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Author: luctechco
你好北京! (Hello, Beijing!)

你好北京! (Hello, Beijing!)

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Hello, everyone! Welcome to my blog! For the fall semester of 2018, I am participating as a student in the Beijing Center (TBC), a study abroad program based in Beijing’s University of International Business and Economics, or UIBE for short. I’m so excited to bring all of you along with me through this amazing experience studying abroad in Beijing, China.

That being said, it has already been a solid three weeks since my arrival in China.

I know. It’s already been three weeks.

In that time, I’ve already taken over 1,000 photos, stumbled through (and I mean, really stumbled through) some survival Chinese, eaten twice my weight in a bunch of different foods, and seen some pretty darn cool things.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s just recap my first week in Beijing.

Departure

In the week leading up to my departure date to Beijing, I felt a huge variety of emotions. Anyone who asked me how I was feeling about leaving to study abroad got the same general answer. I felt excited, eager, anxious, nervous, and, honestly, a little bit scared. This would be the first time I was going to be away from home for more than a few weeks. Granted, I had participated in an exchange program to Japan in the past, but that was only for two weeks. This time, I would be gone from home for four months.

That’s quite a long time, and as the departure day crept closer and closer, the realization that I would be on the other side of the world for an entire semester hit me pretty hard.

Especially when I was standing in the middle of Chicago O’Hare International Airport on departure day.

Me all ready to go to board my flight to Beijing!

Let me tell you, the picture shown above is a little misleading, as it was taken before the tear fest happened. When I say tear fest, I mean tears streaming down my cheeks as I said my goodbyes to my family. I mean I made my brother’s t-shirt damp with my tears when I hugged him as he wished me an amazing study abroad experience. I mean my mother telling me to stop crying even though she was clearly crying herself. I continued to cry well after I said goodbye; I had to go through airport security and then find my departure gate with my vision blurred by tears. I’m pretty sure the cash register at McDonald’s was wondering if my eyes could get any redder when she was taking my order for some chicken nuggets. The chicken nuggets soothed me for a little bit before I got onto the plane and the crying started all over again.

But, as much as I did cry, I boarded my plane and somehow managed to lift my 40 pound carry-on luggage into the overhead compartment by myself. I hope whoever witnessed that struggle had a good laugh (I’m 4’11”, by the way).

13 hours after taking off, I landed in Beijing, China, on August 12th.

Week One (Orientation Week)

The very first night in Beijing was, admittedly, pretty rough. I had barely slept on the plane, maybe about 2 hours near the end of the flight. I had spent most of my time anxiously thinking about the upcoming semester while playing my 3DS, doodling in my bullet journal, or just blankly staring out the airplane window. But finally getting off of the plane gave me some energy to perk up. Not long after getting off of the plane, I quickly befriended two other students who were on the same plane and were also participating in TBC’s program. The relief that no doubt all of us felt was liberating; most of my anxiety about the flight to Beijing stemmed from the fear of getting lost after getting off of the plane. At least with my newfound friends, if we got lost, we would be lost together. And so, we made our way through Beijing Capital International Airport.

After getting through customs, we were greeted by a group of Chinese UIBE students who worked for TBC as Chinese roommates and were taken to a cafe to rest as we waited for the rest of the students who were arriving the same day. At this point, my energy was fueled by nothing else but the excitement of finally being in China and the enthusiasm of meeting people involved in TBC. I remember having a lot of lively conversations with both the other TBC students and the Chinese roommates present, even though we students were all exhausted from the plane ride.

On the way to UIBE’s campus from the airport!

Once we finally got on the bus to go to UIBE’s campus, however, I think we all crashed. I know I did. Most of the rest of that night was spent in an exhausted haze. I remember everyone being extremely kind and patient with all of us who had just arrived, and I remember being really overwhelmed with so much new sights and information. TBC had graciously fed us dinner, and I recall being completely out of it, unable to bring myself to eat much because I was so exhausted. I remember finally going to bed feeling completely unsure of what I had gotten myself into.

But, the next morning, I quickly figured out that all of my emotions from the night before were a result of travel exhaustion. We had breakfast in a cute cafe and were able to socialize with each other more. I felt much better, and everyone was so open and kind to each other. It was obvious that morning that the excitement for the upcoming semester was contagious, all of us feeding off of each other’s energy.

The first of many group photos. Can you find where I am?

