February 2013 – Page 2 – GW Blogs from Abroad

Brussels Review

AdminFebruary 19, 2013December 14, 2018

Brutally Honest Opinion of Brussels:

Overall, I rate Brussels a 7 and just to give you an idea of how I rate other cities: Washington DC 9, NYC 8, Atlanta 8, Charlotte, NC 9. Brussels thus far is a city I appreciate but not a city that I have potential to fall in love with and here is why..

Pros: Brussels is a multicultural hub. The majority of Brussels citizens are open minded to foreigners and different languages. The entire city if filled with different nationalities and backgrounds that keep the prejudices that other French speaking countries have to a minimum. People are for the most part friendly to Americans and other nationalities.

The people of Brussels are very liberal socially. They passed a gay marriage act in two hours and the people of Belgium barely seemed to notice. They are open about most topics and dress far from conservatively.

As mentioned before, there are French fries and waffles on every corner. It doesn't get much better than that.

Cons: First I want to point out, Brussels is not the cute European town that would be expected when travelling to Brussels for the first time. It has some pretty sectors but the other parts are not as quaint and Euro looking. The town looks a little dreadful. Though, this might have something to do with the weather. The weather is dreadful. It’s what I imagine Seattle to be like: nonstop rain. It rains almost every day for at least an hour, is cloudy all the time, and of course it is cold as well.. but I think that’s just a Northern thing that isn't actually a legitimate complaint.

Brussels just doesn't give me a warm fuzzy feeling. Which I know seems completely absurd but I remember walking in DC for the first time and falling in love. Also, every time I’m in downtown (uptown) Charlotte I am comfortable and at home. Brussels - not the case. I don’t think Brussels has the charm I am used to.

Heckling. We can’t go anywhere without getting shout outs from men. Harassment is an issue they have been trying to address. While the men never touch you and the confidence booster is nice, it is quite annoying.

Everyone goes about their own business here. There is no talking in lines, picking up a conversation on bus, or anything a southern gal is used to. Where I grew up, you chat with everyone or make polite small chat. Everything is quiet here, public transportation, the gym, etc. The only time it is loud is if you share a train with another group of Americans. The stereotype holds true - Americans are loud. Most likely due to the fact that Europe is quiet.

However, like any place you live, the people you surround yourself with is what makes the place home or not home. I think Brussels would be about a 4 or a 5 if it weren't for the family our CIEE group creates. Though I would never move here, these next 3 months will still be fabulous.

Lapping up a little culture

AdminFebruary 19, 2013December 14, 2018

By unprofoundobservations

While last Sunday marked the beginning of the Chinese New Year, celebrations have been taking place throughout Paris all week and finally culminated today with the grand parade in le Quartier Chinois in the south of Paris, the 13th arrondissement. I was able to watch the kick-off parade in the center of the city last Saturday, and then spent this weekend exploring the French Chinatown and everything delicious it had to offer. Like all major metropolises Paris has an incredibly thriving and diverse immigrant population that has made its mark on the city and introduced festivals, foods, languages, and some controversy. The 13th arrondissement was not always the Chinatown of Paris but has always been known for its architecture and urban development. That is to say, it was known as a massive architectural failing on the part of the French government when they built some of the cities first high-rise apartment buildings in the south of the 13th. These structures were considered such an affront to Baron Haussman's wrought-iron vision of Paris that it was nearly impossible to fill them, until the 1970s and 1980s saw a rise in immigration from Africa and Asia.

Now the buildings and streets of the 13th are decorated with brightly colored curtains and flags advertising Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Korean, Algerian, and North African supermarkets and restaurants. The parade today marched through streets clogged with Parisians enjoying the festivities where spectators were able to buy bean paste cakes, pain au chocolat, and barb a papa (cotton candy) side-by-side. Massive strings of firecrackers hung from every apartment window and building facade, and the dragons danced throughout the streets and sidewalks regardless of spectators (much like Parisian moped drivers). Le Quartier Chinois has quickly become one of my favorite spots in the city; it's bearably priced, has the only grocery stores where I can actually buy tofu, and feels much more lived in that any other part of Paris. When walking to a Pho restuarant for lunch, we passed a sign reading "End of Tourist Zone" clearly meant as a joke, but there was a certain truth to it. Paris will always be a city for tourists and locals alike - I don't believe that one has to live here to appreciate its beauty - but it was refreshing to see a part of the city that is so rarely traversed by tourists. Children played in the streets, school yards, and the park next to Notre-Dame-de-Chine (Our Lady of China church). Parents had no qualms about carrying groceries and laundry through the streets in comfortable weekend clothes. While my host family and everyone around us also performs these daily and necessary tasks, it is always with an iconic Parisian backdrop and that certain je ne sais quoi that makes this city so irresistibly elegant and lovely. However, the 13th has reached a certain level of beautiful contentedness and comfort that makes a neighborhood feel like a community.

