Vino (or Viñu as it is known locally) in the Sierra de Gata

A place close to my heart, just north of here where the scorched summer earth becomes green once again. Cool water runs off the sierra and where the wines are meant to enjoyed, not examined. Writing in Roads and Kingdoms about a toast to an old friend.

Seeing Sounds in Macmillan's Academy Day in Madrid

WOMAD or WOPAP?

video Jorge Rey

Writing in the local paper. Local Issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here's my version, then theirs.

I’ve been fortunate enough to play at some of the most famous festivals around the world. From Vancouver to New York, I have seen the stage from the other side and even returned on a few occasions and have been able to appreciate the transformative effect these festivals can have on cities. It would be difficult to image New Orleans without Jazzfest or Chicago without the Blues festival, popular festivals that have become so intertwined with the lives of the cities that it would be impossible to think of one without the other. The music may only last a week but its echo reverberates year round. Could the same be said of WOMAD? True, the festival has brought Caceres to the attention of some around the world but my question is what has it brought back to Caceres in return? Where are the partnerships and initiatives with local associations and startups? After twenty seven years, more than a generation, you would think that some sort of musical partnership would have been formed with an institution like the conservatory to investigate the links between Extremaduran folk music and the rest of the Mediterranean. Or a dance program that explored dances from around the world. How about workshops in schools throughout the year to confront racism? Or instead of complaining every year, how about a plan with the science department of the University to tackle the enormous amounts of garbage and human waste that the festival generates? But no, the English are smart. For centuries they have been selling their brand to lands beyond their isle, reaping the benefits from their colonies and leaving little in return (except their monarchy on occaion). It’s time to ask for something in return. Ghandi, who would have appreciated the original ethos of the festival, once said that the difference between what we do and what we are capable of doing would suffice to solve most of the world’s problems, and here we’re talking about a local scale. The M in WOMAD for music and D for dance should ring throughout the year or if not, the name should be changed to WOPAP. A World Of Plastic And Piss.

A Master Doesn't Necessarily Make you a Master

Writing in the local paper. Local Issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here's my version, then theirs.

One of the first questions I ask my students when I start a new course is often one of the most difficult for them to answer. And no, it’s not like a former boss of mine once told me, “The first day of class I look for the most difficult grammar point and then really let them have it.” No, my first question is much more straightforward, yet perhaps even more challenging to answer...that is if the student is being honest with me and more importantly, with themselves. Quite simply I ask them, “Why are you here?” Some go into automatic mode and reply like robots, “because English is very important for my future.” Others with perhaps a bit more experience koranically recite, “because I need it to communicate with clients from abroad.” Then there are those who are brutally sincere and say point blank, “I need the piece of paper.” Not exactly a great start from a learning standpoint but at least they are being honest with me and with themselves. As an educator it pains me to hear this but I completely understand. In a culture that demands paper rather than ability, my class is simply a necessary step (or obstacle) in order to obtain that indispensable piece of paper. For the civil servant position that the student is chasing, they won’t be asked if they can in fact use the language and convert their knowledge into usable skills, what matters is if the numbers in their file tally up more than the next. Rather than checking what they can do, if they are actually good teachers. tourist guides or project managers, if the numbers on the paper add up to more than what the next candidate has, they get the job. Where I come from, your qualifications are important, and of course not falsifying them, but what employers really want to know is what you do for them and their business. You might have a Master from Harvard but what have you done with that knowledge? How have you translated it into a workable skill? Until this focus shifts, cases like the disgraceful Cifuentes Master (among countless others) will continue to remind that this archaic method of measuring ability is just that, archaic. It all brings me back to my ex-boss who never could quite figure out why the students from the States never came back and I’m pretty sure she had more than a few Masters. 

Macmillan Webinars 2018

A new teaching adventure this week, braving the new online, virtual world. I was invited to participate in some online training with Macmillan in Madrid which was beamed to the world.

The first session, Bing, Bang, Boom, Boing and Baa: onomatopoeia and the importance of sounds in the YL classroom, was a fun look at bringing sounds to life. Making the sounds of English visual and while it was aimed at YLs, the main ideas are equally valid across all levels and ages. 

The second session, Harnessing the Image Zeitgeist in a Visual World, or as I had subtitled it in my mind, Grabbing Learners' Attention in a Post-Text World, was an in depth look how images can be more than just pretty pictures in coursebooks. Ways to make classrooms into 2-way streets, which exchanges going in both directions. 