Then, Beijing Center’s orientation week finally kicked off. Throughout the week, most, if not all, of our burning questions were answered. We went over everything from living in Beijing as a UIBE student, navigating the campus, talking about the logistics of academics, and more. We also met all of the amazing TBC staff as well as the Chinese roommates and got to know one another better through group activities. We even were grouped together with Chinese roommates to go out to lunch and to dinner so that we would know food places around campus. It was such a clear, scheduled, organized way to get us orientated in Beijing.

One of many orientation sessions during orientation week.

In addition to the orientation sessions, there were a handful of excursions that we went on. We went sight-seeing at Tiananmen Square, we saw an amazing acrobatics show, and we went shopping at Aegean mall in preparation for our upcoming Silk Road trip. Every day, I had so much fun, laughing and smiling with my newfound friends, and the stress of the first night in Beijing seemed to just melt away.

TBC invades Tiananmen Square
Cute giant koala at the Aegean Mall!

All in all, the first week might have started out a little rough, but after getting over the initial feelings of being overwhelmed and exhausted, I became much more comfortable. I was so relieved to realize that so many other fellow students were in my shoes. I was glad that we all shared the feeling of being in this wonderful experience together, and this feeling brought us even closer together when we all packed our bags and left for a once-in-a-lifetime journey along the Silk Road, a journey that would take us over 2,000 miles away from Beijing.

But more on that trip next time!

Bye bye for now~

-Justine
Entering Roma

Entering Roma

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After a short trip of 14 hours from Chicago to Rome, I finally dropped my bags off in my dorm at the John Felice Rome Center and began my semester of studying abroad in Europe.

I’m super excited to keep everyone back home updated on what I’m doing, where I’m going, and talk about my experiences for the next 3 1/2 months. Already I have visited the Colosseum, the ruins of the Roman Forum, a couple of Churches, gotten lost in the streets of Rome, made friends with local shop owners and bartenders, ordered every single cup of coffee in Italian, and planned the next 4 weekends of traveling with people in the 4 days I’ve been here, which seems like 2 weeks already.

Orientation has been a beating with all the activities and amount of walking we are doing. And the jet lag doesn’t help with any of it. But it has been a great few days meeting all the other students here from Loyola Chicago, and a bunch of other Universities. My roommate, Kyle, is from Hawaii and studies at Santa Clara University and has introduced me to the group of students that have come from there. Today I started talking to a Junior, Hannah, from Xavier University and ended up exploring and taking pictures with her and my friend Beth.

I am continuing my nursing studies while here, along with 24 other sophomore nursing majors from Loyola. Balancing the 18 credits I’m taking and exploring the city of Rome and trying to travel around Europe is going to be interesting, to say the least. But I think this semester is going to be the best few months.

Oh yeah, the wine and gelato are pretty good here(:
The End

The End

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The last time I lived in a building with communal bathrooms and kitchen was my first year at Loyola. I hated it then. I wanted my own space and privacy and I wanted to be able to hide from people I didn’t want to talk to. I knew I would never choose to live in a communal hall like that, but I also didn’t think I’d ever happen to live in one again.

Living communally, however, has been the backbone of my small time in Ghana. It’s made me question why Americans are so bent over backwards about maintaining their privacy, about keeping private spaces walled off from public spaces.

On my first night here, I spent about an hour playing games with the other USAC students who all gathered in the room that would become mine. From the very beginning, I realized that the spaces I occupy here would become shared spaces. Even the things I own here have been shared freely or borrowed indefinitely. I’m an introvert but I’ve become used to never being alone here in Ghana.

On my last night here, I was alone in my room as I packed my things to return home. The rest of the students in my program had left. It struck me that I was the last of us to arrive here, and I was the last one to leave. Now, that loneliness is breaking my heart. I’ll never again walk some few doors down and ask Laura to use her electric kettle, or walk further down the hall and ask Sharne to file my nails; Gerry isn’t here to lend me money for water, Chase isn’t here to open her door for me when I ask her to make me dinner. This community of international students has, in my opinion, become the most essential part to my well-being in Ghana.

Some of the USAC students (not including me) at the wedding of our resident director.

Beyond the doors of the hostel, a similar sense of community is laced in the air that I breathe. Vendors at the Night Market cooperate with little competition. Students preparing for finals share notes and ideas that will help them write their exam. If I don’t know where I’m going or where to find something, I’ll receive help from the first person I ask. Friends are easily made and kept. Everyone is my sister and my brother. And I became a part of these communities from the moment I stepped off the plane in January.

