Aleph 18

The hobarT and William SmiTh CollegeS and Union College ParTnerShiP for global edUCaTion

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Aleph

a journal of global perspectives

Volume XVIII, 2025

Musician, Kharkhorin, Mongolia [Alberto de la Puente]

The Aleph: a journal of global perspectives

Volume XVIII, 2025

Kristen Welsh, Editor

Hannah Mathews, Editor and Artistic Director

Tom D’Agostino, Founding Editor

Elizabeth Palumbo, Assistant Editor

ISSN 1937-0474

Stories in The Aleph are set in Gentium, designed by Victor Gaultney and adopted by SIL International, an organization working to document thousands of dying ethnic languages, many of which are written in modified Latin scripts. Most digital fonts do not include these extended alphabets and therefore millions of people are shut out of the publishing community. Gentium is an attempt to meet this challenge. The name is Latin for belonging to the nations.

© 2025 Hobart and William Smith Colleges and Union College Partnership for Global Education

Kristen Welsh, Executive Director

Trinity Hall, 3rd Floor

Hobart and William Smith Colleges Geneva, New York 14456 (315) 781-3307

Cover Photo Credits:

Front Cover: Playing Soccer, Makhanda, South Africa [Marissa Mastracco], Piha Beach, New Zealand [Luke Viggiani]

Inside Front Cover: Flamenco Performance in the Plaza de España, Seville, Spain [Isabel Goldblatt-Hamilton]

Inside Back Cover: Ice Cream Stop, Penghu, Taiwan [Annabel Ramsay]

Back Cover: Pragser Wildsee, South Tyrol, Italy [Bradley Kutchukian], Women Talking at Shibazakura no Oka (Pink Moss Hill) in Front of Mount Buko, Saitama, Japan [Shraddha Datta]

About the Aleph

The first edition of The Aleph: a journal of global perspectives was published in 2002 as part of the Partnership for Global Education initiative between Hobart and William Smith Colleges and Union College. Since its inception, the journal has served to reflect the wealth of international experience among students at our respective institutions, and we are pleased to have extended this opportunity to students across the New York Six Liberal Arts Consortium.

The journal takes its name from the 1945 short story “The Aleph” by Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges. In the story, the narrator (a writer) comes upon “a small iridescent sphere of almost unbearable brilliance” in which “without admixture or confusion, all the places of the world, seen from every angle, coexist.” Through this encounter with the mystical Aleph, he is able to see all things from all perspectives – yet he despairs of the daunting task of trying to convey the enormity of this experience to his readers.

Our students face much the same challenge when they return from abroad: after crossing borders and cultures, navigating societies different from their own in which they are exposed to new values and perspectives, how can they make sense of it all? How can they adequately convey the significance of the experience to those who did not share it?

The Aleph: a journal of global perspectives was created to address this dilemma. It provides a space for reflection, analysis, and dialogue that benefits contributors and readers alike. The pieces, both written and visual, offer insight into what captivates, challenges, and inspires our students – and through these words and images we learn about the people and places they encounter, we see how they change along the way, and we are exposed to “all the places of the world, seen from every angle.”

Table of Contents

ENGAGEMENT (p. 6)

I. Techno Culture in Berlin (Nailah Lloyd-Jones) II. Formula 1 Culture & The Zandvoort Experience (Tessa Baker) III. Nama-Stay in Italy (Emma VanGorder) IV. Celebrating Fastnacht Along the Upper Rhine (Grace Wilson)

CONNECTIONS (p. 24)

I. Meeting My Aussie Neighbors (Courtney Swenson) II. A War with a Modern-Day Vampire (Hannah Angelico) III. Demystifying Dutch Bluntness Through Fitness Culture (Tulsi Perun)

CROSSINGS (p. 40)

I. My Home Away from Home (Mia Tetrault) II. Normalizing Naked (Sydney Herbruck) III. Riverside Tales: A Year on London’s Bridges (Tinashe Manguwa) IV. Berlin to Bonn: Moving Around in Deutschland (Ali Muzaffar)

FROM MY SKETCHBOOK I (p. 65) (Ali Muzaffar)

LESSONS (p. 68)

I. Lessons in Leisure (Brooke Prochniak) II. Approaching Meals with a New Perspective (Samantha Goldburg) III. Trust the Granite (May Joy) IV. Las Papas Arrugadas (Wylie Jacobs & Isabella De Nes) V. “Hey Going?”: A Reflection Crafted by Australia (Danielle Krenzer)

REFLECTIONS (p. 92)

I. Thoughts from Tbilisi (Giorgi Bekauri) II. Exploring Europe Through Libraries: A Journey of Books, Architecture, and Culture (Kylie Rowland) III. Learning About Myself in Japan (Richard Garner) IV. Spontaneity (Alexandria Lacoste) V. Last Day vs. First Day in Leipzig (Hannah Green)

VERSE & VISION (p. 122)

I. Weeping for the Sea (Ilana Lehmann) II. A Journey Through Aotearoa (Anjalee Wanduragala) III. copenhagen, city of DIS (Andrew Pilet) IV. Inis Mór (Elizabeth Palumbo) V. Sakura Flowers (Shraddha Datta) VI. Stations (Maeve Reiter) VII. Seeing a Whale Shark (Isabel Goldblatt-Hamilton)

FROM MY SKETCHBOOK II (p. 138) (Hazel Rodriguez)

MOMENTS (p. 142)

I. Moments in Dubrovnik (Sophia Carlston) II. Dans Maastricht: An Exploration of Movement in the Netherlands (Zoë Breininger)

III. Stockerkahn Races (Bradley Kutchukian) IV. Denouement is a StoneShaped Brick (Everett Shinn)

FROM MY JOURNAL (p. 160) (Rachel Brooks)

Szabadság Híd (Liberty Bridge), Budapest, Hungary [Syd Morrison]

ENGAGEMENT

n. 1. an agreed arrangement to go somewhere or do something at a specific time 2. the act of being involved in an activity

Beach Volleyball, Cape Town, South Africa [Marissa Mastracco]

ENGAGEMENT I

Techno Culture in Berlin

Before my semester began, I had a general idea of what to expect in Berlin: edgy individuals in black and exclusive, intimidating techno clubs. I realized that my image of the city was pieced together from TikTok snapshots; a portrait built by tourists and filtered through the lens of strangers. When I arrived, these preconceptions faded and proved they were only a piece of reality, not completely untrue but by no means encompassing the city in its entirety. Berlin offered so much more than I had imagined, providing an array of opportunities to explore. One in particular stands out among the rest, beating as the heart of the city: techno.

The influence that this genre, which I once dismissed as a bunch of sounds, could have on an entire city was unknown to me at the start. I understood the influence of hip-hop on Black Americans, reggaeton on Latinos, and reggae on the working class of the West Indies. All these genres have something in common - words being the catalyst that moves people - but techno was something I never understood. Yet, as the weeks progressed, so did my exposure, and I began to see why this genre, wordless and raw, held Berliners so tightly in its grip.

Born from the ashes of Detroit’s riots, techno emerged in the mid-1970s and flourished in the 1980s. A sound shaped by ruins, resilience, and synthesizers, techno has influences from a variety of genres including hip hop and

the German band Kraftwerk. The Civil Rights Movement and the more recent riots and war on drugs resulted in heavy industrialization in Detroit, thus leaving individuals with immense free time which, for some, sparked artistic productivity.

But, while a techno revolution was brewing in the West, repression and division persisted in Berlin - until the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989. The city, once split into two, joined together. East and West neighbors, long divided, walked freely among each other, strangers but kin. This newfound community was in desperate need of a reunifying force. Techno was the answer: a universal language of radicalism that mended the city’s scars after the life they once knew had fallen apart.

Tresor was the first techno club I went to in Berlin, and it soon became the one I frequented the most. What I find so amusing about this is that I didn’t even enjoy the music at

Crowd in Munich, Germany [Bradley Kutchukian]

first. But there was a pull that kept bringing me back, not just to Tresor, but to the variety of techno clubs sprinkled throughout the city. Here I am now, writing and listening to techno, still wondering about the force that drew me to an environment playing music I didn’t even like. In time, with the help of my “German Popular Culture” course, I found answers. This music was much more than a collection of sounds, but rather a hidden language I was beginning to understand.

Taking us back to the Wall’s fall and its cultural impacts in Berlin, Dimitri Hegemann saw the rise of a new community that needed a place to connect. From this vision, Tresor, the first techno club in Berlin, was born. The melancholic sounds of the synthesizer resonated with the melancholic city. The melodies and rhythms layered within the music evoked movements and emotions that the daylight could never awaken. Techno was more than entertainment, it became a form of therapy, a language of freedom that spoke to the soul. Berlin’s clubs provided a unique refuge from day-to-day life, where time seemed to stop and, for a few hours, the stress of the outside world disappeared. These spaces, like adult playgrounds, invited all to express themselves without fear, transcending the boundaries of age, gender, and class. They were an oasis of liberation in a world that asked for conformity.

One of the preconceptions I carried about Berlin’s clubs was their exclusivity. This notion was molded by stories of Berghain, the world-famous club that attracts thousands yet turns most away. This idea of unpassable club gates seemed to define the city’s techno scene, with long lines of hopefuls rejected in the end. Naturally, one may assume that the clubs are extremely exclusive. However, the exclusivity here is unlike the superficiality of clubs outside Berlin’s borders, particularly in the US, where money and status trump fun and entry is based on physical attractiveness

and whether you fit the aesthetic of the club. Berlin isn’t about status or wealth but rather belonging to a culture. Many of these clubs were originally gay or queer clubs, with clubgoers concerned by judgemental techno/sexual tourists who would disrupt the culture that thrives within club walls. The intent of the clubs is clear: to create a utopia, an outlet for individuals of all backgrounds to express themselves without fear or shame. This concept is evident through their no-photography rule - a gesture to preserve

Tokyo Night Life, Tokyo, Japan [Richard Garner]

these spaces of self-expression and protect against the invasive grip of technology that plagues the outside world - allowing for a brief moment where everyone can be free.

From everything I have learned about techno culture, I can say with certainty that I’ve come to deeply appreciate the sanctuary it has created within Berlin’s nightlife. My time in Berlin has challenged my preconceived notions about the city, particularly within its techno scene. While I had been familiar with Berlin’s reputation for edgy nightlife and exclusivity, I came to understand that techno in Berlin is far more than just a music genre: it is a medium of social healing and expression. My experiences allowed me to challenge stereotypes and showed me that Berliners’ love for techno grew out of a desire for unity and freedom in the aftermath of repression. Unlike other nightlife spaces where exclusivity hinges on status or appearance, Berlin’s clubs foster inclusivity rooted in shared values of openness and authenticity. Berlin’s techno scene not only let me engage with a different form of music but also witness how a city’s history and values can be preserved and expressed through it.

So, when a bouncer waves you away, remember that it’s not a rejection but a silent safeguarding. The spaces don’t ask for an alteration of style or persona but are rather an invitation to come as you are with good vibes and an open mind. I’ve seen plenty of people turned away at the door, each seemingly out of sync with the particular haven that has been entwined into the heart of that club, at least in the bouncers’ eyes. Ultimately, Berlin offered me a transformative, cross-cultural experience, unveiling the power of embracing and truly understanding unfamiliar places and communities.

- Nailah Lloyd-Jones

Formula 1 Culture & The Zandvoort Experience

While studying abroad in Maastricht in the fall of 2023, I had the privilege of attending my first Formula 1 Grand Prix. With heavy rain, crashes, and takeovers galore, it was, put simply, electrifying.

Hosting a total of 33 Grands Prix, Circuit Zandvoort is one of the most frequented in Formula 1, giving it some oldschool charm. Similar to Silverstone, Circuit Zandvoort was constructed in 1948 when motorsport culture was gaining momentum in Europe. Since its completion, Zandvoort has witnessed victories from some of the world’s most renowned drivers, including Juan Manuel Fangio, Graham Hill, Jim Clark, Niki Lauda, James Hunt, Nelson Piquet, and Max Verstappen, to name a few. I had the pleasure of visiting this circuit only two years after its 36-year hiatus ended. What makes this circuit so exciting is that Zandvoort’s track configuration contains some of the most challenging corners in Formula 1.

As a beach town in northern Holland, Zandvoort also experiences some pretty extreme weather. When I arrived for qualifiers, the August heat from the south had miraculously vanished. Wearing my Sunday best, I was met with pouring rain, 10 mile-per-hour wind, and freezing temperatures.

The highlights of qualis were Charles Leclerc’s and Logan Sargent’s crashes in the Q3 phase when they lost control of their cars and collided with the barriers at full speed, leaving them on the sidelines for the day. This is just one of many examples of Leclerc’s deteriorating relationship with Ferrari’s car this season. The car’s balance has undoubtedly cost Ferrari points and Leclerc pole positions. Leclerc was

left starting in ninth on the grid. As for Sargent, he had a lot of eyes on him as the rookie of the season. Although the driver had completed qualifying for the first time, his victory was short-lived as he crashed heavily at turn two, causing him to slump down to 10th on the grid. Surprising no one, Dutch driver Max Verstappen took pole position for Red Bull, creating a moment of pride for his country. Lando Norris similarly has reason to be proud as he took the second position on the grid, which was rare for the McLaren driver at the time. George Russell, Alex Albon, and Fernando Alonso followed.

Race day fared no better, weather-wise. Spits of rain crept up before the big countdown, leading to a sudden downpour within the first lap. Rain serves as a test for each team’s strategy and talent, making it a truly intense experience. The teams had split strategies to combat the rain, but Red Bull took the lead. Verstappen led the pack on slicks while Sergio Perez and others boxed for intermediates. The wrong tires will make or break a driver’s position within the grid. With the rain getting worse, cars that were on slicks frantically made a switch, while those who made an

Carlos Sainz, Ferrari Driver, Zandvoort, Netherlands [Tessa Baker]

early change to intermediates rose to the front. Before the rain eased up, the cars that stayed on slicks fell to the back of the pack. After boxing, Verstappen had fallen to fourth, with Zhou Guanyu, Pierre Gasly, and Perez battling for P1. This struggle came to a startling end as Zhou slid through the wet into the barrier at turn one, leading to a red flag that halted the race.

The drama, however, was far from over. Joining Zhou would be Leclerc, whose car had picked up damage, and Sargent, who outdid his quali performance with another crash. Moreover, Liam Lawson, stepping in for an injured Daniel Ricardo, made his debut appearance. With less experience in the rain than the other drivers, Lawson did well, finishing at a solid 13th on the grid. Alonso secured a second-place finish, making this his first podium since Canada in June. Perez initially secured a podium finish but was hit with a five-second penalty for speeding in the pit lane, landing him in fourth. This bolstered Gasly into a podium position,

Zandvoort Stands, Zandvoort, Netherlands [Tessa Baker]

which was well deserved considering he started in 12th. Ferrari’s Carlos Sainz and Mercedes’s Lewis Hamilton followed. This race was especially frustrating for Hamilton, who had yet to take a podium position this season and had a solid shot at Zandvoort. Hamilton attributes his lack of success to Mercedes’s strategy, leaving him with old tires towards the end of the race. His P1 position was lost, and he was quite literally left in the dust. Given the unusual number of crashes, you can also argue that a late safety car disrupted Mercedes’ strategy, but, then again, who is to say? Despite the chaos, Lando Norris (P7), Albon (P8), Oscar Piastri (P9), and Esteban Ocon (P10) were able to score significant points for their teams.

After securing a first-place finish at the Dutch Grand Prix for the third year in a row, Max Verstappen had the most to celebrate. Frankly, as a Dutch driver, Verstappen had no other choice. The crowds came alive when he crossed those checkered lines. With Red Bull fans dominating the circuit, the Stadiums were painted with red, white, blue, and orange. The Dutch wear orange as an emblem of national pride in honor of the country’s first king, William I, the Prince of Orange. This was just one of the many ways I got to learn about and experience Dutch culture while attending the Grand Prix. Although I am American (and was rooting for Ferrari), people welcomed me with open arms. I had the pleasure of meeting people from all across the country and am eternally grateful I got to experience the race within a new culture. Immersed in the stands, I had never felt so connected to my host country than at the Dutch Grand Prix. It is true: sports have a way of bringing unlikely people together.

- Tessa Baker

Sky of Silky Rainbow Ribbons, Avignon, France [Adriana Croce]

Nama-Stay in Italy

Rome. A place of slow living. A pace of life that embraces the human desire for indulgence. A love that includes lots of tomatoes and lots of Nutella.

