Today was complicated. After the others in our hostel woke us up all night (and turned the lights on twice!!!), we started out the day tired. We soon found ourselves, Starbucks in hand, in a cab with an extremely talkative Chinese driver who pushed me to the limits of my Chinese conversational skills (I said 好 a lot, and he knew enough to end many of his monologues with 你聽不懂, not that it kept him from trying.) headed towards the National Palace museum.
The morning of looking at ancient artifacts was great; next, we hopped a bus and, several MRT transfers later, had lunch back near the hostel and retrieved our bags.
That's when the trouble began. We couldn't find an MRT entrance with an escalator or elevator; when we finally lugged my mom's big bag and our two smaller ones to the train and made it to our stop, we discovered that the directions the hotel had given us were crap. Seriously.
An hour and a half later, we admitted defeat and hailed a cab to take us to our hotel--which ended up being maybe five blocks away. Fail. But that didn't begin to cover our charming discovery once we got here that our reservation was for the wrong night. Last night, to be specific. EPIC fail. Fortunately they had an open room, but at this point we were both so frustrated and stressed that we proceeded to waste the next hour or so just sitting and recuperating.
We finally rallied ourselves enough to venture to Taipei 101, and we explored the observation deck for a while, and I then discovered my new favorite place in Taiwan, Page One. AKA the home of the largest selection of English books in Taiwan. Heavenly.
We were both too tired for our planned night market adventure at Shilin (sadly...) so we went back to our hotel, bought food on the way and planted ourselves on the bed to watch It's a Wonderful Life. Couldn't make it all the way through, though--after all, we leave the hotel at 5:30am tomorrow morning!
Annnd, on that note, I'm going to bed. Tomorrow should be easier, but also much sadder, as I have to say goodbye to my mom and send her back to America...it's been a fun trip!
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Monday, December 19, 2011
The Road to Taroko
...was rife with problems. But worth the hassle in the end!
The morning was easy enough; we had a delicious breakfast at Roseland and easily found the bus stop our hosts recommended to us. It got there right on time, and we boarded it--but as we did, our problems began.
From time to time, my mom has heart irregularities. Today was one of those times. When it didn't stop after 25 minutes--a new record for her--we got off the bus in a little town along our route, ignoring the bus driver's warning that we weren't at Taroko yet. We found a pharmacy and I looked up how to explain what was going on, but no sooner had I made it that far than it finally, thankfully, stopped.
So we returned to where we had gotten off the bus, only to discover the next bus didn't come for another hour. Perfect.
When we did eventually get back on the bus, it was a relatively quick journey to Taroko Main Station, where we found, at last, an escape from my personal raincloud. We hiked (at my mom's insistence) towards a suspension bridge and native village, then (at my suggestion) veered off onto a steep side trail cut into the hillside, which was marked as Dali village via cable station, and promised to be shorter. It looked fine at first--but then it strayed into leaf-covered rock piles which was something akin to bouldering, not hiking, and my mind rested uncomfortably on the signs warning against venomous snakes we'd seen at the trailhead, and the many unnerving accounts I've had of the snakes in Taiwan, and we turned back before we reached the top.
Turns out, we may have been pretty close, but there's no way of knowing. And, as it started raining before we reached the bottom, I'm pretty sure we made the right choice.
(Taroko, which I've neglected to mention up until this point, is absolutely gorgeous. Everyone should go there if they have the chance.)
After lunch and some deliberations, we took another bus up to Swallow's Grotto, which was absolutely stunning and slightly dangerous, given the many, many falling rocks warnings, coupled with our lack of the safety helmets that literally everyone else was wearing. But we survived, and got some great pictures out of it.
Eventually, we caught the last bus back to Hualien, grabbed some dinner and souvenirs from a local night market, picked up our luggage from Roseland, where the owners had graciously allowed us to store it for the day, and hopped a cab for the train station.
So now we're in Taipei, at Chocolate Box Backpackers, which is a bit of a shock to my mom's system but I did ask, inform, and warn her about it well in advance of booking...
Another wonderful moment from the day: on our hike, my mom (being my mom) had picked up a discarded beetle exoskeleton and put it in her bag for safekeeping. Turns out, it wasn't so safe there. On the bus ride back, she tried to extract its tiny pieces and grabbed for a plastic bag in the seat-back in front of us and stuck her hand in it to open it--only to discover that it was actually a used motion sickness bag.
