Final Thoughts on Paris – Philip’s Summer of Adventure

After nearly twelve weeks in Paris, it is hard to believe that my stay here is almost over. In all, I have had a great experience, full of excitement, adventure, and free of any major mishaps. I have spent a lot of time traveling in the second half of this summer (4 out of the last 6 weekends) and have had the chance to see what Europe is really like beyond Paris. 

At the end of June, I spent a weekend in Rome, which is barely enough time to being exploring the wealth of history that is there. In my day and a half that I was actually in the city (due to some unfortunate delays in getting there), I had to rush around to see Vatican City Saturday afternoon and the ancient part of the city on Sunday. 

Rome

 

A couple weeks later, I found myself in London in the company of my good friends Josh, Sachin, and Camden. One comfort in this was being back in a country where I could completely understand the language (my understanding of French has improved this summer, but I am nowhere near fluent). After spending most of Saturday in the British Museum, we attended a midnight showing of Hamlet at Shakespeare’s Globe, standing as “groundlings” in the yard.

The following work week was short, as July 14 was Bastille Day. For the French, this entails a huge festival with celebrations spread out all around Paris (and the rest of the country). Trying to experience as much as possible, I went to an annual military parade on the Champs-Élysées  in the morning, part of a concert on the Champ de Mars (the park by the Eiffel Tower), and ended the day watching fireworks from the banks of the Seine. 

Tour de France

Bastille Day Celebrations

Bastille Day Fireworks

That weekend I jumped on a train again to travel to Caen, in the Normandy region. My main motivation for this trip was to visit the Caen Memorial, a World War II museum focusing on the impact of the war in France. My ticket included a bus trip to visit some important D-day sites along the coast. Under gray, rainy skies (similar, we were told, to what the D-day troops were fighting in), we drove out to Pointe du Hoc to see bunkers and pillboxes built by the Germans as part of the Atlantic Wall to protect against attack from Britain. The landscape was covered in huge craters left by the extensive bombing carried out in the days prior to the landing. From here, we visited Omaha Beach, which has unfortunately been built up so there are houses along the road.  However, we were able to better understand the obstacles that this operation faced, as our guide pointed out the German bunkers built into the bluffs making them difficult to see and attack. Additionally, we visited an American cemetery where thousands of soldiers were buried (and this was U.S. soil, so I was technically back in the U.S. for about an hour) and Arromanches, where we could see the remains of an artificial harbor built by the British to bring supplies to the Allied troops until one of the real harbors along the coast could be captured.

Caen Memorial

My second day in Caen was cut short by the rain. In the morning I walked to some of the older historic sites in the city, including the remains of a castle that was built by William the Conqueror and expanded by his successors. However, by the early afternoon, it was raining too much and I had to pass the rest of my time at the train station.

The weekend after that I spent in Paris as a last chance to see anything I had missed and because the Tour de France finished that weekend. On Sunday, I again trekked over to the Champs-Élysées, where the Tour de France riders make several loops to finish out the race. I was able to find a spot right next to the road, so I had a really good view of the riders as they sped by. 

My final trip was to Avignon this past weekend to see a little bit of southern France.  In contrast to the weather in Normandy, it was sunny and warm in Avignon – perfect weather to walk around and be outside in. Aside from the Palais des Papes, built in the 14^th century when the Papacy was run out of Rome, I had no planned activities, leaving me free to explore. 

Avignon Palais des Papes

Of course, in the time between all of my travels, I have been continuing my research.  This is proceeding at an almost frantic pace as my departure quickly approaches. After some analysis of data we took at the beginning of the summer, we have had new samples prepared and only recently been able to start doing our experiments on them. Added to this is the construction at the university, preventing us from being able to take any data during the day and forcing us to work during the evenings instead. Despite the odd hours I am now working, I am excited to see the results and hopeful that these last couple days of experiments will be a success. 

Overall, this summer was exciting and eye-opening. I have been able to see and experience the differences in lifestyle between France and the U.S. While I may not be able to do all of the experiments I had hoped to finish before leaving Paris, I have learned a lot from my research. Additionally, my opportunity to travel provided me with time to relax and enjoy the history and culture of Europe.

