Global soul

In my opinion, Tuesday habitually proves to be the slowest, most soul-crushing day of the week.  But this temporary condition is a small price to pay for the permanent impact of what Chris Anderson of TED talks refers to as a “global soul.”

The following article, which explains the importance of a global soul and extols places that cultivate this characteristic, has been circulating among my fellow Woodstock Facebookers today:

Click here

It outlines just a few reasons why my school is better than yours.

Damn right, it’s better than yours.

I can teach you, but I have to charge.

Seriously.  I recently found out that it costs more to attend one year at Woodstock than one year at Ohio University, though I guess many of our students receive generous grants.

Speaking of generous, Owen and Ashlea lent me their Arnica cream today and my foot looks nearly normal again!  Still trying to rest it for a few more days, but, thanks to Google’s hurdle game that took over the last hour of my life, at least my fingers got a workout today.

Record: 11.3

I like to move it, moov it

My goal, since starting this blog right before classes began, was to update daily... with a long post, short post, photograph, quotation, random musing… something.

However, I find that once I start writing a new post it’s difficult to stop.  I simply don’t have time to write an entire chapter every night, so tonight I will practice brevity.

Ankle update:

When I went to bed last night, I could barely put weight on my right foot.  Then, I woke up this morning to find that I was sort of miraculously healed.  The swelling was still there, but walking did not hurt at all!  I was completely relieved.  Still, I went to the health center during one of my free periods and Tara, the friend I was running with at the time of the unfortunate incident, bandaged me up.  She also gave me a tube of “moov,” a topical pain reliever for sprains and strains.  I find this name incredibly ironic.  “Moo” reminds me of a cow, but cows here are most certainly not expected to “moov” anywhere.  I have seen cows sleeping in the middle of the road, making two (and by two I mean, like, five) lanes of traffic swerve around them.  They should thank God they’re holy.

Also unlike a cow, “moov” smells wonderfully winterfreshy.  I’m sniffing the tube right now (shhhh).

Other Indian products are more amusing than aromatic.  For instance, when I went to the grocery yesterday, I was looking at various herbs and spices.  Many of the packages advertised the fact that their contents were “hygienic.”  Hmm.  If something is being sold in a semi-legitimate store, I’m going to assume that the product is hygienic, but you know what they say about the word “assume”…

It could make you sick.

If “hygienic” needs to be displayed as largely as the product name itself, I’m going to actively avoid purchasing that item.

On the other hand, here is an item that I would strongly consider purchasing solely because of its description:

Because honestly, I often find that I am dripping with so much desire for the Irish that I really need a place in which to contain it all.

Extremes of pain and pleasure

I did end up running this morning, even though it was raining.

And so the story begins.

I probably wouldn’t have mustered up the willpower to go running by myself in the rain, but two other women were expecting me to run with them.  Small group exercise = accountability.

The run felt wonderful.  We went for about 4.5 miles (my Garmin watch still works in India!) at the top of the hill (the “chukkar”) where there aren’t too many sharp inclines.  The views were spectacular; it was surprisingly clear this morning, despite the rain.  I have really missed running and am planning on helping out with cross country practices at least a couple of times a week.  Also, there’s going to be a Mussoorie half-marathon sometime in November, I think.  It sounds really fun but also slightly terrifying.  We’ll see if I actually end up participating!

The run definitely lifted my spirits.  I was pretty down last night after I realized that Sunday was quickly approaching, and the rain didn’t help much, either.  Even though I can’t do much about the weather, I think a definite key to my happiness here—one that I can control—is staying busy (with stuff other than just schoolwork).  I don’t think that should be a problem… there seem to be many activities planned for staff.  There’s a hike scheduled for the 25^th that I signed up for today!

At around noon, I walked back up to the grocery store at the top of the hill, where I ran earlier this morning.  I didn’t really need to buy anything, but it has been absolutely gorgeous all day and I wanted to take advantage of the weather. 

                                             ^ the grocery store

After I got back, ate lunch, and took a shower, I realized that my foot was starting to hurt.

Crap.

I forgot to mention that on the way home from my run, I was running/walking on a foresty path when I stepped on a rock and my ankle twisted upwards.  I felt an intense sharp pain, but it disappeared after a few seconds and I felt fine, continuing to run with no problem. 

Crap!!

