departure n. 1.离开，离去，出发 2.背离 
　routine a. 日常的，常规的，例行的
n. 例行公事（手续），常规 
　eighteen num. 十八，十八个 
　abroad ad. 1.在国外，到国外，出国 2.广为传播 
　host n. 1.主人，东道主 2.主持人 3.大量, 许多
vt. 做…… 东道主（或主持人） 
　fluent  a. （说话、写作等）熟练的，流畅的 
　authority n. 1.掌权的人, 掌权的一班人, 当局 2.具有专业知识的人, 权威 3.权力，权威，权势 
　grant vt. 准许，允许，答应给予
n. 授予之物（尤指政府拨款、补助金、助学金） 
　certificate n. 证明，证书，执照 
　seventeen num. 十七，十七个 
　conductor n. 1.[C] (乐队、合唱) 指挥 2.公共汽车售票员; 列车员 
　specify vt. 明确说明，具体指定 
　overseas a. (在、到、来自) 海外的，外国的
ad. 在海外；在国外 
　Christian a. 基督教（徒）的
n. 基督教徒 
◆deduct vt. 扣除，减去 
　deduction n. 扣除 
　insurance n. 1.保险 2.保险费，保险金额 
◆abortion n. 流产，堕胎 
　suicide  n. 1.自杀 2.自取灭亡 
　dental a. 牙齿的，牙科的 
　eyesight n. 视力，目力 
　accustomed a. 1.惯常的 2.习惯于 
　suggestion n. 1.所提出或建议的主意，计划，人选 2.细微的迹象 
　item n. 1.目录的条款，项目 2.（新闻的）一条 
　luggage  n. 行李 
　descend v. 下来，下降 
　await vt. 1.(指人) 等候 2.备妥以待，等待 
　domestic a. 1.国内的，本国的 2.家的，家庭的，家务的 
　adapt vi. 使适应（新情况）
vt. 1.使适应（新用途，新情况） 2.改写，改编, 改装 
　bean n. 豆 
◆nourish vt. 1.滋养，给予营养，养育 2.持有或怀有（情绪）；增进（情感） 
　pine vi. 1.不快活，悲伤 2.渴望，思念
n. 松树, 松木 
　regulation n. 1.规章，规则，条例 2.管理，节制，调节，控制 
　command n. 1.掌握，控制 2.命令
vt. 1.能够支配，可以使用 2.（指上级，当局）命令，指挥 
　fare n. 车费，船费，乘客购票所付的费用
vi. 进展 

