A special thank you

I have to take a moment to give a special thank you.  A lot of very generous people responded to my last post by donating to my effort to attend the Lasallian Volunteers midyear retreat.  As of yesterday, my flights are booked!  It´s going to take 4 different itineraries to get to Albany and back, and 3 layovers each way, for a round trip total of more than 30 hours of travel, but it will be absolutely worth it.  To the many of you who made this possible, THANK YOU.  Really, truly, sincerely, thank you.  I was honestly very worried that I wouldn´t be able to go, but the response of my friends and family has been incredible.  Besides the donations, I also received some very thoughtful and encouraging words from you, and for those of you reading this now, know that it means a lot to me just to think that you´re taking the time to follow what´s going on in my life, let alone that you might concern yourself enough to write me an e-mail.  It´s easy to feel alone in the world, and it can be hard to reach out and help somebody feel connected.  Thank you for reaching out to me.

I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas (or, if you don´t celebrate Christmas, a wonderful few days off work, at least), and a happy New Year, assuming of course that the world doesn´t end tomorrow.

Alex

Reflecting on a semester past

Well, dear readers, the semester is over.  I arrived at Utopía under a new moon, and have marked the passing months by its wax and wane.  The semester finished under its determined gaze, and we now move forward into the break guided again by only the light of the stars.  This seems as good a time as any, and in fact better than most, to reflect on these first three months.

To begin with, I can hardly believe the semester is already over.  It feels like this should be just a weekend, and all the students will be here again on Monday to continue this routine we have.  The passage of time is difficult to mark here, especially without the usual coming of fall, the quick change into winter, and the expectation of snow.  We are just about to begin the Colombia summer, and every day feels a little more like what I expect from August.  But instead, everyone has left for a full month to recuperate, to work, and to do what they do.  I won’t see them again until January.  As for reflecting on the past, though…

Teaching English in Colombia is a challenge, no doubt about it, and especially in this program.  Students are up at 5:30 in the morning for “productive practice,” where they work in the field until breakfast.  With another 4 to 6 hours of class in a day, they’ve put in a full time week before they even start their homework, which they dedicate themselves to with some gusto.  Most are headed for bed by ten o’clock, and almost all are asleep by twelve.  The most common phrase I hear in class is, “teacher, tengo sueño,” that is, “I’m tired,” and they usually they say it in a tone of voice that implies, “I’m exhausted and about to fall asleep on my desk.”   Add to this the fact that English is, though required, considered extracurricular, and it won’t come as a huge surprise that frequently my question, “Did you do the homework?” is met by noncommittal looks and excuses. 

I certainly don’t blame my students for not doing their English homework, and I sympathize with their situation.  What I meant when I said that English is required but extracurricular is that students of Universidad de La Salle are required to demonstrate an intermediate English level in order to graduate, but the University doesn’t require that they take their language courses internally.  If they do choose to study English here, their grades in the language don’t affect their GPA, so of course if they have to choose between their biochemistry homework and their English homework that doesn’t affect their overall grades, they’re going to choose biochemistry.  Llike I said, it doesn’t upset or offend me, however it does make teaching difficult.  There was one particular day when not a single person in a class of 23 had even attempted the homework.  Unfortunately for all, test grades reflected out of class prep time.  Of my 112 students, 51 did not pass the course, and of the 61 who did pass, the vast majority did so with a D or a C.  The number of As and Bs could be counted on two hands.

Going forward, it is unclear what this means.  The students (and their classes) are organized into six blocks – 2 groups of first year students, 2 groups of second years, and 2 groups of third years.  With some from every group passing and some failing, we don’t know how we can arrange the schedule for next semester.  I certainly don’t have the ability to spend 48 hours a week in instruction.  We’re waiting to find out if we might receive an assistant language teacher from Bogotá for the next semester, but there is not yet any concrete evidence that will happen, and I don’t have a lot of hope.  But, well, we’ll see.

This semester was difficult on a personal level, too.  People here ask me all the time if I miss my family and friends, and I always tell them that I’ve lived away from home for a long time already and this isn’t a big deal.  That isn’t completely true, though.  When I was teaching in New Zealand (June-August, 2009) I was living in a “community” of Brothers (all of two people that I hardly ever saw) and working in a school where I was closer in age to the students than the teachers.  I had no transportation, no friends, and a lot of free time to sit around with my thoughts for company.  I found ways to occupy myself, and I wrote A LOT in a journal I had to submit for my course at Saint Mary’s.  I didn’t realize how difficult that experience really was until the end of the course, when my instructor (who will read this blog post) commented on how appreciably estranged I was from any significant social interaction.  I think it didn’t bother me at the time because I was happy in my work and because I knew I was only there for three months.  In a short time, I would go back to my friends and community at Saint Mary’s feeling that much better about life for having taken the time to both give and receive.  Evaluating my Colombia experience to date in light of that experience, there are some parallels, and some things that are even more difficult.

Colombia is the same in that I am somewhat estranged here, too.  I am friendly with my co-workers and my students, but between my natural reticence and the significant linguistic and cultural barriers, I have found it very difficult to foster meaningful relationships.  I hold all my thoughts in my head, saying them only to myself, not necessarily because I lack anyone else to say them to, but because I lack the words to say them.  Add that I tend to be a relatively reserved person to begin with and I think it´s clear why life here has been socially difficult.

I also feel sometimes as though I lack freedom.  Utopía is about 6 miles up a pretty terrible road, and opportunities to get into town are few and far between… not that there’s a lot I need to do in Yopal, but it would be nice to have the option.  Unfortunately, my days off this semester were Friday and Sunday.  Friday ended up being my planning day since there wouldn´t be any way for me to get back from Yopal before class Saturday, and there´s no pointing going on Sunday because everything is closed.  So, in the end, I mostly just never left campus, and that starts to feel a little confining after a while. 

