2008: Bye, Bye, annus horribilis

I don’t know about you but I’ll be glad to see the back of 2008. In fact, I think we should slam the door shut right now – a few days ahead of schedule. Tomorrow can simply be December 27, 0000. Perhaps that will make you feel better but not me –and this from an optimist who always sees the glass as half-full rather than half-empty.

The year has been a disaster. I’m not a seer but I think future historians will view 2008 as among the worst ever. Here are just a few of the horrors:

The unspeakable misery that is Zimbabwe in Africa: wide-spread starvation, hyper-inflation at 12,875% per year and now the rapidly spreading cholera epidemic. All this is the clever doing of one man, Robert Mugabe.

Continued random terrorism (Mumbai ~ hundreds dead and wounded) carried out by small groups with solely political purposes.

And worst of all – greed in America – and here are just a few examples:

$6 trillion wiped off the value of US housing (and much more around the world)

$2.5 trillion wiped off the savings of Americans (and much more around the world)

$50 billion wiped off the map by one scheming individual, Bernie “the ponzi” Madoff.

To put $50 billion ~ that's billions, friends ~ into perspective, a person earning $40,000 per year would have to work 1,250,000 years to get that amount back – before taxes. Pity the educational institutions, foundations, hospitals and charities that were ripped off. Nice job, Bernie.

I suggest we establish a National Hall of Shame to identify those individuals and institutions that put themselves above others and tried to defy the laws of capitalism and common sense. Above the front entrance a sign will read:

“Remember 2008 when so much was undone by so few”

The Teacher as Quarterback

An interesting article in this week’s New Yorker magazine by renowned writer Malcolm Gladwell (Blink, the Tipping Point) called “Most Likely to Succeed – the Trouble with Spotting Talent.”

Gladwell takes us through three occupations: the quarterback’s position in American football, teaching and the financial advice field. In short, he “proves” that it is impossible to predict success ~ at least in these fields of employment.

The most interesting scenario is the quarterback (although I toil away in the area of education myself). Gladwell cites the case of pro scout Dan Shonka who sifts through 1000s of hours of films, tapes and reruns trying to spot the “top of the class” college talent. He attends the most important games. He analyzes all the data. But he often gets it wrong. Why? College football is simply not professional football and there is really no predictor of success – even with the most talented of college quarterbacks. The skills don't always transfer to the pro game.

As for teaching, Gladwell states that a good teacher is worth his/her weight in gold. He cites some recent research, “students in the class of a very good teacher will learn, on average, a year and a half worth of material. Teacher effects dwarf school effects and it is almost better to have an excellent teacher in a bad school than a poor teacher in a good school.”

Encouraging or discouraging? Here is his conclusion regarding teacher potential: after years of worrying about issues like funding levels, curriculum design and class size, many reformers have come to the conclusion that nothing matters more than finding the people with the potential to be great teachers. But there is a hitch – no one knows what a person with the potential to be a great teacher looks like! Schools have a quarterback problem.

More thoughts on this later.

Northland

What a difference two weeks make: from the balmy, sensual, cerulean Mediterranean ~ to the steely cold flatness of southern Canada.

My plane arrived spot on time in Buffalo and then the cheery airport shuttle driver whisked me through the formalities of the border crossing and into twilight of a failing December day along the shores of Lake Ontario. Even sophisticated Toronto seemed buttoned up against the oncoming winter chill. This is Northland.

Three days of dreary rain and sleet kept the mind focused on work ~ visiting one of the many excellent independent schools that populate the cosmopolitan cities and sparse country-side of this vast place.

A team of peers were gathered to evaluate a school (in north Toronto ~ all boys ~ boarding and day). Those from the west, Alberta and British Columbia, worked in places where the local Ministry of Education had more influence than those from the Atlantic Provinces of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick. The westerners told the easterners that they were lucky to have such freedom.

Canada is one big country but has ten different provinces each with its own inspection system of local enforcers of bureaucratic rules and regulations. Independent schools fall in the cracks somewhere. Free to a degree but still accountable in terms of curriculum and content.

Outside a group of boys, bundled up against the cold, carried bulky bags and dangling hockey sticks toward a waiting bus. The first match of the long season was at 5:00 pm and there seemed to be an eagerness to get on with the business of winter.

Along the Promenade des Anglais

The international education clan gathered last week in Nice-on-the-Med to talk about teaching, testing and technology. Indeed, the conference program ran to 297 pages and nearly cost me a few Euros in excess luggage fees on the way home.

Also on the agenda was the delicate subject of what happens now that the bottom has fallen out of the world economy? International schools in their various configurations are no less susceptible to a downturn than the many multinational companies whose children need a good education.

From Rio to Rome and Moscow to Manila, teachers and administrators are holding their breath. In other words ~ will Nice be as nice this time next year?

Down along the Promenade des Anglais, life goes on. Here the English took to spending the winter next to the blue Mediterranean starting back in the mid-18th century. Today, the young and old, the fat and thin, the bicyclists and baby strollers, the naked and covered walk, sun or bathe

The French sense of joie de vivre is everywhere including the ubiquitious outdoor cafes, fresh off the vine Beaujolais nouveau and delectable foods. The infamous French attitude to work was also evident. Très bien timing, I'd say. Air France was on strike over the weekend, the national rail system was down on Monday and Tuesday, teachers and medical technicians were off on Wednesday and French Telecom shut down on Thursday and Friday. No access to the internet. Hence, I couldn’t post this entry until today.

Never mind, Nice is still heaven.

RIP: Old Green Friend

In addition to voting this week and getting ready for a lengthy trip, I had to retire my silent companion ~ the 21” travel-mate suitcase that has been by my side since Day 1.

The immediate cause of death was a faulty spring that pushes and pulls the sliding handle. This is the travel equivalent of a heart attack because without the handle in the “out” position, you are carrying that sucker across the terminal floor like a chubby child that should be walking.

My wife says I bought the case 15 years ago (how does she remember such trivia?). I would guess a dozen but certainly “Old Green” has been faithfully by my side these past five years in my current job. Vague I’m not on this – at least 150 school visits, conferences, meetings and nearly 1,000,000 travel miles. That’s respect if you ask me.

Old Green has been as far east as Kazakhstan (twice no less), south to Santiago, Chile and quietly-without-a-fuss-thank-you back and forth to Europe like a cat casually crossing the street. There is a coffee stain from some long forgotten café and another one from a Bloody Mary that I spilt at London Gatwick. The reddish scar on the front of the bag is the indelible security sticker from Warsaw airport.

Old Green has been variously a footrest (A-), an impromptu writing desk (C+) and pillow (D-). Someone mistakenly took the bag from the airport in Toronto but quickly returned it after seeing the shabby condition.

Old Green suffered the trauma last spring of a crazed sniffer dog attack at Bogota’s El Dorado airport. [At the time I selflessly thought better the bag than me]. So ferocious was this assault that the wheels were removed and the handle casing poked repeatedly by a long, thin screwdriver. Alas, no drugs, only dirty clothing. That was the beginning of the end, I think.

In checking the pockets one last time, I found two oversized paperclips, one Dutch guilder and an unused Turkish Airways baggage tag. Memories in funny places.

Hawaii: the road beyond Hana

If you are going all the way to Hawaii you might as well see a couple of islands.

So there we were ~ having hardly caught our breath from the Volcanoes National Park on the Big Island ~ moving on to the Gauguinesque scenes on beautiful Maui ~ dazzling Maui ~ gorgeous Maui ~ we want to go again soon Maui.

Maui is so lovely that old surf-boards come here to dry out and seek their final rest ~ as this picture taken “up country” shows. Charles Lindbergh, the famous aviator is buried at the far end of the island.

In Maui you either drive up ~ toward the sky ~ or down ~ toward the sea. Urged on by travel guides, we drove the Road to Hana ~ eyes half closed with fear. The town of Hana, an intersection with a general store, is only about 50 miles from the airport but the journey takes about four hours, as the road is very winding, very narrow and passes over 60 bridges, 40 or so of which are only one-lane passages.

The road beyond Hana takes you to Lindbergh’s grave site ~ sort of. Here the road is legally closed (as the big sticker on my rental car contract pointed out) but there is no warning or barrier. We just drove on and on and on in ignorance. This is real white knuckle stuff. Mountains on one side - beach and surf on the other. The signage should have given it away: dangerous road, no shoulder, livestock crossing, falling rocks, waves ashore, washout ahead, wild pigs and return here. The only ones missing were: pray now and imminent death.

We did turn back (although locals say you can drive the whole island) and finally found Lindbergh’s lovely grave site under a huge banyan tree in a quiet church yard overlooking the vast, blue Pacific. It was worth the drive.

Hawaii: Pleasing Pele

There can be few more visceral travel experiences than eyeballing a volcano. And an active one at that. Hence, the opportunity a few weeks ago ~ after the gathering mentioned in the last post ~ to visit Hawaii’s Volcanoes National Park on the Big Island.

Wrap up the meeting notes (some one has to do this, right?), check out of the hotel and drive across the island away from the hordes attending the annual Ironman competition in Kona. Suddenly you seem to have the world to your own. Leave the blue and green of Hilo behind and the 30 mile road to the volcano passes tawny grasses and dark patches of hidden black lava fields. The road follows a gentle incline up and up and up and up.

As you focus on the steam vents swirling outside the car, your eyes play tricks and you see a vision of a monster mountain further ahead: Mauna Loa rises to 13,677 feet and cousin Mauna Kea, to the northwest rises to 13,796. A few minutes ago we were having lunch by the sea. Indeed, the tourist brochure says that here on the Big Island, eleven of the thirteen climates of the world can be found.

But it is spewing, smoky volcanic fumes that tell us we are close to Kilauea, one of the world's most active volcanoes. Parked just above the Jaggar Museum lookout ~ you peek down into the vast caldera and the smaller crater where legend has it that Pele, the goddess of fire, lightning, dance, volcanoes and violence resides. Her ‘anger’ lives in the hot, fiery red lava that flows through the East Rift Zone down to the blue Pacific six miles away. It is a beautiful sight and smart visitors leave colorful leis or other gifts to appease her fury and might.

