Et Voila, C'est Tout!

(I realize looking back that this is by far my longest post ever (for-evah evah, evah evah?), but there was plenty to recap over the past three weeks, and even more to wrap up over the past four months. So please, bear with me)

It appears that my ambition to crank out many more posts some three weeks ago may have been a little bit beyond my actual ability to deliver on that promise. Apparently there was still plenty to do here in that wrap-up period some three weeks ago, from taking a couple more exams to completing some end of the year paperwork to doing much-delayed Christmas shopping. Additionally, everything was compressed into one week because I was off to Paris on that Saturday to meet up with my sister, and eventually my parents as well, for a week’s worth of traveling throughout France. Spending a week in Paris, a day in Dijon and three days in Lyon, we all thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. For the other three members of our traveling circus, the trip served as an introduction to another culture, as combined they had only spent two days in France over the past 30 some years. For me, it helped close the book on this semester abroad.

I’ll quickly summarize the actual trip. In our time in Paris, we basically covered all the tourist sites imaginable, except perhaps the largest one; the Eiffel Tower. I personally walked underneath the tower on four separate days, but due to a laundry list of reasons (huge crowds, cold temperatures, French people closing the tower too early, etc.) we never did actually make it to the top of the symbol of Paris. In reality, however, it was not a huge problem, as we truly did everything else; museums including the Louvre and Orsay, icons such as the Arc de Triomphe and Versailles, and daytrips to Normandy (back to the American WWII Cemetery) and Chartres (very famous gothic cathedral). You name it we did it. Add to that the fact that it was Christmas, when we went to Notre Dame for the first Mass I have been too that was surrounded by tourists (cannot stand those people) taking pictures of the service and of course the Neuman family special of a mother-chosen romantic comedy, and you have yourself one fantastic celebration. Christmas in Paris is apparently a popular celebration, and the city looked its finest throughout the week. But we could not stay there the whole time, and on Saturday evening we packed our bags for a less-than-daytrip to Dijon, where we definitely accomplished our only goal for those 16 hours: buy mustard. With the spreadable gold in hand, we boarded the first TGV possible and headed to, the one and only, Lyon.

By the time we got to Lyon, only my parents remained with me, my sister not being brave enough to venture anywhere outside of Paris. But I still felt a distinct sense of pressure to positively show off the city that I called home for four months and had given such high reviews. On Monday, the city obliged by showing its best side; it rained and was just a notch above freezing. Still we hit the major sites, including the Basilica, Roman theatre and Place Bellecour, and wrapped the sightseeing up on Tuesday with a trip to my now shuttered university. My visitors were staying in the Renaissance quarter of the city (Vieux Lyon), and were quickly enchanted by the winding cobblestone store-lined streets, in addition to the Lyonnais cuisine. Monday night provided some entertainment, as my host family and real family met for the first time, and despite the fact that neither side coherently spoke the other’s language, I think we all agreed on the fact that it was a fun evening. Sadly, the trip did have to come to an end, and my parents headed to Geneva on Tuesday night to catch their morning flight back to DC. I stayed in Lyon for one final night with the Rossis, continually searching for the words to fully express my gratitude for the entire semester.

The trip was simply the final chapter on this four month long experiment and, somehow, that experiment has come to an end. I looked back at the first post that I wrote on here, back when getting a Visa was still an issue, and I did not know the pronunciation difference between Lyon and a lion (its Leeeee-on vs. ly-in). That nervous excitement feels like yesterday, but today I write to you as I head back to the States (and will hopefully post this from my own house in NoVA). The time flew, but it was without doubt time well spent, and I cannot imagine having missed out on such an opportunity.

When I officially decided to pursue study abroad back in January, I remember feeling as if I was signing myself up for something that I was not at all ready for. All the info sessions and power-points seemed all fun and games, but even then I knew that I did not truly grasp the concept of studying, and living, in a completely foreign country (having left North America for a total of 8 days in my whole life). The words on the page were just that, and even as I nodded along I was far from actually absorbing what advisors were telling me. I hit that “commit” button in April to lock myself into a program I was equally scared of and excited for. Even if it was spread out over several months, I hurtled through the abroad process only to board that August flight not knowing what to expect once I stepped off.