It was at about this time that my awesome spider-killing neighbor called, asking if I wanted someone to come over to my apartment to give me a full-body massage.  I debated for a split-second; I was pretty sure that I had a sprained ankle, so would this be a good idea?  Then I quickly realized that a sprained ankle, 20 bee stings, a bleeding orifice, and a shark bite would not have stopped me from wanting a massage.

So I answered in the affirmative.

The person who appeared at my door was a woman.  I was intrigued to know how an Indian massage worked, since the country (and especially this community) is more modest than the standards to which I am accustomed.  I’m not supposed to show knees in public, so would I be asked to take off any articles of clothing in private?

To put it bluntly:  YES.

I was originally wearing sweatpants, a tank top, and a zip-up jacket.  The masseuse did not know much English, but it was enough to communicate.  I asked if I should take off my jacket and she said yes, and she motioned to my tank top as well.   Then, she started the massage.

On my face.

I must have inadvertently asked for a facial, in addition to the massage, somewhere along the line.  Gah!  Why is my life filled with such hardship?!  When she was done, she asked me to feel my face and take a look in the mirror.  I made a point of hobbling over to the mirror to make sure she knew my foot was hurt.  She definitely got the point.  Still, when she started in on the feet, she was kind of merciless.  I tried to grin and bear it, but at one point I definitely jerked in pain.  She let up on the right foot after that, probably afraid I was going to kick her.

Despite the language barrier, we were having a nice conversation.  She’s 28 years old and has been married for 12 years.

I’m going to stop and let you do the math.

If memory serves me correctly, I held a boy’s hand for the first time when I was 16.  It was a very big deal. 

She also has three children:  two boys and a girl.  I’m not quite sure why, but I felt kind of guilty when she asked if I was married.  No husband.  No children.  So basically, no responsibility (ha!), though we did bond over the fact that we are both “working women” J

Then it happened.

Boobage.

My own sister has never seen me so naked, so long.  I’ve had two massages in the U.S.  The first one involved sheeted nudity, and it was wonderful.  The second was a “medical massage,” so I was fully clothed, but the masseuse somehow thought it was appropriate to make awkward comments about my body as she massaged me.  Plus, it didn't feel that great.

Surprisingly enough, the massage I had today actually wasn’t that awkward.  More like gynecologist-awkward, when you don’t necessarily want to be so exposed, but you know she’s a professional and that she’s probably seen worse.  Plus, she probably had to squint to see ‘em, anyway.  It was like an extended breast exam… with sunflower oil.  Now that I know what to expect, I'd definitely do it again.

And yes, there is currently sunflower oil all over my body.

She first asked if I had olive oil.  I do not, but if I did, I would not waste it on the outside of my body.  That stuff is expensive here.  And by expensive, I mean probably comparable to its cost in the United States.  My mental conversion from dollars to rupees is starting to happen…

After 45 minutes, it was over.  I almost fell down when I got off the bed.  During the course of the massage, my foot got super-sore.  She told me to put ice on it.  So did Google.  I don’t have ice, but I do have frozen peas and I have been using them.  I’m curious to see what the situation is like in the morning… so much for helping with cross country this week L

Dancing and Dosas

This morning marked my first lesson in Kathak dancing, a traditional north Indian dance that is used to tell a story.

On my way to my lesson, I finally got a photo op with some elusive langur monkeys.  There are two types of monkeys here: the langur and the rhesus.  Rhesus monkeys are big, bold, food-stealing bullies.  They are more prone to attack women and children (yes, literally attack), so it is advised to avoid eating while walking and to avert eye contact at all costs.  The langurs are a bit more classy.

There were only 3 of us in the 10-10:45 beginners’ class.  Turnout was probably low because of the rain.  Monsoon has definitely been making its presence more known in the past 24 hours.  Last night, on the way to dinner, water was cascading down the extensive set of stairs we were all trying to climb.  I felt like I was walking up a waterfall.  Or at least like I was in the game Jumanji. 

This morning, I felt like I was in an Indian Juilliard.  Our Kathak teacher is an older woman.  Her favorite catchphrase is, “If you go faster than my count, you are wrong.  If you go slower than my count, then that also is wrong.”  I now have a little bit of perspective on why students who come to Woodstock straight from an Indian school are a little scared of the teachers.  Our instructor is a very nice woman, don’t get me wrong, but she’s not afraid to call you out (“no, no, no, no, no!”) on your mistakes! 