This is mother nature.

Big World, Big Problems

I drafted this some weeks ago for a meeting in Hawaii (someone has to do this job) in anticipation of being asked a question about issues facing international schools. My responses was to be based in part on the findings of John Littleford ~ see below. However, all this was before the meltdown in the financial markets which will surely add a few more problems for schools world-wide. The State of Hawaii announced two weeks ago (while we were there for the meeting) that it would be cutting $50m from its educational budget and eliminating some 150 teaching jobs before winter.

Once in awhile something arrives in the mail that is good ~ very good. And how often does it relate to your work or profession? Seldom ~ if ever.

So imagine my surprise some weeks ago when a mailing arrives (not an emailing but a postal mailing) that has nothing to do with buying another credit card but addresses the current issues in independent (US) and international education.

The author of the newsletter is none other than John Littleford, a well-known consultant who knows his way around the world of education. John spent much of last year talking to the Executive Directors of independent and international school associations and came up with a list of the most compelling issues facing schools now and in the future. Independent (US) schools and international schools have some common ground (and many differences, too).

Here’s John’s website if you want to get to know him and here are the results, too:

http://www.jlittleford.com/

1) Governance
2) Proprietary Owners
3) Head/Leadership Shortages
4) Recruiting Faculty (especially internationally)
5) Corporate models applied to schools (transferring the assumptions doesn’t work)
6) Increasing popularity and cost of the International Baccalaureate Program (IBO)
7) Assisting Board Chairs (positively in understanding their roles)
8) Weakening Dollar
9) Emerging Technologies
10) Safety & Security

A Birthday for the Blog

The Clermont Blog is one year old. That’s an achievement in self-discipline if nothing else.

The original intention was to practice some web 2.0 technology ~ a blog being the easiest way to interact with others in the spreading blogosphere.

Blogs come in different flavors, of course, and the Clermont was originally intended to be an edublog with a focus on international education (the area in which I have dabbled for 35+ years and the career which also pays me some money to engage my thoughts and experience). But the mind wanders and it is easy to write about travel, sports and literature.

There have been 85 posts or about 1.5 per week ~ and definitely slowing down these past few months. At the very least writing something each week keeps the pen sharpened and the mind thinking. My 7th grade English teacher would have been proud.

A few friends have sent along encouragement (thank you) and some strangers have added the odd comment (including someone else who has traveled to Medellin, Colombia and also loved the spotlessly clean metro there).

This summer I was going to add some bells and whistles but didn't achieve that goal. Where does the time go?

Alas, back to work (real work) and here’s a toast to the future of the interactive web.

CHEERS, dears.

fl-ore! pleasee

Golf was in the air last week with the 37th Ryder Cup being contested in Kentucky. This biennial event pitches the best men players from America against the Europeans. It’s all great fun.

Out of sight but not out of mind has been the Women’s Professional Tour or the LPGA. Last week the LPGA dropped plans to suspend players who are not conversant in English by 2009. About 120 women players are foreign born – many from Japan or Korea.

Without sufficient English they can’t handle interviews, talk to fans or ~ worse yet ~ appear in commercials to promote golf balls, pantyhose, toothpaste and the other essentials of modern life. In other words, if you wanna play for us ~ ya gotta speak English.

The intention of the LPGA English-only policy was to help Shi Yi, Mi Hyun Kim, Ying-Yang and others enhance financial opportunities for themselves, their sponsors, TV stations and the tax coffers of various nations.

Under pressure from civil liberties groups the LPGA has now dropped this policy. Has anyone thought of asking the half dozen well known golf commentators to learn Korean or Japanese so they could do a quick simultaneous translation on the air? Just 30 seconds or so about the tee shot they hooked (fore!) or the tricky cross wind around the 15th hole? That’s it.

This would show respect to the individual players and their native language and dazzle monolingual American viewers with some bilingual conversation ~ which is the norm around the world these days.

The etiquette train

It’s tricky business riding European trains these days ~ as I found myself doing last week.

Modern carriages have a single aisle down the middle with two seats on one side and two opposite. You only have to rub elbows with one neighbor. Open your newspaper and that’s that.

However, you might also board an older train with compartments ~ each with 6 places. Passengers push each other down the narrow corridor checking out the compact compartments for the best seating. This is group travel, after all.

In #3 a scruffy old man is asleep, an unlaced shoe half off. A party of teenagers sprawled over each other occupy the next. A family with big suitcases and crying babies are in #8.

I settle for #12. Empty in Eindhoven where I begin my journey. Soon the compartment fills up. An attractive young lady sits opposite me by the window. She’s dressed smartly and carries an expensive laptop case. She’s wearing a black pendant hanging against her white blouse.

Several students get on and talk ceaselessly in Dutch and French. One girl is wearing an Islamic headscarf. An English businessman is up and down trying to get a strong signal for his cell phone. Nigel? It’s Ian here. I’m going to miss the meeting. My flight was cancelled in Frankfurt and they’ve put me on a bloody train. Where am I? Looks like Holland – lots or rain outside.

An elderly Dutch woman shoves her way into the vacant middle seat and announces ‘good afternoon’ to no one in particular. She’s dressed in walking shoes, a heavy sweater and is armed with a short umbrella. She smells of fresh air and pours herself a cup of coffee from a hidden source.

The social dynamics change at each stop. You almost need a little book of etiquette - not unlike the train schedules that people used to carry in their pockets. Soon the others are gone and the young woman and I are alone. I need to stretch my legs and in doing so I bump her foot. She looks over at me – her head bobbing with some tune in her earphone – smiles encouragingly and says something in Dutch.

In the long tunnel past Dordrecht, I nod off and doze. I imagine the two of us on the old Orient Express. The lights flicker and go out. Suddenly, there’s a loud noise in the next compartment and the young woman seeks comfort in my arms. In the middle of night we get off in some forgotten Balkan town where there’s a hotel behind the small station. There is one room available and I give the tired clerk behind the counter some crumpled Romanian bills from my wallet.

Rude, screeching brakes awake me from my slumber. The compartment is empty, my pretty, young companion and her pendant and fancy laptop case are gone. When did she get off? Outside it is raining and through the mist I see the sign for Rotterdam – my destination.

Passing by Tilburg

From Rotterdam the train runs south over the busy Maas River which itself is dwarfed minutes later by the wide expanse of the Rhine estuary.

North Sea weather moves quickly over these waterly lowlands bringing alternate sheets of rain or bursts of sunshine. There is a cool touch of autumn in the air today.

The train curves gently to the east leaving the mainline behind. In the distance a church steeple marks a small village. Green fields rush past the window. This one is full of tall corn ready for harvest. Big, fat cows occupy the next stretch, laying heavily in the damp grass, tails twitching.

Near Breda the fields give way to a new industrial park built in the Dutch style: low-impact, glass and chrome, each building separated by a small canal. Order and balance.

Beyond Tilburg, the woody terrain of eastern Holland begins. A lazy river meanders between the trees. A lone fisherman sits huddled in his waterproof cape. Geese rise up at the noise of school boys riding bikes along the path. On the horizon a bank of dark, ominous clouds signal a rainy evening.

Route 66

Last week was truly a busman’s holiday ~ fitting in a trip between other trips. Frequent flyer miles waiting to be redeemed and that most precious of all commodities ~ time, the last of the summer-time, as it were. And a few days out west.

The West.

Those two small words conjure up high romance for a boy brought up in New England. I can vaguely remember my parents talking about my oldest cousin Margie who married a New York salesman in 1955 and then moved “out west”. Such an unimaginable place back then. Beyond my small mind ~ even beyond the Connecticut and Hudson Rivers, both of which I had seen as a boy. Margie and Ralph settled in California.

So there we were last week in Northern Arizona ~ the West (for us eastern Floridians). A few drinks at the Zane Grey Bar on Saturday night at the old Weatherford Hotel in Flagstaff. The rodeo is in town so the restaurants are full. Go west young man ~ now quickly on I-40 ~ across the high hills around the San Francisco Mountains. Driving west you cannot miss ~ every 20 minutes ~ the long trains of the Santa Fe railway running next to the ribbon of a small track ~ the Mother Road ~ old Route 66.

This road was a major path of the migrants who went west during the first half of the 20th century. John Steinbeck and his Tom Joad would have gone this way. People doing business along the route did well due to the increasing popularity of the highway and the affordability of the automobile. Not so much anymore.

We stopped in Seligman, a place which nicely reflects the glory days of the old road, parked by the tacky ‘Road Kill Grill’ ~ still doing business, thank you, and by several cheap motels. Now there’s Angel Delgadillo’s memorabilia store with the classic ‘Texaco T’ gas sign.

Angelo is there to greet you with a big grin and handshake. He helped found the Historic Route 66 Association and half saved these small, lovely towns. He was born in 1926. Angel and his brothers and sisters grew up watching the traffic flow by on America's Main Street. It was a dirt road then.

A poster in his window, of an antique cars show, philosophically pronounces: the road is it – the road is America.

Summer of 1968

My longtime friend Mark Dalton has reminded me that forty years have passed since the summer of ’68.

Indeed, a momentous time for the nation with Viet Nam, the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert Kennedy, riots across America and the chaotic Democratic convention in Chicago.

Alas, there was a softer side to that summer. Simon and Garfunkel loved Mrs.Robinson, flower power was in the air (… if you're going to San Francisco ~ be sure to wear some flowers in your hair) and Mark and I were twenty year olds headed for a season on Martha’s Vineyard.

We quickly learned our place in the sun: the year ‘round residents of the island scorned the summer folk, the 3 month visitors despised the short-term people, the July or August guests loathed the weekly renters and everyone hated the day-trippers from Hyannis with their picnics and rental bikes. It didn’t matter ~ we had a toe-hold in this sandy, snobby paradise.

Over the Fourth of July weekend I met a lissome blond who was at Vassar. We were watching the fireworks and probably kissing and she told me her parents sailed up to the Vineyard every summer from Sag Harbor before moving on to Kennebunkport. The moon was rising above Chappaquiddick and for a nanosecond I imaged myself a young Jay Gatsby whom I had studied that spring in Freshman Lit. ‘Lissome’ disappeared later in the evening along with the gold and silver bursts that had lit up the water over Edgartown Harbor.