My two overarching abstract goals coming into this semester were to learn about France/Europe, and to learn about my own country. Some stereotypes about les Bleus proved to be true; the whole population smokes, strikes are a common occurrence (even if I sadly did not actually get to join one), and berets are fashionable.

But not all French people are snobbish, they do occasionally get up from sipping their cafes to do actual work, and they generally like Americans (thank you Obama!). There are aspects of French culture that I will truly miss, highlighted by the fresh bread and (stinky) cheese at every meal, while there are also those that I cannot wait to get rid of, like the fact that everything in the entire town is closed by 10pm. Walking down the streets, trying to go the library, reading the newspapers, I was constantly reminded about the stark difference between the United States and France: France is a nation of workers while the US is a nation of consumers. For us, if people want it, we will provide it, no matter the hour, in order to make that money, but there the flow of demand is tempered by the willingness of people to actually provide that service. Yes it is probably better for overall wellbeing, but who is to say that we cannot work past a certain hour if people are willing to make the sacrifice in order to earn that little bit extra? The social welfare state has its benefits (universal health care), but I was constantly reminded of its shortfalls as well. On the whole, however, I fell for this second culture, even if its popular culture is completely dominated by America’s. I can only hope that my future somehow leads me back to not only Europe, but more specifically France and this city on two rivers. Lyon may not have been a tourist destination, but it sure was the best possible place to live for a semester abroad.

As much as I profess my newfound love for French culture, I realized at different points throughout the semester that it most likely will always be my second culture. As cliché/Middle America/Sarah Palin-esque as it may seem, I am an American, and I do not think I will ever change that or want to change that. Maybe the future will hold something different, and I will look back on this and laugh, but during these four months I definitely noticed that, even abroad, I am an American above all. I found myself constantly comparing everything back to familiarities in the States, following the news in the US, everything short of going to McDonalds’ in order to reconnect with my long lost homeland.

Most of the other posts I had hoped to write before being swept up in end of semester fever revolved around the complex relationship between Europe and the United States, but since I missed that opportunity, and understanding that few if any of you actually care to hear a rant on that, I’ll spare you of that here (but consider yourself warned!). I’ll try to keep my political comments to a minimum, but I cannot resist from throwing a few in here, so bear with me. Despite what some people may say, the United States is still the most important country in the world, and it is a privilege to be a citizen of our country. Sure, we are not perfect, but every Frenchie I met was genuinely interested in talking with me solely because I am American (of course in addition to my stunning good looks, those go without saying). Learning English is not just a matter of broadening their cultural horizons, but necessary to succeed on an international level in today’s globalized world thanks to the dominance of America. The French news sources follow the actions of the US government (more than just Obama) closer than they follow the French government because they recognize the relative power of each of those two decision makers. While they may not always agree with America, Europe as a grossly-generalized whole recognizes that what the US does the world will follow; one could even argue that they want to follow America, and are more than eager to join in a supporting role. It is our job to take that responsibility seriously.

But enough with the ranting, this is about me ending my semester abroad. I should probably mention the supposed point of this semester, that being actual studying and coursework. That never really did take up a whole lot of ink on this blog because, frankly, up until the last couple weeks I did not actually study. With all of my classes formatted in a straight lecture style where for two hours the professor talked and the students listened (that is assuming the professor showed up for class), and only one final exam at the end (no homework), I was not exactly on the Penn academic calendar. That is not to say that this was an easy semester; instead, study abroad is a different kind of work. There is no way that you could handle a Penn semester in a foreign culture. The majority of my “work” here was spent adjusting to this new culture, overcoming the language barrier, adjusting to life with a host family, etc. While we supplemented it with some activities, namely tutoring in a local high school, these were all relatively minor compared to what we were all accustomed to back in West Philly. We instead were thrown into this new culture, and adapting to that required plenty of effort. Of course there was downtime, and study abroad definitely requires a certain level of personal independence, but after finding the right mix between school work, host family activities and Europe’s wonders, we all were able to find our daily rhythm.

