Differnces Among Similar Things

"...I am struck by a sign hanging from the ceiling that announces the ways to the arrivals hall, the exit and transfer desks. It is a bright yellow sign , one metre high and two across, simple in design, a plastic fascia in an illuminated aluminum box suspended on steel struts from a ceiling webbed with cables and air-conditioning ducts. Despite its simplicity, even mundanity, the sign delights me, a delight for which the adjective 'exotic', though unusual, seems apt...If the sign provokes such pleasure, it is because it offers the first conculsive evidence of having arrived elsewhere." -De Botton

This passage could not have been written better for me because this is exactly what I think when I enter a new place. I remember the first time I arrived in Europe. I landed in Dublin and it looked similar enough to home at first. Then I enter the airport and see signs for the 'WC' and very tall 1,5 litre bottles of soda, including an extensive collection of Fanta flavors. Even yesterday as I was riding on the bus to the castle and concentration camp I was lost in thought staring out the window, especially because the surroundings resembled West Virginia, I see a road sign and my heart jumps in excitement because it reminds me that I am in a different place.


Last week myself and a few friends crossed the river to Germany and even this short trip you see different things. Signs spelled with an odd B like letter in the middle of a word and even different marketing styles. This may sound too deep in thought or even odd, but when I see a sign like De Botton did or taste a burger that has a different taste than at home to suit the taste of Europeans I think about the history of the country and all that has happened to lead up to this burger being this way while my burger at home tastes different. It is almost like the reflection of the people of this country.

As the world become smaller I hope I, and other travelers, can always have these small joys at seeing a sign in a different language other than English and tasting a similar food from home and seeing that even that is different.

-Tyler Underwood

Call me a diva if you’d like, but I have very strict rules when it comes to my clothing. Rule 1: never wear the same thing within a two week period (jeans and jackets are an exception). Rule 2: no one borrows my clothes, if they do it’s a trade, but only with close friends. Rule 3: Never spend over $35 on a shirt or $120 on jeans. But, France is starting to change me…
When I’m in the mall or the city center shopping, I can’t help but notice how much money people spend on clothes. No one acts surprised when their total is 300euro. Who are these people?! What do they do in order to spend this much money every time they go shopping? No one looks at the price tags and no one discriminates against certain stores. It’s totally normal to see an old woman looking at the same clothes as me now. When I’m at school, I’m not shocked to see people in the same outfit they wore last week. Whatttttt?! That is the ultimate crime!!! What are these people thinking?
White at a party hosted by the BDI, I met my French buddy, Salima. I had a million questions for her. First I asked her about their shopping spending habits. She couldn’t speak for everyone but she explained that she worked her entire summer break and spent about half of her savings on a wardrobe for the fall and winter. Most of her friends did the same. She said she didn’t mind paying much for some things because she’d wear them multiple times and worked hard. She then went on to explain that the things I see people wearing multiple times are probably very expensive and they want to get their worth out of it. These shopping trips only happen one or two times a year. So maybe ill take a lesson or two from the French: reward myself for my hard work and take more appreciation in fashion. However, I’m still not sharing my clothes with anyone.

On Anticipation

"It is easy to forget ourselves when we contemplate pictorial and verbal descriptions of places. At home, as my eyes had panned over photographs of Barbados, there were no reminders that those eyes were intimately tied to a body and mind which would travel with me wherever I went and that might, over time, assert their presence in ways that would threaten or even negate the purpose of what the eyes had come there to see." (page 20)
      There are always expectations involved when traveling, especially when you will be living in one place for over three months. I anticipated living in the Château and riding my bike to school on a daily basis. Beyond that, I had no idea what I was in for. All I knew was that I wanted to be somewhere completely out of my comfort zone and away from everyone I knew for a while to really understand more about myself. The goal was to not let myself get in the way of my adventures, unlike Botton in this passage.
    With all this being said, I am currently more confused about my future than I ever have been because I have left my normal inhibitions in the U.S. The thing is, I am totally okay with it! My completely planned out future has now become - how do I come back? Should I sell my car? I have even considered selling my eggs to a fertility clinic to pay for another study abroad trip. I realized that I not having a plan is the best way for me to live at this point in my life. I didn't anticipate feeling anything like this but it's times like this that make it all worth it.
- Rachel Cooper

Is there really a "wrong time" to see the world?