I’m keeping this post short because writing it is making me tear up. I am and will always be infinitely grateful for those I’ve met here who made me see the value of a life lived communally. My heart aches at the distance that will soon separate us. I want Chicago to be closer to Reno and Columbia, Las Cruces and Boston, DC and wherever the hell Sharne lives just so I can get on a train and be at your door. You all helped me become part of a home here, a home in which I feel protected and uplifted and uninhibited – a home whose dynamic would have collapsed as soon as any of acted selfishly.

To my two aunties and the USAC student staff who helped me learn the ropes of life in Ghana, thank you for being patient and kind with a clueless international student like myself. To the countless University of Ghana students who I met and talked with, thank you for answering my questions and letting me enjoy your beautiful country. To my UG professors, some of whom frustrated me, thank you for teaching me about Africa from an African perspective.

Laken and me at our Aunty Abigail’s traditional wedding. Her dress for the ceremony is made of Ghanaian woven fabric called kente.

I will keep all of you in my heart always. You’ve made coming to Ghana the best decision I’ve ever made for myself.
Learning to Appreciate Life in Switzerland

Learning to Appreciate Life in Switzerland

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The first few months of studying abroad were some of the most fast-paced and hectic of my entire life. I was dealing with all the struggles that come with adjusting to a completely new living situation, while also travelling nearly every single weekend. Time never really slowed down and it seemed like as soon as I finished one task I had to move on to the next one.

Although I had some terrific experiences and made memories that will last forever within those times, it made me forget to stop and appreciate the simple attractions of living in Switzerland. I was constantly thinking about what I had to do or where I had to visit next, instead of recognizing the value of the present moment. However, the last two weeks have been a complete shift from the rest of the semester, as everything has gradually settled and I’ve been able to take in the beauty of life here.

The increased amount of down time lately has made me realize that Switzerland and Winterthur, the town I live in, has a lot more to offer than I may have originally thought. To start, the weather here has been about 80 degrees every day and I haven’t seen a single cloud the entire time. In the past, my friends and I would always try to go to places that had beaches and warm weather to escape the coldness of Switzerland. Now when I check online, Winterthur often has even better weather than the places I went too or considered visiting.

The town is perfect for spending time in the incredible weather, as it is full of parks, forest trails, and nature areas. Whenever I’m feeling stressed out or if I just want to get some sun, I usually go to one of the parks and sit back while listening to a podcast or some music. No matter which park I go too it is always has an uplifting energy to it, as kids are playing, picnics are happening, and many people are just laying out, like myself. If I do decide to be a little more active during the day and still take advantage of the weather, I can always go on a long walk or hike. Along the various pathways I’m always treated to stunning scenes of the woods or of the vast Swiss countryside and I feel comfort and serenity from all the nature around me.

                 The calm countryside

Clearly, I’ve been loving the recent blue and sunny skies, but my growing fondness for Winterthur doesn’t just end there. The lively atmosphere of the main streets never fails to put me in a good mood, especially as the sound of music from street performers surrounds me.  If I’m lucky, there will even be an outdoor food market in the center of town, where I’ll truly engage with the Swiss culture by buying some locally made cheese. To top it all off, the somewhat small town of 100,000 people has more and arguably better cafés than all of Chicago.Each one is fantastic for sipping on a cappuccino while getting some work done, especially with final exams coming up.  My favorite is still Locanda Trivisano, which I wrote about in one of my first blogs, and I know that I’ll miss their coffee the most when I’m back in America.

Marktgasse, the main street of Winterthur

Even though I haven’t been traveling as much to other countries recently, I’ve still been going on day trips to other cities within Switzerland. All Swiss towns are somewhat similar to each other, but each one has its own unique features that make the short train rides well worth it. Last week I went on two of these quick trips with a friend, one to Basel and another to St. Gallen. Basel, the third-biggest city in Switzerland, is a gorgeous town settled on the Rhein river. Winterthur doesn’t have any body of water, so it was a nice change of pace to be able to sit by the river and take in the wonderful view. The Rhein also had one of the more intriguing attractions I’ve ever seen in a city, a small wooden ferry boat that crosses the river and is pulled by a string. The experience of the ferry trip wasn’t anything life-changing like some other of my touristic adventures have been so far, but it was extremely charming and something you won’t see in any other city in the world.

