Monday, June 28, 2010

Move Over Jackie Chan, Taigu's First Sitcom Goes Viral!

Over three months of painstaking work later, and the sitcom that was once no more than a hatch-brained joke has turned into a reality.  The end result was way better than any of us could have expected, but it's not to say that there weren't doubts as to whether or not it would ever make it out of post-production.  With bad weather and hectic end-of-semester schedules foiling the movie-making process at every turn, we only finished shooting the raw footage of the film with four days left to spare until we would all be skipping town.  Even then, more corners were cut when we realized that we missed a couple of key shots and had to pick them up, out of chronology, and at times with months in age added to our main actors.  Both Dave and Anne were planning to leave Taigu a little earlier due to extenuating circumstances, so most of the group was content to let the sitcom sit in Gerald's hands for the summer and watch it whenever it was finally completed online.  That predisposed, of course, that we wouldn't be able to watch it together as a group, which was kind of the entire reason for wanting to make the sitcom in the first place.  The sitcom (antithetical to me posting it online) was for us—to celebrate how far we had come in a year of living together and to commemorate the incredible amount of free time we will surely never have again—and that was reason enough to act quickly.

Gerald was the first to recognize this, and with an incredibly limited window of time to do all of the editing, it was then that we put him under house arrest.  To be fair, it was largely at his own request, but for four straight days he was left with only the bare essentials: water, ramen noodles, periodic check-ins for dizzy spells, and a 3-sleeve variety pack of Oreos.  He had two laptop cooling pads running around the clock, and still his computer had sporadic breakdowns due to heat exhaustion, leaving segments of unsaved work swallowed up by the ether.  We left his girlfriend Ida in charge of attending to his other responsibilities—tabulating the final grades for his classes, taking him leftovers from meals, and making sure he retained consciousness long enough to finish editing—while the rest of us, begrudgingly, went about our normal routines stricken by his absence, but knowing full well that he had committed himself to a worthwhile cause.

On the forth day, G[eral]d created “It's Not Jackie Chan.”  Hours upon hours of raw footage were consolidated into a shiny 22-minute final product—a real life sitcom, and the first in Taigu's history.  In the intervening days, Anne and I secured a classroom with a projector to be able to show it on a big screen in all of its HD glory.  Our friendship with our Chinese friend Bobby gave us top billing rights to use his classroom, normally reserved for organizational meetings of the Rubik's Cube club, for which Bobby is the president (in previous months, we were invited to attend a “party” for the club that had us facetiously compete in games of skill and had remarkably little to do with Rubik's cubes).  On opening day, we dressed to the nines and rolled out the red carpet in anticipation of our theatrical debut—what was to be the show's world premiere.  Save for Gerald, none of had seen the finished project—only bits and pieces gleamed from watching him edit in various capacities over the last four days.

Gerald introduced the sitcom and each actor to a room full of applause.

Our guest list wasn't particularly long, but friends from all over came out to see it.  Like the heartwarming season finale to a long-running show, so too was how my first year in Taigu came to a close.  I was overcome with how many of my students took the time to come out for the premiere, skipping out on other obligations just to show their support.  At the end of the night, the entire room was booked solid—there was not an empty seat to be found and we had rows of people crowding around in the back to watch.  The reaction to the sitcom was largely good, though many of my non-English majors (not surprisingly) had a fair bit of difficulty understanding all of the dialogue.  Many simply nodded and smiled: “funny” they said, before graciously heading to the exits.  At the end of the day, the sitcom (despite all of our time and energy spent) was really just a warm-up for Gerald's next project: a feature-length film to be shot in Taigu next year.  It was a way to work out all the kinks with his camera and practice the entire movie-making process from start to finish.  In retrospect, there's a lot that we could have done differently, but I'm still really proud to have my name slapped across the opening credits.  Special thanks go to all of the actors involved, because this wouldn't have been possible without all the work they contributed to the project.

And now without further ado: “It's Not Jackie Chan!”

It's Not Jackie Chan (Episode 1) from Gerald Lee on Vimeo.  For slower connections, it might be best to wait a little while for the whole video to load.  Don't forget to stay tuned past the ending for a special surprise!

