Lisbonne, un tour à courir

Hitting you with back-to-back posts today, as I am just getting back to the internet world. I actually left Madrid on Wednesday, and thus wrote that post then, but upon arriving in Lisbon, I realized that my hotel did not have wireless internet. Instead of searching for it across the city, I figured that you all could hold out for a couple days, as I knew my stay was quite short.

Lisbon was the ultimate trip of convenience; the initial plan after Madrid had been to go to Barcelona and visit with more Penn people. However, flights were way too expensive on both ends of the journey to justify such a short stay, and I know that there will be other weekends for Barcelona. Lisbon was cheap, close, and was a nice jumping off point for my next destination. Thus, I dove right in, and I am very glad I did. The whole of my journey lasted just over 36 hours, so I knew I had to make the most of it. By the time I had dropped my bags off and settled into my hotel, the clock had just struck six o’clock in the evening, a perfect time it seemed to explore the city. Two surprises awaited me; it was already pitch-black night, and the city was empty. I guess the time change from Madrid threw me off a bit, but I had been expecting a thriving town at sunset, and instead found a quiet, dark city. No worries however, as I was able to see many of the traffic circles and squares featuring excessively tall statues. Apparently the Portuguese are proud of basically two things: their liberation and their exploration. Still not sure what Portugal was liberating itself from all these times (I’ll get to my struggles with the Portuguese language later), but they do have plenty of statues commemorating it. I saw plenty of them during my first night out, and after a few wrong turns into shady neighborhoods, I hit the bed early to prepare for the big day of tourism.

Each time that I planned out my sightseeing itinerary in Lisbon, I kept looking at maps that made it seem that Lisbon was very much a walking city. Nowhere near the size of Madrid, Lisbon seemed like a nice little coastal city, with most of the touristy stuff crammed into a small area along the water. I set out early in the morning for what I thought would be a leisurely day of seeing the sights and taking in the culture. What the maps all collectively failed to mention, however, was that Lisbon is a city of many hills, and it rivals Lyon in its collection of winding, never-ending staircases. Thus my leisurely tour felt like a running tour, complicated by the fact I kept making wrong turns, which ended up leading me up and down the wrong hills. By the time night fell this time around, I was more than happy to join in the seemingly Lisboan spirit of heading to bed early, exhausted from a marathon of walking.

That being said, all that walking was in fact worth it, as I saw some pretty amazing things along the way. Lisbon has plenty to offer, from numerous cathedrals to the national parliament to a bull fighting ring (sadly, this is only open in the summertime). The highlight was definitely the 11th century Moorish Castle, overlooking the city and home to some of the best panoramas of Lisbon. Perched on a hilltop high above the coast, you could see how this castle was the key to the defending the city back in the day, even if most of the inside had been destroyed by various renegade invaders. The view revealed a city that really did come to life in the daytime, a pleasant surprise after the previous evening. Exploration of that city did provide many worthwhile sights, even if I did not spend too much time at each one. Now I can say that I somewhat understand Portuguese culture, even if I have no chance with the language.

Of all the other languages I have experienced on this trip, Portuguese was the first one that I had never been exposed to before, in any setting. As such, I had no clue what to expect. Right before I left, I bought a Portuguese/French pocket dictionary in the hopes that it would help me survive if needed in this mysterious land. However, it was of little help, as I may have learned more French from it then Portuguese. By the end of my two days, I can marginally understand a written sign (basically anything remotely close to French I’m good with, otherwise no chance), but the spoken word sounds just like Russian to me. A couple people on the street made the mistake of saying something to me in Portuguese, to which I kind of blankly replied in my one word of Portuguese, “sorry?”. The nice thing about businesses was that everyone spoke English; I guess it is almost that the Portuguese realize the minimal international presence of their language (outside of Brazil), and instead of fighting it, everyone spoke English. They did not seem as violently proud of their language as the French (side note: a lot of French people in Portugal, no clue as to why), and as such were more than happy to provide nearly every written posting in both Portuguese and English. For me, that was wonderful.

