Faculty Voice

Look for the Helpers

If you had told me six months earlier I’d be given one day’s notice to fly to Madrid to hole up in an AirBnB for 11 days of July 2020—paying to stay indoors alone during a long heatwave and pandemic days—I’d have asked, “Did I do something wrong?” But it happened, and I’m grateful. Why?

My story illustrates a paradoxical year filled with obstacles, adjustments, and gratitude.

Coming to France was my third international move as a teacher, so this wasn’t my first rodeo. Affection for Lisbon made it hard to leave, but France appealed: I was born and spent parts of my childhood here as the daughter of two American diplomats. The idea of moving took hold after I visited the Lycée and met two classes of students, plus several prospective colleagues. (My super low-key reactions: Wow! Yes!) In February of 2020, I happily accepted an offer to join the Lycée faculty in August.

Planning began smoothly. A friend in Paris offered a room for a spring break apartment-hunting trip. By early March, it seemed I could get a French work visa at the Houston consulate during my summer visit to my family in Austin. I knew Houston, having spent my rookie year as a teacher there before moving on to four years in Bangkok. So, I booked my end-of-school flights: Lisbon-Austin-Paris, and called the moving company.

Then, all those plans collapsed… because of ... Covid.

Dutch popular historian Rutger Bregman wrote this past year that “the coronavirus isn’t the only contagion—kindness, hope, and charity are spreading, too.” As my initial arrangements fell like dominoes, Bregman’s comment was borne out. Kind people, many within the school community, came to my aid. Given travel restrictions, I couldn’t get to France to find a place to live. But a Lycée-parent realtor arranged virtual tours. The apartment I chose is owned by another Lycée parent who trusted that, although I didn’t yet have a French bank account, we could work out finances. I shipped my furniture and then found I couldn’t be in France to receive it, due to consulate closures—but a recent Lycée graduate took delivery for me.

Moving was a Rubik’s Cube, and the part that wouldn’t match up was the visa. I could fly home to get it, but with EU travel restrictions, would I be allowed back into Europe? Students enrolled in EU schools or universities would be waived in, but what about teachers? Were we essential workers? I hoped so, but I couldn’t risk being turned away at the border!

Twice, I rebooked flights to America, with ever more complicated itineraries after airlines canceled routes. Meanwhile, the French Consulate in Houston closed as Covid-19 cases there climbed. Maybe I could fly via Washington, DC? I brainstormed with the Lycée’s go-to visa expert. But then, Houston reopened, and I snagged an appointment— hurrah! And then it closed again. Maybe my application could be transferred to Lisbon? My apartment there was less than 100 yards from the French Embassy. “Sorry; no visas here; the Embassy in Madrid handles them.” The earliest available appointment in Spain was after school began—but only if the French Foreign Ministry agreed to transfer my application. Our visa expert urgently tried to get permission from a Ministry official for a Madrid interview and an earlier date. But it was already summer, during a pandemic. Worried, I told Adrienne that it didn’t seem possible that I’d arrive before late September. She was kind—heroic, I felt—saying she’d talk to colleagues and find a way to cover my classes till I arrived. Meanwhile, having already given notice to my landlord, I wondered how comfortable friends’ sofas might be for several months? And then—unexpectedly—word came that the official had helped. If I could get to Madrid the next day for an interview, then 10 days later I could pick up my passport and visa. And so it was. Now, since mid-August, me voilà.

Meeting students and colleagues while seeing only half their faces has been strange for everyone. But even through masks, and with distancing measures in place, the friendly

welcome and assistance they offered me was unmistakable. So, throughout this weird year, I’ve continued to have the advice from TV’s Mr. Rogers running through my head. No matter how difficult the situation,

“Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

Marisa Cavin, Middle School Teacher