Lastly, it´s often difficult to stay motivated when so many of my students don´t seem interested/willing to do the work.  I have one class, especially, that I have to mentally prepare myself for before I could go.  This particular group of students never does the homework, resists any efforts toward having a focused or productive class, and is generally poorly enough behaved (and yes, we´re talking about university students) that I´m tempted on occasion to tell them all to just leave.  In our second to last class, I finally did tell them that anybody who didn´t want to come to the last class before the exam didn´t have to.  I was not surprised when only five showed up for that session.  I was also not surprised when four of those students were four of the five in that entire group to pass the course.  What´s so difficult about it is that my students all recognize the importance of learning English for their professional futures, they will happily expound on the many benefits it will provide them, and they all say they want to learn it, but they resist so stoically my attempts to teach it to them.   Staying motivated, feeling satisfied in the work, is incredibly difficult some days.

In the midst of all this whining, I do have some good news.  The Lasallian Volunteers (most of you will remember that I worked with them the last two years) have invited me to join them in New York this January for their mid-year retreat.  It´s a long way to go for a 3 day retreat, but it will be absolutely worth it.  The LVs are an inspiring group of people and, in the midst of the many difficulties, time with them always reminds me of the grand purpose this Lasallian mission has worked toward for more than 300 years, namely changing the world through education.  Sharing with them, hearing their stories and telling mine, never fails to revitalize my spirit and prepare me for the work ahead.  Saint John Baptist de La Salle knew how important community is, it´s why his teachers lived together and it led to their first heroic vow.  Recognizing the power of this community, I am super excited to have the opportunity to share time with them. 

Of course, as with all things, this won´t be easy, and I have a selfish request to make of you.  You see, the flight from Colombia to New York and back is not exactly cheap, and volunteering doesn´t really pay well.  I am hoping those of you who read this blog might be willing to help me out?  I wouldn´t ask if I could afford to do it on my own, but I´m afraid the funds just aren´t there.  Would you be willing to donate to my mental and spiritual well-being?  If so, you can send a donation (please make any check out to ´´Christian Brother´s Conference´´) to:

Attn: LVs/Alex Branch

Hecker Center, Suite 300

3025 Fourth Street, NE

Washington, DC 20017

So, I hope this blog finds all of you well, that you are getting into the festive spirit of the holidays and looking forward to a brief rest from the usual routine.  As always, please feel free to comment or send me an email.

Alex

Something a little different

"I'm feeling super lazy today, which is like normal lazy, but I'm wearing a cape."  Facebook is good for some things - occasionally humor is one of them.

Today's blog is going to be a little different.  I mostly just use this forum to say what I've been up to, and I generally try not to be too touch-feely, philosophical, or current.  I'm leaving my reticence at the door.

I've been in a half-funk lately.  Not a true funk, because I feel fine.  In fact, I didn't know I was in a funk of any kind until sometime around ... this morning.  Then I just kind of had this realization that I haven't really been DOING anything.  Writing lessons, teaching, hanging around, and not really anything more.  My life as of recent has been lacking intention.  Since he's over-quoted, I'll go ahead and leave Plato out of this, but let me just say that I've been failing to examine myself, and I only realized it today.  Why today? I'm not sure.  It probably had something to do with drinking coffee before bed last night.

So, my resolutions as of this morning: 

1.  I'm going to get up earlier.  I usually wake up between 7:00 and 8:00, any given day but Monday (when I have a 7:00 AM faculty meeting).  Well, 7:00 AM is late in Utopia.  Students have productive practice (field work) starting at 5:30 AM every day but Sunday (no wonder they're always tired).  I'm not aiming for 5:30 everyday, mostly because I'm not even aware of having a body at that hour, but I'm thinking I need to roll back my clock to sometime between 6:00 and 6:30.  It's time to get a little more out of my day.

2.  But what ever will I do with all this extra time?  Stop being a louse and get some exercise.  I play micro-football with the students here on occasion, but not enough to qualify it as regular exercise.  I can feel my body atrophying from lack of physical exertion.  So, push-ups, sit-ups, maybe pull-ups if I can rig something in my room.  Some early morning stretching, maybe?  It's time to get health care into my routine as something more than a political talking point.

3.  Spanish.  Talking to people in Spanish, in my mind at least, does not qualify as practicing Spanish.  Conversations with students are like competing in a soccer match.  That's performance time.  Practice happens away from that environment.  It involves intentional study of forms and vocabulary, pronunciation and interpretation.  I've been studying a bit since I came, but not enough.  Hence, I'm dedicating at least 30 minutes, 3x/week to the actual study of Spanish.

And that's that.  After all, I have to save some things for New Year's, right?

Now another thing completely out of the ordinary for this blog.  I want to touch a little bit on a subject that some may consider sensitive.  If I say anything in the following paragraphs that you find offensive, please know that is not my intention.  If I say something you find provocative, please feel free to email me or to comment on this post.

I follow a couple of online whitewater forums, just to keep a bead on the industry and to paddle vicariously through other people who have access to boats and rivers, since that isn't part of my life right now.  On one of the forums, the issue of how women are treated in our niche community came up.  "Balls Deep Productions" (BDP) is a group of young Montana paddlers who are absolutely killing it on the river.  They made a kayaking movie, "Pleasure Strokes" that turned out to not only be about kayaking.  It included some scenes taken at house parties that glorified potentially dangerous alcohol abuse and, especially, mistreatment of women.  Somebody took the time to ask how we all felt about it (as well as some VERY incendiary comments made on facebook by BDP) and the wall blew up.  Over 200 replies to the thread, more than 45,000 views, responses from major companies in the industry, including a kayaking/traveling high school, some paddlers maybe losing their sponsors, and the conversation continues.  I'm bringing the conversation to my blog because, as I and others pointed out, the issue is bigger than the niche community of paddlers.  It's part of our larger culture, and it needs to be addressed. So.  