But it was her reaction that made it. Think of an old-fashioned, now apparently cheesy slasher flick. You know the moment where someone is about to be stabbed, and the filmmakers want you to be really scared, so they amp up the music to a series of three trills? Yeah. Well, my mom made that sound. With her voice, down to the three repetitions. I literally could not stop laughing long enough to explain what I found so funny about her sticking her hand in a bag of someone elses' vomit. But now you know...
So yeah, Taroko was gorgeous and difficult. And I'll be going back.
The morning was easy enough; we had a delicious breakfast at Roseland and easily found the bus stop our hosts recommended to us. It got there right on time, and we boarded it--but as we did, our problems began.
From time to time, my mom has heart irregularities. Today was one of those times. When it didn't stop after 25 minutes--a new record for her--we got off the bus in a little town along our route, ignoring the bus driver's warning that we weren't at Taroko yet. We found a pharmacy and I looked up how to explain what was going on, but no sooner had I made it that far than it finally, thankfully, stopped.
So we returned to where we had gotten off the bus, only to discover the next bus didn't come for another hour. Perfect.
When we did eventually get back on the bus, it was a relatively quick journey to Taroko Main Station, where we found, at last, an escape from my personal raincloud. We hiked (at my mom's insistence) towards a suspension bridge and native village, then (at my suggestion) veered off onto a steep side trail cut into the hillside, which was marked as Dali village via cable station, and promised to be shorter. It looked fine at first--but then it strayed into leaf-covered rock piles which was something akin to bouldering, not hiking, and my mind rested uncomfortably on the signs warning against venomous snakes we'd seen at the trailhead, and the many unnerving accounts I've had of the snakes in Taiwan, and we turned back before we reached the top.
Turns out, we may have been pretty close, but there's no way of knowing. And, as it started raining before we reached the bottom, I'm pretty sure we made the right choice.
(Taroko, which I've neglected to mention up until this point, is absolutely gorgeous. Everyone should go there if they have the chance.)
After lunch and some deliberations, we took another bus up to Swallow's Grotto, which was absolutely stunning and slightly dangerous, given the many, many falling rocks warnings, coupled with our lack of the safety helmets that literally everyone else was wearing. But we survived, and got some great pictures out of it.
Eventually, we caught the last bus back to Hualien, grabbed some dinner and souvenirs from a local night market, picked up our luggage from Roseland, where the owners had graciously allowed us to store it for the day, and hopped a cab for the train station.
So now we're in Taipei, at Chocolate Box Backpackers, which is a bit of a shock to my mom's system but I did ask, inform, and warn her about it well in advance of booking...
Another wonderful moment from the day: on our hike, my mom (being my mom) had picked up a discarded beetle exoskeleton and put it in her bag for safekeeping. Turns out, it wasn't so safe there. On the bus ride back, she tried to extract its tiny pieces and grabbed for a plastic bag in the seat-back in front of us and stuck her hand in it to open it--only to discover that it was actually a used motion sickness bag.
But it was her reaction that made it. Think of an old-fashioned, now apparently cheesy slasher flick. You know the moment where someone is about to be stabbed, and the filmmakers want you to be really scared, so they amp up the music to a series of three trills? Yeah. Well, my mom made that sound. With her voice, down to the three repetitions. I literally could not stop laughing long enough to explain what I found so funny about her sticking her hand in a bag of someone elses' vomit. But now you know...
So yeah, Taroko was gorgeous and difficult. And I'll be going back.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
I survived the Green Island ferry!
This morning, my mom and I boarded the "barf barge." That's not its real name, of course--but it fits. After our night in Taitung last night, we were headed across the strait to Green Island (綠島), over a stretch of ocean which, as numerous people on numerous occasions warned us, has the nasty habit of making even those not prone to motion-sickness wish they hadn't eaten breakfast.
Unfortunately, it lived up to its reputation.
For me (and, based on their reactions, for a good-sized group of people on the ferry), the first 10 minutes or so were fun--as I kept telling myself, it's just like a bonus roller coaster ride thrown in with our journey! The swells were huge, but they were also pretty gentle, and their deep clear teal color was enough to keep me focused on their beauty, rather than their motion. After that, though, the water got choppier and my stomach decided it wasn't a fan of a roller coaster that goes on for an hour. From about the half hour mark onward, I spent my time fixated on a solitary dot on the front wall of the ferry (I named it Harvey, since I had to stare at it and I had no other way of entertaining myself without getting sick), telling myself that I could make it to the island without getting sick and trying to ignore the people around me taking regular advantage of the strings of clear plastic bags hanging from every other seat back.