Words really can’t describe or define what my experience in Rome was like. The fresh air, the parks, the people, the language: they are all a part of this fairy tale in my mind that I float into when dreaming. Looking back on my experience, I was able to learn so much about the culture and the cuisine, but one of my biggest takeaways was my yoga mat. Now, you may be thinking, “How is that possible?” It might sound crazy to you but the most memorable experience for me was not the historical jungle of the city or the beautiful Colosseum that is nestled in the center. It turns out this memory lives instead in the small holein-the-wall studio named Jiva Yoga. Practicing yoga each week was a dream, but not the original dream that I had in mind. One day while at my favorite café, Gelateria Giuffrè, minutes from my apartment in Rome, I was studying for my Italian exam, tucked away with my cappuccino al ginseng. After freshly dipping into my gelato goodness, I overheard a woman talking about a free yoga class in the park. I did some research and found that Trastevere, the place where I lived, was crawling with yoga studios.

When I arrived in Rome, I was on the search for a good dance studio because dance has always been an important part of my life. After weeks of research and outreach, I still had no luck, so I thought I would give a yoga class a chance. In the first class I attended, Benni, the owner of the yoga studio, asked if I spoke Italian. I reluctantly replied “Un po’” and pinched my fingers together to demonstrate just how little I knew. She quickly responded in Italian saying, “Beautiful! This is a great place to learn.”

I sat on my mat in awe of the language spilling over into the space. Each class from then on was completely in Italian. I have to admit, it was challenging trying to learn the phrases, movement cues, and language that I was unfamiliar with during class. I would walk away in tears some days, feeling so discouraged because I messed up or didn’t know what to do because I didn’t understand the language. But it ended up becoming a rewarding challenge because I saw myself gaining strength, not only in the movements but in my Italian language comprehension as well. It became a place where I learned how to feel comfortable trying to speak while also being extremely intentional about learning to listen. I would sit with my eyes closed, spine straight, and shoulders relaxed, listening to the phrases, the words, the noises all around me. I remember the first day, feeling so lost, like all of the words she was saying flowed into one another, but, by the end, I was able to comprehend and distinguish pretty much word for word what she was saying. Jiva Yoga is not just a yoga studio. For me, it was a place of respite. It was a place of learning the culture, the language, and the practice.

Sunset at Roys Bay, Wanaka, New Zealand [Elvis Njomo]

Attending yoga classes every week provided an anchor in my schedule. With each session, I gained strength, not only in my physical abilities but also mentally. Guided through meditation, I learned to silence distractions and listen to the wisdom within my body, intertwining this practice into my physical routine. To my surprise, I discovered newfound passion and grace with each challenging pose, gaining control over the connection between mind and body.

One month, I remember the sessions heavily emphasized inversions like headstands and crow poses. I was initially intimidated but felt the team of classmates and instructors around me embrace the challenge. So, I did as well. I was continuously impressed by my body’s capabilities and also the strength of those around me. Other members of the class would circle me and encourage me or assist me with a pose, then I would do the same when they needed it. A highlight from these weeks was being invited to the front row beside the lead instructor, Benni. This felt like a true testament to my dedication and progress. I found my rhythm and flow tuning into the mental and physical space I practiced in each week. I will always remember this week marking a significant milestone in my journey of selfdiscovery and communal trust.

I feel that this opportunity to do yoga was a blessing because I opened myself up to a new way of moving that helped me connect the ideas I was learning in my academic classes to what I was doing on my own. The Slow Food movement and the Mediterranean Diet are two topics that we dug into while in Rome. A common theme between these two topics is the importance they place on building community and supporting locals. I feel that I connected to the community in both of these ways by taking classes at this yoga studio. I felt challenged at the studio physically, and I also felt connected to a deeper purpose in the community.

So now, hopefully, you understand why the architecture of the Colosseum was not the most memorable part of my time in Rome. Hopefully, I was able to paint a picture of the memory of a dream that my yoga experience was in Italy. As I sit here now, I am reminded of my breath, my awareness, my purpose. I will take the lessons I learned in Jiva Yoga with me everywhere I go. Like we ended every yoga class in Italy, I will end with you here: Peace be with you. Namaste.

-Emma VanGorder

Living Seaside, Vernazza, Italy [Rachel Brooks]

Celebrating Fastnacht Along the Upper Rhine

When I reflect on my time spent abroad in Freiburg im Breisgau, Germany this past semester, I can recall many occasions where I was faced with unexpected obstacles or social norms of the culture that surprised and challenged me in new and exciting ways. Looking back, one memory stands out in particular as something I will hold onto for the rest of my life.

Before the beginning of what is typically understood as the liturgical season of Lent within the Roman Catholic Church, there is a festival period in the southwestern part of Germany known as Fastnacht. Traditionally, this is a time to let out sinful behaviors before a season of repentance leading up to the Resurrection of Christ on Easter. In the United States, many individuals celebrate Mardi Gras or “Fat Tuesday.” The concepts are similar in nature, and both involve drinking, eating local cuisine, and engaging in exciting parades around the city. During Fastnacht, I attended a local parade in Freiburg and witnessed the traditional costumes of witches and scary woodland spirits that townspeople wear. These were originally intended to scare off spirits of ill will, which is comparable to the tradition of donning Halloween costumes in the United States. This parade was exciting, and local German people pointed us in the direction of carts selling mulled wines and warm pretzels as we watched marching bands and troops of people clad in handmade traditional costumes take to the streets of the city center.

Later that week, after discussing this experience with one of the academic staff, I was informed of a similar celebration happening in a city not too far from us: the Morgenstreich, or morning prank, which takes place every year in Basel. At

4am, crowds would gather throughout the city and every light in the city center would be turned off. Then, the bell in the clocktower would ring and a procession of masked and costumed lantern bearers would walk the streets until sunrise. Determined to experience this festival, I attempted to recruit classmates to come with me but was unsuccessful. This did not deter me, and, at midnight on the eve of the event, I set off on a regional train excited for what lay ahead. Upon arriving in Basel, I walked from the train station to the center of town; having visited previously, I

already knew my way around. Traversing the city square, I noticed a lively hum from the local pubs surrounding the area and considered stopping in. Before I had the chance, I was approached by another woman who seemed to be lost. She happened to be a German student studying a few towns over from Freiburg and was also in Basel to experience the festival for the first time. She had not been to the city before and asked if I was familiar with the layout. I told her I was, and we began a conversation. When I told her I had traveled alone, she was surprised and invited me to join her and her group of friends, including another German student, a student originally from Istanbul who was doing a graduate program, and another one of her friends visiting from London. Together, we managed to find a student hall similar to the ones I frequented in Freiburg, and we sat down to exchange stories.

When 4am came around our group took to the streets, as did seemingly the entire town of Basel as well as many other travelers, and we waited with bated breath to see what was in store. I don’t think I will ever forget the eerie sounds of the woodwind instruments that floated through the air as the procession began, or the unexpected sense of community I felt in that moment. The experience I had at the Morgenstreich was something I carried with me throughout the rest of my time abroad. It inspired me to take risks and embrace every opportunity to seek out the unfamiliar in a way I hadn’t before.

- Grace Wilson

CONNECTIONS

n. 1. a relationship in which a person, thing, or idea is linked or associated with something else 2. the action of linking one thing with another

Santiago, Our Bus Driver, on Horseback, Trinidad, Cuba [Wylie Jacobs]

CONNECTIONS I

Meeting My Aussie Neighbors

During my semester abroad in Queensland, Australia, I lived with a host family in a very tight-knit community. I spent time with three women from the neighborhood who were all kind enough to speak with me about their experiences living in Australia and how they felt about America. These are their portraits and their stories.

Sue

Sue loves tea and having chats at “teatime.”

Sue has spent the past 73 years of her life in Australia, but she was born in a slave labor camp in Germany. When asked about her favorite natural place in Australia, she told me about Noosa Head, a beach town that used to consist of a single one-way street with very few people. As I asked how this place had changed over time, she was sad to admit that it was no longer the natural sanctuary she remembered from childhood. Now, Noosa has been built up into a tourist destination: beach houses line the shores, pollution visibly impacts the beaches, and wildlife, both on land and in the water, has been driven away from the area as a result.

Sue has been to San Francisco and New York, and she fondly remembers her time spent in Redwood National Park. However, when asked about her thoughts on America, she had very few positive things to say. To her, capitalism

was obvious as an outsider in New York City, and she was appalled by the homelessness in California. Her remarks on America were that women seemed “obsessed with beauty,” the politics were “unbelievable,” and she “hates the shootings” and gun laws.

Patty

Patty loves her dog, Giuseppe.

Patty has lived in Australia for her entire life, as has all of her family. Her favorite natural places in Australia are the Gold Coast beaches, as well as Noosa Head. Recently, the Gold Coast beaches were washed out, and Noosa has experienced flooding in the past as well. She remarked that she has seen the impacts of climate change on these beaches unfolding over her lifetime, as well as a huge increase in development and infrastructure in all of Australia. Curious about this, I asked her about bush land, which she says has been mostly unaffected except for bushfires. She told me that a major debate in Australia is planned burnings, which some people dislike. As a result of fewer planned burns, natural burns

Sue

can be more catastrophic. Patty recalled an especially harsh fire that took place on Frazier Island when people did not put out a fire while camping. She remembers this fire in particular because many koalas were burned.

Patty has never been to America, but she does want to visit her friends that live in Washington state. When asked about her general perception of America, she remarked on how “crazy” the gun laws were to her and how obsessed Americans were with politics. She also said that everything in America seemed to exist on a much larger scale than in Australia, including the size of people, which she associates with an unhealthy lifestyle and food choices.

Nicole, a single mom, loves her kids, Jazz and Billy. Jazz loves Blue Takis and Billy loves koalas.

Nicole was born in Australia but lived in London for eight years during her early childhood. She came back

Nicole

Patty

to Australia to be near her family, most of whom live near Sydney. Her favorite natural place in Australia is Montville on the Sunshine Coast. She has always loved the beaches, but they have become much more touristy than she remembers from childhood - filled with more people, more development, and more trash and pollution. She also remarked that the dog park in her neighborhood is one of her favorite places because of the natural community that exists for her there.

Nicole has been to America before, having taken multiple trips to New York and San Francisco. She also spent two full summers living and working as a midwife in the Hamptons. The first thing that comes to mind when she thinks about America is gun control. She told me that she is afraid to take her children there because she has heard about so many mass shootings. She also remarked that everything in America appears to happen on a much larger scale, and she felt that people were very wasteful with their resources, like food and money. Weather was also a big issue for Nicole, who does not like the cold, and found

Nicole

America to be much colder in some areas than Australia. Weather patterns were noticeably different to her in terms of how much rainfall she experienced. Nicole did, however, like the shopping in America and spoke about how there is always lots of entertainment and something to do. Overall, she found America most similar to Australia in comparison to the European and Asian countries that she has visited.

- Courtney Swenson

Koala Mom and Baby on Eucalyptus Tree, Perch Lake, North Stradbroke Island, Australia [Danielle Krenzer]

A War with a Modern-Day Vampire

“It was our last night in Edinburgh, and we wanted to make it count.” That’s how most crazy stories start, right? People go out, have a fantastic time, and end up somewhere ridiculous “for the plot.” They meet incredible people and return just in time for their flight back to wherever and then they never speak to those people again, for, after all, it was just a night out. Well, for us, that’s almost the truth. Let me tell you about the war that forged perhaps my most unbelievable friendship to date (he would probably say the same).

It was our last night in Edinburgh, and we wanted to make it count. Hopefully, we’d meet some new people and see some of the nightlife before our 3:30am bus to the airport. My best friend Isabella had come to visit me while I was studying in Chichester, England and we decided to have a Scottish adventure. We had a brilliant time exploring and seeing the sights, but we really wanted to meet some new people at our hostel for our last night out. We had decided to join the hostel’s “mini” bar crawl to a small bar and then a place called Ballie Ballerson, whatever that was. Problem was, we messed up the timing and the group left without us.

Eventually, we decided to just go on our own to the second place and see what happened. We had looked it up and apparently Ballie Ballerson was a “ball pit bar” (shocking) which essentially meant it appeared to be a regular bar downstairs, but upstairs it had a ball pit. That’s right. A. Ball. Pit. Like the kind they had when you were a kid, filled with primary-colored spheres of plastic that made the most satisfying rumble of a wave when you fell into them. This bar had an entire room dedicated to one of those. Naturally,

Spittelau Incinerator, Vienna, Austria [Isabelle Goings-Perrot]

we had to check it out; maybe we would even somehow run into the group from our hostel or at least make some cool new acquaintances.

We arrived at the neon-colored fantasy land of Ballie Ballerson and acquired the wristbands allowing us access into the ball pit. After some rather crazy cocktails (there was a Capri-Sun version and Fun Dip was involved - we had to!), we decided to make our way up the strangely grand staircase to the second floor. After a few turns down the slide - because yes, of course, it was absolutely necessarywe went to the main event: the ball room. They somehow managed to make a ball room as far removed from the grimefilled memories of a McDonalds playplace as possible; the walls and ceiling were full-length mirrors, the lights were

teal, and the balls were semi-transparent white, almost like knock-off crystal balls. Overall, the effect was like a trippy secret hideout, exactly what a bunch of tipsy adults wanted so they could act like children again.

And children we were. The moment we stepped in, a shout of “NEW PEOPLE” rang out and immediately we were showered with plastic balls by every single person in the room. Laughing, we waded into the pit to get a better angle, and the battles began on every front. Soon, Isabella was targeted by a young guy named Saliou from Senegal, and, between being buried under the tides of plastic balls and

Good Luck, Tokyo, Japan [Alberto de la Puente]

properly retaliating, I was left to fight my own battles on the other side of the room. There appeared to be a young sandy-haired guy trapped in the corner taking a break: the perfect target.

I began steadily launching the balls at him when he wasn’t looking and one of them, maybe my best shot of the night, nailed him right on the forehead. He laughed, startled, and looked around in shock. Once he realized I was the one who threw the perfectly placed projectile (perhaps because of the triumphant grin on my face, we will never know for sure…) he “figured he’d go all in” and completely recoiled, falling dead weight into the pit and sinking like a stone. I burst out laughing, looking up just in time to see him pop up out of the pit with a triumphant grin of his own, launching a ball that hit me square in the chest, knocking me over.

My vision went white, all I could see were plastic balls up and around me, and the laughter of my foe rang out across the room. Oh, it was on. For the next 20 minutes, a furious battle unlike any the world has ever seen was fought without words, using only plastic balls and dramatics. After those 20 intense minutes, I was completely spent, and my opponent managed to disappear into thin air. I waded back to Isabella and found she was still talking with Saliou, and together the three of us, plus his two French friends from school, made our way out of the ball room to the secondfloor balcony for a break.

Turns out, the three French guys were from our hostel! We had accidentally found the people we were looking for and they were leading us back to the group we had meant to join in the first place. As soon as we arrived at the table of about 10 people, I spotted him: my opponent in the furious pit battle. He looked up and froze. “It’s YOU!” his accusing finger jabbed across the table. I started at the shout, but the smirk twitching on his face belied his gruff tone and I just

grinned and waved back.

It turned out Tim (for that was my opponent’s name) was also staying in our hostel and it was his first night there. He was a sergeant from the Netherlands and about as bad a dancer as I am. Apparently, over the course of the night, our little group of six was so entertaining to watch dancing around and having fun that two older women came up to tell Tim and me that our dancing made their entire night. I managed to teach Tim a couple of ridiculous American line dances and our group even had our own dance circle. After leaving the bar and wandering around Edinburgh for a bit, chatting about nothing in particular, we meandered back to the hostel around 12:45am for a card game or two, since Tim always had a deck handy for just this sort of occasion.

After a few rounds where I was pretty much destroyed and everyone else had gone to bed, Tim and I played one more game (where I once again lost). We then hugged, traded Instagrams, and parted ways to our separate rooms around 1:30am. I dragged myself out of bed an hour and a half later, and Isabella and I caught that 3:30am bus to the airport just in time. Later that day, I was surprised by a kind text from Tim asking if I had made it back okay, and we have been talking ever since. It’s been about seven months now and, to this day, he and I are good friends, calling every now and then to catch up.

As for the “vampire” bit, well, I only met him in the dark of night, he has an affinity for vampire novels, and, to date, I have never seen him, even in a photo, in the light of day. You never know who you might meet out there.

Tim, my vampiric friend, if you ever read this, you owe me a card game.

–Hannah Angelico

Demystifying Dutch Bluntness Through Fitness Culture

Leading up to my semester in Maastricht, I was made aware of the bluntly honest nature of Dutch people. In other words, I heard that a Dutch person would not beat around the bush or hold their tongue to be polite – they would tell you exactly what they thought. I assumed I would find this approach refreshing and was not too worried. Looking back now, I remember the first time I really experienced the signature Dutch directness. I was at an event hosted by my school, University College Maastricht, and there was a pretty good turnout because food and champagne were involved. My friend and I were enjoying our dinner at one of the tables when, suddenly, we heard “You need to move, I am cleaning up. The event is over.” Stunned by the words and tone of the staff member, we quickly grabbed our plates and left, joking that we now understood what people meant about how the Dutch do not sugarcoat.