We rented a cottage from a couple named Bob and Mary Lucas. He held a position of some renown on the island and she was a dreamy woman with pretty brown eyes. Without children yet, she seemed to dote on our needs. Mary had an infectious laugh and even in June her arms and legs were deeply tanned.

From their porch on the high bluff you could see the lighthouse at East Chop. Truth be told, the ‘cottage’ we had was just a small but tidy annex to their garage. After a few weeks Mary recognized us for what we were ~ two slipshod college kids who had not advanced beyond hamburger-helper and nightly six-packs of beer. Coming back from work one evening, we discovered the place to be immaculately clean, a vase of flowers and a big pot of pasta, fresh bread and salad on the small table. In a summer of sparkling nights Mary Lucas was the mother goddess who looked after us, wishfully our own Mrs. Robinson perhaps.

By early September, college beckoned and the ferry to Cape Cod and the mainland was full on every sailing. Looking back one last time across the waters of Vineyard Sound, the swaying trees up on the bluff seemed to frantically signal that this was a once in a lifetime idyll not to be forgotten.

I haven’t ~ that was the summer of ’68.

The Big Finish

Tropical Storm ‘Fay’ and the Olympics

Tropical storm Fay is like an irksome house guest who won’t leave. This is day #5 ~ the whole week ~ of Fay related bad weather here in Florida. As I look out the window, ominous dark clouds swirl from west to east bringing in heavy rain from the Gulf of Mexico. The center of Fay passed right over us on Tuesday ~ almost ancient history ~ in terms of Florida’s usually fast-moving summer weather. If it’s Friday ~ it’s Fay.

The Olympics seem to have been going on forever, too. Bloggers around the world have had a field day (there's a bronze medal pun) writing about the games. They’ve add their 2 cents / 2 euros / 2 pesos / 2 dinars / 2 pence / 2 shekel / 2 rupee and, of course, 2 Chinese yuan. But this weekend marks the end of the XXIX Olympiad.

My own experience with the Olympics goes back to 1962. Those of you who are quick ~ very quick ~ will realize ’62 was not an Olympic year (1960 = Rome and 1964 = Tokyo). What then was I doing in 1962? My creaky memory recalls the archdiocese of Boston’s convocation of prayer and games ~ an ecclesiastical field day ~ that summer. The event was held at a church in suburban Dedham ~ not far from my home.

President Kennedy had put the Catholics on the map so why not celebrate (so went the thinking) with a mini-Olympics for the altar boys. The key to success was to sign up for a morning event. I think I competed in the broad jump and the shot-put. It's all vague after so many years. Nevertheless, I remember not being keen to run in the afternoon races: short sprints, long distances and those crazy 3-legged events. The heat was wicked and lunch would have done in the most able and holy (or unholy) twelve year old boy.

Hot dogs with relish. Hamburgers, too. Grilled chicken, of course. Corn on the cob, baked beans, heaps of potato salad and cole slaw. Then there was dessert: water melon and Boston cream pie. Washed it all down with coca cola and rootbeer.

Perhaps there was a medal for most gluttonous? I don't remember.

Counting the 'Canes

As Willy the Bard Shakespeare once said, “and summer's lease hath all too short a stay.”

Here I was trying to hold out until Labor Day ~ or the late summer Bank Holiday that my British colleagues take ~ or my friends in the Madrid office who consider all of July and August as one general Time Out. That's the life.

I wasn’t coming back to this desk and the blog for another two weeks. I mean let’s get through the Olympics! What’s the hurry? Read a few more books ~ lower the blood pressure.

Well, the wake up call for Floridians is the on-rushing storm named Fay which is soon to become a hurricane within a few hours. That marks the end of summer for us and the start of the Middle Season ~ the Hurricane Watch ~ or counting the 'canes as we say here on the big peninsula.

Why it was just 3 and 4 years ago when Florida set its record of eight major storms in two seasons. Major damage ~ major upset ~ major distraction. This was suppose to be another quiet season like last year when nary a breeze blew through. Alas...

Now Fay lingers over Cuba ~ taking a breathier but looking our way. Here’s the routine today:

Bottled water? Check!
Flashlight? Check!
Batteries? Check!
Canned Food? Check!
Cash on hand? Check! (no pun, that)
Family papers secure? Check!
Evacuation Plan? No ~ we are staying put, thank you.

How is your summer going, by the way?

8.8.08

To tell you the truth I was going to give the Olympics a bye this time.

No offense to the Chinese nation (all 1.3 billion), the Bulgarian weightlifters, the Kazakh horsemen or the Indonesian mixed badminton pairs. No offense either to the other 10,000 athletes competing in 302 events in 28 sports.

However, it’s already been a BUSY SPORTING SUMMER what with the wild Euro-2008 Championship, a Wimbledon men’s final that some commentators are saying was the best tennis match ever and the inspiring British Open with Greg Norman playing the role of Don Quixote. And with August upon us, American baseball fans are getting anxious as to who might or might not make the playoffs.

Who has time for the Olympics?

However, as has been widely reported these past few weeks the Chinese have an obsession with numbers and their symbols ~ for good or ill. For example, the Olympics begin tonight at 8:08 PM and today’s date? 8.8.08. We can guess that ‘8’ is very positive number in the Middle Kingdom. Travel-China.com says this:

As a rule in day-to-day life in China, it is customary to regard even numbers as being more auspicious than odd numbers. In China, traditionally gifts are given as a part of the celebration for all occasions. Thus, guests will always give even-numbered presents. As the number two usually suggests germination and harmony, at wedding celebrations, decorations are invariably setout in pairs: a pair of red candle or a pair of pillows. 'Ba' (8) in Chinese has a similar sound to 'Fa', which means to make a fortune.

I don’t think it is wise to ignore such signs. Besides the scary number business there are countless, compelling subplots involving individuals, teams and nations. There are too many to list here.

However, I for one will be rooting for the South African swimmer Natalie du Toit who lost her leg in an accident in 2001 when she was 17. The 24-year-old student from Cape Town achieved a dream this summer when she qualified for Beijing. She just hasn’t given up. Here’s an amputee competing at the highest level of performance. What’s more she is competing in the 10km open water race ~ one of the more arduous Olympic events. Go Natalie.

I’m watching. Let’s the games begin!

A Gap Year ? comments from an expert

In my May musings (It’s Spring ~ Now What?) I was trying to recapture the uncertainly facing 18 year olds as they made the Big Decision ~ what to do after high school. At about the same time, I had the pleasure of meeting Paul Mahon, founder of Planet Gap Year and I asked him to explain the emerging trend of taking time off between high school and college.

What's the idea behind the gap year, Paul?

As the Founder of Planet Gap Year, I am dedicated to getting the message out to students, parents and high school advisers that taking a "gap year" before going to college is an option that is gaining broad acceptance with U.S college bound students, parents, and college admissions departments. The benefits of stepping off the educational treadmill between high school graduation, and starting college, are convincing more people to defer college entrance for a year or more after high school graduation.

Experts in the field of higher education, from admissions directors to independent college planning consultants are increasingly in agreement about the benefits of gap year for incoming freshman. Many American high school seniors are burnt out from the academic treadmill of high school, and often are not ready emotionally for the challenges of college life. The U.S. Department of Education reports that 30% of incoming freshman college students drop out before sophomore year! The financial and emotional cost to students and families are daunting, especially given the astronomical cost of a year of college in the U.S. today. The benefits of taking a 'gap year' most frequently mentioned include: increased self-confidence, emotional maturity, academic and career direction, and improved life skills. Students who have completed gap year experiences are now coming forward to tell others about the positive impact time out has made on their personal academic and career choices.

The idea underlying 'gap year' is that students who take a well-structured block of time after high school graduation to mature, challenge themselves in new ways outside traditional class room settings, and explore career options and interests, ultimately do better in college, career and life than students who don't take a breather, and head off directly to college. What activities do students undertake during a gap year? The range is enormous, but the most popular options are volunteering, interning, traveling, teaching, studying and exploring other cultures.

For in depth planning information and resources, visit http://www.planetgapyear.com/. Read stories from students who have already planned a gap year, search our database of gap year options. If you want a greater understanding of 'gap year' please read our FAQ's for parents and students, and read my blog for the latest news and commentary on the student gap year trend in the U.S.

Thanks for these insights, Paul.

Welcome ~ 300,000,000 ESL students !

The techie magazine WIRED http://www.wired.com/ is a stretch above me but I peek at it from time to time when I visit my local library. Here’s what caught my eye the other day:

“How English Is Evolving Into a Language We May Not Even Understand” June 2008 by Michael Erard

It caught my eye because one of the subjects of the Clermont Blog is global education and international teaching. Any of you who work in the field know about the shifting sands of change ~ and to mix analogies ~ the tidal wave of new schools opening in China and the Middle East. We could truly be on the verge of international education’s golden era (drum roll, please).

However, the numbers are staggering. Now apparently the great masses of Chinese wish/need to learn English. From the article:

“Thanks to globalization, the Allied victories in World War II, and American leadership in science and technology, English has become so successful across the world that it's escaping the boundaries of what we think it should be. In part, this is because there are fewer of us: by 2020, native speakers will make up only 15 percent of the estimated 2 billion people who will be using or learning the language.

Already, most conversations in English are between nonnative speakers who use it as a lingua franca. In China, this sort of free-form adoption of English is helped along by a shortage of native English-speaking teachers, who are hard to keep happy in rural areas for long stretches of time. An estimated 300 million Chinese — roughly equivalent to the total US population — read and write English. Given the number of people involved, Chinglish, as we shall call it is destined to take on a life of its own." Chinglish.

Yikes!

So, let’s help our new friends learn or improve their English. Here are some calculations.

300,000,000 learners of English =
2,000 students per mega-school =
150,000 schools =
25 students per class =
80 teachers per school =

80 teachers X 150,000 schools =

12,000,000 English/ESL teachers!

