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By jdippel529

This past weekend, I went to Amsterdam along with a couple of the students from my program. Long story short, I loved it. The people, the food, the architecture, and the museums were all wonderful. I think its safe to say that the Dutch culture captured my heart. The most memorable part of the trip, however, was seeing the Anne Frank House.

I first learned of Anne’s story in middle school, when we were assigned to read The Diary of a Young Girl. From then on, the story of Anne Frank and her years hidden from the Nazis during the Holocaust had become a part of history for me. I felt a connection to Anne because she was this young, teenage girl who was able to create this incredible empathy inside of me even long after she was gone. Never, until I came to her museum in Amsterdam, did it really occur to me that she had this effect on people of all genders, ages and places of the world.

Most of my time abroad has consisted of learning and adapting to differences in culture, but at the Anne Frank House I experienced something entirely different. People from all countries and walks of life had come to this very place in Amsterdam to pay tribute and learn more about Anne. Even the audio tour guides came in about 20 different languages. As you walk through the house, however, all of these differences suddenly fade. When you reach the room Anne shared with Fritz Pfeffer, for example, the color of your skin, the language you are speaking, doesn’t matter. All that matters is the eerie presence of Anne and her work; work that ended up shedding a light upon the lives of Jews during the Holocaust. It is hard to ignore the greatness in that room. That feeling of a common journey most definitely contributes to the overall power and experience of the Anne Frank house.

There is this one point in time, when you are leaving the annex, in which you come to a display with Anne Frank’s first and original diary. That simple red and white-checkered diary of a 15-year-old girl is what brought a whole world of cultures together in one, little house. To me, that is an extremely rare and remarkable power we don’t see often enough.

By kennatim

I have had a hard time determining how the Irish really feel about Americans. Obviously, being American myself, opinions are probably held back. In my classes, my peers often attack U.S. foreign policy, but in conversation, everyone mentions their cousin on Boston, or wonderful holiday to New York City. It almost seems as if the Irish do not want to like Americans, but with the overwhelming influence of American pop culture here, from Burger King to House of Cards, it is impossible not to.

Being in a modern, international city like Dublin made me figure the consensus I have been witnessing is skewed. I thought that opinion skew would change when I made my way to Cork City. Cork is about three hours by car southwest of Dublin, much more off the beaten path, with rarely an international flight out of the airport. Though still one of Dublin’s larger cities, I considered it to be a better representative of the small town nature of Ireland outside of Dublin. Is location on the southwest coast is a bit remote and many Dubliners poke fun at the distinctive Cork accent. This was going to be real Ireland.

As soon as we got off the bus, I found the Cork accent to sound much different than I was expecting. The international influence was very surprising, and the “Cork accent” to me was any accent that did not sound Irish. I totally underestimated the cosmopolitan nature of the city. We met some Eastern European friends, stayed in an Airbnb with a Portuguese woman and German man, and ate at a restaurant owned by Brazilians. By the way, the food in what I thought was a quaint little Irish town made Dublin look like my middle school cafeteria.

We had a great time exploring churches, the waterfront, the nightlife, and even got a chance to kiss the Blarney Stone at Blarney Castle. I learned that Ireland is truly a modern, living, breathing organism with a large variety of people and places that might not necessarily agree on anything, let alone their views on Americans. I have never felt uncomfortable, and with my red, white, and blue backpack I purchased here (getting ridiculed by my American friends, no doubt), that is saying a lot. So if you are looking for an international experience, or just looking for really good Brazilian food, look no further than County Cork.

By practiceyogadistrict

If you know me you know that I like everything to be chronological, organized, and in order. And to my great chagrin, this post isn’t. Mai-pen-rai, ka. (means ‘no big deal’ or ‘it doesn’t matter’ in Thai).

A few weeks ago, over a three-day weekend, I went with a few friends on a grand adventure to Khao Yai National Park.