IEP, my university here, has a requirement that every student spends a full year abroad; at Penn, only about 25% of all students take advantage of some kind of abroad opportunity. I tend to side with the French on this one. By stepping out from the Penn bubble for a semester (or two), everyone benefits from a broadening of their horizons that in the very least will help them appreciate their “normal” life back in the States. For Europeans it is relatively easy to discover a different culture; they just walk across a nearby border (no more than a 3 or 4 hour drive away from any town on the continent). It is a bit trickier for Americans, as we have that large ocean in between, but it is a bit embarrassing how little of an effort we make to understand other cultures. With the assumption that the rest of the world will speak English to us, thus nixing any need to actually learn another language, we turn our attention inward, and lose sight of the rest of the world. Study abroad makes you see that need for change, as well as allowing you to benefit from a personal cultural exchange. More people need to take advantage of this opportunity.

I guess it is only fair that I wrap up this post, and this blog, by talking about myself. This whole concept boiled down to the fact that I thought that some people would actually want to read what I had to say, and the jury is still out on whether or not I was right in that belief. But if you for some reason have stuck with me this long, you probably are used to this egotistic side of me anyway, and thus will grudgingly read on.

The fear of eggs hung over me before I left for France, and after having been to the doctor numerous times in the weeks leading up to my trip, I was pretty sure that I was going to run into an egg laced munchies on about day 2. Because of that fear, I really had not thought what the semester would bring on a more global scale. I was going to a city that I had knew practically nothing about, in a program with people that I had either only vaguely met, if ever, or had lost touch with over the course of two years, and in a language in which, in hindsight, I was pretty much lost. But somehow it worked, and I think there are very few of the 23 of us that came out of this semester feeling disappointed. I would be quite surprised if the majority of us do not stay close as we return back to Penn.

But the semester was about more than just the cliché valuable friends; instead, it was about the cliché culture and city that was undoubtedly hard to leave today. After four months of getting to know each other, my sense of sadness in leaving was tempered by the fact that I now know, in some way or another, that I will be back for all the wine, bread, and cheese that France has to offer. And even if my level of French has probably reached its lifetime peak, and if it is all downhill from here in terms of communication, I still have a sense of validation that I made it through four months in this foreign language. I did not try a Croque Monsieur, did not make it to famed Southwest France, did not even learn how to ride a bike in a city built around them, but I literally survived. Talk about accomplishments.

And somehow you are still reading. For those of you anonymous readers (or followers, which I never did quite determine the point of) that did put up with these unorganized musings, thank you for sticking around this semester. I am sure that if you are still here, then the point of this blog will be easily accomplished, that of reconnecting once we cross paths again soon. Instead of having to answer everyone’s least favorite question, “How was abroad?”, which is perhaps the most common yet the most general/vague question you could dream up, we will just be on a whole different level. Not missing a beat coming back to the States, or at least minimizing the gap, is all I can really ask for.

So the ambassador is coming home, sad to leave behind what he gained, but excited for all that he is returning home to rediscover. I hope you all have an awesome New Year’s, and will hopefully talk to all of you in the coming days.

Provence, Papes, et Ponts, Tout dans un Weekend

You want to know what my favorite types of trips are? The free ones. Or at least the ones that Penn pays for. Yes, I realize that these may have been factored into the cost of this semester abroad, but it still feels good to travel, sleep and eat all on Penn’s dime for a weekend. This weekend was the second of two such excursions, a two day affair in the Provence region in the south of France. Similar to the trip in Reims, we were immersed into French culture for this short period of time in regions just off the beaten track in order to show us the hidden gems of France. By now you know that I am not a big fan of tourist traps, thus a weekend like this was right up my alley.