"A danger of travel is that we may see things at the wrong time, before we have had an opportunity to build up the necessary receptivity so that new information is as useless and fugitive as necklace beads without a connecting chain. The risk is compounded by geography in the way that cities contain buildings or monuments that may only be a few feet apart in space but are leagues apart in terms of what is required to appreciate them. Having made a journey to a place we may never revisit, we feel obliged to admire a sequence of things which have no connection to one another besides a geographic one..."


I disagree with de Botton a bit here. I would not consider this a "danger". I don't think a lack of such "receptivity" would leave a traveler in mass confusion or with a less valuable experience.
There is just a different experience. If you knew absolutely nothing about a place that you were visiting, would it not be just like visiting an alien planet? Would that be a worthless experience?

Personally, I find the juxtaposition of different structures from different time periods to be beautiful and something that is certainly unique to every individual place. Even though I may not have extensive knowledge on everything that I come across, I don't feel that what I'm retaining is "useless". It's concepts and ideas of places that fascinate me the most.

A few days ago I climbed the Strasbourg Cathedral, which I find to be the most impressive landmark in the city. I know a little of its history, but thinking back, I don't think a complete lack of knowledge would have made the experience any less. A lot of what surrounds the cathedral is hundreds of years younger, but that does not take away from the ability to admire it all as a whole. It's amazing and admirable in itself that these "unlike" things are able to coexist and form the identity of a city.
For example, one of the most surprising sights from the top of the cathedral was the European Parliament building, strikingly different in style from all else that was visible. It was a nice reminder of what Europe is today as opposed to when the structure that I was standing on was brand new. However, they both equally are a part of Strasbourg, and I think that's something to reflect on.

This leads me to de Botton's dismissal of the significance of geographical relations. I believe that the "geographic connection" of things has significance. The "geographic connection" of anything is worth interpreting and analyzing. There's reason and purpose for why things are located as they are. It's the questioning of this, and not the dismissal, that gives people a reason to truly appreciate places and landmarks when travelling.

-Maria

planes and how i'm terrified of them

                I was actually reading the Art of Travel today and there was one part of the 2nd section that had to deal with planes, and the magnificence that it seemed to hold for De Botton. Where fear is the only thing that seems to grip me whenever I start thinking about having to fly, pleasure and contentment go through the arthur's mind. I only wish that that sort of resolve would flood my mind whenever I begin to think about airplanes.
               One passage during this section seemed to strike me as the most important question on my mind De Botton states "Similar sentiments may arise when looking at one of the larger species of airplane, it to 'vast' and 'complicated' creature which defies its size and the chaos of the lower atmosphere to steer serenely across the firmament. Seeing one parked at a gate, dwarfing luggage carts and mechanics, one is induced to feel surprise, overriding any scientific explanation, at how such a thing might move-- a few meters, let alone to Japan. " My question is, ok yea what the heck exactly holding this massive machines up in the air? I get the physics of it, yea but still. What keeps it from crashing down to earth? That is exactly why I am so afraid of these huge monsters. At any moment if something unexpected happens it could bring the whole thing down.
            That's why it makes me wonder what kind of peace and contentment that it holds for the author, and how exactly can I achieve that peace? My life would be so much less filled with anxiety over this issue if someone could tell me exactly what I need to do in order to not freak out every time I think about flying.

To Do List: Make Friends

Studying abroad was appealing to me on many levels. One included meeting local students from another part of the world and immersing myself in a different culture. This has yet to become a reality after lining in France for a month. I feel so established in my own university ans so self assured in my studies and decision to study abroad, that I easily forget that I am reduced to being seen as a freshman entering college in that I have no friends, no contacts, and no real grasp on the city hot spots for students. I have unfortunately felt as if I have begun my college freshman year for a second time in Strasbourg. This idea frightens me. Although, the anticipation of having trouble getting around, speaking the language, or getting used to the cold weather were something I had prepared myself for, having trouble getting to know people and making friends was not. I had never given much thought as to how I had made friends later in life. I can distinguish and categorize my friends from the most recent to those I have known since before puberty. What I cannot recall is how I was able to connect with theme genuinely in order to begin this friendship. Beginning a conversation, finding common ground, or simply starting a friendly conversation has been more of a task than I thought possible. When faced with the dilemma to speak to another student or not, I revert back to the insecurities I had as a freshman and begin to doubt myself by thinking "I hope this isn't a stupid question", "I hope they speak English", "I hope they can understand my French","I hope they don't laugh". With all these questions plaguing my mind, by the time I have built up enough courage to talk to them, they have already walked down the hallway and I am simply left standing there with my question still unanswered.
I have contemplated many theories as to why my popularity at the EM hasn't risen to its full potential. First, I believe that the students here are my friends and are people I can call upon when I am ecstatic or even depressed. I am not alone in my travels nor my endeavors and do not have a compulsive need to make other friends since I already have fifteen friends at the Chateau. Second, the language barrier is too hard for me to cross. I am timid to express myself in the little French I know and merely seek out other English speakers and not French native if I ever do need assistance. Third, I have not found a place outside of school that will allow me to interact with students on a daily basis. I believe this third theory is the main culprit. Although, most everyone has made an effort to get out and know Strasbourg and its nightly atmosphere, we have yet to find a place that is frequented by students.
Slowly but surely, out of pure desperation for foreign student contact, I have made myself venture out in hopes of making one friend here in Strasbourg. I hope I am able to keep up any burst of courage I gain in order to talk to a fellow French student, because, after all, they are just students with most likely same tastes, problems and interests as we have, right?