I am so thankful that nearly-individualized dance instruction is only 300 rupees a month (approximately $5).  The school pays for the rest, probably classifying it as a type of professional development.  Cultural development?

After Kathak, I went into the bazaar with Melanie and Chris, a couple of other new staff members.  I was in dire need of some fruits and veggies.  Luckily, there’s a stand (or 25) for that.  I bought all of the following for lesson than $4:

(Potatoes, beets, carrots, peppers, tomatoes, cauliflower, mangoes, bananas... and a coconut.  I’m hoping to give coconut butter another go tomorrow.)

While buying this scrumptiousness is easy enough, eating it poses a particular challenge.  Fresh produce needs to be washed with a potassium permanganate solution before it can be eaten raw, which is an annoyingly inconvenient process that I’m still a little confused about.  Sautéing the vegetables eliminates the need for washing, but I miss the crunchiness!  Also, lettuce is hard to come by L  I haven’t haggled for anything yet.  That, in addition to the assumed “skin tax” imposed on Westerners, means I was probably overcharged for the veggies.  I think I’m okay with that.

Buying something here is always an adventure.  I purchased a green and pink salwar kameez during one of my first trips into the bazaar.  I really had no intention of purchasing clothing right then, but the tailor was a smooth-talking, chai-providing mastermind of retail.  I really like the outfit, though.  The pants are like genie pants.  I could gain 80 pounds and they would still fit.  I’ll wear it to school on August 15^th—India’s Independence Day.  There are no classes, but everyone wears traditional Indian dress (or traditional dress from their nation of origin) and celebrates with various activities at the school.

Another shopping experience of note was when I bought my food processor.  I was debating between a full-fledged processor and a simpler (and less expensive) mixer/grinder.  The store clerk said that he had the same mixer/grinder at home, and that it was very sturdy.  Unbreakable, actually.  (When he said that, my mind immediately quoted Titanic—“Unsinkable!  God himself could not sink this ship!”)  As if he sensed that I didn’t believe him, he proceeded to take the mixer/grinder out of its box, set it on the floor, and stand on it. 

Both feet. 

We’re talking entire body weight.

I thought that the clerk had lost his marbles, but looking back, I now realize his brilliance.  I did not buy the mixer/grinder (partially out of fear that it was now damaged… and because it had feet on it) but I did end up buying the more expensive product.  What a trickster. 

From the grocery store (yes, the grocery store), I purchased a set of “fine quality Indian razors” that looked an awful lot like disposable razors to my untrained eye.  Upon taking them home and testing one out, I can confirm that they are, indeed, regular disposable razors.  I have many blades here, but forgot my actual razor at home!  There will need to be a care package in my near future. 

But anyway,

While in the bazaar today, the three of us stopped at Madras, a South Indian restaurant specializing in dosas.  I ordered an onion/tomato/coconut masala dosa and it was fantastic.  Interestingly enough, the entire menu was vegetarian.  It didn’t even advertise this fact on the outside of the restaurant or on the menu, that’s how common veg food is here.  Sometimes all the lunch options at school are veg, too!  Interesting fact:  while "vegetarian" in the United States generally means that you can eat eggs and dairy, "vegetarian" in India means you can eat dairy but no eggs.

On my way back from the bazaar, I met a couple of senior school boys on the road.  They don’t even have me as a teacher, but they quickly offered to help me carry my bags.  Isn’t that sweet?  Once I got home, I crashed.  Going into the bazaar is tiring.  Plus, the rain had started back up again.  It’s still going strong.  I hope it lets up by tomorrow morning!  I want to go on a run.

(So much for planning today!)

TGIF

I can sum up last night’s dinner with two (or three?) words: feta-stuffed bread.  Pair that with tonight’s description—hot custard & ice cream sundaes—and it’s safe to say that I’m one happy and overly-indulged girl.

Perhaps even more exciting than dinner is the fact that I have officially survived my first “week” (3 days) of teaching!  The next two days will definitely be filled with extensive plannage.  Luckily, each class period is only 45 minutes long, whereas I’m used to planning out 80-minute blocks of time.