"I came to Oxford and now all I do is sit in my room and study all day," say Sachin and Josh

Whoosh from the cloisters of New College, where Sachin and Josh are members. (You may recognize it as the place Mad-Eye Moody turned Malfoy into a ferret in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.)

It’s been almost a month now since Sachin and I left our friends at beautiful Brunnenburg Castle and made our way from the Italian Alps to the green pastures of Oxford University. After a couple of days of thunderstorms, missed trains, and general difficulties, we found our respective tiny, shabby flats in the heart of the city. The weather was chilly and grey. We had a week to explore the campus, check out the town, get inducted into our College (sort of like a House at Hogwarts), and get ready for class to start.

It didn’t take us long to find out that there are really two Oxfords. There is the Oxford thousands of tourists see every day – cramped, crowded, old, and dreary. It is an Oxford of fast food and souvenir shops, with nothing real to see but the antique stone walls of closed colleges and libraries. The other Oxford, however, is a different thing entirely. When you become a member of a College here, you enter a world of absurdly idyllic, peaceful, walled off courtyards and gardens, of hidden, back-alley pubs and local bookstores. The college we belong to, the New College of St. Mary, or just New College, is actually one of the oldest colleges here, founded in 1379. It was used as a filming location for Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and Tomorrow Never Dies. Parts of our Chapel were copied for use in Canterbury Cathedral. A segment of the original city wall, over a thousand years old, runs through our campus, and has been maintained by New College in perfect order for over seven centuries.

The first few days at Oxford were great. They were full of exploration, excitement, good food, and new friends. Then, in a catastrophic turn of events, classes started.

Sachin came here to study the economics of healthcare, and I wanted to familiarize myself with English novels and poetry. What we knew, but didn’t quite understand yet, was that Oxford courses are different from courses at American universities. Oxford is built upon the idea of the tutorial – an intense one-on-one co-exploration of a subject by a student and a professor. It isn’t a class so much as a collaboration. Sachin and I both came out of our first meeting with our professors amazed by two things. First, we were astounded by the expertise of our tutors. They are unbelievably knowledgeable – true leaders in their fields. The second thing that amazed us was the sheer amount of work we had gotten ourselves into!

I am reading over a thousand pages a week of literary works and their relevant criticisms. Sachin, in addition to his tutorial, has been tossed into a more traditional class his professor was already teaching on public economics. We now spend the vast majority of our time reading, writing, and talking to our tutors. Sachin and I try and get together once a day or so for dinner or ice cream, just as a way to get up and move around for a while. We are neck-deep in the most difficult academic work we have ever attempted. We have never covered so much complex information, in such detail, in so little time. But we have learned an incredible amount.

Sachin has written on theoretical reasons for redistribution of wealth and why charity doesn't work. He’s written on smoking as an economic externality and how smokers may actually, quite perversely, help society by dying earlier and not taking pension benefits. And he’s currently in the process of writing about the US healthcare system. He is studying the theory behind how healthcare should be provided in an ideal community, comparing the US system to those of the UK and Canada and France and Norway, and examining the pros and cons of Obamacare. He and his tutor are putting together ideas on how healthcare in America can be improved.

I have written on Defoe’s precise use of nonstandard capitalization to develop narrative voice and regulate pace and tempo in his novels. I’ve written on the 18^th century literary debate between the ancients and the moderns – the “battle of the books” – and how Alexander Pope’s mock-epic poem The Dunciad can be read as a comment on the direction of literature in his age. And now I’m in the middle of examining the complex relationship between ideas of eloquence, knowledge, and evil in Milton’s Paradise Lost. All throughout my explorations, I am studying an overarching theme of density and pacing in British literature, and trying to tie it to ideas of the urban, the industrial, and the imperial.

It is difficult, as the four-inch-thick book I must continue reading after I finish this post stares at me from my desktop, to truly say that we are having a fun time here. Particularly after we spent last month living in a castle and having tea with a Princess. Here, we barely see the light of day. We live on Nando’s chicken and Kinder chocolate. Our academics are our lives. So it is hard to say we are having fun. But we will both say that this is an incredible experience, and we wouldn’t trade it for the world.

