Notes from Abroad
When in Rome, do as the Romans do
Sunday, February 28, 2010
By Lyssa Auton
GVL Study Abroad Columnist
One of the most clichéd sayings in the entire English language, these eight words are incredibly powerful when put into action. For centuries, they have torn down cultural barriers, created relational ties between countries and helped us all learn to be a bit more tolerant of different societal norms.
For me, these words have become law while studying in Chile. I am here to learn, and therefore, I must take part in the Chilean culture.
Sometimes this is easy. The food here is delicious. With local specialties such as one kilo empanadas and some of the best wine in the entire world, I’m not one to complain. Sometimes it’s a little hard. For the life of me, I don’t understand why I can’t go barefoot in the house. Or why we have to wait until 11 p.m. to eat dinner.
And sometimes, it’s just weird- like following two giant dolls and 3 million Santiaguinos through the streets of the capital city for an entire afternoon.
And so begins our story. This year, Chile is celebrating its bicentennial. With countless festivals, theaters, concerts and other family-friendly activities, there isn’t a dull moment in Santiago. To kick off the year-long celebration of “Santiago a Mil,” two giant marionettes, La Pequeña Gigante and her tío, el Hombre Escafandra, paraded through the streets, attracting roughly 3 million Santiaguinos, Chileans and tourists. This was the giant dolls’ second visit to Santiago, operated by the French street theater company Royal de Luxe.
Giant is an understatement. La Pequeña Gigante (“Little Giant”) stands at 5 meters (approximately 16.4 feet), while her Tío (uncle) is double her size and stands approximately 32.8 feet tall. Even in a sea of people, these marionettes are impossible to miss.
Going in to this experience, I didn’t know what to expect. Urged by my host mom, I decided to head down to the central plaza to check it out. I arrived just as the Tío was waking up from his siesta near the central market and was immediately bombarded by a mass of people that the news coverage couldn’t even begin to display.
For four hours, I followed 3 million excited spectators around the city, hoping to catch a glimpse of the dolls. Dodging through the city, it was like a giant came of "I spy" or "hide-and-go-seek." People of all ages came to see these giant dolls; babies who couldn’t have been more than 2 weeks old were nestled against their parent's chest, while 90-year-old grandparents hobbled around, praying that they didn’t die of heatstroke.
Looking back, this will probably be an experience that I remember for the rest of my life. It was too weird to forget. But that day I also realized the depth of that clichéd saying: Taking part in another culture doesn’t merely help us become tolerant; it helps us discover who we truly are. Oddly enough, blindly following 3 million Santiaguinos was comforting. Santiago finally felt like home.
Posted 5:43 PM
0 Comments
Costa Rica: What happened to Miss Independence?
Sunday, February 21, 2010
GVL Study Abroad Columnist
Jan. 2, 3:15 a.m.: My day started out on the right foot, err rather right toe … actually it was my left toe. As I so bravely woke up that morning to my chirping frog alarm, I was ready to leave my parents and cleave to myself.
I was about to embark on my first solo flight and my first solo trip overseas. My parents woke up at 3:15 a.m. also, due to the fact that the noises of the frogs were a strange sound to be heard mid-winter in Michigan.
I boldly told them to go back to sleep, that I could take my luggage by myself out of our hotel room, brave it in the elevator alone and jump on the airport shuttle with ease. I hugged and kissed them both goodbye and with my shoulders raised to unusual heights, I began to wheel my bags out the door and as I did, one bag slipped from its carefully balanced position and the grip of my hand, landing directly on my big left toe.
“That ... was my toe,” was the only glimpse of weakness I was willing to show my parents. While choking back tears and trying to breathe so the shock of pain wouldn’t cause me to black out, I said, “I love you both!” I was out the door and in pursuit of a Band-Aid.
It’s funny how something such as studying abroad, a step I took in order to prove my independence, has taught me how to utilize dependence. For example is the couple I met on the airplane from Germany who spoke very little to absolutely no English. We chatted about foods my little German Grandma makes (because strudel and dumpling were the only German words I knew), and they asked me to translate into simpler words everything the pilot said over the loud speaker and how to fill out their visitor cards once we entered Costa Rica.
Or, the first weekend I arrived here, my Tico Family took my roommate Dannie and I to a carnival in downtown San Jose. I felt like a small child at Cedar Point for the first time. I’ve never envied children attached to their parents by a leash until then.