Yes, it was a short little detour to Lisbon, yet a fun one at that. Initially I had hoped to convince a fellow Quaker to accompany me on my journey, but after that failed (boring things called classes got in the way for some), I went at it alone. It finally hit me as we were landing at the Lisbon airport that I had entered a country where I did not speak the language and knew absolutely no one, quite a daunting proposition. I found that seeing a city solo is an experience in and of itself, and I am glad that I did not let the fear of appearing alone stop me from discovering a new culture.

Another day, another country, and yet another flight. Having fun yet? I sure am.

Madrid et le Retour au Chaleur

(sorry, no pictures, not enough time to upload them...)

The first thing I noticed upon landing at the Madrid Airport was the desert surrounding the runway. I would learn later that this in fact was not the desert, instead just some dusty fields, but coming from London and Lyon, where I had been hunkered down in layers of clothing to guard against the cold, gray weather, this illusion was a pleasant welcome to the Iberian Peninsula. The temperature was well above 20 degrees Celsius (70s for you Fahrenheit-ers back in the States), and the sun shone down from some of the bluest skies I have ever seen. I could get used to this kind of weather.

I went to Madrid under the pretense of visiting a fellow Penn student (Spencer Glantz), but also because I wanted to get a taste of a completely new culture that I knew very little about (and the price was definitely right, thank you EasyJet). Madrid became the capital of Spain many years ago simply because some King looked at a map of Spain, pointed to the most central spot possible, and decided to call it home; as such, I was expecting to be underwhelmed. Throw this in with the fact that my Spanish is just a notch below my German (read: bad), and I thought I was in for a long couple of days. Yet, Europe continues to surprise me, and I left Madrid wishing I could stay a little while longer.

For whatever reason, when you are in Madrid, you get the sense that you are truly at the heart of the Spanish speaking world. Even beyond the spectacular monuments and palaces dating to an age of Empire long past, there is a certain energy on the streets of Madrid that is hard to describe, yet definitely palpable and which occasionally left me wanting to pick up some Spanish to join in the fun. Now, Madrid is known as a city that never sleeps, with “the best nightlife in Europe” according to a few credible sources, but seeing as I went there on a Monday and left on a Wednesday, I unfortunately missed out on that aspect. Also, I sadly did not participate in my personal favorite of Spanish culture, that of the midday siesta nap, as I was too busy being a tourist, but I did experience it in the sense that the majority of Madrid, museums included, was shut at 2pm. Quite frustrating.

Since I was only there for just under 2 days, I really did not accomplish much more than the standard list of tourist sites, with Spencer serving as my steady guide. We did the Royal Palace (the largest in Europe), the huge park in the middle of the city (featuring a pond and a rowboat, enough said), and tons of statues to all sorts of dead Spaniards. One night we even joined in the paparazzi, as we saw some Spanish soccer league party going on in a building right by the main square, and decided to jump in the crowd just before Lionel Messi (perhaps the best soccer player in the world, apparently) stepped out of the building, and some random guy stood between him and my camera. But, the deviation from the norm on this trip was the two trips to Madrid’s art museums. Yes, it was a duo of two 20 year old guys, and true, I have not been in an art museum of my own free will (namely not with my Mother) probably ever, but Madrid has a special program where the museums are free after 6pm each weeknight, and we decided to take advantage, with a pourquoi pas kind of attitude. Many of the works were way over my head, and I do still struggle to differentiate between the-best-painting-of-all-time and just so-so art, but on the whole the two trips were collectively a great experience. As someone who likes a little history now and then, it was enjoyable to see not only different scenes in history played out on the canvas, but also the real physical frame of many different works that have been featured in various history books of mine over the years. Definitely worth the price of admission.

Alas, the visit was too short, and I said goodbye to Spencer today, but only after a relaxing time at the park. I realize now that for years I have always viewed Spain and Spanish as a sort of rival to French, as it always has been the way more popular option among my peers, dating all the way back to seventh grade. Maybe it is because of the heavy French influence (the Palace, statues, and much more were modeled after French styles, thanks to Louis XVI and Napoleon dominating the area), but I feel at peace with Spain now, perhaps even comfortable enough to call myself a friend of the culture. Not that my Spanish will ever get any better, but it’s a start.