I also need to work on learning students’ names over the weekend.  This will be an incredibly difficult task.  It’s hard enough to memorize names that I’m familiar with, but the names of my new students are so… well… foreign.  Yesterday, I had each student write his/her name very largely on a piece of notebook paper.  Then, I used my camera to take a video:  each student held up the name tag and read it aloud, and I repeated it.  I think it will be a helpful study tool, though I wonder how many times I’ll have to watch the videos for the names to really sink in!

This weekend is also the first one for which I have no specific plans (granted, it’s only my third weekend here).  The first weekend, my “buddies” took me to Dehradun—the bigger city about an hour down the mountain—to go shopping, see The Dark Knight Rises, and eat at Pizza Hut!  Each new staff member was assigned a buddy (or, in my case, a married couple of buddies) to answer questions and just generally show us the ropes.  I was clearly paired up with some awesome people! 

Last weekend, I went to Dehradun again with a larger group of new staff members.  While there went to a couple of grocery stores (oh, how I miss Kroger!), KKM (a handweaving center that employs/aids people with leprosy), the Utensil’s Store (yes, the apostrophe is present on the store’s sign; apparently, one very powerful utensil owns the whole place… I’m envisioning a large cleaver that physically threatens its employees), FabIndia (organic whole wheat pasta, anyone?!), and a women’s clothing store.  The clothing store was fairly pricey (hmm...according to Word, "pricey" and "pricy" are both correct!), but everything just so happened to be 40% off.  I bought this little number, which I wore today:

Yeah, I actually thought for a second about changing back into it just to take a picture.  HA.  I will enthusiastically share the fact that the pants (which are like skinny sweatpants) are actually long enough for me!  Figures, I go to a country where I can’t buy shoes that are big enough, but I can buy pants that are long enough.

Speaking of pants, I almost shit mine the other night. 

I really hope you appreciate that effortlessly seamless transition.

I went downstairs to get a snack.  A spoonful of peanut butter, to be exact—I’ve had crazy peanut butter cravings since I’ve been here.  But there, strategically blocking my entrance to the kitchen, was the granddaddy of all spiders.  I just stood there gaping for a few minutes, then finally grew some balls, grabbed a bucket, and attacked.  Not quick enough.  Or was I?  The outcome of the brief and bloodless battle remained unclear, so I just let the bucket sit and retreated back to my room, sans peanut butter… full of terror, but with an empty tummy.

This made me think, what an effective (albeit extreme) dieting strategy!  If I could patent and market this idea somehow, I would make millions.  Trillions.  It goes a little something like this:

Step 1: After dinner, let a harmless, yet gargantuan, spiderbeast loose in the kitchen and shut the door.

Do you still get a snack? 

Step 2: Send in another larger, poisonous spider the next night.

Do you still get a snack?  Really?

Step 3: You die fairly quickly—either from a spider bite or a massive heart attack, whichever comes first. 

There is no step 4.

The only way I can see someone getting to step 3, though, is if they’re a) a skilled spider trainer, b) a vampire, or c) a person who has been living in solitary confinement since birth, hopelessly seeking out the company of anything with a heartbeat.  But for the rest of the world, this is pretty much a one-size-fits-all solution to weight loss woes.  Bahahaha.

But I digress.  Are you wondering what happened to the questionably-bucketed arachnid?  My neighbor heard of my predicament and was nice enough to come over to check my bucket with me.  But before we tended to the bucket, “we” had to deal with another bloodcurdling spider that was, once again, smack dab in the middle of the kitchen.  My neighbor is much braver than me, and she charged at it with a broom while I stood away, tiptoeing back and forth and waving my arms in tight little circles like a penguin frantically trying to fly.  Clearly, I was an integral part of the process.  After that intruder was flushed, we went back for the one beneath the bucket… which wasn’t actually there.  I hope beyond hope that the one she killed was the same one from my original faceoff. 

But to end this post on a more positive note… my spirits were definitely lifted today at lunch, when another teacher told me that a student who was in the health center said she was feeling better specifically so she could go to her “favorite class”:  English 7 with Ms. Julia J  Probably the highlight of my time here so far!  I hope I can maintain that same enthusiasm throughout the year.

Making the news

Some of you may want me to shed some light on the recent power outage in northern India. 

Get it?

Shed some light?

