Something has been playing on my mind recently, and that is the lack of English mother tongue speakers who really make an effort to speak properly, or at least articulate. Another thing which has got me pondering the future of our language is the amount who don't bother about basic grammar. Put these two together and in fact the future of the English language in its native country is very bleak unless someone does something pretty soon.
There are several problems. One of those is that it is not fashionable in the south east of England to sound in any way intelligent, because you can seriously lose friends. I mean it. It has gone so far that often those who articulate are seen as untrustworthy and even corrupt. Take Hollywood. In their films all the bad guys are played by either New Englanders or Brits: the crew on the Titanic was split between the loveable Irish rogues and the unscrupulous British gentry. Cruella De Ville in 101 Dalmatians was played by a well-spoken dame and Alexis Colby of Dynasty fame was Joan Collins, the TV character being forever associated with the tag "bitch". It just wouldn't have been the same if they were Californian, Welsh or Australian.
You have been warned...
I noticed how easy it is for people to look down upon those who speak clearly, and there are other perception problems surrounding this. Many dialects and accents are just as valuable, adding to the richness of the language but the most accepted way to speak is with a lazy slur and an attitude of nonchalance. So as long as you don't sound out of place you'll never have to fear rejection. It's not a case of class any more, because so many people of different backgrounds are training themselves to speak that way. If it were, it would be easier to draw the line somewhere.
Recent research by a linguistic institute found that the lower the class (linguistic, not economic), the more mistrusting of clear speakers one is, yet the lower the class (economic, not linguistic) the better one gets on with those at the top, because both sections of society know who they are and are content with their place in the world. A true working class person would not have it any other way and neither would the aristoes! So the problems lie with the middle class - never content with their position they always seem to want to aim higher. They are the driving force behind this new obsession with grammarless English and they are too proud to speak to common folk and too starstruck to hold a civilised conversation with the privileged classes. Their version of the upper class is in fact being led by people like footballers, television personalities and pop stars.
It is due to these new 21st century "icons" that our language is being taken out of our hands. That and a very naïve government policy which thinks all English and Welsh school students are stupid and can't understand the principles behind grammar. I tell my own students (I have about 80 of them at the moment) that their version of English is the correct one. They should not copy anyone else's English because they can also be wrong. They should firstly write it down or make a mental note of it and ask one of the translators, interpreters or language trainers in the Institutions.
I don't care what people say about the way I speak English. I love my language, I am in awe at its humble beginnings and survival and I wish to speak it properly. It has a truly global influence, but it's such a shame that the people who started it off are now moving to some other, more user-unfriendly version which will be, in 100 years' time, an offshoot of the main version, a little like Latin and its offshoots.
Monday, 22 October 2007
Thursday, 18 October 2007
Who exactly are the victims here?
It's strange how life works out.
We go through periods of misery, panic, poverty, grief or self-doubt, but as long as you have a strong head and thick skin, you can pass through the other side with ease and confidence. In my job, I also act as some kind of "therapist" for others and I've had to deal with some tough situations.
IS IT WORTH IT?
One of the hardest was being the first person at the bedside of someone who had attempted suicide. Having been called by a member of his family who was in another town, I dropped everything and got to the hospital within fifteen minutes. On the way, several emotions occurred - I was in a fit of panic that he would die alone; I was terrified about what state I would find him in and how it would affect his future physical health, but most of all I was devastated that he had taken this avenue to escape his demons.
I don't know anything so grizzly that it is worth contemplating the ultimate act.
He had been dropped by his girlfriend and as a person who gets attached easily he had decided to press his own self-destruct button. When I arrived he was attached to all kinds of tubes, wires and monitors. His heart rate was weak and his colour could only be described as grey. I feared the worse. The doctor arrived and told me to talk to him and I asked why. He explained that the tests had come through that he had taken sleeping pills but having rejected most of them he was simply in a deep sleep. I was so damned angry that he had used this method to find a solution that the only thing I could think of to say was that I hoped he did wake up so I could knock him all round the hospital grounds.
A very short while later his mother walked in in a blind panic and I quickly informed her of the situation. She sat holding his hand and talking about the episode. This was her son and there must be nothing worse than outliving your offspring unless you survive to an abnormally old age. Even then. So it was with great relief that we witnessed the first movement of his arms and head - until that moment he had been snoring like a lion...
A good few hours later he made some eye-opening gesture and his first words were "oh no", which we took to be a sign that he was still depressed and was unhappy to be alive. How can anyone be unhappy to be alive?! In any case, he spent a short week in there and we came to pick him up. We took his things and went to the centre for a celebratory meal. It was a really happy occasion although emotional nonetheless.
The question I need to ask here is, how do people get into such a state? Do they spent too long thinking? Do they just not understand that we only get one chance at this, and they think they'll be reborn if they die? Since then he has become more fatalistic in life and is a lot happier in himself. In a strange way, it was a gruesome privilege to be involved in that incident and it certainly made all of us several years more mature in the experience.
___________________________________________________________________
THE GREEN EYED MONSTER
Another incident in my life which occurred recently was a student confided in me that one of her colleagues had started bullying her. It didn't stop there - her colleague had also lost her ability to handle her emotions in the same office as her. She would be all goodness and light and suddenly get nasty. One time she even got the attention of the entire department, including her boss, and showed them all a mistake my student had made. Probably the only one. At the very same time she blamed her for the recent downturn in fortunes in the department. Her colleague had for weeks been "advertising" her good work by doing "extra activities", like reserving car parking spaces for her bosses, getting lunch for everyone and running around looking busy. She had then started comparing herself to my student through defaming hints and comments. Fortunately their head of department could spot a potential maniac from a kilometre away and gave her a good lesson in dignity.
My student told me that as a well-respected and almost indispensible member of the department, her colleague had become jealous of her to the point of obsession. In their private moments, she had told her colleague all sorts of secrets, not knowing that she would hold them against her later. We were quite shocked that this sort of behaviour could go on between adults. Then again, we realised that none of us can be safe from certain individuals and it is just a matter of keeping your head held high, backing out of potentially volatile scenarios, but most of all, not letting them win. According to De Standaard a while ago, this type of person gets angrier when one of four things occurs:
1. The victim has a better life, family or job than the perpetrator
2. The victim is more capable, calmer or better organised than the perpetrator
3. The victim has more allies, friends or contacts than the perpetrator
4. The victim doesn't get upset by the perpetrator's devious actions
A person not content with his/her life will show certain signs too:
1. They don't take so much care of their appearance or body weight
2. They don't do much in their spare time, and have few or no hobbies
3. They don't display signs of familiarity or even affection to their nearest and dearest
4. They can be extremely materialistic to make up for their misery: bigger car, house extension, grander holidays, even going as far as buying expensive pets!
I told her that experiences within my own family proved that this seemed like a pretty accurate assumption. I made one mistake when it occurred in my family - I went to apologise (to make the peace, goodness knows why!) when I really should have just walked away with my head high while I could. Still, there won't be a next time because I decided recently not to maintain contact with this part of my family. I just found it to be a shame that people become so undignified when jealous. They also try to drag those with self respect down with them - I guess that's how they try and hide it.
___________________________________________________________________
A final example of how extreme people can be took place last year when one of my students was unhappy at failing the end-of-semester examination. Well, "unhappy" is not the word: hysterical seems like the better description... In order to get a promotion, those who pass through our classes need to attain a certain level in another language, in many cases English. She had been in class a lot, but had showed signs of panic in class when it was her time to speak. She had also not really worked very hard on her theory and had an awful accent. Needless to say, I knew she was going to fail from quite early on, but I still maintained hope that she would at least do as well as she could.
