And then this happened...

So Friday night I arrived at my new camp.

This one is an actual camp.

You know. With cabins. And trees. And mosquitos. And lakes.

The change of scene is beautiful. I have privacy almost never (okay, kind of have privacy right now, but this is next to never...also, I'm at a crowded outdoor cafe), but I'm back with Marta and the gang! As always, this means adventure.

First adventure. For the first time in my life, I am teaching teenagers. Eleven boys, 14 to 16.

They're great. Really. Their English is much more advanced than my last two camps, so we fly through the material. They're fun, witty, good-natured... Pretty perfect, for teenaged, acne-ridden, bad-hair-sporting, hormone-addled boys. (Okay, only one has bad hair.) But still a challenge because I came with NO material prepared. When I read the email about this camp, somehow I interpreted it as 16 eleven year olds, not 11 sixteen year olds. So my material is way too basic for them. Which involves a lot of running to the lake when no one's looking to use the hotel wifi and prepare my lessons last minute.

Second adventure, wifi hunting.

Third adventure, a misguided attempt to win their respect. Yesterday there was a ropes course activity, and I thought, why not? The boys knew enough English between them to translate for me, and I'd be wearing a harness, so... what could go wrong?

First course, walking across wooden logs suspended several meters in the air, assisted by a green rope. Not so bad. Second, walking across a rope suspended several meters in the air, with the aide of a green rope. Still not so bad. Third course, no green rope, walking across a thinner rope, holding onto loops about a meter apart. Getting difficult. Shoes starting to slip. Losing pace. I can't even remember the fourth course, but I was starting to fly out of my comfort zone at lightning speed.

Then the Tarzan course. Looping your legs from rope to rope, at least two meters apart. The boy infront of me turned around and shouted, "This is hard."

How the hell am I going to through this one?

Well... I ended up dangling from my harness, waiting as a team of non-English speakers roped me down. Somehow, I got a doozy of a bruise on my left arm.

They all saw me dangling. Bridget-Jones-with-a-parachute dangling. And my shirt was riding up.

Okay. So maybe I didn't win their respect. But I did find a way to stress the importance of learning foreign languages: when they are on a ropes course in America, and they're dangling in the air, they should know enough English to say, "Excuse me, but I can't breathe." That way, the person assissting them won't smile understandingly and say, "No problem."

Finding new ways to test my limits (and put my faith in things outside myself, like harnesses, and the strength of Polish trees, and Dear Lord get me down now) every day.