And the vacation rolls on…

Londrès, où les Cultures du Monde Convergent

The first stop on this magical mystery tour of vacation brought me back to the English speaking world for the weekend, namely the city of London, England. Distinctly separate from Europe (with tricky immigration services and the English pound sterling to prove it), I headed to London to both visit a friend/fellow FIJI (Vaughn Stewart) and visit a city by which I expected to be wowed. From its extensive historical significance, renowned multiculturalism, and unofficial status of America’s little brother, London had plenty to offer, or at least that is what I had been told. Fortunately, I was far from disappointed.

London’s history is impressive and, unlike certain French cities, is truly uninterrupted for the past 1000 years (minus a few fires here and there). As such, the city walls from William the Conqueror are still visible, statues on churches have not been mutilated, and buildings from the Middle Ages remain standing and, in some cases, in use. With fellow Quakers providing the complimentary tour, I was able to see everything from Buckingham Palace to Big Ben, Tower of London to Tower Bridge, Parliament to the Prime Meridian, an exhausting yet rewarding list of sights which are truly the hallmarks of Anglophone civilization. The most unique aspect of the touristy journey was Hyde Park, which was similar to New York’s Central Park in the sense that it was a massive green space in the heart of a bustling city. What made this different was a spot within the park called Speaker’s Corner, where every Sunday various people, with no qualification or moderation whatsoever, come to speak their mind. Obviously, visitors do not simply come to sit back and watch, so the corner of the park is filled with contentious arguments, yelling, and the occasional thrown punch. As far as I know, there is really no parallel to this spectacle; open, angry intellectual debate, all confined to one park corner each Sunday. While we may have had some disagreements on the topic of America (one squealer claimed that Americans are only good at running away as that is what our country was founded on, to which our little American cohort responded by reminding her about the two small world wars we helped them out in, and she quickly packed up and left), this was an experience well worth repeating.

British history also provides the context for London’s overwhelming cultural presence, something that surpassed my already high expectations. It seemed that each of the colonies of the British Empire had their own section of town, from China to Arabia to India. I was fortunate enough to have multiple samples of England’s national dish, that of course being Chicken Tikka Masala, and I can confirm that the best Indian food is found in London. But this multiculturalism overshadows a more subtle truth; the British have readily accepted the influence of other cultures because their own culture is so lacking in quality. The cuisine is marked by fried fish and French fries, beer is sold by the pint starting around noon, and high class is defined as pub-life. Coming from France, this was quite a shock, but not necessarily unpleasant. While France (and especially Lyon) is marked by a generally monochromatic population peering over their afternoon coffee from a sidewalk café, London seemed to generate serious energy off of the random mix of cultures present on every street corner.

Of course, the culture I was most on the lookout for was American culture, and it was certainly not hard to find. Clearly the British founded America and all that colonization business which the English are still quite proud of, but today the relationship is completely turned on its head. While I was initially surprised by the amount of American influence in France, by removing the language barrier, the domination of America in Britain is almost overwhelming. Music, theater (we saw Inherit the Wind, the play about the Scopes Monkey Trial in 1920s Tennessee, starring Kevin Spacey), and of course television are just a few of the many areas where you could be forgiven for believing you were back in the States. Now, to be fair, this perception is perhaps a bit jaded by the fact that this Sunday featured an NFL game in London, and in celebration I believe that yesterday was unofficially declared show your NFL pride day, and we were stunned to see American football jerseys from San Diego, Oakland, Green Bay, Philly, Washington, Dallas, New York, New England, Tampa Bay, Miami, New Orleans and Pittsburgh (initially we thought these were just Americans, but after a couple of them opened their mouth, we discovered they were distinctly British; regardless of nationality, they were Fans, and wanted everyone to know it). But despite the selection bias in terms of days, the idea was clear, namely that England is the next closest thing to America, and they cannot help but want to be even closer to their former Commonwealth pals.

Alas, there are more places to go and more sights to see, so this morning I bid goodbye to London for the next stop on this vacation. I will definitely miss being in an English speaking country, as I had forgotten how valuable the presence of signage and helpful people in my host language really is. With that being said, the British definitely do speak a different dialect of English, if you will, and at times I was straining to understand people that I was under the impression were speaking my language. The accents, word choice, misplaced u’s, it all threw me off; in the end, I simply said, “cheers”, “fair dues”, or “splendid”, and moved on.