Different Worlds, Different Centuries, Similar Story!

I am in awe, reading the story of Gustave Flaubert and his love NOT for his mother country, France, but for another country completely different from his own.  Egypt was his love, as America was my love.  Since he was young, he hated his own country, its people, their manners and even their food and animals.  He found refuge in what he later came to name "the Orient" for happiness, even though my desire to leave my country was not as profound as Flaubert's, it is ironical that a man born in a different world, different century  could have a similar story of a girl born thousands of miles and centuries apart.

Growing up in a small village in Kenya, I found myself far removed from the needs and likes of my peer group.  While in middle school learning the world Geography, I was overly interested in the North American continent, I would read keenly about the cotton-belt, the large rivers, the five big lakes, and even though I was young, I had decided that one day, America would be my home.

Going back to Flaubert's story, he was disgusted by the weather in his country, he did not care for beautiful places like Normandy or La belle, France, he believed strongly that he had been "transplanted by winds" to his mother-country, having been born elsewhere, he did not think he was born in Egypt, or China, or wherever, all he knew and believed was that he was not a  "product" of France.

Whereas for me, I knew I was born and bred in Kenya, but I refused that I must grow and live in Kenya, I strongly knew I wanted to belong to another country, even though America was my chosen country, it really did not matter to me where I would eventually end, all I knew, just like Flaubert, wished and longed for "the Orient" I wished and longed for America.  He was young, had no money of his own, so all he could do was to simply wish and dream about the "orange trees, palm trees, lotus flowers and cool paved  pavilions in marble   with wood-panelled chambers that talk of love!"  He would ask himself questions like 'Will I never see necropolises, where toward evening, when the camels have come to rest by their wells, hyenas howl from beneath the mummies of kings?"  I, on the other hand had no money either, but would ask myself, "will I never see Hollywood, where great movies seen all over the world are made?"  Flaubert wishes came true at twenty-four when his father died unexpectedly, leaving him a fortune that allowed him to waste no more time dreaming, but to go to where his heart was.  Unfortunately, I never got any fortune like Flaubert, even though my opportunity to move to my country of desire, did not come as early as Flaubert's, it finally came sixteen years ago.

I know a lot of people reading this blog might not relate or even naively think that one can be born in one place, but the heart belongs to another place, and when one has that feeling, it does not matter how good their life is or how much love one has for their family, one must leave to fulfill their heart's desire, one might not even have enough money to do so, but like they say "where there is a will, there is a way!".  I am as much Red Indian as Kenyan, like Flaubert said, he was as " much Chinese as French."  Truly, it does not matter who you are today, than who you will be tomorrow! - Caroline

Oktoberfest

  So this weekend was pretty interesting. Jessica and I went to Munich for Oktoberfest and it turned out much better than I expected. We met some awesome people from all over the world and drank copious amounts of beer. I learned German drinking songs and how to say the German equivalent of "cheers", which is "prost".
   This being my second trip on my own, I was a little nervous about getting there on time and finding my hostel and Jessica, which was potentially dangerous since neither of us had phones. It all worked out perfectly which makes me a more confident traveler. I loved the train ride to Munich because it is the only real time I have just to sit and think about things and enjoy the scenery. There is nothing more relaxing to me than to take a train and read my Bukowski, even if he is pretty depressing sometimes. It's because of this that I always arrive at my destination ready to explore as much as I can.
   I spent Thursday doing your standard Oktoberfest festivities - drinking, eating, and laughing at all the drunken men and women stumble around. Having partied too much the entire week before, Jessica and I decided to go back to our campsite hostel and hangout there. They sold cheap but delicious beer so we spent the rest of the evening drinking around a campfire with guys from the UK and Germany.
   The next day, my German friend drove us around Munich and showed us some beautiful parks and buildings. Munich is my favorite city so far because of the architecture and statues. On top of the beauty of the city, the people are awesome too. Everyone was friendly and happily gave us directions in English. I am definitely happy that I am in Strasbourg so I can be so close to Germany.
- Rachel Cooper