What follows is a post I made on this message board.  It refers to the conversation taking place there at the time, but in a way I think is broad enough for readers here to understand without additional context and to apply in the broader culture of the United States.  Without further ado...

"What are you guys about to go do?"
(holding a shotgun) "Shoot some b*tches."
-"Pleasure Strokes" by BDP

There seem to be two main defenses of this kind of behavior going around. 

The first is that it isn't serious, that it's all a big joke for the sake of entertainment, and that that makes it OK. I have to disagree with this defense for several reasons. First, your entertainment is not worth somebody else's dignity. Statements and actions like those portrayed here are affronts to the humanity of the people on the other end. Their intent is to amuse, but to amuse yourself at the expense of somebody else is to declare your narcissism to the world. Some argue that these things are happening between friends, and that that makes it OK, but when "jokes" like these are published to an international forum, the joke is no longer between friends. 

Which brings me to the second defense, that if we don't like it, we don't have to watch it. That's true, of course. We don't have to watch it. The argument forgets, however, that we do have to live in the climate it creates - a climate where violence against women is normalized. Katie Dean posted about being a young woman in the kayaking community, and that because she was strong and knew how to take care of herself the boys knew what line not to cross with her. What I'm asking is, should she have had to? The culture as it stands now puts the onus on the victim to stand up for him/herself, but shouldn't the onus be on the other person not to victimize the people around him? This same culture is the one that believes in the "Did you see what she was wearing? She was asking for it." defense of sexual assault. Degradation is not the fault of the victim, it is the fault of the perpetrator. The boys at BDP might not think of themselves as sexist, but their behavior says otherwise, and the only thing accomplished by publishing such behavior in a public forum is to declare it normal and appropriate.

To illustrate the point of normalcy, try this experiment. In the BDP quote that starts this thread, try replacing "b*tch" with "n*gger." There was a time in history where culture allowed such a statement to be normal, and it was a time when black people were hated for nothing other than their skin color (let's be honest, many people still have this problem). Now is that epoch for women, when hatred for hatred's sake is scapegoated on the excuse of sex. History will shed light on the ignorance of our times, it will honor people like Eve Ensler (Vagina Monologues) the way it already honors Martin Luther King Jr. We don't have to wait for history, though. Culture is the name we give to collective norms, and we can change those collective norms by vocalizing our desire to. Every person has this responsibility personally, and the louder your voice, the greater your responsibility. 

BDP, I don't have an online video with more than 7,000 views. You do. Use the power of your voice to make the world better, not to perpetuate the violence and hatred we already have too much of.

And this, highlights from a post I made on my other message board (where I introduced the topic):

... What I'm interested in, the whole reason I brought this up here, is the attitude of the kayaking community toward this kind of behavior. 

... this conversation is maybe a way to show people how strongly we feel about the treatment of women, and to let them know that we'll put a stop to this when we see it. If we're lucky, it's also maybe a way to convince a few people to stop and think a moment about their actions and how they affect the community around them, to stop themselves before someone else has to step in.

Hatred toward women isn't limited to the kayaking community, but that doesn't mean we should tolerate it here. (And let me be clear, "tolerate" means "don't say anything" means "leave them alone.") 

... When behavior like that is normalized it affects everybody. It takes power away from victims and puts it in the hands of abusers, and it warps the minds of young people growing up in a culture where they can't be sure what's appropriate and what isn't.

I don't think we should give these guys a break. I don't think we should give anybody a break when it comes to the disrespect of others. That doesn't mean we need to call their sponsors and demand they get dropped, but it does mean we need to have conversations with them about what's appropriate and what isn't.

So, if you managed to make it through all that, I applaud and thank you.  This post turned out to be pretty long, and very different from what I usually talk about.  As always, please feel free to send me an email or post in the comments.  I look forward to hearing from you.

Alex

P.S. Since this was a pretty serious post, I'm going to leave you with a picture of cute baby animals (this is actually copied and pasted from the first Google search result of "cute baby animals." I chose the tiger because they're FIERCE!)

Flexible

Working in Colombia is slowly redefining how I think of flexibility.  It's pretty incredible how inconsistent things are around here.  Indeed, the only things that seem particularly consistent are the kitchen on campus and the inconsistency of everything else.  In particular, there hasn't been a week since I arrived here when at least one of my classes hasn't had to be rescheduled.  Every week there's some sort of special seminar, or extra-curricular classes, or a field trip, or a building dedication (ok, that only happened once), or something else that makes it so I have to juggle classes.  I feel silly writing how frustrating this can be, but honestly, this can be really frustrating.  Between the students' busy schedule and mine, the only time to reschedule those classes ends up being at night or on Sunday.  I end up teaching 7 days a week, or finding out half an hour before class that I suddenly have that day off.  It's very different from my college experience, for sure, when if a class was cancelled for any reason, that was pretty much it, because getting everybody in the same place outside the regular time was like trying to catch all the mice in a hay field.  Here, the students all live on campus, they all have the same class schedule (within a given group - there are 6 groups), and they all eat at the same place at the same time.  Rescheduling a class can sometimes be as easy as standing in the dining hall and shouting the new class time.  The students grumble (as do I, in my head) but they all show up, and that's that.

I'm glad I'm a volunteer, because if I was getting paid, I'm not sure it would be enough.