Although I was not nervous about the bluntness I might encounter abroad, something I was considering was how I would look after my physical well-being while I was away. Physical activity has always been an important part of my life, and I know how impactful exercise can be for emotional well-being, too. Thankfully, I was able to design a project around comparing Dutch and US fitness culture. Part of my project included attending Pilates classes in Maastricht and interviewing my instructors to better understand the customs and beliefs surrounding physical activity in the Netherlands.

I would begin these conversations by discussing a few statistics related to fitness and well-being. For example, according to a study of 29 countries from around the world published in 2021 by Ipsos, the Netherlands was the most physically active of that group. I also presented the findings of a study from 2020 conducted by the Commonwealth Fund that published data concerning mental health statistics in the US compared to other high-income countries,

Having Class Under the Sun on Waiheke Island, New Zealand [Elvis Njomo]

including the Netherlands. The study revealed that people in the Netherlands are among the least likely to experience mental health struggles while people in the US were firstor second-most-likely to experience them. The data also showed that Dutch people were least likely to want to see a professional if they were experiencing emotional distress (compared to the US, which scored second-most-likely to want to seek professional help).

When speaking with my fitness instructors, I would inquire about their reaction to these statistics and ask them questions regarding their opinions on the findings and their personal experiences with exercise. I decided to begin interviews with these studies because I thought sharing information would be a good ice breaker and ground our conversations in fact. Generally, my instructors were not familiar with the research but were also not surprised, and they felt that the findings were accurate. After discussing the research, it became easier to ask more personal questions about physical and mental well-being.

The first interview I did was with a Pilates instructor named Aafke. This conversation was a nice way to ease into the interview process. I had been feeling a little intimidated to introduce my project to the instructors and ask them questions, especially because I suspected that they wouldn’t be afraid to tell me if they didn’t feel like taking time out of their day to talk to me. However, my interview with Aafke settled my nerves a lot. I always went to her classes because they were challenging but fun and full of laughter. She is a very warm and funny person, and it was easy to talk to her.

During our interview, Aafke told me she was not surprised about Dutch people being the most physically active or about Dutch people not wanting professional help with mental health struggles. Aafke stated that the results felt accurate based on her experience, and she explained that

many Dutch people take pride in fixing things themselves. She did, however, express that there may be a shift in stigma around mental health among younger generations. Another question I asked in all my interviews was whether they viewed cycling and other forms of exercise in the same way. The answers I got varied slightly. Mostly, people said riding a bicycle is a form of transportation rather than exercise. Aafke was very sure about this division. When I asked her opinion, she said that she doesn’t view cycling as exercise at all - it is “purely transportation.”

By the time my program was nearing its end, even though I had conducted several interviews and my nerves were settled about the process in general, I was still anxious about my last interview with my instructor Metcheld. I was a little intimidated when I first met her. Metcheld is tall and confident, and, when I first took her class, she seemed like a talented but stern instructor. Whereas I immediately felt at ease and welcomed during the first class I had with Aafke, my initial class with Metcheld felt stricter and more serious. I remember at one point we were doing an exercise called the hundred. Most of the time, instructors would count this movement out by tens, but Metcheld said clearly that it is never the job of an instructor to count. I definitely felt like the stereotypically candid attitude fit her personality.

I got to learn more about her during our interview, and I realized my impression of her as stern and overly blunt wasn’t true. While answering one of my questions about how physical activity impacts her mental well-being, she shared with me that she struggles with depression and told me how much exercise helps. We talked for a long time, and I saw beyond my assumptions of her as aligning with the stereotypically direct attitude of the Dutch, experiencing firsthand how sweet and sensitive she could be. This confirmed my initial feelings about Dutch bluntness as something that shouldn’t be overly intimidating.

Leading up to my time abroad, I was not worried about people being upfront. If anything, I was looking forward to experiencing a different culture that values honesty. When I actually experienced this bluntness, I thought it seemed more like rudeness. This is probably because I am accustomed to the US, where pleasantries and concealing truth to be polite are the norm. Over time, I understood that this Dutch attitude was not something one should find off-putting. Through my time abroad, I gained insight into how cultural norms vary, and I learned to be open to different cultural practices. I walked away with the lessons of not being too quick to judge and to look beyond bluntness or overly negative first impressions. I learned that initial assumptions are often informed by a narrow worldview, and that rethinking my early judgments can help expand limiting beliefs.

- Tulsi Perun

Playing Soccer, Makhanda, South Africa [Marissa Mastracco]

CROSSINGS

n. 1. the action of moving across, over, or through something

2. the act of being a place where two roads, paths, or routes meet

3. a passage through a border

Looking Down at the Lodge, Innsbruck, Austria [Bradley Kutchukian]

CROSSINGS I

My Home Away from Home

As I carried my overweight suitcase down the stairs, millions of thoughts raced through my mind. Soon, I would be saying goodbye to my family and heading on a grand adventure. Up until that point, I could only dream of what life in New Zealand would look like from the pictures online of fields filled with sheep or the breathtaking landscapes of mountains and beaches. Now was my chance to finally see New Zealand, and I looked forward to the journey ahead. When I made it to the last step, I looked back at my house and breathed in the sweet jasmine scent that filled the air and took in the scenery around me one last time. I would miss this place and my family but there was comfort in knowing that, in a few short months, I would be back home. As my parents and I drove away, I rolled down my window and looked at the palm trees swaying in the wind and the bright crescent moon shining above me. In this moment, it felt as if they were waving goodbye to me and wishing me a safe adventure.

With the song “How Bizarre” by OMC, a New Zealand group, playing in the background, my parents and I talked about the journey ahead as we drove to LAX. This was an exciting time since I would be the first in my family to travel to New Zealand. I would also be spending New Year’s on the plane and would begin 2024 in New Zealand.

Before I knew it, I could tell we were close as I saw the colorful bamboo lights in the distance. After checking in for

my flight, I gave my parents big hugs and said I would text them as soon as I made it to my gate. As I passed through security with my special Aix-en-Provence canvas bag from Pâtisserie Weibel, memories of studying abroad last summer came to mind: picking up freshly baked croissants, walking in lavender fields, swimming in the Mediterranean Sea, and dancing with friends under the streetlights. Three weeks in the South of France created memories of a lifetime, and I could hardly wait to see the adventures that New Zealand would bring.

Waking up the next morning to a bright orange sky with clouds resting underneath was magical. While most passengers were fast asleep, I happened to be one of the few completely mesmerized by the sunrise. As the sun lit the sky, the world beneath it began to slowly reveal itself. Incredible ranges of mountains and greenery filled the landscape in front of me. I could hardly believe that I had finally made it after a 14-hour flight.

After getting off the plane, curiosity and excitement overtook me at the thought of being in a different part of

Leaving Los Angeles, California [Mia Tetrault]

the world. I was looking forward to meeting new people, learning about the Māori culture, spending time in nature, and exploring New Zealand. As I made my way to the front of the airport, I was welcomed by a friendly guide who picked up the students in our program. One of the first things he said was for us to walk on the left side of the street since that was the way they did things here. After almost bumping into several people, I eventually loaded my suitcase into a van that would take us to the residence halls in Auckland.

As we drove along the motorway, I stared out at palm trees and the greenery around me and was reminded of home. It was strange to be in a new place that looked so similar to home yet was so far away from it. Chatter filled the van as we asked our guide questions to hear the inside-scoop on New Zealand. Early on, we learned that New Zealand is filled with volcanoes, some being active while others are dormant. Our guide recommended that we hike Rangitoto Island to see views of the city and walk on trails surrounded by magma that erupted on the site approximately 700 years ago.

Views of the City of Auckland from Rangitoto Island, New Zealand [Mia Tetrault]

As the van approached the residence halls, we thanked our guide for his insights, and he wished us the best for our travels and studies. After entering a 40-story orange building, I was welcomed by a receptionist who said “Kia ora,” which means hello in Māori, the indigenous language. We’d say this often in the upcoming weeks and months. After going up the elevator to the 21st floor, I was reunited with some HWS classmates that I did not know too well at the time, but we soon became close friends.

There’s nothing quite like the feeling of walking along the streets of a new place for the first time and exploring a new part of the world with friends. You find yourself lost in a complete state of wonder, and, before you know it, you gain a sense of familiarity. After attending classes, doing a film internship with Doc Edge, and exploring other parts of the country through class trips to Waiheke Island, Rotorua, Tiritiri Matangi, and the South Island, I really came to appreciate the way of life in New Zealand. People in Auckland are fortunate to have access to so much nature, from city parks to surrounding mountains, beaches, and islands. It opens the opportunity for them to spend time

Blues vs Crusaders Rugby Game, Eden Park, Auckland, New Zealand [Mia Tetrault]

in the outdoors and it becomes integral to their lifestyles.

As I would discover during my time abroad, many people in New Zealand take on sustainable practices like growing fresh fruits or vegetables in their gardens or drying their clothes outside. When I lived in a homestay, I learned that, when there was a surplus of fruits, they would share with their neighbors and friends so that none would go to waste. The New Zealanders that I met were very kind and generous and looked out for those in their community. From the moment I got off the plane, I found that New Zealanders were welcoming to newcomers in their country. This experience would continue for the duration of my time abroad as I witnessed locals offering a helping hand to visitors in the community.

The Māori culture class that I took at the University of Auckland was crucial to my experience abroad. It deepened my knowledge of the history of the land on which I walked and informed me about current events including indigenous rights and claims to the land which continue to affect the Māori way of life. This significantly helped me engage with people in the places that I visited because I could have informed conversations with them and discuss topics that I studied in class. I will always treasure New Zealand for the unique experiences it brought me and the friendships that I made. I will also hold onto memories of listening to music in the Domain with friends, bus rides to Mission Bay, hiking Rangitoto island, surfing at Muriwai beach, and ice cream runs to Giapo.

As New Zealanders would say, “Island Time” is the best way to live. This expression means that, by taking on a more relaxed and slow-paced lifestyle, you have the chance to appreciate the world in a different way. During our class trips to Tiritiri Matangi, our guide encouraged us to take in all our surroundings and to simply be present in the

moment. As we walked around the sanctuary, we came across breathtaking views of coastlines and heard melodies sung by native birds including pīwakawaka, takahe, kererū, and tūī. Being immersed in the heart of nature awakens one’s senses and curiosity of the world. It is within these moments that meaningful reflections can be made. While abroad, spending time in nature became a way for me to find a sense of comfort and belonging in a place foreign to me. It connected me to new communities, and it gave me the opportunity to explore and discover the hidden gems of the country. New Zealand became my home away from home.

- Mia Tetrault

Views of the Coastline from Tiritiri Matangi, New Zealand [Mia Tetrault]

Normalizing Naked

Boobs. Everywhere. Saggy boobs, perky boobs, Black boobs, White boobs. Boobs as far as the eye can see. The women’s gym locker room at Fitness X beams with fluorescent lighting, making every inch of these women’s bodies extremely visible. The women’s changing room, a liminal, safe space for women to undress and decompress after a workout, is home to the naked body, but I had never known naked like this until arriving in Denmark.

In my native United States, gym locker rooms are used for the same purpose, but it is highly unlikely that you will find women parading around nude. I find it hard not to stare back when it feels as though the boobs are staring at me, but I quickly know to avert my eyes before I feel like the odd one out. Almost instantly, I feel a sense of maturity, like I’m no longer a child who snickers at the sight of a naked body. I want to know what gives Danes such a sense of confidence when it comes to being naked in a communal space and how it has become so normalized among everyone. I quickly pack up my bag, eager to get back to my apartment. The walk home is brisk, my HOKA running shoes eat the pavement beneath me as I think about all of the questions I’m going to ask my Danish roommate once I get back.

“It’s completely normal,” she says as she looks at me like I’ve just asked a stupid question. Signe is 25 and has shoulder-length, dirty blonde hair and eyes the color of a stormy ocean. The soft wrinkles around her eyes suggest that she doesn’t wear sunscreen often, only when she plans on sunbathing. Those stormy oceans look at me with intent as she realizes I am seriously intrigued about the normalization of nudity in Denmark. My interest comes from a lack of exposure to nudity growing up. Having received a Catholic education from the age of 5 to 18, I was taught to dress modestly and shield my body from the evil

male gaze. Whether I dressed modestly outside of wearing my uniform at school was none of their concern, but, inside those eggshell concrete walls, I was a child of God.

We’re sitting at our kitchen table, a simple, cream-colored, five-by-three-foot rectangle with an assortment of miscellaneous chairs surrounding it. A vase of red, blooming tulips sits atop the table as if the flowers themselves are looking forward to listening to our conversation as well.

“Denmark is full of sex-positive policies and locker rooms swelling with naked Danes. It’s something we are very proud

John Lennon Wall, Prague, Czechia [Rachel Brooks]

of here.” Signe always talks as though she is delivering a speech to Congress; sometimes it makes me feel like I’m in trouble. She takes a swig from her glass of water that she has just poured from her repurposed kombucha bottle before continuing. “A few summers ago, I took an art class that was centered around drawing an accurate portrait of the naked human body. In order to do so, you need a subject who exudes enough confidence to sit for hours on end while a dozen young adults sit in a circle trying their best to replicate what they see.” I give her a nod to let her know she can continue. “It wasn’t weird or embarrassing or funny. This was his job. He walked into the studio already naked, no robe or towel covering his genitals. He entered the room like that was what he was born to do. And, even with nudity being so accepted here, of course there were a few heads that turned out of habit from seeing a naked body, but they quickly returned to setting up their art supplies.” She laughed at my open jaw. Signe’s laugh is one of force and confidence. It’s hearty. When she laughs it makes me laugh. I’m glad I can be a source of comedy for her. She continues telling her story before I have the chance to interrupt.

“And he went and started talking to the teacher as if he wasn’t naked, because to him it felt the same as being fully clothed. He then walked around and introduced himself to all of the students, which seemed to put the class more at ease. He was displaying to us that he was comfortable being naked in a room full of strangers, so we should feel comfortable enough to draw him.” Her eyes become bigger with every word, which signals to me that she is truly passionate about this topic. “Anyway, all this is to say that seeing breasts or even the entirety of a naked woman’s body in the gym locker room is more than normal. And you should feel comfortable enough to do the same if it is what you wish.”

She finishes her water and sets the empty bottle back on

our stainless-steel countertop. She asks if I have any more questions and, when I tell her I don’t, she looks satisfied. I thank her for explaining a little slice of Danish culture to me and she responds with her signature, “No problem, I was happy to help,” before walking back to her room, the sound of her house shoes sweeping across our floor.

About a week goes by and I’m still taking into consideration what Signe has said about nudity, considering I experience it nearly every day in the locker room. One day, I get back and shower off before plopping down on my bed when my American DIS roommate says, “How about we go to Malmö for a day this weekend?” Malmö! Practically the Copenhagen of Sweden. “Oh, I’m down!” Melina is about five-foot-three, was adopted from China, and has pitch black hair that almost reaches the small of her back. We were chosen to be roommates at random so I am thankful that we get along. “Great, I’ll book our train tickets now.”

Our other DIS flatmate, Justin, who is doing the year-long program and has already been to Malmö a handful of times, hears us talking about it. “Malmö!” he says, “Are you guys going to go to the nude, open-air baths?” Again with this normalization of nudity! Melina and I glance at each other before signaling him to go on. “Yeah, you pay around 20 USD and can stay for as long as you want. You cold plunge into the ocean and then scurry up the ladder and into the sauna. It’s a temperature shock for your body; it’s supposed to be good for you,” he shrugs. My interest is piqued!

“Just how nude is this nude sauna?” I ask him. It should be self-explanatory, but I have to make sure.

“It’s pretty nude,” he says. “You can rent a towel though to make you feel more comfortable if you want.” We thank him and he gives us a curt nod before continuing to his room. If Justin can go in a nude sauna, then surely Melina and I can.

We take the train to the bus stop and then the bus to the open-air baths. The ocean air is brisk against our cheeks as we make our way into the building, the water misting our faces. We each rent a towel because, while we are confident in our bodies, we are not entirely confident in the situation. They separate the baths by gender, so we mosey our way over to the women’s section. As soon as we open the door, we see fully naked bodies. It’s boobs all over again. We realize that this is what we signed up for, and, even though we just met each other a couple weeks ago, Melina and I are about to know each other a whole lot better.

Our day in Malmö in the open-air baths is amazing and eyeopening. No one cares that anyone else is naked - quite the contrary, it is welcomed and accepted. It is liberating and refreshing to have my body seen as just a body and not an oversexualized object, even if it is just for a couple hours. On the train home, I think about how excited I am to tell

Point Lookout, North Stradbroke Island, Australia [Jessica Hoffman]

Signe about my naked adventure!