 

The “Reinfahre”, not exactly a speedboat
                Basel along the river

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

While I could’ve sat along the Rhein river the whole day and never got tired of it, we made sure to see the historic landmarks that the town is also known for. One of them was an impressive and also special cathedral, called the Basel Minster. From the outside, it was remarkable just like most of the cathedrals that I have seen in Europe, however the inside had something I wasn’t expecting at all. Instead of there only being paintings or statues within the cathedral, there were also tombs and graves of well-known Christian figures of the past.  It was especially fascinating to see a grave memorial for Erasmus there, as he was someone I thoroughly studied in my Theology class last semester.

The Basel Minster

 

The memorial for Erasmus

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In addition to the cathedral, the city’s old Rathaus, German for town hall, was another one of my favorites. The building stood out from all of the others, as it had distinctive exterior decorations and a strong red color. The courtyard in the town hall was also extraordinary due to the symbolic figures and stories painted on the walls.

The Basel Rathaus
The walls of the Rathaus Courtyard

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The other trip of the week was to St. Gallen, a smaller town than Basel and one with less touristic appeal. However, the one main attraction that it did have was one of my personal favorites while being abroad. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a beach, a restaurant, or even a museum, instead I was infatuated with the Abbey Library of Saint Gall. This wasn’t just any old library, it is one of the most important monastic libraries in the world and it dates all the way back to the 8th century. The Benedictine Abbey contains one of the most extensive collections of vital writings, with over 150,000 pieces of work stretching over the last 12 centuries. If that wasn’t already enthralling enough, the interior design of the library was mind-blowing. There were exquisite wooden balconies and bookshelves and the ceilings had intricate and dazzling paintings. For the hour that I was in there I felt like I had travelled back in time and I was a monk on a quest for sacred knowledge.

A picture of the also wonderful Abbey Cathedral, since pictures weren’t allowed in the library (look it up online!)

I understand now that Basel and St. Gallen may not have the notoriety of the past cities I’ve been too like Barcelona, but that doesn’t mean that the trips were any less valuable. Discovering a new place is all about what you do to engage with that city, and not about the ratings on Trip Advisor.

 

But for now I’m back in Winterthur, blogging in the corner of a small café as I finish the last sips of another tasty coffee. Simple moments like these don’t seem that spectacular, but I also know that sometime in the future I’ll wish that I could be back here again. So, it’s up to me to appreciate every moment of my life here in Switzerland.

 

Radek

 
May Their Souls Rest in Perfect Peace

May Their Souls Rest in Perfect Peace

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Last weekend, I left Accra for the first time in a while to go to Cape Coast, a mid-size city some 150 kilometers west of the capital. Cape Coast is known to many Africans and oburonis alike for its role in the trans-Atlantic slave trade, but aside from that I found it to be a bright, lively town of merchants and fisherfolk happy to see visitors.

On the rocky shore of the ocean is situated a massive castle, covered in white lime to reflect the hot sun, but weathered from years of salty spray. Hawkers, painters, vendors and their booths line the street leading up to the compound’s entrance. Akwaaba resounds from their mouths at the sight of foreigners. A tour of the property was 40 Ghana cedis for a non-Ghanaian student like myself. The price for a Ghana resident was significantly lower – around 15 cedis for an adult pass. Three of my friends and I joined a tour that had just gotten started. The group was 90% white people. It was the most white people I’ve seen here in one place outside of UG’s campus.

Our tour guide was a young man named Frances who studies at the University of Cape Coast, one of Ghana’s most highly ranked universities. We joined him and the group in the castle courtyard facing the ocean, the parapet lined with rusted black cannons and piles of mortar shells. I squinted as the sun bounced off the whitewashed walls and as mist from the waves blew into my eyes.

Courtyard of Cape Coast Castle. 

Frances spoke with an exacted rhythm and tone that told me he’s done this dozens, maybe hundreds of times before. I followed him practically on his heels as he led us through the courtyard and toward a dungeon entrance. He invited us to put our heads into a 3×3 hole in the wall with a crumbled staircase that led to a dark tunnel. It smelled like must and salt and faintly of ghosts.

If you, dear reader, know nothing of the slave castles that are littered across the “Slave Coast” of Africa, I beg that you soon learn.