The adventure began right from jump. To get to the park, we had to take a bus to a small city that was closest to the North Entrance of the National Park. The city was called Pak Chong. We boarded a night bus to Bangkok and were told that it would go through Pak Chong. Side-note-- busses in Thailand are incredible! It was like flying first class. Big chairs that leaned all the way back, small individual TV screens, and free food. Not quite as smooth a ride as flying is, however. All of us slept a bit, but tried to keep our eye on the time. We knew it was about four or five hours to Pak Chong. Though we asked the driver to tell us when we arrived in Pak Chong, we weren’t sure that request was communicated perfectly. After about four hours, the driver told us that we are at our stop, so we all proceed to schlep our backpacks off the bus, and the bus whizzed away. We gathered our surroundings. There we stood on the side of the highway at two in the morning under a ‘Khao Yai Outlet’ sign. By no means were we anywhere near the center of the city where we were planning on sleeping before heading to the park the next day. We tried calling the number of the cheap motel where we had made reservations, but the call wouldn’t go through. There seemed to be not a soul around. Luckily, on second glance, we saw a small security shack that lay a few meters back from the highway, and by some small miracle, inside the security shack was a security guard. The poor poor man must have been more than a little alarmed when a mob of young Americans were knocking on his window asking in Tenglish (Very poor thai/English) how to get into the city. We certainly looked desperate enough, so he tried calling a taxi service for us. Of course in a small city, there was none running at 2am. Finally he communicates that he got us transportation and it will be by shortly to pick us up. Ten minutes later, a car probably two-thirds the size of a Toyota Prius rolls up. I am almost certain the security guard had just called a friend to come get us because he didn’t know what else to do with us. The man requests 700 bhat (probably 4x the normal price) to drive us to our motel in Pak Chong, and so the EIGHT of us agreed, and crammed into his tiny tiny car.

Once we were in Pak Chong, he drove us down an alleyway, and lo and behold, there was our motel/hostel. The rooms smelled so strongly of sewage it was almost unbearable and the two mattresses stacked in the corner on the floor were covered with a stained sheet and a moth-eaten blanket. Mai-pen-rai! It was only to get a few hours of shuteye until the next morning when we would take the song-towe to the national park. However, I was immensely thankful for my little cocoon-sleeping sheet that I had brought along from America that made a small barrier between the ratchet bedding and I.

The next morning we made it, with a little less drama, to the park entrance. Four of the girls who already had planned to camp in the park continued on in while myself and the other three friends I had traveled with sought out accommodation. After several failed attempts we ended up staying in the accommodation closest to the park; what was six neon bungalows all in a row. They were clean and had air conditioning—all we needed.

After dropping off our bags, we proceeded to the park entrance, paid, and then asked the attendant how to get to the visitors center/ park headquarters that was 14kilometers away, the place we knew all the hiking trails branched off of. Casually she remarked, ‘hitch-hike.’ We asked again, and again she said ‘you hitch-hike.’ Surely, I thought, there must be a bus! But no… We hitch-hiked, and ended up having to hitch-hike in the park any time we wanted to get anywhere. Though the first time we were very reluctant, it ended up being a blast and only adding to the adventure! It never took us too long to catch a ride, and several times the folks that picked us up spoke English. It was neat to get to meet so many different people this way. We met a business man from Bangkok who had a free day and wanted to just drive through the park and soak up some of the nature. We also met a Thai dad and his son who had downs syndrome. We talked with them about movies, and it was sweet to see in such a short encounter the tender care the father had for his son.

On that first day we made it (after hitch-hiking) to the visitors center/ park headquarters by about noon. We grabbed a map, looked at trail descriptions, and wanting to get in a good, long hike in the afternoon, we immediately asked the man at the desk how to get to the trailhead for an 8-kilometer hike to a waterfall. The man shook his head and said we needed a guide and it was too late in the afternoon for that hike, we didn’t have enough time. We figured it’s less than 5 miles, and we are all strong women who have hiked plenty in our lives, we can do five miles before 5 pm! So, using the piece paper that was a poor excuse for a map, off we went to seek the trailhead for the long 8k hike. The start of the hike was off of a smaller 1k-nature walk that was paved, so we started there. Each time we came upon something that looked like it might be a trail, we tried walking on it for a ways, and then when it came to bush-whacking we decided to turn back. Finally, after several other attempts, we succumbed to hammocking in the Eno Hammocks my friend Hunter and I had brought along. It wasn’t a bad way to spend an afternoon, though we were a little bummed to not get a big hike in.

That night, with no restaurant at the bungalows to eat at, the owner, who also took pity on us four farrang who had no mode of transportation, loaded us in the back of his truck and drove us a few miles down the road to a restaurant called Khao Yai Cowboy. The place was western themed; hence the name, with tarnished pictures of James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, Native Americans, and galloping horses hanging on the walls next to massive racks of antlers and long horns and old fashioned lamps. The tables were made of beautiful raw wood, and all surrounded an open dance floor and a stage. I felt as though I could have been at a cool bar in the American Southwest. What made me not forget that I was in Thailand was the food (I ordered some bad Chinese food) and the music.

