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TIME: Almanac 1995
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0813120.000
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<text id=90TT2136>
<title>
Aug. 13, 1990: World Without Walls
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1990
Aug. 13, 1990 Iraq On The March
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
EDUCATION, Page 70
World Without Walls
</hdr>
<body>
<p>A sparkling flow of languages enlivens the North Woods
</p>
<p>By John Skow
</p>
<p> A few miles away, near Bemidji, Minnesota's Route 71 passes
without fuss over a small and not yet imposing stream, the
Mississippi. Here at Turtle River Lake, a visitor drapes a
bandanna over his head to make the mosquitoes work for their
breakfast and watches ducklings learn to navigate. Just out of
view, a loon raises its daft, sad cry. Precisely the moment for
a morning swim, but no, a sign at the beach warns, DER STRAND
IST GESCHLOSSEN!
</p>
<p> Was gibt's hier? Up the hill, through a stand of pines and
birches, the onlooker finds a Bavarian train station, correctly
labeled BAHNHOF. Not far from there is a GASTHAUS whose stucco
and half-timber construction would look echt in Innsbruck. And
between them, in the gathering place called the Marktplatz, a
group of what are unmistakably American teenagers is shouting
at a tall fellow a few years older, whose hair is pulled back
in a ponytail. "Was tust du?" (What are you doing?), the kids
demand. "Ich lese," the tall one calls back. (I'm reading.)
From behind a large ornamental fountain comes an ominous roll
of thunder and the stern voice of a Germanic goddess. "Aber was
liest du?" (But what are you reading?) "Die SPORTS ILLUSTRATED
swimsuit issue?" The teenagers hoot at this idea. "Nein, nein,"
the tall chap protests. "Ein ganz normales Buch." (Just a
normal book.) He begs the teenagers to confirm this. "Ja, ja,
stimmt, er ist O.K.!" (Yes, that's right, he's O.K.!), they
yell out. Now the goddess, a young language instructor named
Mucki, crawls out from behind the fountain with the bass drum
she has been using for her thunder. Mucki and Ulli, the tall
fellow, then dismiss the beginners' class at Waldsee, one of
10 extraordinary summer language villages run by Minnesota's
Concordia College.
</p>
<p> Nearby on Turtle River Lake are Lac du Bois, a French camp--the name means Lake of the Woods, as does Waldsee--and the
Norwegian Skogfjorden (Wooded Fjord). The Concordia Language
Villages summer program started in 1961, and these three older
settlements have their own buildings in authentic architectural
styles. Lac du Bois is convincingly French Provincial, and
Skogfjorden is more Norwegian than Norway, with an old stave
church and a wattle-walled Viking house. Newer camps thrive
without stage-set architecture. The Spanish El Lago del Bosque
(Lake of the Woods, of course) does very nicely, gracias, in
a rented Bible camp on the far side of Bemidji, and a
three-year-old, highly popular Japanese village, Mor-No-Ike,
has taken root in a ski resort near Hibbing. Swedish, Finnish,
Danish, Russian, Chinese and two more French camps are dotted
about the state. Total enrollment this summer will approach
5,000.
</p>
<p> Students pass through customs gates as they arrive at the
camps, change dollars into marks or francs or kroner, and
receive new identities. Jennifer becomes "Marie" or "Traudl"
or "Helga"; Jack is reborn as "Juan" or "Bjorn." This simple
bit of pretending is remarkably effective. Jennifer may be too
self-conscious to try to speak German, but "Traudl" chatters
away without embarrassment. In the time that follows--one
week for 7- to 10-year-olds, two weeks for noncredit high
schoolers and four weeks of rigorous instruction for high
school credit students--total immersion is the ideal. The new
language becomes the sea the student swims in, and it is
impossible not to get wet.
</p>
<p> Methods are eclectic at the Concordia villages, but real
back-and-forth conversation is the first goal. Credit students
learn their case endings and irregular verbs, but clowning
around, even at the advanced level, keeps scholars fresh and
interested. Students stage ridiculous dining-hall skits in
their new languages and prove that you can't be self-conscious
speaking Spanish while dressed like half an elephant. Everyone
sings almost without stop: nonsense songs; protest songs;
"rocken roll," as they say in Norway; and anthems celebrating
a "world without walls," which has been the villages' global
theme since the dismantling of the Berlin Wall. Songs not only
are fun but also teach word patterns that are hard to forget.
</p>
<p> Staff members are a good mix of native speakers and young
American graduate students. Campers come from all over, for all
reasons. "Chrystelle" at Lac du Bois is Pouneh Yasai, 16, from
Iran by way of Milwaukee, who wants to be able to talk with her
French cousins and plans to study international law or medicine
at Georgetown. "Adina," who is Amy Macfarlane, 16, of Baldwin,
Wis., is in her third year of credit study at Waldsee and hopes
to do research on the effects of two world wars on German
culture. Like most students, it seems, she wants to return to
language camp as a counselor.
</p>
<p> At Skogfjorden, 18-year-old "Torgeir," Daniel Howland from
Bloomington, Minn., says, "I tried to hate it" when his parents
sent him here at 14. He loved it, paid his own way with
scholarship help for two more years, and today speaks fluent
Norwegian as one of the teachers. He is speaking with
difficulty just now because a beginning class has covered him
with paper tags: TENNER on his teeth, EN MUNN on his mouth, EN
NESE on his nose and so on. He is a huge, powerfully built
youth, amiably playing the gawk for his adoring students. But
he is serious as he tells his plans: St. Olaf College in the
fall and eventually teaching English and Norwegian in Norway.
"I have so much fun with teaching," he says, absently removing
HODE from the top of his head. A middle-aged visitor, who
remembers when high schoolers in the U.S. "took" language the
way you take bad-tasting medicine, shakes his own hode ruefully
and marvels.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>