Now there is a recruitment challenge! Easy to find? Why that’d be a piece of cake.

The Whiffle Ball War

The New York Times and other media have reported on the nasty whiffle ball affair in Greenwich, Connecticut.

Apparently a group of boys decided to fix up a vacant lot in order to spend their summer days playing whiffle ball. They cleared away rubble and undergrowth, leveled the ground and threw up a small wall to resemble the “green monster” in Boston’s Fenway Park. The new field drew kids from around town who wanted to play this simple game. All great fun until the neighbors, police and lawyers got involved to put a stop to it. Liability concerns, you know, and the other plagues of modern American life.

For the uninitiated whiffle ball is baseball lite. Very lite. The ball itself is plastic and perforated on one side so it is easy to curve a pitch. It’s a great game for backyards or anywhere with a bit of space. You don’t even need a full team or other regalia such as cleats or expensive mitts.

The story struck a cord in me (and apparently many others) as the game congers up the golden days of childhood ~ just before the onslaught of hormones, girlfriends and other distractions.

Our neighborhood games were played on the lawn next to my parent’s home. The old house was located on a narrow, woodsy New England street where only a few cars would pass now and then. It was a quiet place in summer.

The house itself served as the left field wall. Right handed batters always hit the ball off the clapboard negating the need for a 3rd baseman. A quick pitcher could handle the carom. In whiffle ball, players shift around depending on the lot size and the skill of the batter. If you wanted talk to your friend or finish a root beer ~ well go ahead. There's no coach to give orders.

The problem at my house was the awkward right field. My Dad’s extensive vegetable garden was the boundary line and you didn’t chase foul balls for fear of crushing tender carrot tops or breaking the delicate tomato plants. However, balls hit deeper were “in play” as the worst you could do was to run over the wild rhubarb plants that were sturdy and not so easy to damage. Anyway, the only one in town who used rhubarb was my Auntie Viola who made sour, tart-tasting pies each autumn. I didn’t mind ruining a few in the interest of a good play.

We never needed a catcher. You always swung on the first pitch and if you missed, the little white ball would bounce off the big pine tree or get caught up in the thick forsythia bush. Mother-nature was as much of the game as any one player.

The highlight of summer was to smack a good curve deep into center field beyond the reach of whoever was out that way. Unless you knew exactly how to do it ~ firing the tricky whiffle ball from the outfield straight back to the plate was an art unto itself. A routine baseball double was a whiffle ball home run.

I feel sorry for the kids in Greenwich.

Mind the Gap ~ Year

School-leavers around the world have just about sorted out their plans for the autumn.

In North America, college and university acceptances were mailed home to students some time ago. In Europe, many students this month are awaiting the results of the national university entrance exams which will determine their future (drum roll, please).

Other students are opting out. Not dropping out in the old sense ~ but choosing a gap year instead. Call it what you will [“year off", "deferred year," "bridging year," "travel year," "time off," or "time out") ~ the Gap Year, the most popular term, provides breathing room for young people to mature, relax, indulge, reflect, travel or even study in a setting different from the formal classroom.

I wonder if my life would have been any different if I had thought about taking a break when I was 18?

Later this month, I’ll call in an expert to fill in the GAPS about the GAP YEAR idea.

Glorious June, Sporting July, Olympian August

The Euro 2008 football competition has come and gone and what an event! Even if I missed predicting the championship finalists (Turkey vs. the Netherlands) most of the matches were either tantalizingly close or stunning upsets. In the end, the worthy Spaniards took the honors ~ relishing their first national title since 1964.

Like good wine ~ major league baseball ~ is fermenting into a vintage season. As we enter July, two Chicago teams are in first place in their respective leagues. The Cubbies last won the World Series 100 years ago in 1908. Is 2008 their year? Two unlikely Florida teams are at or near the top. Two Los Angeles teams are at or near the top. The perennial New York powers (Mets and Yankees) are languishing. What a mix.

Baseball’s All-Star Game will be played on July 15 at Yankee Stadium ~ specifically chosen as this will be the final season for the storied stadium before the Yanks move into new premises next year.

YIKES! That’s the same week as the British Open ~ or simply The Open as the British like to say. The tournament this summer is at Royal Birkdale

Speaking of golf ~ for the lesser mortals ~ but no less enthusiastic in their sporting fervor ~ word circulated the other day that my old mentor Dr. Gail Schoppert (“the pouch”) won the 14th Foreign Administrators and Retirees Tournament of Sport ~ famously known as FARTS in the world of international education. This year’s event was held at the Country Club of New Hampshire. Gail, a young 73 ~ is obviously still on top of his game.

What a month! And August is the Olympics. What a summer!

new thinking in old Moscow

Teachers everywhere say the same thing ~ each student in their class is different.

Schools are, too.

For example, it might be easy to bunch all the international schools around the world into one kettle and say they are the same. Wrong. Take one category ~ the bilingual schools ~ and they, too, come in different sizes and shapes.

The ideal bilingual school (or multilingual ~ why stop at two languages?) would offer half the curriculum in one language and the other half in a second. There would be a bilingual environment at the school with students and adults conversing easily in several languages.

I’ve came across yet another variation earlier this month in Moscow where the education ministry still likes to keep close control on the curriculum. This is a school that is making every effort to be bilingual despite the government’s strict rule of eight hours per week for English and four hours for a third language.

The school’s strategy to overcome this limitation is to offer a supplementary curriculum via e-learning. Depending on their age level, students can take an additional 12 hours of English on top of the already loaded Russia syllabus. Now, that’s heavy lifting for most students but they are hungry to learn and gladly embrace this e-learning option. Their e-coursework is being monitored in England and America by teachers half a world away.

This clever school is using the internet’s full power to help create a bilingual environment ~ right under the very noses of the bureaucrats.

Dancing with the Tsars

Earlier this month the travel gods took me to Moscow. Actually Turkish Airways flight #1415 from Istanbul deposited me at Sheremetyevo International Airport where my Russian host plucked me out of the invading hordes.

Everyone is going to Moscow. The Russians are now free to travel as are the many citizens of the former Soviet Republics. The city is one big construction site as people rush to get jobs or – for the monied class – invest while the investing is good.

An article in the Moscow Times revealed that a British syndicate was about to invest 2 billion euros in an upscale St. Petersburg’s project because it was cheaper than what it would have cost in Moscow. Whew.

There are tall construction cranes around the Kremlin area which, of course, is the heart of Moscow. Here the Russian Tsars ~ and the newer incarnations ~ have ruled for centuries including the fabled House of Romanov. The Kremlin itself is a hodgepodge of museums, armories, cathedrals, a medieval fortress and a modern glass and concrete conference hall. All this a true maze of architecture and certainly an amazing experience to walk around the former nexus of communist power.

Below the Kremlin Walls, the bunched onion domes of St. Basil Cathedral is a dramatic exclamation point to the whole area. It is a beautiful structure with swirling colors and red brick towers.

Close your eyes and go back a few hundred years and you could be Dancing with the Tsars.

Euro-Buzz: football/soccer

Buzz is the word this month in Europe as 16 nations battle for football (we say soccer) supremacy.

Buzz, cheer, chant, cajole, applaud, coax, encourage, harangue ~ whatever. The gloves are off for the Euro 2008 championship. I was there for first few games ~ both Russia and Turkey lost their opening matches but have bounced back to advance to the quarterfinals (quite remarkably in the case of the Turks who scored an amazing 3 goals in 14 minutes the other day).

Football is the common language around the continent this month. Whether you are in a bar, pub, café, publikacji, bistro, gastehaus, lokantasi or taverna, millions of fans are watching the same matches each evening.

It makes for compelling drama as many teams have a fairly even shot at the title. The preliminary round ended yesterday and 8 teams now advance in the quarter finals. Due to the playoff structure it is possible that my two adopted countries (20 years in total) could make it to the championship on June 29: Turkey and the Netherlands. Let’s see!

The Sublime Porte in 3.6 Hours

[written on June 6]

Flying across Europe the other morning ~ grey clouds stretched from Ireland to the Alps. Ugh.

However, south of Lake Balaton the Mediterranean begins to affect the weather. Ahead in the clear blue sky ~ white puffy fair weather clouds rise up above the Turkish straights. Then a big turn over the Marmara Sea and down into the orderly chaos of Istanbul.

Home again. Nine years is a long time to spend in one place ~ an interesting job ~ good friends and the unfailing hospitality of the people. Even a brief stop of a few days is a treat.

I visited last in 2006 and already the skyline on the Europe side of the city has changed. More buildings ~ taller buildings ~ interspersed with an equal number of minarets. Old and new ~ side by side, comfortable with each other.

Over on the Asian shore the pace remains ~ as always ~ more calm. It is a place of 100 neighborhoods and 1,000 shops. Or is it 1,000 "köys" with 100,000 shops? No one could ever count but in the warm June weather you can buy watermelon or get your hair cut at 10:30 pm

Out on the Bosphorus an old rust-bucket of the Balcon Line, headed up to the Black Sea, strains and shudders against the powerful current. In the distance an oil-tanker ~ twenty times the size of the freighter ~ glides by in the opposite direction pushed effortlessly forward by the southerly flow. In any other place this would seem a mirage but it is a daily tableau here in Istanbul ~ or the Sublime Port as the European diplomats called the center of the Ottoman Empire a few hundred years ago.

Where's @ at?

I've missed my regular postings this past week because I couldn't find @.

That's right - I'm travelling in foreign parts where the English keyboard is not always used (makes sense, of course) but when you need to send the odd email or have a desire to do a blogpost ~ you cannot pass "go" without our friend @.

In Turkey I had the choice of "shift" + 2. Another keyboard option was "alt" and "control" + 7. Here in Russia I have "shift" + 4 = @. Seems like an old Algebra problem in grade 9 that would have sent shivers up my spine.

Anyway it is good to be posting again. I now know where I'm @.

It's Spring ... Now What? #3

In the salvo last week I alerted you to the shocking advice that perhaps college isn’t for everyone. An American audience would find this revolutionary because, after all, everyone these days is expected to go to college.