About halfway through our meal, a band shows up to the restaurant and begins to set up the stage. The four of us were all looking forward to the live music. They begin to play a set of classic rock and bluegrass/country music. Keep in mind however, that these are Thai men singing with Thai accents. Often times they would just imitate the sound of the lyric, but not quite get the full word. Not only that, but the restaurant owner’s two children, my guess is they were ages 3 and 5 or so, began casually performing with the band up front, the little girl dancing, and the little boy hitting the bongos. The highlight was when the main singer began yodeling and two of my friends got up to dance.

We began our second day early. It was our only full day in the park, so we wanted to get the most out of it that we could. We hitch-hiked our way up to the visitor’s center determined to do the 8k hike, at any cost, even if we had to get a guide. Turns out that the guide was not such a bad idea. Our guide was named ‘choke dee’ which means ‘good luck’ in Thai. He was incredibly handsome and looked like he was in his late 20s, maybe early 30s. Turns out he was actually in his early 40s. He claimed all the sun and carefree hiking is what kept him young. I’m sure he was right. He wore heavy-duty hiking boots and tough-looking pants. I on the other hand wore my open-toed Chaco sandals and a pair of running shorts. Good choices.

He led us to the trailhead, one of the semi-trail-looking trails that we had passed the day before but actually decided not to try walking down the day before because it was so overgrown. He prayed before we started the hike, then right after he prays proceeds to pull out a machete and a pistol from his backpacking backpack. It had just gotten real. In the past hikers had come across tigers and hyenas, so that was what the machete and pistol were for… just in case. Luckily we had no need for them. Hikers had also come across elephants and gibbons on the trail, which we unfortunately did not encounter.

Half of the time on the hike my mind was thanking God that we didn’t try this trail the day before. Every twist, turn, and bushwhacking section we encountered I became more and more grateful. The other half of the hike I was marveling at the beauty of the verdant forest. Giant palms crossed our path, massive vines wound up trees and hung down to meet us on the ground, and the sun shone through leaves the size of a platter. It was gorgeous.

As we neared the end of our hike, Choke Dee took us to a hidden waterfall. It had no sign of other tourists—all ours! We jumped into the little watering hole screeching as all the sweat, dirt, and blood from the hike washed off. Choke Dee showed us how to climb up the waterfall, and we scaled the slippery rock and plunged into the pool below time after time. Having the guide was absolutely worth it. After snacking and drying off we continued on the last kilometer of the hike to Khao Yai’s most famous waterfall where our hike ended. Though it was big, it seemed much less exciting after our thrilling private waterfall that we had enjoyed. We also didn’t want the hike, or the weekend, to end.

The travel home was a little bit less eventful that travel to get to Khao Yai. Though we got lost trying to find the bus station, I had a map written on my hand by a local man who tried to help us very lost farrang (westerners) in the market, and we sprinted across a six lane highway, we made it home safe and sound.

It turns out very little planning makes for some great stories. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

By jdippel529

Every year, students choose to study abroad in Europe for the opportunity to travel around the continent. If I am being honest, this is one of the reasons why I chose to study in Madrid, as opposed to another Spanish-speaking country in Latin America. I had never been to Europe before and desperately wanted to see historic cities such as Athens and Rome, and “EuroTrip” must-sees like Paris and London.

But, as I embark on my first weekend trip, I can’t help but worry about how to manage my time between other cities and countries, and Madrid. After all, I chose to study in Madrid—a decision I intend to take full advantage of. That being said, once you actually sit down and look at your calendar, you begin to realize what little weekend time 4 short months leaves you. This creates a problem that I believe most study abroad students encounter: the “I know I am not going to be able to afford to go back to Europe for a long time now, so I want to travel as much as I can while I am here while also immersing myself into the culture of my host country,” problem.

