Rocking that *International* Paradise

Icacos, Puerto Rico We ended up on Captain Mingo’s boat bound for the small isle of Icacos completely by chance.  We began the day bound for Culebra, Puerto Rico.  The small island off of PR’s east coast is known among locals as having the most beautiful beaches in Puerto Rico.  Leaving Guayama and heading east at 6:45am, we were graced with a breathtaking sunrise over the ocean.  Getting up early on a Saturday isn’t so bad with a reward like this.  We arrived in Fajardo to purchase our ferry tickets at 8:00am.  We were too late. The 9:00am ferry for Culebra was sold out, and the next one didn’t leave until 1:00pm. We got into line for the ferry to Vieques instead. The 9:30 ferry for Vieques sold out.  The next one didn’t leave until 3:00pm.  We stepped out of the line, resigned to visit the less-magnificent (but still nice) beach at Luquillo instead, since it was only a 15 minute drive away. Fortunately, Rachel had a better idea.  With the help of the internet on Da

We started our poetry unit in 8 th grade a few weeks ago.  I’m enraptured.  Granted… my students look bored and threaten to fall asleep when we talk about poetic structure and mechanics, and even when we read it, I get a stilted reaction. But when I let them write it… I am seeing sides of my students that I didn’t know existed.  The shy, socially awkward boy who never does an assignment quite perfectly shows a depth of emotion in his poetry that shocks me.  The bumbling jock in the back row, when allowed to write love poetry, whips out vocabulary like “quantify,” which blows me away.  Students turn in poems I never asked them to write.  It makes me grin.  When they have time to write in class, I have a hard time keeping them quiet—but not because they’re not working.  It’s because they are so eager to share their work with one another.  They write something down, then get up to read it to their friends.  They pass their work amongst the desks and praise each other.  Their writing

When my friends Mandy and Nick were first planning their visit to Puerto Rico, we had planned on spending Sunday and Monday in Old San Juan, sightseeing and enjoying the picturesque city.  As we discussed what we’d do when they came, this idea became more of a possibility and less of a sure thing, because we had so many options. Not three days before they arrived, I found out that the weekend Mandy and Nick would be in Puerto Rico, an enormous street festival would be taking place in Old San Juan.  And I don’t mean an oversized arts and crafts fair.  I mean that the Festival of San Sebastian is one of the biggest events of the year.  Tens of thousands (if not hundreds of thousands) of people flock to OSJ for the festival, which includes artisans, food, parades, and LOTS of partying.  After a bit of deliberation, the three of us decided that despite the crowds, seeing Old San Juan was a can’t-miss attraction, and that the cultural aspects of the festival were most likely worth it.  W

That's me! Last Saturday, I had the adventure of a lifetime.  My friends Nick and Mandy were visiting me from Wisconsin, and we decided to do something “extreme” while they were here.  We settled on a rappelling/ziplining adventure that took us to the Carite Rainforest on a hike where there were certainly no manicured paths to follow.  It’s an experience I will never ever forget! The day started at 9:30am, when the tour company picked us up in the Walgreens parking lot in Caguas.  From there we drove maybe half an hour through winding, mountain roads—with beautiful views!  Then we parked the van at an abandoned school , harnessed up, and got our helmets.  Next it was off to hike up a steep road for maybe 10 minutes (I thought this was the most physically taxing part of the day…though my back muscles argued differently the next morning).  We came to a mountain stream and waded in.  Our guide, Marco, told us, “Get your feet wet, and get used to it…this was the last time they’

I watched Childhood today. I cannot put down its beauty in words.  A picture could not capture it.  A video would have come closest.  But to take one would have ruined it.  I have my mental video. From my spot on the beach, hugging my knees in the cool wind, I watched the little girl, skinny legs braced in the sand, lean down and fill a plastic bottle with mud, tip it over to see that none fell out, then plop it down and repeat the process in the late afternoon sun.  I watched the two other small girls—her sisters, I imagine—take their clear plastic bottles and make wonders with them.  Catching waves in a bottle.  Sprinkling sea foam over the giant sand pile they’d built.  Running back and forth on the shore, full of endless energy.  I watched their mother stand up from near their sand pile and brush herself off.  Dressed in shorts and a tank top, she was there to help them have fun, but not to join in enough to get herself dirty.  After a time, I watched Grandpa come over and round

The first day back to school was…tiring.  It was the case of missing homework and a preoccupation with talking.  As far as days go, it wasn’t bad.  And it wasn’t good.  It was just a day. The second day back was better.  Though talking was still an issue (talking is always an issue here), there was (almost) no missing homework.  Better yet, when teaching research to my advanced 7 th grade class today, I was met not with blank, uncomprehending stares, but a genuine understanding of the task at hand.  When I gave them work time to take notes at the end of the hour, they were actually able to use the time—creating source cards and beginning to highlight their sources and take notes.  Yes , I thought, This is the way this unit is supposed to work .  Class today gave me faith that although there is a chance that some of the research papers I receive may be poorly written, riddled with unintentional plagiarism, and not  based on completely research-able topics, my papers from this particu

Preemptive Note: The first half of this post was actually written in the airport between flights on my way home, when I was feeling rather philosophical.  The second half was written tonight, as I recline in my bed rather tired after the first day back to school.  You may notice a distinct difference in writing style.  Enjoy. I lead two lives. I have a life in Wisconsin.  And I have a life in Puerto Rico.  Of course there’s some overlap; people coming to visit, chats via skype, etc.  But it’s strange how separate the two lives feel.  When I came home for Christmas, the moment I stepped off the plane in Minneapolis, it felt as though I had left Puerto Rico behind me, in a dream world that didn’t really exist unless I was there.  It felt, as I wrote three weeks ago, like stepping back into real life. Friday morning, as I watched the sun rise on the eastern horizon as my plane made its way from Minneapolis to Milwaukee, I felt I had already left my Wisconsin life behind, and Puerto Rico

I will write a full post about how good it feels to be back home in Puerto Rico, and try and explain my feelings on the plane and on the drive home.  But first…let me explain why my heart keeps pounding in my chest and I keep perching on the back of my kitchen chair like I’m afraid to touch the floor. It’s as if the creatures of the world noticed our house was sad and lonely for a few weeks and decided to move in.  Or at least come and visit. I came home last night to fresh termite trails in my bedroom, a dead roach in the bathroom, and of course the ever-present ants crawling over nearly every surface.  All these are routine, expected (well, not the roach…but at least it was dead).  Things I could handle and shrug off.  But then when I was unpacking my clothes, I found tiny poo pellets on some of the shirts I had left here over break.  It (thankfully) appeared too small to be mouse poop.  Probably a little gecko.  At least that’s what I’m (still) telling myself. Next I found more