Braining

Topical Questions for: Cambridge International General Certificate of Secondary

Education

English First Language 0500

INSERT Series 2

Exam Board Level CIE IGCSE

(Sub) Topic Comprehension and Summary
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Question 1 Insert:
Passage A: Hang-gliding in Rio

In this passage, the writer describes their experience of hang-gliding while on holiday
in Rio de Janeiro.

Rio de Janeiro appeals to everyone. From the natural wonder of Rio’s harbour to the
mountain top paradise of Sugarloaf, Rio has got it all: world-class carnivals and two of the
most famous beaches in the world, Ipanema and Copacabana. But I only had a week there
and was desperate to try something I’d heard about long before arriving in Brazil. I was
going to go hang-gliding.

Paulo was a nice guy and spoke perfect English. I was a bit nervous because I didn’t know
anything about hang-gliding. He assured me everything was going to be OK and that he had
completed thousands of jumps before. When we arrived at the registration hut to sign my life
away, I found it strange that nobody else was going. That made me nervous. Nonetheless, I
proceeded to the van to be driven up several thousand metres to the jump ramp.

As we arrived at the jump site, I looked out over the ledge and saw nothing but a vast carpet
of trees and, in the distance, the Atlantic Ocean thousands of metres down. Paulo told me
what he wanted me to do:

‘When I say: “1, 2, 3, go!” You run and then jump off the mountain.’ This seemed pretty
logical: just run and jump off a sheer cliff. I love jumping off mountains having no idea what’s
going on. So, I shrugged my shoulders and decided he must know what he’s doing.

A savage wind buff eted us. Paulo said we would be able to stay up for half an hour and I
would definitely be getting my money’s worth while drifting helplessly around thousands of
metres up in the air. I found myself on the ramp ready to hurl myself off into a perilous abyss.
Paulo screamed, ‘Go!’ As I took my final step off the ramp, I heard that all too familiar voice
in my head saying, ‘Why are you doing this, you fool?’

To this day I still haven’t come up with a good answer, but maybe that, in fact, is the
answer. I don’t know why, it’s just something that I am drawn to. Not everybody likes to live
life on the edge and feel the rush of putting your life in danger, especially in someone else’s
hands. I get adrenaline pumping through my veins just thinking about it. After the initial
screaming, and realising that I was still in the air and not going to crash and die, it was just
me, Paulo and the passing birds. I was soaring through theair with a clear view of the most
beautiful city in the world.

Half an hour later, we started descending. I was very sad to be landing, but if I had to land
somewhere it might as well be on a beautiful beach in Rio de Janeiro. As we came down,
Paulo unstrapped my legs so I could land and run with the momentum of the hang-glider, but
of course this ended up with me flat on my back. I didn’t care: I was so happy I had
experienced something that most people will never do.

My trip to Rio de Janeiro was full of highlights and it’s hard to pick one thing that really
stands out because it is such a great international city. After we landed, Paulo showed me
some of his favourite parts of the city, but nothing beat the trip flying above it. I would
recommend Rio de Janeiro to anyone who asks and if you do happen to go hang-gliding, tell
Paulo I will see him again next time I am in Rio.

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Passage B: Flying squirrels

Although they are called flying squirrels, these small mammals do not really fly: they glide
using a thin, furred membrane of skin that extends from their wrists to their ankles. By gliding
with outstretched arms and legs, the flying squirrel is able to move about the tree tops, for up
to 90 metres at a time. Holding onto the tree trunk, the squirrel judges the distance and,
using its hind legs, it leaps into the air. During ‘flight’ the arms and legs are stretched to form
a flat surface area for gliding. The tail flips downward and is used for steering and as a
brake. The feather-light landing takes place in a vertical, upright position with the back feet
making contact first.

Weighing 100–167 grams, the flying squirrel is the smallest of all the squirrels. They make a
soft churning noise or a chirp. They use lichen, dried grass, and finely shredded bark to
make nests in tree cavities. Sometimes they will make use of an abandoned woodpecker
nest. When natural cavities are scarce, an abandoned bird’s nest will be modified. In some
areas, they nest in bird boxes and in attics.

Their velvet soft fur varies in colour, ranging from cinnamon or grey to a red or blackish-
brown. The tail is broad, flattened and fluffy. Large, black eyes dominate the head and the
ears are small and lightly furred.

