A quarter of the way through...

One week of our month-long teaching course has gone by and Theo has already presided over three lessons, while I've been in charge of two. We've got loads more to learn, but at this stage we don't seem to be doing too badly and I'm convinced my students almost learned something during my last lesson. It was a close-run thing, anyway.

Apart from the general affability of the students, trainees and tutors, I've had two more pleasant realisations this week:
1. I really like teaching. With a couple of provisos. That the subject is English (I don't think quantum theory would do it for me, somehow. You probably need at least GCSE Physics, which would be a bit of a stumbling block in my case) and the students are adults (I'm quite happy to leave the challenge of trying to teach surly teenagers who're more interested in chewing gum or texting their mates to other people, frankly).
2. I like being back in the classroom as a student myself. If you ask me, further and higher education is wasted on the young. I definitely wouldn't have been so enthusiastic if I had done this course fifteen-odd years ago. Now, even the homework is quite satisfying, in the same way as going for a run or doing a work-out in the gym. It's a bit of a slog and you keep wishing it'll be over soon, but when it is you get a definite feeling of achievement and even, dare I say, a touch of euphoria. Or maybe that's just the relief you naturally feel, say, after overcoming a bout of constipation.

In my short time as a trainee teacher, I've also had a couple of insights about the habits of my own schoolteachers. The obsessive break-time cigarette-smoking and coffee-drinking, for example. Theo and I aren't doing the former at all and my consumption of coffee is so far under control (one con-leche and one contado per day - I could stop any time, honest...) but our fellow trainees are puffing away like the regular Strawberry Line service and I'm sure some of them are mainlining caffeine in the bogs. One thing you don't appreciate when you're a pupil or student is how damn terrifying you and your peers can be to the less experienced pedagog. By the time the teachers are too experienced to feel the fear, their addictions are too far gone to even attempt giving them up. Thus, the delightful ash-tray and coffee-breath cocktail of halitosis that let's you know they're reading your answers over your shoulder, even without looking.

Over-flowing bag syndrome is something I've often wondered about, too. Actually, it would be an exaggeration to say often, but since my initiation into the realm of the schoolroom, I've been frequently reminded of the seemingly endless books, papers and pens carted around by my former teachers, even as my own bulging backpack tips out all over the classroom floor.

So, three more weeks to go and major cock-ups notwithstanding, Theo and I will both be certified. It's a heady prospect.

observations of Portugal (and Spain)

The Spanish label their railways, so when you drive over a railway line is says which line it is, much in the same way that rivers in the UK (and elsewhere) are labeled. Whether this for the benefit of lost travelers or train spotters isn't clear.

The Portuguese have lots of rocks. They are everywhere. You wouldn't think they'd need to bother quarrying for stone seeing as it seems to be pretty much the only thing in some of the fields, but there are loads of quarries anyway.

Whoever decides where to put road signs in Portugal seems to take great delight in misleading would be picnic-ers, as there were a plethora of "picnic-table-under-shady-tree" signs on the way to Porto that lead instead to baking hot service station car parks.

After a schlepp of a drive yesterday, powering (ahem) Sheena up the highest mountain range in Portugal, we are now in the lovely city of Porto. Portugal's second city reminds me equally of Newcastle and Zanzibar, in the way that high, beautiful bridges span the Duoro river between castles and cathedrals, while the old town is full of cramped, tiled, slightly decrepit, but nonetheless attractive buildings. there's a heat haze over the city, but with the breeze from the Atlantic it's cool and pleasant. The lower bank - a separate city called Gaia (more parallels with Tyneside) - is full of Port distillers and wholesalers, their signs dominating the bank. We'll probably head there after we've finished rinsing the various wireless networks we've managed to find while Kate samples the best coffee in Europe.

observations of Portugal (and Spain)

The Spanish label their railways, so when you drive over a railway line it says which line it is, much in the same way that rivers in the UK (and elsewhere) are labeled. Whether this is for the benefit of lost travelers or train spotters isn't clear. But it´s probably comforting to know that the train passing beneath you is the 10.45 to Madrid. If you're a train spotter, well that knowledge is clearly invaluable.

The Portuguese have lots of rocks. They are everywhere. You wouldn't think they'd need to bother quarrying for stone seeing as it seems to be pretty much the only crop in some of the fields, but there are loads of quarries anyway.

Whoever decides where to put road signs in Portugal seems to take great delight in misleading would be picnickers, as there were a plethora of "picnic-table-under-shady-tree" signs on the way to Porto that lead instead to baking hot service station car parks.

After a schlepp of a drive yesterday, powering (ahem) Sheena up the highest mountain range in Portugal, we are now in the lovely city of Porto. Portugal's second city reminds me equally of Newcastle and Zanzibar, in the way that high, beautiful bridges span the Douro river between castles and cathedrals, while the old town is full of cramped, tiled, slightly decrepid, but nonetheless attractive buildings. There's a heat haze over the city, but with the breeze from the Atlantic it's cool and pleasant. The lower bank - a separate city called Gaia (more parallels with Tyneside) - is full of Port distillers and wholesalers, their signs dominating the bank. We'll probably head there after we've finished rinsing the various wireless networks we've managed to find while Kate samples the best coffee in Europe.

Later note from Kate:



We certainly did sample the the local tipple shortly afterwards. We deliberately chose the Ferreira tour and degustation because of its strong Portugese connections and spent an enjoyable hour in the company of a couple (Argentinian and Brazilian respectively, but currently resident in the UK so with very good English) being taught all about Port wine by the guide, then an even more enjoyable time sampling the different types and vintages, with the conversation becoming more convivial and extravagent with every sip. By the end of it all, we were firm friends with Cecile and Guillermo, so went and enjoyed some "pingos" together (glorious shots of wonderfully smooth-roasted espresso coffee with a drop of milk...Theo had hot chocolate) at a cafe back in Porto itself before parting company with fond regards all round. We then came upon an uproarous student graduation parade, which put the English graduation tradition of hats in the air to shame. Ah, this is indeed a fine city. And that's not just the Port talking.