Trust me, I am no expert on the matter. However, I do have some tips for coping with the pressure of balancing your adventures in your host country and your adventures abroad:

  1. Which cities do you want to visit the most? Which could you do without seeing? Don’t go on a trip simply because all of your friends are going, go because YOU want to. Your time in Europe is short and precious, so don’t waste half of it traveling to places you could really care less about.
  2. Class load is significantly less when you are studying abroad, so take advantage of the afternoons and evenings you have during the week to explore your city! This is a great way to explore your host country without having to a sacrifice a weekend of travel.
  3. Plan, Plan, Plan! My saving grace this trip has really been my trusty ‘ole iCalendar. With it, I have been able to map out what weekends I am willing to leave open for travel and what weekends I want to stay in Madrid. This comes in handy especially when GW has scheduled program events you must attend, or if you have a paper coming up!
  4. Figure out what YOU want. Listen, everybody has different priorities while studying abroad, and that is 100% ok! That is why you need to figure out what is most important to you: traveling throughout Europe or learning about your host culture. Do you want to work to find a balance? Or would you rather just pick one? It’s all up to you. If you can answer this question right off the bat, you’re in good shape!

Happy Travels!

By anuhyabobba

As soon as my program finished, I traveled for another month. For the first three weeks, I visited Patagonia -- the southern parts of Chile and Argentina. It had been the first time I traveled alone, and after my time in Buenos Aires had come to an end, it was exactly what I needed to recollect my thoughts and center myself. Starting from Santiago, my journey ended in the southernmost city of the world of Ushuaia. It brought me to the beautiful town of San Carlos de Bariloche, Argentina, where I biked 25 kilometers through some of the most breathtaking views of sapphire and emerald toned lakes and snow capped mountains backdrop. I swam in a glacier lake, which was fun but horribly freezing as one could gather. I also trekked on a glacier -- the Perito Moreno glacier to be exact. I made camp in the windiest town I have ever visited -- El Chaltén. If you have seen the logo for the Patagonia outdoors brand, that rugged mountain silhouette found inspiration from Mt. Fitz Roy and the surrounding peaks in El Chaltén. Mt. Fitz Roy, the highest of the peaks, would be hidden by clouds and when it did come out, it was stunning. I went next to Torres del Paine National Park, which is the place I most connected with during this journey. The Torres range and Lake Pehoé set the background for the campsite, and weather had been on our side the five days I was there. The last day up to the iconic Torres peaks was the most memorable. It first brought me through a forest that had this perfect symbiosis, and then to the most grueling part -- a 1000 foot ascension in the matter of a kilometer. This meant just direct uphill, and my knee had given out a day ago. The reason I wanted to visit Patagonia though was for the Torres peaks and so despite being in pain, I made it. I immediately collapsed on the ground, leaning against a rock that directly faced the peaks -- this moment brought incomparable peace to me.

I headed then to Ushuaia, where I only had a few hours. I remember the sun shining in those hours, even though the city usually sees only rain. I got my passport stamped to say that I had been in Ushuaia and went to the airport to catch my flight to Buenos Aires -- where I had seven hours from midnight to seven in the morning to gather my luggage from my host mom's and say my final bye to the city (for now). I flew into AEP, the inner city airport, and the runway and where the flight landed was a few miles to the right of Plaza Intendente Alvear, which was a block away from where I lived and which held an overwhelming feeling of comfort for me. The taxi ride to my host mom's went through all the places that held the sweetest memories of the adventures my friends and I had embarked on, and I started to tear up because it was a perfect way of saying this final bye to Buenos Aires.

My next week was in Peru, where my best friend joined me to go to Machu Picchu. We traveled to Lima and Cusco, where we largely explored on our own. When we went to Machu Picchu, it was early morning, or a time where there are a lot of tourists. We went down for an early lunch, and we revisited the site toward the late afternoon where there was barely a soul. In the absence of so many people, the site had this eerie but breathtaking vibe to it. I loved being there, and that too being able to share the moment with a person I hold so close to me. It had been the best ending to my time in South America.

I sadly returned home with a sprained ankle, but the healing period has allowed me time to reflect on studying abroad. Because I had the talk of adjusting back to being in DC in Buenos Aires, I am prepared but I also understand as Robert Frost said, "The best way out is always through."  I will experience this readjustment day by day, and through doing that, I will be gentle to myself and reach out to my support system when I do need the help.

Thank you to everyone who has read my posts for following this five month journey of mine! Hope you all have a beautiful new year ahead.

By Jess Yacovelle

I'm currently sitting on a plane from London Heathrow to San Diego's Lindbergh Field. I waited until I was on the plane to write this last post for two reasons: 1) packing woes previously overwhelmed me, and 2) it felt silly to write about my overall London experience whilst still in London.

