The Hoya: The Guide: December 6, 2013

the guide December 6, 2013

l Wander ust Georgetown students share their study abroad experiences from around the globe

Dublin, Ireland T

here are few things I love more than Georgetown. I could, and frequently do, go on about the school for hours, even when the person I’m talking to has already lost interest by the time I’ve reached the 20-minute mark. But no matter how much people love Georgetown, some reach a point during sophomore year when they decide that they need a break — a break from the stress, from the work, from everything in their Georgetown-centric lives. I was one of those people.

Everyone tells you that your semester abroad is the best of your life. Some people say that it’s a semester of freedom, where you can do whatever you want while gallivanting around a foreign country. Others say that it is a time when you find out who you really are. I kept worrying that I would be the exception — the singular person who hated her semester abroad and found it completely unfulfilling. I was excited, of course, but the entire summer leading up to it, I had this horrible, sinking feeling that I would be lost in Ireland.

When I arrived in Dublin Sept. 2, it felt like freshman year all over again, except this time we were served wine at our orientation events. During the first month, as much as I was enjoying my time, I couldn’t help thinking of Georgetown. It was as if there was a dull roar of “Hoya Saxa” in my mind at all times. I wrote on the Georgetown Phantoms Facebook group almost every day with random tidbits and fun facts, and when I looked at all of the pictures of the new members, it made my heart ache that I couldn’t be there. I kind of assumed that that’s what the rest of the semester would be like: During my free time, I’d think only of Georgetown, and console myself that it would be okay because I’d be back in a matter of months.

The third week of September, I went to an activities fair similar to the Student Activities fair where the “two Euros to join a society and 10 Euros to join

by Molly Roach

a team” policy made me yearn for those listserv days.

Either way, I made the decision that I wanted to fully embrace my time in Ireland. I wanted to do something new that I didn’t do at Georgetown, and so I signed up for the Ultimate Frisbee team. It turns out that was the best decision I’ve made since coming abroad.

After that, I had plans almost every day after classes, either with training or just hanging out with the other players. I had people to go out with, drink tea with and get burritos with. I acquired a solid group of friends here that drew my thoughts away from Georgetown, a group of friends that will not be easy to leave once my time in Ireland is over. The “Hoya Saxa” dull roar in my head disappeared and was replaced with thoughts of which pub to go to and which movie to watch with friends.

But even though I’m on the Ultimate Frisbee team, I still have so much more free time here, a rarity I never experience at Georgetown. I watched the entirety of “Nashville” in one weekend, and another Georgetown girl and I decided to watch every film on IMDB’s top 250 movies that we haven’t seen — although that’s still a work in progress. I don’t feel bad about sitting around watching movies and catching up on TV, and I don’t feel like I’m shirking any responsibilities. It’s a really great feeling.

I’ve biked across the Aran Islands and through the streets of Barcelona. I’ve gotten lost in Munich. I’ve swum in the Mediterranean. I’ve walked through the Green Light District of Christiania, Copenhagen.

I’ve looked up and thought about how lucky I am to have been given the opportunity to study abroad. I never realized how busy I felt at Georgetown, and I’m hoping that when I go back I will remember how good it feels to sleep for 10 hours every night.

Being away has helped me realize what and who I truly value at Georgetown, and what I should focus on when I return.

Although this experience has been incredible, I still miss Georgetown. I miss the incredible professors, the smaller classes, Leo’s, my Phantoms family, the theater people, Corpies, Blue and Gray friends and all the NSO-love. But 954 Facebook messages, 37 wall posts, 250 snapchats, 20 hours of skyping and 200 text messages later, I am a month away from leaving, and I can’t believe my time in Ireland is almost up. I fell in love with the Republic of Ireland. I can honestly say that this was one of the best semesters of my life and to my relief, I was not the exception.

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2 1. Glendalough, Wicklow County, Ireland 2. La Segrada Familia, Barcelona, Spain 3. Parc de la Ciutadella, Barcelona, Spain 4. Aran Islands, Galway, Ireland All photos courtesy Molly Roach

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Rio de Janeiro, Brazil F

eeling nervous, I climb onto the back of a motorcycle driven by a man I have never met before. He hands me a sweaty helmet worn by countless prior passengers and before I’ve had time to completely fasten it, we’re zooming up the hill. We pass little kids playing soccer — excuse me, futebol (pronounced foo-chee-bowl) — in flip-flops and swim trunks; we pass dogs digging through ripped trash bags, a barber blasting Brazilian funk music and subtly dancing as he styles peoples’ hair. We drive past a colorful mural commissioned by the city and even more vibrant graffiti commissioned by anyone who cares. We motor past houses stacked on top of each other with colorful laundry lines hanging outside of windows and as many other motorcycles and vans as my driver can get by without crashing. All the while, I am frozen with

fear and exhilarated by the surroundings.