I summon Signe from her room and have her sit at our dining room table as I did a week ago. She says that she’s proud of me for fully immersing myself in this part of not just Danish culture but Scandinavian culture as a whole. I thank her and explain that I wish nudity was accepted like this in the States as it made me feel so happy and free. I continue to sit at our table for a couple minutes after our conversation with my feet propped up on one of our royal blue, acrylic dining chairs. I toy with the stems of the tulips, their quiet presence grounding me as I reflect on our first and second conversations about nudity. Each time I stepped into the sweltering Fitness X gym locker room, confronted by the unapologetic abundance of naked bodies, I felt a jolt of discomfort that slowly gave way to curiosity. In time, what once unsettled me began to inspire a growing appreciation for the nude form and the way it seamlessly fit into Danish culture, challenging my own assumptions and reshaping my perspective.

- Sydney Herbruck

Rainbow, Giant’s Causeway, Northern Ireland [Elizabeth Palumbo]

Riverside Tales: A Year on London’s Bridges

In London, bridges don’t just span the River Thames, they connect eras, neighborhoods, and the lives of those who cross them. During my year abroad, these crossings mark my experience, each bridge offering a glimpse into the story of modern London and my place within it.

I start near Westminster Bridge, where the Houses of Parliament loom like a history book etched in stone. Walking across it for the first time, I feel the weight of London’s grandeur and its contradictions: a city at once steeped in tradition and restless with change. Below,

Westminster Bridge, London, England [Tinashe Manguwa]

riverboats churn through the waters, carrying tourists and commuters - parallel lives flowing along the same current. It is here I learn that being in London means being both an observer and a participant.

Next come the Hungerford and Golden Jubilee Bridges, twin walkways flanking the old railway bridge. These sleek pedestrian paths feel like a gesture toward the city’s modernity, their white suspension cables soaring upward in contrast to the stately grey of Victorian iron. Before crossing here at sunset, most likely on my way to watch another play at nearby Trafalgar Theatre, I linger to watch the South Bank come alive with street performers, food stalls, and laughter. These bridges teach me about London’s vitality, its refusal to stand still.

Waterloo Bridge, though, has become the centerpiece of my daily routine. Living in the bustling neighborhood of Waterloo - a mix of artsy cafés and pubs, independent bookstores, and the ever-present hum of trains from the station - I feel the energy of a city constantly on the move. It’s a place where locals greet you at the winter market stalls and tourists pause to take in the London Eye, and yet it feels like home. It is home.

Each morning, I cross Waterloo Bridge on my way to the Strand campus of King’s College London, the city unfolding in layers before me. To the east, the glittering skyscrapers of the City; to the north, the neoclassical grace of Somerset House. The walk offers a moment of clarity, a pause to think about the day ahead. In the evenings, steps retraced, the bridge is now a quieter place, its lamplights reflecting off the river. Sometimes, I stop halfway to breathe in the cool air and ponder the confluence of favor and fortune that has placed me here.

The bridge itself is unassuming, its clean lines and gray

Waterloo Bridge, London, England [Tinashe Manguwa]

stone standing in contrast to the ornate grandeur of others. But its story, a wartime bridge largely built by women, gives it a quiet power. Crossing it daily, I find myself connected not only to my present but to the countless others who have walked its span, each carrying their own stories.

Blackfriars Bridge, with its distinctive red pillars, is both industrial and poetic, a nod to Victorian engineering and the pulse of the iconic railway station that straddles it. Here, I find myself thinking again about movement - of people, ideas, goods - and how London thrives because of its ability to adapt. Beneath the bridge, the Thames mirrors the city’s churn, its waters alive with commerce and creativity.

Millennium Bridge is a study in contrasts: London at its most dazzlingly dichotomous. Dubbed the “Wobbly Bridge” after its infamous debut, it ties together the spiritual heft of St. Paul’s Cathedral with the artistic rebellion of the Tate Modern. I love this bridge for its symbolism: the sacred and the secular, history and innovation, all meeting on the thin spine of modern design. I cross it on Thursday afternoons after the Eucharist service, leaving the imposing dome of St. Paul’s to lose myself in the abstract worlds of the Tate. It is here that I learn to embrace the contradictions within myself, as London does so effortlessly.

Southwark Bridge is often overlooked, but I find solace in its quiet greens and golds, as it stands as a reminder that not everything in London needs to be a spectacle. It becomes my go-to route when I need a stillness I cannot source elsewhere, or to visit a friend who lives in that part of Bankside. It is a place where I can walk without crowds and think about the crossings I am making in my own life, between home and abroad, certainty and discovery.

Millennium Bridge, London, England [Tinashe Manguwa]

London Bridge holds a charm of its own. It’s less about impression and more about utility, bustling with the energy of people on the move. It becomes the gateway to Borough Market, where I meet some companions for fresh pastries or artisanal coffee. Just after the Tube station exit by the Shard, I discover a shop selling biltong, a taste of home in a foreign city, and the bridge becomes a bridge in more than one sense: a crossing between continents, between my present and my memories. Standing on London Bridge, I often marvel at its layered history, from Viking invasions to its modern role as the city’s lifeblood. Its understated presence reminds me that not all connections need to shout their significance.

Finally, Tower Bridge. Another masterpiece of Victorian ambition, it feels like both the climax and conclusion of many of my riverside walks. Its Gothic towers and modern bascules feel like a fitting metaphor for London: a city forever looking forward while holding fast to its past. At night, lit up against the dark river, Tower Bridge becomes a beacon, a reminder that bridges are more than structures. They are stories, shaped by those who build and cross them.

London’s bridges tell me that this is not merely a city of monuments but a living organism where history, culture, and individual stories coalesce - a city constantly in flux, just like those who inhabit it, even briefly.

- Tinashe Manguwa

Tower Bridge, London, England [Tinashe Manguwa]

Berlin to Bonn: Moving Around in Deutschland

As the spring break commenced this week, marking a pause in my studies in Berlin, I decided to travel to Bonn and visit the deutsch part of my family. As I reflect on my week, this experience was essential for me to understand the comparison between Pakistan (my homeland) and Germany.

When the train rolled into Bonn, I found myself reflecting on the stark differences between this German city and the vibrant metropolis of Berlin where I had been studying and immersing myself in its rich cultural tapestry. I had previously explored that city’s dynamic energy and diversity, contrasting it with the romanticism and surveillance I experienced in Paris. Berlin, with its vibrant arts scene, eclectic neighborhoods, and inclusive atmosphere, had captured my heart in a way that Paris, despite its undeniable charm, could not replicate. The sense of community and acceptance that permeated Berlin’s streets made me feel at home, whereas Paris left

me longing for the freedom and inclusivity I had come to cherish. My experiences in both places had provided me with valuable insights into the unique characteristics of European cities, and Bonn offered yet another perspective of urban life in Germany.

As I stepped off the train in Bonn, I couldn’t help but notice the stark differences between this calm city and the busy streets of Berlin. Bonn’s serene atmosphere and slower pace of life stood in contrast to the hustle and bustle of Berlin, where life seemed to pulse through the city’s veins at every corner. The streets here were quieter, and there was a sense of tranquility that filled the city. Unlike Berlin, whose vibrant artistic environments and neighborhoods were a testament to the city’s diversity, Bonn’s cultural landscape felt more subdued and traditional.

My visit to Bonn held a special significance beyond just exploring the western parts of Germany. It was an opportunity to deepen my connection with my German family, an aspect of my identity that is often overshadowed by my Pakistani heritage. Meeting my German cousin in Bonn allowed me to bridge the gap between these two

facets of my identity and explore the cultural nuances that define both.

Being from Pakistan, a country with its own rich cultural heritage, I was keen to understand how my German family’s traditions and customs differed from my own. Spending time with my cousin provided a window into the intricacies of German family life, from the importance of punctuality and orderliness to the cherished family traditions passed down through generations.

Through conversations with my cousin and other family members, I gained valuable insights into our shared ancestry and familial connections. Stories of our family history shed light on the cultural tapestry that binds us together, despite our geographic and cultural differences.

I was also able to meet my cousin’s friends here, which provided me with another challenge: trying to understand the Kӧlsch/Bӧnnsch accent. As we engaged in conversations, I found myself challenged by the unfamiliar cadence and pronunciation of their accent. The melodic rhythm and distinctive intonation added a layer of complexity to our interactions, requiring me to listen attentively and adapt my own speech patterns to better understand and communicate with them.

Despite the initial challenge, meeting my cousin’s friends provided me with a valuable opportunity to expand my linguistic repertoire and deepen my appreciation for the diversity of dialects within Germany. Through patient listening and active engagement in conversations, I gradually began to decipher the intricacies of the Kӧlsch/ Bӧnnsch accent, gaining insights into the local culture and forging connections with new acquaintances along the way.

Moreover, navigating conversations in this accent offered

a fascinating contrast to my experiences with the Berliner dialect. While both share similarities as regional variants of the German language, each possesses its own unique vocabulary, grammar, and pronunciation quirks that reflect the distinct cultural and historical influences of their respective regions.

Growing up in Pakistan, I had always been immersed in the rich tapestry of Pakistani culture, with its vibrant traditions, familial bonds, and community values. Studying in America had exposed me to a melting pot of cultures and perspectives, broadening my understanding of diversity and challenging my preconceived notions about identity. This trip led to an important realization; a new awareness mostly prompted by my introduction to my German family in Bonn.

Meeting them added yet another layer to my understanding of cultural identity. Here, in the heart of Germany, I found myself navigating the complexities of cultural exchange

My Cousin, His Friend, and Me at a Café

and adaptation. From trying to understand the Kӧlsch/ Bӧnnsch accent to immersing myself in the local customs and traditions, I was confronted with the multifaceted nature of identity and the ways in which it is shaped by our experiences and interactions with others.

Through these experiences, I came to realize that cultural identity is not fixed or static but rather fluid and dynamic, shaped by a myriad of factors including heritage, upbringing, and personal experiences. As a Pakistani studying in America, I occupy a unique position at the intersection of multiple cultures, each contributing to my sense of self in different ways.

Moreover, my interactions with my German family highlighted the importance of empathy, understanding, and mutual respect in bridging cultural divides and forging meaningful connections with others. Despite our cultural differences, we found common ground in our shared experiences as individuals navigating the complexities of identity and belonging in a globalized world.

- Ali Muzaffar

My artist book, titled Erinnerungswelt (Memory World) is a personal narrative capturing my experiences studying in Germany with a focus on Berlin. Through a series of drawings created from memory, I aim to explore the essence of human experience through the emotional resonance of urban life. The central theme revolves around the idea of preserving the unfiltered transfer of impressions. Each drawing is rendered with graffiti-like pure strokes using primarily pens and markers. By working from memory, I seek to capture the immediacy and authenticity of my impressions, free from the constraints of external reference or premeditated composition. From bustling street scenes to quiet moments of contemplation, each image encapsulates a fleeting moment in time, a marriage of personal context and emotional relativism.

- Ali Muzaffar

LESSONS

n. 1. a thing learned by experience

2. an occurrence that reveals, warns, or enlightens

Post-Rain Glow of the Amsterdam Canals, Netherlands [Rachel Brooks]

LESSONS I

Lessons in Leisure

I learned countless lessons during my spring break girls’ trip to the quiet Menorca, an island tucked away off the coast of Spain. While many know Mallorca’s vibrant bustle, only the fortunate few discover the peaceful charm of the smaller Menorca - and I was lucky enough to be one of them. When we arrived, the airport felt like a distant memory of life in fast motion - empty and still. We followed signs to arrivals, naively expecting the usual modes of transportation - an Uber, a metro, a bus - but the island offered no such conveniences. No rush of cars, no noise of a busy city, just quiet.

Lesson #1: Always plan your transportation ahead of time when arriving in a new country.

With no choice but to walk, we began our journey toward the Airbnb we had booked. The island’s beauty was impossible to ignore - the soft sunset reflecting over every corner and the empty streets lined with massive trees felt like an abandoned fairytale setting. But, when we arrived at Suite 4B, the beauty quickly gave way to confusion. The apartment seemed abandoned, with no electricity or furniture, and, in an instant, panic began to creep in. Immediately, I thought of the next six days, stranded, left to wander the island with nowhere to stay.

Lesson #2: Try not to immediately assume the worst.

A quick phone call to our host eased the tension - turns out, we had been sent to the wrong address. Hunger set in quickly, and our search for food already felt like a challenge. The streets were quiet, and, as we checked Google Maps, we found that most restaurants were closed. It was only 7pm, yet the world around us felt like it was shutting down. By chance, we discovered a small grocery store open down the road and began our trek.

Lesson #3: Always bring a pair of comfortable sneakers when traveling.

Upon arrival, the kind storekeeper explained something unexpected: Menorca was in its off-season. What was usually a lively tourist haven in summer had slowed to a tranquil retreat for locals in spring.

Lesson #4: Sometimes, the world moves slower than we expect, and that’s okay.

The following morning, I felt a quiet excitement as I prepared to explore the stunning island. A soft knock interrupted my thoughts - Yan, who I learned was the maintenance man, introduced himself with a warm smile. At first, my American instinct was to be cautious, but it didn’t take long to see that Yan was no one to fear. He was kind, thoughtful, and eager to share his knowledge of the island with us.

Lesson #5: Keep an open mind when meeting new people.

Following his advice, we ventured to a nearby beach, a hidden gem that required a bit of effort to find. After climbing down four flights of stairs, we reached the bottom and were greeted by the sight of the most pristine beach I had ever laid eyes on - crystal-clear waters, soft sand, and

white houses nestled against the cliffs like a dream.

Lesson #6: The best things in life often require effort, but they are always worth it.

As the days passed, the island’s rhythm became my own. I found myself walking slowly through the streets, taking time to appreciate the quiet beauty of Menorca. The one coffee shop didn’t open until 10am, and the only restaurant closed by 7pm, which seemed strange at first. Quickly, it became clear that this was the island’s speed - slow, deliberate, and gentle. We spent our days wandering across fields of flowers and gazing at cliffs that seemed to stretch into eternity. Each corner of the island offered something even more beautiful than the last, from the delicate petals of wildflowers to the intricate patterns of the rocks.

Lesson #7: Life’s most beautiful moments often happen when we allow ourselves the space to see them.

Cala en Porter Beach, Menorca, Spain [Brooke Prochniak]

Mirador del Mediterrani, Menorca, Spain [Brooke Prochniak]

On the beach, time seemed to slow down even more. I would lie in the sun for hours, listening to the waves crash gently on the shore, my breath in sync with the rhythm of the ocean. There was no rush, no pressure to do anything other than simply be. The days unfolded lazily: home-cooked meals, laughter that filled the air, card games that lasted into the night, and deep conversations with friends.

Lesson #8: Sometimes, the most meaningful connections are made when we have nothing else to do but be present.

When our last day arrived, Yan, now a familiar and friendly face, drove us to the airport. The 10-minute car ride felt like a quiet reflection on the past few days - everything that had unfolded and the lessons that had come with it. Yan blessed us with his wisdom that stemmed from his eventful life.

Lesson #9: Community is key.

Lesson #10: Be adaptable.

Lesson #11: Call your mom.

Lesson #12: Don’t eat white berries off of a plant.

What I had expected to be a fast-paced, exciting spring break trip became a journey of stillness, learning, and self-reflection. Menorca taught me that there’s beauty in slowing down, in allowing life to unfold without rushing from one moment to the next. But above all, the greatest lesson I learned was that there is wisdom to be found in every corner of life, in each person we meet, and in every quiet moment of reflection. Life is a series of lessons waiting to be discovered, and, if we are willing to slow down, we might just learn more than we ever imagined.

- Brooke Prochniak

Jellyfish Hunting on Copacabana Beach, Dubrovnik, Croatia [Paige Wilson]

Approaching Meals with a New Perspective

Fast food, microwave meals, meal delivery services, take out, and packaged snacks: the things that many Americans live on. Life is busy and there are many concerns that take priority over a home-cooked meal. But what if we made time? Food is an integral part of everyone’s daily lives and it has deep significance to quality of life, both positive and negative. The culture of food in America is often to eat to survive, but, with the impact it can carry, maybe it’s time for that mindset to shift. It is no secret that Italians love their food and wine, but many people may not understand why they are put on such a high pedestal. Immediately upon landing in the Leonardo da Vinci Fiumicino Airport, jet-lagged and all, that picture began to emerge. Rather than travelers rushing through a Starbucks to purchase their venti coffee and hustling away, people gathered together, chatting with family, friends, and strangers while sitting to enjoy un caffè e un cornetto, using real glassware, not cardboard and plastic.