When the exam took place, she failed abysmally.
Of course, it was all my fault according to her! I had not done this and not done that, despite her being the only failure in the class. In fact, it was more serious than that - she actually lost her job! I received phone calls and emails from her that I had ruined her life. She even came to my workplace one day and told all my students that I was responsible for her demise. I quietly took her to one side, showed her the statistics of the rest of her group in that period, and laid the facts bare in front of her. She looked through them and suddenly turned a shade of red. After several profuse apologies she went back into the class and told them that she had made a terrible mistake. She got another job in a different area and is doing much better now.
If we look at these three scenarios, we wonder who is the victim really. For me in the first one, there is no other than the parents. No parent should have to face such a situation. In the second it is more unclear. If someone has trouble keeping anger under control, it is time to seek a therapist and look more closely at what makes you happy. In the last, it is also unclear, but for me anyone who puts such an unbearable amount of pressure on herself needs to take care.
We go through periods of misery, panic, poverty, grief or self-doubt, but as long as you have a strong head and thick skin, you can pass through the other side with ease and confidence. In my job, I also act as some kind of "therapist" for others and I've had to deal with some tough situations.
IS IT WORTH IT?
One of the hardest was being the first person at the bedside of someone who had attempted suicide. Having been called by a member of his family who was in another town, I dropped everything and got to the hospital within fifteen minutes. On the way, several emotions occurred - I was in a fit of panic that he would die alone; I was terrified about what state I would find him in and how it would affect his future physical health, but most of all I was devastated that he had taken this avenue to escape his demons.
I don't know anything so grizzly that it is worth contemplating the ultimate act.
He had been dropped by his girlfriend and as a person who gets attached easily he had decided to press his own self-destruct button. When I arrived he was attached to all kinds of tubes, wires and monitors. His heart rate was weak and his colour could only be described as grey. I feared the worse. The doctor arrived and told me to talk to him and I asked why. He explained that the tests had come through that he had taken sleeping pills but having rejected most of them he was simply in a deep sleep. I was so damned angry that he had used this method to find a solution that the only thing I could think of to say was that I hoped he did wake up so I could knock him all round the hospital grounds.
A very short while later his mother walked in in a blind panic and I quickly informed her of the situation. She sat holding his hand and talking about the episode. This was her son and there must be nothing worse than outliving your offspring unless you survive to an abnormally old age. Even then. So it was with great relief that we witnessed the first movement of his arms and head - until that moment he had been snoring like a lion...
A good few hours later he made some eye-opening gesture and his first words were "oh no", which we took to be a sign that he was still depressed and was unhappy to be alive. How can anyone be unhappy to be alive?! In any case, he spent a short week in there and we came to pick him up. We took his things and went to the centre for a celebratory meal. It was a really happy occasion although emotional nonetheless.
The question I need to ask here is, how do people get into such a state? Do they spent too long thinking? Do they just not understand that we only get one chance at this, and they think they'll be reborn if they die? Since then he has become more fatalistic in life and is a lot happier in himself. In a strange way, it was a gruesome privilege to be involved in that incident and it certainly made all of us several years more mature in the experience.
___________________________________________________________________
THE GREEN EYED MONSTER
Another incident in my life which occurred recently was a student confided in me that one of her colleagues had started bullying her. It didn't stop there - her colleague had also lost her ability to handle her emotions in the same office as her. She would be all goodness and light and suddenly get nasty. One time she even got the attention of the entire department, including her boss, and showed them all a mistake my student had made. Probably the only one. At the very same time she blamed her for the recent downturn in fortunes in the department. Her colleague had for weeks been "advertising" her good work by doing "extra activities", like reserving car parking spaces for her bosses, getting lunch for everyone and running around looking busy. She had then started comparing herself to my student through defaming hints and comments. Fortunately their head of department could spot a potential maniac from a kilometre away and gave her a good lesson in dignity.
My student told me that as a well-respected and almost indispensible member of the department, her colleague had become jealous of her to the point of obsession. In their private moments, she had told her colleague all sorts of secrets, not knowing that she would hold them against her later. We were quite shocked that this sort of behaviour could go on between adults. Then again, we realised that none of us can be safe from certain individuals and it is just a matter of keeping your head held high, backing out of potentially volatile scenarios, but most of all, not letting them win. According to De Standaard a while ago, this type of person gets angrier when one of four things occurs:
1. The victim has a better life, family or job than the perpetrator
2. The victim is more capable, calmer or better organised than the perpetrator
3. The victim has more allies, friends or contacts than the perpetrator
4. The victim doesn't get upset by the perpetrator's devious actions
A person not content with his/her life will show certain signs too:
1. They don't take so much care of their appearance or body weight
2. They don't do much in their spare time, and have few or no hobbies
3. They don't display signs of familiarity or even affection to their nearest and dearest
4. They can be extremely materialistic to make up for their misery: bigger car, house extension, grander holidays, even going as far as buying expensive pets!
I told her that experiences within my own family proved that this seemed like a pretty accurate assumption. I made one mistake when it occurred in my family - I went to apologise (to make the peace, goodness knows why!) when I really should have just walked away with my head high while I could. Still, there won't be a next time because I decided recently not to maintain contact with this part of my family. I just found it to be a shame that people become so undignified when jealous. They also try to drag those with self respect down with them - I guess that's how they try and hide it.
___________________________________________________________________
A final example of how extreme people can be took place last year when one of my students was unhappy at failing the end-of-semester examination. Well, "unhappy" is not the word: hysterical seems like the better description... In order to get a promotion, those who pass through our classes need to attain a certain level in another language, in many cases English. She had been in class a lot, but had showed signs of panic in class when it was her time to speak. She had also not really worked very hard on her theory and had an awful accent. Needless to say, I knew she was going to fail from quite early on, but I still maintained hope that she would at least do as well as she could.
When the exam took place, she failed abysmally.
Of course, it was all my fault according to her! I had not done this and not done that, despite her being the only failure in the class. In fact, it was more serious than that - she actually lost her job! I received phone calls and emails from her that I had ruined her life. She even came to my workplace one day and told all my students that I was responsible for her demise. I quietly took her to one side, showed her the statistics of the rest of her group in that period, and laid the facts bare in front of her. She looked through them and suddenly turned a shade of red. After several profuse apologies she went back into the class and told them that she had made a terrible mistake. She got another job in a different area and is doing much better now.
If we look at these three scenarios, we wonder who is the victim really. For me in the first one, there is no other than the parents. No parent should have to face such a situation. In the second it is more unclear. If someone has trouble keeping anger under control, it is time to seek a therapist and look more closely at what makes you happy. In the last, it is also unclear, but for me anyone who puts such an unbearable amount of pressure on herself needs to take care.
Wednesday, 17 October 2007
A final goodbye to my dear mum
Sorry I haven't written much for quite a while until this week. I am afraid my dear mother passed away at the beginning of the month. She had been suffering for quite a while so it came as a relief when we knew she was finally at peace. However nothing can prepare you for the time it happens. It's a strange sensation and makes you feel lonelier than you would normally be. The one thing I can be glad about is that we had a strong relationship before she faded away.
I think my mum would have made a great diplomat. The perpetual big occasion dinners inevitably brought out the worst in us, and the arguments over a certain vegetable are legendary. And although there would be enough potatoes to feed a platoon, goodness knows how the oven coped, we never failed to squabble. But mum found a solution – she gave me a smaller plate but piled up all my potatoes under the other veg. That negated any complaints from others. So sorry to my brother John, but I truly did have more potatoes on my plate than you!
