (the big lake)

Things learned on this trip: when they say the road is bad, believe them (whoever they are . . . ), April is too early to go to Lura, Lura
will not be a major tourist destination until the road is fixed . . . or helicopter travel becomes common in Albania.

Meet Xho Bonk

Someday, maybe I will travel differently. I will stay in hotels, go on cruises and rent cars. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe, I will always travel like this, staying with friends or in this case, perfect strangers that become friends. Joe (Xho in Albanian, the xh is how you spell J. If you see a j in an Albanian word it is pronounced as a y and a y is pronounced oo) is one of the new Peace Corps Volunteer in Peshkopi. He is Group 15 (I was group 11) and has been here about one year. Joe is great; he is smart, interested in fun things like old communist monuments, has a sixth sense about finding bunkers hidden on hillsides and is nice enough to be mistaken for a Canadian. He isn't perfect, however; despite his affinity for Albanian pop music, I don't think he will ever be an Albanian pop star, although stranger things have happened. So Xho, gezohem qe u njohem (nice to meet you)! Here is Xho's blog . . .

Changes

New high school in Peshkopi

I have been away from Albania for nearly three years. Walking down the street I am keeping my eyes open for the differences. Was that building always there? How has this road changed? For better or for worse? Some of the changes are obvious and big: the high school has moved into a new building outside of downtown and the new university that had been housed in the upper level of the language school has now taken over the remodeled high school building in the center of town; the athletic center, nearly finished when I left, is now completely finished; my landlords house (next door to my place) has a new floor added on and a new roof and has been painted purple. I hardly recognize the view. These are physical changes, however. Are the changes only skin deep? A sign of what might be a larger, deeper change at first might only seem like another physical change. When I arrived in Peshkopi five years ago, there was one Internet cafe. The Internet was not reliable and they did not have a generator, so during the nearly daily power cuts (usually 12-4 and sometimes as long as 9-4 every day for months) there was no Internet at all. This was a huge challenge for us during the first Model UN because we wanted to teach the kids how to do Internet research, but could almost never find a time when we could meet after school that the Internet cafe was working. Most of the students had never really used a computer and did not yet have e-mail or even know what facebook was. This is not the case in Peshkopi anymore. Even before I left, there were several more cafes open in town and many people had started to get Internet service in their homes. Now, there are more cafes than ever, even more people in town have Internet at home and maybe the biggest difference, smart phones have also arrived, giving people access to Internet in their hands. Facebook has come to Albania, with a vengeance. Before I arrived I notified most of my friends I was coming by sending fb messages. Communication between people has changed dramatically. So the next question is, does this mean there have been bigger or deeper changes in the past three years? I don't know, but I think that there are interesting potential implications for the opening of communication to this country. Just as development happened quickly when the country opened its borders twenty years ago, development may happen quickly now that the virtual borders are open. But development twenty years ago wasn't easy. In fact, although development started quickly after the end of communism in Albania, it was a painful and sometimes violent process and it has stopped and started a few times since then. While buildings and roads have been built, ideas have been slow to enter the minds of people here. So have things here changed in the past few years? Of course, but it still remains to be seen how deep these changes might go.

The updates to my landlords house (new second story, new roof, painted purple)

Gjuha shqipe

In the ferry terminal I see the first signs that we are close. Literally, signs in Albanian, giving directions, answering questions. The people milling around the terminal are speaking many languages, but for the first time in nearly three years, I recognize Shqip as one of them. I catch words or phrases sprinkled in here and there among the Italian, English and German that my ears also try to pick out. I don't talk to anyone but just listen. The first test comes when we get off of the ferry in Durres and I negotiate the onslaught of taxi drivers. But we don't need to go anywhere yet, my first task is to find a cell phone shop and figured out why my phone is not working so that I can reach my friends. I ask a taxi driver where to find a vodaphone shop, but he tells me that there is only one in the center, far from here and I should take his taxi. I ask the girl working at the cafe and she lets me know that I fact there is one across the road; she has no stake in me getting into a taxi. I start out to the shop- crossing the road is a bit like playing a game of frogger- yes, this is starting to feel familiar. I enter the shop just after it has opened and speak to the shop girl about my issue. The whole time we are speaking, other customers are coming in and out of the shop to buy phone cards. The shop's computer system is down, so people must buy the physical card rather then an electronic top-up, and some people are confused or upset because this means they won't get a special advertised offer of some sort. The system is down in the whole country, not just here, she explains. She handles the customers smoothly, this obviously isn't a rare problem. After a few different attempts, we decide we can't figure out what is wrong with my SIM card so I go ahead and buy a new one. Only when she looks at my passport and asks what neighborhood I live in does she ask where I am from. She is impressed enough with my language skills to be surprised that I am not an Albanian living abroad. I've heard this before, but not for several years, so I feel the pride a bit. Of course this is the easiest of interactions, I have clear goals and the vocabulary is pretty easy. Over the next few days my language skills will be tested again and often. The most difficult task will surely be, as it has always been, listening to conversations on various topics by Albanians. If I am involved in the conversation, answering and asking questions, it is easier, but when the conversation swerves off to other topics I know I will sometimes let my mind wander and loose the thread. Over the next few days as I meet with friends, I slowly remember words that I haven't used in years. Si thuhet? What is the word for cucumber? Blanket? You know, that one thing we rode on the river from Peshkopi to Kukes on, that goes inside a tire? There are some words I remember on my own, some that I need to ask about and some, that even when told I can't seem to hold in my mind, it seems that I might have never learned them before. By the end of the second day speaking primarily in another language, I am tired, but also happy because it seems to have stayed in my brain somehow. This gives me hope that I can learn another language and keep it alive even if I can't use it every day. But I will use it tomorrow and I am glad that it is still there.