Well, I can’t really, because I didn’t actually experience the turmoil.  But here’s some information, all the same:

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10000872396390444405804577560413178678898.html

Luckily, Woodstock has generators (in the school as well as my apartment) that keep the power supply relatively stable.  While lights still flicker on and off quite frequently, I’ve never experienced an outage that lasted for more than a minute or so.  Other staff members are not fortunate enough to be on the generator and have lost power for hours, but I still feel like I’m part of history; I can truthfully say that I survived “the world’s biggest-ever power outage.”  Even if the power were lost everywhere in Mussoorie, though, it wouldn’t be as devastating as in New Delhi.  The weather is very comfortable up in the mountains so air conditioning isn't necessary, and there aren’t any trains or other electronically-dependent transportation networks (that I’m aware of, at least).

Speaking of weather, I feel like I need to describe the monsoon season.  Apparently, this year’s monsoon is unseasonably mild.  While I certainly don’t mind it now, apparently the farmers will suffer come next year… and I mean seriously suffer:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Farmers'_suicides_in_India

Monsoon season will end sometime in September, and I am very excited for the change.  Not only will I have freer hands (you have to carry an umbrella everywhere, just in case), I will be able to see!  Occasionally, the air clears up and the views are spectacular, but oftentimes the mountain is just literally encased in cloud.  One night I had a beautiful view out my bedroom window, but I saw a cloud rolling in… two minutes later, I could barely see two feet in front of me.

Perhaps the worst part of the monsoon is the bugs that it brings.  I’ve already posted this molting spider on Facebook, but now that I’ve got my blog rolling I’ll share the joy on here as well.

If I’m going to have monstrous spiders living in my house, they might as well perform tricks for me before they die, I guess.

Other creatures to watch out for include leeches (I should be carrying a canister of salt) and scorpions.  I always shake out my clothes and shoes before I put them on, and you’d better believe that I check behind my pillow at night.  The creepy crawly creature situation here is similar to what I experienced in Ghana.  I knew that the multi-legged beasts were always there, lurking, and taking over the house at night… but actual encounters were relatively infrequent.  Once the monsoon goes away, most of the bugs will too, I take it.

The list of further comparisons between Ghana and India is quite extensive.  Just to name a few:  the shopping areas and “grocery stores,” the poverty, the public urination (so many penises), the massive amounts of rice, the tailors and their beautiful clothing, the ridiculously skilled taxi drivers, the requisite haggling, the billboards and Vodafone logo plastered everywhere, the blatant staring (although definitely not as bad here as in Ghana), and even the general smell.  If I were in Ghana, blindfolded and spun around ten times, and the wild lizards were quickly switched out for mountain-dwelling maniacal monkeys, you might be able to convince me I was in India.  I feel like my current situation is a sort of middle ground between my experiences in Ghana and Ecuador.  The school and students are definitely more similar to Colegio Americano, but my general lifestyle, my home, and my access to Western luxuries mirrors my time spent in Ghana.

I think I made the right choice coming here.

I’m going to try to get some planning done here in the staff lounge before heading over to the principal’s house for dinner… see what I mean about the sense of community?  Another family is having a buffet for new staff tomorrow night.  No cooking two nights in a row… whoo!! 

I can’t believe I’m actually excited about not having to cook. 

I love cooking. 

Identity crisis. 

Culinary Jeckyll and Hyde. 

It’s just so difficult to cook here, what with buying food in bags without labels and having only the two-burner countertop gas stove to work with.  It’s a tricky instrument.  I did splurge on a food processor this past weekend.  It took precedence over a television and a microwave and an oven.  I attempted to use it to make coconut butter a few days ago…

Why is coconut meat so antisocial?  It took about an hour to get this puppy open, and I almost lost a thumb in the process.  I didn’t get a buttery consistency because I probably wasn’t patient enough, and I didn’t want to burn out the food processor.  I must slowly begin to test its limits.

Final thought of the day:  India is funny.

Want proof?

Disregarding the redundancy of the colon and the dash, fairly normal, right?

Wait for it…

India is funny.

Back to school, ring the bell...

Today was the first day of school, and I would just like to announce that I have died and gone to teaching heaven.

*sigh of relief*

I met with all five of my classes today, which only happens twice throughout the seven-day cycle. 