It was bizarrely meta to watch another cultural celebration taking place in a culture I am still working to understand, but was one of the most festive weekends I've spent here. Whether assembling for a manifestation or a fête the Parisians love to gather and party, and they're willing to welcome anyone to such celebrations. Residents hung out their apartment windows to watch the parades, children climbed bus stops and scaffolding to get a better view (and then nearly jumped off when a string of fireworks exploded next to them), and everywhere gorgeous floats and costumes paraded about. Even in a city with such a distinct and proud culture I was able to find some variety and melding. Though some of the French may not consider bahn mi followed with an eclair and bubble tea an ideal lunch, it made my weekend.

The Dirty Costa Rica

AdminFebruary 19, 2013December 14, 2018

By rachels522

Costa Rica is known worldwide for being one of the most beautiful countries in the world. It’s known for being lush and having amazing flowers and colors. So far I can’t disagree. Costa Rica is absolutely one of the most gorgeous places that I have ever been. However, there is another side to Costa Rica. There is a side of Costa Rica that doesn’t get publicized in the Eco-tourism magazines. One experience made me acutely aware of the fact that despite the renowned beauty of this country, it is still developing.

My group visited La Carpio, a turgurio (shantytown), located outside of the capital city of Santa Elena. La Carpio started as a haven for Nicaraguan refugees fleeing civil war in the 1980s. These refugees illegally squatted on an abandoned coffee plantation. Since the 1980s the neighborhood of La Carpio has grown exponentially and today the population is roughly 34,000 people. Many are the children and grandchildren of the original settlers. What struck me about La Carpio was how different it was from the postcard version of Costa Rica. The streets were lined with trash. Some of the houses were smaller than dorm rooms, and based off of the laundry on the clotheslines, the houses seemed like they had maybe four or more people living in them. The river was strewn with trash. Maybe the saddest part about La Carpio is that it is situated next to a landfill, which takes in the trash of the rest of the Central Valley of Costa Rica. This means while the rest of the people in the region have trash service, the residents of La Carpio live next to a dump.

While in La Carpio my group was fortunate enough to meet with a few of the residents. One of the women explained to us that she had arrived from Nicaragua in the 1980s and has been living in La Carpio ever since. She told us about some of the effects of living next to the dump including skin infections and respiratory ailments. However, she also explained to us the resilience of the people of La Carpio. She explained how community activists are working on improving the lives of La Carpio residents. For example they have put together a website entitled La Carpio En Linea (La Carpio Online) that seeks to inform the public about accomplishments in La Carpio.

While in La Carpio we also got a chance to visit the landfill and speak with one of the engineers. This landfill has been in use for roughly ten years, but will be closed to taking new materials in five years. Where will they put waste once the dump closes? Will waste have to be put into one of the gorgeous rainforests?

Although visiting La Carpio was not the same as visiting a green rainforest or admiring wildlife I think it will prove to be one of the most valuable experiences of my trip. It made me realize that in every country, even countries that are supposed to be the epitome of peace and beauty, there lays a different story. From an environmental point of view it is amazing to see how much human refuse can impact the natural landscape and turn it from beautiful to downright ugly. Furthermore, the trip made me question the consumer culture of that I have grown up in. The people in La Carpio live on so little, yet I “need” so much. Perhaps the thing that the trip to La Carpio made me realize the most was how much waste society can produce. Since my visit I have been extra concerned with eating all the food on my plate, turning the lights off when I leave a room, and recycling. I will absolutely take these realizations with me back to the United States and attempt to reduce my impact on the earth.