Packing

I am a notorious over packer. I like to have everything I might need and most things I might want. But I don't hold a candle to my dad. Somehow, for this three week trip, we are carrying more than I packed for two years in Peace Corps and WAY more than I took when I travelled after PC. Most of it is the nature of the trip. The main point of the trip and what my dad has been talking about for the past three years is to do some climbing. Everything else is centered on this one fact. Unfortunately, to be safe, climbing has a lot of equipment and we had no confidence that any of it could be rented or purchased there for any reasonable price. So we are bringing our own and that means about 30 pounds of ropes, harnesses, helmets, and metal fittings. We are also planning on camping, so that means more stuff, like a tent, sleeping bags, cooking stuff etc.  right now this whole thing feels a little bit like an expedition to Everest or something, only we don't have any Sherpas. I don't think all the stuff would be as big of a deal if we also weren't taking a long way to get to Albania. Things would be really easy if we were just flying direct and then renting a car. No problem! But that's not what we are doing. We are flying to Rome, taking a train across Italy and then a boat across the Adriatic Sea. Somehow, I have faith that it will all work out . . . Maybe we can rent a donkey to help us with the gear . . . 

A return trip . . .

In a few weeks, I will be returning to Albania for the first time since I left almost three years ago.  Somehow, these past three years have seemed to have gone by very fast and slow at the same time.  It seems almost like a blink of an eye since I left and somehow also seems like a lot has happened in the past three years.  There have been some big changes in my life since I got home- I have gone back to school and finished a program to be a licensed teacher.  In other ways, things have not changed at all- being home, I have gone back to many of the routines I had before Peace Corps.  Anyway, I am excited and nervous to go back.

Unlike my parents, who didn't return to the Philippines for almost 30 years from the time they left, I am making my first return trip only a few years after leaving.  I honestly didn't expect that I would be going to Albania so soon.  So why now?  It was actually my dad's idea.  When he came to visit me at the end of my service three years ago, we had some adventures, but there were a few stones unturned.  For one, my dad is a climber.  He likes to climb things.  When he came to visit me before, we did some hiking, but no climbing.  This was my fault- he wanted to bring a rope and harness and various other things that would have made it possible for us to climb things, but the timing was not good.  He came at the end of my service and I was leaving to travel around the world, so I needed him to take a suitcase (or two?) home with him when he went back.  This was by far the cheapest way to get stuff home (since he was planning on coming anyway and he was flying on my mom's passes).  So he didn't bring ropes or a tent or anything else we might need to have a backpacking/climbing trip.  We therefore had another kind of trip, which was great.  But . . . there are some beautiful rocks in Albania that are just crying out to be climbed.  Some people don't understand rock climbing.  What is the point of climbing that rock? Basically, it's just fun.  It's a challenge.  It's a puzzle.  And for the last three years, my dad has been thinking about the rocks that we saw in Albania and wanting to go back and climb them.  So we are.

This is the (very tentative) schedule for our trip.  It is flexible based on the fact that we are flying on passes and may not actually fly on the day we plan.  It is also flexible based on the fact that we may just decide to change plans.  Anyway, it looks like a good trip!

Sunday, April 21- Fly to Rome
Monday, April 22-Rome

Tuesday, April 23- train to Bari, ferry
Weds, April 24- Arrive Durres
Thurs, April 25- Tirana
Fri, April 26- furgon to Peshkopi
Sat, April 27- Peshkopi

Sun, April 28- Peshkopi 

Mon, April 29- Peshkopi
Tues, April 30- to Korab (camp)
Weds, May 1- Korab (camp)
Thurs, May 2- Korab (camp)

Fri, May 3- hiking? Lura? (camp)
Sat, May 4- hiking? Lura? (camp)
Sun, May 5- hiking? Lura? (camp)
Mon, May 6- to to Tirana- stop in Kruja?
Tues, May 7- Tirana to Durres- ferry
Weds, May 8- Bari to Naples
Thurs, May 9- Naples to Rome
Fri, May 10- to airport- fly home