Phrases and Expressions

　at first glance 乍一看；最初看到时 
　as long as  只要 
　live through 经历，经受住 
　dream of  想象，梦想，向往 
　plan on 为……做准备 
　work out 设计，计划 
　depend on 视 …… 而定 
　hit the target 达到目的，中肯 
　in the event of  如果……发生 
　take on 决定做, 承担工作 
　lack of  缺乏，缺少，不足 
　take along 带着 (某人或某物), 带走 (某人或某物) 
　to (one's) capacity 满座的，满载的 
　leave behind  留下 (某物或某人) 
　from then on 从那以后 
　in turn 依次，逐个地 
◆exile n. 1.放逐，流放，流亡 2.自己选择或被迫居留国外的人
vt. 放逐, 充军 
　echo vi. 发出回声, 产生回响
vt. （指地方）发回声
n. 回音，回声 
　guidance n. 引导，领导，指导 
　destination n. 目的地 
　directly ad. 1.直接地, 一直地, 直截了当地 2.立刻, 立即, 马上 
　indirectly ad. 间接地 
■sardine n. [C] 沙丁鱼 
　sausage n. [C, U] 香肠，腊肠 
◆dine vt. 吃饭，进餐 
　tremendous a. 1.巨大的，极大的 2.很好的，非常好的 
　infinite a. 无限的，无穷的 
　territory n. 1.领土，领地，版图 2.领域，势力范围 
　boring a. 无趣的, 令人厌烦的 
　cease n. 停止，终止
v. 停止 
　ceaseless a. 不停的，连续的，无休止的 
　scissors n. (pl.) 剪刀 
　shrink vi. 1.退缩，畏缩 2.(尤指因受潮、受热或受冷) 收缩; 缩小
vt. 收缩，缩小 
　landscape n. 1.陆上风景 2.风景画 
　tedious a. 冗长的，沉闷的，乏味的 
　spectacular a. 壮观的，场面富丽的 
　stream n. 小溪，川，河
vi. 流 (出), 涌 (出) 
　forbid vt. 不许，禁止 
　recoil vi. 退却，退缩，畏缩 
　dynamic a. 1.精力充沛的，有活力的 2.动力的
n. 产生变化、行动或影响的力量 
　prosperous a. 成功的，繁荣的，兴盛的 
◆millionaire n. 百万富翁，大富豪，大财主 
■pickle n. [C, U] 腌菜，泡菜 
　prosperity n. 繁荣，昌盛，成功 
　fairy n. 仙女，仙子 
　whatsoever  ad. (用在no+名词, nothing, none 的后面，以加强语气) 任何 
◆emigrate vi. (自本国) 移居它国 
　emigration n. 移民，移居 (外国) 
　objection n. 1.厌恶，异议，反对 2.反对的理由 
　magnificent a. 1.壮丽的，宏伟的 2.极好的 
　scenery  n. 1.景色，风光，风景 2.舞台布景，道具 
　identical a. 1.一模一样的，完全相同的 2.同一的 
　sailor n. 水手，海员 
　gray (英grey) a. 1.灰色的，灰白的 2.阴沉的，昏暗的
n. 灰色 
　rainy a. (指某日、某时期) 多雨的，雨水连绵的; (指天空、天气) 下雨的，阴雨的，多雨的 
　remarkable a. 值得注意的，引人注目的，不寻常的 
　unremarkable a. 不值得注意的，不显著的，平凡的 
　embrace n. 拥抱
vt. 1.拥抱 2.包含，包括 
　warmth n. 1.热情，热烈 2.温暖，温和 
　kneel  vi. 跪下，跪倒 

Phrases and Expressions

　all the longer 更长 
　(be) full of  满的，充满……的，装满……的 
　know about 听说过有关……的情况 
　bring with 拿来，取来，带来 
　pay for 付给，付款 
　divide into 划分，分割，分开 
　make a fortune 发财 
　dress sb. in  给……穿衣服 
　with a heavy heart 心情沉重，不开心 
　make sure  查明，证实，了解清楚 
　after all 究竟，终究，毕竟 

Studying Abroad

    Flight 830. Departure 10:45 p.m.

    At first glance, this is just another routine flight to Los Angeles, California. Yet for 38 young passengers between fifteen and eighteen years of age, it is the start of a new experience: they will spend 10 months of their lives studying abroad, far from their families.

     Every year the United States is host to an average of 78,000 foreign high school level students, of which 3,000 are Brazilian. All of them go for the same reasons -- to become fluent in English, complete high school, and understand everything they can about the American way of life. At the end of each semester, as long as the students pass final exams, American authorities grant a certificate, which is recognized in Brazil.

    For the majority, the decision to study abroad is taken only after a period of at least six months of careful planning. "For me," says seventeen - year - old Gloria Marcato, "it's more important to learn to speak English and to live through this experience than it is to receive a certificate from the American government." Others dream of continuing on to college. "I want to be a conductor, and I've already chosen the best American music school," specifies Sandro Rodrigo de Barros.

    Things, as they say, are not always so easy. Even young students who plan on staying in the United States just long enough to finish two semesters of high school have difficulty finding a host family. Very few arrive in the country with all the details worked out. Gloria Marcato is one of the lucky ones. Before leaving, she had received two letters and some photos of her new "parents." "I think it all depends," says Gloria, "on how you answer the survey sent by the overseas study company here in Brazil. For example, I didn't economize on words. I even wrote about my four dogs, and said I went to church every Sunday." She hit the target. Americans are quite religious (the majority being Christian) and have a special place in their hearts for pets. American families, which host foreign students, are not paid, though they are allowed a small income tax deduction.