Throughout my initial days spent in Ostia Antica, an ancient harbor city in the outskirts of Rome, we visited our first restaurants and bars. Around 4 in the afternoon every day, we would see locals gathering at the corner bar for aperitivo, having an Aperol spritz or beer and snacking on taralli, nuts, or local cheeses and meats. The bars and cafés overflowed during these hours with people of all ages sitting, standing, smoking, or talking, often yelling or laughing loudly. The aperitivo was so widely practiced that it almost felt mandatory, and we found ourselves partaking in it more and more often on our walks home from school throughout the semester. At first what appeared as an unusual annoyance to us as shops and pharmacies would close during the afternoon hours, transformed

into a wonderful moment to break from the busy day and reconnect with friends. This time forced me to slow down, to make room to take a breath and reflect on my day thus far. It brought the community together and allowed us to incorporate ourselves, even if only for a few months, into the Trastevere neighborhood culture.

Even more unusual to us than the aperitivo were the lateand I mean late - dinners. Not only would dinner typically begin around 8pm (and some still saw that as early), but it could go on for hours. Whether you were cooking dinner or going out to eat, the process was still slow and long. Coming from the American fast-food culture, this change was one of the most shocking, but fully embracing it led to a shift in my personal attitudes towards food. Coming to Italy, I was already well into my journey of learning to cook and about

La Vignarola con pancetta di MaMā Laboratori di Cucina, Rome, Italy [Samantha Goldburg]

the food production process, as well as how food can be used to maintain or encourage health, solidifying my love of these ideas. Pursuing this passion in Italy, I gained a new perspective on food, most prominently on how preparing a meal and serving it can be used to form bonds with places, history, people, and the food itself.

To begin making la vignarola, head to your local market and purchase artichokes, fava beans, fresh spring peas, romaine lettuce, pancetta, pecorino, mint, and green onion. On your way home, stop at a vinoteca and purchase your favorite bottle of wine.

These connections were most apparent in the storytelling that came with meals or when purchasing food; whether I was at a restaurant, a wine tasting, or shopping at the market in the neighborhood piazza, the server or seller almost always had something to say about the origins of the product or ingredients. At the salumeria or panificio, you were not just buying the salami or baguette, but the story of the family farm that grew the ingredients, how the pigs were raised and wheat was grown, and how long they’ve owned their storefront. The process takes longer than simply going to the supermarket, but, by taking these extra steps, you enter into a communal relationship rather than one of faceless economic exchange.

Prepare the artichokes by peeling the stem and trimming the tough top and outer leaves of the body. Cut off the stem and slice the artichoke body in half, remove the choke, or the fuzzy hairs that sit on top of the heart using a paring knife. Dice up the entire thing to place it in a bath of cold water and lemon until immediately before cooking. Then, peel the spring peas and fava beans, chop the romaine lettuce, green onion (separating the greens from whites), mint, and pancetta.

Taking a class at the local Latteria Studio, I experienced cooking, not solely for the purpose of eating but to connect with strangers, tell stories, and see how modern-day practices situate themselves within historical contexts. We started by wandering the local market, meeting vendors along the way who told stories of their time in the market and on their farms. There was shouting across the aisles by sellers excited to see their regulars with whom they’ve developed friendships and by shoppers running into old neighbors. In shopping this way, there is a slowness to food which forces one to think about what one is consuming.

Bring a large deep pot to high heat and, with a little bit of olive oil, render the pancetta. When done, remove and add your strained artichokes, then your peas and beans with a little more olive oil. Once cooked down, add your lettuce and green onion whites (save the greens for garnish). When the lettuce just starts to wilt, add the pancetta back in. Lastly, add the mint and green onion greens with salt and pepper to taste.

After completing our shopping list, we returned to the studio where we quickly got to work. All the while, people were sharing their life stories and connections to food, fueled by a steady flow of caffè and sustainable wines. Yes, we were

Sea Market, Busan, South Korea [Alberto de la Puente]

learning new cooking techniques, but, more importantly, we were learning to engage in new perspectives.

Plate with a little more olive oil, flakey salt, pecorino, and a garnish of mint. This can be eaten plain as an appetizer or served on top of pasta.

As we sat down at the table, tired and hungry, we had established a sense of community in the few short hours we had spent together. This is what I found to be a common theme in Italy: food is not only cherished for its taste and quality, but because it brings family and friends, new and old, together, providing a moment to take a break from life and reconnect with what truly matters.

- Samantha Goldburg

La vignarola con pici (Traditional Hand-Rolled Pasta) di Latteria Studios, Rome, Italy [Samantha Goldburg]

Trust the Granite

A year ago, I couldn’t imagine that I would spend my junior fall semester snorkeling with sharks, swimming with giant sea turtles and stingrays on the Great Barrier Reef, and hiking through the ancient Gondwana Rainforests of Australia. Throughout my time in “Aussie,” I was privileged to visit some of Earth’s most sought-after hotspots and wonders. Studying abroad for a full semester is not a walk in the park and can initially be quite daunting. My first days in Australia were filled with excitement and fear; after all, it was an unfamiliar country on the other side of the world.

Being away for so long, you must learn to trust others and trust your surroundings. Trust is no easy task; it takes time, confidence, and courage. During week three, my group took an academic field trip to Girraween National Park, known for its giant granite boulders and diverse wildlife. The purpose of the trip was to study the country’s native flora and fauna. It was my first time walking through the bushlands of Australia. I was very excited to hike the trails and learn from the Australian professor of our Terrestrial Ecology class. During our trip, we hiked 12 kilometers (approximately 7.5 miles) per day over a three-day period. We conducted fieldwork and learned information that would prove useful when it came time for our exams. On the second day of hiking, our professor took us on a long hike up what is known as “The Pyramid,” a popular hike done solely on a bed of granite rock. The trail was extremely steep as we were climbing almost vertically uphill. Before starting the hike, I had a moment where I told myself that there was no way that I could do this and almost backed out at the last minute. My professor noticed my apprehension and offered me some words of encouragement. He told me to “trust the granite.” Those few words were enough for me to work up some courage and finish the hike.

Our final academic field trip consisted of nine days on Heron Island, which is located on the Southern Great Barrier Reef. During our time here, we had the opportunity to snorkel in the complex reef systems and explore the corals and marine wildlife found in the Pacific Ocean. This was my first time swimming with reef sharks and stingrays surrounding me. I was terrified that I would be hurt or stung by one of the marine organisms. As I started to mildly panic, I remembered what my professor told me on our Girraween field trip, and my mind felt at ease. “Trust the granite,” I said to myself as I dove into the water and started exploring the diverse ecosystem.

The Pyramid Hike at Girraween National Park, Australia [Maya Joy]

I left Australia with a wealth of information about the culture, ecology, and aquatic life, but I left with one more thing, too: trust. By trusting myself, I was able to face my obstacles head-on and discover new interests. I was able to feel the fear and do it anyway. So, if you are considering a program abroad, have faith in yourself and the process, be confident and bold, and, most importantly, learn to “trust the granite.”

- Maya Joy

Reef Flat on Heron Island, Australia [Maya Joy]

Las Papas Arrugadas

Las Islas Canarias tienen muchas comidas únicas si las comparamos con las del resto de España y el mundo. Esto se debe a la larga historia y la ubicación geográfica de las Islas Canarias. Las papas llegaron a la isla de Tenerife en la década de 1560 en un barco holandés desde Perú. Aunque el dato exacto no es conocido, fue durante la época en que los barcos volvían de Las Américas con nuevas comidas y descubrimientos.

Las papas se convirtieron en una gran parte de la agricultura y la alimentación en Tenerife, porque Tenerife tiene un paisaje volcánico y un clima muy suave y estable durante el año. Las papas se adaptaron muy bien al clima de la isla, y la tierra volcánica fue perfecta para cultivar papas. Ahora hay 29 diferentes tipos de papas con características genéticas únicas en Tenerife, y tienen protección bajo la Denominación de Origen Protegida como las “Papas Antiguas de Canarias.” Las papas arrugadas fueron creadas cuando personas de Tenerife usaron el agua del mar para hervir las papas, desarrollando así su piel arrugada y la

The City of Ronda on the Cliffs of the El Tajo Gorge, Spain [Wylie Jacobs]

característica corteza fina de sal. Ellos usaron agua del mar para conservar el agua fresca en la isla pequeña, que usa lluvia para reponer el suministro de agua fresca. Las personas de Tenerife siguieron comiendo esta comida y, con el tiempo, las papas se convirtieron en una parte importante de la dieta y cultura de muchas personas. Esto fue porque papas fueron abundantes y se consumieron mucho durante épocas de hambruna.

Con el tiempo, estas papas fueron emparejadas con salsas especiales de las Canarias. Estas salsas se llaman mojos y tienen influencia de Portugal. Se cree que el origen de la palabra proviene de Portugal de la palabra portuguesa “Molho,” que significa salsa. Dos tipos de mojos se combinan con papas: mojo verde y mojo picón (rojo). Por un lado, el mojo verde es de cilantro o perejil y se combina con pescado y por otro lado, el mojo picón es de pimienta roja, muchas veces es picante y se combina con carne. Las recetas de los mojos varían en función de los ingredientes que emplean para su elaboración, los cuales también varían en función de lo que las familias tengan a mano en casa. Lo más importante es que cada mojo es distinto, alterándose su receta en función de la comida con la que se combine.

Ingredientes:

Para las papas:

• 1 kg de papas pequeñas

• 100 g de sal gruesa

Para el Mojo Verde:

• 5 dientes de ajo

• 1 manojo de cilantro

• 1 cucharadita de semillas de comino

• 1 cucharadita de pimienta verde

• 4 cucharadas de aceite de oliva virgen extra

• 2 cucharadas de vinagre de vino blanco

• Sal

Para el Mojo Rojo:

• 5 dientes de ajo

• 1 cucharadita de pimienta roja

• 1 cucharadita de semillas de comino

• 1 cucharadita de pimentón

• 4 cucharadas de aceite de oliva virgen

• 2 cucharadas de vinagre de vino blanco

• Sal

Preparación:

Lava las papas para quitar cualquier resto de tierra. Luego pon las papas en una cazuela al fuego y añade agua, pero que no cubras las papas. Hierve el agua y agrega la sal y luego las papas. Permite que las papas hiervan hasta que se pongan más suaves y puedas

Papas Arrugadas, Puerto de La Cruz, Spain [Wylie Jacobs]

meter un tenedor en el medio de la papa fácilmente (entre 20 y 30 minutos). Remueve las papas mientras estén en la cazuela.

Luego tenemos que preparar los mojos. Para preparar el mojo verde, primero pon los ajos en una batidora junto al cilantro. Luego, añade el comino, el pimentón, el aceite, el vinagre y la sal. Una vez tengas todos los ingredientes juntos, ponlos a triturar. Echa todo en un bol, porque ya estará listo para servir. Luego, tenemos que hacer el mojo rojo. Lava la batidora usada para el mojo verde. Cuando ya esté limpia, los ajos, la pimienta roja, el comino, el pimentón, el aceite, el vinagre y la sal en la batidora. Ponlos a triturar y cuando ya esté listo, pon todo en un bol. Ya están listas las papas arrugadas. ¡Disfruta!

While abroad, we had the opportunity to travel to the Canary Island of Tenerife, where we spent the day exploring the vibrant culture of Puerto de la Cruz, a critical last stop for European colonists on their way to the New World. One of the benefits of being at the center of international trade was the access to new foods brought back from expeditions across the Atlantic. During our visit, we tried one of their most famous dishes, papas arrugadas, made from potatoes introduced to Tenerife from Peru. The combination of salty crust on the outside of the potato with a delicate, fluffy middle paired perfectly with the umami flavors of the slightly spicy mojo sauce. Often served with meat or fish, this recipe became one of the most memorable parts of our time abroad.

Note from the Authors: These recipes come from “Papas Antiguas de Canarias” at papasantiguasdecanarias.org/ gastronomia_papaymojo.php.

-Isabella De Nes y Wylie Jacobs

“Hey Going?”: A Reflection

Crafted by Australia

“Hey going?”

A greeting that had me absolutely stumped whenever I heard it. I knew that it was just the Australian way of asking “How’s it going?” but, for whatever reason, my brain would freeze, and I would end up looking like a gagged idiot every time. Eventually, I would recover and apologize, acknowledging the awkward mistake, and I would continue the conversation. I thought I wouldn’t need to worry about learning a new language in Australia, but, between failing miserably to decipher Australian slang and adjusting to life immersed among Australians, I was quickly proven wrong.

I was proven wrong in many things, actually. Before going to Australia, I had superficially assumed it was nothing more than kangaroos, the Great Barrier Reef, and the iconic Outback. I failed to recognize Australia as a diverse continent, home to incredibly unique habitats such as rainforests, sclerophyll forests, mangroves, reefs, and cities. I also felt exposed when asked about the US presidential election and the world’s future under either outcome (which happened a LOT) - and realized that I had foolishly hoped to escape the anxiety and tension of the election by coming to Australia. Above all, I had thought that I needed to be at the top of my game and structure my entire future on this journey abroad, being that I am an aspiring marine biologist, so I subconsciously adopted an all-work-no-play mindset.

That was where I was most thankful to be proven wrong.

I am familiar with academic anxiety, having grown up with it all of my life. Things that remain unclear, or the open-

ended decisions brought upon by life, are feelings I try to block out or control. To me, this abroad program in Australia was my way of “controlling” the uncertainty of my future. How naïve. Don’t get me wrong, it still influenced my career path greatly while reinforcing my dedication to the ocean and its ecology, but it most definitely did not blue-print what my future will be. Australia taught me, through its incredible people, beautiful nature, and once-in-a-lifetime moments, to take in the journey of life and to not leave yourself with any “what-if” moments.

If I’d known how everything was going to happen in Australia, I would have never attempted the things that led to some of the best experiences of my time there. For instance, getting bailed on by our Uber and having to walk more than three hours alongside a roadway after a hike. If we’d known that would happen before traveling to the

Road Hike (Unplanned), Cairns, Australia [Danielle Krenzer]

hike, we wouldn’t have gone. Instead, I got to walk three hours alongside the most beautiful sunset, overlooking sugar cane fields and the elevations we had hiked earlier, all with two of my newest lifelong friends. There was also the number of times I messed up the bus system (it really is a manageable system and there’s plenty of resources to navigate it, which only I couldn’t seem to get right). Taking the wrong bus so many times led me to explore more of Brisbane and its beautiful environment as well as to hear countless life stories from Australian bus-goers through our conversations.

These experiences, as well as many others while abroad, taught me about humility and embracing whatever the journey brings. Soon enough, I found myself relaxing, seeking adventures, building relationships, and absorbing knowledge - not because I felt my future depended on it, but because I was eager to connect and learn. I focused on what I was capable of rather than what a grade might define. The less I fixated on being perfect, the easier I found good results within studying methods, studying outcomes, making social connections, and actually letting myself have fun. Accepting growth through the unpredictability of life was the most valuable lesson I learned - one I realized is more important than any lecture or classroom can offer.

While Australia itself shaped my newfound understanding, its greatest influence came from the people that surrounded me there. Whether within the program, among Australian families, or through encounters with kind strangers, I was constantly encircled by remarkable and uniquely beautiful souls. Through them, I reignited a childhood passion, learned cooking skills and recipes (an activity I used to avoid as much as possible), worked through personal adversities, and gained a close group of friends that not only supported me in the moment but left a lasting impact on my life. These connections were built through cherished memories, like

playing games on long bus rides, cooking with my host mom, hiking during terrestrial ecology trips, snorkeling and watching the sunrise at the reef, and traveling across Australia by plane, boat, bus, train, and foot. Now that I am back in America, people often ask about my favorite part of Australia. Honestly, it was the continent-crossing, life-long relationships I built with remarkable people who made my experience abroad truly unique, and who continue to inspire me even now.

Going into this program, I was convinced that I was going to be a coral ecologist and spend my life in the field doing

Pyramid Hike, Girraween National Park, Australia [Danielle Krenzer]

research. During the marine field trips to North Stradbroke Island and Heron Island, along with all the snorkeling and research projects, I felt the same love for the coral, fish, and ocean that I’ve always had. However, even while conducting research on the Great Barrier Reef, a dream that once felt so far out of reach, I didn’t reach the level of fulfillment and passion I had anticipated. I didn’t know what to do with this uncertainty. During an impactful lecture on Heron Island, I listened to the stories of my professors and TAs that had been working with us throughout our journey in Australia. Their stories assured me that my life isn’t supposed to

Turtle Nap, Heron Island, Australia [Danielle Krenzer]

be linear, even though that’s how social pressure feels. Before, I had brushed off the idea of a professional route instead of research, but now I feel that I could very likely find happiness in a career like that. It feels like I’ve opened a thousand doors, yet I’ve also narrowed my desires. The indescribable feeling I experienced upon first seeing the breaks of the Great Barrier Reef and the lessons I have learned from Australia reassure me that whatever path finds me next will align with the future I am meant to have.

