Just Skating By

I have had many lost in translation moments since arriving in Slovakia, especially while teaching.

Last week during one of my first-year classes, I discovered something. It was a puzzle that I could not figure out the entire first three weeks of the school year. At the beginning of a lot of my classes, I’ve put a writing prompt (just a five-minute beginning activity) on the board that begins with “Respond to the following in your notebook…” Half the class would just sit there, eyes glazed over and barely breathing.

Each time this happened, I would ask, “Does everyone know what they’re supposed to be doing?” They would all shake their heads “yes.” Then, some would pretend to write, and others would look around the room to see what their classmates were doing.

I would imitate the action of picking up a pen and putting it to paper several times, before finally just asking them to share their answers out loud.

Then finally, last Friday, one of my students finally helped me solve the puzzle. I wrote “Respond to…” on the board again. He said, “Excuse me, Miss Professor, what is the meaning of ‘respond?’”

Lightbulb. “Ohhh. They don’t understand the meaning of the word ‘respond,’” I thought to myself. “That’s why half of them just sit there every time I write this on the board.”

Whoops.

Today, I had another one of these lost-in-translation moments (or, what could also be called a poor-listening moment).

Last week, we finished reading The Picture of Dorian Gray (an abridged version) in my first-year classes. They really seemed to enjoy the book (although some of the sexual references seemed to go over their heads), and we had fun with an activity where they all created their own “portraits” of Dorian Gray. I hung them up on the bulletin board in the classroom, which they seemed to really enjoy when they came in and saw them Monday morning.

Anyway, I announced that we would be having a test on the book this week. I’ve written it on the board and reminded them out loud every day since. Monday, I passed out a study guide that, at the top, says “The Picture of Dorian Gray study guide.”

As we winded down our unit on “The Picture of Dorian Gray” in my first-year classes, I had them make their own picture of him. They really got a kick out of seeing their artwork hung up in the classroom. I even did one too, and I forgot how much fun art is.

In the directions of the study guide, it says, “If you can complete this study guide, you will succeed on the test Friday.”

Seems clear that we’re going to have a test over the book Friday, right?

Wrong again.

Today at the beginning of one of my first-year classes, I asked them how their week was going and whether they had a lot of tests this week. They said they didn’t.

“What’s one test that you do have this week, though?” I asked, kind of in a joking way.

Blank stares. “Uh oh,” I thought.

“We don’t know,” they said.

“You have my test this Friday,” I said, as I glanced behind that same phrase written on the board behind me.

“We have a test?” some of them said.

I paused to make sure I was taking this all in right.

“Um yes, you do have a test Friday over the book we read. I’ve written it on the board and telling you this since last week,” I calmly told them.

“Ohh,” they said. “So the study guide, it’s due Wednesday?”

“Yes. That’s also why I have that written on the board as well.”

“Ohh,” they said again.

Lesson No. 394029: Never assume anything (even after the fourth, fifth and sixth times).

As review for the test over the book, we played Jeopardy —an idea I got from some of my former teachers. The students really got into it (especially because the winning team gets bonus points on their test), and some of them were even jumping up to tell the answers.

Today after school, I had to go with the rest of the new teachers to a safety meeting. I had heard humorous things about this meeting from returning teachers, but I was not fully prepared.

“Oh yea, that meeting lasts five minutes and all they tell you is not to stand on boxes at school,” someone told me. A pretty funny formality, but painless.

Our meeting, however, lasted for more than an hour, and hilarity (at least in my post-teaching slap-happy mind) ensued.

Safety policies they clued us in on?

• Men cannot lift anything weighing more than 112 pounds (so none of their colleagues, they told us jokingly) while at work. (We were even given the example that if a colleague were to “throw himself on the ground” we could not pick him up ourselves, but would need to make sure to enlist the help of another colleague, making it a two-man job.)
• No welding allowed at school. (This one, again because of my slap-happy state, I just could not handle. Welding? Why did they think to include this in the safety policy for general teachers? I lost control of my laughter, even after they explained the reason for including it, and people started to stare.)
• We cannot climb up the shelves in the library. (There goes my workout plan.)
• We must make sure that when we walk through the hallways carrying things, we do so in a way that does not knock any of our colleagues over.
• We cannot purposefully kick any of our colleagues down the stairs. (OK, now I’m laughing again.)
• To put out an electrical fire, we should use snow or powder.
• We cannot use alcohol while at work. (And we will be randomly tested to make sure we abide by this rule.)

