Stepping Stones BK2 -Theme 6 - Woorden B (American)

Stepping Stones 2 h/v unit 2 wordlist

Stepping Stones, CH1, D en F

Stepping Stones 1THV - Chapter 4

Phrasal verbs (Stepping Stones) MC

La Isla de Pascua This 64-square mile island off Chile’s west coast goes by many names. Its English name is Easter Island, marking the day in 1722 when it was discovered by a European. In Spanish, it is called Isla de Pascua. The Rapa Nui, its first inhabitants, called it “The Navel of the World.” Experts do not agree on the history of Easter Island. It is unclear where the first people came from or when they arrived. Many people believe they came from neighboring Polynesia around AD 300. This culture built 900 enormous stone statues for which the island is famous. The statues are known as moai. Most of the moai are made of volcanic tuff. Tuff is a soft rock made from the ash that is forced out during a volcanic eruption. It is easier to carve than hard stones like marble, but it is not ideal for carving small details. The moai are considered megaliths (large stones that form prehistoric monuments). They stand up to 33 feet high when on their ceremonial platform (the average height is about 13 feet), and they weigh up to 82 tons. They usually have a trunk (body), inset arms, and an exaggerated head with angular edges. The head of each moai takes up about one-third of the total figure. It all shows that the people who created them could engineer monumental structures. Many moai stand with their backs to the sea. They watch the island like protective markers. Some low-relief carvings of religious deities were added to the backs of the moai at a later date. Experts are still trying to understand how they were carved and moved, and what they might mean. Chile took control of the island in 1888. At that time, its population was less than 200. The government used it for grazing livestock. Today, the mystery of Easter Island makes it a popular tourist spot. Valparaíso Valparaíso is a colorful blend of old and new traditions in Chile. This port city is an interesting example of daily life in Chile. Before the Panama Canal was opened in 1914, all ships traveling east to west had to pass all the way around South America. Valparaíso was ideally positioned as a stopping point in the Southern Pacific. Valparaíso has a long history of playing host to a large array of cultures and ideas. The city was known around the world as a place that embraced learning and new ideas. Pablo Neruda had a home in Valparaíso in the 1920s. After the Panama Canal was completed, shipping traffic declined significantly. Valparaíso was forgotten and fell upon hard times. In the 1990s, the government of Chile made an effort to revitalize the colorful port. Today it is a UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) World Heritage site. True to its history of embracing learning, it is also home to four universities. Tourists can visit the first stock exchange in Latin America. Valparaíso also has Chile’s first public library. Visitors stroll through cobblestone streets in the historic district. Here they can also view the city’s iconic colorful buildings. At night, music and street performers liven the experience. Try It Yourself Two Spanish words comprise the name of this city. Val means valley. Paraiso means paradise. The name Valparaíso means Paradise Valley. Can you recognize descriptive Spanish words in other Spanish place names? Start with names of places around you. Las Comidas Tradicionales To Chileans, nothing says home like pastel de choclo, a type of casserole made of beef and corn. The body of the casserole is flavorful. It contains beef, onions, raisins, and roasted chicken. It is topped off with a layer of creamed corn and then baked. Baking it brings out the sweetness in the corn, adding a contrast to the savory meat. The preferred type of corn is called choclo. This variety is grown in rugged conditions in the Andes. The kernels are large and hearty compared to other varieties. Another favorite dish in Chile is a type of meat stew called cazuela. Originally a native dish, it is now known as comfort food in Chile. Pork, beef, lamb, or chicken still on the bone is boiled in a traditional clay pot. To that, corn, potatoes, and other local vegetables are added. It is seasoned with onion and garlic. Pablo Rogat/Shutterstock When Chileans think about dessert, manjar is the first ingredient on their minds. It is a caramel sauce made from cooking milk, sugar, and vanilla. It is found in many desserts. It is used as filling in cakes, pies, and cookies. It is refrigerated to make puddings and custards. People even use it to sweeten their coffee.

Stepping Back into the Vibrant 1960s!

The Pedestrian (adapted) by Ray Bradbury Mr. Leonard Mead loved to walk outside at night. The city was quiet at eight o’clock on a misty November evening. He liked to put his hands in his pockets and stroll along the cracked sidewalks, stepping over grass that grew between the concrete. He would stop at the corners, look down the empty streets, and choose which way to go. It didn’t really matter which way he picked, because he was always alone in the year 2053. Sometimes, Mr. Mead would walk for hours and miles, coming home only at midnight. As he walked, he saw houses with their windows dark, like he was walking through a graveyard. Sometimes, he saw tiny flashes of light from behind curtains or heard soft voices from open windows. Mr. Mead wore sneakers so his footsteps wouldn’t make noise. If he wore shoes with hard heels, the dogs would bark and people might look out their windows. He liked being quiet and unnoticed as he walked in the cool November air. On this night, Mr. Mead walked west, toward the sea. The air was cold and frosty, making his nose sting and his lungs feel fresh. He listened to the sound of his shoes in the fallen leaves and sometimes picked up a leaf to look at it under the streetlights. As he walked, he whispered to the houses, “Hello in there. What’s on TV tonight? Where are the cowboys? Is the cavalry coming?” But the street was silent and empty, with only his shadow moving. He checked his watch. “Eight-thirty. Is it time for a quiz show? Or a funny show?” He thought he heard laughter from a house, but nothing else happened. He kept walking, sometimes stumbling over the broken sidewalk. In all his years of walking, he had never seen another person out at night. He reached a big intersection where two highways crossed. During the day, it was full of cars, but now it was empty and quiet, like a dry riverbed. Mr. Mead turned onto a side street, heading home. Suddenly, a police car turned the corner and shined a bright light on him. He stood still, surprised by the light. A metallic voice from the car said, “Stand still. Don’t move! Put up your hands!” Mr. Mead obeyed. The police car asked, “What’s your name?” “Leonard Mead,” he answered. “What’s your job?” “I guess I’m a writer,” Mr. Mead said. The police car replied, “No profession.” Mr. Mead hadn’t written anything in years, since people didn’t buy books or magazines anymore. People just stayed inside their houses, watching TV. The car asked, “What are you doing out?” “I’m walking,” Mr. Mead said. “Walking? Just walking?” the car repeated. “Yes,” he said. “Where are you walking? Why?” “For air. To see things,” Mr. Mead answered. “Your address?” “Eleven South Saint James Street.” “Do you have air in your house? An air conditioner?” “Yes.” “Do you have a TV?” “No.” “No?” The car was quiet for a moment. “Are you married?” “No,” Mr. Mead said. “Not married,” the car said. The night was cold and quiet. “Just walking, Mr. Mead?” “Yes.” “But why?” “I told you. For air, to see, and just to walk.” “Do you do this often?” “Every night for years.” The police car was silent for a moment. Then it said, “Get in.” The back door opened. “Wait, I haven’t done anything!” Mr. Mead protested. “Get in,” the car repeated. Mr. Mead looked into the car. There was no one inside, just an empty front seat. The back seat was like a small jail cell, cold and hard. “Where are you taking me?” he asked. The car answered, “To the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies.” Mr. Mead got in. The door closed, and the car drove away through the empty streets. As they passed his house, he saw that all the lights were on. “That’s my house,” he said, but no one answered. The car drove off into the night, leaving the streets empty and silent for the rest of the cold November night.

Stopping

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