But underlying all this was a vulnerability that only surfaced in private moments. She was in great pain a lot of the time with her back or her legs. She cursed her pain but she never complained or sought sympathy. She also felt quite alone, especially in her later years as her neighbours slowly moved away and those that remained or moved in barely trod upon the driveway. Company was the only thing which drove her aches and pains away – they were the remedy, but unfortunately company didn’t always visit her. And nobody filled the space her own mother vacated.
There is a difference between a task and a duty.
A task is clearing up the mess left behind. A duty is clearing up the mess left behind a dying brother-in-law. For nearly a decade. A task is bringing home the coal to put on the fire. A duty is where you do it when you’re not yet ten years old.
Born in 1937, her earliest memories would likely have been the disturbing sights and terrifying sounds of the Second World War. From a very young age, she was brought up by her grandmother in a family where her mother and aunt were more like sisters. Surrounded by this strong matriarchal circle, she received strong lessons in responsibility and obligation.
Living in wartime and post-war Britain was arduous enough for an adult, but for a child it must have been daunting, grim and unimaginably harsh. So for my mum any hope of a normal childhood was cancelled. Happier times occurred later in life and sisterhood with her mother confirmed when she and my dad got together. A mother and daughter marrying two brothers. It’s a complicated story and I’ll tell you after if you’ve got a spare hour.
With such a youth, duty was instinct.
Once again, there’s a difference between a mother and a mum.
A mother reads you a story. But a mum teaches you to read the story for yourself. And a mum gets you the right material to suit your interests. And a mum harvests and nurtures those interests and seeks advice from teachers. And a mum sends you to the right school. And a mum goes mad when you say you’re not going to college, you’re going to get a job in McDonald’s. And a mum packs you off to university with a cupboardful of food. And a mum tells you to go out into the wilderness and do your own thing even if she’ll be lonelier without you. And a mum will call you once a week to see how you’re doing. And a mum will get you out of hole after hole, time and time again.
And finally, a mum is someone who deserves our most heartfelt, sincerest, if well and truly belated, thanks for all she did for us without so much as a prompt for thanks. An empty dinner plate, a smile, a sigh of relief, were all the thanks she required.
I have received several requests for the eulogy I wrote to read at her funeral. For quickness and ease I thought I would publish a large part of it here rather than post copies off. My mum was such a robust woman but she had a chocolate heart and I wanted those who attended her final journey to hear of my pride at being her son:
There’s a difference between a mother and a mum.
A mother is someone who makes you look tidy and scrapes the food off your face before school. But a mum makes sure that when you come back, the house is heated, the dinner is on and the greeting is cheerful and sincere.
There’s a difference between an aunt and an auntie.
An aunt will stop to have a chat with you on the street when you haven’t met for a while. An auntie will drive you home safely afterwards and wait for one of your parents to arrive.
There’s a difference between a grandmother and a nan.
A grandmother looks after you while your parents are still at work. A nan feeds you, provides you with toys and games, and clears up when you’ve gone. Day after day, for several years.
There’s a difference between a friend and a mate.
A friend will lend you money. A mate won’t cash the cheque when you return it.
And my mum was all of these and more. She loved to have company. From embarrassing us by striking up a conversation with diners at a restaurant on another table close by, to keeping the pools collector occupied on the front step, to peering out of the front window at the slightest noise to see if someone was coming to visit, she was in her element when she was with people, whether one person or a crowd.
A mother is someone who makes you look tidy and scrapes the food off your face before school. But a mum makes sure that when you come back, the house is heated, the dinner is on and the greeting is cheerful and sincere.
There’s a difference between an aunt and an auntie.
An aunt will stop to have a chat with you on the street when you haven’t met for a while. An auntie will drive you home safely afterwards and wait for one of your parents to arrive.
There’s a difference between a grandmother and a nan.
A grandmother looks after you while your parents are still at work. A nan feeds you, provides you with toys and games, and clears up when you’ve gone. Day after day, for several years.
There’s a difference between a friend and a mate.
A friend will lend you money. A mate won’t cash the cheque when you return it.
And my mum was all of these and more. She loved to have company. From embarrassing us by striking up a conversation with diners at a restaurant on another table close by, to keeping the pools collector occupied on the front step, to peering out of the front window at the slightest noise to see if someone was coming to visit, she was in her element when she was with people, whether one person or a crowd.
She had the most cunning advice too, if you listened carefully enough. The greatest piece of advice anyone ever gave to me was when looking for employment, never start at the bottom and await promotion, but start at the top and work down until someone takes you. I took this to heart too, and although I spent over a year out of work, it ended with my dream job and I wouldn’t be there without her.
I think my mum would have made a great diplomat. The perpetual big occasion dinners inevitably brought out the worst in us, and the arguments over a certain vegetable are legendary. And although there would be enough potatoes to feed a platoon, goodness knows how the oven coped, we never failed to squabble. But mum found a solution – she gave me a smaller plate but piled up all my potatoes under the other veg. That negated any complaints from others. So sorry to my brother John, but I truly did have more potatoes on my plate than you!
But underlying all this was a vulnerability that only surfaced in private moments. She was in great pain a lot of the time with her back or her legs. She cursed her pain but she never complained or sought sympathy. She also felt quite alone, especially in her later years as her neighbours slowly moved away and those that remained or moved in barely trod upon the driveway. Company was the only thing which drove her aches and pains away – they were the remedy, but unfortunately company didn’t always visit her. And nobody filled the space her own mother vacated.
There is a difference between a task and a duty.
A task is clearing up the mess left behind. A duty is clearing up the mess left behind a dying brother-in-law. For nearly a decade. A task is bringing home the coal to put on the fire. A duty is where you do it when you’re not yet ten years old.
Born in 1937, her earliest memories would likely have been the disturbing sights and terrifying sounds of the Second World War. From a very young age, she was brought up by her grandmother in a family where her mother and aunt were more like sisters. Surrounded by this strong matriarchal circle, she received strong lessons in responsibility and obligation.
Living in wartime and post-war Britain was arduous enough for an adult, but for a child it must have been daunting, grim and unimaginably harsh. So for my mum any hope of a normal childhood was cancelled. Happier times occurred later in life and sisterhood with her mother confirmed when she and my dad got together. A mother and daughter marrying two brothers. It’s a complicated story and I’ll tell you after if you’ve got a spare hour.
With such a youth, duty was instinct.
Once again, there’s a difference between a mother and a mum.
A mother reads you a story. But a mum teaches you to read the story for yourself. And a mum gets you the right material to suit your interests. And a mum harvests and nurtures those interests and seeks advice from teachers. And a mum sends you to the right school. And a mum goes mad when you say you’re not going to college, you’re going to get a job in McDonald’s. And a mum packs you off to university with a cupboardful of food. And a mum tells you to go out into the wilderness and do your own thing even if she’ll be lonelier without you. And a mum will call you once a week to see how you’re doing. And a mum will get you out of hole after hole, time and time again.
And through all this, a mum gets taken for granted. Is criticised for silly meaningless things. Is nagged at when she’s forgotten something. Is brushed off with a post-teenage grunt or even ignored when all she wants is a chat. Takes every trivial complaint on the chin until she’s so frustrated and annoyed that she finally gets her coat and goes out for a drive. Looking back now I wish she had stuck up for herself more and set us more often in our place. But that was mum. She tried to prove herself through what she did rather than through what she could ever have said. She owned the motto that "actions speak louder than words".