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Black Diamond (or Big Foot) Ahead

With a name like Snowdonia, you would think that this area in North Wales is known only for winterland bliss; however Snowdonia delivers summertime excitement as well. And not just on the black diamond level, although you can find that extreme entertainment as well.

Upon our arrival at Graig Wen, where we are tucked away in a glorious yurt. Some of you may be asking, what's a yurt. Imagine the luxurious large round tents that Ghengis Khan and company stayed in and you'll get the idea...ours comes complete with oriental rugs, plenty of fur, plus a gas burning stove and wood burning stove for heat. The area around our yurt, and all through Snowdonia, is lush...huge stands of pine forest surrounded by tangles of oak and ash cut with walking paths. I half expect Big Foot to pop out of the bushes.

At the yurt, Heath from Firefox stops by to give us a crash course in outdoor survival, skills necessary to the major hikes and climbs that are so popular in this area. The boys love learning to start a fire...what boy wouldn't?...and learning to put a "basher"...a small shelter. After we bid Heath goodbye, we embark on our own hike, but I think the large flock of sheep are more in need of survival skills than we are as the boys attempt to heard them.

We can't come to SNOWdonia and not try skiing, and the slopes are calling, the dry slopes that is. At Plas y Brenin, they offer courses in kayaking, mountain climbing and skiing. So the boys pop on the Rossis and head down a grassy slope covered in a white netting and sprayed with water. Skiing without freezing, the cold wimp in me approves!

We end the trip just outside Snowdonia in the medieval town of Conwy where we stay within the still intact town walls just down the street from a towering castle! History comes alive as the kids solve the mystery of the Children's Trail through the castle, which includes a ramble along ramparts and a climb up to a soaring tower...hundreds of feet high!

Snowdonia's adventure land has been lots of family fun, but tomorrow we're off for a different sort of adventure...a journey down the Llangollen Canal. If you see us floating by, be sure to say Hello!

Friday, June 18, 2010

A Knight in Eco-Friendly, Very Green Armor

Wales is known for it's legends... most notoriously that of King Arthur and the knights of the Round Table, but are there real knights stl living in Wales? Today we're exploring legends from a by gone era and the heroes of Wales today.

Nearby Bantwen cottage, we stumbled upon Merlin's hill...a place where Merlin was supposedly captured and at night residents claim to hear him moaning to this day. The kids get caught up in the mythical legends of Wales...stories that include wizards (Merlin is the most famous of them), giants, dragons and more. Just north of Pembrokesire, near Machynlleth, we voyage below ground to explore King Arthur's Labyrinth, a boat journey and walk through abandonded slate mines with still life scenes, light and audio displays, and a medieval guide to tell the Just Just down the road from Bantwen cottage, we discover the place Merlin was captured, Merlin's Hill, the final resting place of Wales' most famous wizard. Locals say you can still hear him moan at night. It really makes the stories come alive for the boys, who, of course, want to buy wizard wands in the gift shop and try the magic out for themselves.

Just down the road from King Arthur's Labyrinth we discover green Wales at the Centre for Alternative Technology. The interactive exhibits at this outdoor museum inform visitors about energy usage, conservation choices, and alternative methods of doing things in an easy to understand and translate to your own life sort of way. For example it tells you how much water a bath uses vs a shower, and how much energy it takes to put a computer to sleep instead of turning it off...real life facts that can be incorporated easily into everyday life. The kids like all the hands-on exhibits and the ride up to the museum on a water-weight, pulley system tram.

Another area of Wales known for it's green-ness is Pembrokeshire. The coastal path that winds over 100 miles down the dramatic coastline here is popular for weeks long hiking breaks and St. David's, Britain's smallest city, is about to be it's first carbon neutral city as well. Our hotel here is in a restored barn, but very luxurious, and is very Eco-friendly. The Asheston House has solar warmed water and wind powered electrcity but plenty of creature comforts too with fluffy beds, a full kitchen and amazing views of the Welsh countryside.