Before school, though, I met my advisory students.  I share ten 10^th grade advisory students with another staff member, and we follow those students through graduation (or until we leave, whichever comes first).  Our most basic goal is to form close relationships with those students so that they have at least one or two adults they feel comfortable talking to about school-related or personal matters, similar to the purpose of advisory at Ripley.  However, because of the unique nature of a boarding school, we can create outside-of-school bonding opportunities with our students.  There’s a scheduled “advisory night” sometime in August, when each student is given a certain amount of rupees to eat dinner outside of the dorms with their advisors, either in the bazaar or in the staff member’s own home.  I wish having students over for dinner, movies, games, etc wasn’t so, well, creepy in the U.S. 

After advisory, the actual academic schedule began.  Brace yourself for an onslaught of envy:

9-9:45… grade 7

9:50-10:35… grade 7

10:35-10:50… tea break

10:55-11:40… grade 7

11:45-12:30… grade 9

12:30-2:10… lunch

I’m going to repeat that just to be clear.

12:30-2:10… lunch

No, your eyes are just fine.

12:30-2:10… lunch

Moving on.

2:15-3:00… planning

3:05-3:50… grade 9

3:50… end of school and tea!

That's right, I had no classes from 12:30 to 3:00.  Also, you may be intrigued by the idea of a midmorning “tea break.”  It’s the most brilliant idea ever.  Just head over to the senior school teacher’s lounge and enjoy a cup of tea and a treat (the staff supplies these on a rotating schedule) before continuing on with third period.  I like just plain tea with a little bit of milk, but what they provide is often presweetened.  I have to say, the ratio of tea to milk to sugar is utter perfection.   I’ve tried to recreate the elusively amazing mixture when we get unsweetened tea, but I haven’t gotten it quite right.  They must add a hellacious amount of sugar.  There are coffee machines in the staff lounges, too, which is nothing to scoff at—anything other than instant coffee is hard to come by here.

But back to the start of the day…

When the 7^th graders started filing in, I was a little taken aback.  I have never taught (or even observed) students younger than 9^th grade, and they looked so little.  And so cute.  And some of them looked so nervous… even more nervous than me, if that was possible J  There used to be a separate middle school a few years ago, but Woodstock recently switched to the two-school system in which 7-12 grade is considered “senior school.”  Grade 6 and below is “junior school.” 

Even though these students looked small, how they acted and what they said was so indescribably mature.  I’m saving the syllabus/procedures lecture for the beginning of next week and jumped straight into a poem today.  Their analytical abilities are phenomenal.  I studied the same poem with my 9^th graders last year and pretty much got blank stares the entire time, but these kids were all so engaged and so willing to participate.  That is not to say that they are smarter than my past students were, but I can definitely tell that they have been more trained to view literature in the abstract.  They can pick out a metaphor like it’s nobody’s business.

Another difference that struck me was their manners.  Holy please and thank you.  I asked them to write down their names and a few basic facts on a notecard.  When I went around picking up the notecards, the students thanked me… basically, for giving them an in-class task.  Weird, yes, but I am definitely okay with that. 

Because of their obvious respect for authority, I made the decision to be called “Ms. Julia” or “Ms. Julie” instead of “Ms. Schroeder.”  Whether we go by our first or last name is totally up to us, as long as there’s a form of respectful address put before it.  Because this is definitely not an option in the U.S., I decided to try it out to see how it affects teacher-student relationships.  The kids I student taught in Ecuador called me just plain Julia, and I remember liking it.

So, without being overly descriptive, my first day of teaching at Woodstock was a success.  The only downside is that I don’t have my own classroom.  I share my 7^th grade classroom with one other teacher and my 9^th grade classroom with two other teachers.  That makes decorations, seating arrangements, etc. difficult, and I have to erase everything from the board between each class.  It’s also difficult to have supplies spread between two rooms, and to have to gather together all of my materials and switch buildings between classes.  But, like I said in my last post, there is no pleasing me.  Such problems are small peanuts in the whole scheme of things.

Plus, sharing rooms helps alleviate the danger of becoming holed up in your own little space.  That is one thing I absolutely love about Woodstock so far—there are many opportunities for interactions and collaborations with staff members.  You would have to really try to alienate yourself from the community.  Everyone goes to tea; everyone eats the school lunch in the staff dining room.  It’s a nice change.

I will try to post pictures of the school and my classrooms soon.  My 7th grade classroom is pretty decked out, but the 9th grade one is pretty barren.  Dark wood.  Mildew.  Lots of windows  and natural light in both, though, which is really cool.  For now, I leave you with a view of the school that I took while walking into the bazaar last week.