After twisting and turning up the hill for what seems like an eternity, the driver comes to a sudden halt. I pay him, and he speeds away. After regaining my land legs, I head behind a house to find the trail and start my hike. One humid, tropical and bug-filled hour later, I have reached one of the most beautiful views I will ever see.

Below me lies the glittering sea and the marvelous and confusing city of Rio de Janeiro — that has been my home for the past four and a half months.

Rio de Janeiro is a city of paradoxes. I am constantly confronted by beauty pitted against grime, concrete jungle versus the real jungle, dramatic mountains juxtaposed against the smooth ocean, rich racial diversity against strong racial prejudice and an intricate and complicated history in contrast with an intense focus toward a clean future image. During the walk from my apartment to my university for the semester, Pontifícia Universidade Católica do Rio de Janeiro (PUC-Rio), I see the largest urban forest in the world on one side and construction sites and road repairs preparing the city for the 2014 World Cup on the other. On the beach, people seem impossibly comfortable with their bodies, flaunt-

1. Overlooking Rio de Janeiro from Dois Irmãos 2. Leblon Beaches, Rio de Janiero 3. Complexo do Alemãos, Rio de Janiero All photos courtesy Rosie Bichell

by Rosie Bichell

ing all kinds of figures in itty-bitty bikinis and thongs in public — I have seen firsthand why this country has one of the highest rates of cosmetic surgery in the world.

In the most public manifestations of internal conflicts, politicians in Rio de Janeiro contradict themselves. In a talk organized by Columbia Global Centers, I witnessed Eduardo Paes, mayor of Rio de Janeiro, claim to have the working man and favela resident’s interests in mind in his development plan for the city through building affordable housing in the urban center. Meanwhile, he is attributed to have said that he wanted to be the Pereira Passos of this century — a politician who focused on destruction of tenement housing — and Paes’ administration has carried out thousands of forced evictions and resettlements to develop for the 2014 World Cup and 2016 Summer Olympics. Such actions have torn favela residents away from their communities and distanced them from their jobs in order to place them in shoddily built government housing projects. For the past few months, I have been steeped in these contradictions. At times I have been angered and disturbed, yet, increasingly in the recent months, comforted.

At the beginning of this semester, my favorite weekend activity was the crazy ride up and the view down from the heights of Dois Irmãos. All of the contradictions are mollified when seen from above, and the city becomes a coherent unit rather than a bunch of puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit together. From up there, I can see where Rocinha, the largest favela in South America, and Leblon, one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Latin America, merge. Meanwhile, they seem worlds apart when seen from the ground. But real life isn’t so black and white and trying to classify and quantify a place like Rio de Janeiro, or anywhere else in the world, won’t get you very far.

People are ambiguous everywhere. We contradict ourselves all the time no matter where we are. Living in Rio has helped me observe the inconsistencies around me but also become more aware of the ways I contradict myself. I have grown to appreciate all the different paradoxes of the city and root them out. So, at the end of the day, though I will never get over the striking view of the city from above, I am happy to head back down the mountain and face this colorful, tragic and exciting city eye to eye.

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Strasbourg, France I

n the television show “30 Rock,” there is a scene in which Liz Lemon (Tina Fey) has to get rid of her favorite sandwich before going through airport security, so she shoves it all in her mouth and shouts, “I can have it all!” I was reminded of this scene while traveling through Greece, and it quickly became an analogy for study abroad that I just couldn’t shake. The relevance that this scene holds for my life abroad takes two forms: First, I have also consumed my fair share of salami and Brie sandwiches on baguettes, and second, “I can have it all!” has become the theme of my semester. I constantly find myself trying to bite off as much as I can, as fast I can, all while it steadily feels like I’m running out of time.

This semester I have been studying abroad in Strasbourg, France. Although Strasbourg has become my home away from home, it took a while to get comfortable with the culture. France can be very bureaucratic, especially academically. For example, registering for classes was a bit of a nightmare since only limited information can be found online. My first few weeks abroad were spent trekking around Strasbourg looking for people who could help me address my scheduling issues.

It also took a while to get adjusted to the academics themselves. Instead of reading outside of class, students copy down, word-for-word, everything that the professor says and use their notes as a textbook.