One of the main promoters of St. David's greenitude is Pembokeshire's own enviro-knight...protector of the environment, Andy Middleton. He rides his bike to work, when he does drive it's in a car powered by leftover cooking fat, and he's currently working on a turbine project that creates energy from the tidal shifts. So, you may be thinking this guy's an eccentric, but he looks just like anyone else walking down the street. He also runs a coasteering company, a sport which he founded in the 1990's because of his love of exploring his childhood coast. It basically combines kayaking, mountain climbing and surfing skills. So we suit up, in full wetsuits to protect us from the cold waters and sharp rocks, and scramble down and over cliffs, swim through bays, and exore sea caves before kayaking back to base.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Wales in Wonderland

I don't know whether we've just fallen down a Welsh rabbit hole, but the countryside here in Wales is as intriguing and mythical as any Lewis Carrol story. Just after The Big Pit we went below ground again at Dan-yr-ogof Caves where we saw soaring rock formations, six foot pillars and ribbons, straw formations and more. There are three caves, one of which was hosting a wedding, but what really brought home the history of the location for the kids were the dinosaurs...at least fifty almost life-sized statues of dinosaurs fill the jungly surrounds of the park. The kids loved exploring and posing for super scared pictures with them!

After the caves, we drove through fields and fields of rolling green hills bordered with stone walls and dotted with sheep. It looks much like Ireland...though we never saw an actvity center like Llangorse Actvity Centre when we were there. The center hosts huge obstacle and ropes courses and the kids enjoyed riding horses, zip lining and mountain climbing through an indoor wonderland, but took a miss on the Dingle Scramble, which would entail soldier crawling through very chilly mountain water.

Our accommodation in Brecon Beacons consisted of a beautiful restored farmhouse, Brynich Farm Holiday Cottages, still run by the man who grow up on the farm followed by a stay in a traditional thatched roof hut. With a vaulted twiggy ceiling and tiny doorways Bantwen Cottage felt very much like the White Rabbit's house...though with cable for the World Cup and Wifi to stay in touch with the outside world.

Next, we're off to explore the west coast of Wales with very green, in the environmental sense and the landscape, St. David's, and the dramatic Pembrokeshire Coast. Stay tuned...

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Wales Old and New

So, we reached Wales none too worse for the wear. Our flight was a bit delayed, so we had to run...full speed...to catch our connection. But, we made it. We flew on American Airlines' new 777, which had movies and games in each seat back, so the kids were well entertained. The transfer from the airport was simple...Heathrow Express train in from the airport in London and hop a train to Cardiff. No problems there and as always the kids loved watching the fields, sheep and castles drift past the window.

Cardiff is a wonderful city. Vast modern pedestrian areas lined with shops and sidewalk cafes are dotted with tiny 19th century arcades and ancient churches. A real mix of old and new. The kids had a ball exploring Cardiff Castle, pretending to be knights scaling the castle keep, and going on the castle's treasure hunt for animals in each room. A short drive outside Cardiff took us to Welsh Hawking Center, where the kids had a chance to pet a three week old owl and fly hawks. Seeing a hawk, almost as big as they are, land on their leather clad arm in the green fields of an old farm, while a young, modern chap relayed the history of hawking was just brilliant. Again, very much a mix of old and new. Nearby, we hit the beach...not like the ones they are used to at home. This one was filled with small stones instead of sand and is famous for its fossils. It seems every other rock had a clam or small animal imprint on it. Jeremy's pockets were loaded down with souvenirs.

Next day, we learned more about the fossils at the National Museum, which has extensive exhibits on Welsh geography. Nathan loved the dinosaur room with its sound effects and mechanical displays, while Seamus was agape at the jewel room...next trip he's looking for geodes instead of fossils!

The Roman ruins in Caerleon let the kids use their gladiator souvenirs (bought at Cardiff Castle, which also has a history as a Roman fort)as they ran through the tunnels previously used by gladiators and lions and had sword fights on the auditorium floor.