Teaching and spiders

I've been somewhat reticent as of late, regarding this blog.  I swear, it's only partially my fault.  For about two weeks we haven't had any internet access.  That, and I also started teaching 3 weeks ago, which has kept me more than a little occupied.  In fact, that's exactly what I want to write about today.

This is not the first time I've taught.  I taught math in New Zealand, I taught "life" in New York, now I'm teaching English in Colombia.  In truth, it's not a whole lot different, except that right now I have 6 classes of English level 1, almost 120 students, and an actual amount of information I'm responsible for conveying to those students.  It keeps me on my toes, to say the least.

I enjoy the endeavor.  Time in the classroom seems to disappear.  One moment I'm checking attendance, the next I'm welcoming a new group of students and wondering how two hours have already passed.  I feel a little crazy, in truth, like I'm living in the twilight zone.  Twenty minutes pass for me, and two hours (well, I hope it's only two) for everybody else.

This side of the classroom is very different.  We've had three weeks of class, and there are about ten remaining.  My feeling, we've ALREADY had THREE WEEKS of class?  And there is ONLY TEN LEFT???  I used to sit on the other side of the room and wonder how there could possibly still be ten weeks left of class.  The semester seemed interminable.  Now I find myself presenting material at what feels like breakneck speed to make sure everything gets done, and I wonder at the idea that we will somehow fit it all in.  An interesting perspective, this side of the classroom.

Aside from the classroom, I find my Spanish progressing a little here and there, though certainly not in leaps and bounds.  I understand more now than I did when I first arrived, but it doesn't always feel that way.  Indeed, I hadn't really thought I understood more at all, until somebody I knew from Bogota happened to be in Yopal the other day.   I realized how much easier our conversation is here than it had been there.  Progress, but slow.

This place continues to enchant me, as well.  The sky is different from what I'm used to, but beautiful all the same.  There is no North Star, and I haven't been able to spot the Big Dipper, but Vega is still easy to find and Orion makes his appearance every night, albeit in a place I'm not used to looking.  This place is very dark when the lights are off, and the stardust scattered across the sky reminds me of Montana.

Last weekend Brother Martín took me for a ride around the farm on horseback.  It was blazing hot, but very interesting.  The students here study agronomical engineering, so the fields are small, practical application laboratories.  Most of the farm, however, is not tended by the students.  Rather, very little is cultivated at all.  The area is wild and used as range for the cattle kept here and tended by ranchers employed by the University.  Jungle, meadow, streams and swamps govern an area roamed by free range stock.  At one point we came across a small herd of horses that clearly weren't wild, but which I don't guess feel a saddle very often.  They came to greet us, but kept a healthy distance, as well.

One thing I'm struggling with a little here is bugs.  Spiders and mosquitoes, in particular, but occasionally others as well.  To try to keep the number of mosquitoes in my room to a minimum I've made a point of not killing spiders - the web-making kind, anyway, and that's all fine and well.  But.

Yesterday morning my foot had the unfortunate experience of finding a different kind of spider in my shoe.  With it's legs spread out, it barely would have fit in the palm of my hand, and it clearly doesn't make webs.  I didn't know what it was, at first, but it didn't belong in my shoe.  I took my foot out (before I ever even got the shoe all the way on) and shook it upside down.  Well, I saw something come out, but couldn't tell what it was.  Then I looked all around and couldn't find it, so I figured it probably had been a large spider and had run away.  Well, I was half right.  Often one to learn practical lessons a little slower than I ought, I proceeded to put my shoes on.  My left foot then encountered the same spider, because as soon as it hit the ground, without my even getting a look at it, it managed to flee INTO MY OTHER SHOE!  Well, eventually that problem got taken care of, but this morning I found the exact same variety of spider clinging to my shower curtain.  I haven't motivated myself to study for the GRE yet, but I have at least made good use of the book.

Anyway, I have plenty more to write, as always, but think that's probably enough for the moment.  I need to finish writing some exams.

Feel free to leave comments or send me an e-mail.

Alex

School starts tomorrow

I'm not really sure what to say here, except that I feel it's important to say something.  I spent a month in Bogota, I've spent a week in Yopal, and tomorrow is the first day of class.  My lesson plans are ready, the students have arrived back on campus, and this is it.  I should feel some kind of way, probably, trepidation or excitement or something, but honestly it kind of feels like tomorrow is just another day - nothing special.  I guess tomorrow will tell.

On another note, I've been in Yopal for a week, and it's probably worth saying a few words about my initial experience here...

First things first, my Spanish is atrocious.  If not for having the personal memory of the classes, I wouldn't believe that I studied this language from 7th through 11th grades.  FIVE years of classes, and literally, I think I understand about 10% of what is said to me.  This language thing will be an uphill battle, though it does conveniently remind me just how difficult and frustrating it can be to learn a language.  Hopefully I can keep the feeling of frustration in mind (shouldn't be hard) as I teach English, that it might remind me to be patient and compassionate toward my students.

Perhaps the next thing of note is my roommates.  Not traditional roommates.  Bugs.  There must be 50 species of insect living in my room with me.  They're everywhere.  I kill the mosquitoes, the really big bugs I relocate back outside, and the rest I just try to ignore.  There's no way to keep them out because there's about a 4" gap between the top of the wall and the roof, so my room is literally open to the outside.  They're especially concentrated in my bathroom for some reason, though I'll take that happily to having them concentrated in my bedroom.  The best form of control I could think of was to make spiders my allies, so any spider that builds a web I'm not likely to run into in the dark by accident gets to stay.  While brushing my teeth this morning, I counted 14 spiders in my bathroom.  I must need to recruit some bigger spiders though, because during the same time I killed 6 mosquitoes.