Since all of my classes are in French and it can be hard to understand everything, I’ve had to ask French students to send me

their notes, which is incredibly useful for comparative purposes. Still, my French has been improving, and one of the highlights of my time has been people mistaking me for a French woman. My efforts at speaking the language have also helped me to make French friends. All of the students from Georgetown tend to hang out together, but branching out is important too. I had to be NSO-Rachel at first, but it was worth it to meet people who are not only from France, but all over Europe.

I have been particularly lucky with my host family. There are so many stories of host-families-gone-wrong, but my family has exceeded all of my expectations. This is critical, especially because the French are very family oriented and have formal lunches and dinners together every day.

My host father has taken me to an interesting work event, my host mom has taught me to make Quiche Lorraine and my 16-year-old host brother frequently discusses “Breaking Bad” and the Black Keys with me while helping me bake cookies. My host family has gone above and beyond to make sure that I am living at home, not in someone else’s.

Strasbourg is a small city centered around a main cathedral with the city center itself circumvented by the Ill, a river. Known also for Petite-France — a beautiful area along the river — Strasbourg is composed of winding cobblestone roads and colorful buildings with exposed beams. While I’ve been here, I have spent most of my time wandering around and drinking cafe. The Georgetown students have all become regulars at Taverne Française, our favorite cafe and study spot. I’ve been able to indulge in some of the cultural opportunities as well, such as seeing a ballet at the local opera house, where everyone wore polar bear suits while dancing. I’ve picked up biking since I’ve been here because the city is very bike friendly. Although I am

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by Rachel Charow

not the planet’s worst biker, I seem to have a knack for getting yelled at — an old woman once actually whacked me with her purse on purpose. But regardless of the slightly hostile locals, I’ve been able to casually bike to Germany, and on other days, have taken trips to nearby villages, chateaus and mountains.

Being in Europe has provided me with a panoply of opportunities to travel to nearby countries over the weekends.

Highlights include a hot air balloon ride in the Cappadocia region of Turkey and a hike to the tops of the mountains by the Norwegian fjords. Now that winter is coming, however, I’m looking forward to just settling into Strasbourg and waiting for the highly anticipated Christmas markets. The lights, booths and enormous tree have begun to appear, and soon enough the famed markets will bring more good food and interesting trinkets to the city.

The stories of the almost magical study abroad experience are true for me, but going away for a semester has also taught me not to take many aspects of Georgetown for granted. I appreciate things like having a campus community with a great variety of clubs and activities, taking classes in my major and minor field areas, having class discussions, getting to know the professors and receiving the support from the administration are even more appreciated after my time abroad. I miss Georgetown and the people there every day, and yet I have trouble imagining myself leaving France to go back. I’m torn.

I have enjoyed every minute of this study abroad experience, and I do feel like I was able to have it all, at least as much as I could possibly have over the course of four months. While France has been an experience to devour, it has also taught me to treasure even more all that Georgetown has to offer, and all that it has given me thus far.

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4 1. Cappadocia, Turkey 2. Riquewihr, France 3. Petite-France, Strasbourg, France 4. Strasbourg Cathedral, Strasbourg, France All photos courtesy Rachel Charow

Lyon, France

by Arianne Price

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efore coming to study in Lyon, France, I didn’t exactly have a realistic vision of how my abroad experience would turn out. I found that reality sometimes varies greatly from expectations, especially in regard to the accessibility of peanut butter.

My first misguided assumption was that I would touch down in Lyon full of excitement, without jet lag and able to adapt effortlessly to the je ne sais quoi of life in France. I imagined myself spending my days sipping wine and riding a bicycle while wearing a beret.

The reality was a little less picturesque than anticipated — I ended up waiting in lines and experiencing an immense fear of missing out while scrolling through friends’ pictures of homecoming and Halloween.

Studying abroad is a luxury and not something to complain about, even when acclimating to the culture proves more difficult than expected. I’ve been able to gallivant around Europe for four months, ride bikes down cobblestone streets and forget what midterms are like. Coming to France has been everything studying abroad is cracked up to be and more. But I’ve found it has its downsides.

I’ve been really homesick at times — for Georgetown, for America, for my parents, my friends and my dog. It feels unappreciative to be envious of friends on campus as I click through pictures of group Halloween costumes taken in

Village B living rooms, or to miss Diet Coke and Leo’s brunch. But I do. It’s an odd phenomenon, to leave everyone and everything you know for a few months. Sometimes the general unfamiliarity of culture, language and location combined with the pressure to appreciate every minute is overwhelming.

But that’s sort of the point, right?

Studying abroad is supposed to be a lifechanging, horizon-expanding experience, and that doesn’t happen just by seeing paintings and eating baguettes.