One city down, and we're just getting started here. Stay tuned.

On a Fini la Moitie, Mais Comment?

(Editor's Note(s): I meant to post this on Thursday night after writing it on the train, but it has been hard to find internet in this city for my computer, and I thus am copying this directly over onto another computer. I apologize for the likely typos and lack of a picture this time, I hopefully will fix this by next time)

Ever since we were admitted to the Lyon program back in March, all 23 of us here have dreamed of les Vacances de Toussaint, or, roughly translated, the All-Saints week of vacation. A true highlight of the trip, this was clearly marked on every single program calendar we received, and always formed an important way to frame the semester. Situated just at the end of October, it seemed a perfect way to divide up the semester into two neat sections. Yet, despite hours of planning, it was always sort of a far off dream, a date way in the future that, once achieved, would definitively mark the passage of time. Well, it's here, and I'm writing to you from a TGV currently departing Lyon. I'll admit, I had a distinct feeling of nostalgia while walking through the city on the way to the train station, finally ocming to grips with the fact that I will be gone from my home-away-from-home for ten whole days. Even my host mother was mildly disappointed that I will be gone for the week, dropping a line of regret into her usual complaints about me needing to clean up my room and stop having so much laundry. It's a give and take relationship, but it's working out.

But, before we get ahead of ourselves here, let me first catch you up on a couple of the highlights of the week. First off, as part of the Penn connection with IEP, the university provides for us tutors in any subject that we would like for the semester in an effort to level the playing field between us and the natives. The students they pair us up with are usually grad students who have already taken these courses, and thus my first session with a French guy was this past week. Anyway, it was pretty boring until the end when we were heading out, and I asked him if he had ever been to the States, one of the standard questions in my French people repertoire. He sadly said no, but claimed that he really wants to because he loves baseball and wants to see an MLB game live. Now, my French was not quite up to my level of excitement, but I was stunned; a French person liking baseball? I cannot even find a pickup basketball game in this city (despite repeated efforts), and this guy plays baseball?? Long story short, he is bringing his glove after vacation, I'm finally going to put mine to use, and we are going to toss a baseball while discussing International and European Institutions. Color me happy.

Just as I thought that was my only bit of excitement from the week worth sharing, I showed up to my only class today (number two was canceled, again) lugging a backpack that might weigh as much as me across the city so that I could go to class and then head directly to the train station. The class started with only about half of the room full, surprising because it was actually a relatively nice morning, and I figured that if people were sleeping in through this one then they would never be there. Oh no, the professor announced at the beginning that some of our colleagues would be missing for the day, as they were taking part in a protest on this morning. Remind me why I was not invited?

But, the vacation has officially begun, and almost all 23 of us are peace-ing out of Lyon for the duration. Although no one is going back to the States, the list of cities on our collective itinerary reads like a must-see list of any travel guide; highlights include Budapest, Casablanca, Cairo, Florence, Istanbul, London, Madrid, Prague, Rome, and Vienna. The prevailing sense this week was that we were sad to leave Lyon and each other, yet absolutely thrilled to be traveling the world, each of us seeing places we have only dreamed of. Our French may suffer in the interim, but there is always time to catch up on that.

As for me, well, I'll keep you posted. There are four stops on my journey, and I will try to keep this updated at the end of each stop along the way (namely while in transit). Stay tuned.

We're rolling through the French countryside, and for the first time I am wondering how much I will miss this once I leave at the end of December. I still feel as if I just arrived, and now I'm halfway done? Thankfully, I have some vacation time to think it over.

Genève, la Ville d’Internationalisme

Quick turnaround on the posts this week, as even though some Quakers are off frolicking on Fall Break, others have no time (yet) for rest.

To be honest, I had been hoping to devote one of these in its entirety to a French cooking course that I took last week. Penn had signed each of us up for a five person session all the way back in September, and I had been waiting with excitement for last Wednesday to come so that I could finally fully appreciate French cuisine. Unfortunately, it was a disappointment. Most of my time was spent shoved in a corner trying to create my own egg-less mayonnaise separate from the group, and the main course was boiled vegetables accompanied by boiled fish. No seasoning, spicing, flavor, nothing; not exactly what I had hoped for. Thus, I remain a lost soul wandering through the great unknown that is French cooking.