However, Professor X ~ writing in the June Atlantic ~ warns us that passing go and heading to the Quad isn’t for everyone. He and other professors of the English 101 ilk are the real hit men who have to parcel out the weakest link. In other words, college acceptance is for everyone but not all students finish the freshman year.

Part of the problem is in the numbers. Try as I might ~ I couldn’t come up with the exact figures on the internet but my guess is there are as many college and university places in America as there are high school graduates each spring.

Indeed, I remember my dear college counselor saying “there’s even a place for someone like you, Johnny” ~ this a few days after my feeble SATs arrived. (Thankfully, the next results were better)!

Here are some numbers I know by heart because I worked in Istanbul for nine years. In Turkey some 1.5 million school-leavers take an exam for 250,000 university seats. Yikes! That means there is a 6:1 ratio of applicants over seats.

Guess what that does to teaching, learning, curriculum and the other nicecities of academia? The competition is mind-boggling with older students (and parents) seeking out the best tutors, the best test-prep schools (Wednesday nights, Saturdays and Sundays) and an attitude ~ damn the rest of the curriculum ~ just get me ready for the TEST! In other words, if you don't study ~ very hard ~ there is not place for you.

Do some number crunching and you’ll see what there are so many dropouts in American higher education.

It's Spring ... Now What? #2

A characteristic of our egalitarian American way of life is the opportunity for everyone to attend college. This is true.

Those of us of a certain age (indeed nothing has really changed) will remember our high school counselor calling us into the office in the spring of tenth grade for advice (practice essay writing, take difficult courses and ~ by all means ~ stay involved in as many extra-curricular activities as possible). At the close of this short meeting the counselor would hand us the holy grail of his profession ~ the timeline: ominous registration dates for SATs and Achievement Tests, do-or-die admission deadlines, obscure post-mark threats and the like.

A lifetime later (spring of grade 12) you had as few or as many college acceptances in your pocket directly proportionate to how well you followed the counselor’s advice. For example, the morning of my first SAT exam (a warm and springy Saturday in New England) was also the morning of my first hangover which might explain my dodgy academic career. You took your chances.

Anyway, it was off to college.

Now Professor X ~ writing in the June, 2008 edition of The Atlantic magazine (The Basement of the Ivory Tower) ~ proffers the very un-American thought that college might not be for everyone. It is worth reading ~ not the least because he/she can’t risk signing the article for fear of losing his/her job.

Here are a few quotes: “no one is thinking about the larger implications, let alone the morality, of admitting so many students to classes they cannot possibly pass.”

“Sending everyone under the sun to college is a noble initiative. Academia is all for it, naturally. Industry is all for it. Government is all for it. The media applauds it ~ try to imagine someone speaking out against the idea.”

“Yet [writes the anonymous Professor X – he/she of English 101 fame] for I who teach these low-level, must-pass, no-multiple choice-test classes, am the one who ultimately delivers the news to those unfit for college: they lack the most-basic skills and have no sense of the volume of work required, they are in some cases barely literate, so dispossessed of contexts in which to place newly acquired knowledge, the very bit of information simply raises more questions. They are not ready for high school ~ much less for college”.

Well, oh dear. This is heavy sailing. The letters to the editor on this subject should make for good reading.

More on this later.

It's Spring ... Now What?

Spring means many things to many people. However, for 17- 18 year olds around the world the meaning can’t be clearer ~ it’s the end of their formal education.

Call them “graduates” as we do in America ~ or “school-leavers” as the Europeans say ~ young people finishing up secondary school are now ready for the next step.

What step?

Forty years ago (“did I ever mention … when I was a boy”) the hierarchy of choices probably looked like this:

Packing off to college or university (stressfully)
Joining the workforce
Dropping out to visit Europe, Persia or Kathmandu
Enlisting in the military (reluctantly ~ remember Viet Nam?)
Finding a wife or husband and getting married

Today the options probably look like this:

Making a clever You Tube video and pocketing a quick million
Writing a clever software program and pocketing a quick million
Joining the tech workforce directly from school without the stress of college or university
Packing off to college or university (stressfully)
Joining the non-tech workforce
Enlisting in the military (reluctantly ~ remember Iraq?)
Finding a wife or husband and getting married

Given the vast changes in communications and social dynamics around the world ~ the next step is trickier than ever.

More on this later.

Floridians and the Environment

Floridians have a love-hate relationship with the environment this time of year.

Let me re-phrase that. My perception is that Floridians have a love-hate relationship with the environment this time of year. After all ~ who I am to speak for 19,000,000 other denizens?

Here’s why. We have the place to ourselves ~ the tourists, baseball players, snowbirds and college kids have all gone north. The weather is still picture perfect. The water temperature down at the beach where we swim is an indulgent 81 degrees. Not bath water yet ~ but very pleasant.

There has been no measurable rain since November and literally not a drop since early April. Thus, there is very low humidity and no bugs including the dreaded mosquitoes. There has been a stiff easterly breeze these past few weeks which gives the air a fresh feeling.

It is also dry. Very dry. Consequently, much of the state is on fire. A graphic on the television weather last night showed little flames flickering across much of the peninsula. Several big highways are closed due to heavy smoke. So, Florida is burning.

However, at the barber shop the other day the guy in the chair next to me said he was going golfing. He quipped that the aligators weren't out yet and that would improve his game. My barber replied that he was taking his boat out this weekend. No thunderstorms to send me in early, he laughed. And we had dinner the other night with our good friend who invited us to her club overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. I swallowed my first shrimp as the sun set over the sparkling blue water.

Go figure.

Tin Tin ~ who who?

Just when you think you know it all ~ or you think you think you should know it all ~ you stumble across something completely new or unexpected. Nothing profound this post ~ just surprised to discover the following.

So there I am lurking around Brussels Midi Station a few weeks ago awaiting the departure of the Euro-star service to England (see London in 3.6 hours). And yes I have plenty of reading material with me but nevertheless it’s always worth a look in the local bookstore to see who is reading what.

Here then is all the standard fare: The Times and Guardian, Le Monde, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeituig and De Telegraaf, El Pais, Nice Matin and dozens of other titles from around Europe. There is the magazine rack, too, and some novels in different languages.

But wait ~ what’s this? A whole wall of comics. A whole wall ~ the back of the shop ~ covered in comics. From the left side of the shop all the way over to the right side. I take a closer look. Who then is this Tintin?

Some cousin of Rin Tin Tin, the indomitable German Sheppard? ~ there are more people thumbing through Tintin than looking at the papers or magazines. Comics might not be the right word as the booklets are glossy and run to about 60 pages each.

Turns out that Tintin (how have I missed him all these years?) is one of the most popular figures to have been created in the last century. “The Adventures of Tintin” is a series of comic books created by Belgian artist Hergé ~ the pen name of Georges Remi who died in 1983. The hero of the series is Tintin, a young Belgian reporter and adventurer (hence the interest here in the Brussels train station)? He is assisted in his travels by his faithful fox terrier dog Snowy.

Better than the Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew? I can’t tell you. Some of the titles are great, though: Tintin in the Congo, King Ottokar’s Sceptre, the Calculus Affair and the Red Sea Sharks.

Apparently there are millions of copies printed around the world.

There you go ~ something new everyday. If I had walked into the Cafe du Gare, there wouldn't have been half the excitment. Time to read this Tintin fellow.

The Other Monty in 3.6 hours

There are two Monty’s in my travel life.

The loveliest is Monterey, California with its big sweeping bay, the hilly peninsula, the expensive golf courses and the lingering presence of John Steinbeck.

The other is the administrative, commercial, medical and banking center of Northern Mexico in the state of Nuevo León. This Monterrey is less attractive ~ although the two “r’s” in its name seem to give it some sort of orthographical balance.

Monterrey is roughly halfway between Houston and Mexico City. The 2 R’s is surrounded on 3 sides by jagged, blue mountains. These are called the Sierra Madre Oriental range and the big peak looming over the city looks like an extracted tooth with a cavity.

The center of this Monty is divided by a wide, dry river bed, two highways on each side and a busy north-south rail line (check to see if your hotel is well away from the tracks as the “mournful” sound of the whistle can be heard all night).

I’m not doing this Monty justice. This is my 4th or 5th visit (yes, more international schools) so I tend to see the place through the eyes of acquaintances here. These are well educated, family oriented, hard-working, bilingual citizens of the Mexico that is trying to succeed under the long shadow of the US of A ~ just to the North.

The city is doing its best to avoid the drug-war related horrors of the Tex-Mex borderlands to the west and the denizens here feel that education, resolve and family values are the way to make it all succeed.

Sensible and I hope it works. This Monty is worth a visit.

Recruitment: Fair or Fracas?

For the heads of several hundred international schools around the world ~ the clock is ticking to fill the remaining staff vacancies for August. The long series of recruitment fairs which began last winter are nearly over. With the pressure mounting, the final fairs are more like a fracas.

To use a baseball analogy ~ it’s the 9th inning. To use a soccer analogy ~ it’s the 88th minute. To put it bluntly ~ time is running out.

I had the chance to watch a recruitment fair close up last month while attending a meeting in London. The meeting and fair were two side of the same coin: promoting international education and working with the many schools that provide valuable services to students and parents around the world.

Here’s the drill! Recruiters arrive on Wednesday. They review resumes and references on Thursday (despite advances in technology and e-communications, many recruiters still want to see candidates in person ~ or press the flesh as it were). Friday morning is the “round-robin” sign-up when candidates scramble around a big room to set up meeting times.

The remainder of the weekend is spent in interviews, confirming job offers and praying (for the recruiters) that potential candidates accept the positions.

Then there is the dreaded envelope under the door...

...Dear Sir: thank you for the stimulating interview yesterday. Your website is brilliant. The curriculum is dynamic. I know I could take the Mandarin program to new heights and I've always wanted to coach a sled-dog team. However, I've just signed a contract to teach in Xanadu. Thanks a lot.

Oh, dear! Three positions filled this weekend ~ four more to go. Four more to go … four more to go.

It’s going to be a sleepless night.