The past three and a half months were more than I ever thought I'd experience in regards to Europe. When I entered my freshman year at GW, I had no plans to study abroad. My parents were against it because of the cost, my then-boyfriend didn't like the idea of me leaving the country, and my own personal goals as a student and a writer meant that I didn't want to be away from GW. In the second semester of my junior year, I chose to study abroad on a whim - literally two weeks before the application deadline for King's - and I barely submitted my materials in time. In truth, I can't remember what made me decide to study abroad - the promise of adventure, fear of the future, a desire to get away - but to any GW students still on the fence about study abroad, I can tell you this: it was the best decision I've ever made.

Studying in London allowed me to start over in a new city but with the safety net of GW ready to provide help if I needed it. I had to find my way (literally and metaphorically), make new friends, and create a life for myself in the King's community in a very different way from when I started as a freshman at GW over three years ago. It forced me to stand on my own two feet. I'm still terrified for the future and apprehensive for life after GW, but I'm now confident in myself and my ability to build a life and identity for myself, no matter what.

More importantly, study abroad opened my eyes to the different cultures of the world. I grew up fairly sheltered - I've traveled heavily in the US and Canada, but I never left North America as a child - and it's only through participating in study abroad that I've realized just how much there is to see, and how easy it is to see it.

There's a famous post on Tumblr, in which a blogger states: "My bro just came prancing into my room with a Burger King crown. We don't have Burger King in Belgium. He drove all the way to the Netherlands." That sort of cultural-merging is absolutely true about my experience with living in London. I remember back in October I spent the morning in Prague and the evening in London. I took a train from London to Paris in 2 hours. A flight to Ireland lasted barely an hour. All of these different countries and cultures are so close together, there's no reason not to see it. As Americans, we're at a disadvantage because these things aren't at our fingertips.

Study abroad changed my life, because I'm now determined to return to Europe and spend a month or two backpacking. Public transportation passes like the Eurail Pass make it affordable to travel for a couple of months without breaking the bank, and hostels are decent enough accommodations. In fact, I've done the math and - as a west coast girl - the most expensive part of my trip would be the plane tickets there and back; the plane tickets are almost equal to what hostels and train tickets would cost for one month.

I now have a strong desire to see the rest of the world, to experience the differences between as many cultures as possible, and I didn't before. It's a cliché (perhaps it's a cliché for a reason), but study abroad opened my eyes to the rest of the world, and I would highly recommend it to any and all GW students.

By anuhyabobba

The hostel I stayed in during my stay at Puerto Iguazu had the following Paulo Coelho quote painted on the wall near the entrance -- a quote that has struck with me since:

“When you travel, you experience, in a very practical way, the act of rebirth. You confront completely new situations, the day passes more slowly, and on most journeys you don’t even understand the language the people speak. So you are like a child just out of the womb. You begin to attach much more importance to the things around you because your survival depends upon them. You begin to be more accessible to others because they may be able to help you in difficult situations. At the same time, since all things are new, you see only the beauty in them, and you feel happy to be alive.”

My time in Buenos Aires has been marked by a tremendous growth in terms of how I see myself. The first month, before Buenos Aires became a place I see as a type of home, it was a period of time where I was absolutely lost. Over the first two years of university, I have fostered a sense of comfort in how I defined myself, who my friends were, and what I wanted to be. But, the three weeks from when I arrived in Buenos Aires acted as a blank slate. Beforehand, I saw myself as shy, as a person who cannot hold a conversation and also as a person who is dependent on company. I love company, but study abroad is one of the first times where I did activities on my own accord and independently without associating any type of negativity with acting alone. Study abroad allowed me to find comfort in me. Living by myself and without a housemate made me figure out this big city largely on my own. Granted that coming in without knowing Spanish made the process all the more difficult, but four months in, I speak confidently and walking the city streets is not as daunting as it once was.

The most important notion study abroad has helped me come to terms with was how to adapt to my environment without losing a sense of self. I think it can become easy to mold yourself around surrounding circumstances, but I sometimes completely omit my own self, my own likes and dislikes from this process. Like Paulo Coelho said, traveling and living abroad has been this type of rebirth. I did not necessarily lose the person I was before, but I simply built on it greatly to become a better version of myself. I have learned how to reach peace with where I am location wise while also developing on the person I already was. It can be a hard balance to come to, but by being abroad, it was a balance I had to work toward daily.

I am two weeks from the end of my program, and I look back smiling because I am all too grateful for what I have learned in these past few months.