This was not an easy task, given that my mom was one of them. Yep, though she's never been motion sick before in her life, and she (unlike me) did the responsible thing and took her Dramamine a half hour before we boarded, there was nothing for it: the ocean won.
Let's be clear here: these are not small waves we are talking about. Though we were pretty far offshore--it's an hour ferry ride from the mainland to the island--we never hit the theoretical calm I'd heard exists after you get past the breakers. No, what we got was closer to what you'd see on an old pirate film, or a rendition of Moby Dick or some such ocean adventure story: what almost made me sick several times was not so much the motion of the boat, but the fact that, if you glanced out the window on the other side of the boat, you could watch the sky disappear entirely behind a 40 foot wall of green water, only to reemerge in a few seconds as your side of the boat sunk down. And that's when you could see out the windows at all, when they weren't thoroughly covered in seething white foam.
Though I have full faith in modern ships (I'm here to write about it, after all), the experience certainly left me with new empathy for ancient travelers, and a certain awe for those who venture out on this particular stretch of sea in the many much smaller boats we saw docked on either end.
Having survived the tumultuous journey (and having sat for a moment to let our stomachs settle), my mom and I ventured out onto the island to discover that we were in the midst of a full-out wind-and-rain storm. After quickly procuring some ponchos from a nearby bakery (yes, odd to me too, but I wasn't asking questions!) and less quickly procuring a scooter, we took off around the island.
The next four hours (It's a short gap between ferries!) we spent circumnavigating the island on the crappy, rusty scooter the guys at the scooter shop rented us for a mere $200NT, stopping at several pull-outs to admire the view, missing several other attractions (we could not, for the life of us, find where to pull off for the lighthouse, for instance), discovering that most of the island was shut down for the off season, and getting pelted in the face by tiny ice-daggers of rain that made it almost impossible to see half the time.
The chief exception to this stinging, windy stress (on my part) was our stop at Zhaori Saltwater Hot Springs, one of only three natural salt water hot springs in the world. In better weather, you can go down on the beach and sit in pools at sea level; as it was, we watched from the safety of some more elevated springs as the pools below got slammed with wave after wave. The hot water felt so good after a day of getting whipped around by rain and wind.
And then it was time to cautiously eat a light meal (half a cup of hot milk tea and half a bagel for me), take our Dramamine (WELL in advance this time) and board the ferry again. Fortunately, either because the weather was better, the boat was lighter, or we picked better seats (back-middle, as opposed to front-side), this time we weren't puking or trying not to: I took a nap, and my mom was able to read. Much more pleasant when you're not counting down the minutes every minute for an hour.
Back in Taitung, we wandered around for a bit and eventually made our way to the train station, way too early, just because we had run out of things to do. It took a bit of creative work on my part (my final solution involved my known vocabulary, old notes from my Chinese class, a borrowed Chinese-English dictionary and a bit of sign language), but eventually I convinced the man at the information desk that I had already purchased my tickets online and needed only to pick them up, and he was able to retrieve them for me.
And now we're in Hualien, at a lovely little B & B called Roseland/Rose House, depending on what sign you look at, which is absolutely adorable and was a pretty good price, too. Tomorrow, we head out for Taroko gorge, via bus and taxi, based on what the man who picked us up at the train station was able to tell us.
Today has been an adventure, to be sure, but we're surviving! Can't wait to see what tomorrow holds--on dry land.
Unfortunately, it lived up to its reputation.
For me (and, based on their reactions, for a good-sized group of people on the ferry), the first 10 minutes or so were fun--as I kept telling myself, it's just like a bonus roller coaster ride thrown in with our journey! The swells were huge, but they were also pretty gentle, and their deep clear teal color was enough to keep me focused on their beauty, rather than their motion. After that, though, the water got choppier and my stomach decided it wasn't a fan of a roller coaster that goes on for an hour. From about the half hour mark onward, I spent my time fixated on a solitary dot on the front wall of the ferry (I named it Harvey, since I had to stare at it and I had no other way of entertaining myself without getting sick), telling myself that I could make it to the island without getting sick and trying to ignore the people around me taking regular advantage of the strings of clear plastic bags hanging from every other seat back.
This was not an easy task, given that my mom was one of them. Yep, though she's never been motion sick before in her life, and she (unlike me) did the responsible thing and took her Dramamine a half hour before we boarded, there was nothing for it: the ocean won.