And finally, a mum is someone who deserves our most heartfelt, sincerest, if well and truly belated, thanks for all she did for us without so much as a prompt for thanks. An empty dinner plate, a smile, a sigh of relief, were all the thanks she required.
May she rest in deserved peace.
Tuesday, 25 September 2007
Language training has many forms
It has been twenty years since I gave my first English lesson. I was only 14 and we lived in the mountains surrounding the proud city of Málaga. I enjoyed it so much, that I seriously considered it as a future occupation. I was also interested in the European Union and its political manoeuvrings and I did part of my university course on the subject, along with two languages: French and Russian. So as I am now giving language training at the European Institutions, I can say that I have made it - I have arrived at the top of my profession; the pinnacle of my career.
The one thing I have learned in these two decades in pedagogy, with an estimation of 400 students who have taken my courses, is that every one of them is an individual with different learning needs, different habits in the classroom and different knowledge of one or other aspect of the language. The one thing they do have in common is that they fit a proscribed language level. But they are not school pupils where everyone learns together from day one. That's where the similarities end. Where one student may be good at grammar and theory but bad at speaking and writing, another one may be good at listening and reading but bad at grammar and theory. And that is why no one method can ever be applied in the classroom.
A certain international company based in the US giving language training goes one step further: it provides its trainers with manuals so that they never need their imagination ever again. The trainer is not allowed to use explanations and certainly not allowed to explain using graphs, lists or charts which show how the grammar of this language might work. If this wasn't enough, it then provides certain phrases per page in the manual that the trainer should spoonfeed the student with, e.g. "the photocopier doesn't work". Well hello! How in the name of sanity is the student then supposed to relate the negative form if he/she is not shown how it works in the first place? The student can know far more about grammar if a wider explanation is given concerning that point than just a poor lonely memory phrase.
Furthermore, the trainers at this establishment are told they will be docked bonus money if they deviate from the methods, or if anomalies are found in the progress of their clients. In other words, clients will not learn too quickly or the company will lose money, nor will they learn nothing or they will find alternative places to learn. Another striking aspect about this multinational is that people still go there to "learn". And the company keeps growing. This shows something about our tastes... In their localities they are the most expensive usually, and they pay the least. In Brussels for example they pay a pro-rata wage which on paper seems adequate, if you're called to work for the full amount of time. The reality is most trainers there earn about 36% of the average trainer's salary, due to being allotted very few hours. There is also a clause in their contracts stipulating that they cannot work for a competitor during this time either, something that everyone else is permitted to do.
Anyway, back to the methods:
One thing that has made my blood boil over the years is this "approach" word. Every language school has an "approach"; a way of delivering lessons in their own little bundle. What these people fail to realise is that each individual needs to be shown in a different way depending on their own abilities. Children until about 8 or 9 are able to assimilate languages pretty simply because their brain is still whole. But after then, the two lobes become ever more separate and this is where the senior school makes a great difference and also where it has got the balance right. People respond much better to an academic way of learning simply because it provides the student with rules and exceptions, tables and charts of grammar and vocabulary. Language learners of any age respond far more quickly to this because they had been doing it in senior school, and that is the method they are acquainted with.
This is not saying that everyone is like this, but as this method has withstood the test of time, it has a majority of supporters. If this is combined with some of the more realistic contemporary forms of learning, a win-win situation can only come from it. Sticking to the target language works for those above beginner level, and has to work if participant and trainer do not have a common tongue. But where they do, it would be wrong not to speed things up with a gentle nudge in the right direction as long as it does not become overbearing. Trainers, especially polyglots, should under no circumstances show off their language skills by translating. However, they should use their knowledge to provide clear explanations as to why rules are different between languages, where words come from, spelling and pronunciation differences and similarities. By simply telling the student this is how it is and that's all they need to know, you are cutting off the tentpegs of language memory and assimilation. By giving them a reason or an explanation you are making sure they can digest subtle differences far more easily than simply spoonfeeding the student with information.
However, my main aim in this entry is to tell you the most important word in language learning. The word which, if properly administered, can increase learning speed. That word is why. By answering it, you are opening up whole avenues of easily memorised words, grammar rules and spellings. For without an explanation, students have nothing to grip onto, no attachment to their own language (because let's face it, we all translate when learning languages). By giving that attachment, you are teaching the student to think outside their own language without knowing it and to detach him/herself from the mother tongue discreetly, almost clandestinely, whilst making them feel like you are giving them an easy and comfortable ride towards a higher level of understanding.
Most trainers usually enter a language training establishment with visions of smiling, happy students. They do not realise how disillusioning the experience can become if methods are forcibly applied when the trainer's own methods have been successful already. Especially as they know that applicant needs money. They can say and do what they want because at the end they pay you. But I say, do not let anyone bully you into accepting their "methods". Trainers do not work comfortably when they are not happy with the regime. It is a recipe for failure and simply has no place in the classroom. Be yourself; inspire; judge the student before applying the methods; don't allow pedagogical bigotry to spoil your profession. If they do want you to apply their methods, just agree - go along with what they say, and when they're not looking or listening (which is most of the time) carry on doing what you have always done! Your own methods are the best, whatever anyone says, and that includes the language schools.
The one thing I have learned in these two decades in pedagogy, with an estimation of 400 students who have taken my courses, is that every one of them is an individual with different learning needs, different habits in the classroom and different knowledge of one or other aspect of the language. The one thing they do have in common is that they fit a proscribed language level. But they are not school pupils where everyone learns together from day one. That's where the similarities end. Where one student may be good at grammar and theory but bad at speaking and writing, another one may be good at listening and reading but bad at grammar and theory. And that is why no one method can ever be applied in the classroom.
A certain international company based in the US giving language training goes one step further: it provides its trainers with manuals so that they never need their imagination ever again. The trainer is not allowed to use explanations and certainly not allowed to explain using graphs, lists or charts which show how the grammar of this language might work. If this wasn't enough, it then provides certain phrases per page in the manual that the trainer should spoonfeed the student with, e.g. "the photocopier doesn't work". Well hello! How in the name of sanity is the student then supposed to relate the negative form if he/she is not shown how it works in the first place? The student can know far more about grammar if a wider explanation is given concerning that point than just a poor lonely memory phrase.
Furthermore, the trainers at this establishment are told they will be docked bonus money if they deviate from the methods, or if anomalies are found in the progress of their clients. In other words, clients will not learn too quickly or the company will lose money, nor will they learn nothing or they will find alternative places to learn. Another striking aspect about this multinational is that people still go there to "learn". And the company keeps growing. This shows something about our tastes... In their localities they are the most expensive usually, and they pay the least. In Brussels for example they pay a pro-rata wage which on paper seems adequate, if you're called to work for the full amount of time. The reality is most trainers there earn about 36% of the average trainer's salary, due to being allotted very few hours. There is also a clause in their contracts stipulating that they cannot work for a competitor during this time either, something that everyone else is permitted to do.
Anyway, back to the methods:
One thing that has made my blood boil over the years is this "approach" word. Every language school has an "approach"; a way of delivering lessons in their own little bundle. What these people fail to realise is that each individual needs to be shown in a different way depending on their own abilities. Children until about 8 or 9 are able to assimilate languages pretty simply because their brain is still whole. But after then, the two lobes become ever more separate and this is where the senior school makes a great difference and also where it has got the balance right. People respond much better to an academic way of learning simply because it provides the student with rules and exceptions, tables and charts of grammar and vocabulary. Language learners of any age respond far more quickly to this because they had been doing it in senior school, and that is the method they are acquainted with.