So yes, I may have been humbled by simple greetings, transportation systems, existential crises, and other humorous circumstances, but I would do it all over again a myriad of times more. Going abroad on the Queensland program provided me with the most meaningful, eyeopening three months of my life, and I have never been happier with the person I am because of it. Professors became friends, urging us to stay connected over seas and through the years as we pursue our futures made better by Australia. The nature - ranging from urban possums running along telephone lines, to pademelons grazing in the rainforest, to swimming in a real-life aquarium of sharks, corals, rays, and turtles, to the enduring sclerophyll forest view atop of the seemingly unconquerable Pyramid hike - reminded me of the endless beauty and complexity of the connection between life and landscape. The three months I spent learning, growing, and living life with friends who became family helped me to discover parts of myself in ways they may never fully understand. I hope to remain open to the discomfort of challenges and the uncertainty of what my future may bring, just as it once led me to Australia - a place that gifted me with lifelong friends, priceless lessons in the classroom, field, and mind, and the beginning of a new chapter.

- Danielle Krenzer

Sightseeing at Aoraki/Mt. Cook National Park, New Zealand [Elvis Njomo]

REFLECTIONS

n. 1. the product of a reflective surface or mirror

2. the effect or product of an influence

3. an opinion, realization, or thought formed as the result of consideration of an idea or experience

REFLECTIONS I

Thoughts from Tbilisi

“You are Georgian. You don’t have to explain anything else; say ‘Meh var kartveli.’ It means ‘I am Georgian.’”

Those were the words of advice that my driver, Nodar, gave me as he brought me to my host family’s house in Tbilisi. His statement came after he learned that I was, in fact, Georgian. Kind of Georgian. My father is Georgian, I have a Georgian first and last name, and I have visited Georgia a handful of times before. But I have always felt that my “Georgian-ness” is conditional. I’m an American citizen - I was born here, I grew up here, I served in the US military. Everything about my identity feels very American. While I have always been proud of and connected to my Georgian heritage, I’ve never felt that it was an identifier I could fully claim.

The Georgians seemed to have other ideas.

In my third week in Tbilisi, I went to the Parliamentary Library to register as a reader. I brought my American passport and made my way through the registration process with a combination of elementary Russian and broken Georgian. When the woman assisting me asked for my identification, I handed her my passport and her eyes lit up when she read my name. “Shen karveli khar?” (“You are a Georgian?”) I responded with one of the few Georgian phrases I had memorized, “Meh var amerikidan kartveli.” (“I

am a Georgian from America.”) She smiled and called over the other woman working, showing her my name on my passport. The second woman smiled as well, looked at me, and said in English, “Welcome home.”

As my semester went on, I increasingly had these encounters everywhere I went. I would enter a café, restaurant, or bookstore, and the proprietors would address me in Georgian. I would reply politely in Georgian and then ask if I could switch to Russian or English. After whatever business I was conducting was complete, I was often asked if I was Georgian because I looked very Georgian. And then, the truth would come out, so to speak, and I would be greeted with smiles and words of encouragement. “It’s great you are studying here,” or “Is this your first time in Georgia?” Suddenly, I wasn’t a foreigner; I was a compatriot. As much as I felt I had to justify or conditionalize my “Georgianness,” I was constantly told and reminded that, no, I was simply Georgian.

Interestingly enough, the only time my Georgian identity

was conditionalized again was by another American. At an election watch party, I was speaking with an American gentleman who was inquiring about my background. After giving the same explanation of myself, he responded with “Oh, so you’re not Georgian-Georgian.” I was taken aback and wasn’t sure what to make of the statement. I was being excluded from a group that accepted me by someone outside the group.

That was the difference between my American reality and my Georgian one. In America, both my identities were always conditional. I could never be fully American because I was also Georgian. And I could never be fully Georgian because I was also American. Because of this, I was primed to think of my Georgian identity as only existing conditionally. It took encountering another American, after months of being welcomed unconditionally into Georgian society, to realize how ridiculous this seemed.

And yet, there was still a disconnect. As a Russian Area Studies minor, the language in which I could communicate

most effectively was not the Georgian language but Russian. I found that starting conversations with Georgian and asking to switch to Russian alleviated any discomfort, but my internal guilt grew. Russia is still viewed by most Georgians as an occupier as they control 20% of Georgian sovereign territory. Internet cafés sell stickers and pins reading, “My country is occupied by Russia.” Political graffiti can be found on side streets saying, “Slava Ukraine! RuZZia is a terrorist state!” EU, NATO, Georgian, and Ukrainian flags hang from balconies on Rustaveli Avenue, the city’s main thoroughfare. And there I was, moving through this city speaking the language of the occupier.

By the end of my semester, I found myself having reservations about leaving Georgia. I had been so completely welcomed and still had so much ground to cover to truly bridge that distance between myself and Georgian society. In my time there, the country had been thrust into a political crisis as the government shifted towards Russia and protesters filled the streets to pull their country towards the West. So, I departed Georgia feeling as if I was leaving behind something unfinished. I wanted to learn more Georgian. I wanted to learn more Russian. My post-graduation plans now have me gravitating towards a return to the Georgian political sphere. I could feel my life’s trajectory shifting.

When Nodar drove me back to the airport for my flight to America, he asked me in Georgian when I would be coming back to Georgia.

“Meh ar vitsi. Maleh,” I replied.

“I don’t know. Soon.”

- Giorgi Bekauri

View of the Sierra Maestra Mountain Range, Santiago de Cuba, Cuba [Wylie Jacobs]

Exploring Europe Through Libraries: A Journey of Books, Architecture, and Culture

“Sometimes it surprises me, what I find in the library” -Victoria Bardakou, Librarian at the Jan Van Eyck Academie in Maastricht, Netherlands

As an English and Writing and Rhetoric double major, my passion for books knows no bounds. It translates into a love of libraries, of quiet that seems to take up space in the air alongside the smell of ancient paper and the whispers of old books. It is this passion which has brought me to Europe: a quest to read the stories of the continent through “reading” their libraries.

My journey begins here in Maastricht, my home away from home as I study abroad. Maastricht’s libraries are a testament to the city’s rich heritage; the Boekhandel Dominicanen is a marvel of architecture and design, a 13thcentury church built in the Gothic style that now houses row upon row of bookshelves.

As I sit alone amongst the books, shelves towering over me, I feel as if I am somehow soaking in the words around me; a literary osmosis, as it were. I am far from alone, though. In addition to making friends among the books, I am surrounded by Maastricht locals, tourists, and fellow students from all over the world. There is a warm feeling of gezellig, or “togetherness,” as we read and browse in companionable silence.

Near the guesthouse where I live is another library, this one wholly the opposite of the Dominicanen. Centre Céramique is modern, all massive windows and clear-cut geometric

lines. Céramique is not just a library. It is also a museum of Maastricht’s local history as well as a cultural center, constantly brimming with events and activity. It is here that I spend my time outside of the classroom, studying with friends, reading books, and immersing myself in Dutch culture.

But my exploration does not end there. I experience how books and religion are intertwined as I gaze upon the Book of Kells at Trinity College Dublin. I stand alone, awestruck, at the Austrian National Library, the only person in the room and feeling infinitely small compared to the vast ceilings and grand walls lined with books. And there are spontaneous moments, too, throughout my travels. At free book stands and cafés, at art museums and historic sites, sometimes the scope of my project seems almost too

Cuypers Library, Rijkmuseum, Amsterdam, Netherlands [Kylie Rowland]

narrow to encompass the vast array of “libraries” I discover.

Throughout my journey, I am struck by the connections between library architecture and the culture of reading. Each historic or modern space reflects its people as an embodiment of its values and aspirations. The Dutch reverence for education is evident in the deep care taken with their books and knowledge, while the grandeur of the libraries in London and Paris speak to their cities’ pasts.

Even now, after I’ve returned from abroad, I’m still fascinated by these libraries. But it was not the architecture that captivated me, nor even just the books they held inside. It was also the people I met along the way: the complete strangers from all over who spoke different languages than me, yet were able to share so clearly what the spaces meant to them.

I learned, for instance, that the ways we preserve books are not the only marker of the place they hold in our culture - the language used around them holds meaning, too. One of my professors at University College Maastricht, Jan de Roder, an avid sharer of books, told me that there is a Dutch word about books for which there is no perfect English translation. Zielenboek, he told me, comes closest to meaning “soul book.” Yet that brief definition is imperfect, imprecise, because it takes a much larger, much more

Inner-City Library, University College Maastricht, Netherlands [Kylie Rowland]

affective understanding of literature and the place it holds in our heart to really understand.

Though I left Maastricht far from fluent in Dutch, I feel that my time abroad and my enrichment project more than equipped me to understand what Jan meant about zielenboek.

-Kylie Rowland

Statue of Emperor Karl VI, National Library, Vienna, Austria [Kylie Rowland]

Learning About Myself in Japan

From visiting countryside shrines and temples to a semiabandoned island on a lake to a giant statue of Godzilla in the middle of Tokyo, I don’t think anything could have fully prepared me for my semester abroad in Japan. As I am a fairly introverted guy and this was my first time leaving the United States, saying I was nervous would be a massive understatement. I was about to spend the next four months in a foreign country with no friends or family at my side. Am I going to make friends with the other people in my program? Will there be time to travel and explore? Am I going to like the food? I had tons of questions that would all be answered eventually, but I was pretty worried. Nevertheless, I was excited and planned on making the most of this opportunity.

I already had three years of Japanese language courses under my belt and couldn’t wait to put all I had learned to use. Not long after stepping off of the 14-hour flight, I realized that would be harder than I thought. As I made my way through customs before meeting up with the student coordinator for my program, I made the mistake of initiating the interaction with the customs agent in Japanese. His initial surprise and joy at a foreigner speaking in his language was very noticeable, but my shock when he responded in Japanese way faster than my brain could process may have been even more apparent. I stuttered and asked him if he could repeat himself a bit slower and the conversation went pretty smoothly from there, but I knew I had some work to do if I wanted to be able to hold conversations at a natural pace. Three hours of Japanese class every day helped me achieve that goal a lot faster than I thought possible. Small victories like ordering food at restaurants and going grocery shopping quickly turned into full-on conversations and eventual friendships with the staff at the gym and other locals.

Regrettably, I spent the first few days of my stay in Japan cooped up in my dorm room as soon as class ended. Almost all the other students in the program were from the same state and had entered the program with at least one other person from their respective colleges, plus many of them were already friends. Slowly but surely, however, I made friends with my classmates. Sure, I may have been the only HWS student there, but we were all in Japan and learning Japanese together, which gave me a way to relate to everyone. They were all experiencing culture shock the same as me, and I soon met some people that I know I’ll be friends with for life. Learning Japanese, attending cultural events, and exploring our new home for the next few months together helped us all bond fairly quickly. Some of us had been placed in different electives, but we had so much fun together that we started shadowing each other’s courses. This led to me shadowing a course that some of my friends were taking at the local college, Shiga Daigaku.

Shrine on Okishima, Lake Biwa, Japan [Richard Garner]

I couldn’t have imagined the opportunities this would open up to me. Firstly, I got to meet and make friends with the Shiga Daigaku students. They helped me out with my Japanese and I helped them with their English. In our free time, we frequented karaoke lounges, swam in the lake by our dorm, visited local restaurants and bars, and hosted movie nights multiple times a week. After a few weeks of shadowing the course, the professor invited me to go on a trip with them to visit a semi-abandoned island called Okishima on Lake Biwa. This was an unforgettable experience. I learned about the history of the island, visited the shrines there, and heard from some of the people who still lived there. Throughout my time in Japan, I quickly realized that opening up a bit and putting myself out there was well worth it, and I will forever be grateful for the friends I made during my stay.

With my newfound friends and confidence in using the Japanese language, I figured I was ready to travel outside of Hikone. One of the first cities I got to visit was Kyoto. While it started off as a school trip, we had the opportunity Okishima Island, Lake Biwa,

to stay in Kyoto while our teachers returned to campus because there was a long weekend. When we first arrived in Kyoto, we visited two stunning temples: the first, and my personal favorite, was Byodoin Temple and the second was Higashi Honganji Temple. The architecture, museums, and rich history located there blew me away. The farthest trip I went on was to Tokyo over Thanksgiving break. Around 12 of us booked a room and spent a couple of days exploring the big city. We visited museums, parks, and palaces during the day and explored the vibrant nightlife of the city when the sun went down. We even celebrated my friend Noah’s birthday by visiting the famous Kill Bill restaurant.

One of the more memorable moments was branching off from the main group and finding a statue of Godzilla’s head in the Kabukicho entertainment district. My favorite outing in Tokyo, however, was visiting an art exhibit at the Tokyo National Museum with a small group of friends. The paintings there were some of the most beautiful and

Byodoin Temple Phoenix Hall, Kyoto, Japan [Richard Garner]

intricate pieces of art I had ever seen and viewing them with people I had grown really close to made the experience truly special.

I learned a lot during my time in Japan, not only about the country and culture, but about myself as well. My understanding of the language and appreciation for Japanese culture grew exponentially, as did my confidence and willingness to put myself out there and embrace the uncomfortable.

- Richard Garner

View of Mount Fuji from the Bullet Train, Japan [Richard Garner]

Spontaneity

Only one more essay and 14 days separate me from the end of the semester. You know, I have spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to summarize my adventure in Ireland. Spontaneity: I have been thinking about that word a lot. It had become an inside joke between our friend group after watching Mama Mia together. But all of our funny business aside, if I had to use one word, it would be that.

I am afraid of heights and the ocean, yet on our third day in Galway, I found myself jumping off the high dive at Blackrock. Further along in the semester, I would wake up at 6:45am to do that same plunge, only this time with my housemates, all bundled up in blankets because it was 30 degrees outside and we were about to take on “Coldvember.” The rocks were full of university students waiting their turn to plunge into the ocean. While some people stayed in the water afterwards, I was not one of them. Thinking back on it, I realize we jumped into the ocean often. One of my favorite days was when we took a field excursion to the island of Inishmore. No cycling classes could have prepared me for that bike ride or our decision to run into the ocean fully clothed afterwards. Every time I surfaced from the sea this semester, I remember being overcome with the urge to yell that I was living.

Speaking of the ocean, I refused to eat seafood before coming to Galway. While it took some minor convincing from my friends, I found myself trying all kinds of food: sushi, salmon, fish & chips, and even snails - one of those things I would not personally have again. But you totally should because it is super cool to say you tried snails. Another thing about spontaneity is that when you find yourself really craving mac and cheese, I urge you to double-check your conversions. I don’t care how many batches you’re making. You do not need 12 blocks of cheese. And I know

what you’re thinking, but in my head, I was just trying to cook a family dinner for 12 people. We called ourselves a family and we acted like one, too. Every night, all 12 of my friends would crowd into one of our tiny kitchens, laughing and talking over each other, and it felt like home. In my mind, Galway will always be a home for me, and so will all of my friends.

You see, if I had one word to describe my study abroad experience it would be spontaneity. I’m never one to go off the beaten trail, but these people taught me that there is reward in taking those risks. To experience life is to try it all, so my advice to you would be to book that plane ticket, or five, have that 3am snowball fight with your neighbors, and do it scared.

- Alexandria Lacoste

Inishmore Beach Right Before We Ran In, Inishmore, Ireland [Alexandria Lacoste]

Last Day vs. First Day in Leipzig

I take a deep breath before opening the thick door to my apartment building; this would be the last time I did so. I drag my carry-on and checked bag to the tram stop. The street where I have lived for the last month seems much quieter and grayer than it usually does. When I first got here, the sun was bright and warm, and the streets had people chatting as they walked by. I took the tram over to the Hauptbahnhof, a huge train station where I have eaten ramen and gone shopping multiple times since I first arrived.

Today, I am confident in where I walk and where I go, unlike my first day when I had gotten lost more times than I can count and my phone died when I was trying to follow directions. I pick up more of the fast-paced conversations of strangers as I pass. I meet Anna at the station, and we wait for our train to Berlin. I haven’t been to Berlin yet, so I am excited to go now. But, even though I’m excited, I am sad to leave Leipzig. This city has been my home for a month and has welcomed me with delicious food and tasty drinks. The hardest part about leaving Leipzig is leaving the other interDaF students that were in the program with us. My flatmates have been the best people I could have asked for. I’ll miss sitting in one of their rooms and talking about home or the different activities we wanted to do with interDaF while we were in Leipzig as more of our friends made their way into the room, too. I’ll miss spending time with them, whether mini-golfing or going to a classical concert. I’ll miss going out to bars or the park with friends to watch the Euros. I’ll miss going to the store and bakery during our break between classes. I’ll miss the different Fußball-themed desserts that I would order. I have gotten pretty good at ordering what I want and understanding conversations, and I’ll also miss these daily interactions with locals.