I look forward to exploring more of this type of training in the future. Thanks to all who participated!

Seen from the Train to Madrid...Spring!

...seen from the train to Madrid. Stories behind the Images #nonotfar . . . . . . . . . #dehesaextremeña #dehesa #seenfromthetrain #travelspain #traveling #onthetracks #encina #springtime #sogreen #visitextremadura #travelextremadura #igers_extremadura #campoarañuelo @extremadura_tur @renfe

A post shared by Troy Nahumko (@troynahumko) on Apr 16, 2018 at 9:46am PDT

10 Reasons to Get Up before Dawn

Through the jungle before sunrise with hopes of catching the falls in all their glory. Stories behind the Images. Click on the link in the description for the tale. #nonotfar . . . . . . . . #saltoangel #canaima #angelfall #angelfalls #worldstallest #worldshighest #unesco #worldheritagesite #canaimanationalpark #visitvenezuela #mistandclouds #clouds #analogphotography #gransabana #travelwriting #onceinalifetime

Una publicación compartida por Troy Nahumko (@troynahumko) el Abr 2, 2018 at 12:19 PDT

Water poured out of the clouds down into a limpid pool surrounded by the nearly impenetrable jungle.

It wasn't raining.

Maybe it was somewhere up on the tepui but the clouds that clung to face of the table-top mountain were cottony white, yet still the water tumbled down.

"When can you see the top of the waterfall?" I asked as we swam under the curtain of water falling from nearly a kilometre above.

"It's normally clear just as the sun rises over the range in front but that doesn't last very long." And our guide was right, we had first caught sight of the waterfall as we traced the river along the rough path through the jungle but really had only seen glimpses of it all day between breaks in the clouds as they floated by.

Later that evening as we swung in our hammocks to the earthy sounds beyond the fire, I asked him if he could take me to the see the falls at dawn and he laughed, "Tomorrow's my day off and there's no way I'm getting up that early. If you want to go, just walk that way through the jungle until you get to the river. You'll see them from there."

"Is there a path?"

"Not really from here, but if you just keep going that way, you should get there in about 1/2 an hour."

"What time does the sun rise around here?"

"At about 6:00 I think." Early, even for the jungle.

I continued to swing in my hammock. If I really wanted to see the falls in all their glory, it meant that I would have to trudge for 30 minutes through dense Amazon rainforest with only a small Maglight to guide the way. On the trek leading up to the falls earlier that day we had seen that this was indeed the jungle, complete with snakes, monkeys and ants the size of small mice not to mention the rest of the insects that we keeping up the jungle soundtrack around us.

I turned to my brother who was in the next hammock and asked, "Are you up for it?"

"Well if you insist," he said, draining another of the tepid 20ml Polar beers, "why not?"

Setting my old-style battery powered alarm clock for 05.20, I tried to roll over to get some sleep only to be reminded that I was in a hammock. Catching naps while swinging between two trees can be lovely but if you're not used to sleeping on your back...well, suspended nights can be long.

I must have fallen asleep though because when the alarm went off I was shaken out of a beery sleep. The fire had long ago burnt itself out and darkness enveloped the corrugated tin shelter like a blanket, making it impossible to see where the open shelter ended and the jungle began. I awkwardly tumbled out of my cocoon and shook my brother only to be greeted by a slightly different pitch in his snoring. He was either deeply asleep or had reconsidered.

I was awake and alone but getting into that hammock was little more appealing than what lie beyond the shelter. So I grabbed a bottle of water and a leftover sandwich and started out in the direction the guide had indicated. My tiny Maglight pierced the black just far enough to see a thick curtain of vegetation in front of me and might just give me enough time to make out the colour of the anaconda as I bumped into it. While I don't think it had rained overnight, everywhere I touched was damp and the exposed roots that made for somewhat better footing were slippery footholds above the muddy jungle floor. I listened hard, trying to make out the sound of the river but the night jungle sounds were all that came back to me. With no light above, it was impossible to know if I was moving in a straight line or in circles. Every so often I would slip or have to make my way around the thickest bunches of trees or undergrowth and with no watch, it was impossible to know how long I had been walking.

Then I heard it, the reassuring rush of the river greeted me just before coming to a clearing on a bend the river carved out of the green. On my left a thin line of light broke above the forest's canopy and then a blueish blush started to silhouette the tall trees. To my right, there it was, a thin line of cloud lying across it halfway up, like a revealing bikini that only served to frame its undress.