It’s the mistakes I’ve made and the stuff I’ve figured out on my own, from navigating French academic bureaucracy to rescheduling flights cancelled due to air traffic controller strikes to crying while reading a letter from a faraway friend. Those are what make this experience worthwhile.

I also went in with the assumption that I would be watching sunsets from outdoor cafes with new French friends and impressing fellow students and professors with my fluent French. Basically, I thought that my academic French had completely prepared me for fluently conversing in the country.

What actually happened was me failing to create a grammatically correct sentence for the first week, regressing to the vocabulary of a 4-year-old and gesturing — there was a lot of gesturing.

The whole point of going abroad to a non-English speaking country is to improve your language skills to the point

of fluency because there’s absolutely no way you can’t become fluent when you’re living and breathing another language, right?

Although my French has improved dramatically, it wasn’t all as easy as I thought. Taking classes in a different language with native speakers is a lesson in humility — it gets frustrating when you have ideas to express but lack the words to do so. I’ve ended up having my share of classic language mix-ups — false cognates like preservatifs (which means female condom in English) can lead to some awkward dinner conversations with the host mom — but everyone I’ve encountered has been nothing but patient and gracious with my mispronunciations and the many times I’ve resorted to simply pointing.

I came to France expecting to be hopping on trains and planes to picturesque destinations, exploring museums and seeing sites and posting artsy Instagrams with friends from Georgetown. I actually ended up spending hours upon hours sitting squished in the middle seat (always the middle seat!), learning how to use an iPhone compass and experiencing awkwardly tearful but joyful reunions with friends in hostel lobbies.

Travelling has played a huge part in my experience abroad. I’ve been to four countries and eight cities, eaten currywurst and drunk sangria, climbed the Eiffel Tower, sung at Oktoberfest and In-

stagrammed in front of the Berlin wall.

It’s been adventurous and exhilarating and has forced me to push my boundaries and step outside of my comfort zone. But glamorous? Not quite.

I was a bit of a skeptic about the idea of staying in hostels, but I’ve grown to love them: the bunk beds with their little curtains, the camaraderie found in shared bathrooms and bar crawls, even the requisite 30-something guy who snores and wears pajamas all day.

I’m not exactly a low-maintenance traveler but I’ve gotten better. Now I can manage a weekend away with just a backpack, because, in the words of Anthony Bourdain, I am “a traveler, not a tourist.” Sometimes I wear the same sweater for three days, which can be problematic for Facebook photos but is otherwise surprisingly and completely bearable. I desperately hope, as do the US Airways baggage handlers, that this is a skill I bring home.

Obviously, not everything worked out exactly as I’d planned, but I’m really grateful for that. My experience has been a lot less perfect and a lot more fun than anything I could have imagined.

After everything that’s happened, I can safely say: go abroad. Take pictures, write postcards, travel by yourself, make friends on trains, use real maps, keep a journal, screw up a lot and learn from it. And remember to bring your peanut butter.

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1. Côte de Nuit, Dijon, France 2. Annecy, France 3. Powerscourt Estate, Wicklow, Ireland 4. Place Bellecour, Lyon, France All photos courtesy Arianne Price

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didn’t know what to expect when I chose to leave Georgetown for a semester abroad in India. I imagined grand adventures involving yoga gurus, elephants and exotic Indian feasts.

Coincidentally, in all these fantasies, I happened to look like Julia Roberts. While I have had several adventures travelling around India — some even involving elephants and yoga gurus — the most impactful experiences are the minor events I have encountered each day. As my time in India draws to a close, it has been the sights, interactions and incidents that have delighted me, frustrated me and changed me the most.

Crossing the road — a seemingly simple task — is one of the most exhilarating and terrifying experiences I’ve had since coming to Pune, a metropolitan area in western India. The roads are very narrow with no lanes and, from what I’ve gathered, minimal traffic rules. They’re overrun with motorcycles, rickshaws, cars, buses and the occasional herd of cattle. I’ve even heard about an elephant that sometimes roams the streets of

Pune, India

Pune, though I have never seen it myself. Pedestrians are rarely given the right of way, so crossing busy roads becomes unnervingly like “Frogger.”

To make things more confusing, people drive on the left side of the road. The whole experience of crossing the road is excitingly different from anything I’ve known before, and it’s one of the things I’m proud to say I’ve mastered in my time here.

There are still times though, like when I’m almost annihilated by a bus making a left turn, when I long for the safety of crosswalks.