On brighter notes, I'm enjoying living in the country.  It's a very nice change of pace after living in Bogota for a month.  There, I was forced every day to wonder, "Will today be the day I get hit by a bus?"  Here, I have no such concerns.  Fresh air, trees, breezes.  It's a little warm, but I'll take that over the lung-searing smog of the city.  This week in Yopal was a little boring because there weren't any students, but they've all arrived back from break now, so things are a bit more lively.  It's a little funny to be back to school as a professor instead of a student.  Everybody's moving back into their rooms and it kind of feels the same as when I was in college.  I have to remind myself that these people are not my classmates, they're my students.

Anyway, that's all for now.  As always, please feel free to leave a comment or send an email.

Oh, I almost forgot.  I put up some photos of Yopal on picasa.  Follow the link if you want to check 'em out (I should note that, as of publishing, some of those photos are still loading.  If you only see 5ish, check back in about an hour for the other 10ish.  My internet connection is nearly dial-up slow sometimes.)

Alex

What the River does

"If ever there were a connection among all people, it is the awe we feel in the face of moving water."  - Eric Adsit for American Whitewater, January/February 2010 issue

What the River Does

The river sometimes crawls, sometimes runs,

              Sometimes whispers, sometimes roars.

I have heard it sing

            and I have seen it beat its fists.

The tiniest rivulet, the mightiest torrent,

             these follow the same rules.

As one would leap, rush, and race to its destination,

             so the other.

As one would curl, turn, or ripple,

             so the other.

The river never hesitates to fall, nor balks at the mountains before it.

The river is not concerned with what lies ahead or behind.

The river does not care if you throw rocks at it or ride on its back.

The river need not think of who sits on its shores.

It is the quality and privilege of the river to be concerned with naught.

Rain or snow, sun or clouds, hot or cold,

               these are inconsequential to the river.

Should it freeze, it simply waits for spring.

Should it run dry, it waits for rain.

Should it flow over, it patiently looks for the sun.

Should it boil, it can be assured of someday reaching the tranquility of the sea.

The river knows it is neither alone nor independent, yet

                 it concerns itself little with the affairs of what it cannot change.

It would rather reflect the sun and the moon, flow onward, and

                 rest assured that the future, though unpredictable, is inevitable.

Mi primera vez en Yopal (My first time in Yopal)

Part 1.  Excitement.  Joy.  Right now might be the first time I have really felt these things since I came to Colombia.  Not that I'm unhappy - by no means.  It's just that most of the time I'm a little nervous and a little lost.  But right now, this moment, is excellent.  I'm on a tiny plane flying to Yopal for the first time - the place where I will spend my entire upcoming year, where I will teach my students and share in their lives.  The people who know Yopal keep telling me the biggest danger is falling in love with it and never leaving.  In this exact moment, as I see the Andes fading into foothills and foothills into the green sea of the central plains, I think maybe they could be telling the truth.


Part 2.  The drive out to Utopia took about half an hour from the airport, not including the stop we made so Br. Carlos could buy Angela (another visitor to Utopia) and I rubber boots.  Yopal is a city of about 150,000; but it doesn't feel that way at all.  Something about these places, maybe the lack of any particularly tall buildings (?), makes them feel very small.  But anyway.  The drive out takes you down this one long road, Matepantano I think, away from the city.  For a little while the road is paved, but it soon turns to dirt and rocks.  Br. Carlos said "Bienvenido al mundo tercero.  Welcome to the third world."  


At first, it doesn't seem so different from many places in Montana.  Barbed wire fences run along the road, separating it from the cows and from the crops.  When a truck comes down the road the other way, you slow down, move over, and roll up the windows.  Then you suddenly see a bright yellow bird, or notice that the cows have these long faces, loose skin, and horns that curve backward, ... and that was when it struck me how little I know about this familiar scene.  The rapid banter in Spanish that filled the truck, the banter I could only catch short phrases of, complete the brick-to-head feeling I was having.  As we pulled up to the gate, a solid gate 10 feet high with a guardhouse on one side, I watched with my eyes and my heart as Br. Carlos greeted first the security guards and then every person he saw with a warm smile and a hearty handshake or kiss on the cheek as he called them by name. 


The compound itself is beautiful.  Low, white-walled buildings with tile roofs sit demurely at the end of raised cement walkways, and lush greenery meets the eye at every turn while the smell of fresh dirt assails the nose.  Frogs call back and forth in the oncoming evening as students sit down to dinner in the cafeteria, and night's song continues until the sun begins to rise and the birds take over.  Perhaps someday I will tire of the remoteness, or the heat, or the mosquitoes, but for right now, this is what love at first sight must feel like.  

One Week

Well, I've been here just about a week now, and I suppose that's as good a time as any to write my first blog post from Colombia!

Sparing you the nitty-gritty, getting here was kind of exhausting, but honestly not too bad.  It is impressive to me still that I spent 3 days accomplishing a trip that could take 10 hours, but whatever, not important. I stepped off the plane at El Dorado Airport around 10:30AM and ran the customs gambit in Bogota in record time - nothing to declare and they didn't even want to x-ray my bags.  With that, I stepped out into the ... um, slightly tepid Bogota July.  It's cooler and less humid here than it is in New York, so honestly, the climate is a welcome change from the summer I'd been having in Albany.  "So it goes."