This is not saying that everyone is like this, but as this method has withstood the test of time, it has a majority of supporters. If this is combined with some of the more realistic contemporary forms of learning, a win-win situation can only come from it. Sticking to the target language works for those above beginner level, and has to work if participant and trainer do not have a common tongue. But where they do, it would be wrong not to speed things up with a gentle nudge in the right direction as long as it does not become overbearing. Trainers, especially polyglots, should under no circumstances show off their language skills by translating. However, they should use their knowledge to provide clear explanations as to why rules are different between languages, where words come from, spelling and pronunciation differences and similarities. By simply telling the student this is how it is and that's all they need to know, you are cutting off the tentpegs of language memory and assimilation. By giving them a reason or an explanation you are making sure they can digest subtle differences far more easily than simply spoonfeeding the student with information.
However, my main aim in this entry is to tell you the most important word in language learning. The word which, if properly administered, can increase learning speed. That word is why. By answering it, you are opening up whole avenues of easily memorised words, grammar rules and spellings. For without an explanation, students have nothing to grip onto, no attachment to their own language (because let's face it, we all translate when learning languages). By giving that attachment, you are teaching the student to think outside their own language without knowing it and to detach him/herself from the mother tongue discreetly, almost clandestinely, whilst making them feel like you are giving them an easy and comfortable ride towards a higher level of understanding.
Most trainers usually enter a language training establishment with visions of smiling, happy students. They do not realise how disillusioning the experience can become if methods are forcibly applied when the trainer's own methods have been successful already. Especially as they know that applicant needs money. They can say and do what they want because at the end they pay you. But I say, do not let anyone bully you into accepting their "methods". Trainers do not work comfortably when they are not happy with the regime. It is a recipe for failure and simply has no place in the classroom. Be yourself; inspire; judge the student before applying the methods; don't allow pedagogical bigotry to spoil your profession. If they do want you to apply their methods, just agree - go along with what they say, and when they're not looking or listening (which is most of the time) carry on doing what you have always done! Your own methods are the best, whatever anyone says, and that includes the language schools.
Thursday, 13 September 2007
Immigration is good: but what about those already here?
European Commission Vice President Franco Frattini has been in Portugal this week, outlining his upcoming proposals for a "blue card" for skilled migrant workers who can come to work freely in the EU. On the other hand, the Vice President has been keen to be tough on employers who hire staff without a residence permit. This also needs re-evaluating.
There are many thousands, in fact many tens of thousands, already here. They could be doctors, drivers, economists, lecturers, botanists, geologists, camera operators, banking experts, translators, opticians and anyone else but they are instead cleaning floors, driving taxis, picking fruit, working in bars and restaurants, or just sitting in detention centres waiting for someone to finally say yes, they can stay, or no, their application is not strong enough. What about these people first? These are the ones who need immediate attention. These are the ones who should be filling our job market first.
I have an Australian friend, a lawyer, who came to Belgium to visit and decided to stay. She is highly qualified and has ten years' experience too. I took her to the city hall and they told her if she wanted to set up an independent practice she would need to either go back to Australia and apply from there, or declare her arrival date, get a police criminal clearance paper within 40 days from Australia and the country where she lived prior to arriving, China (which will be a nightmare), fill in a form in Dutch, which includes a section where she needs to write 300 words on why she wants to live here, and then she should wait nine months. Oh yes, she cannot leave the country. Surely she would be an asset to the economy. Why then must she go through all this administrative upheaval? And to think, she is even from a country with strong diplomatic ties to the EU. What must it be like to come from Moldova, Mozambique or Myanmar?
Why is the system set up in a way which encourages those with fewer scruples to take part in people trafficking? In fact, if you look more deeply into it, the system is set up to discriminate against those who genuinely come here to work or to escape persecution and favours the economic migrants and those interested purely in social security, benefits and a life of peace paid for by the taxes.
We should be advertising our vacant positions in foreign newspapers but at the same time matching jobs to those already here. Lots of migrants don't want to sit about doing nothing, but they have to, because they are unable to work whilst their paperwork is being looked at, and that can last a very long time indeed, including appeals, re-schedulings and new evidence, all which can mean the process must start all over again. This is a ridiculous waste of precious time, paper and talent. It also creates tension between those who have arrived and the local residents, who without the necessary knowledge of the immigrant's predicament, immediately place them in a negative light.
We should do more to drive away the people traffickers by making it easier to come and work in Europe, especially those with needed talents and qualifications. If you make it legally impossible for those who arrive unannounced to stay, whilst opening quota-driven employment centres in embassies and cultural centres abroad, people trafficking would be rendered useless, especially if the EU makes that clear to the appropriate people.
There are many thousands, in fact many tens of thousands, already here. They could be doctors, drivers, economists, lecturers, botanists, geologists, camera operators, banking experts, translators, opticians and anyone else but they are instead cleaning floors, driving taxis, picking fruit, working in bars and restaurants, or just sitting in detention centres waiting for someone to finally say yes, they can stay, or no, their application is not strong enough. What about these people first? These are the ones who need immediate attention. These are the ones who should be filling our job market first.
I have an Australian friend, a lawyer, who came to Belgium to visit and decided to stay. She is highly qualified and has ten years' experience too. I took her to the city hall and they told her if she wanted to set up an independent practice she would need to either go back to Australia and apply from there, or declare her arrival date, get a police criminal clearance paper within 40 days from Australia and the country where she lived prior to arriving, China (which will be a nightmare), fill in a form in Dutch, which includes a section where she needs to write 300 words on why she wants to live here, and then she should wait nine months. Oh yes, she cannot leave the country. Surely she would be an asset to the economy. Why then must she go through all this administrative upheaval? And to think, she is even from a country with strong diplomatic ties to the EU. What must it be like to come from Moldova, Mozambique or Myanmar?
Why is the system set up in a way which encourages those with fewer scruples to take part in people trafficking? In fact, if you look more deeply into it, the system is set up to discriminate against those who genuinely come here to work or to escape persecution and favours the economic migrants and those interested purely in social security, benefits and a life of peace paid for by the taxes.
We should be advertising our vacant positions in foreign newspapers but at the same time matching jobs to those already here. Lots of migrants don't want to sit about doing nothing, but they have to, because they are unable to work whilst their paperwork is being looked at, and that can last a very long time indeed, including appeals, re-schedulings and new evidence, all which can mean the process must start all over again. This is a ridiculous waste of precious time, paper and talent. It also creates tension between those who have arrived and the local residents, who without the necessary knowledge of the immigrant's predicament, immediately place them in a negative light.
We should do more to drive away the people traffickers by making it easier to come and work in Europe, especially those with needed talents and qualifications. If you make it legally impossible for those who arrive unannounced to stay, whilst opening quota-driven employment centres in embassies and cultural centres abroad, people trafficking would be rendered useless, especially if the EU makes that clear to the appropriate people.
Thursday, 6 September 2007
Remarkable deaths
This week has seen three stories in the press concerning three totally separate yet remarkable people who died in circumstances distinct from each other. But all three are worthy of mentioning simply because of the uplifting stories behind their deaths.
Rhys Jones
In the city of Liverpool this week, mourners have been paying their last respects to the boy who was shot dead by a hooded man riding a BMX bike through the area of Croxteth Park. Rhys was a supporter of Everton FC and mad about his football. It has shocked the community of Liverpool and brought about a collective period of inner reflection in the city. In a sign of solidarity, Liverpool FC, the deadly rivals of Rhys's beloved team, invited his parents to Anfield on match day where he received a minute's applause from the crowd, following the playing of the Everton theme tune. An Everton fan getting a minute's applause at Liverpool FC is striking enough, but thousands of people came to his funeral where the parents asked everyone to dress in bright colours. Most put on their football colours to attend the service at Liverpool's Anglican Cathedral, where members of Everton's first team were also present.