Let's be clear here: these are not small waves we are talking about. Though we were pretty far offshore--it's an hour ferry ride from the mainland to the island--we never hit the theoretical calm I'd heard exists after you get past the breakers. No, what we got was closer to what you'd see on an old pirate film, or a rendition of Moby Dick or some such ocean adventure story: what almost made me sick several times was not so much the motion of the boat, but the fact that, if you glanced out the window on the other side of the boat, you could watch the sky disappear entirely behind a 40 foot wall of green water, only to reemerge in a few seconds as your side of the boat sunk down. And that's when you could see out the windows at all, when they weren't thoroughly covered in seething white foam.
Though I have full faith in modern ships (I'm here to write about it, after all), the experience certainly left me with new empathy for ancient travelers, and a certain awe for those who venture out on this particular stretch of sea in the many much smaller boats we saw docked on either end.
Having survived the tumultuous journey (and having sat for a moment to let our stomachs settle), my mom and I ventured out onto the island to discover that we were in the midst of a full-out wind-and-rain storm. After quickly procuring some ponchos from a nearby bakery (yes, odd to me too, but I wasn't asking questions!) and less quickly procuring a scooter, we took off around the island.
The next four hours (It's a short gap between ferries!) we spent circumnavigating the island on the crappy, rusty scooter the guys at the scooter shop rented us for a mere $200NT, stopping at several pull-outs to admire the view, missing several other attractions (we could not, for the life of us, find where to pull off for the lighthouse, for instance), discovering that most of the island was shut down for the off season, and getting pelted in the face by tiny ice-daggers of rain that made it almost impossible to see half the time.
The chief exception to this stinging, windy stress (on my part) was our stop at Zhaori Saltwater Hot Springs, one of only three natural salt water hot springs in the world. In better weather, you can go down on the beach and sit in pools at sea level; as it was, we watched from the safety of some more elevated springs as the pools below got slammed with wave after wave. The hot water felt so good after a day of getting whipped around by rain and wind.
And then it was time to cautiously eat a light meal (half a cup of hot milk tea and half a bagel for me), take our Dramamine (WELL in advance this time) and board the ferry again. Fortunately, either because the weather was better, the boat was lighter, or we picked better seats (back-middle, as opposed to front-side), this time we weren't puking or trying not to: I took a nap, and my mom was able to read. Much more pleasant when you're not counting down the minutes every minute for an hour.
Back in Taitung, we wandered around for a bit and eventually made our way to the train station, way too early, just because we had run out of things to do. It took a bit of creative work on my part (my final solution involved my known vocabulary, old notes from my Chinese class, a borrowed Chinese-English dictionary and a bit of sign language), but eventually I convinced the man at the information desk that I had already purchased my tickets online and needed only to pick them up, and he was able to retrieve them for me.
And now we're in Hualien, at a lovely little B & B called Roseland/Rose House, depending on what sign you look at, which is absolutely adorable and was a pretty good price, too. Tomorrow, we head out for Taroko gorge, via bus and taxi, based on what the man who picked us up at the train station was able to tell us.
Today has been an adventure, to be sure, but we're surviving! Can't wait to see what tomorrow holds--on dry land.
Friday, December 16, 2011
可以嗎？
I'm a terrible blogger when I'm traveling. And, as this post will show, I'm also a terrible traveler.My mom and I are currently about to go to sleep at Traveler Hotel Taitung--by means of no small miracle of friends' help and communication.
See, we were headed off to explore yesterday when I made our reservations, and today I completely forgot that all I knew about where we were going was that we had a reservation and its name in English. Which, obviously, is not enough.
On the train from Kaohsiung, somewhere around an hour in, I realized this. I also realized that the train (obviously) had no internet connection. In other words, we would be arriving in Taitung with no idea whatsoever about how to reach our destination.
So I texted Karina, asking her if she could find out how to say the hotel name in Chinese. And, though she wasn't near a computer, she’ｓ ａｍａｚｉｎｇ ａｎｄ ｓｈｅ translateｄ--and I copied it down. When we got to Taitung, I pulled out my paper and went to talk to the first cab driver:
Me: 你 知道 "lu ke guan" 馬? (Do you know "lu ke guan?")
Driver: 我 不知道. (I ｄｏｎ’ｔ。）
Me: O, 好... （Ｏｈ， ｏｋａｙ。。。）
And he drove away.