Not Your Average Pet

AdminFebruary 19, 2013December 14, 2018

By Adar

Haifa is a city filled with nature. Hills, forests, shrubbery and very strange animals. Here are a few you may come across in normal, urban areas (though the latter four are mainly in the park)

Cats.

For those who have never been to Israel this may be unfamiliar, but the streets are ridden with undomesticated cats. During the mandate, the British brought over a lot of cats to kill the rats. The rats left and the cats stayed. One day while I was sitting outside playing guitar, three cats came over to where I was and just sat and listened (albeit suspiciously). It was weird, and I’m scared to already be turning into a cat lady. And they go everywhere. They sit on your doorstep, they scamper around inside academic buildings. They wait with you at the bus station.

Hyrax

Kind of like a bunny, but uglier, the hyrax is an animal that can be found near the sea, on rockier shores. We saw quite a few at Rosh Hanikra.

Wild Boars

No joke, there are wild boars in Haifa. Because we are practically inside the national park, which includes all manner of wildlife, occasionally a few boars from the woods with wander into the streets of Haifa. Don’t mess with the mamas.

Golden Jackal

Along with the boars, the jackals are mainly found in the National Park. I haven’t personally seen one yet, but I imagine seeing one will feel a bit like seeing my life flash before my eyes.

Egyptian Mongoose

I think this is probably the weirdest looking creature found in Haifa. Again, in the national park (which is about a seven minute walk from my dorms).

The Old and the New

AdminFebruary 19, 2013December 14, 2018

By ahblackwell

I stood on my tip toes, my elbows resting on the cool stone wall and my chin sitting on my hands. The green stretching before me wound its way through rows of carefully planted vegetables until it joined the maze of leaves and trees and climbed up the hills before us in smooth, perfectly partitioned grass. Long boney trees jutted out of the grass, their knotted gray bark standing out darkly against the vibrancy of the green hills, and sprouted large twisting nests at the tops of their trunks where storks were perched and clicking happily. I turned to retrace my steps back along the stone wall, but not before pausing to drink in the serenity of the green space before me.Following my friends as we walked single file and chatted about the beauty of the countryside surrounding us, I shielded my eyes against the afternoon sun that was making its way from behind the clouds that had been darkening the walls of the expansive towers around us. We meandered our way through the stone paths that took us up and out of the ancient site, making sure not to trip over the tumbling rocks that made up the inside of the fortress. We passed under the crumbling brown walls of the gate that has been standing for almost 2,000 years and turned towards our city, its traffic and noises rushing back into our senses. Challah, the great stone walls that stood behind us, were built in 40 A.D. to protect an early Roman fort. They encircle expansive grounds that hold the stone outlines of ancient bedrooms and public baths. The mosque’s minaret stands tall and beautiful against the Rabatii sky, its blues and turquoises and oranges only slightly worn thanks to occasional up-keep of the building. ...continue reading "The Old and the New"

So it Begins

AdminFebruary 19, 2013December 14, 2018

By jtmanley

After months of planning and preparation, I’m so excited to finally be here in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I knew that things were going to work out when I only had to pay the bag checker at Ronald Reagan a good tip instead of $100 because my bag was 6 pounds over the weight limit! Before boarding, I had a nice conversation with a Georgetown woman going to Sao Paolo for Carnival, and when I got to New York, it really set in that I was going to be living in a completely different country and immersed in a distinct culture.

Understanding the Argentine accent was simultaneously challenging and fun. There were many families waiting to come back home, and I was surprised at the visible diversity on my flight. I sat a few rows behind an Asian-Argentine family and one row in front of a member of Buenos Aires’ large Jewish community. There were no good Spanish-language films to watch on the 12-hour flight from JFK to Ezeiza, so I settled for watching The Office and switching back and forth between the plane’s classical and jazz playlists before trying to get the best sleep possible.

After landing in Argentina, I took a car straight to my hotel in the barrio (neighborhood) of Recoleta. Driving from the countryside to the city, you immediately notice the changes in socioeconomic status that are mainly characterized by the quality of apartments that people live in.

The other program students and I are getting to know the city a lot better thanks in large part to an excellent city tour that we took on our second day. Walking through neighborhoods like La Boca and Monserrat gives you a good feel for the people and personalities that make the city unique. For example, La Boca, home to the Boca Juniors football team, is a working-class neighborhood characterized by tango dancers and the painted houses along the Caminito. Monserrat is home to the Plaza de Mayo, the central source of the country’s political, religious, and colonial history.

