Two weeks into our CELTA course (Certificate in English Language Teaching to Adults), days we had once spent in a quintessentially Latin way (in art galleries, cafes and chatting en español), were now undeniably things of the distant past. We quickly re-adjusted our body-clocks as we started rising at ungodly hours of the morning each day. The colectivo, believe it or not, is not a traveler’s friend, especially not during rush hours. For at least a week I was not quite sure which I feared more: standing up to teach a group of non-English speakers, or the inevitable act of fighting my way on to the colectivo (or, bus) every morning. Unlike the reserved, somewhat orderly nature of the characteristically British double-decker, the colectivos of Buenos Aires demand ruthlessness in all of their passengers; a sort of ruthlessness one would need in times of a food-shortage, to ensure he or she gets a fair share of the nation’s rations during this critical time. For this, two weeks into our CELTA course we are now physically stronger (or perhaps just more apt to brutish behavior).
Back in Park-Avenue-esque Belgrano, it did not take more than two days to slip back into the ways of the western world, conversing and learning in English once more, whilst desperately trying to keep hold of my Castellano. However, once accustomed to the new teaching environment I found myself in on that first day of February, I worried less about my Spanish and allocated a particular box in my brain to store my rioplatense. Another [over-sized] box in my brain would be saved for my British English – a language I realized I actually knew very little about (note: just because one has spoken a particular language all of his or her life, this does not mean he or she knows how to use it correctly). Upon my arrival at the petite Cambridge University haven in an office building in this part of the city, I discovered my fate for the next two weeks: I would be teaching a group of Elementary English learners. My instinct reaction was one of fear: "How were elementary learners to understand me, if I couldn’t even understand myself most of the time?" The question was quickly answered with the skill of “language grading,” or, the art of simplifying your own language. Language grading (once grasped) was something so effective for myself and my fellow Celtees, that we soon found ourselves grading our language with each other, and talking in over-simplified phrases – a phase we were told would “pass soon.”
We met our prospective students on the second day of the course and I was delighted to come face-to-face with a charming mescla (or, mixture) of ages, (from early 20s to mid 70s), professions (from pianists to architects), and yet all sharing the common denominator of Latin loveliness. Moments where there exists a breakdown in communication are inevitable and at times unavoidable in any teaching environment, however this is something which takes place on a daily basis in the CELTA classroom, as the “No Spanish” rule is, after all, heavily enforced at all times. Despite this, the students were consistently encouraging as each Celtee took his or her place at the front of the classroom (red, black and blue pens tightly in hand). We were however, quickly brought back down to earth and reminded that applause after each lesson is not something that we should expect in “the real world.”
Aside from forming new relationships with students in a purely English setting, we took the time this week to drag out our daily trips to the local shops and cafes, just to keep hold of our friendship with the Spanish language. Daily strolls past the kiosk three or four doors down from our sitio turned into lengthy conversations with the owner about the economy and his three-legged husky “Milagros” (or, miracle) who spends her days hopping from cool tile to tile, just to keep from over-heating in the powerful Argentine sun. Trips to the bakery for one loaf of bread turned into ten or fifteen minute tutorials about the entire shop’s stock of different Argentine breads and cakes, just so we could have a charla (or, chat) in Spanish.
El dia de los enamorados provided us with a perfect opportunity to do something traditional of Buenos Aires and permitted us to enjoy fine dining at Las Violetas, the second oldest café in the country. Located in the heart of Almagro, Las Violetas was initially built as a coffee house and then quickly expanded to become a full restaurant, with golden chandeliers and marble staircases. Opened in 1884, the café boasted Carlos Pellegrini as one of its first patrons, who at the time was the future president of Argentina. On that day in September, Pellegrini was accompanied by many of his distinguished friends: a mixture of artists, politicians and intellectuals, all arriving in state of the art streetcars to sample the delectable coffee and cakes on offer. Over the years, Las Violetas has maintained a similar clientele to that of Café Tortoni, which is located on the grandiose street of 25 de Mayo. The building’s Tiffany-esque stained glass windows (a more recent addition to the building) add to the restaurant’s elegance. On this note, be sure to sip the complimentary before and after dinner-drinks in a leisurely fashion: the stairs to the aesthetically pleasing ladies room are, after all, exceptionally narrow.
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