Along with crossing the road, walking down Pune’s busy streets is one of the most interesting things I’ve done during my time in India. Boring as it might sound, there really is an incredible amount to look at every day, and the two-kilometer walk I make from my home to my school is like a microcosm of modern, urban India. Pune isn’t much of a tourist destination, and so the street vendors are not nearly as ubiquitous as they are in New Delhi or Agra — the home of the Taj Mahal.

Still, during my walk, I pass several book sellers, a

by Zoe Bertrand

small child selling “Angry Birds” balloons and a whole row of fruit stands selling fragrant guavas and glistening red pomegranates. I pass people who are professional beggars, like the family living outside of the mosque I see daily. Sometimes they ask for money, but it seems like more often they are going about the business of daily life only without the shelter of a roof over their heads.

Between my home and my school, there are several Hindu shrines, each hung with decorative strands of flowers. One of them often features intricate designs created out of colorful, powdered chalk called rangoli.

It is also not uncommon to pass heaping piles of trash in various states of burning or being burnt. This fairly disgusting practice speaks volumes of India’s problematic lack of a decent waste management system. The fascinating thing about Pune is not the contrast of rich cultural beauty with the presence of upsetting ugliness, but the way that the two come hand in hand. Wealth and poverty, holiness and dirtiness, happiness and

sadness exis one another The daily Pune have b of life in Ind women’s em interesting part of the eating lunch The women sharing the er. Whether table or 15, everyone in into a warm the women ways go out the convers seem genuin thoughts on understand Simple gestu

st side by side, and inextricably from r. y interactions I have with people in been some of my absolute favorite parts dia. I have an internship working for a mpowerment group. Disregarding the work I am doing for them, the best internship is the hour or so I spend h with my supervisors and co-workers. n are overwhelmingly generous when eir food with me and with one anothr there are five women sitting at our , a single orange will be split among n the room. This turns a simple meal m, almost familial experience. Though n don’t speak English, someone will alt of their way to translate key parts of sation for me, and the women always nely interested when I try to share my n the subject, though I know they can d little to nothing of what I am saying. tures like these have made me feel less

like an awkward American giant and more like a valued member of their community.

To be sure, I have also had negative experiences with people here. My white skin makes me an easy target for being cheated by vendors and rickshaw drivers. I have, once or twice, felt uncomfortable and even violated because of the interactions I’ve had with men on the street. Reconciling these dualities is something I have struggled with and will likely continue to struggle with even after I return to Wahington, D.C. My time in India has been one of the most worthwhile experiences of my life. I have learned to be patient — the slow Internet here will have that effect on you — but I have also become more assertive. I’ve realized just how privileged a life I lead, and I’ve started to consider how much my culture has shaped my beliefs and desires. I remain excited to go back to America, though. Personal growth aside, I’m still a nice Jewish girl at heart, and no nice Jewish girl should go so long without eating a decent bagel.

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1. Mumbai, India 2. Taj Mahal, Agra, India 3. Amer Fort, Amer, India 4. Rishikesh, India 5. Ajanta Caves, Jalgaon, India All photos courtesy Zoe Bertrand

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Madrid, Spain I

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should start with a disclaimer: My trip to Spain has been my first real trip outside the United States, and, for that matter, off of the Eastern Seaboard. Despite an orientation session, my expectations and preparation for study abroad were nonexistent. The weeks leading up to my departure were full of questions from interested family and friends: “But do you speak Spanish?” “Are you going to like the food?” “I’m guessing I’m not going to get my DVDs of “The Wire” back until January then?” I brushed them all off, thinking that everything was going to work out and that I just needed to go into the whole experience with an open mind.

Fast forward to Aug. 26, 2013, at 9:30 a.m. I am standing in the Madrid-Barajas Airport arguing through my jet lag with the desk worker about why my bag ended up in Miami and not Madrid in a weird mix of Spanish, English and vigorous hand motions. In this moment of crisis, my six years of high school Spanish went out the door, with the exception of “esto es una broma” (“this is a joke”) and “ahora, no tengo ropa” (“now, I don’t have clothes”). Spain had welcomed me with anything but open arms.

I love Spain: the people, culture, weather, everything. As an American though, it’s not the easiest place to become adjusted to. In Madrid, life is approached differently. If you pass a friend in the street, even if you’re rushing

by Sean Sullivan

somewhere, you stop and have a brief conversation with him or her, just to show you can give him or her the time of day. The famous Spanish siesta is less of a giant, country-wide nap and more of a chance to savor a long lunch followed by a few hours away from the hustle and bustle of life while enjoying the company of others. Food is never eaten on the go, and I’ve been stared at rushing down the street with a snack. The general theme of not unduly stressing oneself and taking time to breathe and laugh was exactly what I was confronted with when I came through baggage claim my first day. I had to abandon my type-A personality and East Coast sensibility which compelled me to rush directly onto the next task. In hindsight, I couldn’t be happier that I did so. Even though it may just be the fact that in my program, classes are pass-fail — and the Spanish cutoff for passing is getting 50 percent percent correct – I haven’t felt as tightly wound as I do in the States. Between schoolwork, travelling and errands, I still accomplish a lot, but I don’t feel that creeping sense that I should be sprinting to the next thing on my list.