By Hannah Radner

It is weekends like these that make me so glad I chose the program I chose and that remind me why study abroad is so special. I am lucky enough to be a part of a program, the LSE General Course, that organizes more or less weekly excursions to places around the UK and Europe. I only signed up for one, this past weekend, which was a weekend in the Scottish Highlands.

Anyone who knew me at all in high school knows that I am a little obsessed with Scotland and it carries some of my most cherished memories, as my first ever trip outside the United States was to Edinburgh. I spent ten days there with members of my high school drama company, exploring the wonders of the city during its Fringe Festival as well as performing in it. We all had the most incredible time and since then, Edinburgh and Scotland have held a very special place in my heart.

At first, it might not sound that appealing when I say we spent the majority of the weekend on a coach bus, but for this I am quite grateful. We saw so much on Saturday; the beauty of the scenery is not to be believed, especially in autumn when everything is different shades of red, orange, yellow and green. We first stopped at Stirling Castle, a place I remembered well from my last visit. I was happy to reclaim my throne in the throne room. We continued up through Loch Lomond and Trossachs National Park, and I am pretty sure we saw the Hogwarts Express because obviously there is only one steam train in the entire United Kingdom and it is definitely the Hogwarts Express. We stepped outside for two minutes at a scenic overlook in Glen Coe; it would have been longer but it was raining fairly heavily and to say the wind was gusty would be an extreme understatement. We then went to a place called the Clansman Centre, where we watched a rugged old Scottish man (proudly of clan Robertson) speak of how utterly disgusting and brutal life in the Highlands was hundreds of years ago as well as demonstrate how to properly pleat and put on a kilt. We then drove up the entire length of Loch Ness. Fun facts about Loch Ness: It contains more fresh water than all the lakes in England and Wales combined, Nessie has not been sighted since early 2013, and there is a monetary prize of a million pounds for someone who can provide concrete proof of a legitimate sighting (i.e. a good photograph). For anyone who doesn't know how much the exchange rate hurts us Americans over here, that's about 1.6 million dollars. Needless to say, we were somewhat disappointed we didn't see her.

We stayed Saturday night at a hostel in Inverness. If that sounds familiar to you, it's probably because you had to read Macbeth for school at some point, because Inverness is where (spoiler alert) King Duncan was murdered. I'm actually a big fan of Macbeth so I was busy geeking out just being there. Our tour guide recommended a pub called Hootenanny's to us, and I must say the Hootenanny's experience was my favorite night I have had abroad so far. It had live music and a lively crowd, and being the strange Americans we stood in the front but didn't know how to move to Scottish folk music until a seemingly random man walked in and showed us how to dance and wouldn't let us stand still. After that, we were not the strange Americans sitting on the floor but the strange Americans who were trying to have a Ceilidh (basically a Scottish dance party) even though we couldn't dance. I have had the chorus of a folk song about Thomas Paine stuck in my head for 24 hours now.
On Sunday we mostly drove so we could make it back to Edinburgh in time to catch our train back to London. We did make three stops: Culloden Battlefield (think Braveheart), Clava Cairns (4000 year old rocks and burial grounds), and the Hermitage, a beautiful wooded walk with waterfalls. I geeked out here too, as the Hermitage was the setting for Birnam Wood in Macbeth and I thought of those great prophecies and multiple smacks to the face all laid out for Macbeth. Well done, Shakespeare.
It truly was the "Americans take over the Ceilidh" night that made it for me. Even as I danced, if you can really call it dancing, I thought to myself how special Scotland is to me and how this is an experience I would have never been able to have without study abroad and indeed without this particular excursion. To think I'd made it all the way back to this place four years later, and made a new, unique memory that makes it that much better. I didn't think it was possible for Scotland to get any cooler, but clearly I was mistaken. I can't wait to go back.

By anuhyabobba

I returned from what is considered spring break in Argentina on early Sunday morning. For some time, my friends and I had been torn between traveling to northern Argentina or northern Chile for the week we have off. In the end, we opted for northern Chile, though I cannot tell you more clearly what made us reach this decision. We booked our flight for September 18 from Buenos Aires to Santiago and then Santiago to a small desert town called Calama. From Calama, we would take a one and a half hour bus to the even smaller desert town of San Pedro de Atacama.

San Pedro de Atacama is situated in the Atacama Desert, or the driest place on Earth. The town overlooks numerous volcanos, but the Licancabur volcano dominates over each. Every morning, I woke up to a beautiful view of the rugged, mountain landscape. In every corner of town, this backdrop was visible and stunning. At night, because of the lack of light and general pollution, the stars were breathtakingly present. I was able to clusters of the Milky Way, and often times, we would chose to sit out in the patio of the hostel and just journal.