Established by the British, the Dutch, the Portuguese, the French, these castles served many purposes for the growing imperial economies of the fifteenth through nineteenth centuries. They housed the European merchant leaders and, later, colonial administrators who supervised imports and exports from major towns along the Gulf of Guinea – Abidjan in Cote d’Ivoire; Lome in Togo; Lagos in Nigeria; Takoradi, Accra, and Cape Coast in the Gold Coast. In exchange for the promise of European trade, the land to build these structures was sold by the African leaders whose people had lived there for generations. They were designed as commercial hubs, defensible forts, and corrals for the human livestock around which trade boomed.

Scale model of Cape Coast Castle.

This legacy was in the air that I breathed as I stepped under an arch leading to the female slave dungeons. Like before, I was met with the smell of old dirt, wet rock, and thousands of ghosts spread out across two small chambers. Our wise guide explained how young adult women were kept in these rooms for weeks or months at a time, in total darkness with no air, surrounded by hundreds of their sisters.

Across the castle were the male dungeons, made up of three chambers, deeper underground. Frances bent over and placed his hand against the wall about a foot off the ground where there was a deep stain in the rock. Here, he said, was how deep in shit and vomit hundreds of men had to stand and sleep and eat.

On the south side of the chamber were about a hundred small sculptures of men’s faces carved into stone. Many of them were grimacing, or had their mouths open in shock, or simply looked broken – literally and metaphorically. Frances suddenly asked us to look at the faces. Did they look familiar? Whose faces did we see?

A sculpture similar to those found in the male dungeons.

“You might see my face,” he said, as he looked up from the sculptures directly into my eyes.

Whose ghosts were down there? Was it his family? Was it the father of any of the Black Americans I knew back home? People I graduated high school with? These ghosts came from Ghana, sure, but also from Nigeria, and from Benin, and Burkina Faso – maybe even further inland from Mali, or Sudan, or the Congo.

I blinked tears away as I broke eye contact with Frances and with the hundreds of men who stared at me from the dark floor of the chamber.

Upstairs, we faced a huge wooden door painted black with a plaque above reading “Door of No Return.” It was this door which led to the water, where small boats would shuttle captives out to the ships anchored offshore. Countless bodies passed through this door, never to step foot on their mother soil again. Of the twenty million who were led through this door and doors like it across the Slave Coast, only fifteen million survived to see the New World where they would be enslaved (N.B. below).

Five million ghosts, not counting those who died on the march from the inland to the coast, those who died in these dungeons, or those who died on plantations in the Americas. Five million dead not counting their descendants who didn’t survive convict leasing in the coal mines, or the Jim Crow South, or the prison-industrial system of today.

I felt all these souls as I left the castle. My skin, white as the walls that were beaten by the waves, crawled.

View of the coast and the Gulf of Guinea from the Door of No Return.

Examining my position as an American who has inadvertently benefited from the stolen labor of these bodies, I am humbled, humiliated, and somber. I am privileged enough to know where my ancestors came from. I know the names given to them at birth by their people. My ancestors were not doomed to a fate such as this – snatched from their homes, forced to walk hundreds of kilometers to be shipped thousands more kilometers across the sea, and given names foreign to their tongues. Of all the benefits I reap from the color of my skin, this is perhaps the most heart-wrenching. To my Black American sisters and brothers back home, I weep with you at the number of souls lost to the slave trade.

But more importantly, I will fight with you to get back what was stolen, to hold accountable those who devalue your lives and your labor to this day. Africans and oburonis alike – we, the living – vow to uphold this.

The exterior of the Door of No Return, relabeled the Door of Return for those of the African Diaspora who return through the archway.

N.B. There is much disagreement on the exact number of people captured from Africa and brought to the Americas, due to inadequate primary materials from the slave traders. Twenty million captives is generally the lowest estimate. Most agree, however, that of the millions who embarked on the Middle Passage, anywhere from 10-20% of them died on the journey. For more information on the particular controversies surrounding the historiography of the trans-Atlantic slave trade, see Walter Rodney, How Europe Underdeveloped Africa (Panaf Publishing: Abuja) 2009 ed., especially pp. 108-120.

For further reading on the African Diaspora, especially from a Ghanaian-“American” perspective, I highly recommend Yaa Gyasi’s debut novel Homegoing (Knopf: New York, 2016).