If you only read the financial news about Spain, you probably think the sky has already fallen. The reality of the country in the European Union’s worst unemployment crisis is far more nuanced. The sense I’ve gotten over my time is that, at the risk of generalizing, the Spanish people are distinctly proud. Reported unemployment of 26.6 percent does not translate into widespread panic or exploitation. There is, however, a palpable caution to the once-carefree country. Madrid’s Christmas lights will turn on much later to cut costs. Every day on the way to school, I am handed a flyer by the man at the entrance to the Metro informing me that his organization is willing to buy my gold. Despite this, the Spaniards

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have not lost their spark. Going out on a weekend involves staying out until 7 a.m. so you can take the Metro home. During September, Madrid was in contention to host the 2020 Summer Olympics. My friends and I went to a watchparty at the Puerta de Alcala near the center of the city, along with 400,000 other people. After hours of dancing, singing and partying in the square, it was announced that Madrid had been eliminated. Instead of turning into an angry or dejected mob, the crowd fired off a quick “hijo de puta” chant at the Olympic Committee, clapped when the announcer promised to do it all again for 2024 and went home for dinner and drinks.

I realized that this was a perfectly Spanish way to respond. Later that night at a local friend’s apartment, I asked if he was upset Madrid didn’t make it, and he responded, lying on the couch, “I didn’t even go, Pirates of the Caribbean was finally on with Spanish subtitles.”

Now, less than a month from returning home, I’m left with a weird desire to be in two places at once: home with family and friends in the United States and the ensuing sense of normalcy, and in Madrid, my new home and my platform to explore the rest of the world. Daily, I find myself saying that I couldn’t be happier living in Madrid, and that if there were ever a place I’d leave the United States for, this would probably be it. Even though I was already technically an adult, in at least one way, I’ve grown up on this trip. I’ve realized that it is impossible to have everything I want in one moment or place, so I need to take what I can, when I can. What comes to mind is a particularly applicable lyric by Taylor Swift, my personal favorite source of Americana while I’ve been abroad.

Faced with questions about upcoming classes, housing, and post-grad life, it’s nice to remember, “This is the golden age of something good and right and real.”

1. San Caralampio Church, Galicia, Spain 2. Monument to Alfonso XII in Buen Retiro Park, Madrid, Spain 3. Madrid, Spain 4. Buen Retiro Park, Madrid, Spain 5. Catedral de la Almudena, Madrid, Spain 6. Palacio de Cristal, Madrid, Spain All photos courtesy Sean Sullivan

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Shanghai, China C

hina is a massive country, far beyond what one person can possibly summarize or understand. Any one statement I could try to make about my impression of the country would be vague or incorrect. The best that I can do is describe how it feels to me. China somehow seems like the most modern country and the most backward country at the same time, which makes any visit to a new place that much more exciting.

Beautiful, gleaming skyscrapers tower over streets where Maseratis speed past rickshaws and bicycles. A dysfunctional and unreliable ambulance system services some of the most modern hospitals in existence. The wealthy government has used its enormous cash reserves to throw the country into the future, and everything else is still catching up. The Chinese are so much like us, but also so different — and that is just the beginning of what my time abroad has taught me.

I came to China with a reasonable amount of background knowledge about the country and its culture. Prior to coming to Shanghai, I had studied abroad in Taipei for a summer. I am moderately proficient in Mandarin, and I spent a significant amount of my freshman year interacting with Chinese exchange students. So when I arrived in Shanghai this fall, I thought I was prepared for most of the things that could surprise me. I knew that people smoke in public places, that crossing the street is a life-threatening ordeal and that the air quality can and will

shorten your life expectancy. I did not expect to learn much more beyond that. I was incredibly wrong.