    Each teenager is expected to cover his or her own expenses for articles for personal use, entertainment, long-distance telephone calls and clothing. Towards this, they should budget between $200 to $300 a month. In the event of illness, each student has a medical assistance card. Health insurance does not cover AIDS, abortion and suicide, nor dental and eyesight bills.

    Basically, most students leave knowing they will have to do without their accustomed parental protection and learn to take care of themselves. However, no one packs his or her bags alone. Parents always give suggestions, or even take on the task themselves. The youngsters frequently show their lack of practice at such things. They take along unnecessary items. One student from the Brazilian South succeeded in stuffing two enormous suitcases to their capacity, and had to cope with her cabin luggage as well. As a result, she couldn't pull them around by herself.

    For many, the departure at the airport is the worst time. Even though friends and family support the idea of going, it is difficult to say good-bye at this moment. "It's not easy to leave behind the people you love, especially a boyfriend. I cried at the departure and I cried on the plane too," says Patricia Caglian.

    Another moment of tension descends while students await the domestic flight that will take them to their temporary home in America. From then on it's everyone for himself. No one really knows how she/he will adapt to such new customs. Though most foreign students remain in California, some are sent to Texas, Arizona, Idaho, Oklahoma or Virginia.

    After a few days, the general complaint is about the food. "Even though I adapted easily, I really miss rice and beans. The food here doesn't look too nourishing," pines Fernando Andrade. Another big problem encountered by most youngsters is how sick they feel about being away from home.

    One important regulation of the foreign study program has to do with the time, established by the host "parents", by which the teenagers must arrive home on weekend nights. "They're really tough," says Juliana Martini, who just finished her first semester. "You have to be in by 10:30 p.m., and if you do not obey, you get punished."

    A few teenagers arrive in the United States with little command of English. In such cases the sole solution is private language study. This in turn pushes up the program cost, estimated at about $3,800, including air fare.

    Words: 776

Experiences in Exile
    （ Experiences in Exile ）

    We are in Montreal, in an echoing, dark train station, and we are squeezed together on a bench waiting for someone to give us some guidance. Eventually, a man speaking broken Polish approaches us, takes us to the ticket window, and then helps us board our train. And so begins yet another segment of this longest journey — all the longer because we don't exactly know when it will end, when we'll reach our destination. We only know that Vancouver is very far away.

    The people on the train look at us indirectly, and avoid sitting nearby. This may be because we've brought suitcases full of dried cake, canned sardines, and sausages, which would keep during the long journey. We don't know about dining cars, and when we discover that this train has such a thing, we can hardly afford to go there once a day on the few dollars that my father has brought with him. Two dollars could buy a bicycle, or several pairs of shoes in Poland. It seems like a tremendous sum to pay for four bowls of soup.

    The train cuts through infinite territory, most of it flat and boring, and it seems to me that the ceaseless rhythm of the wheels is like scissors cutting a three-thousand-mile rip through my life. From now on, my life will be divided into two parts, with the line drawn by that train.

    After a while, I shrink into a silent indifference, and I don't want to look at the landscape anymore; these are not the friendly fields, the farmyards of Polish countryside; this is vast, tedious, and formless. By the time we reach the Rockies, my parents try to make me look at the spectacular landscapes we're passing by. But I don't want to. These peaks and valleys, these mountain streams and enormous rocks hurt my eyes; they hurt my soul. They're too big, too forbidding, and I can't imagine feeling that I'm part of them, and that I'm in them. I retreat into sleep; I sleep through the day and the night, and my parents can't shake me out of it. My sister, perhaps recoiling even more deeply from all this strangeness, is ill with a fever and can hardly raise her head.

    On the second day, we briefly meet a passenger who speaks Yiddish. My father enters into a dynamic conversation with him and learns some entertaining tales. For example, there's the story of a Polish Jew who came to Canada and became prosperous (he's now a millionaire !) by producing Polish pickles. Pickles! If one can make a fortune on that, well — it shouldn't be hard to achieve prosperity in this country. My father is excited by this story, but I retreat into an even more determined silence. "Millionaire" is one of those words from a fairy tale that has no meaning to me whatsoever — like the words "emigration"; and "Canada." In spite of my parents' objections, I go back to sleep, and I miss some of the most magnificent scenery on the North American continent.