By the end of it, I had to stifle my giggles. It reminded me of those times growing up in Catholic school when I was trying so hard not to laugh at something during all-school masses, which of course made it that much funnier. Even thinking about the simple fact that this meeting was lasting so long made me laugh.

I am attending a live dance show tonight with a few of the other American teachers as a kind of mid-week ladies night.

It’s called “Just Dance,” but that’s all I really know, because the rest of the website is in Slovak. And when my roommate called to make the ticket reservations, the person on the other end spoke very little English. So, when we get there, we may not even have seats.

In the meantime, check out these spicy, sparkling costumes and suits.

I heard that at a lot of these live shows here, the cameramen zoom into the crowd a lot. So I’m hoping to have my 15 minutes of fame on Slovak television.

The only sad part is, I don’t know many people here who own TVs, so I probably will never know if I become famous.

Yesterday we attended our second staff meeting with all the teachers — also our second meeting conducted entirely in Slovak.

It lasted more than an hour, and this is what I got from it: A fire drill is scheduled for tomorrow, and regular Wednesday chapel begins tomorrow. Chapel, normally held in the cafeteria (which is now under construction), will be in the gym.

A meeting that lasted more than an hour, and that’s all they discussed? Well, part of the time was spent praying in Slovak, but as for the rest, that (I was told) pretty much sums it up.

At one point in the meeting, I heard someone say in English that “it will be a real fire, so make sure students hold a wet cloth over their mouth.” A real fire? I assumed that was just another funny lost-in-translation moment (can you imagine the lawsuits that would occur in America if a school were to actually use real fire during a drill?), and today, my suspicions were confirmed. Phew.

The government requires that all teachers attend these meetings and sign in as proof of their attendance. And yes, we must sign in blue ink. So, while it may seem silly to attend a meeting where you understand just two or three words, it is another one of those customs (Slovak-isms?) that I will have to get used to.

It is awfully fun to come up with ridiculous possibilities for what they could be saying though (as I found out from another American teacher). Some of the ones he came up with? “We are going to replace all the American lectors with trained Chihuahuas,” and, “We are planning an attack on Seattle.”

In other news, I am still getting used to navigating a grocery store in a foreign country. I have made regular trips to the grocery here (the popular ones are called Billa and Tesco), just buying small amounts at a time. Since we eat a large lunch at school, I only buy food for breakfast, dinner and snacks.

While I was in Tesco, a girl came up to me and asked me something in Slovak. “I don’t speak Slovak,” I told her in Slovak, after giving her the dumb stare for a few seconds until I realized she was addressing me. “Casa,” she said.

My mind automatically switched to Spanish. “House?” I asked her. Blank stare.

“Right,” I thought. “Why would someone be saying ‘house’ in Spanish, in Slovakia, in a grocery store?”

“I need to pay,” she said.

“Ohhh.” Lightbulb. I pointed her in the direction of the cash register.

Eye roll. End scene.

Then, after wandering around the grocery for a bit longer, I went to check out at a self-check machine, using the English option. Even though it was the English option, however, someone forgot to translate the “Item lookup” labels, because as I tried to find which fruit or vegetable I needed to weigh, I found myself playing a guessing game.

“That one looks like a potato, right?” I asked myself as I squinted hard at the pictures. “That looks like an onion, but it could also possibly be a mushroom.”

Because of this, I had to gamble on a few of my purchases. Eh, tomato tomahto, right?

I think my best bet is to super-glue a Slovak dictionary to my hand.

So, I’ve been in Bratislava for about a month, and I have finally made my room look like, well, me.

My new duvet cover, which started the new purple theme of my room. I’ve never used a duvet before, but I found it to be embarrassingly challenging. Whoever thought to make a sock for a comforter?

When I first moved into my flat, I tidied up a bit, but I pretty much left the room the same. This past week, I started to realize that what Pastor Arden (ELCA’s regional representative in Europe) told us during orientation was so very true: You won’t feel that the space you’re living in is yours until you clean it and change things to fit you.