As Things Unfold

Greetings my dear philosophers of travel. The blog grows by leaps and bounds. You have recounted varied, curious, surprising early experiences, you have captured and reflected upon both the essential and the incidental in your travels, on all things great and small, and you have expressed yourselves openly and searchingly at every turn. I am altogether pleased with what I have found in reading these passages. (I do wonder on the other hand about those who have not made their weekly contributions.)

Now then, in going forward let us try to sharpen some of our many sentiments by reference to our main text. Start your entries this week with a selected passage from “The Art of Travel” that gestures toward your own experiences in meaningful ways. Type out a passage, say four or five lines of de Botton's text, lines uniquely yours and not chosen by anyone else, and then address the point being made in terms of your own weekly recollections of whatever kind. It is hoped that in doing so you will find ways to further your own art and philosophy of travel as things unfold. Cheers.

Oktoberfest - Ja!

Thursday :

4:40 AM -

Roll out of bed, try to find something in the kitchen to eat, throw the last of what I need to take with me. Then look over Rachel's itinerary to see when and where to meet, and find that we're arriving at two different train stations...Mind you, neither of us have a working phone. So I wake her up, as I run out the door I say something to the effect of - "There's a big old church near Oktoberfest, we'll meet there.." Right, I just described every square & city in Europe, that shouldn't be confusing.

5:00 AM -

I headed out the door of the Chateau to catch a train to Munich.

As I walked to the bus stop I couldn't help but notice the strong aroma of pastries that filled, literally, the entire town. It was fantastic.

By now I've realized that I know no German, have no basic phrases book, and should have set-up my cell phone by now.

6:00 AM -

Arrive at the train station - mumble some sort of coherent statement to the cashier about

wanting tea & a pain au chocolat - she got the gist of what I wanted...

6:53 AM -

Time to leave Strasbourg for a 4 hour train rain to Munich.

11:15 AM -

My train arrives in Munich. I step off the train and everything smells like sausage...I've made it to Germany! I scramble around the train station until I find the Tourism Office and get a map. Find the previously mentioned church - hopefully it's the correct one - circle it and spend about 30 minutes trying to figure out where the U-Bahn train is that I need.

12:00 PM -

Alright, now I've got three hours to wait on Rachel...what to do? Follow the lederhosen! I walk through the Oktoberfest grounds, having the greatest time giggling to myself as I see everyone in lederhosen. No one is too cool for lederhosen, there was so many variations, everyone trying to make it there own. There were hipster lederhosen, frat-boy lederhosen, goth lederhosen, slutty lederhosen, traditional lederhosen, jock lederhosen. You name it, it was there.

3:30 PM -

Rachel finally arrived, at the same church! What a miracle! Seriously, though...I wasn't really sure what we were going to do if we couldn't find each other... We head to the hostel to check-in, arrive and see that it literally is just a campsite with 4 large tents and bathrooms and a cafeteria. But it was kind of the greatest place ever...very cultish- communal living, but no weird rituals that I was aware of.

4:30 PM -

We finally make our way to Oktoberfest together. Go in eat a bratwurst, awkwardly walk in and out of beer tents unable to find a place to sit, and finally stumble upon an outdoor area for beer drinking. We order our litre beer, sit there for a good hour and walk around a bit more, watching people eat and drink, as we eat and drink. Everything after the first litre of beer becomes mostly centered around alcohol, so I'll just let you imagine how the rest of the night went. If it makes anyone feel better, we did end up at our hostel by the end of the night.

Friday :

7:00 AM -

I wake up from being too cold to sleep any longer. The campsite, was quiet and clean, which would not be the case when every woke up around 10 and used the bathrooms for hangover purposes...