The places built upon that which matters most

From left: Elizabeth, Julia, myself, Eric, Jackie, Jason, and Christianna. The Cuatro Estaciones (Four Seasons) Restaurant. Tuesday, July 26th, 2011. It's only fitting that I'm tucked away in the corner. I am defined by my relationships with others, and on that night, I don't think I could have picked a finer bunch to be defined by. It's been only a little over 24 hours since this photo was taken, but I already miss you all more than I can compose with words. One day, we'll all go back. One day.

This entry will not be about a place. You see, despite my past six weeks in Spain, my brief and beautiful weekend in Italy, and my current status of nursing a cold with Fanta and take-out Chinese in gloriously grey Dublin, today those places bear only marginal personal import. In addition, there’s a strong chance that if you dig well enough through this blog, you’ll find several other entries about the same-ish adventures in the same-ish places scattered about the continent. So instead, I’ll write what most likely has been thought and felt by my fellow Scholars but only mentioned at times.

Today was rough.

It was the last day of my program with the Fundación Ortega y Gasset in Toledo, Spain. I was the only UTD student as part of a small contingent of other solo students with Arcadia University. The rest were large groups from Ohio State, Notre Dame, and The University of Minnesota. I lived within Fundación itself: the convent San Juan de la Penitencia reconverted into a dormitory/classroom building. Living and learning within “The Fúnd” (pronounced “foond”) gave me a taste of dorm life I never had at UTD. And within there and through other students who lived with host families, I developed friendships that are infinitely more valuable than any gilded locale of antiquity.

It’s pretty obvious, but what makes any place a home, regardless of the language spoken, are the people there. You see, Toledo is a beautiful city. It really is. It sits on a high rocky hill surrounded on three sides by the Tagus River and is postcard worthy from any angle at any time of the day. The perilously narrow and steep cobblestone streets challenge tourists and taxis alike, and even with the canopies and cleverly designed curving streets, the Spanish sun can still make it feel as if one never left Richardson. There’s lots of culture, art, and history. El Greco, swords, and marzipan are big deals here. But in all honesty, Toledo merits a long weekend trip from Madrid at most. It became surprisingly predictable after a week or two.

However, Toledo merits a special place in my heart because of the people I met there. I’m not particularly religious, but I can’t help but feel that some (non-Tarantino) divine intervention was at work during my time there. I expected to make friends and have a good time, but I didn’t expect just how close some of us would become. It worked counter to all my other friendships built upon time much longer and experiences more difficult. It happened in just six weeks. But it worked. And I can’t help but feel indescribably blessed by the people – not the places, food, nor tours – I have been given. Indeed it is my experiences with those people that are the most important part of my time in Spain.

It was by having breakfast early on that first Saturday that I went on my first run with Jackie. It was a chance encounter that would help me find a new running partner, but by the end of our last run, help me find a true friend when I needed one most. It was through playing cards the second afternoon that I met Jason, a young man who served as more than just a font of free laundry supplies but also as a measure of how far I’ve come in three years and how much I still have to go. It was by playing ninja in the lobby that I met Christianna, a young lady wise well beyond her years, with whom I shared precious conversations on her balcony about life, love, swing dance, and God. It was through buying a pesky red wristband and touring too many Toledan churches that I met Julia, our unofficial “líder” whose mind is as sharp as the sword she’s bringing home, and Elizabeth, the tall gentle beauty (who’s not actually 25 and from Australia) with whom I shared a passion for art and tasty food in Italy. It was through something random that I met Dickson, a manic of a man who rivals some of the people I know at UTD in bluntness and hilarity. It was through random musing about Onomatopoeia and flash mobs that I met Viktoria. It was through just sitting down at lunch with two new dudes that I met Lonnie and Sarvesh, two glorious gentlemen that taught me how to plank, made me speak Spanish during mealtimes, and gave a weekend in Italy to remember forever.