This collective mass of solidarity has made a mockery of those who would turn to crime for their kicks. The far larger amount of decent people come out against violent crime through this type of collective action, yet still those who enjoy criminal lives do not listen. Nevertheless, decent folk will always outnumber the bad eggs.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/merseyside/6980996.stm
Jane Tomlinson
Across the Pennines in Leeds, Jane Tomlinson had a seven-year battle with breast cancer. Nothing remarkable so far. Except that seven years earlier, she was given just six months to live. I haven't finished yet though. Jane didn't just sit down awaiting the Big Day: she decided to make the most of her time left on this planet by raising money for charity. By running marathons, half-marathons, triathlons and even the Iron Man, where she became the first cancer patient ever to complete it. She set about doing other such things, like spending 63 days crossing the United States from San Francisco to New York City on a bike. After her second London Marathon, she went back to work as a radiographer. That was only days after cycling from Land's End to John O'Groats. She won some of the highest awards - BBC Sports Personality of the Year Helen Rollason Award for outstanding bravery, the Sunday Times Sportswoman of the Year, and was awarded a CBE in the Queen's Birthday Honours this year.
Jane always thought she was an ordinary person but the truth is she brought happiness to a lot of people through her charity work. Even near the end, in June of this year, she organised a 10km road race in her home city of Leeds. Such was her appeal, the race was attended by about ten thousand competitors. She was too ill to race herself then, but she came along and started the event, watching from a raised platform. Despite Jane Tomlinson's worry that it would not be successful, the event is set to become a permanent fixture in the city.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/2585103.stm
Luciano Pavarotti
Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma! Tu pure, o Principessa,
Nella tua fredda stanza
Guardi le stelle
Che tremano d'amore e di speranza.
Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me,
Il nome mio nessun saprà!
Solo quando la luce splenderà,
Sulla tua bocca lo dirò fremente!
Ed il mio bacio scioglierà il silenzio
Che ti fa mia!
Il nome suo nessun saprà
E noi dovremo, ahimè, morir!
Il principe ignoto
Dilegua, o notte! Tramontate, stelle! Tramontate stelle!
All'alba vincerò!
It is hard to find out that someone who gave you one of the most memorable moments of your life is no longer, but Luciano Pavarotti was indeed a member of that list for me. When I was sixteen and enjoyed the music of the time, I was still drawn to the haunting voice and the larger-than-life personality of Luciano Pavarotti. The summer of the World Cup in Italy in 1990 was one of the longest, which I spent with my visiting uncle and his opera music. The BBC had made Nessun Dorma its theme tune for the tournament and by the end of the first round I was knew the lyrics, as you see above. The BBC's theme tune became the tournament's anthem not just in the UK, so when the Three Tenors (Pavarotti, Domingo and Carreras) said they were going to put on a show the night before the final, the whole family tuned in to watch the show. In fact, I think there were just as many viewers for that event as for the final. And what an event it was, in the floodlit ruins of old Rome.
Pavarotti was born in Modena in humble surroundings but his talent for singing meant his future was secure. His father had a talent for singing too, but turned down the chance due to stage fright, something which his son definitely did not have. In his life, he visited all corners of the planet bringing opera to the people. He got his money from the toffee-nosed upper class, but he did not forget ordinary folk. He was involved in humanitarian work in Bosnia, Kosovo, Guatemala, Armenia and Iraq, and even crashed a U2 concert in Dublin to ask the band to play at his annual "Pavarotti and Friends" charity event in his home town. He set up a music centre in Mostar, Bosnia, specifically to bring about peace through music and the United Nations made him a Messenger of Peace, involving tackling child exploitation, poverty and HIV/AIDS.
He had his share of scandals, including leaving his wife of 35 years for another, younger woman, and was in all but name denounced by the Italian people for tax irregularities. However, despite this backdrop he remained a person of the people, a showman and a double world record holder - 165 curtain calls being one (!!!) and the biggest selling classical record of all time. Although the estimated crowd of half a million in New York for a concert in 1993 is probably also a record.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/1581651.stm
Three remarkable people, three reasons why the world is a sadder place today.
May they rest in peace.
Rhys Jones
In the city of Liverpool this week, mourners have been paying their last respects to the boy who was shot dead by a hooded man riding a BMX bike through the area of Croxteth Park. Rhys was a supporter of Everton FC and mad about his football. It has shocked the community of Liverpool and brought about a collective period of inner reflection in the city. In a sign of solidarity, Liverpool FC, the deadly rivals of Rhys's beloved team, invited his parents to Anfield on match day where he received a minute's applause from the crowd, following the playing of the Everton theme tune. An Everton fan getting a minute's applause at Liverpool FC is striking enough, but thousands of people came to his funeral where the parents asked everyone to dress in bright colours. Most put on their football colours to attend the service at Liverpool's Anglican Cathedral, where members of Everton's first team were also present.
This collective mass of solidarity has made a mockery of those who would turn to crime for their kicks. The far larger amount of decent people come out against violent crime through this type of collective action, yet still those who enjoy criminal lives do not listen. Nevertheless, decent folk will always outnumber the bad eggs.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/merseyside/6980996.stm
Jane Tomlinson
Across the Pennines in Leeds, Jane Tomlinson had a seven-year battle with breast cancer. Nothing remarkable so far. Except that seven years earlier, she was given just six months to live. I haven't finished yet though. Jane didn't just sit down awaiting the Big Day: she decided to make the most of her time left on this planet by raising money for charity. By running marathons, half-marathons, triathlons and even the Iron Man, where she became the first cancer patient ever to complete it. She set about doing other such things, like spending 63 days crossing the United States from San Francisco to New York City on a bike. After her second London Marathon, she went back to work as a radiographer. That was only days after cycling from Land's End to John O'Groats. She won some of the highest awards - BBC Sports Personality of the Year Helen Rollason Award for outstanding bravery, the Sunday Times Sportswoman of the Year, and was awarded a CBE in the Queen's Birthday Honours this year.
Jane always thought she was an ordinary person but the truth is she brought happiness to a lot of people through her charity work. Even near the end, in June of this year, she organised a 10km road race in her home city of Leeds. Such was her appeal, the race was attended by about ten thousand competitors. She was too ill to race herself then, but she came along and started the event, watching from a raised platform. Despite Jane Tomlinson's worry that it would not be successful, the event is set to become a permanent fixture in the city.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/2585103.stm
Luciano Pavarotti
Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma! Tu pure, o Principessa,
Nella tua fredda stanza
Guardi le stelle
Che tremano d'amore e di speranza.
Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me,
Il nome mio nessun saprà!
Solo quando la luce splenderà,
Sulla tua bocca lo dirò fremente!
Ed il mio bacio scioglierà il silenzio
Che ti fa mia!
Il nome suo nessun saprà
E noi dovremo, ahimè, morir!
Il principe ignoto
Dilegua, o notte! Tramontate, stelle! Tramontate stelle!
All'alba vincerò!
It is hard to find out that someone who gave you one of the most memorable moments of your life is no longer, but Luciano Pavarotti was indeed a member of that list for me. When I was sixteen and enjoyed the music of the time, I was still drawn to the haunting voice and the larger-than-life personality of Luciano Pavarotti. The summer of the World Cup in Italy in 1990 was one of the longest, which I spent with my visiting uncle and his opera music. The BBC had made Nessun Dorma its theme tune for the tournament and by the end of the first round I was knew the lyrics, as you see above. The BBC's theme tune became the tournament's anthem not just in the UK, so when the Three Tenors (Pavarotti, Domingo and Carreras) said they were going to put on a show the night before the final, the whole family tuned in to watch the show. In fact, I think there were just as many viewers for that event as for the final. And what an event it was, in the floodlit ruins of old Rome.