The Big Pit was a big hit! After kitting up with a hard hat and light, we traveled almost 300 ft. underground to check out the old coal mine that is such a big part of Welsh history. The kids were suprised to learn about kids their age that worked the mines back in the 19th century (with no DS or television to boot!) and were excited to mine their own bits of coal...more souvenirs for Jeremy's pockets (his jacket must weigh a good 10 lbs now!). The Big Pit mining museum was very impressive as well...with interactive displays using light and surround sound that enthralled the kids!

Today, we're off to explore the natural side of Wales with a climb through the National Showcaves and a hike around Brecon Beacons National Park. Stay tuned for more from beautiful Wales.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

What They Don't Teach You in Teaching School

In most non-coastal cities in America, area blackouts are about as common as getting struck by lightning or becoming infected by West Nile Virus.  If it happens once or twice in your lifetime, you might count yourself among the victims of random chance and move on, and any more than that, you'd probably start looking for a new place to live.  They're so rare in fact, that the simple mention of a date and place alone can often conjure up memories of an exact moment in a person's life.

In Taigu, area blackouts occur about as frequently as trips to the dry cleaners or paying a utility bill.  Rare is it that a few weeks pass without our breakers going haywire and the school losing power to one half or the other of its campus.  If we're lucky, we're spared the wrath that propels convenient stores and student dorms into total darkness on the north-side, but just as often, it's the paths and streetlamps that line our locality that turn off and our houses that go dim.  Sometimes that loss of power is just for a few hours, and at other times, for an entire day or more.

In these moments without power, there comes a harkening back to an older time, when sunlight was the sole arbiter of sleep cycles and the intensity of a given workday.  Blackouts, especially in the evening, find us in one of two situations: one, going to sleep early for lack of suitably engaging activities; or two, attempting to offset our boredom with our own fun—in other words, trying to make the best of a difficult situation, often involving a few candles, a case of beer, and a board game at our disposal.

The latter is where we found ourselves on the latest occasion without electricity.  It was about 7pm, still early enough in the spring to be able to sit in my living room with the front door opened and the blinds drawn, and subsist from the modest amount of light that was bleating through the glass panes before sunset.  Four of us were there making small talk and generally passing the time, a scene reminiscent of the front stoops outside of walk-up brownstones in my neighborhood back home.  Though the sun was still out, we knew that it would not last long, and began to make preparations.

What would help more than anything in the case of a blackout would be forewarning, some time to prepare beforehand both one's mental and physical state, as well as a few items of utility—a flashlight, some water, perhaps a portable music player to listen to—but like most forces of nature, it is precisely this time that is governed by the tides of chance.  When one minute you could be taking a shower and the next losing power is anyone's guess.  You just have to hope that, despite the suddenness, it doesn't catch you at an inopportune time.  The same can be said of a particular group of students heading into exam period.

At the end of every semester there are those students—their numbers comprising a very small minority of the total, but a population nonetheless—who have attended less than a handful of classes all year, but who are convinced of their entitlement to a passing grade.  Despite it being an Oral English class, whose very purpose is to instruct students in the ability to speak and understand English with more competence and fluency, most of this subset of students can barely spout more than the most common English stock phrases, nor understand the things that I say in class.

Last semester, it was less of a problem because the campus was locked-down for two months of the year due to the H1N1 epidemic, and I forgave students who used it as an excuse for not being able to return to school—whether or not I thought it was true.  This semester there was no such calamity, and the students who didn't show up did so at a much more alarming rate—attendance for all of my classes dropped by about a-third to a-half, and those offending students nearly stopped coming altogether.

Disheartened and frustrated, I gave a warning to all of my students.  I told them that those who didn't start regularly attending class would receive a zero for a final grade.  For the first week following my announcement in May, attendance spiked, but it wasn't long before it began to stagnate again.  Finally, at the end of the month I instituted a cap for attendance: those who attended less than 20% of my classes all year—an incredibly minimal requirement considering that attendance is the crux of my grading policy—would not be allowed to take the final exam.

When I set out this final measure, I didn't think there would be much, if any, push-back on the part of my students.  Surely students who had never come to class and who had never handed in a single homework assignment knew that they would be failing my class.  I had laid out all of the class guidelines at the beginning of the semester, and had taken my students on a step-by-step breakdown of their grades.  Still, I took for granted one simple fact: that this was China, and students who got into college—regardless of what they did therein—were destined to pass.