However, this is not a lost post, as yesterday I did have the opportunity to make a day trip across the border to Geneva. This renowned city of internationalism, diplomacy and neutrality is located a stone’s throw from Lyon, more specifically about an hour and forty five minutes by slow speed train. Many others in the group had already accomplished the feat, so four of us decided to hop on the first train in the morning, and arrived at about 9am ready to start the day. The map told us we were in Switzerland, but except for the inverted Red Cross flags everywhere, we had no reason to believe we had left France. Obviously French was the language of the city, and many little French specialties (from the bright yellow mail carriers to the neon green pharmacy logos) persisted in this city in the Alps. Also we were supposed to go through customs upon leaving the Euro Zone, but immigration officers were nowhere to be found, and the seamless border crossing made us even more convinced that we were still en France. The only problem for us was the Swiss Franc, as Switzerland is still refraining from joining the Euro party. Money would factor in later, but we quickly found that everyone at the train station was more than happy to accept our Euros, and returned us Francs in change. Remind me why France has not yet just cut to the chase and taken this city over?

The main attraction of Geneva is the United Nations building, and this international relations student quickly herded the group in that direction to start the morning. Upon arriving at the compound, faced with all the member states flags and 1920s structures, I could not stop myself from being both impressed by its grandeur, and confused as to its point. The United Nations is in New York, I continually reminded myself, so what was this building doing here, and why do 160 (out of 193) countries have permanent missions here? I tucked the question into the back of my head, and we scrambled inside to take advantage of the warmth.

The tour was decidedly stately yet uneventful, and by the end we had seen our fair share of large conference rooms featuring chairs, microphones, and country placards. Some countries had given elaborate gifts to the UN (including contemporary paintings of monkeys, a map canvassed onto an urn, and a mini gold plated castle), but I was unable to find one from the US, figuring that instead of trinkets we had decided to supply the funds for the majority of the organization. What I did learn is that some of the main bodies of the UN are actually located in Geneva, such as the Human Rights Council and the WHO, and that there are also mini-UNs in Vienna and Nairobi, thus making Geneva not a complete outlier. Yet I could not help but to think that after the failure of the League of Nations (well done US of A!), this grand building was brand new yet unoccupied, so why not give it a purpose? Still, I enjoyed the tour as an impressive testament to the best institution in international diplomacy.

As the rest of the day wore on, we realized that perhaps the first train of the day was not the best idea we had ever come up with. We spent a couple hours waterside not taking in the view but simply sleeping on the grass, and this was after test driving a few temperpedic recliners in a downtown shop for, oh, twenty five minutes. Our restaurant choices fully embraced the worldliness of the city, namely Indian food for lunch and Mexican for dinner. In between the hundreds of watch and Swiss army knife stores, we did find a couple Swiss chocolatiers featuring both munchies and hot chocolate that made the trip worth it. However, despite the Swiss Franc being a little bit less than one-to-one with the dollar (and thus much cheaper than the Euro), we found that everything was frightfully expensive. I kept looking at the prices and trying to rationalize them by noting how much more valuable the Euro was than the Franc, but then upon realization that a Franc was actually no different than a Dollar, I was perplexed (example: McDonald’s was featuring a Big Mac Meal for just over 11 Francs). For a day, this expensiveness was tolerable, but if you want to live in Geneva for an extended period of time, you better have a shady offshore business account evading taxes and at the ready for some serious spending.

We ended up failing to get into the second main attraction of the day, as the Church of St. Pierre where John Calvin had done his Reformation thing was closed for mass by the time we arrived (after a nap and hot chocolate). A bit disappointing, but the outside of the church and square were nice, and we were well saturated with history by that point of the day. Finally, around eight o’clock we boarded the last train for Lyon (still no customs), and we all fell back to sleep during the slow ride back.

We arrived back in Lyon, and found the city the same way we left it; dark, empty and cold. Yet, for some reason, we were all happy to be there.

Le Socialisme, C’est Chouette!