Sleepless in Seattle
Sleepless in Singapore
Sleepless in Santiago

London in 3.6 Hours

The writer Samuel Johnson quipped “when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life”.

Johnson was writing a couple hundred of years ago before London became the really wired, hip, swinging, cool, multiethnic-and-working-nicely-thank-you place that it is today. If Sam was still writing he might say “when you are tired in London, just seek out one of her many green spaces for a bit of rest.”

While New York has a Central Park ~ London has so many that the Tourist Board has a separate brochure intended to help visitors find the right one. London ~ as has been noted by many observers ~ is just a series of villages surrounded by green.

Most visitors know Hyde Park (Speakers' Corner) or Green Park in front of Buckingham Palace. Take care if you are planning to meet someone in Hyde Park because of its size ~ about 650 acres. The park is contiguous with Kensington Garden which together (according to the guide book) is larger than the Principality of Monaco. See you by the yew tree at noon. Maybe.

If Hyde Park is not your cup of tea ~ then try Regent’s Park just to the north (at 480 acres). I had the good fortune of living in North London at one time in the 1970’s ~ roughly between Regent’s Park and Hampstead Heath. The “heath” is wild, rambling and hilly with its own ponds and woodlands. Stagger out of the Freemason Arms next to the heath at closing time and you had better know your way home.

Wimbledon is best known for its tennis but try crossing the Common in the rain ~ at 1,100 acres. Does size really matter? Further to the south is Richmond Park at 2,500 acres and the largest Royal Park (again according to the Guide) with its own herd of free roaming deer.

Just outside of London is Windsor Great Park at 5,000 acres. Cross all the way to the east ~on the Central Line on the Underground~ to Theydon Bois and there you can enter Epping Forest at 6,000 acres or 12 miles in depth. London’s “green lung” is how locals describe the forest.

Tired of London? Get real. Just go for a walk.

Euro Star!

(Dear Readers – technology is everywhere. Yet I missed some postings last week because I was simply too busy travelling. He’s what I wrote on a yellow legal pad somewhere under the English Channel)

I probably took my first London – Paris trip in the autumn of 1974. Yikes! Was it really 34 years ago?

The journey would have begun at London’s Waterloo Station on the “boat train”. The train would have meandered through the Kent countryside to Dover – 2 hours and then another wait on the docks for the cross Channel ferry. From Calais on the French side to the Gare du Nord in Paris was at least three hours. If there was nasty weather on the English Channel ~ well ~ hopefully you were traveling with some wine. Truly, it was an all day journey and then some.

Today I’m zipping along on the "Euro-Star" fast speed service between Brussels and London. Take a guess on the duration? 7 hours? wrong. 5 hours? wrong, wrong, wrong again.

Two hours and five minutes from city center to city center. That’s right ~ two hours. And this ~ under the English Channel!

The Channel Tunnel ~ also known as Chunnel or Euro-tunnel ~ is a 31.5 mile undersea rail tunnel linking Britain to the Continent. Actual time beneath the Channel = 23 minutes. The scheme had been discussed for years but construction finally began in 1988. A French and English worker shook hands 200 feet beneath the seabed in December 1990 when the huge boring machines broke through (thankfully in the same place). Imagine that?

The first passenger and freight service began in 1994. However, it was the advent of the fast, very fast high speed trains in November 2007 that has brought about this lightning quick connection.

Forget the airplane. This is the new way to travel. Just enough time for a glass of wine.

Amsterdam in 3.6 Hours

Across the Big Pond the other night and “home” to The Netherlands (see Revisiting The Hague ~ November 16, 2007).

Actually, it’s Amsterdam this trip: the old Hanseatic city of canals, humpy bridges and bicycles. Mind the bicyclists! Watch out for that tough old lady bearing down because you’ve unknowingly stepped onto the bike path. And she! with a basket of groceries, holding a dog and peddling full speed ~ in a skirt no less.

More gently ~ the “bloemenshops” have reappeared after winter with their profusion of spring flowers. Some simple stalls are just a collection of buckets on the street corner holding a riot of yellow, red, purple and peach tulips. These are the true Dutch beauties.

I’m staying at the Hotel of the Philosopher. That’s correct.

Behind the reception desk the wall is papered with Kant’s schema. In my room a faux scroll contains Plato’s letter to Socrates. Order a drink and the paper napkin has a message from Rousseau.

On the second floor you can sleep with Aristotle or Spinoza or Erasmus.

The third floor is very quirky. Here are the philosophies. One the left side (the even numbers) is knowledge, wisdom, beauty, goodness, harmony and sincerity. On the right side (the odd numbers) is despair, evil, lust, chaos and skepticism. Oh, my. How are guests assigned rooms? By the order of reservations? By passport? By the tone of voice and glint of eye? Perhaps in this strange place by tone of eye and glint of voice? Maybe that's it.

I’m in room #34 (harmony) which is just fine, thank you. Who's across the hall in Lust I wonder? Shall I knock?

As the Dutch say ~ tot ziens

The Masters

Attention class. We have an important lesson today.

I’m going to try and draw an analogy between golf and teaching. Your homework this weekend was to have watched the Masters Golf Tournament on TV. Yes, I would have liked to have taken you on a field trip to Augusta but that was out of the question.

Did you hear the commentators talk about technique vs. touch?

If you’ve ever played the damn game (it’s very frustrating) you know you need a big bag of skills. These include how to hit the tee shot, the fairway shot, the approach shot and the putt. I’d say as many books have been written about golf techniques as gourmet cooking.

Even if you are reasonably good at the game ~ here is an important point, class ~ you sometimes abandon technique ~ for touch. Touch is just that ~ an innate sense of how you have to hit the ball. Yes, the little white ball that lies on the green fairway some distance from the impossible-to-see 4.5 inch cup. Forget the talk of a “hole-in-one” ~ just use some touch to stroke the ball accurately so it rolls up reasonably close to the cup. It’s very easy to do … watching on TV, that is.

Here’s the analogy: good teaching is similar (what’s that? You want to continue talking about golf?).

Effective teachers need a bag of skills learned formally at college, then picked up from colleagues down the hall and honed with on-going professional development such as workshops. Good teaching is hard work.

Very good teachers (“master teachers” ) possess effective techniques and a sense of touch. They instinctively know how to work with children and teenagers. They like their students. They know when things are right and when things are wrong. They sometimes abandon technique for touch and ~ presto ~ it works. Keep that in mind.

Tomorrow we’ll talk about using the driving range, Buddhism and the importance of lesson plans.

Class dismissed.

Boating with the Buffalos

The Florida winter season is winding down.

The tourists, college kids and baseball teams have gone home.

Now our neighbors are packing up ~ a sure sign the season is over. Some leave right at Easter ~ others linger longer waiting for the last of the snow to melt up north.

The neighbors to the left have gone back to Michigan. Our friend Rowdy took his backgammon board last weekend and headed for Connecticut…and then the Jersey shore for summer. There is only a car or two in the parking area.

Yesterday we went boating with the Buffalos ~ a ritual begun a few years back. Actually, our dear friends are from Buffalo, about the last place in the East where the snow melts. When they last called their kids there was 5 feet of the white stuff on the ground in upstate New York. When the Buffalos go home ~ the season is over.

There we were – cruising around Tarpon and Barfield Bays ~ just on the edge of Florida’s fabled Ten Thousand Islands national park. Perfect weather ~ why on earth consider going anywhere else? The Ten Thousand Islands preserve has been immortalized by all sorts of writers ~ including Florida’s own Carl Hiaasen (whom I heard speak this winter) in his book Nature Girl set right along the nearby waters in Dismal Key. Funny writer ~ funny book.

So there you have it ~ the winter season is over in the sunshine state. Bye, bye guests.
Amen. Now we have the place to ourselves again.

Caracas in 3.6 Hours

It was breezy in Caracas this past week. It was breezy in Caracas when I last visited five years ago. I think the reason for this is that Caracas ~ the capital of Venezuela ~ sits at 2,500 feet tucked in under the Avila mountains which rise to 7,800 feet.

In September 2003 the weather was wet and blustery. In April 2008 the weather was cool and fresh. White, puffy fair weather clouds drifted around the high hills overlooking the city.

There’s a lot of hot air, too, these days surrounding the relations between the US and Venezuela. President Hugo Chavez’s self proclaimed socialist revolution is obviously at odds with America’s relentless cry for democracy. Chavez is sitting on a ton of oil money so he is managing to tweak everyone’s nose including multi-national companies and his neighbors.

He’s even changed his country's place in the north-south longitude field by making Venezuela 30 minutes ahead of Miami. Our flight attendant stumbled when she said “welcome to Caracas ~ the local time is 7:05. Opps! make that 7:35. I’m sorry ~ it’s the other way. The local time is now 6:35 ... I guess”.

While I was there, the Minister of Education, Adan Chavez ~ Hugo’s brother by the way ~ announced the details of a new curriculum. Apparently, it is going to be highly prescriptive and nationalistic. The university curriculum now has mandatory readings from Karl Marx, Fidel Castro and the revolutionary Ernesto "Che" Guevara. One can guess that elementary and high school students will probably expect something similar. Oh, dear.

I would say it is one thing to bully the big boys such as oil companies, banks and the IMF ~ but it’s another thing to muck around with kids. In this flattened world of interconnectivity, globalization and the internet ~ it’s seems a shame that Venezuela’s educational system will be taking a step backwards.

A Conversation in Xanadu

Here’s a typical conversation that takes place this time of year in international schools ~ between the Chairman of the governing Board and the Headmaster. We are in mythical Xanadu in Central Asia.

Chair: Welcome back, Headmaster, we’ve missed you these past seven weeks.

Head: It’s good to be home, sir. No one knows how stressful these teacher recruitment trips can be. I assume there were no problems while I was gone?

Chair: Truth be told, Headmaster, fewer than when you are here. Secretary Reliable is very adept at putting out fires and holding the parents at bay. She’s the only one who is indispensable in my opinion. Remind me ~ where did you go to find the new staff?