An excessively early start on Saturday saw us leave Lyon for a three hour drive down l’autoroute to a small town called Uzès (no clue where it is on a map, but somewhere South). Fortunately, upon our arrival we did happen upon a farmers market where some of the vendors mistakenly offered up free samples, something us half-awake, hungry college students took full advantage of. After clearing the vendors out, and supplementing that with a picnic overlooking the valley below, it was back on the bus, and back to sleep for most of us. I think we all felt bad for our tour guide, because as a local history teacher, he clearly knew a whole host of things about the area we were in, and eagerly was talking over the bus loudspeaker in between each stop along the way. Problem was that he just knew too much, and after a series of loosely correlated tangents, one by one we all busted out the jacket/pillow, and eased our way back to sleep. No worries though, he kept talking.

The Pont du Gard turned out to be the highlight of the weekend, for a few reasons. First, it is a 2000 year old aqueduct (bridge for the water, not only over the water), no small feat within itself. With three separate tiers of arches, the whole of the bridge is still intact and dates all the way back to Roman times, one of the best preserved in the world. Second up is a more personal reason, but after emerging from the woods and coming to the Pont, I had a déjà-vu moment: I knew I had been there before. For the first time this semester, I remembered a specific part of my one week journey through France in eighth grade, the only other time I have been in Europe. I had completely forgotten about this stop along the way, so although I was visibly stunned and confused, I definitely enjoyed being transported back to 2003 and the good old Potomac School days. Third and final highlight of the bridge was not related to the structure itself, but instead the surrounding environment. While it was not a baseball field, I found basically the closest thing to it, namely a flat waterbed with a rocky shoreline: yes, I was skipping stones. While I eventually failed at teaching others this fine art, I did put my own brother’s instructions to good use, and could not help but enjoy one of my favorite pastimes. Later that night and throughout the next day my arm felt like I had just thrown about 7 innings, but after six months off, it felt just right at home.

As for the rest of the weekend, it was mainly focused around food, as is any good trip through the French countryside. When I had seen Avignon on the program sheet, I thought for sure we would hit up the two main attractions that the town has to offer: the Palais des Papes, and the Pont d’Avignon. For those of you who have been around since the beginning, you may remember that Avignon was a stop on my pre-trip travels, and the one day we spent in the town was a perfect length of time. That time around, we arrived in the morning, toured the Palais (the center of the Catholic church at one point in the 14^th and 15^th Century), and after lunch went onto the Pont (12^th Century bridge featured in the French children’s song, Sur le Pont d’Avignon) before heading out that evening. In, out, perfect. This time, with the Penn group, we did not do either fixture. We drove by Avignon at night on Saturday, and obviously spotted both all lit up, and then briefly hustled around the town on Sunday morning, but no going in or on either of them, simply photo ops from a distance. Surprising, but then again we are trying to become French for the semester, and thus did not want to seem touristy or anything terrible like that.

Instead, we explored the French countryside. We stopped briefly at a small medieval town protected by a menacing hill-side castle, and admired a similarly old (yet much smaller) Roman bridge. We sampled some of Provence’s famous olives, and even briefly strolled through a roadside olive oil museum (yes, an olive oil museum, about as cool as you would expect). Unfortunately, the rain and gray skies cut short our morning exploration, so we did what any good Frenchie would do: we ate! One four hour meal later, we were all deliriously full of amazing food, and let our food coma takeover on the way back to Lyon.

In between fits of sleep, I could not help but notice the lights of Chateaus spotting the hillsides. I’m sure whoever built those medieval towns did not imagine they would ever becomes roadside afterthoughts, but I am definitely appreciative of their effort. 12^th Century castles are not something that Americans do well, so I guess I will have to appreciate them while I can, even while rolling along into the night.

Barcelone, la Capitale de Catalogne

When I returned from Toussaint break, my host family welcomed me with open arms (and a wonderful meal), as for whatever reason they were quite happy to have me back in Lyon after an 11 day break. After stumbling through a description of my break, my host mother off-handedly stated “well now that you have returned from such a long break, you will be in Lyon for a while, right?” I sheepishly smiled and looked at her as I found the words to say, “actually I’m leaving this weekend.” Awkward.