For several months now I've been coordinating via email with Paola Caro, and she met me at the airport.  Though we have previously only corresponded in Spanish, it turns out that Paola and all the staff at the university's Oficina de Relaciones Internacional y Interinstitucional (ORII) speak English excellently, which has been a blessing, since my Spanish is just as poor as I thought it was, perhaps even poorer.  We arrived on campus and dropped my bags off in what amounts to a hotel room (very nice accommodation, but definitely short-term) and I then proceeded to make a poor impression on every person I met, including the director of ORII and the President of the university.  I have since thankfully been given chances to change those initial impressions, but it was a bit depressing to be paraded through an office of professionals while exhausted from three days of travel that included sleeping six hours in an airport, plus I was still dressed in my shorts and t-shirt.  I managed a nap late in the afternoon, had the first thing I could find for dinner (it happened to be kebab), and in a moment of good fortune arrived back at my room just as some other international occupants were heading out for the evening.  Cue social life, we went downtown and had a couple drinks in a very curious little bar and found our way home around 1 AM.  

The day after I arrived was July 20, coincidentally the Colombian national holiday celebrating Independence. Turns out that isn't a huge deal here the way it is in the U.S., but it still means all the businesses are closed and downtown is a street-fair zoo.  Since there wasn't anything urgent to take care of, I made use of Independence by going for a walk.  Six hours later, I was confident that I was near the university again, but I just couldn't seem to find it.  Finally I climbed halfway up the mountains that border the city so I could get a look down, and lo and behold, I had been within about five blocks of the place.  Sore in the feet and pretty well pooped, I slept away the late afternoon, ventured out for a quick dinner, and retired early.  


Sunday was a relatively uneventful day, but Monday was a doozy.  Monday I went to CLUS (Centro de Lenguas de Universidad de la Salle) and met my new boss!   Yep, I have a boss.  Since my service here in Colombia will be teaching English at Utopia, and since Utopia is a branch of Universidad LaSalle, and since CLUS is the department of the university specifically in charge of the language requirement for students, el jefe (the boss) at CLUS is also my boss.  So, for the next 3 weeks or so I am living in Bogota and working at CLUS to learn the pedagogy of the university as it relates to teaching English.  Specifically (for you teachers out there), CLUS requires its instructors to use a task-based approach that emphasizes communicative ability for all lessons, as opposed to grammar-based or any other pedagogical systems.

Since my students at Utopia are technically students of LaSalle, they are required to meet the same standards of English (as a required set of courses) as all other students.  To ensure all students are graded properly for their level, LaSalle has designed its own standardized tests, and I have to be properly trained on how to administer them (from such details as keeping the tests in a locked room to how to properly assess the oral exam).  This amounts to two real-world tasks for the next 3 weeks.  Very daunting, and exciting, hands-on training in regard to teaching, as well as very dull and difficult watching of previously recorded lectures on such thrilling topics as how to use technology in the classroom and fairness in examinations.  But, my new boss is cool, I can browse the web while I "watch" videos, and at least I'm not just spending my day trying to figure out how I should be spending my day.  I hope to come out of these three weeks with a greater sense of confidence in my teaching abilities and a much more practical understanding of the expectations for a language teacher at Universidad LaSalle.  Did I mention I'm also going to be taking a Spanish class?  Thank goodness for that.

Though there have been other minor events throughout this week, none are particularly worth recounting at this time, particularly since I'm really excited to write my next post, which will happen as soon as this one is finished.

Ciao!

One-way ticket

Many of you already know.  You've seen something on Facebook, you've heard it through the grapevine, maybe I've even told you in person.  For the rest of you, though, it's time for me to come clean. I'm moving to Colombia (South America) on Wednesday.  I'll be continuing this business of volunteering, though in a very new capacity.  Universidad La Salle is a university in Colombia run by the De La Salle Christian Brothers (FSC), and I am going to work in their Utopia program.  Utopia is an Agricultural Engineering program based in El Yopal (about 350 km from Bogota) that brings in bright young farmers/students from deep Colombia, particularly from communities affected by drug violence, with the intention of training these people as entrepreneurs with the skills to change the economic opportunities available in their communities.  True to the mission of the Brothers, Utopia is a way to change the world through education.  I will be living in student housing, eating in the dining hall, and teaching English to these intrepid young people.  I suspect I'll learn more Spanish than they will English, but I will do my best and hopefully not cause too much damage.  

I have a lot of feelings as I prepare for this next journey.  My bags are mostly packed, my room is mostly cleaned out, and my goodbyes are mostly said.  My two years in Albany have been great.  I made a point of making this place my home, and saying goodbye to a home is hard.  I'm sure over the next couple days, as I make my way to New York City and then on to Bogota, that I will find myself struggling to unpack the many experiences I've had here.  The boys at LaSalle School, my many friends on the river, the people who have been with me here day in and day out, all these people have changed me, shaped my thoughts and feelings about this place, and I am sad to depart from them.  There have been great times here, and there have been days that challenged my faith, and both have helped me become who I am now.  I have grown tremendously in my abilities to work with challenging youth, in my wilderness abilities, and even in my self-confidence (though some of you will argue that I didn't need any more of THAT), which might make what I say next somewhat perplexing.

I take all my experiences and new skills with me to Colombia, my carry-on bag of personal tools, if you will.  I also take a lot of doubts and concerns about whether I can really do this, whether I can do the job I have been called to do.  Frighteningly, there are implications here somewhat beyond my control.  There are some people watching to see if this could blaze a trail for future volunteers.  If my experience is a blinding success, then I suppose that would be a good sign.  But what if it this all turns into some dismal flop?  I'd rather not think about it.  Similarly, there is little (i.e. "no") evidence that the university has hosted a volunteer like this before. What if I turn out not to be what they expect?  Will they ever be willing to take the risk again after me?  Another thing I'd rather not think about.  These doubts have been tugging at me for some time now, and much though I'd rather not think about them, they're almost ALL I think about.  Every time somebody asks, "So are you excited?", I freeze for a second as my courage wavers.  I am decidedly NOT excited.  Very few times in my life has there been the real possibility of failure.  I have done a pretty darn good job of setting myself up for success, and when failure has been a likely outcome, I've done those things in private.  Putting my failure on a world stage is truly a painful thought.  

