The hike seemed a long way into the distance when we looked at the coast a few miles away. The tide was already out, and we would soon begin our walk across the mudflat. I was not wise in my choice of shoes. Sandles with straps are not what you want. I thought that it would be an advantage not having socks that would seep with the stinking mud, but there were small shells that were sharp against bare feet. An old pair of hightop canvas shoes would be the best way to do it. I must have lost one of my sandles at least five times during the hike each time my foot sank into eight inches of the thick mud.
In spite of how it looks in this picture, the guide is the guy with thin hair and a shirt that doesn't quite fit. I know about the shirt, because I feel that way every day. The teacher next to him speaking really did not know all that much about our encounter, although he had done this before with groups. Knowing the teacher like I did, he was there only in the case we needed to play a game of charades while waiting for the tide to empty our path. At this point we do not have our shoes.
I stayed in the back with the camera, taking pictures and ensuring that no one tried taking a different way than the path outlined by our guide. Occasionally, he would remind students that his way across a channel was no deeper than three feet or a bit more. An improvised way could be much deeper in any number of "holes" that he wanted to avoid.Once a girl began to scream. She could feel something wiggling in her shoe, and when she removed it, there was a North Sea shrimp. Forest Gump would have been proud.
Some of the channels were quite deep. The group began to tire a bit at this point. A walk like this is a chore, because of your feet sinking so deep into the mud and muck. It is a bit worse than trying to walk in deep snow. The water was a bit cold, and most students wore sweatshirts. I could never understand how people could love to sit on the beach in this area where water was cold and the breeze was brisk. I will take a Southern California shoreline any time, although this walk was a once in a lifetime opportunity. There are only two places like this in the world, and the funny thing is the fact that I can not only not remember the name of this place, but I also can't think of the name of the other place in the world either. In any case, I know I wrote about it in my diary somewhere. And if I didn't, I'm sure that a bit of research on the Internet could identify quickly.
This was Kristin's last trip to Germany. I always felt badly that our cooperating teacher in Germany did not come through as promised on the side trips I promised to complete with them. Had I not booked and arranged for a trip to Berlin, there would have been nothing but staying in the host city and going to school for the entire time. Not that it would not have been a great opportunity for students to see school in Germany, but the teacher promised to book a trip for me into Paris. He never did it. And once I found he would not try to do it as promised, it was too late for me to do anything from America. I could and would have if I had know that he would not keep his promise. The teacher we had even did poorly on our visit to Hamburg to see Phantom of the Opera. He arranged for a bus, and left us with a driver who had no idea how to get to the site. We arrived after the beginning of the play. It was a miracle that ushers let us enter.
His idea of activities were going to a cheese factory. That was a hit for teenagers; however, my students loved my cheese puns I used throughout the tour. They enjoyed my bizarre sense of humor, and it made a miserable experience something they would remember.
The arrival on the shoreline shoes the island in the background. I wish I could remember how far it was or even how long it took us to walk it. It was fun, although the exchange was one--for reasons explained above--that I would never repeat. When I schedule and plan travel activities for Germans in the states, I expected the teacher to do the same. The man was not a good one to work with on such a project. He had the Midas Touch in reverse, everything he touched turned to Peat Moss of the Hereford steer kind.
The picture above is one last shot of looking from the coast back to the island from where we began our hike across the exposed sea bed. And below are the traditional large basket chairs that people rent to sit on the beach. It shields them from the wind.
Cleaning up was easier, since the coast had access to spots where we could wash away the mud from our feet and legs. It was a great experience, but again, having done so many exchanges, my disappointment was not getting the group to Paris as planned. As a final indication of just how incompetent or how rude the cooperating teacher was, he scheduled us for a stay at a youth hostel in Hamburg for a week in the area of the notorious red light district. It made a great deal of work for me to find things we could do during the day that would expose our students to something my school board in America would take issue with when I returned. And not only that, the connection to the airport was so bad, I used my own money to charter a bus to get us to the airport. As much as students--especially from Rigby--appreciated the work I did for them, I really do not miss the pressure and worry of those trips. But now I do remember the good things. There are only a few negative things I remember about some of the adults who were difficult.
As big a pain as the teacher was, Ann and I really liked his American wife who was so nice. They had this little terrier, a Scotty. I always woke up very early, and Ann and I would walk him every morning around 5:30 a.m. As many irritating things as I put up with during that exchange, I smiled when the teacher told me during the visit in America that the dog would bark every morning after we left for his walk. I still smile about that.
Woof! Woof!
And I did love that dog. He was fun. In the mornings he had a play toy that the family made by sewing a couple of socks together with soft material inside them. The dog would bring it under the table next to my feet every morning. I would slide it away from him, and he would pull on it growling. I sat and looked innocently while Cujo battled the evil sock. I kicked it once. The dog chased the sock, it hit a wall and the dog slide across the hardwood floor into the wall too. But it did not discourage him from bringing it back under the table to my teasing toes. Minutes passed and the growling began again. He would do that at least four or five times. He loved playing with me.
And although this was funny to me, this was not the way to make my Annie love the dog. Before each meal, I noticed my sweetie would stare at the plates and silver before beginning the meal. Oh those free trips to Germany were wonderful--four weeks of putting up with people more eccentric than I am, four weeks of dealing with spoiled teenagers, four weeks of worry, and one day at the airport where parents would snub me for some little thing that irritated them about the way I did things.
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