I must have sat there for a few hours before I heard the rest of the group emerge from the jungle and come up behind me. As they approached I realized that it had clouded over and what had once been a bikini had now turned into a housecoat. "Sorry that you got up for nothing," they jeered but I just smiled.

"I guess the falls are just a little immodest and the show was just for me."

The Smoke that Thunders

Tokaleya Tonga: Mosi-oa-Tunya The Smoke that Thunders Watching the Zambezi fall Stories behind the images #nonotfar Link in description . . . . . . . . . #worldslargest #worldsbiggest #waterfall #waterfalls #smokethatthunders #thegroundshakes #zambezi #visitzimbabwe #zimtravel #zimbabwe #travelzimbabwe #africa #rainbow #mistrainbow #igerszimbabwe #igers_waterfalls #igers_rainbows #cataratas

Una publicación compartida por Troy Nahumko (@troynahumko) el Mar 30, 2018 at 3:02 PDT

It was a hangover of African proportions, the size and depth of the continent itself. Vague images of the night before included: urban elephants attacking faulty taxis, a woman who loved WWF wrestling, baboons, townships, dance-offs, Afrikaans and Africa itself.

Chibuku was a new word I'd rather forget.

The sun shone brightly as I awoke, mangled in a hammock.

The night before...

No coffee in the hostel...the instant had run out.

Man, is that sky bright...the deep blue above reaching out to the endless horizon, trudging into town. I couldn't remember the last time or even the last thing that I had eaten.

Out of sight but the Smoke that Thunders lets you know it's not far off.

Call centres and moped scooters making more noise than normal.

Zim style meat pies and nuclear orange soda pop.

Forget the coffee.

There's only one way out of this.

Nothing to do with it

Writing in the local paper. Local Issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here's my version, then theirs.

Just as the bartender put down our cañas, my companion somewhat skeptically asked, “But how is it possible that you, a Canadian, are complaining about the cold here in Spain?” And he was right on two fronts, I am Canadian and indeed I had been complaining about the cold, but I persevered, “After having lived abroad so long, I’m not sure how much ‘Canadian’ is left in me but even that last little bit is sick and tired of winter, especially as it is technically now spring!” A temporary truce was called when our tapas was served and as I enjoyed my morcilla (blood sausage), I got ready for the next volley. “Really, down here we can’t complain. Look at how they getting punsished just north of here in the mountains and beyond.” And once again, he was right, the images on TV were terrible reminders of my frozen childhood back in Canada. But then I thought, even though I share some empathy for those suffering the wet feet, frozen fingers and slippery streets, that’s one of the biggest reasons that I was standing here in Caceres and the bar and not shoveling snow elsewhere, I hate the cold and long ago decided to avoid it as much as possible. The fact that it was cold elsewhere really had no bearing on the fact that it was still cold here in the run up to Semana Santa (Easter Holy Week) and it shouldn’t be. For someone like me who would be happy to be in sandals 365 days of the year, the few months a year of cold that we do have here in Caceres was dragging on too long and now the added travails of the forthcoming incense fogs and suddenly cut streets paraded by hooded penitents was worsening my mood, no matter how good the morcilla was. “First of all the rain, then the cold and now the crowds of suddenly fervent people who lose all semblance of Christian goodness when you try cross a procession on your way home, it almost makes me want to swear,” but then I remembered that the Spanish courts were investigating people with renewed vigour for blaspheming and saying things like that and stopped short. “You would have been killed in those Arab countries that you lived in for saying something like that,” smirked my companion as he ordered another round. And once again, he was right but that’s just the point. Not only had I chosen to live somewhere without snow but also somewhere where I thought you could speak your mind. Comparisons can be odorous and in these cases, odious. 

Caceres in the Globe and Mail

Watching storks come in for a landing here in Caceres feels a bit like rubbernecking. These large birds swoop out of the Mediterranean blue only to slam on their air brakes in an awkward battle against inertia. This emergency manoeuvre turns what was pure gliding elegance into an ungainly attempt to hit their mark, especially when their chosen landing pad is the impossibly slender spire atop one of the many Renaissance churches in this smallish city in southwestern Spain. I haven't seen one miss … yet

And so starts my walk with local Chef, Francis Refolio in one of the most beautiful, yet little known Spanish city, Caceres.

Special to the Globe and Mail.

Educating Girls: EdTech, Role Models & Rock 'n Roll

Something a bit out of my ordinary.
Should be fun, can't think of a better way to celebrate the day.

For an after the fact recap, click over here.