When I first arrived, I wasn’t sure what to expect; it was structured differently than the other study abroad programs I had done. I didn’t have a professor here that I could text whenever I was uncertain about something. I was on my own. However, I wasn’t really alone. I had the other students who were doing the same program that I was; we were all going through the same things. As cliché as it sounds, we really did have each other.

- Hannah Green

Strolling in the Streets of Queenstown/Tāhuna, New Zealand [Elvis Njomo]

Boy on a Boat, Tonlé Sap Lake, Cambodia [Alberto de la Puente] Byron Beach, Byron Bay, Australia [Jessica Hoffman]

View from Above, Chamonix, France [Rachel Brooks]

Soldier Crabs, North Stradbroke Island, Australia [Danielle Krenzer]

Lion Cub, Makhanda, South Africa [Marissa Mastracco] Sand Storm in Sand Dunes, Mongolia [Alberto de la Puente]

Foggy Dolomites, Cinque Torri, Italy [Bradley Kutchukian]

Spirals to the Sky, Barcelona, Spain [Jessica Finnerty] Water Mill on the Walk to Shibazakura no Oka, Saitama, Japan [Shraddha Datta]

Statue at the Vienna State Opera House, Vienna, Austria [Sophia Mughal]

Galway, Ireland [Elizabeth Palumbo]

Sparkling Waters of the Mediterranean, Calanque de Sugiton, France [Adriana Croce]

VERSE & VISION

VERSE & VISION I

Weeping for the Sea

I’ll never again see those creaky boats tumble through our canal

Men craning their heads in their moon-like windows planks leading right to tide-driven stairs

Each clambering for winning trades

Saltwater used to reach me here waves splashing with cultures some more brutal than others

The sea used to be our bridge now replaced with common stones, metal railings blocking an escape I stay rooted though, in search of excitement among students, noses so far in their books they forget to read the land, history of rough storms medicine and triumph Creaky boats appear now as shiny cars or bright shoes

My branches can barely steal a glance

Of the sea, who had been so close, fluid beauty turned rigidly monochrome wind which once bonded our flow leaves me swaying alone -

My friends have changed, year after year never truly understanding goodbye, It was natural at the start

My coming and going Ebb and flow I was always back in one form or another Presently I am pushed out of reach Transformed into a sea of people Who separated us estranged eternal Miniscule pieces of you journey to me still Thin tears flutter only so far, mixing into familiar brine, centuries old I’ll never again forget our panels of connection

- Ilana Lehmann

Looking Down at the Dingle Beach, Ireland [Alexandria Lacoste]

A Journey Through Aotearoa

Kia ora, at first, a foreign greeting, unfamiliar and new, A doorway to the rich Māori culture I’d soon journey through.

Breathtaking views these eyes have seen, Far beyond what my lens could ever capture or see.

The scent of earth, so fresh and alive, Filling my lungs, as though they’d just revived. All it took was nature’s gentle embrace, To restore the peace I’d lost keeping up with life’s race.

In New Zealand’s rhythm, I learned to stay, Slow-paced and mindful, living fully each day. At first, I felt guilt for embracing this stride, “I should be more productive,” the voice inside cried. But as the days passed, I came to see, Life’s best moments are lived, just being free.

My feet met the sands of both north and south, Riding the waves, feeling Muriwai’s strength. The sting of jellyfish, sharp and clear, Echoing memories of Sri Lankan shores, so dear.

My heart resonates with the Māori’s fight, Their stories of reclaiming their birthright. Hope fuels their journey, their voices strong, Reminding us we’ve all been connected all along.

New Zealand, though imperfect, still taught me this: To honor each moment, and those I might miss. As my journey ends, bittersweet and free, Kia ora now feels like a part of me.

- Anjalee Wanduragala

Walking with the Waves, Watercolor, New Zealand [Anjalee Wandurgala]

copenhagen, city of DIS

Denmark is An happyunhappy people looking in the broken window in Christianshavn, broken beneath their unified eyelevel, that empty wall behind I wouldn’t call it sadness, this way of theirs of being indulging in a way of being sad which I rang true the moment I walked inside and my “hello” did not garner a “hej” but “hello” it’s that rudeness that I’ve found which turns heads sideways to do the looking at something so foreign so apparent from that first bus ride, how faces swivel at well! not me, but me, yes me

it’s the intuition of the happyunhappiness that I see in the glass shards didn’t they write about that? Denmark teaching which way the eye spins with spokes about shattered mirrors - yes, devils, the winter coming Denmark, I see it! you all predicted the window which I would see and that moment of ego following because I’m not quite looking from your eyes but instead downtowards, that’s the struggle. the “An” in this “Andrew,” it hits harder against that muddy “d”

disgust following, ew, ee-uu, a sound that’s not here Denmark, I hear you are An Danmark truly.

so I won’t argue the truth that I already understand you I’ve read you and so I know that wheels turn and windwheels turn when the Cityringen turns - that “-en” announcing “the” the Cityringeneast to west oriented by winds, I get it Denmark, very funny that you yourself are sideways. that’s how you got me, Denmark, clogging your name up in mine it was the streets slipping between streets between directions I see it happening to you Denmark when streetlights go green and you swivel, I’m not different from you rather I take you and though I am gone in a month I shall miss being gone from you now already when I pull An leaf from the lindens and tear it apart Denmark! I giggle about it.

- Andrew Pilet

Crowd in Nyhavn, Copenhagen, Denmark [Bradley Kutchukian]

Inis Mór

“Dead indeed is the heart from which the balmy air of the sea cannot banish sorrow and grief.” - Peig Sayers, Peig: The Autobiography of Peig Sayers of the Great Blasket Island

On the way

To Inis Mór

The sky is gray

I see the shore

Stomach churning

With the sea

I am yearning

To be free

On new land

Once again

Ancient sand

Long lost men

Pedal fast

Along the path

Lungs won’t last

Know locals’ wrath

Stone home

From a story book

Wild horses roam

Pausing at an overlook

Then we stop

Bikes in tow

At the sweater shop

To the ruins we go

Dún Aengus

They call the site

Feeling anxious

Knuckles white

On my knees

I crawl to the edge

With the breeze

My head over the ledge

I peer down

So many feet below

I’d surely drown

I’ll keep my movements slow

The waves are crashing

Mighty and strong

My heart is thrashing

But it doesn’t feel wrong

Alive like the water

Or the moss at my feet

The Earth and her daughter

They finally meet

-Elizabeth Palumbo

A Moment’s Rest, Inis Mór, Ireland [Elizabeth Palumbo]

Sakura Flowers

sakura flowers blossomed late who knew they would bloom at all the trees try to keep their secrets but history always repeats itself

sakura transforms the branches from lifeless and dull to somber extending itself into the grey skies metropolitan ornaments for spring’s eve

sakura blooms quietly underneath skyscrapers, along empty sidewalks decorated with shrines different restaurants which have similar names konbinis and train stations and crosswalks

people line up to take pictures of sakura because its ephemeral beauty is alluring it comes and goes like many things, such as the people you know and those you love

- Shraddha Datta

Cherry Blossom Trees at Lake Kawaguchiko near Mt. Fuji, Japan

[Shraddha Datta]

The Aleph Adventures in Old Town, Watercolor, Dubrovnik, Croatia

[Ceanna Belisle]

Stations

You are in love with stations at nightfall

Fluorescent lights astigmatize into view

Angel in Canterbury, angles of Southwark

Lines on a train barreling through suburb

Deep faceless voice at your back

That nothing will ever happen if you stick to transience

Rocked to sleep by the carriage, dreamless

Cold coffee sweetened to stagnant filth

Other lives by the thousands fly in two hours

You would have missed the view down centuries

No matter you’re being held at a red signal

You were meant to be here, in this moment

To be a voyeur to the beauty offered up

Anyone’s for the taking if you don’t trust yourself

Enough to follow the crowd home

You’re not reckless or far too young, you’re not helpless but cautious

Why you glue yourself to the chipped leather of the way forward

Eye contact with lovers and suitcases

The stones that lay in the railroad gulch

Don’t assume anyone knows more to this than you

You’re all strangers, that’s what comforts you most

- Maeve Reiter

Seeing a Whale Shark

Zipping up the wetsuit, Flippers strapped,

Goggles snug, snorkel steady.

“Group two, get ready!”

Flip-flop steps echo on the deckDeep breath. Jump.

The ocean engulfs me, Cool water wraps my skin.

“Over here! Get in line!”

Heart pounding in my ears, A quick squeeze of a handI remember to breathe.

“Ready yourselves!”

“Faces down, swim!”

Splashes surround me, breaths deep and quick. And there it is. Swim!

The whale shark, speckled and serene, Glides beneath me - a gentle, spotted colossus. Its smooth, endless motion,

Blue-gray elegance cutting through the water.

My breath catches; eyes widenIt begins to dive, slow and deliberate. I surface, lungs greedy for air, Back to the group, waiting for the boat.

Climbing aboard,

Salt stings my skin, the sun warms my face.

I sit in the quiet of wonder, Salt air filling my lungs, The ocean’s gift still shimmering in my mind.

- Isabel Goldblatt-Hamilton

Snorkeling Next to a Whale Shark, Exmouth, Australia [Isabel Goldblatt-Hamilton]

Throughout my journey in the Dominican Republic, I was captivated by the architecture in the places we visited. I was fascinated by how history has contributed to the ways in which communities were built and continue to evolve. These sketches represent my exploration of four distinct architectural spaces, each telling its own story of Dominican identity, history, and social dynamics.

The Cathedral in San Pedro de Macorís represents the profound influence of religious architecture in Dominican culture. Through my rendering of this structure, I sought to capture both its imposing presence and its role as a community space, where the sacred and social aspects of Dominican life intersect.

The small family home I encountered during our visits to the Sugar Mills in Santo Domingo offers a more intimate perspective on Dominican architecture. This sketch explores how everyday people have adapted their living spaces to both climate and culture, creating homes that simultaneously reflect practicality and personal identity in ways that are completely different from the architecture that we see day-to-day in the United States.

La Zona Colonial, where we primarily stayed, stands as a masterpiece of colonial urban planning, beautifully constructed to capture the attention of both tourists and locals embedded within the space. My sketch of this historic district attempts to capture not just the physical structures but the way history continues to live and breathe through these centuries-old streets and buildings.

The Sugar Mill Plantation structure in San Pedro de Macoris stands as a complex monument to the region’s economic history. My sketch aims to convey both its historical significance in the sugar trade and its role in shaping local communities and labor relations. These structures remain

as powerful reminders of the economic forces that helped shape the Dominican Republic.

Although our study program wasn’t directly focused on architecture, I found myself drawn to how each location we visited featured distinct architectural elements that were deeply important in understanding the origins and evolution of the Dominican Republic. These sketches represent my attempt to document not just buildings but the stories they tell about power, community, faith, and daily life in Dominican culture.

- Hazel Rodriguez

MOMENTS

n. 1. a very brief period or exact point in time

2. a particular stage in something’s development or in a course of events

Angkor Wat, Cambodia [Alberto de la Puente]

MOMENTS I

Moments in Dubrovnik

During the summer of 2024, I was fortunate enough to participate in a short-term study abroad program in Dubrovnik, Croatia. Known for its beauty, medieval architecture, and being a main filming location for Game of Thrones, Dubrovnik was also the site of an eight-month siege during the Croatian War for Independence. In places, the damage from the Siege of Dubrovnik was still visible, creating a haunting scene of a vibrant, beautiful city that contrasted its dark history. The city, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, has been meticulously restored by locals, demonstrating their resilience and determination following the war.

A central educational focus of my program was mindfulness, or the practice of being aware of the present moment without judgement. I wanted to truly attempt to embody the practice of mindfulness while in Croatia, so each day, I wrote in my journal in order to reflect on my experiences. I selected the following excerpts as particularly poignant in detailing my experiences abroad.

Croatian Cats

My favorite thing about Dubrovnik is the cats. They are everywhere: old cats and young cats, big ones and small ones, long-haired and short-haired - everywhere I go, there are cats. What strikes me about these cats is not just that they are adorable, it’s their overt friendliness. They run

right up to me and beg me to pet them. They walk leisurely in the street, knowing they are safe and comfortable. Some of them are pets, though most of them are strays. Still, even the strays are well fed, well loved. They aren’t afraid when you approach them. The war here was only 30 years ago; you can still feel its scars. But the people of Dubrovnik are peaceful and relaxed, and so are the cats.

Mindfulness

The water here is saltier than the oceans I have been in. The beaches are rocky, but there is an area with large, flat rocks where my friends and I have been going daily. The water is cold, but the sun is warm. The water is a deep blue up close, but, from far away, it looks white from the reflection of the sun. I can smell the salt in the air and hear the breeze rustling the plants. When I get out of the water, I dry off in the sun, basking in its warmth after the coldness of the water. The sea leaves a thin, crystallized layer of salt on my skin that I have to brush off. I taste it on my lips long after I get out.

Seafood Restaurant on Lopud Island, Croatia [Paige Wilson]

Café Antika

The culture here is different than in America. It’s more collaborative, more communal. It’s slower paced. No one seems to be in a rush. In class, we have been learning about mindfulness. I had been practicing mindfulness as a stressreduction technique long before I came abroad, but while in Dubrovnik, I have really been able to fully immerse myself in it. It’s like the culture itself embodies mindfulness. One of the easiest ways to observe this is through the cafés, always crowded with groups of people talking and savoring their coffee, even on weekdays. No matter how busy they are, Croats always have time for coffee, and they certainly do not offer it to go.

Shinrin-Yoku

Much of our learning on this trip has been facilitated through experience-based activities as well as in a traditional classroom setting. Today, we explored Plitvice Lakes National Park, one of Croatia’s most famous places. In class, we had discussed the Japanese practice of shinrin-yoku, or forest bathing, as a powerful mindfulness technique. Today we went out into nature to practice. I tried to observe my surroundings with all five of my senses. The intense turquoise shade of the lakes. The sound of the many waterfalls crashing. The feeling of the mist spraying my face. The smell of flowers. The fresh, clean taste of the air. The greenness of the trees. The sound of birds chirping. I was surrounded by nature, by beauty, by life. And, in that moment, all was well.

Goodbyes

Tomorrow, I will go home to New York with a newfound understanding of my place in the world. Part of me is homesick and can’t wait to be home. But I also don’t want to leave the new sense of home I have found in Dubrovnik. I made friends, tried new foods, experienced local culture

and tradition, and was able to learn so much about both myself and the world. I learned to slow down, relax, and enjoy each moment as it passes without rushing towards the next. I am incredibly grateful I had the opportunity to study abroad. The lessons I learned in Dubrovnik will stay with me long after I get home.

Note from the Author: My study abroad experience was made possible through the support of the Benjamin A. Gilman International Scholarship. With the help of this scholarship, I was able to study abroad without worrying about finances. Students receiving the Federal Pell Grant are eligible to apply for the Gilman Scholarship, which provides students with up to $5,000 towards their study abroad program. Studying abroad allows students to enrich their lives educationally, culturally, and socially. The scholarship aims to increase the accessibility of international education by helping students overcome financial barriers. By broadening the pool of students who can participate in study abroad programs, the Gilman Scholarship plays a critical role in ensuring that more students - regardless of their financial situation - can take part in this transformative experience.

- Sophia Carlston

Old Town, Dubrovnik, Croatia [Paige Wilson]

Dans Maastricht: An Exploration of Movement in the Netherlands

I felt my head pressed against the earth. The ringing of the singing bowls transported me to a land far away. My thoughts danced and the vibrations moved through me - head to toes, head to toes. Feeling every sensation from the sweat on my forehead to the tension in my hands, I took one more deep breath. Following the practice, we all rejoiced with a zoethout tea and discussed our days. I sat amongst an array of Maastricht residents, diverse in age, level of expertise, and citizenship. It was in these simple moments that I began to call the Netherlands my home.

Dance and movement provided me with a sense of comfort in a place unknown. When I arrived in Maastricht, I was in a completely foreign space and place: new currency, new language, and new friends to make. Fortunately, my time in the studio gave me the leeway to explore movement and modern techniques in Maastricht, and allowed me to create diverse connections outside the classroom, fostering a sense of belonging.

Yvette shouted across the room “Opineuw!” as we made our way to the other side of the studio. The phrase was fast and complex, and we unintentionally created polyrhythms with our arrhythmic claps, steps, and turns. “Gaga” - a somaticbased modern dance technique - was the language, but none of us could speak it quite yet. She watched meticulously as we reviewed each step, as she changed the music to Dynamite by Taio Cruz, the last song I would think to pair with this choreography. Suddenly, we heard “5, 6, 7, 8!” and the rest was a blur.

By immersing myself in the local dance scene, I gained invaluable insight into the cultural fabric of the Netherlands.