The carnival was packed with people speaking Spanish with an accent my classes did not prepare me for, jammed together and riding on rides that I’m pretty sure were the cause of many up-chucked churros.
We had to take a public bus there, and walk for a bit. The whole time my Tica Mama had her eye on me -- the very blonde American who stood out the most. I completely relied blindly on my Tico Family to safely get us to the carnival, walk around in the pitch black night and return to our home for the evening -- a family that I can only communicate with as if I was a 4 year old and a family that up until 48 hours prior, were complete strangers to me. Dependence at its finest.
Every time I look at my left toe, the toe that now doesn’t have a nail on it, I’m reminded of the risk it was for me to stretch outside of my extra cozy box of comfort by coming here and learning how to do things on my own. I think of how vital it is for us to be independent people but how much more fun and fulfilling life is when we learn to depend on one another.
*Churro: a delicious donut-like pastry sold at $0.50 a piece with dulce de leche, a caramel filling placed tenderly in the middle
*Tico/Tica: the name of locals who live in Costa Rica. Anyone foreign is known affectionately as a gringo/gringa, ie: Michigander for Michigan
Posted 5:29 PM
0 Comments
A cultural jewel
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
By Dayna Barber
GVL Study Abroad Columnist
There is a rivalry that exists in Poland between the capital city of Warsaw and the cultural utopia of Krakow. Two thriving cities could not be more contrasting in nature than the stark, gray streets that connect the professional business elite of Warsaw and the enchanting cultural jewel of Eastern Europe that is Krakow.
This predicament had passed unnoticed by my colleagues and I until we descended beneath the cobble stone streets of the city and into the labyrinth of clubs and bars. More dungeon like than anything, these nooks and crannies are where Poles come to unwind and, very often, share with you their perspectives on this rivalry between the two great cities.
I still have not surmised a legitimate reason for this rivalry besides perhaps the friction between the football teams, cultural difference or the legends that accompany the creation of each city: Krakow's dragon that was slayed by a shoemaker and Warsaw's arrow shooting mermaid.
However, the cultural lure of Krakow tends to sweep me off my feet as the city is vibrant and historical with its winding medieval streets and the presence of an immense castle situated right on the beautiful Vistula river that flows through the southern edge of the city.
The Poles here are very friendly and eager to practice their English with you or your Polish with them. Krakow has an exceptionally large student population, since situated in various parts of the city are many universities including the oldest one in Poland that was established in 1364. The youth here have many opportunities to exploit in the galleries of various art venues or on the stages of music pub
s.
One cannot walk down the street without seeing a flier for a Chopin concert or jazz club.
But mixed with the modernity of Krakow is the historical context which provides a look into the past of a country that has undergone some turbulent times. In Kazimierz, the old Jewish district in the south of Krakow, one can walk through what use to be the Krakow ghetto and view Schindler's factory where he protected his Jewish employees from being shipped to nearby concentration camps.
There are also many art galleries dedicated to the transformation and evolution of art after the fall of communism in Poland that has gained international attention.
A group of us were fortunate enough to attend one of these unique galleries called, The Hidden Decade, that provided a plethora of video art from the time frame of 1985-1995 when art was undergoing an evolution from the previous venues available under the Communist-era.
The gallery was ridden with numerous television sets that showed strange and abnormal images of the revolution movement. Black and white movies screened people jumping on mattresses, talking chickens and people smashing objects that gave an unusual but profound feeling of change and rebellion.
Most museums and art galleries exhibit classical and modern art but these special venues convey the emergence of a new generation of art that came out of the Communist era and evolved into what Polish artists create today.
Posted 7:33 PM
0 Comments
Where voting isn't 'cool'
Sunday, January 31, 2010
By Lyssa Auton
GVL Study Abroad Columnist
When I’m 30 and have to take medication for high blood pressure, I’ll blame politics.
As a United States citizen, I treasure my constitutional rights; namely, my freedom of speech and my right to vote.
However, just because I have the right to speak freely doesn’t mean anyone listens. Our government is a brick wall that I’ve talked to more than once. Nevertheless, I take pride in the fact that I have a say in who becomes the next president of the United States.
In terms of politics, I couldn’t have chosen a better time to study in Santiago, Chile: Election year!
I arrived incredibly excited to take part in the culture that surrounds the election of a president, and though I would not be able to vote, I looked forward to my participation in such matters.
