After teaching in a big city for years, island educator now walks, buses, and boats across a river every day
As soon as I arrived on the island, I took a deep breath, struck by the peace I felt. Doors of houses sat ajar, without keys or locks. Noone feared break-ins. With no streets or cars, children ran freely and played without fear. It seemed a stark contrast to the hustle of Rosario, the city where I live.
- 4 weeks ago
August 20, 2024
EL ESPINILLO, Argentina — Each morning, my journey to El Espinillo Island begins as I walk through my neighborhood’s sleepy streets. I catch a bus to where my boat is parked and begin my daily trek across the Paraná River. As a school principal and teacher, I never anticipated the unique blend of challenges and rewards at School Number 1139. This place of education serves as the island’s primary connection to the state, making my role crucial and deeply fulfilling.
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Venturing into the unknown: A new chapter as an island teacher
In 2019, accompanying a friend to apply for a management position, I stumbled upon an opportunity that changed my life. At the time, teaching at another school, I had no intention of taking on a new role. As I sat there, the prospect of becoming the principal of an island school—a place I’d never even visited—suddenly felt right. While it appeared to be a leap into the unknown, my instincts urged me to seize the moment and embrace change.
Leaving the meeting, I called my partner and jokingly asked, “How are your finances? I’m going to be crossing to the island every day.” He felt baffled. This spur-of-the-moment decision included no real plan. I ended the call and reached out to a supervisor to figure out the logistics of crossing the river.
In February 2020, I visited the school for the first time. The janitor’s boat, docked at the Rosario Central Club Nursery, gently swayed on the water. Climbing aboard, the sun warmed my face, and the swollen river lay calm beneath us. My emotions swelled as we embarked on this brief, 12-minute journey. I felt the transformation from a city teacher to an island educator immediately.
The island, though initially distant and foreign, began to feel familiar. I soon discovered this multifaceted role exceeded the tasks of a teacher and director. Occasionally, I worked as a janitor or a cook.
From city life to island teaching: embracing freedom and trust
As soon as I arrived on the island, I took a deep breath, struck by the peace I felt. Doors of houses sat ajar, without keys or locks. Noone feared break-ins. With no streets or cars, children ran freely and played without fear. It seemed a stark contrast to the hustle of Rosario, the city where I live.
The Monday after my arrival, I witnessed the school’s dynamics and the children for the first time. The Argentine flag-raising ceremony felt particularly moving. Though few of us gathered around the flagpole, I saw in their eyes the importance of the moment. It was as if they connected with something larger than their island, feeling proud to belong to a greater community.
In the schoolyard, children played with the same freedom as on the island’s paths, showing great skill in games like hopscotch and crouching ball. Watching them, I couldn’t help but travel back to my childhood when life in the city seemed a little calmer.
In Rosario, fear and caution become second nature now. Only on the island did I realize how much tension I carry. Here, that tension dissolves. I often find myself in the courtyard, gazing at the river with the city looming in the distance—imposing but harmless. Birdsong fills the air, enhancing the tranquility. Enjoying this peace is priceless.
Every morning, I leave home in the dark, bags, and computer in tow, hurrying to catch the bus. Fear quickens my pace until I reach the boat. Initially, the school janitor ferried me in his small, worn canoe. With him at the helm, I relaxed and enjoyed the river, free from the responsibility of steering. We since became close friends.
Daily river crossings: transporting teachers and supplies on my own
Sometime later, he fell ill with heart disease and passed away in February 2022. I felt unsure how to continue, but needed to move forward. Some parents offered me a boat, and I paid for the fuel to cross each morning. Then, a neighbor mentioned her son had an unused boat. With a solution at hand, I never paused to think the State should provide transportation. The school meant more to me than just a workplace.
I returned to the city and discussed with my husband the idea of buying a new motor for the canoe. In another leap of faith, I needed to learn to navigate the river. My initial trips were cautious, learning to read the wind and water to avoid struggling against them. Today, I cross the river about eight times a day, transporting teachers, suppliers, and others.
I never imagined doing all I have done and continue to do. The river wasn’t a place that particularly attracted me before. Now, it feels like home, and I love where I am and what I’ve chosen. I often think, “I’m glad I dared to venture out that day.” Perhaps something beyond me guided me here. I believe strongly in the energies of the universe, and I think they led me to this place.