Most were well-versed in this unwritten rule of the Chinese educational system: that passing the final is means for passing the class, regardless of attendance record.  But when suddenly I wrenched that single chance from their hands, they were forced to confront a much more grave predicament.  So the reaction I got from these students wasn't surprising.  They begrudgingly returned to class, most with a mixed demeanor of shock, embarrassment, hostility, and desperation.  After I explained, again, my rationale, each time with another third of the class watching, I thought I had finally put the issue to rest.

But like the blackouts that wreck unforeseen havoc on my living quarters, so too did that subset of students who one-after-the-other came to discuss the matter more fully at my house.  Unannounced and uninvited, they dropped by at all hours of the day and evening.  Most brought gifts, or the prospect of future gifts—a lavish dinner, a trip to the massage parlor, beautiful girls at a nightclub.  One came with a “translator”—one of the better students in the same class—and another with a Chinese friend of mine who thought he could use that relationship with me to improve his grade.

I surprised even myself by my own lack of sympathy.  I was ready to hardline to the death on this, what I considered to be the most basic requirement to ask of a student.  Without coming to class, there was no way to have learned anything I taught, so what could they possibly contribute to the exam?  I got all kinds of excuses for missing class—full-time jobs in other cities, experiments that lasted for months—but none of them got at the real issue.  Finally, I told them that if they could explain to me in English why they thought they deserved the chance to take the exam, I would let them take it.  None of them did.

Where it would have been much easier to give in, I stayed firm.  I lied at first, saying that it was a rule my boss had imposed, then finally owned up to it myself.  I wanted to teach them a lesson that I felt as graduate students they should have learned a long time ago.  It wasn't long before word spread and students in classes that weren't even my own began to find out.  Other students tried to petition for their struggling classmates—pleading with their own foreign teachers to get me to change my mind.  But my decision was final.

My goal as a teacher is to reward effort.  It doesn't bother me if a student's English level is not high so long as he or she makes some kind of an effort to improve—coming to class, following the lesson, asking questions if he or she doesn't understand.  My only hope is that the student's English level at the end of a semester is better than where it started.  It was clear from current performance, as well as looking at the grades from the past semester, that this wasn't the case for these students.  But all the while, I was beginning to doubt myself.

On the day of the blackout, I had already sunk into my own well of self-pity.  James caught me shirtless in my room, lying sprawled out on my bed and listening to Habib Koite at the highest volume my speakers could reach, the swoops and crashes of the African drum beats washing over my body like waves.  I told him that I wanted to cleanse my entire being, as if this music—other worldly as it sounded—could scald my skin down to its core and regenerate it anew.

I could hardly live with myself.  I was devastated by the belief that I had ruined these students' lives—that because of the stubbornness of my own principles, their paths could be unilaterally changed for the worse.  It didn't matter that I didn't believe they deserved a second chance.  They hadn't grown up in a culture and an educational system that enforced this way of thinking, so perhaps it wasn't fair that I was subjecting them to something so utterly foreign.  Their excuses would have been valid for most Chinese teachers, so why not for me too?

As the hour neared to when we would have to start lighting candles, there came a rap at my screen door.  By then the room was filled with a soft pale glow and most objects and faces were dimly distinguishable from one another, accented only by occasional movement.  I immediately recognized the figure at my door as my student, Susan.  Unlike my other flunkies, during the previous semester she had performed at the top of her class, but this spring I had seen her but a few times all year.  Despite my esteem for her as a student, I had an obligation to be fair.  I asked her friends in class to tell her that due to her absences, she would not be allowed to take the final exam.

She came to my house alone, a single silhouette in the door frame.  Outside, the sun had set, and already a grainy fog was filling in the sky like the backdrop to a film noir.  In her hands was a bundle of bananas—a bribe-of-sorts, but one that somehow felt more genuine than most.  Her eyes would hardly meet mine at first—oscillating between her shoes and the horizon in the distance behind my house.  Despite a cordiality to come in, she preferred to keep a certain distance.  As the others inside the house engaged in conversation, I went to greet her at the door.

