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By Marissa Kirshenbaum

A lot has happened since I wrote my last blog. In fact, this current blog is not even from "abroad", as I have officially returned back to the United States. Leaving Paris has been a whirlwind, one in which different feelings have all swirled together into one that is indescribable: I am grateful yet at the same time heartbroken, I am excited yet at the same time fearful. In the days leading up to my flight home, I felt at times content with the idea of leaving Europe, of rejoining my friends and family back home and reflecting on my meaningful experience. Yet, sometimes only a few minutes later I would feel devastated that my childhood dream has been terminated, that my time living in Paris has come to a close, and that I would have to say goodbye to a place that I had just gotten accustomed to living in.

Leaving Paris was more than coming back home after a long trip. In fact, when I was sixteen I spent five weeks travelling throughout Israel, so I believed that I would be used to the idea of leaving a place even if I had been there for a long time. However, this was different. It did not exactly feel like I was leaving to come home, because over the past three and a half months, Paris did in fact become my home. I went to school there, ate meals with my family, had my own bedroom, did my own laundry, and grocery shopped: all in Paris. I took trips throughout Europe and Africa, and returned to Paris. This was something that I had not expected would be so hard about leaving my sight of study abroad: it did not feel like my trip was over, but that my current life was being taken away from me.

Now that I am back and separated from Paris, I feel more of a sense of clarity. In this moment, I can reflect on my experience rather than dwell on what I lost. It has been interesting to reconnect with friends and see the life that I put on hold while I was studying abroad. It is interesting to see how people have changed and the things in society that have progressed. To me, it feels like I hit "resume", when in fact everyone else has been in "play".

...continue reading "Au Revoir mais pas Adieu!"

By Marissa Kirshenbaum

This weekend, I went on my last weekend trip, this time to Barcelona. It's hard to admit that this would be my last time jetting off to a new country for the weekend: my last time trying new foods, seeing different cultural sights, and hearing a language other than French spoken by the locals. I have enjoyed immensely this opportunity to travel beyond my limits, and live life fully in the moment, treating every day like a vacation.

For every trip that I went on, I was welcomed with different reactions from my peers. When I went to Italy, I was told that it would be beautifully sunny and photogenic. When I went to Morocco, I was told that I would have a significant cultural experience. When I went to Belgium, I was told to eat the fries, the chocolate, and the waffles. And when I went to Spain this weekend, I was told to watch out for my belongings because people would want to steal my phone and passport.

Before I set off for Paris, I had a lot of people warn me about how unsafe it is here. They put ideas in my mind that this beautiful and magical city was also violent and untrusting, that I would be lucky if I made it back without having something pickpocketed. I let these ideas fester in my mind, and for the first few weeks I jumped whenever somebody stood too close to me on the Metro or when somebody came on board asking in a loud and demanding voice for some spare change.

...continue reading "Warmth Over Worry"

By Marissa Kirshenbaum

This weekend, I went to Normandy with my program. The sight of D-Day and the entire battle that liberated France from Germany, the region of Normandy in the north of France is integral to the nation's history in the context of the second World War, yet simultaneously important to France's relationship with the United States. Before coming to Paris, I knew that D-Day was important to history, but I did not know to what extent it was still referenced to and talked about in the modern day.

France is a country with a very long history. It has seen five different republics, countless kings and queens, emperors, and revolutions. Juxtaposed to France, the United States is like a young kid finding its way: so young that it is confused and progressive all at once with enough energy to keep its momentum going for a long time. The two countries are drastically different when it comes to their histories. However, the one true thing that they have in common is the Battle of Normandy. I have thought it so interesting for months how French people seamlessly make fun of Americans, yet at the same time almost strive to be just like them. On occasion, they poke fun with our accents and discredit our global knowledge, yet at the same time, they respect us. They sport our clothing brands, they watch our movies, and they dream of visiting our country. As a sweeping generalization, they seem to hate to love us. And why? In part, because of the Battle of Normandy.

Since my first week in Paris, I have heard of French people adoring Americans because "we saved them in the war." At first, I discounted this as a stretch of our history with the French. However, as the weeks passed and the confusion ensued, I realized that in fact, no matter what we as a country seem to do, French people continue to like us because of the sacrifices that we made for them during the war. As a country of tradition, it is not surprising that they share a long memory.

...continue reading "Thank you, U.S.A!"