Thanks to some scheduling conflicts and the diminishing number of weeks left in the semester, I headed right back out of Lyon this past weekend to Barcelona to visit a fellow abroad student, Brian Hwang. For my closest followers, you know that he already visited Lyon back in September, and I felt it only right to repay him the visit in Barcelona. Now, as you know from my last post, this was a very different situation then his visit back in September; rather than heading to a small Spanish city, I was heading to the fourth most visited city in Europe (top three? Paris, London, Rome). But, I was right at home among the tourist crowds.

Snugly fit between the Mediterranean and the mountains, Barcelona is just south of the French border. As such, throughout the weekend I heard plenty of French (and even was able to provide some help to a couple of lost Frenchies, always an awesome time) in addition to the standard English tourism. But language is one of the most striking parts of Barcelona, as it is fiercely part of the history and culture of the city. Despite what the map may say, Barcelona is not a part of Spain; instead, Barcelona is the capital of the Cataluña region, which is grudgingly subverted to the reign of the Spanish monarch in Madrid. The distinction is always clear, as every sign is first written in Catalan and then Spanish (followed by English usually), the majority of the flags flying are of the region and only federal government buildings sport the Spanish colors, and everyone true Barcelona resident hates Madrid. Brian recounted to me the celebration of Catalonian independence a couple weeks after he arrived, which featured the burning of the Spanish flag throughout the streets, a tradition at least implicitly supported by the government. Pretty sure that would get you a long trip to jail in the US, but in Barcelona, it’s a reason to celebrate!

It is not as if this violent clinging to their history actually serves Barcelona well; everyone speaks Spanish while only about half actually speak Catalan, even though they apparently are bringing it back in school. In the face of my clear confusion, Brian summed it up pretty well, at least I thought, in saying that the language may be useless, but it is more than just a means of communication; it is a history. This is where I found Barcelona differed most from Madrid, and why I am on the Barcelona side of the debate. Madrid is a very powerful city, and you truly get the sense that you are at the heart of Spanish culture when you are there, and whether that culture may spread to the Americas or the Canary Islands, it all centers around Madrid. But it all boils down to an artificial city; albeit a good while ago, Madrid was constructed out of thin air at the request of a King putting his finger on the center of Spain. Currently there is a lively energy in the city of deals being brokered and moves being made, but you question where this all came from.

Barcelona may not be as important politically (although apparently there was a Climate Summit there last week, and as such GreenPeace had taken to scaling the massive Christopher Columbus statue looking over the sea, and covered him in Save the Climate banners, very impressive), but it is far more culturally dynamic. To be fair, apparently this is a recent development, as the Summer Olympics of 1992 apparently brought some much needed improvements to the city. It holds onto the important parts of its past with an old city full of narrow, winding passageways and historical artifacts tucked into the alleyways, yet combines it with a vibrant new part of the city that is keeping up with the 21^st century. It may be more of a destination than a powerful city, but I’m ok with that.

Anyway, enough with the generalities, the highlight of Barcelona was the work of Antoni Gaudi, the famous Barcelona architect. I knew very little about him going in, but coming out I think his work looks like it belongs in a Dr. Seuss movie, and I like it. These treasures are located throughout the city, so I found myself walking down a boring old city block only to notice a throng of crowds looking up at one particular townhouse on the corner which was a Gaudi masterpiece. His style is extremely distinctive, almost comical, and an interesting contrast to the rest of the block that his works occupied. His highlight is the yet-to-be-completed Sagrada Familia church, or in other words, the world’s most visited construction site. Now, Gaudi died in 1926 after 18 years of work on this Church, yet after a civil war here and a lack of funds there, there is still plenty of progress to be made. That just goes to show you how ridiculous the plans are for this church, although they hope to be finished by 2030. Talk about ambition.

But, unfortunately the weekend did come to a close, and I left Brian on Sunday for yet another EasyJet flight (if only they had a frequent flier program…). I’m back in Lyon now for at least a few days, and hopefully by then the sun will return to France. After a weekend full of warm weather (almost shorts-worthy, yet it was the coldest weekend of the year in Barcelona), it is once again cloudy with off and on drizzle here in Lyon. So in other words, it’s just how I left it, and I see no reason to complain.

It’s always good to be back (sort of) home.