Head: I started in Sydney. Then Singapore ~ then Shanghai ~ then Bangkok ~ then Frankfurt ~ then London ~ then Toronto ~ then Seattle ~ then Honolulu. For good measure I stopped in Murmansk on the way home.

Chair: All done, are we, with the recruitment effort?

Head: Not really, Mr. Chairman. It’s a case of good news and bad news.

Chair: Good news and bad news, eh? What’s the good news then?

Head: Well the good news is that I’ve hired 14 new teachers. They are experienced and all seem keen on coming to Xanadu.

Chair: Keen on Xanadu? How’s that?

Head: I told them they’d be partying each weekend in Istanbul.

Chair: Istanbul? But Xanadu is 1,200 miles to the east!

Head: Most of the new teachers are Americans. They are geographically challenged and wouldn’t know Paris from Persia.

Chair: I see. Well, what’s the bad news?

Head: We still have 12 vacancies

Chair: 12 vacancies ~~ for this August? What are you going to do?

Head: I’ll be going out on the spring recruitment circuit. These are better known as the Hail Mary Fairs.

Chair: Where are you going this time?

Head: I’m going to try the Latin option. First place will be Madrid ~ then Rio ~ then Bogota ~ then Miami. I’ll stop in Casablanca and Cairo on the way home.

Chair: And when will you be home again, Headmaster?

Head: Mid-June ~ on graduation day, in fact. We can give out the diplomas together

Three Cups of Tea

I had the opportunity of hearing Greg Mortenson speak the other day.

He is the inspiration for the book Three Cups of Tea ~ must reading for educators, policy makers and anyone who cares about girls, south Central Asia and just about anything else under the sky (the book is co-authored by David Oliver Relin)

Greg's own story is compelling but his vision is extraordinary.

The son of American missionaries living in Tanzania (his mother helped found the International School of Moshi) ~ Greg served in the US military and went on to become a nurse. His avocation is mountain climbing. In 1993 Mortenson unsuccessfully attempted to climb K2, the world's second tallest mountain. He attempted the climb in honor of his younger sister who had died earlier. Dangerously ill and lost when descending, Mortenson was sheltered for several weeks by the small Pakistani village of Korphe; in return, he promised to build the impoverished town's first school. After an astonishing series of setbacks ~ he succeeded.

That remarkable success has grown into the Central Asia Institute. Today he has constructed more than 50 schools across rural Pakistan and Afghanistan.

Along the way, Mortenson has faced down tradition, ignorance, disease, bureaucrats, the mujahideen, the Taliban and every other conceivable roadblock. Yet ~ he prevails.

Mortenson is an advocate of girls’ education as one of the major solutions to bringing economic development, peace and prosperity to impoverished societies, and says, "you can hand out condoms, drop bombs, build roads, or put in electricity, but until the girls are educated a society won’t change".

I’m not doing his story justice in a few paragraphs but Three Cups of Tea is worthy of your reading list ~~ soon.

March: Ides, Mayhem and Madness

The Ancients had their Ides of March and the Moderns (here in America, at least) have their Mayhem of March ~ better known as March Madness ~ or the end of season college basketball tournament.

There must be 15,000,000 other bloggers and legit media writers commenting on the basketball tournament but it worth a few words here on The Clermont.

64 teams get to participate in the “big dance” as it is called. These teams are from large universities, small colleges, urban and rural settings, private and public. The chosen make the tournament by virtue of winning their own conference championships or are invited by the Selection Committee based on a winning record and playing against strong opponents. In theory, any team has a chance. We are half way through this week and from the original 64 only the “sweet 16” remain. You win and you advance ~ you lose and you go home. Tennis anyone?

The sweet 16 have mostly big boys (example ~ the University of Texas = 49,500 students) but a few cinderella hopefuls (example ~Davidson = 1,700 students). This is what makes the competition so compelling. Davidson? with a student body of only 1,700?

Basketball aficionado's engage in what's called bracketology ~ trying to figure out whose going to make it to the sweet 16 ~ the elite 8 ~ the final 4 ~ and then ~ the champion! The 64 teams are placed into four brackets and move up or out.

Here are two good books I recommend on this remarkable event:

A March to Madness: A View from the Floor in the Atlantic Coast Conference ... and... Last Dance: Behind the Scenes at the Final Four... both by John Feinstein

How March Became Madness by Eddie Einhorn

Please don't phone on Thursday, Friday, Saturday or Sunday. Thanks.

King of Belgium

The King of Belgium can sleep tonight. His country has been saved. It has a new government and won’t be chopped in two. For now, at least.

That’s right ~ Belgium ~ the European country. Yes, the small one that’s about the size of the state of Maryland.

This might not be the biggest story of the day ~ in fact it was buried deep in yesterday’s New York Times ~ but if you read the Clermont Blogger, you’ll know that Belgium has survived another major crisis. Here’s what I wrote in November in the post “Bye, Bye Belgium” ~

What's happening? Well, nothing new really for this unhappy bilingual nation except the problems are getting worse. The linguistic and culture divide (Dutch Flanders in the north and French Wallonia in the south) means separate schools, churches and media. Apparently, the important local parliamentary elections last June were inconclusive so... oops... there is no federal government. Now people on both side of the linguistic divide want to go their own way.

How long will this new government last? Apparently, a Brussels poll indicated that the incoming Prime Minister (a comprise nominee among five political parties ~ five!) had barely a 50% approval rating. Good luck, Pierre. Or was it Pieter?

Not to worry ~ I’ll check things out in person as I’ll be there in a few weeks.

Don't get me wrong about Belgium. There’s nothing like a plate of pommes frites avec mayonnaise and a cold Stella Artois [or Heineken in Flanders ... for impartiality].

I’d hate to be turned away next month from a local restaurant for Belgium bashing.

Play Ball!

Growing up in chilly New England ~ the first signs of spring ~ would come flicking across my parents grainy black and white TV set.

Each evening, while the snow was still deep in Massachusetts, a reporter from the local station would be on the air from exotic Sarasota, Florida where the Boston Red Sox would do their stretches and practice bunting. It was time for spring training. Play ball was the cry!

My cousin’s husband Ralph ~ a traveling salesman type ~ managed to get to Florida each March and would send us postcards of white beaches, orange groves and palm trees. This was long before Disney World, Cape Canaveral and Jet-Blue. Ralph might as well have been on the moon. He’d always scribble a message about his being happy to be back watching the Grapefruit League in action. On TV the lucky reporter would be talking about Ted Williams and the sunny weather.

My Dad and I would just sigh and listen to the wind blow outside.

Although I now live in Florida ~ and many a season has passed ~ it is still a happy ritual to see some baseball during spring training. So there I was yesterday sitting next to a couple who had just flown in from Mineota, Minnesota. I think that’s what they said. Their teeth were still chattering and they had lines on their foreheads ~ from ski caps or earflaps or whatever. They kept staring into the sun.

The game itself was inconsequential but the bats were cracking and players were punching their gloves. In the eighth inning, the right fielder ran down a 300 foot shot by the warning path and pulled it in. His momentum took him to the railing by the stands where he tossed the ball into the waiting hands of a young boy.

Timeless.

Everyone is going to China

When we left off last month [17-2-08], international school Heads were out on the teacher recruitment trail. February is the peak of the semester long hunt for new staff.

It’s tough work. Demand is greater than supply and you know what that means.

This is what one of my acquaintances wrote in an email the other day:

Recruitment was difficult this year for the school…we still have 6 positions to fill including physics and calculus… everyone is going to China

This is from a person who leads a school in a stable, American-centric, more-or-less friendly country where there is a decent standard of living. It’s not a hardship post.

For the uninitiated, six positions to fill between now and August might not seem like such a challenge. However, the operative word is "still". My guess is the Head has already filled 10-15 positions (now there’s some work) so an outstanding balance of six is significant, if not daunting.

This experienced school Head knows that she has a long spring ahead trying to find qualified candidates ~ made even more difficult because some are in the always-hard-to-get areas of math and science.

Yes, everyone is going to China ~ and to a slightly lesser degree the Middle East ~ where new international schools are popping up all over. This may be good news for international trade and commerce but it makes it a real challenge for those who have to staff the schools.

Alas, there are still a few more recruitment fairs in the spring. But the pressure is on to fill those vacancies…

Cat in Dog House

Harley, my daughter’s scary black cat, is in the family dog house.

In other words … he’s in trouble ... again.

Cats are mercurial. For example, humans are either awake or asleep. There is no in between state. But cats go back and forth in a special feline zen zone.

I was just talking to Harley the other morning. I was describing the previous night’s college basketball game on ESPN. Harley was listening attentively ... so I thought. In the middle of my animated narrative (the game went into overtime), he purred… blinked his eyes… and fell asleep. Maybe basketball isn’t his sport.

This time of year Harley likes to meander onto the deck to take in the warm sunshine. He also watches the golfers slice their shots into the lake on the tricky 10th hole by our condo. As a result, he’s probably the only cat who knows the F-word.

Out on the deck there are half a dozen plants. Lovely flowering things grouped together that are pleasing to look at. However, Harley sees this as his personal jungle. He goes on forays for bugs. Last evening he must have gotten into a brawl with the insects. Two of the plants (pretty reds and blues) are now broken. My wife is not pleased as this is her garden. As a result he’s in proverbial the dog house.

Harley is restricted to the guest bedroom where he has his food and water. 12 hours alone to contemplate a little discipline. This is kind of funny because Harley is like a bad 6th grade boy. Discipline? What’s that?

When he is out of the dog house tomorrow, it will be just another cat day. A little sleep here and there and then back to the jungle to kill a few more bugs.

Is Money the Best Teacher?

The New York Times ran an interesting article yesterday about a new charter school which will open in Manhattan in 2009 with starting salaries for teachers in the range of $125,000. Wow.

The founder of the school is betting that money will do the trick.

He’ll add bonuses for those who produce results. He expects to recruit the “best and brightest” teachers. The school will have few administrators, only two social workers and a core curriculum with no frills.

To earn these big bucks, teachers will carry a heavy instructional load with class sizes at 30 students. They’ll have clerical and disciplinary responsibilities. It should be noted that this will be a middle school. Hmm.