Socialism. It’s a buzzword in the United States, and during my 3 months this summer working in the office of a Democratic congressman, I was accused of adhering to this particular style of atheist government many times. On everything from cap and trade to hate crimes to health care, the residents of Pennsylvania’s fightin’ 1^st District loved to toss that term around in reference to our office, and more pointedly to the intern who had the misfortune of answering the phone. But, it was not until coming to France that I truly appreciated just how far off those claims actually were. Now I understand why Penn will almost not take any economics credit from a French university, and why the French completely blame America for the current recession. Allow me to explain.

Before I get too far into this long-built-up rant, I suppose I should define what I mean by socialism which, for the purpose of this argument, is the presence of the government in nearly all aspects of daily life. Completely the opposite of the United States, the standard protocol here is that the government is generally a positive entity, and thus can be trusted with a variety of aspects of life. Health care is the obvious starter, as France operates under a complete government run single-payer system, and has one of the best systems in the world. But the relationship continues much further than that, and I continually discover new aspects of this dominance. For example, when watching TV the other day (Extreme Home Makeover, again the French are confused), an advertisement came on for some chocolate snacks. At the bottom of the screen throughout the whole ad was a sentence that read “Do not snack excessively between meals, and be sure to exercise regularly.” Now that I am on the lookout for this, I noticed that even on the print billboards of McDonald’s ads, there will be a bottom disclaimer saying “Eat at least 5 fruits and vegetables a day.” There’s a website set up for the sole purpose of showing people how to live and eat healthily, whose address (www.mangerbouger.fr) is conspicuously placed at the bottom of every food related commercial. Such a downer.

The list goes on. The average tax rate here is right around 50%, way higher than any bracket in the States, although to be fair they get what they pay for, as the sidewalks are clean (minus the occasional dog poop which I have had mixed success avoiding), streets are well maintained, and free public toilets are abound. State owned businesses dominate the scene, from the TV stations to the main telecom company (which also has an alarming suicide rate at the moment). The socialist party here is not even considered very far left on the political spectrum, but instead is referred to as simply “moderate.” Of course, when you have parties such as the Anti-Capitalist Party to compete with, I guess there is only so far left you can go. In light of this socialism, Penn’s econ department makes it particularly difficult to obtain credit in France, as technically Penn’s department teaches American Capitalism, and the Frenchies are not down with that. In fact, I found out the other day teaching English to the high school kids that I could not avoid the current recession question, and all but one of them enthusiastically agreed that the United States’ greed was at fault for the current turmoil. Apparently capitalism is at the root of most, if not all, evils.

What’s missing in France is that sense of individualism that drives much of the everyday decisions in America (something that I am only starting to pick up now that I am nearly 4000 miles away). La rêve américaine (the American Dream) is an incredibly alien concept, and it is replaced by a complacency to fit into the system here, with a guarantee to be taken care of by the State. The social welfare state is written into the constitution (and professors are proud of it, numerous having shown that fact off in class), and everyone expects to be supported by the state in any time of need.

This government presence extends to the working sector as well, probably the most striking difference between here and the States. The 35 hour work week is a mandate here, and anyone crossing that threshold is handsomely rewarded with overtime. As a result, the hours on stores are generally very frustrating for a (usually hungry) college kid. The majority of workers go home for lunch every day (usually picking up a baguette on the way), so if a non-restaurant/bakery (like a grocery) stays open during the two hour lunch break, it is a huge deal, and you can expect said business to prominently advertise this. Further, even despite the fact that the French dinner generally does not begin until later (average time is around 8:30), non-restaurants are closed almost across the board by 7pm. 24 hour businesses of any kind do not exist, period. You may not think this to be a problem, but when you are walking back home with a group of friends in the wee hours of the morning and cannot get the dream of a WaWa out of your collective head, only then can you understand this frustration.

While the United States is a nation of consumers, France is a nation of workers, and even though that may be great for a nuclear family, it is not meshing with the college lifestyle. Sure it may not be healthy, and I’m sure the government would have no problem telling me that, but there are just some times you need the flexibility of 24-hour Fresh Grocer for some impulse purchases.

Thus, for supporting unhealthy yet highly desirable lifestyles, the point goes to West Philadelphia.