Byron College

The kids' new school in Greece is called Byron College, named after, of course, the British poet who died a miserable death in Greece after helping to fight for Greek independence in the 1820's.  It is a veddy British school (although very Greek in its own way too), and so Alison and Caroline are having to learn British mores, foodways and spelling along with Greek.  They are doing very well at it too!  Here are some of the new terms they've learned in the last few weeks: 

American                        British

eraser                            rubber

crosswalk                      zebra crossing (pronounced "ZEBB-ra")

VITEamins                    VITTamins

eggplant                        aubergine

telephone cord               flex

and so on.  But of course the biggest change to their little West Hartford systems is having to wear uniforms and ride a bus to and from school.  Of course, when we went to buy the uniforms, we found to our astonishment that there was not just one uniform, but three:  a summer dress, a winter skirt and shirt (long or short sleeved) and a gym uniform.  Tons of items, and no guidance at all on which were obligatory and which, if any, only optional (this lack of information is the most Greek-like aspect of the school).  Somehow we blundered through, and the kids were ready on the first day.  We also found out that they needed to have SERIOUS shoes, so a whole bout of shoe-shopping ensued for serious dark-colored sandals, close-toed shoes and gym shoes.  That was exhausting.  The Greeks are NOT into serious shoes.  "The English wear SENSIBLE shoes," as my new Swiss friend Annette quoted from her English textbook of many years ago. 

We also have to purchase all their textbooks and put plastic covers on them, something I remember from my dim past in Catholic grade school in Oak Lawn, Illinois (that makes sense: our nuns were all from Poland) but which struck Gary (public, Elmhurst) as awfully weird.  "Step aside, honey, I know how to do this" -- as the roll of Contact paper came out.  I remember spending a LOT of time on that as a kid, trying to make sure that the Contact went on just perfectly, with no air bubbles.  Of course, you always get some, and then get to decide if you are going to take the easy way out (prick them with a pin) or the hard way (press them painstakingly to the corner where there is a cut in the plastic).  Of course, I always use the painstaking and pointlessly difficult way. 

So far, the girls aren't having any particular trouble with their homework, which is reassuring.  They are both good readers, and good at math.  Alison has started French, and they have both started Greek.  The approach to teaching language here is very different from what we are used to in the US, where they emphasize listening, speaking, playing games, and singing songs before they even attempt to teach the written language.  Here, they start out with the alphabet(s), and proceed from there.  It seems much slower and less effective to me:  why ask the kids to spell some word whose meaning they don't know?  But I'm not going to try to buck the system on this matter.  We are, however, resigned to the fact that their Greek is probably not going to be fluent by the time we leave, as we had hoped.  English seems to be the lingua franca, although there is a large contingent of Greek students at the school.  One thing about the school, a major selling point for us, was that the fifth grade curriculum includes Greek history and mythology, including overnight field trips to many of the ancient sites.  The second grade also has a few day-trips to the ancient sites, including one to Delphi, later in the year.  The fifth grade also has a trip to London in the spring (I think this is optional) as well as a trip to the island of Poros for water sports. 

The school itself is on the small size, probably about the same size as Morley School back in West Hartford (about 320 students)  but instead of grades 1-5, they have kindergarten (which they call "reception" -- I guess "kindergarten" is too German for the Brits!) through high school. .  Each classroom opens directly onto the outdoors, with a central plaza.  Alison has about 18 kids in fifth grade, and Caroline has 10 or so in second grade (one of two second grade classrooms).   The kids are schooled to pass the British exams, and I guess they have a good record on that -- thankfully, we will not be part of that process!  As in Harry Potter, the kids are divided into houses, although that has not occurred yet, pending the needs of the sports teams.  The houses are Herakles, Perseus, and Theseus, and each house has a pennant, displayed in the stairwell.  (Here you see the pennants, with the headmistress of the junior school, Dominique Ksezonakis.)  Our girls are hoping fervently to be put into Perseus, as he is the only hero wearing clothes on his pennant.  Don't know how they will cope if they end up in the house of a naked hero!

After a week or so of jockeying with the bus schedule, they finally settled on a routine of picking the girls up here at the house at 7:25 (much preferable than getting them to the Hilton Hotel at 7:20, which was the routine on the first day!), and dropping them off across the street from the Hilton, a few blocks away, at 4:25, where one of us meets them.  There is a lovely cheery woman, Mrs. Filio, who is the bus monitor, as well as the wonderful driver, Mr. Theodoros, who has taken a shine to Caroline and has a little parting ritual with her.  There is a periptera (kiosk) at the drop-off point, where you can get newpapers, sodas, candy bars and gum -- as well as Floca, a sweet shop (known variously as a zacharoplasteia or patiseri, from the French) where you can buy lovely molded marzipan in fruit shapes as well as cookies, cakes and chocolates.  We've decided on a regular Friday visit to Floca, to congratulate ourselves on making it through the week while still saving on the budget.  Then we head up the hill, via a couple of routes:  past the Canadian embassy, or through the little park with all the stray cats (and occasionally your odd homeless man) or up the "secret passageway" which is a footpath past some apartments with lush greenery opposite them -- then past the library of the American School and through the gate into our walled compound.  Then home, for dinner or at least a snack, and on with homework.  That takes care of most of the evening, and then up to bed by nine.  We are all very focused right now on our work; wonder how long that will last once the novelty wears off and the nights grow longer.  Stay tuned!