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.