Additionally, the literature of Ta Nehesi-Coates and James Baldwin provide insights on the contemporary experiences of Black men in America as they have been shaped by America’s legacy of institutionalized racism.

Madrid to Mallorca

Madrid to Mallorca

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Time is running out, and finals are fast approaching. Earlier in the semester a couple of friends and I decided to book a trip for the long weekend before finals week to the island of Palma, Mallorca.

I’m not sure if it was because I know my days are numbered now, but this trip was by far my favorite. I arrived with only two expectations: laying on the beach every day for the whole trip, and leaving with a heavy tan.

Not only were my expectations met, but they were surpassed. I made friends with other guests at my hostel and we tanned on the beach and went on adventures for the three days there. I went cliff diving for the first time, visited a palace, took a picturesque train ride to the other side of the island, and partied with people I just met! It seems like a dream, how perfect the trip was. It made me realize that talking to people who didn’t come on the trip can add to your plans, not take away from them.

Of course, I was afraid to do a lot of what I’ve done, but I’ve also conquered a lot of those fears now. I’m terrified of heights, so cliff diving seemed ridiculous to me, but I went anyways. I still have no idea how I mustered up the courage to jump, but I did, and even though I landed wrong I’d do it again any day. You don’t have to do anything as extreme as cliff diving, but you should do things that push you out of your comfort zone.

The last night I was there I got to see the sun set over the mountains and the ocean, while thinking about my study abroad experience. As often as it is repeated, I really do believe you have to go into all of it with zero expectations, ready to change plans again and again, and be open to new experiences. My time studying abroad wouldn’t be as amazing as it is without trying new things.

    

Walpurgis (Valborg) night

Walpurgis (Valborg) night

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April 30th (trettionde fjärde) marks, from what I believe, one of the two major holidays in Sweden. It is called Walpurgis Night or Valborg night/festival. Walpurgis Night entails dancing, drinking, bonfires, and maybe an occasional accordion player. The celebrations are in honor of St. Walpurga who was a missionary, converting pagan affiliated Germans to Christianity during the 700s. She took over as abbess of the double monastery of Heidenheim am Hahnenkamm in Bavaria.

May 1st (forstä femte) marks a day off of work for most Swedes and doubles as International Worker’s Day. This is also commonly known as May Day. Protesters occupied some streets of downtown Jönköping. My friend went and said they were from the far left and far right parties of the Swedish political spectrum.

I was in my Swedish language course when my friend asked if I was going to the Valborg festival in Jönköping. I completely forgot tonight and tomorrow were holidays. Usually, if I head to the city I plan to spend the whole day there. I absolutely love commutes (I know fight me) but I do not like to commute back home after commuting to my destination not long before. For this instance, I had my school bag and was not prepared to be outside all day and run around from apartment to apartment. Students at my uni were partying on the “quad” and then going apartment hopping until the clubs at night. I bit the bullet and went home with the intention of coming back to the city later to ride my new beautiful 1970ish bike around with a friend.

Actual is rarely similar to what is predicted. Pass that down to your kids, friends. My inside source told me that the bonfire was not happening in Jönköping, but in a town between the area I live in, Tenhult, and the city. Peep my earlier post about Huskvarna. My legs were eager to get turning so my house mate, Vivek (peep my 2nd post), and I went off to Huskvarna. We met up with two of his friends, and thats when the adventure began.

Vivek and i saw the flames a-blazing from the train. After 20 minutes finding a meeting place with his friends, the flames and smoke disappeared. We asked locals where to find the bonfire (yes, Swedish people do talk and actually love to help out. Do not believe everything on the Internet). We climbed, and rode, the paved hills of Huskvarna until we hit the stairway to heaven. Unfortunately, my rusty stallion became obsolete here. We walked up maybe 200 steps until we arrived at our destination. There was an aging boy/girl scout building on the left, the embers of the once beautiful flames straight ahead, and about 5 booths lining the dirt path up the hill to the right. It was 9pm. This is the point where I make another crucial point about Swedish society. Everything, except bars and clubs, close around 6pm so be prepared. The journey back was also quite the adventure. The rain picked back up and we missed our train by 5 minutes. The next train got delayed 45 minutes so we had to wait an hour and a half at the station, since everything was closed.