Indeed it was chance encounters with the above and so many other wonderful people that makes me feel even more blessed when I reflect upon how strong of friendships we have cultivated in so short a time. If there’s anything to be learned from this it’s that the scenery of a study abroad location is just that: scenery. The cast is the focus and should be. It is the lifelong friendships I’ve made here that inspire me to write as tangentially and cheesily as I have. Places like the Alhambra and Venice will be around for a while, hundreds or even thousands of years in some cases. People won’t. It’s precisely why they’re that much more precious, more deserving of space on this blog than whatever shiny old thing I saw in some overpriced city.

Today was rough. We had to leave at 5:30 for the Madrid airport and this did not allow for the most ideal of goodbyes. Viktoria and I learned the hard way that one cannot travel between terminals, even after check-in, even if it’s just to see dear friends off. I then had to go by myself to here in Dublin, where the grey skies reflect my sense of melancholy after departing sunny Spain and the friends I had there. I already really miss them, even though some are still within transit in the US.

But I know that one shouldn’t be sad that something is over and instead be happy that it actually happened. I think Dr. Seuss said that. I feel nostalgia in the most bittersweet and painful sense, and when I finally return home to the United States, it’ll hit me harder than today that I’m not quite sure if and when I’ll see mis queridos amigos de Toledo. It’ll hit hard when I actually stop procrastinating and upload all the photos I’ve taken in the past month.

But for now, I’ll upload the one that graces the bottom of this entry. It’s of several of us on our last night, having a nice last supper as former strangers, now lifelong friends. I have no idea when we’ll ever take that photo ever again. But I have faith it will. Somehow. Some way. Some day. For now, as much as I look forward to my planned trips through Ireland, London, and Scotland, I’m even looking even more forward to the days when I can travel to Columbus, Ohio; Notre Dame, Indiana; and Minneapolis, Minnesota. And of course, I look forward to returning to Fort Worth and Richardson. These aren’t places built upon cobblestone and gold, nor grand history and culture. These are places that are built upon that which matters most. These are places that are built upon friendship and upon love.

Highlights from Irene's trip to Argentina

Photo: Marissa and me jumping and attempting a "Whoosh!" in front of the Floralis Generica

During my first weekend in Buenos Aires, my friends Marissa, Husain, and I all went to the Buenos Aires Zoo together. Upon entering, we were surprised and pleased to discover that many animals were just wandering around loose on the path, including ducks and some strange animal that looked like a combination rabbit and dog. After holding out on spending the money for awhile, I finally broke down and bought a bag of food, which all three of us shared. It was a good purchase, as we proceeded to feed zebras, llamas, goats, deer, lemurs, giraffes, and several other animals. We had the most fun with the giraffes, because if you threw the food far enough away from them, they would extend their super long and flexible tongues to get it. Overall we had a great time; the day wasn't too hot, and the zoo was very pretty, although a bit run down. Later when I discussed this excursion with my Spanish teacher, she suggested I check out a larger zoo called Temaiken, where the visitors can supposedly pet most of the animals, including wild animals such as tigers. Unfortunately I ran out of time to explore this other zoo, as it was a bit of a trip to go there, but I had a great time with the animals in Buenos Aires nonetheless.

During my first week in Buenos Aires, I began attending Spanish classes at the Fundacion de Ortega y Gasset. My Spanish teacher's name was Juliette, and it was just Lye-Yeng and me in the advanced Spanish class, so we received lots of personal attention. Juliette was by far the best Spanish teacher I have had in my life. She was incredibly knowledgeable about linguistics and therefore was very good at explaining things. She spoke in Spanish the entire time during class, but she was very easy to understand and had lots of insight on Argentine Spanish and culture. The first day of class we discussed differences between Argentine Spanish and Latin American Spanish that I had been totally unaware of, such as pronouncing "ll" as a "j" and changing verb conjugations in the second person singular. We also spent a lot of time in class discussing differences between American, Argentine, Malaysian, and Moroccan culture, all in Spanish of course. I could tell my Spanish was improving every day, and I was glad we had so many oral exercises in class. It was also helpful and exciting that Juliette also taught Latin at the university in Buenos Aires. Sometimes she was able to better teach me a concept in Spanish by relating it to Latin.