What I find most striking about walking around China is the ridiculous pace of growth that happened almost overnight. That fact struck me even in Shanghai, which is already very developed, but more so when I traveled to smaller cities like Changsha, Guiyang and Chengdu — when it comes to China, the word “smaller” still means more populous than all but the largest cities in the Western Hemisphere. In these cities, I could not look anywhere without seeing several construction cranes. It is one thing to hear that the country maintains an average annual GDP growth rate of 8.5 percent but you do not really get a sense for what that means or what keeps that number up in terms of visible progress, until you get here. Construction is so universal and so constant that even in the three short months that I have been here, I have watched roads be destroyed, buildings be cleared out and skyscrapers rise up from the ground. Nothing ever feels finished and things are always changing. It’s amazing to stand under the construction of a new skyscraper and realize that I’m watching the construction of the future.

Even in my own attitude toward the country and its people, I would find myself gravitating toward extremes. One day, I would love everything about the nation — the kindness and diversity of the people, the strange ways it can feel like a freer nation than the United States, the incredible cleverness and ingenuity of the Chinese and the fascinating varieties of food that far outnumber what is available in my own country. But other days, I hate China and become extremely cynical. Why does the ambulance system not work? Why is that I cannot even walk

by Henry Parrott to my job without somebody trying to lure me into a scam tea ceremony, where exorbitantly high prices are charged for a simple preparation and consumption of tea? Why does my friend need to argue with a fruit salesman for 10 minutes to lower the price of a bag of oranges by one yuan? How could people be so seemingly rude and inconsiderate? Both ways of thinking contradict each other, and both ways of thinking are wrong.

But that’s China. To understand it, you have to break through the extremes to see what is actually there. You have to try and see what is left at the end of the day, when your emotional ups and downs melt away, and what you see is a country of mind-numbing complexity. The scores of problems and inconveniences are outweighed only by the incredible potential, hopefulness and fierce pride of the Chinese people. They may try to haggle you out of your money, but they are the most loyal people I’ve interacted with in my life. The whole system seems crazy and disorganized to the foreign eye, but the Chinese are able to accomplish an incredible amount in record time, and they always do it in their own way.

Economic development also comes with costs, not just in terms of money, but in the effects it has on the people that live where the development is occurring. I spoke with a college student my own age who grew up in a small rural town in Hunan province. He told me how everything he had known as a child — his old home and elementary school — had been leveled to build apartment complexes. He told me he envied where I grew up, because a side effect of being a developed country is a much greater degree of infrastructural stability. This made me reflect on the little comforts in my life that I often take for granted.

He told me that he could never return

to the place he remembered as home, and that this gave him a sense of emotional loss, as he missed something that could never really be recovered. It left my friend feeling as if there was no way to go but forward, and I suspect that he is not alone.

Another consequence of development is environmental destruction. I came to China expecting to be horrified by hideous man-made structures etching deep scars on what was once a pristine natural landscape. I am a person who tends to have strong feelings of guilt, hopelessness and sadness when I reflect on how human activities affect the environment.

China was the last place on the planet I expected to actually have these feelings reversed. Hiding in the hills of this vast city are some of the most beautiful landscapes in the world. While sitting in airplanes, buses and trains as I travelled throughout the Chinese countryside, there are forests and mountains as far as the eye can see. I’ve done quite a bit of travelling in my time here and with each visit to a new place untouched by development, I am taken aback by the way the world used to look. Even here, in a nation synonymous with environmental problems, there are sprawling areas of natural beauty.

I see certain ideas in the spirit of the Chinese people that have given me an even deeper appreciation for their culture. Although the Chinese have many problems to confront, I have a great deal of faith that they will overcome these challenges and become one of the largest, most influential economies on the planet. I believe in China, and I believe that the lasting effects of China’s influence on the world can be positive. I believe that when China’s time comes, it can create a legacy of making the world a better place.

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1. Shanghai, China 2. Workers at the Shanghai World Expo Center, Shanghai, China All photos courtesy Henry Parrott

Cape Town, South Africa 1

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3 1. Cape Peninsula 2. Enkanini, Cape Town, South Africa 3. Oude Bosch, South Africa All photos courtesy Alicia Ly

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lephants. Nelson Mandela. A drinking age of 18. These were the thoughts occupying my mind when I hopped off the plane in Cape Town, South Africa, in July, embarking on my semester at the University of Stellenbosch. I had spent the last few weeks of summer dawdling around home with friends from high school, and I was itching to start my study abroad experience. What I knew about South Africa was an amalgamation of facts learned through history courses and pop culture. From these I was aware that apartheid had ended almost 20 years ago, that Mandela’s health was fading and that Die Antwoord had some freaky music videos. These facts do not paint an accurate or flattering portrait of the country I would soon come to know and love.