The squirrels’ diet consists of berries, blossom, buds, cherries, and nuts, supplemented by
insects, stolen bird’s eggs, or small nestling birds. The major predators are foxes, weasels,
martens, and owls. Protection is found by living in the trees and being active after dark. It is
the only squirrel species that is nocturnal and spends the majority of its life in a tree. Hence,
most people have never seen the spectacular sight of a flying squirrel gliding through the air.

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Question 2 Insert:
Passage A

In this passage, the writer, Robert Louis Stevenson, describes his experience on first arriving
by ship in New York over 120 years ago.

Of my wanderings in New York City, I hesitate to tell. I had a thousand and one things to do;
only the day to do them in, before starting a journey across the continent in the evening. It
rained with patient fury. Every now and then I had to get under cover for a while in order to
give my raincoat a rest as it began to grow damp on the inside from this continued
drenching. I went to banks, post offices, railway offices, restaurants, booksellers, money
changers, and wherever I went a pool would gather about my feet, and those who were
concerned about the state of their floors looked at me with unfriendly eyes.

The same traits struck me about the people I met; everyone I met seemed to be surprisingly
rude yet surprisingly kind. The money changer cross-questioned me like a prosecution
counsel, asking my age, my business, my average income, and my destination, dismissing
my attempts at evasion, and receiving my answers in silence. When our business was over,
however, he heartily shook hands with me, and sent his assistant four hundred metres in the
rain to get me books at a reduced price.

Similarly, in a very large bookselling establishment, a man, who seemed to be the manager,
received me in a way I had certainly never before been received in any normal shop. He
implied that he put no faith in my honesty, and refused to look up the names of books or give
me the slightest help or information, on the grounds that it was none of his business. Finally,
I lost my temper, said I was a stranger in America and not familiar with American customs;
but I would assure him, if he were a customer in any bookshop in England, he would be
much better treated. This may have been an exaggerated claim but it had the desired effect.
The manager went at once from one extreme to the other and, from that moment, he loaded
me with kindness. He gave me all sorts of good advice and addresses of those who might
help me. He even came out bareheaded into the rain to point me out a restaurant, where I
might lunch – even then he seemed to think that he had not done enough. These examples
are typical of the manners of America.

I was so wet when I got back to my hotel that evening, that I found the best thing was to
shed my shoes, socks, and trousers, and leave them behind for the benefit of New York City.
No fire could have dried them before I was due to start on the next stage of my journey and
packing them in their present condition would ruin my other possessions. With a heavy heart
I said farewell to them as they lay in a sodden heap in the middle of the floor of the hotel’s
kitchen. I wonder if they are dry by now.

The hotel owner hired a man to carry my luggage to the station, which was nearby,
accompanied me there himself, and did all he could to help me on my way. No one could
have been kinder. I would recommend his hotel to other travellers as they will get decent
meals and find an honest and obliging landlord.

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Passage B: The Millau Viaduct

The following passage explores the design and construction of the Millau Viaduct, in France.

No other high bridge in history caught the eye of the media more than the opening of the
Millau Viaduct, in 2004. Comprising consecutive cable-stayed spans totalling 2460 metres,
the viaduct is the tallest bridge structure in Europe with its mast rising a lofty 335 metres
above the ground. It carries a roadway 277 metres above the Tarn River and, when it was
opened, was the highest cable-stayed bridge in the world. Although it is the highest bridge in
Europe, the massive structure ranks only 13th among all high bridges of the world. The
bridge has rightfully been described as beautiful, breath-taking, spectacular and awe-
inspiring.

Located near the small town of Millau in the southern end of France, the bridge was the last
major connection on the A75 motorway, a four lane highway that had been under
construction since 1975. Construction of the bridge began in October of 2001 and took a
little over three years – exceptional for such a large, complicated undertaking.

While most of the visual impact of the viaduct comes from the seven cable-stayed ‘sails’ that
seem to,float across the valley, much of the structure’s greatness comes from the subtle
design details. The,tall, slender support columns have an unusual elegance from a narrow
opening that gradually splits the column into two before closing up again within the mast
above the road. The roadway has a slight curve that adds a third dimension of shape to the
structure and offsets the boredom of repetition. The designers even made the best of an
unfortunate requirement to install a tall wind barrier along the edges of the roadway with a
stylish aerodynamic shape that still allows for a fantastic view of the valley beyond.

As a nearly perfect blend of art, architecture and engineering, the Millau Viaduct will continue
to inspire future engineers who are continually challenged by the demand to create beauty
and grace within the confines of a budget and the future use of their engineering design.