By Marissa Kirshenbaum

Life abroad is all about adjusting your mindset. You are in a weird place, knowing more than the tourist yet always less than the local. You look like you belong there, and people don't doubt it until you open your mouth, but you cannot associate with the vacationers. You are caught in between two different mindsets, and sometimes you can't even notice it until something interrupts the constant flow.

For me, this is what happened over Spring Break when my boyfriend came to visit. His French vocabulary comprised one word, "bonjour", and only recently grew to include "merci" and "s'il vous plaît": he is a raw American, a type that I have not interacted with that often since my time living in Paris. Over the course of the week, he brought things up to my attention that I had never noticed before about the city: he just saw things differently. He noticed the bilingual ads in the metro, the cafe seats facing the street, and the rapid weather changes. He compared the city to its American counterparts: New York, D.C., and Boston, using descriptions that I had never thought of before. Growing up learning about French culture through my nine years of language education, I had grown used to the differences that he noticed so blatantly. He allowed me to change my mindset around the city a little bit to an identity that is more familiar to me. For the first time, I saw Paris as an exploring American rather than an impersonating Parisian.

Perhaps the biggest mindset change happened when my host parents invited us over for dinner. Seeing as my boyfriend does not speak French and my host family does not speak English, I became the designated translator. Over the past month and a half, I have gotten so used to my way of living in my homestay. On the first day, I was so overwhelmed with the idea that I would not be able to speak at all in my native tongue to any of the members of the host family, but at this point it came as second nature. To have to change my mindset, my actual language and thought process when conversing with my boyfriend and with my host family was a strange yet eye-opening experience.

...continue reading "Switching Gears"

By Marissa Kirshenbaum

At this stage in my abroad experience, I feel as though I can more properly compare the two cultures in which I have lived. I can more confidently say what I like and don't like, with enough life experience to back it up that it doesn't come across un-researched and unprofessional. Now, I feel confident to declare what things I dislike about French society without seeming petty, the things that I miss from back home. On the contrary, I I can also say what I love more about France. As a short list, I can confidently say that although my love for cheese was birthed in the U.S., French cheese has stolen my heart. I can say that popcorn at the movies in America is more suited to my tastes in comparison to the butter-less and salt-enhanced French popcorn. Besides matters of food, there is one aspect of French society that has me looking more to the East: the culture of striking.

La grève, the strike, the headache. Like the fact that winter is a constant rainfall in a sky of gray, the French do not advertise their culture of strikes. It was first presented to me in my "Business French" class when my professor joked about how to Parisians, protesting is like a sport. Whenever they feel passionate about a certain issue, they take it to the streets. You have to admire this action-based way of trying to make change happen. I am all too used to hearing strong-willed words from angry American citizens without seeing the mouths behind the statements. Strikes seemed like a proactive way to combat issues. They make a statement, and they sure are noisy.

However, what happens to the child who throws a fit every time that they don't get ice cream after a meal? They get ignored. As soon as the month of April hit, it was strike season, and the appeal wore off. Three days of work, two days of strikes. Like clockwork. Trains delay, flights are canceled, buses are stopped. Reform is all about progress, so why do we have to regress?

I believe in speaking your mind, and I am passionate about equal rights in the workforce. However, I feel as though la grève can inconvenience more than it aids its point. Is it not the lay public that you want to vote for your reform?

We, the people, want the metro.

By Marissa Kirshenbaum

It's funny how the first time I truly felt like Paris was my home was the minute I left it. When you travel, you simultaneously indulge in a different culture and reminisce about the place you left behind. You compare, and you analyze. The second you begin to juxtapose your trip with your normal life, you recognize that "normality" as the place that you call home. And that is what is truly special.

My first trip was to Milan, a spontaneous voyage one of the first weekends into my program. I was so excited to go to Italy, a place I so passionately hoped to visit that it has practically been engraved into my bucket list for as long as I can remember. I absolutely loved the sights, the food, and the atmosphere: although geographically close to France, Italy does not nearly resemble it. I found myself making note of the people and the culture of Milan, and analyzing its similarities and differences to Paris. Some things were positively different, while others were a negative change. I found comfort in my comparisons, for I felt as though I knew enough about Paris to compare it.

This pattern of comparing and analyzing leaked into second trip to Brussels, and even more into my most recent voyage to Fez. I remembered Paris when I was traveling, keeping it alive in my thoughts as I walked different streets. Paris was in Italy, in Belgium, and in Morocco. Rather than a weekend trip or a check off of a travel list, Paris was the destination at the end of everything, the place to come back to.

...continue reading "Chez Moi"