While only being in the city for a few days, I do not feel too overwhelmed by what lies ahead. Luckily, we have a few more weeks to get acclimated with everyday life before hitting the books at university. Hasta luego.

Meeting The President

AdminFebruary 14, 2013December 14, 2018

By rachels522

One of the reasons I decided to study in Costa Rica is because I wanted to spend more time with animals, connect with nature. This morning my host brother took me to his family’s farm to see his baby cows. The cows were incredibly sweet and adorable. I was beyond ecstatic to meet the cows. I thought that this would be the most exciting part of the day. Turns out I was very wrong…

As I walked back towards the center of town with my host brother I started to hear vague sounds of drumming. Monteverde, Costa Rica is a small, quiet town. Loud drums seem extremely out of the ordinary. As I approached the crest of the hill I saw what looked to be a small marching band in front of a modest stage. As we got closer to the festivities I learned that the town of Monteverde was celebrating its banderos (firemen) and inaugurating a new class into the force. The celebration was also for the brand-new fire truck that the town had purchased. I stood with my host brother and watched the festivities. About 200 ticos (Costa Ricans) lined the streets waiting for the presentation to begin. Finally a woman began a short speech, lasting roughly 4 minutes. The speech was followed by modest applause, nothing too special. After she finished speaking she got off of the stage and starting hugging everybody.

This wasn’t just any woman though. It was Laura Chinchilla, president of Costa Rica…. And I was standing maybe eight feet away from her!!!! I can’t even begin to describe how incredibly excited I was. Laura Chinchilla is the first female president of Costa Rica. She represents las mujeres (females) on a world stage! She took pictures with my homestay brother, homestay cousin, and eventually me (I’ll upload the pictures to show off as soon as I have enough Internet). I can officially say that a head of state has hugged me.

However, even though I was elated, the ticos seemed nonplussed. She was walking amongst the people with no bodyguards. My host family had been much more excited while watching a soccer game. There was no security in sight. I didn’t hear one siren (with the exception of the new fire truck, of course!). To me this was crazy. Living in D.C. I am pretty used to seeing important members of state. In fact, the night before inauguration I missed my train back home because of Obama’s motorcade. As most students in D.C. know, the presidential motorcade consists of multiple ambulances, unmarked cars, motorcycles, and police cars. Since I missed my train, I headed to inauguration. There was security on every corner, watching every block. The snipers were visible on the roofs. However, in Costa Rica, a country with no army, there was hardly anything marking this occasion as significant.

This epitomizes the tico lifestyle. Everything is tranquilo. Over the past few days I have learned about how laid-back this culture is. There is no stress. The whole country runs on “tico time,” meaning very, very slowly. In this short time my host family has helped me to relax. I love to have plans and a schedule for my day. My host family has made it clear that plans are not part of the Costa Rican lifestyle. Until I saw the tico’s reactions to seeing their president I did not realize just how relaxed a culture can be.

Furthermore, it was amazing to me that a president would come up to Monteverde for this occasion. The only way to get to Monteverde is three, slow hours up a gravel road. There is nowhere to land a presidential plane or helicopter. To me this seems like something that a town would celebrate, but not a big enough occasion to warrant a visit of the president. Can you imagine Obama coming to a tiny village because of a new fire truck? Absolutely not. This further made me realize what a small, intimate country I am in. In a place where fire trucks are appreciated, and the pace of life is slower it is easy to enjoy the simple things in life. No wonder Costa Rica is the land of Pura Vida (pure life)!