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Question 3 Insert:
Passage A: The mountain lake

In this passage, the writer describes a remote mountain lake in Ireland and tells what
happened on a family trip to fish for brown trout.

There is a lake, halfway up a mountain, where my family and I spend a day or two fishing
each year. The climb, over waterlogged ground, drains the energy from our legs and makes
us pause every now and then to catch our breath. During these short breaks we turn our
backs on the mountain, and face, instead, the open country beneath us. There is plenty to
see. The flat green country is divided by the River Shannon. There are lakes everywhere.
Some of the larger ones we can name, but the small ones are too many to count; each one a
jewel nestled into a fold in the velvet landscape. All around us the air carries the sound of the
tiny streams which gather the water from the mountain and begin to steer it, well beyond our
vision, towards the ocean.

The mountain lake is not easy to find. It seems unusual to locate a lake by climbing upward
and, in many ways, we were lucky to find it at all on our first trip. It is very small and
seemingly invisible until you arrive at a ridge and discover it, quite suddenly, at your feet.
Sometimes it is not there at all. The dark clouds that graze the mountaintops here may
decide to throw a protective fog around it, and steal it back. On such days we are forced to
turn away and leave the local fish, the brown trout, to cruise the dark waters undisturbed.

This isolated lake is fed only by a stream which gathers rainfall from the mountain ridge
above. How did the trout get here? They are not big fish: the heaviest we have caught is
probably just under half a kilo. With their black backs, copper sides and two rows of red
spots, they are all very similar in appearance. It seems to me that their strict conformity to a
shared dress code might say something about their history. Scientists suggest that fewer
physical differences are to be expected in a small population long isolated from others. In my
imagination, they are the descendants of ancestors which colonised these waters in
prehistoric times; ancestors which swam through channels long since vanished in a
landscape of ice and glaciers and a wilderness unseen by human eyes.

I had taken my son, Leo, on a short fishing trip and had decided to go to the mountain lake
as its eager fish might offer him the greatest hope of an early catch. Here the brown trout
always rise freely, as though to reward us for the effort we have made to reach them. Would
these bold trout oblige us by rising to the water’s surface as we had hoped? I need not have
worried. Sure enough, within ten minutes or so of our arrival, a swirl distorted the mirror of
the mountain lake’s surface. A few moments later, we were admiring the varnished scales of
Leo’s first trout before he gently lowered it into the lake once more and let the black water
reclaim it.

To celebrate Leo’s first trout, I painted a watercolour picture of it. It is framed now and hangs
on his bedroom wall. It is not a good painting. While its proportions are approximately correct
and its colours resemble the original, I could no more capture its beauty using paints than I
now can, using words. If you wish to see for yourself how beautiful these trout really are, you
must go there – and hope that, for a few hours at least, the clouds will surrender the
mountain lake to you.

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Passage B: A life-changing decision

In this passage the writer describes the solitary life of John Treagood, a former teacher who
decided to change his lifestyle.

John Treagood used to work as a teacher. One day he made a life-changing decision. He
decided to go for a walk and hasn’t stopped travelling since. He trekked all the way from the
north to the south west of England, bought a horse and then built a caravan, based on a
traditional design. That was 40 years ago. Nowadays, John can regularly be seen travelling
around roads and lanes, in that same handbuilt caravan, pulled by his even-tempered horse,
Misty. For him, home is now his one-room caravan, parked on a piece of wasteland, and his
chief companion is his horse.

Despite often facing sub-zero temperatures, John, 76, believes that life gets better every
year. He says he doesn’t feel the cold, adding that winters in the south west of England are
mild, one of the reasons why he chose it as his destination all those years ago.

John does not claim a government pension, even though he is entitled to receive it. He
makes money from odd jobs such as pruning hedges; he collects water from streams and
food from the land. In total, John collects about 70 litres of water each day. He drinks
approximately 2 litres of water a day while his horse drinks about 50 litres.

Although he occasionally supplements his diet with fish from the nearby river, he generally
eats any berries and vegetables he might discover along the way, always taking care to cut
up carrots and apples for his horse. John is rarely ill. One particularly frosty morning,
however, he slipped and fell, breaking his arm. He didn’t seek help until three days later,
having walked nearly 7 kilometres to a friend’s house.

His only items from modern life are a radio to listen to music and a mobile phone. He
explains, ‘A friend said I’d need one for emergencies, but I haven’t switched it on for six
months.’

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