Our hostel was called Talar, and during our stay there, my friends and I found a new host mom or “hostel mom” of sorts. Her name was Jessica, and she owned the hostel. She was so kind to us in the days we were in town -- made sure to ask how our days went, quick to give suggestions on how to be safe and also prepared us for each of our excursions, and a lot more. Having her as our go-to person added to what was already an amazing trip.

The first day, we rented bikes to Pukara de Quitor, a pre-Columbian fortress that is around 3 kilometers outside of town. None of us had rode a bike in a long time and that too on unpaved, rocky roads. Of course, we did get lost and started to head toward the direction of Calama. After asking locals for directions, we finally made our way to the archaeological ruins and rested at the top of the fortress. That evening, we toured Valle de la Luna or Moon Valley, a landscape that resembles that of the Moon. It was by far one of the most gorgeous places I have been. Watching the sunset at Valle de la Luna is one to remember, and the shades of pink and purple the mountains took on cannot be described in words.

The next day, we sand boarded. I have never even snow boarded, so I was filled with anxiety as we drove into the Valle de la Muerte or Death Valley to reach the sand dune. The directions being given were horribly vague, so my anxiety reached new levels as we began to climb the sand dune. The instructors suggested to go down diagonally in order to move at a moderate speed. Even though I tried my best to board in a diagonal, I always ended in a straight line down, jetting past people who were on their way up. The speed was exhilarating and then frightening, so I would make myself fall to come to a stop. I did not think I would enjoy it as much as I did, and the striking, jagged landscape characteristic to the Valle de la Muerte made for epic pictures.

The rest of our trip was a mix of hikes out to surrounding places in town or tours to specific locations like Geysers del Tatio, Puritama Hot Springs, and many more. Yes, a person could probably see San Pedro de Atacama in two to three days. But, staying for the week made for a relaxing retreat from city life and also made me really grow attached to this small town. It felt nice to have a place that we vacationed at start feeling familiar and like another home almost. From buying groceries at the markets to make lunches and dinners, having the staff recognize us at the restaurant we always chose to dine at, or even having people on the streets start smiling at us because they saw us the day before -- it was all centering and peaceful.

By Jess Yacovelle

So I have a little over four weeks until my departure from San Diego and about five hundred little things left to do.

The emphasis should be on "little." While it's true that I may have employed a slight hyperbole in the actual number of activities I need to complete, the fact is I have a tedium of chore after chore to accomplish before I depart for London, and no one warned me about all of the minutiae involved.

Oh, sure. As a student, I was warned well in advance to gather the documents needed to secure a visa. I was told to apply for housing at King's College - my host university - and to sign up for classes. I was even told to find a sturdy umbrella because it rains a lot in London.

My mentors conveniently left out, however, the paperwork you need to fill out if you wish to pick up a four month's supply of your medication in advance. I wasn't told about the struggle to find a UK cell phone or SIM card in the United States that you won't have to pay for until you land in the UK. And don't even get me started on the myriad of wall adapters I have to order online so I can actually charge my cell phone whilst I'm in the UK (yeah, that's a thing).

I suppose I'm starting this journey at a slight disadvantage; I've never been out of the country on my own before. It's a common enough reality, until you realize I mentioned earlier that I'm from San Diego. I'm literally an hour and a half away from Mexico, and I've never been. When I was a child, I was too young to warrant such a trip. By the time I grew old enough to truly appreciate the experience, Tijuana had become far too dangerous for naive white Americans to arbitrary venture across the border.

We went to Canada twice when I was child, but I never had to deal with the trivialities of travel; I was young enough that my father took care of it all, and I simply had to show up.

Perhaps I just have poor timing; my driver's license, credit card, and passport were all set to expire whilst I'll be away, and I had to spend days renewing these documents. All I know is there are a litany of little, seemingly innocuous things to deal with before going abroad. If there's one thing I can't stress enough to anyone considering to travel, it's don't skimp on the details. Pay attention to everything, and make sure all of your affairs (insurance, bank statements, cell phone, appropriate clothing, etc) are in order before you depart. Don't wait until the last minute; some things take three or four weeks to be processed, like medication forms.

I still have a few more things to cross off of my list before I go. Wish me luck.