Ｓｏ Ｉ ｃａｌｌｅｄ Ｒａｃｈｅｌ， ａｎｄ ａｓｋｅｄ ｈｅｒ ｉｆ ｓｈｅ ｃｏｕｌｄ ｌｏｏｋ ｕｐ ｔｈｅ ａｄｄｒｅｓｓ ｆｏｒ ｔｈｅ ｈｏｔｅｌ， ｗｈｉｃｈ ｓｈｅ ｇｒａｃｉｏｕｓｌｙ ｄｉｄ ｗｉｔｈｏｕｔ ｔｈｅ ａｌｌ－ｔｏｏ－ｅａｓｙ ｊｏｋｅ ａｔ ｍｙ ｅｘｐｅｎｓｅ ｆｏｒ ｍｙ ｓｔｕｐｉｄｉｔｙ ｉｎ ｎｏｔ ｐｌａｎｎｉｎｇ ａｈｅａｄ。 Ｆｏｒｔｕｎａｔｅｌｙ， ｔｈｅｒｅ ｗｅｒｅ ｓｔｉｌｌ ｐｌｅｎｔｙ ｏｆ ｃａｂ ｄｒｉｖｅｒｓ ａｒｏｕｎｄ， ｓｏ Ｉ ｗｅｎｔ ｔｏ ｔａｌｋ ｔｏ ｔｈｅ ｎｅｗ ｆｉｒｓｔ ｃａｂ ｄｒｉｖｅｒ ｉｎ ｌｉｎｅ。
Ｍｅ： 你好， 你 知道 ＂ｌｕ ｋｅ ｇｕａｎ，＂ ４２ 安慶 馬？ （Ｈｅｌｌｏ， ｄｏ ｙｏｕ ｋｎｏｗ ＂ｌｕ ｋｅ ｇｕａｎ， ４２ Ａｎ Ｑｉｎｇ？＂
Ｄｒｉｖｅｒ： 安慶街 馬？ （Ａｎ Ｑｉｎｇ ｓｔｒｅｅｔ？）
Ｍｅ：隊。。。？ （Ｙｅｓ。。。？）
Ｄｒｉｖｅｒ （ｌｏｏｋｉｎｇ ａ ｌｉｔｔｌｅ ｃｏｎｆｕｓｅｄ）： ＂ｌｕ ｋｅ ｇｕａｎ＂？
Ｍｅ： 隊。 (Yes.)
Ｄｒｉｖｅｒ： （ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ Ｉdon't understand)
Me: 我 聽不懂, 我的中文 不.好... (I don't understand, my Chinese is not good...)
Driver: (something else I don't understand)
Me: 可以馬? (Can you?)
Driver: 可以. (I can.)
Me: Oh, 好... (Oh, OK...)
So yes, through broken Chinese and a lot of help, we finally found our hotel/hostel. And it turns out to be perfect! Just a few blocks from the night market (my mom's first, where we enjoyed fried dough balls, fried chicken, kiwi-pineapple juice and noodles for dinner) and from Watson's, where we bought anti-motion sickness meds for the ferry to Green Island tomorrow.
Looks like my Chinese will be tested this trip. And, though I thoroughly suck, I say bring it on.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Confirmation
Today I went
to teach my 6th graders,
and there I learned
they truly are crazy.
My mom confirmed
kids just shouldn't do that:
they talk and talk
e'en when they are busy;
with stars and trees
of markers and glitter.
So home was nice
and needed to book some
train tix and rooms
so we can now travel.
And then I went
with fam'ly and mother
to eat and drink
of hot pot and fruit juice.
A lovely day
in Kaohsiung my home!
...in other news, I've decided to start experimenting with style on here...
to teach my 6th graders,
and there I learned
they truly are crazy.
My mom confirmed
kids just shouldn't do that:
they talk and talk
e'en when they are busy;
with stars and trees
of markers and glitter.
So home was nice
and needed to book some
train tix and rooms
so we can now travel.
And then I went
with fam'ly and mother
to eat and drink
of hot pot and fruit juice.
A lovely day
in Kaohsiung my home!
...in other news, I've decided to start experimenting with style on here...
Just a quick note
...to say that today was fabulous. Not raining, for the first time since Sunday, and my mom and I saw it all--okay not all, but Sizihwan (took the cultural tour bus, only to discover that the British Consular residence is under construction...sad), Cijin, and Lotus Lake, as well as sampling the delicious fare of the potsticker-and-dumpling place behind my apartment for lunch and the life-changing Thai food of the place I always talk about for dinner. Wonderful.
And....that's all for now. Just a quick note to say that I'm alive. :)
And....that's all for now. Just a quick note to say that I'm alive. :)
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Dancing Kings (and Queens)
Tonight, I witnessed a transformation. I attended a dance show at the Cultural Center, put on by no other than Hanmin's 5th and 6th grade dance classes. It was phenomenal.