This is my new-and-improved window area. The window space is so nice and open, with so much light, but before it was so bare. Now, I added a photo collage and a pretty white curtainish drape. It’s a much better view now that I have all my favorite smiling faces from home looking at me.

The first few weeks here were so hectic, and the lady who lived here before me left everything in such clean condition, that I didn’t really clean much more or change anything in the room. Sunday, however, after church and coffee, two of the other ELCA teachers (including one visiting from Liptovsky Mikulas who is about to return to the states after serving four years in Slovakia), helped me rearrange my room. It now feels more spacious and welcoming, and it feels like mine.

My new-and-improved sitting area, complete with a freshly decorated end-table. The pillow cases that came with my duvet cover were gigantic, so after doing some alterations (my mom will be proud that I still remember the sewing she taught me), I used the leftover fabric for a table cover. Then, I put the  purple candles I bought on top, and added books to make it seem homier. Just like a living room at home, right?

I also cleaned the floors and dusted the room. And I added a nice purple theme — with a new duvet cover (that I got in a fight with while trying to fit it over my comforter from home), some purple candles that smell heavenly, a purple end-table cover (that I made from leftover fabric I had after altering my pillow cases), and photo strips attached to purple fabric backdrops (again, made from leftover pillow case material).

With all the sewing and crafting I did Sunday, I was feeling pretty domestic.

And more importantly, I started feeling at home.

My cousin, who moved to Indonesia to teach English shortly before I came here, recently updated his Facebook status to something that captured a thought I had but couldn’t quite articulate.

“Registered for an absentee ballot; there is something oddly patriotic about living in another nation.”

I don’t know quite what it is about living in a different country that gives me an intensified sense of patriotism, but I feel it every day. As I make my way through back alleys behind my flat (and past an old, brick wall that any day now is going to collapse — hopefully not on me) to the bus stop, where I board a bus to get to school. As I walk through the school and greet the students with a simple “hello,” and they smile and say it back.

I know that our country — particularly its government — has its obvious flaws at times and certainly, its embarrassing and distasteful moments. And there are certain changes that we must work toward if our guaranteed freedoms are ever to be truly realized. But I am proud of the ideas that our country stands for, for the rights that its citizenship allows.

Without my citizenship, perhaps it would not be so easy for me to travel to foreign lands, to learn from different people and to educate myself in new ways. Without it, perhaps I would not be able to be here, right now. Because, although it is a different type of freedom, it is one I am grateful for.

While I am in another country, I have the honor of representing my country to people who may have never met an American before. And I hope to do it justice.

I write this now because it is the week of the 11th anniversary of Sept. 11, 2001. I, of course, like most Americans who remember that day, know exactly what I was doing, and I can remember the tiniest of details about that day. I watched the second plane hit the tower and both towers crumble, live on the news.

This year, on the 11th anniversary of that day, I enjoyed a beer and a cheeseburger with two of the other American teachers here, and we talked about what that day was like for us and the thoughts we have about it.

On the first leg of my journey over here, I flew from Columbus to New York City. It was a small plane, and I do not like flying, for many reasons. A man in the back of the plane had taken a picture of the inside of it on his smartphone. The flight attendant, a man who looked to be in his mid-40s and like something of a badass, saw him and went back to firmly tell him he must delete any images he took of inside the plane. He told him this multiple times and stood there until the pictures were gone.

I don’t know why that man took pictures of the plane — probably something as simple as to Tweet about a trip he was embarking on, or to post it to Facebook to see how many “likes” it would get. Maybe he just likes planes.

Then there was the unfortunate thought and assumption that crept into my mind — that he was taking pictures of the inside of the plane to later use for bad things.

I’m not proud of thoughts like that, because I would like to naturally assume the best of people. But thoughts like that are a reminder of the fears that that day brought to life.

Tuesday morning, during my first-hour class, I lead a devotion and prayer.

When I was a 7th-grader on that day, I did not understand its impact. I was not particularly emotional about it, just confused and shellshocked.

During the prayer two days ago, however, I had to fight back the tears.

Again, I can’t quite put my finger on what it is about living in another country that makes me feel so patriotic. But I sure felt whatever it was on Tuesday.