On top of the normal excitement of a presidential election, this year was different for two principal reasons.
First, Chilean elections are typically held in December; however, the results from the initial election were too close to call and a run-off between the two candidates with the highest percentage of votes was called.
Secondly, this was the first time a right-winged candidate had a chance of winning since the end of the Pinochet dictatorship in 1990. Both factors made for an interesting race.
Having recently participated in the ground-breaking election of President Obama, I was curious to hear how the Chileans were feeling about their own unusual election.
What I heard did not surprise me. The majority of the youth were very passionate about the left-winged candidate Eduardo Frei. Many of the older generation feared the success of the right-winged candidate Sebastian Piñera, as he symbolized the atrocities they faced under the dictatorship. This I expected, what followed, I did not.
On January 17, 2010, only 7,186,344 out of almost 17 million Chilean citizens voted. Even worse, it is reported that only 9.2 percent of 18-29 year olds are even registered to vote.
Complacency is a strange thing. It’s a trait that I often attributed to North Americans in the past. We’re all guilty of it; talking the talk but not walking the walk.
I know few young U.S. citizens who were indifferent about the 2008 election and opted not to vote. For this younger generation, not voting was not “cool.” With celebrity-endorsed campaign messages such as P. Diddy’s “Vote or Die,” young people felt empowered to take a stand. Both parties were enthused. And we voted. For once, I’d say we got it right.
So, with such an important election, why did so many Chileans choose not to vote? It’s possible that the cultural “coolness” that drove our 2008 presidential election didn’t translate.
Another explanation may be a less efficient voting system. And yet another, that Chile is a country recovering from a staggering dictatorship that sucked out the confidence it takes to stand up for what you believe in. But your guess is as good as mine.
And for those of you that hate an open ending? Sebastian Piñera won with 51.61 percent of the vote. I have yet to meet someone who’s happy about this.
Posted 7:08 PM
0 Comments
A walk through the park
Sunday, January 24, 2010
By Dayna Barber
GVL Study Abroad Columnist
The last moments of my time in Hungary are growing near. After I am gone, I wonder what stark and prevailing images will remain in my mind of this small, Central European country.
From my very first moments here, during the summer when I was plunged into a pool of culture so unlike what I had expected, still to this day I have not fully recovered my brea
th but have learned to live with smaller inhales.Life is a process in Hungary, an ongoing one, constantly transforming to the rhythm of modernization and liberalization in order to cast away the remaining shards of communist influence and catch up with those countries of the West.
The history of this country is long and not easily recounted. Foreign occupations and wars have traversed this land for centuries and the wounds are deep and fresh. Not merely 20 years ago, the Soviets withdrew from Hungary taking with them their totalitarian regime, but their presence remains in the cities and country side.
When you take the road north to Tokaj, the famous wine region of Hungary, one can see an old soviet tank perched eerily on the side of the road. In Budapest, some buildings still bear the scars from Soviet guns whose bullets pierced through the concrete.
In fact, the campus on which I study use to be a Soviet barracks, and it is almost inconceivable for me to imagine
Soviet soldiers walking through these halls with their voices echoing off the tall, vaulted ceilings.However, despite the prominent affect these features may have on one's mind, the most memorable attributes are the ones I see every day that appeared unsettling at first, but became oddly beautiful to me.
When walking along the lengths of the narrow streets, gaze upon the walls that accompany them. Many of the fences are topped with barbwire that were constructed by the Soviets during the occupation, and are now being shrouded by creeping vines trying to cover the past. Flowers blossom on these vines and it looks so strange in comparison, beautiful flowers laced with barbwire. The brick walls are crumbling but painted with massive portraits of graffiti, rebellious pictures and names scribbled haphazardly, as if in retaliation against the wall, marking their territory and reclaiming what is theirs.
The great forest, or park rather, that I walk through every day on my way to class holds such lovely scenery, but is slightly tainted by a haunted beauty. The park holds little surprises nestled in corners of overgrowth and shadow which conceal old monuments of people lost to the Soviets or the Nazis.
But they are forgotten, or at least they seem to be, hidden away from view in the depths of the park. Strange that on the main paths of the park, I see women and children playing gently, couples holding hands and people on their way to somewhere important.
But when you look off the main path, you see the elderly, walking slowly with hands clasped behind their backs, and you know that they have visited those old, hidden monuments to look upon the faces of a past hidden from sight and mind, but not forgotten.