I had some good times with friends in Buenos Aires. One Saturday, Marissa and I went to Recoleta together and wandered around the large weekend market they have there for several hours. Afterwards we attempted to enter the cemetery, but it closed right as we approached the gates. To make up for this unfortunate event we walked to the nearby Floralis Generica, a large metal flower sculpture that opens and closes its petals depending on the time of day. We felt it was necessary to take some cliche tourist photos in front of the flower, and we proceeded to do so for almost an hour, having way to much fun in the process. The flower is very amazing and beautiful and is a nice touch to the city.

During the middle of the trip the group found out about an upcoming concert at the famous stadium Luna Park. La Fuerza Bruta, an Argentine acrobatics team that is similar to the American Blue Man Group was giving performances over several nights there. The entire group eagerly purchased tickets for the show, but unfortunately I was a bit slow on the uptake and did not figure out my plans for that night until it was too late to buy a ticket. I was extremely disappointed, especially when I heard reports from the others the next day about how awesome and interactive the show had been. I determined that I would make up for my situation by buying tickets for a later performance, even if I had to go alone. Based on tips from my friends, who were disappointed in the seats they had had, I purchased tickets for the pit. While I would have to stand during the entire show, these "seats" would be more exciting because the acrobats would enter and perform in the pit. Sure enough the performance was very exciting! The show was a combination of percussive music, inscrutable acting, and acrobatics. It featured movable stages and cranes that were constantly being driven in and out of the pit, forcing the audience to have to move out of the way continuously, as well as a large plastic beehive sheet that was thrown over the audience on which the acrobats ran, and two large clear plastic swimming pools that were lowered close enough over the audience's heads, so that they could touch the girls that were swimming in them, through the plastic of course. At one point water was dumped on the audience in the pit, and the entire pit routinely became a mosh pit. Needless to say, I was soaking wet and a bit dirty by the time the entire show was over, but I had a great time and enjoyed talking about the show with some new Argentine friends as I took the subway home.

As the end of the trip drew near, some friends and I realized that we had been to only one milonga, La Catedral, and that even this milonga probably wasn't representative of most Argentina milongas. Determined to remedy this situation, Jessica and I headed to a new milonga one evening. We arrived, and the place seemed crowded and very fun. They were alternating between tango music and other kinds of music such as salsa and rock-and-roll. We eventually found a table, and I ordered some lemon ice cream. While I was happily eating my lemon ice cream, determined that I would never dance, but hoping that Jessica would get asked to dance, so she could show off her tango skills, an older man approached me and asked for a dance. I was horrified. I immediately declined and told him to ask Jessica instead, but this cute old man was very insistent and told me he would wait till I finished my lemon ice cream and then we could dance. Despite my continuous protestations, I soon realized that my only option in this situation was to dance with the nice man, which was unfortunate for me since I knew no tango whatsoever, or any kind of dance really. Luckily this man (I think his name was Eduardo, but I don't remember for sure) was very patient and kind and taught me a few basic steps and one more fancy step. I could tell that he was a very good dancer, as I always knew where we were heading on the dance floor and I never got stepped on, even when I was not doing the steps correctly. While I'm sure I was horrible, I had a very fun time and enjoyed the tips he gave me ("Don't look at your feet"), as well as the stories he told me about his daughter who lives in Florida. To my surprise, after that performance, he asked me to dance again for some rock-and-roll songs. At this point I started to feel bad, because I, with no dance experience and really no desire to dance, was getting asked regularly, while Jessica, with tons of dance experience and a huge desire to dance some more tango before leaving Buenos Aires, had not gotten asked yet. The situation was only exacerbated when I was asked to dance again, this time by a different and younger guy. He was not as good and kept running us into other dancers, but I appreciated that he too provided me some lessons on basic steps while we were dancing. We must have been a humorous dance couple, as he was much shorter than me. Once again I had more fun than I thought I would, and I left the milonga in a good mood.