Today was the official first day of school. I say official because while the school year started, I didn’t actually get any students yet.

We went to Velký Kostol (the “big church” right behind my flat) for a morning church service to kick off the school year. All of the lyceum students attended, and the service was in Slovak. So, while I tried to follow along and sing along the best I could, my eyes wandered around the church a bit.

In the front rows sat the children who were attending school for the very first time. They were the cutest (and some orneriest) things ever. At one point, one little boy was making funny faces toward the altar, and one little girl was dead asleep with her head back on the pew and her mouth wide open.

At the end of the service the principal introduced all the new American teachers, and we stood in a line at the front of the church. They presented us with flowers, and the children clapped. They clapped particularly loud for a male colleague of mine who is returning to the school after a year in-between his first spent in the states. I think some of the female students are in love.

After school I found myself in a newsroom again.

I (after getting lost for a bit) went to the Slovak Spectator, Slovakia’s only English-language newspaper. I met the publisher, the editor and some of the other staff members, and I’m going to do some volunteer copy editing for them. Today, I read some of the pages from the paper’s Spectacular Slovakia travel guide. It made me excited to travel to the unique places around the country. I’m thankful for the learning opportunity and am looking forward to reading the finished product.

Tuesday, I will oversee two placement tests in my classroom, and Wednesday, I’ll finally have all my classes. I’m looking forward to getting to know my students and to getting the school year started.

Today was filled with blood, awkward X-rays and accompaniment.

In the morning, two other teachers and myself met our translator and friend Peter, and he took us to the doctor’s office to get our blood drawn. All new teachers have to go through this, so the government knows we aren’t bringing over any diseases.

If you know me, you know how anxious I was before the whole needle-in-vein thing.

The feelings of when they put the rubber band around your arm to get your veins out, when they poke around looking for veins, and then when they do the cotton ball swab, all make me want to pass out.

When it was time for the blood tests, I wanted to go first to get it over with. However, because I was so nervous and about to pass out from the adrenaline and nerves, the nurses made me leave the room to drink coffee and warm up a bit. So, after the other two teachers went, I tried it a second time.

My friend Rachel was nice and came in the room with me to distract me with conversation. When we walked in, the nurses had arranged an area for me to lie down while they took my blood. Smart thinking.

Rachel talked to me about a map that was in the room and asked about different places I had been. It also helped that the nurses spoke in Slovak the entire time while taking my blood, so I didn’t have a clue what was happening anyway. Before I knew it, it was over, and I could begin breathing again.

After the blood part, the four of us walked to a different building so the three of us could get our chests X-rayed.

The first building looked a bit sketchy from the outside and very nice on the inside. This X-ray building, however, was a bit of both.

After waiting for my turn, I was instructed to enter a small room off of the waiting area, and take off my top. Then, I awkwardly walked out into a larger room, where a doctor/assistant man instructed me to walk up to the X-ray machine. What followed next was more awkwardness with the machine and a lot of uncomfortable laughing from me.

And alas, that, too, was finally over.

Peter rewarded us all with what he called “suffering candies,” which were delicious pieces of dried pineapple.

Then we all went out for a nice, big breakfast. Mine included bacon bits.

After the doctor part of the morning, we got our bus passes. Now we won’t have to buy a separate ticket for every bus trip we make.

At school, we went straight to a staff meeting, where the Slovak teachers introduced themselves in English, and we then introduced ourselves, too. It was a long meeting and mostly in Slovak, so it was hard to concentrate at times, but it was a preview of meetings to come.

This evening, I went for a long run through the city, not really knowing where I was headed most of the time. I have found that this is a great way to explore, and I often find new things. Tonight, I ran by Comenius University, and then through an outdoor film festival in the Main Square. I think at one point I may have even gotten on the news because I ran through a TV interview. Oops?

After my run, I then went on a walk with one of my roommates along the Danube. It was a beautiful night for a walk along the water, and it was nice to talk about the day’s stresses with someone who has done it all before.

And so, although I have felt a sense of accompaniment the entire time I’ve been on this journey so far, today there was a particularly strong sense of it. Without all the people who went through these events with me today, it certainly would have been a lot harder. And a lot less humorous.

I am grateful.