This is a brave step forward in terms of remuneration and compensation. However, I’m personally doubtful if super salaries are the answer to raising the quality of education provided at a school. Here’s what I’ve experienced and what you often find in good international schools:

Teachers do need to be compensated as aggressively as the market will bear.

New or experienced, teachers need sustained professional development.

New or experienced, teachers will tell you that size does matter: the number of students in a class ideally should not exceed 22

Supportive and cooperative parents play a big role in the success formula

Technology will help – not hinder – the learning process but teachers need to know how to engage 21st century practices using the big T.

Educational leadership plays a key role in creating a positive learning environment in any school.

Good luck to this new enterprise and the teachers who will work there. They’ll deserve every dollar they earn. Interestingly, as of this morning there were 375 comments on the article. Everyone has an opinion when it comes to the subject of education.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/07/nyregion/07charter.html

San Pedro Sula in 3.6 hours

Schools in Central America start the day early. This practice has something to do with proximity to the equator and Mother Nature’s precise if monotonous balance of light and darkness ~ in 12 hour cycles of each.

So there I was saying hello to everyone at the Monday morning assembly at 6:45 a.m.

Si ~ 6:45 a.m.!

In front of me are 800 students in straight rows ~ and looking sleepy in their tidy uniforms. Never mind, a peppy little speech and then to the Headmaster’s office for a cup of much needed coffee.

San Pedro Sula is the commercial center of Northern Honduras (from whence the coffee came, I was assured). The flight over from Miami the other evening was a decent two hours and get this ~ on time!

Coming in over the water ~ very close to the fabled Mosquito Coast just to the south ~ you can see miles of banana plantations. The old United Fruit Company and the still-going-strong-Dole Corp. run pineapple plantations and banana farms here.

I read in a professional journal recently that Dole operates two bilingual schools for its expatriate employees. However, I’m at another bilingual school this week ~ one of many up and down the spine of Central America. Alas, it is a brief visit (hence the 3.6 hours in the post title).

And then its back to the airport before the sun is up. Miraculously, there are few passengers this morning. How can this be? SAP ~ the local airport code ~ has only four gates and there is a plane at each.

The electronic departure screen is not working and a man is carefully sticking small letters and numbers onto an announcement board by Gate 3. He is short with brown skin and wears blue overalls. The name on his shirt says Jorge. I’m impressed at his effort to post all the details in English and Spanish. How efficient.

Oops ~ not quite right. We are now going to “Mayami”. Close enough, I guess. He gets an A for effort in my book.

It doesn’t matter. A few minutes later we’re called through Gate 1 ~ destination Panama City ~ says the handwritten notice.

The Swamp Cabbage Festival

The old maxim ~ it takes house guests to get you out and about ~ held true for us last weekend.

Floridians have plenty of visitors this time of year. Actually it’s like a stampede as friends, relatives, old classmates, former colleagues and didn’t-we-once-meet-acquaintances, flee the frigid weather across the northern part of the country for the warm southern climes.

Nice to see you again, they say. Where’s the pool?

Despite the mild cynicism it is good to see people ~ even if all the visiting is squeezed into 10 or 15 weeks (why don’t people come in September at the height of hurricane season, I wonder)?

So there we were last Saturday with a visitor off to the Swamp Cabbage Festival up near the Caloosahatchee River. We missed the Mullet Festival in January and I won’t be here in April for the Orchid/Bromeliad Fair. Lot’s of choices.

This event had something for everyone. There were classic cars, motorcycles, a bluegrass band, a Swamp Cabbage festival beauty queen and arts and crafts including some nice jewelry from the indigenous Seminole Indians.

Most curious of all there were armadillo races ~ “gentlemen start your 'dillos” the announcer said ~ with proceeds going to the local schools. How do you handicap an armadillo race, by the way?

… and the food. Of course swamp cabbage itself (didn't you know?) is the heart of sabal palm ~ not dissimilar to the normal heart of palm you’d buy in the store. It comes served either as a mushy stew or as fritters just out of the deep fry. Tired of palms?

The alligator fritters (from the tail) are very, very deep fried. I passed.

Best dish of all? The blooming onion which consists of one huge vidalia onion ~ deep fried, of course ~ which is cut to resemble a flower. These monsters are usually served on a large paper plate garnished with dipping sauce in a cup.

Visiting us next winter? Leave the trans-fat counter at home.

Manhattan in 3.6 hours

There I was right in the backyard of the New York Times but unable to clock in the "36 Hours in New York City" ~ as their travel writers would have it.

Even if I had a few days, some nasty, wintry weather wouldn't have made for walking the Big Apple.

My limited time was spent at the Marriott ~~ or was it the Hilton? ~~ along with participants from 12 other conferences. It took a few minutes to read the electronic bulletin board in the main lobby. Amazing what they can squeeze into all those banqueting rooms.

There was the Stem Cell Research Group and a gathering of the American Luxury Leather Association. All the noise was coming from the Scandinavian 2008 exposition for New York City travel agents. Way at the end of the hallway was the annual meeting of the A.C.O.A.C. I never did figure out who they were (all women each of whom seemed to have perfume samplers).

Our little gathering of 25 people was shunted away in Gramercy A. From the top of the UP escalator to the Gramercy room was 4 minutes or 419 steps ~ I counted. The bathrooms were another 42 steps. You had to be careful with the morning coffee ~ if you get my drift.

A couple of travel victories: Hotels.com saved several hundred $$$ off the conference rate at a similar hotel two blocks away on 57th Street. And JET-BLUE is becoming my favorite domestic airline ~ free 36 channel TV ~ ample (very) leg room ~ and no change fee this morning when I switched to an earlier flight.

Nice going, everyone.

Time Out!

A number of educational systems around the world (especially in the UK and Europe) call Time Out for their students.

Better known as a Gap Year this is either a mandatory or voluntary break from the path of formal education. Other terms include bridging year, year off, deferred year and transition time.

Call it what you will ~ the Gap Year (the most popular term) ~ provides breathing room for young people to mature, relax, indulge, reflect, travel or even study in a setting different from the formal classroom.

I’ve seen a couple of different models but one in particular impressed me (in a western European country where Guinness is popular). The Gap followed Year 10 ~ the time of the national school-leaving exam. Students then had the option of ending their formal education and joining the workforce or to participate in the Gap Year.

The Gap was structured on a trimester basis with a mix of options: job experience, in depth technology training, volunteer social service, "outward-bound" fresh air activities, travel or coursework at other schools.

After the Gap Year students returned to classes ready for Years 11 and 12 and a challenging pre-college curriculum.

This week Princeton University has announced that some freshmen will have the chance to go abroad for a year of social service work. This news has caught the attention of the media and so the Gap Year concept is getting quite a bit of publicity.

Princeton’s president, Shirley Tilghman said in an interview that such a program would give students a more international perspective. She also called it a year of “cleansing the palate of high school, giving them a year to regroup.”

Oh! to be 18 again.

Recruitment Season is Here

The teacher recruitment season for international schools reaches its peak this month.

Frenzy might be a better word.

Despite the huge advances in telecommunications and the ease of reaching people these days ~~ most recruiters still want to eyeball candidates ~~ or press the flesh as it were.

Organized, professionally run recruitment fairs are the best and most practical way of interviewing and hiring candidates. Fairs now occur from December to June ~~ from Australia to Canada~~ with about 25 stops along the way. Take your pick of 1 ... or 3 ... or 5 ... or... it's not so easy these days.

Let’s do some simple math. No one knows the real numbers (including me who did this for a long time) but here is a guess:

Take 500 international schools seeking new or replacement teachers. Take 8 vacancies on average per school or 500 x 8 = 4,000 placements. That’s big business.

It also makes for big competition.

In the old days it was a gentleman’s game. Recruiters interviewed candidates Friday – Sunday. Reference checking phone calls were made Monday – Wednesday. Offers were made. Candidates were given a week to consider and weigh their options. It was all very decent, civil and orderly.

The scene now:

Hi ~ I’m Ken from Kuwait. Here’s your contract!

Good day ~ I’m Nigel from Norway. Here’s your airline ticket!

Cheers ~ I’m Carla from Chile. Here’s your apartment key!

One of the underlying principles of sound recruitment is “finding the right match” between the candidate and the school … and doing this takes time. Of course, when your competition is scooping up the field it is difficult if not downright impossible to play the gentleman’s game. It’s a fascinating process.

But more on this topic later.

Puntacana and sustainability

To tell you the truth, dear Reader, I hadn’t heard of Puntacana until a month ago. So, I’ll voluntarily withdraw my self-proclaimed Very Knowledgeable World Traveler status.

In early January an unexpected opportunity came up to extend my itinerary to Santo Domingo by a few days to make a special visit. To where? To Puntacana, which as I now know, is the eastern tip of Hispaniola, the island shared by Haiti and the Dominican Republic.

Getting there ~~ as they always say ~~ is half the fun. Hence, the previous post about flying down to Puntacana. The first plan was a commercial flight ... then a charter ...then ... well … your basic private plane. Sorry, no further details for the curious.

There really was no flight number and the little prop job did have two green stripes across the white fuselage. There was a pilot and – presto –25 minutes after leaving Santo Domingo we swung low over the pristine white beaches and palm trees of the Caribbean to land at the local airport.

Here’s what I discovered. Puntacana is being developed in an environmentally sustainable manner. ‘Tis true. The “Grupo Puntacana” has been promoting the area since 1971 in an eco-friendly manner (1971 ~~ the first Earth Day, remember?).

Today the hotels have a special water treatment plant and an industrial laundry facility which recycles energy. The golf courses are specially maintained to save on irrigation and watering. The Group has set aside 1,500 acres for its Ecological Foundation which is promoting the Partnership for Ecologically Sustainable Coastal Areas ~~ all this in conjunction with American and European universities. At the Foundation, students demonstrate organic farming skills, the protection of wildlife habitats and the promotion of health care and education for the 1,850 employees. And yes, there is an international school as well as two others set up for the local community.

Good stuff down there on the eastern tip of Hispaniola in the place called Puntacana.