Alas, it was not a bad experience. The fire was still hot when we got there. The rain was not too bad. The booths had candy, a lottery, and cotton candy. The scouts’ building had a homemade desert feast benefiting the scouts. The remaining people were still smiling, and running so that was great to see. Vivek told me a lot about his religion. About the various gods and also how most families have a temple just for them. I also had time to listen to a nutrition podcast that I left a while ago. And play a really cool game on my phone.

When one door closes, another one opens. For lack of better phrases I am going to stick with that one.

 

Arrivederci Roma!

Arrivederci Roma!

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Arrivederci Roma! We sang that song three times at our Voice concert celebrating the end of the semester on Monday, April 23rd. There were a lot more people in the audience than I expected. (Many of us had pleaded with our friends not to come.) They came anyway, and we laughed and stammered through a few classic Italian songs, including our solo pieces. Most of us were not singers, but we had fun with it, breathing sighs of relief in between phrases because the semester was almost over, we were almost on our way back home.

 

Street art in Prati, Rome

 

     Early on in the semester, I read a blog post written by a former JFRC student, she warned future students not to spend too much time wishing they were home. She wrote that during her semester, she never really stopped missing home, but that’s okay. I too found myself stubbornly missing home and looking forward to going back all semester. I never woke up one day no longer missing home at all. When I read her post, I realized every moment spent wishing I was home was a wasted one. Soon, I knew, I would be writing this last blog post, from my own kitchen table in Chicago. I think after I read that, I was more motivated to make the most of each day, and I did that the best I could for the rest of the semester.

 

A guitarist plays on a curbside in Rome

 

     Looking back, I loved my semester. Even though it wasn’t perfect, it was my own, unique experience that I wouldn’t change. I traveled to Poland and Switzerland, I toured Auschwitz and jumped off of a mountain. I had pizza in Naples and gelato in Florence. Saw the David, the Trevi, Botticelli’s Primavera, and dropped coins in the hats and cases of dozens of street musicians.

 

St. Peter’s Square

 

     Not only am I lucky to have been able to take this trip, but doubly lucky to be able to come home to a place I love. Friends and family, and a whole list of things I missed. Less than 2% of American college students study abroad, an even smaller percentage gets to study abroad, all the while looking forward to coming home, while still enjoying their experiences in the host country. Needless to say, I have a lot to be grateful.

 

Snowfall in Rome!

 

     I got home Friday, April 27th. It’s been a relatively smooth transition. Three months is long enough to grow and change, but not enough to forget what home is like.

     Next steps: Have a fun summer, and hopefully work a good internship related to communications. Next year I will be an RA at Loyola University Chicago, living at the water tower campus near Michigan Avenue. One more thing: I can’t wait to travel like a tourist in Chicago. It’s time for me to see more of my city, and my country!

 

One angle of Amsterdam

 

A hungry scavenger waits for a meal above a fish market

 

Artwork on display during the WWII trip

 

 

 

 

 
Role Reversal

Role Reversal

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Since March, I’ve spent nearly every weekend travelling and discovering new places, including Malta, Barcelona, Montenegro, and Vienna. During these trips I’ve made memories that I’ll never forget, but the travels have also started to slowly become overwhelming. Typically, I’ll come back from one destination on Monday or Tuesday, and by Thursday I’m on the plane heading to another new place.  Although I can’t wait to continue exploring Europe throughout the rest of my exchange semester, the last few hectic and travel-filled weeks have made me crave a bit of rest and familiarity. Therefore, this past weekend was a much needed change of pace, as instead of personally doing more travelling, my sister came to Zurich to visit me.

Aside from providing a break from the continuous travelling, seeing my sister also helped to stop the feelings of home sickness that I’ve been having lately. I’m about halfway done with my exchange semester so far, and it feels like each week my phone calls with my parents are becoming longer and longer. However, from the second I gave my sister a big hug in the airport, all of those emotions went away and it almost felt like I was back home again.

In addition to my sister curing my home sickness, having her visit me had a lot of other minor perks, such as all the American snacks she brought and the hotel in Zurich she got us for the weekend. Living in a dorm for so long almost made me forget how amazing it felt to sleep in a normal-sized bed and not have to share a bathroom with 15 other people.

View from the hotel

Now, while I could probably write this entire blog about the hotel or the American snacks, I did actually have to show my sister around Switzerland and act as a guide for the weekend. After being a lost tourist in every place that I’ve been too lately, it was interesting being the one that knew where everything was and how things work. That included everything from buying train tickets to planning out the days. It was satisfying to know that within two months I’ve mastered the basics of living in Switzerland enough to properly navigate someone around, a drastic progression from the twenty minutes I used to take to buy one train ticket.