There has been one comfort in this process, one piece of advice I keep reminding myself of.  At the Lasallian Volunteers' debriefing retreat, one of the other LVs quoted I-don't-know-who when she said, "Sometimes the right person for the job is the one who is willing."  Sure, I'm trepidatious about the whole thing, but I'm also willing, and maybe that's enough.  Writers often claim that courage is not being unafraid, but taking positive action even when you're scared witless.  I pray that I have enough courage to get through this, and enough skill to come out the other end better than when I went in.

Wish me luck, remember me in your prayers, and as always, don't hesitate to leave something in the comments section below.

Happy Monday!

Alex

Sh*t my dad says, pt. 1

I spent the weekend with my parents and decided to start a "sh*t my dad says" list.  I call this part one because I'm sure as time goes, I'll discover yet more gems to be shared.  I hope you think he's as hilarious as I do.

1. "Rainin' like a cow pissin' on a flat rock."  Probably the most-used of his many phrases, I grew up thinking this was a normal thing for someone to say.

2. "Hotter 'n a three-peckered billy goat."  This might be my favorite of his sayings, though there are a couple more on this list that would make a modest person blush.

3. "If a frog had wings he wouldn't bump his ass every time he hopped."  You know the whole, "if fishes were horses then beggars would ride" thing?  Well, this is my dad's take on that.

4. "Shiny as a diamond in a billy goat's ass."  And just how shiny is that?  Not very.

5.  "Asshole deep on a tall Indian."  The only racist phrase that made the list this weekend, this was in reference to the amount of snow Cutbank, Montana receives each winter.  I think this was immediately followed by a "colder than a" statement, but I didn't write it down, and can't seem to remember it.

6. "Dryer than a popcorn fart." In reference to the dry stream bed on my parents' property.

7. "Hornier than a three-peckered hoot owl." Yep, he said that.


I can only hope that my father continues to produce such colorful phrases.  I will dutifully share them all with you.

Winter Camping with LaSalle

--- From the LaSalle School eBulletin ---

NEW YORK - March 27, 2012 - Last month, LaSalle's Recreation Department organized a winter camping trip for five boys. Alex Branch, a Montana native and currently a Lasallian Volunteer, was one of the trained and experienced staff that accompanied the youths on the trip. Alex kept a journal detailing his impressions of how the boys approached different situations and reacted to the many challenges such an excursion can, and did, present. What follows is his personal account of the trip.

"A lot of preparation goes into a winter camping excursion, and students Rob, Jason, Jordan, Eli, and Mike did a great job of being present and positive about the process. It took us about an hour the night before and another 45 minutes the morning of to get all our gear packed and get on the road. Each boy had a pack with about 25 pounds of gear, including a one-person tent, heavy winter sleeping bag, foam sleeping mat, extra clothes, and their fair share of community gear - cooking stove, cook-pot, pan, food, etc.

We set off mid-morning and drove to the Hogtown trail-head on the east side of Lake George, northeast of Pilot's Knob. There was less snow and ice than we expected the first day, and our four mile hike into Fishbrook Pond, around the back side of Sleeping Beauty Mountain, went smoothly. We ate a short lunch at Dacy Clearing, about one mile in, then climbed up and over the southwest ridge of Sleeping Beauty and past Bumps Pond to Fishbrook, finally arriving there at about 3:30 in the afternoon. There are two ADK lean-tos on opposite shores of the pond, and from our vantage point at the first the territory around the second looked more suitable for tents. The walk across the frozen pond was a first for the boys, and put a couple out of their comfort zones, but they showed their incredible sense of adventure and trust in the staff by following us across.  


The late afternoon weather was pretty chilly, dipping below freezing and spitting bits of rain and snow as we set up camp, so our second order of business once the tents were up was getting a sizeable pile of dry wood and a hearty fire to cook our dinner on. Cooking and eating dinner took until well after dark, and with the temperatures hovering around freezing, a long day behind us, and a long day ahead, bed was a welcome sight for the boys at about 8:00. Most of them didn't even want to stay up to roast marshmallows!

The next morning started beautifully. The clouds cleared and the sun came out while we sipped on hot chocolate and cooked a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, and English muffins over the camp stove. We left camp about 10:00 AM and set off for the summit of Sleeping Beauty Mountain. The trail offered quite a bit more ice the second day, much of it a frozen cascade rather than an actual trail, and gave some of us reason to strap on our snowshoes as we climbed. From camp to summit is a 2-mile trek, and the view was well worth it. We ate a quick snack and paused for a photo opportunity while taking in the views of Lake George and the surrounding area, then fled the wind and headed down the mountain. 

The trail down confronted us with many more challenges than our first day, mostly as rivers of ice, and going was slow for the first mile and a half or so. Eventually, the trail leaves the frosted northeast side of the mountain, snaking around to the south face and the shining afternoon sun.  It was a blessing to make it to dry ground, though the boys did seem to enjoy the challenge of sliding most of the way down the mountain.  We finished the last couple miles on good, more or less level trail, and made the van about 1:45. After a quick lunch we hit the road back to LaSalle, returning safely to campus about 3:30. 

We spent until dinner getting unpacked and debriefing the trip. The boys felt positively about the 

experience, rating it a 7 or 8 on a scale of 1-10, and had plenty of compliments for their team members. As part of debriefing, I also asked kids to describe an obstacle they overcame to be successful, and this trip offered plenty. Boys talked about the ice, the length of the hike, the weight of the packs, the weather, and a few other things, all the while identifying their achievement of the summit as worth the effort."