12:00 PM

Our plan was to go back to Oktoberfest drink a little bit more before we left that night, but all we really wanted to do was lay down and sleep. And not move. So we found the nearest park layed there for awhile walked around for a bit and finally went back to the train station around 4:00 to catch our train back. Friday had to be a recovery day...

I know what you're thinking... "you went all the way to Munich and didn't see anything, but Oktoberfest??" Before you chastise me, we have plans of going back, and we only had really 24 hours to stay. We were unable to find transportation for a later day, so that we could stay longer.

To conclude, my time in Munich was short, but totally worth it. From what people said of Oktoberfest before I went I was expecting mostly tourists and annoying Americans falling down drunk - which sure I saw that, but it wasn't all that was there. There were just people, in lederhosen having an amazing time with friends and family. All coming together, around a litre of beer - which cost €9. It was definitely an experience worth having, it was sort of a cross between the state fair, Bonnaroo and a renaissance festival, if you can imagine.

It was the last time I ever saw a rose

I am thoroughly displeased with the selection fonts available on this blog. I need something that can properly convey my post-teen angst, my first-world woes. Meh, I'll just have to settle for "Trebuchet". For a font named after a twelfth century catapult, it doesn't have much attack. I need a font that cuts like a knife, as opposed to pushing like two four year old school girls fighting over a Barbie doll. Seriously though. How am I to philosophize with such a matter-of-fact, weak font. Maybe a change of color will aid me in channeling my conscience. There we go. It is the closest I could get to the color of dried blood on my white down pillow. I feel much better now.

I will not talk of my trip to Paris. In the wise words of my friend David, "It is best to just put bad experiences behind you, and move forward."

As of late, I found found myself in dire need of distractions. I have immersed myself in "wholesome", "family" activities, as a means of beguilement: Bike rides, ice-breaker games, pizza and ice-cream nights. Movie night is on Thursday! Oh joy! I even went "shopping" with Caroline at Homme de Fer, an experience worth noting.

We arrived at the tram station at about 4:00pm. As typical of a tourist hub such as Strasbourg on a week day, the streets were packed with your typical day-trippers and sight-seers. We went first to a bookstore adjacent to Place Kleber, as I informed Caroline that I was looking for a science fiction novel that a friend had recommended to me. Even though I was positive that they wouldn't have it, I walked into the little librarie with a hopeful heart. After about five minutes of leisurely browsing, I found it. The Diamond Age by Neil Stephenson. Perhaps it wasn't simply my friend's persuasive urgings that led me to buy the book. It may have also had something to do with my reading the first few pages prior to purchase, pages which contained subtle pertinence to my own life. The Diamond Age centers around a girl named Nell, a young orphan living in a futuristic society in which technology dominates all aspects of life: A world in which a nano-implant can make you muscly and vascular, where a pill can exponentially increase your brain power, where money can most certainly buy happiness. I found myself wondering if such a world was made for me: One who is constantly vexed by his own inefficiencies, idiosyncrasies, and shortcomings, someone who is tired of searching for that things that make him happy and who has an insatiable appetite for instant gratification.

Long story short, I bought the book and we made our way to the most deplorable of places. I'm talking about a place where only the most despicable, vapid, repugnant individuals dare to venture: A place where lost souls go to get their fix, where zombies that refuse to live go to die. This place was Louis Vuitton. Upon entering the wretched store, I felt the eyes of the bourgeois searing at my back like molten steel. How could eyes so cold, so empty, burn so hot; Eyes, that lionize the purposeless and close at night, yielding only sweet, untumultuous sleep. The price tags of these seemingly normal articles of clothing stared me in the face with such disdain. I did not belong there. No one did. This place was a drain stopper at best. What holes were these people trying to fill? Resisting the urge to burn this establishment to the ground, I left. And Where did we go next? La Galleries Lafayette: Perhaps the only venue that could one up Louis with its lack of purpose. "Stitched together into this beautiful monster...It is just a skull full of chlorine in the septic tank". Oh yes, I forgot to mention that on the tram ride back, I was fortunate enough to see a young child (couldn't have been more than one and a half years old) fall several feet directly onto her head, due to the negligence of her mother. This child's care taker had carelessly positioned her daughter in the seat across from her, so that she could hold what was truly important in her own arms: shopping bags. And of course, when the tram took the slightest turn, the little girl went tumbling. What an ironic end to a superficial day!

