As I think I’ve mentioned before on these pages, one of the major drawbacks of being an English teacher is that it involves saying “goodbye” to an awful lot of people. And I mean a lot.
Seriously … I was doing some mental calculations earlier today, trying to estimate how many students I’ve taught since I started, and I stopped at around the 1,000 mark – well short of the total. At the risk of stressing the obvious, the point is that precisely none of those people are my students now. Add to that the amazing colleagues I’ve worked with in various countries, and you get ... well, quite a bit of waving and hugging and wishing people well, knowing that you'll probably never see them again.
Of course, not every “goodbye” is painful. Some actually come as a huge relief, like my high-school students in Viet Nam (by far the worst classes I've ever had – they were evil little monsters!). And there are also classes towards whom you feel kind of ambivalent; they're ok, but you won't miss them when the course is over. So you just say “Well, guys, this is our last lesson together, so good luck in the future”, your students say similar things back to you, and you walk out of the classroom and get on with your day as usual.
Most of the time, though, there's at least a little bit of sadness involved in farewelling a class. It’s often seemed to me that learning must bring out the best in people, because in one way or another, I’ve really enjoyed teaching the majority of groups I've had.
And then, maybe once or twice a year, you get 'that' class. It's either an entire group of people who create something remarkable when they come together, or it's several individuals within a group who are extraordinary in themselves.
In those cases, you more than just like these people; you actually start to love them. They become an essential part of your daily reality – so much so that the idea of not seeing them anymore is quite unimaginable.
Something else to note about the 'wonder classes': if you feel that intensely about them, then there's a very high chance that they feel similarly about you. It's especially true of teenaged students, since people in that age group tend to be either the most disinterested or the most devoted. So in those cases, the “goodbye” can be heart-wrenching.
Oh, and if you leave a class you love because you’re departing from a place you love, that intensifies things even more. Put those ingredients all together, and you start wondering what kind of twisted masochist you must be to even contemplate what you're about to do. But that’s part of the weirdness of English teaching … these things sometimes happen.
In Finland this year, I had not one but two teenaged classes containing people who belong in the 'wonder student' category. And one of those was my class at the final camp. So I knew beforehand that saying "goodbye" on the last day, and then walking out of the college to leave it behind possibly forever, was going to be tough. And hey, guess what? I was right. Sitting under a cloud of unhappiness on Kouvola railway station this afternoon, utterly exhausted and slightly hung over, I must have looked like a man recently diagnosed with cancer of the funny bone.
That's the main reason why I’m in my current situation. That, along with a growing dislike of flying and airlines.
See, a few years ago I worked out that one way to soften a painful goodbye is to follow it with an adventure. That way, you’re distracted from all the negative feelings by the prospect of what’s ahead … and by the need to get organised!
I therefore decided not to book any flights back to Ukraine after Finland. Instead, I’m going the whole way (about 2,250kms) over land and sea. The end of summer will be the beginning of a ‘road trip’ ... and hence, not quite so depressing as it would be otherwise )))The route I've chosen will take me through six countries, and involve a multitude of travel connections – hence plenty of possibilities for things to go horribly wrong, stranding me in some tiny Baltic town and forcing a bit of improvisation. It also incorporates two ‘stopovers’, in Vilnius (a city I’ve long dreamed of visiting) and Warsaw. So, in summary, I think it’s gonna be awesome!
The journey started today with the horrifyingly expensive train to Helsinki (but hey, they had wi-fi on the train – a first for me, and kind of novel.) Now I’m crossing the Baltic Sea to spend the night in my former home town of Tallinn.
The sea is rough today, and we’re bobbing wildly up and down as our speedy little catamaran streaks past huge white ferries, which are plying the same route at a more stately pace. It’s wavy, bouncy fun!
I’ve actually done this trip several times before in both directions. Notably, I once jumped straight on the ferry in Tallinn and crossed over to Helsinki after an all-night drinking session with a beautiful Moldovan woman who I was chasing at the time. I can’t say that it was a memorable crossing – we hadn’t even made it out of the dock when I lost consciousness – but “notable” for sure, since it was one of the few times I’ve shown my passport and had no doubt that I looked worse in person than I did in the photo!
In any case, though, it’s been a while since I was on the Baltic Sea, and four years since I've visited Tallinn. I know I’ll experience a tingle when the saddam comes into view. (By a curious linguistic coincidence, saddam is Estonian for 'port'.) Behind the dock will be the uncompromisingly brutalist and fabulously ugly Olympic Sailing Centre, built for the 1980 Olympics (when Estonia was part of the USSR) and widely considered the greatest eyesore in the Baltics. Behind that, a few of Tallinn’s tallest spires will be visible from the harbour. I'll see those spires, and that will be it ... tingle time :-)
*sigh*
Heading to Tallinn tonight was a good choice, I think. It's sure to chase away a few of the post-camp doldrums.
No doubt I'll feel the urge to write more stuff along the way – this kind of travelling always seems to make me ramble at great length. So … more soon!
Take care )))
Anthony.
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