The program I chose at the University of Stellenbosch had been vetted and recommended to me by other Georgetown students. About 50 km east of Cape Town, Stellenbosch is the historically Afrikaans university, meaning it was founded and populated by white settlers of Dutch ancestry. The town is situated in the Cape Winelands region, and scads of European tourists frequent the area for its Dutch Colonial architecture and neighborhood cafes. Luckily for me and my minimal language skills, courses have been taught in English at the university since 2003, and I was able to converse with nearly everyone I met.

My residence hall, the only coed dorm on campus, has had reserved rooms for American students since 2007 and everyone was welcoming and friendly to the Amerikaanse. It surprised me how universal the aspects of college dorm life are: quiet hours, awful cafeteria food and drunken plant-stealing antics. Perhaps because orientation had prepared me for the culture shock, I had an easier time with my initial adjustment to life at Stellenbosch than I did during my freshman year at Georgetown.

Most students take classes only within their major, and since no classes are graded on a curve, students often study together. As if encouraging students not to work too hard, the library isn’t even open on Sundays, so I enjoyed a pleasant vacation from the disappointment that is Lau on Sunday nights.

Instead of packing their schedule with extracurriculars, Stellenbosch students spend their leisure time hanging out in their dorm room with their friends or watching American TV series. Almost everyone I met was a devoted fan of “New Girl,” and I had to break the news to several people that American college life is, in fact, not like the show “Greek” and that American parties are not all like “Project X.” Since I

by Micaela Deitch

lacked internet in my dorm room, I spent the first few weeks in pursuit of activities to fill my time. I signed up for my hall’s soccer team, the wine society and a film club, craving responsibilities and commitment. My American friends and I went out frequently, usually meeting only other international students at the local bars. I was eager to meet as many people as possible and wanted to feel like I was getting the most from my time at Stellenbosch. As the semester wore on, I began to understand the schedule of my local friends, one that moved at a slower pace than what I was used to. This does not mean tardiness, but more that time is not viewed simply as a limited resource and should not be constantly managed or occupied. The lengthy pauses between courses at restaurants, the midday closings of shops and cafes and the sporadic nature of train schedules are some of the various incarnations of a more luxurious use of time. “But how long will the braai [or dinner or hike] last?” I remember inquiring of our sagacious program director Joe, who planned various excursions for our group throughout the semester. “Until it is done,” was the common reply. At about halfway through my time in South Africa, I finally acclimated to this new pace of life, going out less, savoring my meals for both the food and the company and having fewer commitments, only to find myself enjoying them more.

T.I.A., meaning This Is Africa, was a common catchphrase heard among international students, usually uttered in encounters with nonWestern culture. But for all the excitement and novelty we, the visitors to the country, felt about being in South Africa, I found that the locals associated themselves more with their own family and culture and were reluctant to identify with the country as a whole. Students repeatedly told me I wasn’t in “real Africa,” a place far away from the comfortable lifestyle of Stellenbosch. I believed them at first, because my time at the university was so similar to my life in America. If I couldn’t find South Africa in Stellenbosch, I expected to see and experience it while I travelled, in places that would show me the beauty of its nature, and in the people who lived happily.

Over my semester holiday, we drove along the coast of the Western Cape, where I hiked, seakayaked and took a game drive through Addo Elephant Park. While these places are stunningly beautiful, they are frequented by more tourists than citizens. In some of the more remote areas I visited, there was a surprising amount of development and technology. Huge soccer stadiums stand in tiny village towns, remote mountain lodges have internet and gift shops and everyone and their mother has a cellphone (South Africa has more mobile phone subscriptions per capita than the United States). Although some parts are wealthier and more developed, the notion that any part of South Africa is more real or authentic than others is false. The tourists, the Afrikaaners, the descendants of the Khoi-San and even the foreign exchange students all create the vibrant and interesting place that South Africa is today.

See thehoya.com for additional study abroad reflections.

Valparaíso, Chile

the guide

EXECUTIVE EDITOR TM GIBBONS-NEFF LAYOUT EDITOR IAN TICE

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF EMMA HINCHLIFFE

GUIDE EDITOR KIM BUSSING

MANAGING EDITOR SHEENA KARKAL

Contributing Editors: Allison Hillsbery, Jess Kelham-Hohler, Lindsay Leasor, Charlie Lowe

COPY CHIEF ROBERT DEPAOLO

Contributing Writers: Zoe Bertrand, Rosie Bichell, Rachel Charow, Lexi Cotcamp, Micaela Deitch, Henry Parrott, Arianne Price, Molly Roach, JC Sites, Sean Sullivan, Angie Wacek

PHOTOGRAPHY EDITOR ALEXANDER BROWN