These sights and sensations will be most memorable because they penetrated my heart with their sadness and will remain there because of their severe beauty.
Posted 6:04 PM
0 Comments
Farewell concert
Sunday, December 13, 2009
By Katie Booms
GVL Study Abroad Columnist
We were assigned a rock concert for homework, but we could not get tickets. Czech politicians had bought them all.
The National Theater is iconic to Prague. It was built to construct national identity, with money raised by average Czechs. Now the theater houses prestigious drama, opera and ballet. This week, it also hosted an old dissident rock band.
The Czech band The Plastic People of the Universe are most famous for being persecuted. During the restrictive era of 1970s Communism, they became a huge symbol of rebellion. Soon the band could only play in borrowed houses in the country. When the police found those houses, they burned them. Most of the band ended up in jail.
Needless to say, it was hard to imagine these old rockers on a stage with velvet curtains and gold neo-Renaissance architecture. Their music is anything but prestigious.
The night became stranger when my professor had to call the band’s drummer and sneak us through the back of the building.
Maybe I should have been less surprised that the Czech government had reserved the National Theater for the short Plastic People concert and the Tom Stoppard play "Rock n roll." In honor of the 20th anniversary of the Berlin Wall’s collapse this November, it seems as though every event in Central Europe has turned into a celebration of political freedom.
I was not prepared for suits and champagne. In turn, the politicians looked like they were not prepared for straggly beards and amplifiers. Most of them waited in the lobby until the band left and the play started. Several people who sat down put their fingers in their ears.
My classmates lined up in the aisles near the stage. We stood out because of our bookbags. We were also the only ones clapping.
The music was pretty terrible. But, it was loud and full of energy. It also felt like a historical moment. The band was straight out of the documentary we had watched in class. Only, they had more wrinkles and they were not treated as heroes.
Afterward, we met the bassist and saxophonist in the private bar for performers. They went through bad Czech wine and told us they did not want to talk about politics. Then we talked about politics.
I will be home in less than a week. I still do not know how to describe Prague, but this will be one of the stories I tell. Prague is a rare place where history and the present interact. It is a place where I am hardly surprised to find old heroes in the back of a smoky bar.
Posted 7:53 PM
0 Comments
Don't talk to strangers!
Sunday, December 6, 2009
GVL Study Abroad Columnist
Ever since I was a mere child, I have always been warned against talking to strangers. This admonition has followed me into adulthood and even today it takes great courage for me to walk up to someone I don’t know and begin a conversation.
Whether one calls this fear or shyness, it is a problem that must be overcome when one studies in a foreign country.
Everyone finds a different solution to this dilemma and each has its own results. They may talk to people that are most like them and, therefore, gain friends that are tourists similar to themselves. They may meet one person and use that friendship to meet more people. Each method has its own drawbacks and benefits.
Many people who live in Florence have told me, "Florence really is a small city," referring to the fact that once you know enough people, you will always run into people you know around the city.
I wanted to find a way to get over my shyness in order to meet enough people that I would feel the “smallness” of the city Florentines feel.
Soon the perfect opportunity presented itself in the one form that I am most comfortable with: art. I am taking Introduction to Digital Photography and our latest assignment: take pictures of strangers. CLOSE UP.
With my little point-and-shoot camera, zooming in isn’t a feasible option so I will need to get close to people. There is no pretending to take a picture of something else while actually taking a picture of the subject.
I begin by learning a key phrase in Italian; “Posso fare una foto per scuola?” (Can I take a picture for school?)
Then the search begins. Wandering the streets of Florence, I scope out potential victims and shyly make my first attempt.
How harmful can it be to ask three little old ladies if I can take their picture?
I approach them and, surprisingly, they say yes. When I begin to move in close, however, the first woman becomes very upset and almost begins to cry!
I am determined not to let this stop me and continue to seek out people. I soon discover that with a few exceptions, most people are completely willing to allow me to take their photo, even if the camera is being held mere inches away from their face. Many even say thank you when I am done.
Since this discovery, I have taken dozens of pictures of people on the street and, consequently, have come to realize how small Florence really is.
I continue to run into several people who I have photographed. Some recognize me and some don’t, but just being able to walk around the city and recognize faces makes it feel less like a tourist attraction and more like home. (And I got some amazing photos!)
Ciao from the American in Italy.
Posted 2:42 PM
0 Comments