Like most girls here, she wore plain clothes, no make-up, and kept her hair in a simple ponytail.  She began to explain the reason for her disappearance from class.  I was surprised by the degree to which she could still make herself understood in English, despite the long hiatus.  Her speech started slowly, then grew fast like a confession.  In the beginning of March, she got pregnant.  Her boyfriend, also a graduate student, was still legally single at the time.  A child out of wedlock in China was cause for scandal, so her parents wanted a marriage.  But first was the issue of the baby.

The couple discussed at length the measures they should take.  On the one hand, abortion was a relatively cheap and easy solution, but with it came a host of other moral dilemmas.  She herself came from a farming family, her parents the conservative devotees of Mao.  So the decision they made was to keep it, to bring the child into the world (her words).  And so, a marriage was in order.  Her parents made preparations for the shotgun wedding (my words).  Her boyfriend, as well as his parents, were amazingly obliging through the entire process, though everything about the pregnancy was kept under wraps.

The marriage was held in May, a small ceremony with just their closest friends and family.  Following that, she returned back to school, and began briefly attending class again—a story that checked out with my own attendance records.  But then there were the complications from the pregnancy.  Waking up feeling sick every morning, wanting to throw up.  Her parents wanted her to return home and not come back to school.  Not knowing the alternative, she agreed.

By now, the night sky was cascading hard across her face.  Activity along the small bypaths outside my house had slowed to a pitch.  I could tell by the creases in her eyes that Susan was on the brink of tears.  This was an incredibly embarrassing thing to admit to anyone, not least of which to a foreign English teacher.  She told me she would be taking the next year off from school in order to give birth, and afterward, might not come back to finish her degree.  If I had to guess, I would speculate that very few people knew about her predicament.  I asked her but one question: Why now?  She explained: I wanted to tell you earlier.  I just didn't know how.

As I looked out at the swirl of gray and black behind her, the entire scope of human experience became clear to me for a single instant.  Just one year earlier she was a child.  Now standing before me she was a mother-to-be, four-months pregnant, waiting for me to hand down my judgment.  She was just barely older than me but looked years younger.  I could only think of her in class.  Susan in the fourth row.  Susan in the stretchy dress, hands clasped around her stomach like a life preserver.  She was the first pregnant person my age that I had ever met.  Given the right circumstances, it could have happened to any one of us.  I took a long breath before responding.  Ok, I told her.  You can take the exam.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Travel With Kids Wales

Great news...Travel With Kids is now airing on television in 30 countries and still growing. This summer Travel With Kids hits the road again with a production trip to Wales. And now, with the advent of incredible technology, you won't have to wait for the T.V. or DVD versions to experience all the rich history and culture and fun family-friendly activities of this country. The Roberts family will be providing updates from the road right here on our blog and on our Facebook page and Twitter. So, be sure you are signed up to receive pictures and updates from the road. Here's a sampling from the Wales itinerary:

- Live the legend of King Arthur with a journey through King Arthur's Labyrinth and a hike to unlock the mystery of Merlin's Hill. Plus, watch as the Roberts boys learn to fly a falcon.

- Take to the hills. Discover one favorite Welsh pastime, hill walking. Oh and there's biking, horseback riding, coasteering, climbing...

- Learn how Wales is keeping green (and not just in the hills) at the Center for Alternative Technology and in Britain's first carbon-zero town, St. David's.

- Take in the beauty of the landscape above the ground on-board scenic rail journeys in Snowdonia, hiking through Pembrokeshire and below the ground with tours through old mines and natural caves.

Wales is packed with exciting activities, both outdoors and cultural, just waiting for families to explore. So, be sure to follow the Roberts as they discover it all in Travel With Kids Wales. Because really, where else are you going to learn to say "Sut ydych chi?", which means "How are you?", in Welsh?

Find out more about the Travel With Kids series at www.travelwithkids.tv and more about Wales at www.visitwales.com.

 

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