Description
Oxford TEFL is the world’s most popular Online CELTA course provider and the only in-centre CELTA course provider in central Barcelona. We offer multiple start dates and schedules throughout the year to suit all time zones. Since 1998 we have trained over 5000 graduates now working worldwide. Our 97% pass rate, unique level of support and vibrant teacher community means we are highly rated by our graduates.
The Cambridge CELTA is one of only two qualifications recognized by the British Council. Around 75% of TEFL employers request the CELTA which means that it has maximum acceptance worldwide and is one of the best possible ways you can start teaching English.
The CELTA course is highly practical and includes supervised teaching practice and feedback with real students from the first week. Input sessions and workshops centre on such areas as language awareness, lesson planning, materials and methodology. Take advantage of our careers, visa and accommodation service and join our worldwide community of teachers, trainers and graduates!
Headquarters
Oxford TEFL
Oxford TEFL - Teacher Training, Carrer de la Diputació, Barcelona, Spain
Courses
Course Types
Course Lengths
Certifications
Additional Features
Specialist Courses
Locations
Spain
Accreditation
A division of the University of Cambridge Local Examinations Syndicate (UCLES).
Learn more »Special Offer
Save €100 on your CELTA course. Pay in full for your course within 7 days of your place offer to save €100. Study with a world leader
I took a plane to Barcelona one month ago, thinking to spend some time murmuring obscenities at attractive women on a beach in order to get some sun and adrenaline. One afternoon, I felt dizzy and stopped to rest against the stylish glass front of an english teaching school. I awoke in a small classroom; my hands and legs bound to a chair, in front of me was a charismatic, short-haired woman pointing at a projected image. Besides me, a dozen individuals staring starry-eyed at her, murmuring a strange mantra. I could only pick out the words “correction slot” and “clear lesson plan” before turning to take a second look at the woman at the front of the class. The last thing I remember is staring into her eyes. The strangest eyes, pupils rapidly shifting in size and colour, the most hypnotic thing I’d ever…
I spent a month at Oxford House in a friendly environment, surrounded by helpful trainee teachers, each of whom had a distinct style to learn from. The building looked great, with natural light in most rooms and a nice garden at the back where I’d have lunch with the other initiates, I mean teacher trainees. Despite the clear pecking order established in the printer queue, the regular teachers were also always willing to help out the lost and confused young chicks (and cockerels). Regina gave clear and informative sessions on CV building and the english teaching market, as well as 1 on 1 sessions to help with a job hunt. The teaching method, to explain the content of an input session in its own structure and then push us to apply it in teaching practice, made a man (and more relevantly, a teacher) out of me.
The basic knowledge in phonemics/grammar and how it’s taught was an important part of what I’d hoped to get out of the course, and it was explored in many different ways, to make sure even the nativest of speakers could form a grudging pact with those demons, gaining the powers of language teaching for 24 years in exchange for shoe soles.
The experienced and intellectually attractive tutors knew exactly how much freedom to give me when helping me prepare my lesson plans, and allowed me to get the most of the teaching. There were a lot of lessons to teach, which I’m sure would have felt intensive had I not been brainwashed beforehand.
I awoke from the strange dream. I was on a plane which, according to the voice on the PA, had just arrived at Birmingham International Airport. I shook my head, thinking of the outlandishly effective teacher training I’d dreamed up. As I pulled my bag down from the overhead compartments and stepped out of the aircraft into the grey world that is the UK, my delusional fantasy seemed all the more ridiculous. Scratching my jaw at the strangeness of my own imagination, I stabbed my wrist on something sharp sticking out of my breast pocket. On the small piece of paper was Regina’s e-mail address. Now, she’s helping me find a job this summer. I’d just like to know, for certain, that she, and all the rest, actually exist.