Evidence

They would call this evidence, if they knew better what it was.  Evidence of what?  Well, of many things.  Evidence of a disrupted state of mind, perhaps.  or evidence of the neurochemical affects of long term stress.  maybe evidence of a broken heart.  evidence of a crime.  What matters is that it is evidence, and nothing else.  Just like the evidence everyone knows, this evidence will be carefully documented, cataloged, put into zip-lock bags, and tucked away in a dark room with a cage for a front door until the time arrives for it to be taken out in the light again and put it on display for some noble 12 to ponder.  When all is finished, though, when the flashbulbs have burnt themselves out, when the newspaper headlines have yesterday's date on them, then again this will just be evidence, tucked away in a dark crowded room with a cage for a front door, a room full of evidence.

A little about climbing

I remember first climbing when I was 6 years old.  A vertical rock/cement embankment holds up the road along the Whitefish city beach in Montana, near where I grew up.  At its greatest height, the embankment perhaps reaches 15 feet.  When my family went to the beach, I could never resist the urge to climb the rocks.  My parents blessed me by happily looking the other way.  They knew I would do it one way or another, I've always been a bit impetuous, and rather than have me pursue in secret what some might deem "dangerous," we've often agreed that I could do what needed doing, so long as I spared them the details.

That first climb did not, I regret to say, start anything.  I didn't continue from there to become a world class competitor or a first rate climbing instructor.  In fact, except for two or three high school Friday nights at the Summit Fitness Center in Kalispell, I didn't climb again until college.

This is where my story about climbing gets a jump start ... to nowhere.  I climbed maybe 10 times in college, over the duration of my entire four years.  I climbed outside a couple times with some friends, but mostly pushed my limits on the occasional Friday night in a gym in Concord, CA with SMC Outdoor Adventures.  My dedication to the sport?  Pithy.

The first time I really committed to climbing, my friend Johanna invited me to tag along on a trip to Joshua Tree Nat'l park over a Thanksgiving holiday.  I bought a pair of shoes and a harness and off we went.  JTNP is a climbing pilgrimage for many, but my trip there would make only a lackluster beginning to an anticlimactic story.  The truth is, climbing has never been, and still isn't, a big part of my life.  I love to climb, but my commitments mostly lie elsewhere - whitewater kayaking right now, snowboarding and soccer when I was in high school, hiking and studying in college, and so on.  In spite of this, if somebody asks me, "Do you climb?" I say "Yes."  I say yes because there's another question I have an answer to, that every climber has an answer to, and that non-climbers hardly even ponder.

"Why climb?" **

Climbing is a lot like learning how to do math.  The easiest problems challenge you for a little while, but are fairly easily overcome.  The hardest problems look impossible, and the inexperienced don't even know where to start.  As you master the easy problems, you learn new techniques to try on the harder problems.  Learning the technique takes time, and learning to apply it takes even more.  You build up your strength, practicing how to recognize when a technique is right to use and when it isn't.  The longer you practice, the better you get.  Sometimes you feel like you're more confused at the end of the day than you were at the beginning.  Sometimes something that looked easy turns out to require a trick you haven't learned yet.  Sometimes somebody else sees the problem differently and easily passes what's been stumping you for days.  Some days you feel like you can do any problem on the page.  Some days you leave every answer space blank.

 I love to climb because I love to fail.  We take our LaSalle boys to a cliff in Cropseyville where I spent an entire year falling off a route before I finally sent it.  The moment of accomplishment tasted sweet, much sweeter for the bitterness of my failures.  For me,  the dichotomy of failure and success bears the essence of climbing.

People who fear failure don't climb, because climbing guarantees failure, over and over and over again.  I don't mean climbers want to fail all the time, but they understand the inevitability.  As soon as a climber steps off the ground and onto the rock, he accepts the risk that the rock will bruise equally his ego and his ass.  The climber who falls and gets back on the rock anyway takes his energy from the challenge.  Falling stops sounding like failure to him and becomes a kind of motivation, a fuel for the fire of his determination.  The climber dances and fights at the same time, one minute loving the rock for its own sake, the next for the spirit and drive of competition it evokes in him. He caresses its curves and moves in perfect concert with it even as he considers the best way to conquer its every steadfast challenge.  He would love the rock even if it posed him no challenge, but the love would be a kind of stale marriage, tedious and wearisome.  The dynamism of their love comes from the challenges between them, from their constant trading of failure and success.

I love to watch a group of climbers attack a boulder problem.  They take turns falling off the rock, slowly but surely figuring out what move to make where, and how.  The energy of the group grows with each little success, and the elation of the first climber to send the route reverberates off the walls when he (or she) cries out in triumph.

We climb because the rock is a puzzle, and only the joy of finishing a problem exceeds the fun of working on it.  Another problem, another challenge, always waits on a different rock, on a different day.

**A quick note about some entry-level climbing terminology.  Climbers call a whole climb a "route," and if the route is long enough to be broken into different sections, those are called "pitches."  Different pitches are usually distinguished by places where climbers can rest, such as a ledge.  There are routes on walls and on boulders.  A route up a wall "requires" a rope (some people free climb 2000' faces, but it isn't normal).  Bouldering is a kind of climbing that stays close to the ground and relies on spotters and crash pads for protection - no ropes.  Usually, a bouldering route "tops out," meaning that you can walk off the top of the boulder, rather than having to climb back down.  In bouldering there are no pitches, though there might be several routes up a boulder.  Bouldering routes are usually chosen to include a particular problem or set of problems.  A "problem" is just what it sounds like, a place on the rock requiring a particular, usually difficult, kind of move.  In bouldering, when you finish climbing a route, we often say you "send" it (I have no idea where this term comes from).