Pavarotti was born in Modena in humble surroundings but his talent for singing meant his future was secure. His father had a talent for singing too, but turned down the chance due to stage fright, something which his son definitely did not have. In his life, he visited all corners of the planet bringing opera to the people. He got his money from the toffee-nosed upper class, but he did not forget ordinary folk. He was involved in humanitarian work in Bosnia, Kosovo, Guatemala, Armenia and Iraq, and even crashed a U2 concert in Dublin to ask the band to play at his annual "Pavarotti and Friends" charity event in his home town. He set up a music centre in Mostar, Bosnia, specifically to bring about peace through music and the United Nations made him a Messenger of Peace, involving tackling child exploitation, poverty and HIV/AIDS.
He had his share of scandals, including leaving his wife of 35 years for another, younger woman, and was in all but name denounced by the Italian people for tax irregularities. However, despite this backdrop he remained a person of the people, a showman and a double world record holder - 165 curtain calls being one (!!!) and the biggest selling classical record of all time. Although the estimated crowd of half a million in New York for a concert in 1993 is probably also a record.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/1581651.stm
Three remarkable people, three reasons why the world is a sadder place today.
May they rest in peace.
Saturday, 1 September 2007
Greetings from La Serenissima
So I haven’t written much recently… I’ve been pretty busy this summer giving intensive courses and the weather was so bad I didn’t mind too much. However I’ve got a month off so I decided to go to Venice for a while and do some work on my book. That hasn’t worked either as the person I have come with doesn’t have the ability to walk into a museum alone so I have to go everywhere. Still, there’s a lot to see here if you don’t mind the appalling manners of the tourists. I kind of sympathise with the Venetians – it must be quite a frustrating life coming out of your own house and being swept away by a group of foreigners. But Venetians are a noble race of people and wonderfully tolerant.
I knew it was going to be special when I stepped off the airplane and even before going through to luggage collection smelled the invisible yet overpowering aroma of mother’s cooking. That for me was a special moment – just getting off the plane and the “Welcome to Italy” sign had been replaced with the smell of home cooking.
I have many Italian students and I could never understand why they were so naïve about food. Many of them have barely tried food from outside Italy, let alone great cuisines like Chinese, Indian and northern European. So I wanted to find out why. This was another reason for my trip here, to see why Italians are such gastro-snobs. Yet having spent eight days here, I have come to appreciate that they might have a point. It is of course no reason to avoid other cuisines, and I still find it such a shame to be so parochial in your food tastes, but you can actually understand why.
When you see the food in the shops, when you see the perfection of the presentation of the meal on the plate before you, it really puts some other places to shame. And furthermore, they hardly import. All the fruit is Mediterranean, all the meat is local, and all the vegetables are from neighbouring regions. And therefore the milk tastes not of thickened water but of milk, the fish tastes not of ammonia but of fish, the red peppers taste of red peppers, not of preservative. The meat is the same size when you take it out of the pan as when it was dropped in there, the wine fills your nostrils as much as it wets your mouth, and even the bread has a flavour and consistency to it superior to our stiff and hole-ridden baguettes. Over all, everything tastes like it should. For that reason I can’t understand why we have allowed our food standards to deteriorate simply for cheapness and rapidity of sale.
http://www.goslitski.net/template.cfm?action=gastronomy
So what are the essential tips for Venice?
Firstly, don’t be hypnotised by the Venice Card they sell first-time visitors over the Net for about 100 euro. Work out where you’re going to go and entry prices and compare it to what reductions or free entries you might get with the card. The first rule of a holiday is: never plan!
Secondly, obey local habits and try to integrate – you’ll be treated like a local then: walk on the right hand side of the narrow streets and alleys, learn some Italian, wear decent clothes, don’t stand on the bridges ogling your map, and don’t drop litter.
Thirdly, remember this is Italy. I can’t count the amount of people I saw buying fast food but to me that would be an insult. Would you go to Belgium and drink Heineken? No. Well in Italy you would do well to try as much of the local produce as you can. But don’t follow guide book suggestions as they’re mostly paid by the establishments to advertise. We came across a group of French schoolchildren who were hanging round the embankment at the Fondamenta Nova, chatting and running about. It was evident their teachers had let them loose for the evening to explore the city and they had just decided to encamp themselves on the promenade. But it got worse. The owner of the trattoria where we were said they had been there all day. Imagine going to a city like Venice and only sitting on the bank chatting to the same people who you can see every day of the year...? And then four of them said they were going off to look for a McDonald's. I choked on an olive.
On this note though I would like to point out one particular Trattoria called Al Vecio Portal, close to San Zaccaria. The garden out back is serene and gets nice and dark at night, but let’s move away from the cliché stuff and concentrate on the menu. It’s not a very big menu, but that’s because they do it with love. Any menu which has more than three pages of food is offering too much to be of any quality. The fish is the greatest thing on the menu and the waiter fillets it in front of you. I watched him doing it in the garden at ten at night on Friday. Now that’d turn a lot of women on: imagine being able to say you can de-bone a fish in the dark… A couple of other things on the menu to point out are the rustic starter and the fragola: a creamy fruit dish which will just precipitate those “desires” one gets after dinner in a place like Venice.
My favourite part of Venice are the less touristy areas around the Arsenale and Cannaregio. There are some wonderful places to sit day or night and get away from the tourists, who insist on conglomerating in the area between the Rialto Bridge and St Mark’s Square. I would like to point you in the direction of the Church of Madonna dell'Orto, and close by is the church of Sant'Alvise, which both have more history that entire Belgian towns. Tintoretto is buried in one of the churches - I won't tell you which, because I'd hope you'd visit both, but when you look around that particular church, it makes you wonder about the dedication and discipline of the artists of that time.
A couple of days ago I visited the Doge’s Palace, expecting a collection of dusty old relics and some paintings. That’s what was there, but a thousand times more glorious. The most overwhelming sensations of my life took place in the Notre Dame in Paris, St Paul’s Cathedral in London, Rouen Cathedral and the Thistle Chapel in Edinburgh, but I got the mini-shakes in the Sala del Maggio Consiglio in the Doge’s Palace. It is enormous. One of the biggest rooms in the world, it is 54 metres long and about 25 metres wide. You could hold a cricket match in there. And the works of art on the walls were breathtaking. As for the rest of the palace, be careful of the vampires in curators’ outfits circling round you, whose only job it seems, is to stop you from taking photos, so that we spend more money in their shop. Well I can tell you no bespectacled curator is going to stop me from taking home a photo of a Tintoretto masterpiece. I held my camera round my neck and took photos from chest height. Luckily my sense of orientation is passable, so I got some pretty good ones in there. If you do intend going to the Doge’s Palace, get your tickets in advance or you can wait a good hour to get in. A Venice Pass is handy in this instance.
One thing about Venice is the parochial feel you get from living in a city on an island. OK, there are lots of tourists but they go away after a few days, never to return. The side streets and squares where local people live are full of life at certain times of the day, then suddenly they’re sweeping up – usually about three in the afternoon – ready for siesta. This place is simply so internationally known and yet it is just like any other city where people live on top of each other. The kids play football against the walls of the squares, the parents sit peacefully sipping latte macchiato knowing someone is not going to get away from the scene so quickly with their children, and the streets are positively thick with the smell of nonna’s cooking.