    By the time we've reached Vancouver, there are very few people left on the train. My mother has dressed my sister and me in our best clothes — identical navy blue dresses with sailor collars and gray coats. My parents' faces reflect anticipation and anxiety. "Get off the train on the right foot," my mother tells us. "For luck in the new life."

    I look out of the train window with a heavy heart. Where have I been brought? As the train approaches the station, it's a rainy day, and the platform is nearly empty. Everything is the color of gray. From out of this grayness, two figures approach us — an unremarkable middle-aged man and woman  — and after making sure that we are the right people, the arrivals from the other side of the world, they embrace us; but I don't feel much warmth in their half-embarrassed embrace. "You should kneel down and kiss the ground," the man tells my parents. "You're lucky to be here." My parents' faces fill with a kind of simple hope. Perhaps everything will be well after all.

    Then we get into an enormous car — yes, this is North America — and drive into the city that is to be our home.

    Words: 720

My First Day Abroad

   It was my first day. I had come the night before, a black and cold night before-as it was expected to be in the middle of January, though I didn't know that at the time — and I could not see anything clearly on the way from the airport, even though there were lights everywhere. As we drove along, someone would single out to me a famous building, an important street, a park, a bridge that when built was thought to be a landmark. In a daydream I used to have, all these places were points of happiness to me; all these places were lifeboats to my small drowning soul. I would imagine myself entering and leaving them, and just that — entering and leaving over and over again — would see me through a bad feeling I did not have a name for. I only knew it felt a little like sadness but heavier than that. Now that I saw these places, they looked ordinary, dirty, worn down by so many people entering and leaving them in real life, and it occurred to me that I could not be the only person in the world for whom they were an item of imagination. It was not my first struggle with the disappointment of reality and it would not be my last. The under clothes that I wore were all new, bought for my journey, and as I sat in the car, moving this way and that to get a good view of the sights before me, I was reminded of how uncomfortable the new can make you feel.

    I got into an elevator (电梯), something I had never done before, and then I was in an apartment and seated at a table, eating food just taken from a refrigerator. In the place I had just come from, I always lived in a house, and my house did not have a refrigerator in it. Everything I was experiencing — the ride in the elevator, being in an apartment, eating day-old food that had been stored in a refrigerator — was such a good idea that I could imagine I would grow used to it and like it very much. But at first, it was all so new that I had to smile with my mouth turned down at the corners. I slept deeply that night, but it wasn't because I was happy and comfortable — quite the opposite; it was because I didn't want to take in anything else.

    That morning, the morning of my first day, the morning that followed my first night, was a sunny morning. It was not the sort of bright yellow sun making everything lift up at the edges, almost in fear, that I was used to, but a pale yellow sun, as if the sun had grown weak from trying too hard to shine; but still it was sunny. That was nice and made me miss my home less. And so, seeing the sun, I got up and put on a dress, a gay dress made out of bright-colored cloth — the same sort of dress that I would wear if I were at home and starting out for a day in the country. It was all wrong. The sun was shining but the air was cold. It was the middle of January, after all. But I did not know that the sun could shine and the air remain cold; no one had ever told me. What a feeling that was! How can I explain? Something I had always known — the way I knew my skin was the brown color of a nut rubbed repeatedly with a soft cloth, or the way I knew my own name — something I took completely for granted, "the sun is shining, the air is warm" — was not so. I was no longer in a tropical area. This realization now entered my life like a flow of water dividing previously dry and solid ground, creating two banks, one of which was my past — so familiar and predictable that even my unhappiness then made me happy now just to think of it; the other my future, an empty gray page, a cloudy sea image on which rain was falling and no boats were in sight. I was no longer in a tropical area and I felt cold inside and out, the first time such a feeling had come over me.