When in Rabat, Do as the Rabatiis

AdminFebruary 11, 2013December 14, 2018

By ahblackwell

“Nemshiioo,” said Mama Fatiha around eight on Saturday evening. I’ve learned a good amount of Darija in the past week, but after only two days of attempts at translating in my homestay, I only knew this as “We’re going.” I slipped on my boots and took my time tying them, which I’ve realized inconveniences my family members (who wear slip-on shoes) more than I expected, and headed out the door with Khouloud, Khalid, and Mama Fatiha. I followed close behind them down several windy streets until we ended up in front of a door on a street that I recognized as being close to my school. I could hear a number of voices overhead, and as we climbed the stairs to the top floor, I realized this was not the normal evening visit that I had already become accustomed to. The room we walked into was filled with women and young girls, several of which I was relieved to discover were my fellow students. After several minutes, the situation of the evening was explained to me. We had gathered for Hiba’s birthday, the 6-year-old daughter of Saana, who is the daughter of Mama Hafida, my friend Kayla’s homestay mother. Mama Hafida is my homestay father’s sister or cousin or some type of relative, which makes Kayla and I distant cousins of some kind. Hiba was running around with an electric blue silk kaftan (the traditional dress for Muslim women, worn by Moroccan women at special events), silver bedazzled dress-up high heels, a beaded necklace, and a tiara, and it was easy to tell that it was her birthday with little explanation. The evening commenced with dancing in a tiny side room. One of the older daughters tied a scarf around her hips and began to dance, her arms raised above her head. One by one, the other girls rose and pulled us up with them, and soon we were all shaking our hips to the beats of the music. Throughout the rest of the evening, which consisted mostly of eating, we were abruptly pulled from the couches and told to dance. At one point the courtyard outside exploded with drums and shrill horns and we were all rushed outside to dance with the musicians who had come to surprise Hiba. Mama Fatiha did not gather Khouloud, Khalid and I to leave until almost one in the morning, at which point, belly full and legs sore from dancing, I was more than willing to leave. We walked home in a content silence and rolled into our beds, the Medina sleeping silently around us.

Every moment I spend with Khouloud and Mama Fatiha, the more I am impressed by the lives of women, here in Rabat. For all young girls, as far as I have seen, the day is spent in school and the night is spent visiting friends and family and gossiping over tea and cookies and cakes. Although Moroccan girls are not encouraged to “go out” to clubs and bars late at night, their evenings could not be more social. Together, women talk and laugh while huddled together under large blankets on their couches, or cry while they watch the evening’s dramatic talk shows, or dance to the songs on the radio as they move throughout the house in their pajama pants, bringing out more and more plates of food. The camaraderie between women in this medina is enviable, and I feel so lucky to be a part of it for the few months that I am staying with Mama Fatiha and Baba Bouselham, in Rabat.

On Wednesday night, I had another intimate bonding experience with my family that I cannot imagine is shared between men. Kayla and I accompanied Mama Fatiha and Khouloud to the hammam, or the public bath that is a popular destination for Moroccans. Khalid, as a young boy, was allowed to tag along. In the steamy room, stripped down to nothing but underwear or less, we all sat on tiny stools next to our own buckets of hot water and scrubbed and shaved and shampooed for over two hours. Mama Fatiha rubbed me down with henna (similar to clay), Khouloud scrubbed my back with a keess, and I shaved my legs while laughing about Khalid dunking his entire head into his bucket. I gossiped with Kayla and my host mother for hours as I repeatedly poured hot water over my head and watched my dead skin run down the tile floor and into the drain at the back of the room. Men also go to the hammam; it is not strictly an experience for women. However, the general comfort and normalcy I felt while laughing and talking with my family as we all sat around naked and scrubbing each other was something that, as I have heard from talking to my classmates, only the women share. Not only was the hammam something I thoroughly enjoyed and plan to do at least once a week (I have never felt so clean in my entire life), but it was also a place where the dynamics of gender and humility, which are so present in Muslim cultures, are completely erased. As an American woman in Rabat, I exist in a domain where I am not held to the local norms that young Moroccan women are responsible for maintaining. However, living with a family in the medina has allowed me to experience the lives of women who are so often misunderstood and doused with western assumptions. My little sister Khouloud and her cousins and classmates constantly experience restrictions that exist simply because they are female; however, they also experience a world full of love and laughter that most men are prevented from entering, and it is a world that I will cherish as long as I am living in the medina.

Come as a Tourist, Leave as a Pilgrim

AdminFebruary 11, 2013December 14, 2018

By Adar

There’s a saying in Nazareth that if you come as a tourist, you’ll leave as a Pilgrim: and if you come as a Pilgrim you’ll leave feeling holy.