But let me just give you some background. This semester, I teach English to Hanmin's 6th grade dance class every Monday. Personally, I love that class; I know them for always being enthusiastic and for having the uniquely uniform makeup of 30 students, 15 girls and 15 boys, which makes splitting them up into teams absolutely ideal. But they are also known for being one of the most difficult classes of all to manage.
The girls are pretty good; many of them are quiet, and those who aren't are still respectful and fun in class. The boys, on the other hand, are a bit crazy. They volunteer regularly, which I appreciate, but it doesn't particularly matter if they've been called on or not. They're loud. And unruly. And, well, 6th grade boys.
Then came tonight. I knew, theoretically, that they were a ballroom dance class, but hearing that in passing is an entirely different thing than watching it in action. Because, in action, my rowdy, laughing 6th grade boys transformed into focused, near professional-caliber ballroom dancers, expertly interweaving with their female counterparts in waltzes, tangos, cha-chas, salsas, modern dances, swings and jives. They were amazing, especially when I held them up in juxtaposition to the English class version of themselves.
Don't get me wrong, the girls were phenomenal too, though I must say it's bracing to suddenly see all your 6th grade girls wearing dresses which are held together in the back by just a piece of string. (And, for that matter, it's equally shocking to see boys with shirts slit down to their navels.) But the girls were so heavily painted so with makeup (another shock) that I had a hard time recognizing them as they swirled around the stage. The boys, though also made-up and costumed, were at least recognizable--in appearance, anyway. In behavior, I would never have guessed.
I wish I had a video, or even some photos, to post here and show how my unruly dance class magically transformed into restrained and polished ballroom dancers. Unfortunately, though, no photography or video was allowed during the performance. Maggie and Alison told me they'll try to get me a copy of the professional video, and if I get it, I'll treasure it. After all, it proves that my gung-ho crazy kids can harness all that energy for good.
Not forever, though: as the curtain came down, two of my 6th grade boys slipped loose from their comrades and broke through the curtain, jumping and waving and getting in one last, unauthorized, personal curtain call, showing that even the fabulous transformation these dancing kings underwent can't last forever; they are still, at their cores, my wonderfully crazy 6th grade boys.
But let me just give you some background. This semester, I teach English to Hanmin's 6th grade dance class every Monday. Personally, I love that class; I know them for always being enthusiastic and for having the uniquely uniform makeup of 30 students, 15 girls and 15 boys, which makes splitting them up into teams absolutely ideal. But they are also known for being one of the most difficult classes of all to manage.
The girls are pretty good; many of them are quiet, and those who aren't are still respectful and fun in class. The boys, on the other hand, are a bit crazy. They volunteer regularly, which I appreciate, but it doesn't particularly matter if they've been called on or not. They're loud. And unruly. And, well, 6th grade boys.
Then came tonight. I knew, theoretically, that they were a ballroom dance class, but hearing that in passing is an entirely different thing than watching it in action. Because, in action, my rowdy, laughing 6th grade boys transformed into focused, near professional-caliber ballroom dancers, expertly interweaving with their female counterparts in waltzes, tangos, cha-chas, salsas, modern dances, swings and jives. They were amazing, especially when I held them up in juxtaposition to the English class version of themselves.
Don't get me wrong, the girls were phenomenal too, though I must say it's bracing to suddenly see all your 6th grade girls wearing dresses which are held together in the back by just a piece of string. (And, for that matter, it's equally shocking to see boys with shirts slit down to their navels.) But the girls were so heavily painted so with makeup (another shock) that I had a hard time recognizing them as they swirled around the stage. The boys, though also made-up and costumed, were at least recognizable--in appearance, anyway. In behavior, I would never have guessed.
I wish I had a video, or even some photos, to post here and show how my unruly dance class magically transformed into restrained and polished ballroom dancers. Unfortunately, though, no photography or video was allowed during the performance. Maggie and Alison told me they'll try to get me a copy of the professional video, and if I get it, I'll treasure it. After all, it proves that my gung-ho crazy kids can harness all that energy for good.
Not forever, though: as the curtain came down, two of my 6th grade boys slipped loose from their comrades and broke through the curtain, jumping and waving and getting in one last, unauthorized, personal curtain call, showing that even the fabulous transformation these dancing kings underwent can't last forever; they are still, at their cores, my wonderfully crazy 6th grade boys.
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