On a more positive note, I went on a wonderful bike ride with Jim, Jan, Macy, Tyler, and Rachael yesterday. We trekked throughout the city center of Strasbourg, passing the Cathedral, Le Rue de Freres and Le Petite France, just to name a few locations. The weather was absolutely perfect. The sun did not bear down on my skin as it usually does in this city, the breeze was impeccable, and the tourists were either on their planes home or in bed. The mood was jovial, and the ride leisurely yet informative. We would stop every so often so that Jim and Jan could tell us various facts and stories about the districts and places that were were traversing. I was grateful to have them as guides, to distract me from my own thoughts and unpleasant musings with their edifying anecdotes and amiable conversation.

I will go now. I need to do some research on prospective law schools and the LSAT, while simultaneously contemplating why exactly I want to be a lawyer. I would like to think that I want to help people, but the majority of my intentions remain selfish ones. To hell with it. I think I will abandon all virtue and pursue a job as a Louis Vuitton copyright lawyer, holding poor bootleggers on the streets of New York City monetarily accountable for their atrocious crimes against humanity.

-Tyler C.

Falling in love with the French architecture and falling out-of-love with the luck of a simple yet important basic human right!!

I do not seem to get enough of the French architecture, cobblestone streets and the small vanity stores all around Homme de Fer, Broglie and Place Kleber.  Everytime I visit these towns, I am walking with my head up, admiring the different half-timbered houses and Gothic spires, and in so doing, I am connecting to the French I have read in history books and seen in movies.

Growing up, I heard so much about the French, their culture and food, and reading about the French Revolution, I am yet to come across food I may say is truly French, other than the Baguette, which I have seen being sold in the open air market, I do not know yet what else is French food.  I am yet to experience the real French food, and I also want to blame the world of scientifically altering foods in the world, in that foods, especially vegetables that were traditionally American or African, are now easily available in other countries including France.  Since coming to France, I have not missed any vegetables that I like to eat back in Georgia, the supermarkets are well stocked with all brands of "our" vegetables, or shall say, the world's vegetables? 


One thing I have really enjoyed while window shopping around Homme de Fer and the neighboring towns, is that the stores are quite small, and not overly stocked like our stores back at home.  Even I was really surprised that Louis Vuitton is so small in size, yet France is its home base.  The only store that really reminds me of stores back home is the Galeries Lafayette.

Of course, not everything in France is all "glitters and gold", the most disappointing thing so far is that it appears to me that the French do not have a "right to a bathroom" in their Human Rights provision, unless you ask for a bathroom, most places they are not easily visible and yesterday, I had to ask several people in the Galeries Lafayette, where their bathrooms were, finally I was told "they" were on the 2nd Floor, do you believe that?  No bathroom on the ground floor, no bathroom on the first floor, except on the 2nd Floor?  Americans would be ready to sue somebody for this luck of provision of a basic Human Right.  The most disappointing thing was that after finally finding the bathrooms, to my utter shock and given size of the store and its expensive merchandise, it was only one, and very filthy, the clothe hand towel was all wet and running freely to the seemingly dirty floor, this took my love for shopping at the Galeries Lafayette.  If I knew good written french, this would be going down on the dailies all over France.  It is a shame, seriously for a store of this size to have a bathroom in such a state.   - Caroline

French Kiss?

So typically when you think of french kissing, what do you think? Random right.. or is it?

This has been just another week living in Frace. This weekend however there was a little twist, it was my birthday. It wasn't just any birthday, but my 21st. This is hilarious, it figures I woud turn 21 in a country where it doesn't matter.. haha If I have missed home, this would have been the weekend.

It was so different being away from home on my birthday. There are just some traditions, and rituals we do (my friends and family). It was kind of sad not being able to take part in that.

But with the help of my little chatoeu family, it was still a great birthday.

I love France because every where we went, if you tell them it's your day you get free stuff. Itwas a good time. I also keep receiving another gift, french kisses. Now prior to coming here I thought of the "french kiss," in totally differnt light than I do now.

It seems normal to see people greet by exchanging kisses on the cheeks. I consider those to be french kisses. Everyone would say Happy Birthday and give me a couple of those. By the end of the night it was normal to get a few pecks.

The cab ride home that evening proved to be very interesting. We were in there listening to music and chatting it up, having a good old time. I pulled the birthday card again in hopes of a discount, (it was worth a shot) haha. The cab driver goes, " Happyyy Birthday, 21 is a big deal in America. You need a kiss." Thinking he was referring to the cheek pecks, I was like ok. I turned my cheek. He said no and pointed to his mouth, he was trying to really "French kiss" me. I lost all composure. I worked my way out of that one. Now that's something I'll never forget!