I took a trip to Murano, an island not far from Venice and went round the shops looking at the various glass objects for sale. It is a nice island for visiting but forget buying anything more than earrings or a small vase unless you’ve emptied the contents of your savings account. Not far from there is the island of San Michele, where Venice’s dead are interred. Some very interesting people are buried there too – Sir Ashley Clarke, British Ambassador to Italy in the fifties and sixties and founder of the Venice In Peril fund, Ezra Pound, Igor Stravinsky and Joseph Brodsky. San Michele’s cemetery is divided up into denominations, and the Protestant part (called "accattolico" - acatholic - by the cemetery staff) is the most neglected. A shame really, as the people in there are the most interesting, and it’s probably the most visited section.
In any case, Venice is really worth a visit if you like good food, architecture, walking, art, boats, clothes, jewellery and photography. I have taken more than a thousand photos here and I’m sure some of them will be found in my upcoming exhibition in the autumn and on my website. I'm off to Prague on Monday but I will be back on Wednesday and then I promise to write more often.
I knew it was going to be special when I stepped off the airplane and even before going through to luggage collection smelled the invisible yet overpowering aroma of mother’s cooking. That for me was a special moment – just getting off the plane and the “Welcome to Italy” sign had been replaced with the smell of home cooking.
I have many Italian students and I could never understand why they were so naïve about food. Many of them have barely tried food from outside Italy, let alone great cuisines like Chinese, Indian and northern European. So I wanted to find out why. This was another reason for my trip here, to see why Italians are such gastro-snobs. Yet having spent eight days here, I have come to appreciate that they might have a point. It is of course no reason to avoid other cuisines, and I still find it such a shame to be so parochial in your food tastes, but you can actually understand why.
When you see the food in the shops, when you see the perfection of the presentation of the meal on the plate before you, it really puts some other places to shame. And furthermore, they hardly import. All the fruit is Mediterranean, all the meat is local, and all the vegetables are from neighbouring regions. And therefore the milk tastes not of thickened water but of milk, the fish tastes not of ammonia but of fish, the red peppers taste of red peppers, not of preservative. The meat is the same size when you take it out of the pan as when it was dropped in there, the wine fills your nostrils as much as it wets your mouth, and even the bread has a flavour and consistency to it superior to our stiff and hole-ridden baguettes. Over all, everything tastes like it should. For that reason I can’t understand why we have allowed our food standards to deteriorate simply for cheapness and rapidity of sale.
http://www.goslitski.net/template.cfm?action=gastronomy
So what are the essential tips for Venice?
Firstly, don’t be hypnotised by the Venice Card they sell first-time visitors over the Net for about 100 euro. Work out where you’re going to go and entry prices and compare it to what reductions or free entries you might get with the card. The first rule of a holiday is: never plan!
Secondly, obey local habits and try to integrate – you’ll be treated like a local then: walk on the right hand side of the narrow streets and alleys, learn some Italian, wear decent clothes, don’t stand on the bridges ogling your map, and don’t drop litter.
Thirdly, remember this is Italy. I can’t count the amount of people I saw buying fast food but to me that would be an insult. Would you go to Belgium and drink Heineken? No. Well in Italy you would do well to try as much of the local produce as you can. But don’t follow guide book suggestions as they’re mostly paid by the establishments to advertise. We came across a group of French schoolchildren who were hanging round the embankment at the Fondamenta Nova, chatting and running about. It was evident their teachers had let them loose for the evening to explore the city and they had just decided to encamp themselves on the promenade. But it got worse. The owner of the trattoria where we were said they had been there all day. Imagine going to a city like Venice and only sitting on the bank chatting to the same people who you can see every day of the year...? And then four of them said they were going off to look for a McDonald's. I choked on an olive.
On this note though I would like to point out one particular Trattoria called Al Vecio Portal, close to San Zaccaria. The garden out back is serene and gets nice and dark at night, but let’s move away from the cliché stuff and concentrate on the menu. It’s not a very big menu, but that’s because they do it with love. Any menu which has more than three pages of food is offering too much to be of any quality. The fish is the greatest thing on the menu and the waiter fillets it in front of you. I watched him doing it in the garden at ten at night on Friday. Now that’d turn a lot of women on: imagine being able to say you can de-bone a fish in the dark… A couple of other things on the menu to point out are the rustic starter and the fragola: a creamy fruit dish which will just precipitate those “desires” one gets after dinner in a place like Venice.
My favourite part of Venice are the less touristy areas around the Arsenale and Cannaregio. There are some wonderful places to sit day or night and get away from the tourists, who insist on conglomerating in the area between the Rialto Bridge and St Mark’s Square. I would like to point you in the direction of the Church of Madonna dell'Orto, and close by is the church of Sant'Alvise, which both have more history that entire Belgian towns. Tintoretto is buried in one of the churches - I won't tell you which, because I'd hope you'd visit both, but when you look around that particular church, it makes you wonder about the dedication and discipline of the artists of that time.
A couple of days ago I visited the Doge’s Palace, expecting a collection of dusty old relics and some paintings. That’s what was there, but a thousand times more glorious. The most overwhelming sensations of my life took place in the Notre Dame in Paris, St Paul’s Cathedral in London, Rouen Cathedral and the Thistle Chapel in Edinburgh, but I got the mini-shakes in the Sala del Maggio Consiglio in the Doge’s Palace. It is enormous. One of the biggest rooms in the world, it is 54 metres long and about 25 metres wide. You could hold a cricket match in there. And the works of art on the walls were breathtaking. As for the rest of the palace, be careful of the vampires in curators’ outfits circling round you, whose only job it seems, is to stop you from taking photos, so that we spend more money in their shop. Well I can tell you no bespectacled curator is going to stop me from taking home a photo of a Tintoretto masterpiece. I held my camera round my neck and took photos from chest height. Luckily my sense of orientation is passable, so I got some pretty good ones in there. If you do intend going to the Doge’s Palace, get your tickets in advance or you can wait a good hour to get in. A Venice Pass is handy in this instance.
One thing about Venice is the parochial feel you get from living in a city on an island. OK, there are lots of tourists but they go away after a few days, never to return. The side streets and squares where local people live are full of life at certain times of the day, then suddenly they’re sweeping up – usually about three in the afternoon – ready for siesta. This place is simply so internationally known and yet it is just like any other city where people live on top of each other. The kids play football against the walls of the squares, the parents sit peacefully sipping latte macchiato knowing someone is not going to get away from the scene so quickly with their children, and the streets are positively thick with the smell of nonna’s cooking.
I took a trip to Murano, an island not far from Venice and went round the shops looking at the various glass objects for sale. It is a nice island for visiting but forget buying anything more than earrings or a small vase unless you’ve emptied the contents of your savings account. Not far from there is the island of San Michele, where Venice’s dead are interred. Some very interesting people are buried there too – Sir Ashley Clarke, British Ambassador to Italy in the fifties and sixties and founder of the Venice In Peril fund, Ezra Pound, Igor Stravinsky and Joseph Brodsky. San Michele’s cemetery is divided up into denominations, and the Protestant part (called "accattolico" - acatholic - by the cemetery staff) is the most neglected. A shame really, as the people in there are the most interesting, and it’s probably the most visited section.
In any case, Venice is really worth a visit if you like good food, architecture, walking, art, boats, clothes, jewellery and photography. I have taken more than a thousand photos here and I’m sure some of them will be found in my upcoming exhibition in the autumn and on my website. I'm off to Prague on Monday but I will be back on Wednesday and then I promise to write more often.
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