Though that saying may be hyperbolic, I will say I found it very cool to walk through the hometown of the most famous person in modern history. And further, to see what kind of society stands there today. As far as I could tell, Nazareth is primarily Arab residents and has a large religious Christian population (not surprisingly). The Christians are Roman Catholic and Orthodox. I got an opportunity to walk through both sects’ Church of the Annunciation to see the differences The Church of the Annunciation is where Mary was met by an angel who told her she would give birth to Jesus. Though I personally would find that conversation a little unsettling, two churches were built in honor of it. The orthodox church is covered in paintings, and is bright and decorative with Armenian-looking patterns on its walls. It has a simple main room and many decorative altars. The Catholic one has engravings etched into the facade of important figures, and is absolutely huge. The bottom floor is where supposedly the exact location of the announcement was held (first holy site of the semester!) And above it there is a sanctuary with a beautiful pyramid ceiling. In the Catholic church, nearly all of the walls hold representations of Mary from every country with a large Catholic population. That aspect was absolutely beautiful.

One of my favorite moments of the day was standing in the courtyard of the church and hearing the loud call to prayer from a nearby mosque. The juxtaposition of cultures and religions that remains harmoniously in Nazareth is something I deeply admire. I was thinking about why this can’t be the case in more places. And I think that maybe part of it is that Nazareth is an old city. It is a place that people live in because their families have never moved out, or because they came solely to practice their religion and don’t deal with those from other faiths all that much. It is not a city I would find myself moving to. Maybe the reason it functions with different cultures is not because it’s learned to deal with it better than much of the country, but because it hasn’t yet dealt with modern changes in politically charged faith. There is still much for me to understand.

Though I don’t think I became a Pilgrim after my trip to Nazareth, I was certainly glad to have gone.

They might be saying the same thing over here but it sounds better in French

AdminFebruary 11, 2013December 14, 2018

By unprofoundobservations

While there are certain English words and phrases that I deeply miss (and that absolutely do not translate well into French) I am able to comfort myself through my constant discovery of delightful new French words. I have quickly become comfortable pointing and miming in public to convey a message, and my day planner is filled with small notes of words to memorize or look up later. However I am often surprised at how many words French and English have in common; when in doubt soften your "c" sounds and add some sort of "ie" to the end of anything, and there's a decent chance that you'll land within some sphere of French comprehension. Such nouns only become tricky when translating more modern notions and devices. Some may lament the profusion of English words into the French language - snack was recently accepted by the Académie Français as a word in the French language - but I prefer to focus on those words that have been translated in a much more literal sense.

Despite all of the poetic, literary, and artistic creativity that has occurred in France, the country itself is very literal. There's a certain frankness to all of the roads and metro stops. Roads will be named after statesmen, authors, and historic figures because they actually once lived or worked in the area. Each metro stop is defined by the fabulous building or monument that is physically closest. Parisians fondly talk about their Île de la Cité because the natural island in the middle of the Seine serves as the historic and spiritual center of the city, and also because Paris itself exists so much as an island in the middle of France. I have learned that in Harry Potter wizards use baguettes magique as opposed to wands, and that at Carnival one can order delicious barb à Papa, not Cotton Candy. After rain storms you can see an arc en ciel (arc in the sky: rainbow) over the Eiffel Tower, and every time I unsuccessfully tell a funny story I finish with an imploring laissé tomber (let it fall: nevermind). I particularly recommend that anyone studying abroad learn this phrase in their host language as sometimes all the pointing and miming in the world won't help explain something.

At the end of the day each language will have its own bizarre quirks and idioms, but these generally offer some sort of insight to the culture (as a final example, the concept of "cheap" does not exist in France as everything is simply plus ou moins chère: more or less expensive). The trick is to spend your days in class beefing up grammar, vocabulary, and general sentence construction, while spending free time exploring and practicing all of the fantastic idiomatic slang that gives a certain area its sense of identity. I have dropped my eaves all over the city of Paris and though I may never be able to use many of the words I have learned in an academic paper, I am beginning to understand the rhythm of the city and French life. The more I learn the more I realize I can never hope to be fluent in the way I would like within four month's time, but I like to think I become slightly more French every day. At the end of the day I think it all sounds much prettier in French than it ever will in English, and should I make mistakes ce n'est pas grave (it's not a big deal).