One weekend in Paris

        Last weekend, I was excited to travel to Paris for the first time. It was a lot of first for me, the first time traveling seven hours on a crowded stinky bus, the first time on a crowded stinky subway, the first time to in a uncrowded stinky hostel and so on and so forth with the normal things one would see when they go to Paris.  I found Paris to be a bit more accommodating than Strasbourg has been, the city is so used to tourists coming in and out that they must learn to speak English fluently to retain good business. Of course with as many tourist spots as there are in Paris it does not really surprise me. Also I believe that the Parisians have become so accustomed to the amount of tourism they receive that it makes immune to the traffic, however in Strasbourg you notice a subtle difference between those who live here to the Parisians. Where the Parisians are indifferent to the amount of tourists coming and going, those who live in Strasbourg seem to treat those of us who aren't local with a little bit more scorn. Knowing that we don't belong here and maybe imposing on their wonderful city. However, I believe that as long as we try to fit in and not be rude to them  with our lack of language skills then maybe we can receive a bit more respect as people more than merely unwanted tourists.

keeping up habits while abroad

After being here for nearly three weeks, I had finally decided to get my act together and go for a run. A small amount of stress over class scheduling, the beautiful weather, and slight homesickness had triggered this urge.

I've been running for several years now. It's something I did almost daily at home in Morgantown. Since it was such a constant piece of my life from home, I've found it to be very comforting while overseas for these past 4 months. I'd like to think of it as my "piece of American life". While others may have peanut butter and ice cubes, I'm happy to have my running shoes to make me feel at home.

Getting familiar with my natural surroundings is something that I'm a fan of whenever I'm in a new place. This topic is touched on in one of the chapters in "The Art of Travel". I felt that I could relate a little to what was being said, especially when it came to discussing the effects of surroundings on our souls. I do appreciate living near the park that surrounds the Chateau. Getting away from city life is sometimes crucial for me to keep my sanity. While in London this summer, I escaped to the nearest natural space, Hampstead Heath, daily for runs or picnics with friends. Moments that I savored the most were when I was able to find an open space on the Heath where I could not see another human. This was rare, but it felt significant and I was able to feel mentally at peace for a few moments.

But now I've traded the view from Parliament Hill and running on the left side of the path for the Rhine and the Nazi bunkers hidden in the forest. It's been a nice change of scene. Sometimes I've felt a bit too isolated. I spook myself easily, especially when I'm trying to figure out a new place and I haven't seen a person for 30+ minutes. The idea running across wild boars still makes me nervous as well!

I'm happy getting to know my home space before seeing more of Europe. I know I just need to keep up the habit (and perhaps buy some new shoes soon)!

-Maria

Being Taken vs. Being Lectured

I would like to understand French people. The only real problem I’ve encountered while in Strasbourg is the fact that I have yet to truly the complex French mind. I didn’t realize how big of a problem this was until I was out last night.  For example, at one particular club we were at, besides the group I was with, I spoke to two patrons who were also at the club.

The first individual gave me what seemed to be a 15 minute lecture that could basically be summed up in a couple sentences—rather than 15 minutes, like he made it out to be. The way I was dancing, was apparently not how people in French clubs danced. If I kept on doing it, it would only further embarrass me and my friends. This took me off guard—in America, no one in a club would ever think to reprimand someone for their behavior. They would just let them do their thing, even if it was out of place for the establishment.  Still, it was good to know. I thought that this lecture, as annoying and embarrassing as it was to get it, would help me understand the overall French psyche. Wrong.

Just when I decided that the French were just way more reserved than Americans when it came to partying, another individual began talking to me. This individual was not reserved at all. In fact, after a few minutes, it became clear to me that this individual was trying to have sex with me in a bathroom stall. After being saved from this horrible fate from friends, I was left even more confused about the French way of life.

Dancing in a certain way was looked down upon, but trying to have sex with random girls in bathroom stalls was normal? I was, and still am very confused. Surely there has to be a happy medium between getting lectured and getting taken.  I’d like to think what I experienced are just so bad examples of what the French are like when it comes to “partying” environments. I realize that confusion is supposed to happen when you’re living in a brand new environment. I guess I just have to accept my confused state and hopefully learn something from it by the end of the trip.