Monaco et la Fin du Voyage

And so my trip has reached its conclusion. After eleven days, four countries, and way too many Euros (and pounds) spent, the vacation is over, and I’m currently on a TGV headed back to Lyon. I really did not know what to expect coming into the trip, but looking back, I could not have asked for more. I saw bustling world capitals, tranquil countryside and beaches, and plenty of friends along the way. The only challenge now is accepting that it is over and getting back into a school mode. Right now, the prospects for that are not looking good.

But, before I get ahead of myself, I cannot forget the last stop on my journey, a weekend in Monaco. In truth, it was this final destination that the entire trip was booked around; using the excuse of the birthday of Brian Hwang (although, in reality, it was about two weeks ago), four of us (including Spencer Glantz and a high school friend of Brian’s from Northwestern) arrived at the Nice airport from Barcelona, Madrid, Lisbon and Paris on Friday morning. It is no secret that I am a big fan of the Nice airport, and this trip was no different than my first two. Always unsure of whether the plane is actually going to reach the runway when landing, you step out onto the tarmac, and are immediately surrounded by blue skies, warmth, and the ocean. Quite a wonderful welcome back to France.

After arriving in the Principality of Monaco (separate and sovereign from France, yet there is no border to speak of, and Monaco is completely under the protection of France, no we never did fully understand it), we quickly realized the one problematic fact about Monaco; there is really nothing to do. Without a gambler in the group, the main attraction of the casinos was lost on us, and we were not exactly in the mood for the beach (the bathing suit did not make the cut in my backpack of everything). Instead, we decided to simply walk around the town and visit all the hotels and resorts that were out of our price range. Not exactly full of the history or cultural value of my other tours during the past week, but still an enjoyable time.

We did take advantage Saturday of the few tourist sites to see in the Principality, namely the medieval village. Perched on a rock-like hilltop, this dates back well over 500 years, and includes the Royal Palace (definitely no Buckingham), an oceanography museum (the only museum in Monaco), and an historic cathedral (contrary to popular belief, at least some residents of Monaco do go to Church). Everything just seemed a bit nicer in Monaco, and everyone dressed the part, even in the low season that we are currently in. We saw marble hallways leading to the public elevators (those hills can be rough), cars in a row worth collectively millions of dollars, and of course the occasional fur hat, one of which Spencer described as a lady wearing “at least 8 animals on her head.” But the nice thing about it was that the people were not snobbish about it at all; playing the role of tourist, we snapped photo after photo of the grandeur, and the people just smiled and encouraged us to take more. Yes, they were loaded, but they were not going to hide it, and they were quite satisfied (in a friendly way) if you were impressed.

Despite all these fantastic attractions swirling around me, the best part of Monaco was the language. Namely, these people spoke French, and at least humored me by allowing me to converse with them in my new language. Coming from Spain and especially Portugal where I basically felt helpless for four days, I was so happy to get back to the francophone world, and not at all bothered by the role of translator for the group. True, I was a bit rusty after a week away from it, but on the whole it was enjoyable to at least try my verbal French again, especially when it was successful.

The weekend had been in the works for a while, ever since the beginning of September, and to finally have it all work out just as we had planned was a great success. Although I had just left Spencer a few days ago in Madrid, most of us had not seen each other in about a month, and it was a fun setting in which to fully catch up. We did miss out on any sort of Halloween celebration, but just seeing the French try to understand it (presumably for our benefit, but in reality it was just embarrassing) was a good laugh in itself. Plus, we picked up plenty of candy for ourselves on our way back from dinner, so it felt real enough to me.

Sadly, we did have to leave Monaco, and after struggling to find any place serving food (a Sunday and a holiday for Toussaint, a double whammy in France) and missing one train, we finally did make it out of the Principality, and on our merry way. It’s sad to see the vacation end, but it will be amazing to get back to Lyon. Now the clock is really ticking, with about a month and a half left in the semester. It feels like I just was on this same train heading to Lyon for the first time back in August; now we have passed the halfway mark. Is it really November already? Where did the time go?

No time for questions. This train is rolling along, final destination: Lyon. I couldn’t be happier.