My sister arrived on Friday, and most of that day was spent relaxing, walking around, and most importantly catching up with each other. I didn’t even really want to do anything that day besides just hang out with her, as I’ve realized that no amount of phone calls or texts can beat actually being with someone in person.  Plus, even though I live only 20 minutes outside of Zurich, I haven’t had that many chances to casually stroll the beautiful city.

We could’ve talked about life for the entire weekend and it still wouldn’t have been enough time, but we did have to do at least a little bit of sightseeing in Switzerland together. Having been to Mount Rigi once already and Luzern multiple times, I knew that it was the perfect choice for a day trip to take with my sister.

The day ended up going better than I could’ve imagined. This was about my third or fourth time in Luzern, but the town looked more picturesque than ever. There was an entirely different atmosphere walking around the town with the sun shining than when it was 20 degrees last time I went. The streets being filled with food markets combined with the people laying out and tanning by the lake made me feel like I was back in Barcelona instead of Switzerland. That environment continued when we went up to the mountain later on in the day, as it was covered in greenery and flowers, instead of the snow that I remembered. I don’t think my sister expected to be wearing shorts and drinking iced drinks on a mountain when she booked the trip to Switzerland a few months ago. To top it all off, we took a boat from Luzern to the base of the mountain, which was a far better experience than the bus I took last time to get there.

                   Spring time Luzern
                          View from Mount Rigi

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now, there was another, and far more insignificant, reason that my sister came to Switzerland, besides to see me. On Sunday, she had to take care of just some business: running a marathon. Actually, my sister running and finishing a marathon was anything but insignificant. This was about my sister’s fifth marathon and the one with the toughest circumstances so far. She had only flew in two days prior, which meant that she was still dealing with the jet lag from the flight. It was also the hottest day and most humid day of the entire weekend, which even made me sweat just from cheering her on. However, despite these tough factors, my sister completed the marathon and I couldn’t have been any more proud of her.

Monday morning it was time to part ways and for me to go back to my regular study abroad life. However, the weekend was just as enjoyable and far more meaningful than any trip I’ve done so far. Seeing my sister confirmed that there truly is nothing more gratifying in life than the simple activity of spending time with family and loved ones. I wouldn’t want to walk around Zurich or visit a Swiss mountain with anyone else, and inspired is an understatement for how I felt when she crossed the finish line.

 

Radek

Home Is In Plain Sight

Home Is In Plain Sight

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My weeks have turned to days which have turned to hours. Tomorrow is my last full day in the magnificent Rome. Why am I crying in the club right now.

Time here has truly flown by, it’s hard to believe I’ve accomplished everything I have in these past few months. Multiple countries, so many new friends, endless bowls of pasta…My complete history of trips includes:

  • Bologna
  • Florence (twice)
  • Copenhagen
  • Amsterdam
  • London
  • Paris (twice)
  • Barcelona
  • Dublin

Even looking at my list it still blows my mind how much I’ve experienced in such a short amount of time. I could honestly type out an entire novel, chronicling my adventures in full detail, but I’ll spare you. I’ve made so many friends that I know will stick with me even after we land in Chicago. I could not have had a better roommate, as Alexa and I are similar on every level (most importantly on our sleep schedules). Italy has taught me so much, like how to roll with the punches, how to take local social cues with a grain of salt and be more patient, the importance of calling my mom every once in awhile, and never ever ever taking for granted the privileges I’ve been blessed with. I’ve grown and blossomed into an entirely different person. Did I mention I even got a tattoo??? I mean, WHO AM I THESE DAYS.

The point is, this entire study abroad experience has taught me more about life and independence than in my three years of college life in Chicago. I never could’ve imagined my life would take this turn. I only dreamt of living in Italy, I’m not even 21 and I’ve already been to more than eight foreign countries. My stories are endless, and while I’m aware that the reverse culture shock is real, I’m excited to share every story with anyone willing to listen. I’ve partied with the professional Denmark basketball team, visited the house of the late Amy Winehouse, got tatted in Rome, listened to the Weeknd’s new album in Paris, stuffed myself with lasagna in Bologna, and the list goes on and on. I’m prepping to take my last final tomorrow, but I feel as though I’m prepping for something much bigger when I get home.