Small Bridge over the Jeker River, Maastricht, Netherlands [Zoë Breininger]

Through participation, I came to better understand the eccentricity of not only the art, but of the food, culture, and people. Dance gave me a unique lens to analyze the places and spaces I occupied.

I sat in the studio with a 73-year-old woman, also named Zoë. We sipped our kaneel thee (the zoethout was gone) and talked about our experience practicing yoga and flow. It very quickly spiraled into a riveting conversation, ranging from Dutch politics and the rise of the Farmer party to concerns over higher education accessibility as prices for uni continue to increase (they have no idea), and, finally, to family. This was my first taste of homesickness, and the tea went cold. I worried this feeling would linger, but as soon as we walked into practice, the worry disappeared and I was once again present.

Dance and movement (such as yoga) promote physical well-being and mental resilience, offering a source of comfort and stability amidst the upheaval of transition. Engaging in regular practice not only strengthens my body and improves my technique but also releases endorphins that boost my mood and alleviate stress or, in my case, homesickness. In this way, dance served both as a way to connect with Dutch culture and foster a community and also as a form of self-care - an essential tool for maintaining balance and resilience in the face of the uncertainties of relocation.

Following a class, I spoke with a girl about the stress of bike culture. I complained about the steps to the bridge over the River Maas and how I was too short for my bike, but that I loved the routine of it. She reassured me it never gets easier. We joked about the times we went in the wrong lane or got lost amid a classic Netherlands rainstorm. We talked about pretending to know Dutch at Albert Heijn by simply saying “Nee, dankje!” whenever they asked if we wanted a receipt.

While dance and movement gave me space within Maastricht’s greater community, conversations like these gave me a place. I learned that I wasn’t the only person who could barely ride a bike. I also learned that Dutch is complicated for everyone! Most importantly, I learned that we are never in this alone. Regardless of life experiences, our connections with people make our world bigger, more beautiful, and more enriching.

In essence, dance is not merely a form of entertainment or recreation but a transformative force that can facilitate adaptation and foster connection in new places. By embracing the rhythms of my new environment and participating in the communal act of dance, I found joy, meaning, and a sense of belonging amidst the challenges of relocation.

- Zoë Breininger

Growing Outside the Fence, Leipzig, Germany [Anneliese Oetsen]

Stockerkahn Races

In Tübingen, they hold the Stockerkahn races. Groups of students will pick a theme, dress up, decorate their boat, and then race 20 other boats down the Neckar River in front of an enormous crowd. On the day of the event, the entire inner-city was packed for the races and it took nearly an hour to walk back to the dorms, but it was worth it. To celebrate the races, they had a huge block party in the main student living area. Thousands of people came from the surrounding universities like Reutlingen and Stuttgart - it was still a mess the next day.

- Bradley Kutchukian

Sailors at the Races, Tübingen, Germany [Bradley Kutchukian]

Denouement is a Stone-Shaped Brick

It’s easy, when hiking the Moray Coast in Scotland, to believe that one has reached the end of the Earth. The sheer stone walls of Sutherland across the Moray Firth 20 miles away betray no sign of human life, and the water between seems almost instinctively uncrossable, a barrier between worlds, the opposing one barren yet promisingly uncorrupted by humankind. Long after I had completed the coastal trail and moved inland along the River Spey, I saw a sheep pause just before an electric fence, studying it, trying to reason that, despite the barrier’s flimsy appearance, it had no way of crossing over to me, and I understood the way denouement unwinds.

The haggard coast is experiencing senescence. The first 10 miles, from Findhorn to Burghead, used to be traversable in a straight line, but now the stretch of coast is an enormous crescent that cuts half a mile inland. In the final few miles of coast to Kingston and the Spey, one cannot see any water from the edge of the coastal forest, for the Moray Firth has spat mountains of shingles onto the shore that block out the horizon. The trail gives one the impression of tracing the wall of a cancerous cell losing its regulatory functions.

The otherworldly dread set in the night before. I arrived from London at Forres Station after dark, my first impressions of northern Scotland being cast out of abstract shades. From the imposing Forres Tolbooth, it was eight miles to Findhorn, where I would stay the night. The trail went through forests, and a slight rain made reflective spots on the trees that looked like supernatural lights, and it felt as though unflawed walls of thorny bushes were guiding me along an inerrable path. Occasionally, I would hear shuffling in the skies above and just barely make out

a V-pattern, as if the birds flew by night to escape some slumbering Armageddon. The route then skirted between Findhorn Bay and RAF Kinloss, the outlines of skeletal fins reaching above the razor wire fences. Upon reaching the Findhorn Community Center, which doubles as a hostel, I found it empty, the whole village a husk of its summertime self. Rambling Findhorn’s stony few streets, I was taken by the idle boats without docks, the eerie lamplight, the cold, coastal October wind…

Spending a semester abroad in London, it felt like an obligation to plan an exciting trip over my midterm recess. I played with a lot of ideas, many of them cities, but the cities would just feel like London. I missed upstate New York and its forests, so I swung in the opposite direction. Something remote. Natural. Not a pleasure tour, but a rite of passage. I scoured trail maps in bookstores. I needed something suitably grand and difficult. And then I found the Moray Way, composed of three formidable Great Trails. I walked the coast first, and I saw annihilation in every ruin, every collapsed shore, every empty town, and in every coastal storm that threw off my balance.

My sense of otherworldliness grew as I started the first full day of six - Findhorn to Burghead to Lossiemouth. I tried to see an old icehouse and a local museum, but both were closed for the year. History was barred to me, leaving only the present. I skirted along the shore and its forests, but I found my winding path becoming bottlenecked by a massive fence like the one outside of RAF Kinloss. I approached enormous radio towers with posted warnings, both for trespassing and for getting one’s brain fried by high-strength radio waves. Peering beyond, I could discern an overgrown bunker and, down the shoreline, distant concrete structures I couldn’t identify. Romantics be damned - as sublime as nature can be, nothing conveys beauty and terror in a truly human fashion like relics of

human conflict.

When Hitler invaded and subsequently occupied Norway in 1940, defenses were thrown up all along the vulnerable Moray coast. Roseisle Forest, which I passed through on my way to Burghead, was even used as a practice site for D-Day. The winding trails that run through the forest give the illusion of nature, but, if one pauses and looks away from the trail towards the shore, the trees will often be completely parallel, marking where tanks once bored through the area, where old growth was eradicated. Beyond the trees in the opposite direction were dubiously unbroken walls of multi-layered spiny bushes, and naturally, more MOD sites behind.

As I came out of the forest and approached the shore, something of a cliff resulting from rapid erosion was in my way. I didn’t care to find a marked path down. There was one a mile back - a ramp constructed to look like a trench in honor of WWII - but even it had to be moved further up shore. Erosion was coming for history itself. Denouement. Before me was a pillbox, a defensive concrete structure designed to house machine guns and soldiers. I had already seen a couple without realizing it: they were just little corners of stone poking inches above the waves. This one was only half-sunken. As soon as I saw it, I slid down the cliff, taking a chunk of it with me. I try to be a responsible hiker. I never litter or construct those stupid rock stacks - a receipt of all my offenses would consist almost exclusively of offtrail violations in places where it seemed no harm would be done. But even the most well-meaning of us contribute to the denouement. Even a student with radical opinions about climate change will fly to England for a semester. We all have moments of selfishness; we all consume to survive.

Thankfully, no one witnessed my erosive transgression. I shed my socks and sneakers and cuffed my jeans over my

knees. The tide seemed to be coming in ever so slightly: more water entered the tiny, half-submerged entryway with each pulse than left. I squeezed in. The water inside swirled around angrily, confined to a manmade cage, and shifted the shingles that covered the floor, resulting in dull clacks subdividing the water’s rhythm, all while spray from the waves outside mixed with constricted sunlight entering from narrow slits. I took a shingle as a trophy. There is an uncanny valley, right before panic, where increasingly apocalyptic conditions stop raising anxiety and replace it with a euphoric sense of triumph. I was feeling the cold forces of entropy itself pulling at my thighs, trying to wrestle me down and out and away forever. When I stepped back out, I thought to myself that I would quite possibly be among the last human beings to ever enter that pillbox, a pillbox that never saw an invasion, a pillbox whose reward for vigilance and purpose was to be dragged to the bottom of

The Half-Sunken Pillbox, Moray County, Scotland [Everett Shinn]

the ocean at the hands of forces exasperated by mankind’s negligence. Ironically, mankind itself won’t be far behind.

I was only a few miles from Burghead, the day’s halfway point. This stretch of coast was sandy and marked by more pillboxes and extensive mudflats. Now on the backfoot of low tide, the mudflats were just starting to fill with water, at first making an entropic squiggly pattern of sand and sea but then becoming a perfect reflecting pool. A monument to the end of the world. And I did think of it that way. I felt reverent. The sun was behind me, casting my shadow, the shadow of annihilation, before me. I took wide arcs around the seabirds that flocked at the edge of the waves. To approach would be to disturb them, they with their hundreds of lives and souls; me with my lone, monstrous, comparably insignificant one. Insignificant and yet infinitely more detrimental to the world that gave us all life.

I was ripped out of my dreadful spiral. The seabirds took off, chased by a woman. She was giggling. Once every bird had scrambled away, she twirled around, dancelike, eyes closed, beaming. I have never felt simply and physically beautiful, but I was sure that she did in that moment, and I was sure that she was performing as if an adoring audience was filming this very moment to be played back in some divinely sponsored clip compilation. I was scornful. And envious. She retreated somewhere up shore. As I approached the area, the illusion of the reflecting pool began to fracture. Following the tear, I saw the beginnings of a delta that would soon wash away a massive chunk of beach at a rate 10 times above average. Following it to its origin, a drainage pipe, I saw over a dune the tip of a ruin. I went to it, and there I found the same woman accompanied by a man and a young adult, presumably her husband and daughter.

Reaching the apex, the woman shouted, “I’m tempting death!” and ripped her vape. The man, on a lower section of wall, hit his. Their daughter, on the ground, did the same. None of them noticed me. I just wanted a simple picture of an interesting site. I became frustrated with their carefree ignorance, especially after steeping myself in a guilt trip. I redirected my shame. A bunch of happy idiots stood before me, three of billions, who surely contribute to denouement 20 times more than I ever will. They have no guilt, no selfawareness, no temperance to keep them in check. They took selfies from their vantage points, just as I took one from inside the pillbox, but I wasn’t thinking about that. I was allowing myself to stew in righteous contempt. They descended but did not leave, deciding to lean against one of the walls and perform vape tricks. Eventually, I spoke up, and they obliged me, acting as though they hadn’t seen anyone waiting for them to leave. I passed them once more as I returned to the shore, though they were going the way I had come. The woman was again chasing birds.

The Ruins, Moray County, Scotland [Everett Shinn]

The man and daughter were hanging back, watching her. My eyes were transfixed on the ground, and the patterns in the sand became busier and more sporadic, as if they were mimicking the entropy and on the cusp of succumbing. Maybe it’s the bias of only experiencing the volatile time I’ve been alive, but I just felt doomed.

I noticed that a few rocks were suspiciously different from the others, and, using my keys, I pried out one of these stones. It was porous. And impure. And grainy. And a very familiar shade of red. After noticing its strangely rectangular shape, I realized: these were bricks regurgitated by the Firth. Relics of towns already washed away, microcosms of the unknowable denouement of humanity. Every pollutant we’ve thrown at the planet is returned in nature’s own image. Very few projections of climate change argue that the planet will become completely uninhabitable. Human civilization, the source of all its problems, would be wiped out far sooner than that. But who will have had the last

A Stone-Shaped Brick, Moray County, Scotland [Everett Shinn]

laugh: mother nature, who culled her prodigal child in self-defense, or humanity, whose plastics will appear in the stomachs of seabird corpses for thousands of years after the fact?

I had finally reached Burghead. Already, I was grateful for everything I had seen by opting for this challenge. I searched for the only restaurant; it was closed for the next month. I tried to visit an ancient well in a cave beneath the village, but one could only get in by borrowing a key from the restaurant. History was once again barred to me, leaving me alone and introspective. Defeated, I resigned myself to a convenience store banquet, everything cold and contained in plastic. I took it all up to the edge of the village, a high point on a cliff overlooking the Firth and the world on the other side. I was all too aware of the plastic waste I was generating. I felt overexposed under the sun and wind from which I sought respite. I used my binoculars to gaze upon the empty, barren other world. It and the waves below were mesmerizing. I found myself in the uncanny valley of apocalyptic conditions. I was suddenly a happy idiot. An ambivalent hypocrite. The view was nice, and the food did taste good, especially in my fatigued state. It was indulgent. That simple joy reminded me that, despite my self-critiques, this all was formative. Being way out of my comfort zone, as I was then and as I was flying to England for a semester abroad, it was sure to fulfill the promise of a rite of passage, all the better for me to make a difference when I’ve fulfilled my potential, and, when I have, the transgressions of the past will feel reimbursed. Denouement felt no less certain on that bench. But with progress made and more to come, the fear of an entropic future reminded me that becoming unwound releases potential energy - energy I can channel to catalyze something greater than myself.

- Everett Shinn

From My Journal

FEBRUARY

19, 2024

Today was my first day climbing in the Netherlands at Radium Boulders! It was so fun to be in a new climbing environment. I really enjoyed the gym, and it has the coolest sitting area with a bar and food. Inside the gym, there is a great variety of climbing routes with different grades and styles. I spent a lot of time at the top-out wall as it was something I have always wanted to try, but they are not super common at the gyms where I have climbed before. The staff were incredibly helpful and the people there were so nice and supportive. My favorite part about my session was a cute dog walking around the gym. I had such a great first time climbing in the Netherlands and can’t wait to work on some of the projects I found and make some friends!

APRIL 9, 2024

Back to regularly scheduled climbing today after spending spring break in Italy. The gym was busy, and they were

Taking a Paws, Radium Boulders, Maastricht, Netherlands [Rachel Brooks]

setting up for a competition so some of the gym was blocked off. I got further on my purple project today. This one spans three walls, so it takes more strength and endurance than most of the other bouldering projects. I’m happy that I got further on this project, but I need to work on the last move that is quite dynamic, which isn’t really my style. Today I was climbing with Charlotte and Paku. I was helping them with beta on a blue V5 that had the crux right at the beginning. They go to the university, too, and are both from Germany. Charlotte was wearing a Red Sox shirt, so I asked her about it because I am from Boston, and it turns out she used to live there during high school! It is so crazy how far away we are from home, yet how easy it is to find connections.

APRIL 27, 2024

Today, I climbed at Monk in Amsterdam, one of the oldest bouldering gyms in the Netherlands. It was cool to see the difference in demographics here. At Monk, there

Paku Climbs a V5, Radium Boulders, Maastricht, Netherlands [Rachel Brooks]

were mostly 30- to 40-year-olds climbing whereas, in Maastricht, it is mostly university-aged people climbing. It is also King’s Day today, a fun Dutch holiday celebrating the King’s birthday where everyone dresses up in orange and parties along the canals, which may have contributed to the shift in typical demographics. Either way, a group of Dutch people were working together on one problem. It was so cool to watch them be supportive of one another. I was working with another person my age in a different part of the gym. It was interesting to be surrounded by so much Dutch while climbing because it is so different than climbing at Radium back in Maastricht with its extremely international community from the university. I loved hearing everyone talking in Dutch and seeing the juxtaposition of the stereotypical blunt Dutch personality with the supportive climbing community that I have found so far in the Netherlands. I can definitely see this as the birthplace of bouldering in the Netherlands with the great climbing, training area, and wonderful, supportive community.

10-Year-Old Felix, Beest Boulders, Amsterdam, Netherlands [Rachel Brooks]

MAY 29, 2024

Today is my last day in Maastricht before meeting up with my family to travel and then head home for the summer. As one of my favorite parts about Maastricht was going climbing, it only seemed fitting to spend my last day here at Radium. I sat in my favorite reading nook with some other students from the university to finish up my finals, but it wasn’t long before I yearned to climb. I said hi to the usual crew but didn’t have much time, so I got right to work on my own projects. I did a few climbs on the top out wall as I’m not sure when I will get to use one of those again. I also sent my project from my last visit which was a great way to finish my climbing journey here. I spent some time in the gym and watched two guys on the moon board while I was stretching and hang boarding. Climbing in the Netherlands has been an experience I will never forget. The community here is unmatched – incredibly supportive, helpful, and kind. It is hard to say goodbye to the people I met at Radium, but I’m excited to get back to climbing in the US and explore the community at Central Rock Gym with HWS.

- Rachel Brooks

Visualizing the Climb, Radium Boulders, Maastricht, Netherlands [Rachel Brooks]

Aleph

a journal of global perspectives

Sleeping Fur Seal in Milford Sound, Fiordland, New Zealand [Linnea

Volume XVIII, 2025

Darius]