Unterwegs. Journey home. July 25th, 2013

Flying back to the US; feels so surreal

As I watch the tiny icon of an airplane inch its way west across the virtual Atlantic on the screen in front of me, I can feel each inch as it tugs me farther away from the German borders to which I have become so accustomed. Each time the friendly, multilingual staff drops by my row, the words that slip off my tongue have defaulted to Germanic tendencies despite the Anglican fluency of all those around me. Preferential, you might say. Flight after flight, checkpoint by checkpoint, I cross the point of no return, or do I? My heart is unable to adjust in such tumultuous situations as it is beckoned in many tongues from many lands; how can it find method of settling if I have no solid plan, no final destination as of yet? Denver. That's where I'll start. Then what? I have two final semesters of my double bachelor's degree at the University of Northern Colorado that will be complemented by workshops, conferences, visits to my family, rebuilding my harp callouses and desperately seeking both franco and germanophones to keep the polyglot, that is multilingual, version of myself adrift.

Managing to take root on rock
(Mallorca, July, 2013)

A word of my own language struck me today as I mindlessly glanced at the episode of the Big Bang Theory playing on the airline's entertainment program: Roots. I picture a tree, a flower, a tracing of origin to that which fed and built you. Trees grow, harbor life, shelter life, give life, but they do not move except when adjusting to wind patterns and changing climate. Flowers can be moved, picked, transplanted just as a tree. Traditional doctrine teaches us that roots are the beginning, the foundation, the lifeline, the nourishment. Can we ever change our roots? Can we take them with us or will we always leave some piece of us, some straggler of a memory or life behind in the ground from whence we came? Pardon the extended metaphor, but I feel completely uprooted and am also contemplating the notion of searching for a new garden.

Counting Down to Change

My time is wearing thin; I'm not saying that I'm starting to feel wrinkly, but rather as if I've hit a wrinkle in time. I just purchased my return ticket, one-way, to the United States of America. I'd like to say that I am “headed home” in July, but that words tastes funny on my now tri-lingual tongue. My father is living in a new house, my mother is about to move into her new house, I will return to a new apartment and my brother will probably not even be in the same country next year. What does this mean? To attempt an explanation: home is beginning to take on a German accent.

I have now hit my 13 month mark of living in Germany and thus the ideas of home are naturally starting to reverse themselves. Now, the countdown begins. 43 days. The sheer amount of accumulated material possessions is starting to weigh me down kilo by airline approved kilo. The stretched distance of the Atlantic ocean that will stand between my love and I seems to lose every echo I curse at it. I have stacks of maps, postcards, and brochures filed as neatly as a haystack might be. My poor hard-drive is overloaded with smiling photos and my suitcase is giving me a sneer rather than the usual wink. What is happening here? 43 days.

Challenge becomes my comfort zone
(Groningen, the Netherlands)

No exaggeration, I am sitting in my warm kitchen with the rain tapping the window and a glass of Rot Wein (red wine) beside my computer while the smells of fresh herbs wafting from my window garden are teasing my senses as I write this. Today, I chatted with my roommate in German, invented a new dish, had a fresh pretzel from the baker by school and received my daily nod and wave from the silent man who lives above his shoemaker shop on the corner. I feel as if my cup is not only full but brimming with happiness and opportunity. Though the US is often nicknamed the “Land of Opportunity,” I feel as if my heart is calling me to dwell on different shores.

The sun sets over the snowy gardens
during Christmastime in Oldenburg, Germany

Admittedly, my parents' reactions to this realization are not what I expected; they seem to look forward to the European trips they can now justify but are fairly quiet as to their own emotions about me being so far away. Perhaps they realized a long time ago that I had a different calling. Perhaps they're keeping their true emotions to themselves in order to let me be individually inspired and jump out of the proverbial nest as far as my international wings will carry me. I must admit that I fear being so far away from them, being so far removed from familial relations, holidays and laughter. This life is most definitely not what I had expected, but it fills me with excitement everyday that my eyes settle on a German sunset (sunrises are often missed by my sleeping-in eyes).

Alas, this journey I've chosen shall not be an easy one. Two final semesters in the US will mark the greatest decision-making time that my 23 years of life will have seen. 43 days.

Finding peace in Freiberg am Neckar, Germany

 

Student Budget-Worthy Adventures: Bike Tour

My Italian friend Radiana and I
enjoying the beautiful countryside

There are many advantages to being a student. I'm not talking about free pizza on campus or the world's permission to shirk reality's responsibility for 4 consecutive years, but rather about the ability to sniff out adventure on a dime. As a student, I have backpacked sans-electronics through eastern Europe purely on the direction and charades of locals who have only learned English by watching undubbed episodes of Walker Texas Ranger. I've had homemade wine with some friendly Ukrainians while locked in our 10 euro shared flat in the Czech Republic while Neo-Natzi marches took place outside. I've had half-price, day old bread on the steps of churches in Italy and hitched a ride from a Greek and a Bosnian in search of a Master's degree in Germany. Life is certainly open for the taking if we only open our minds to it and jump right in. Cliché as that sounds, I've had more adventures than I can count and they keep pouring in.

Yesterday, my student budget and hunger for a new undertaking led me a sore “Popo,” (German slang for “bum”), a Vegetarian's nightmare and sand between my toes. Ladies and gentlemen, my first European Bike Tour. According to my rough sketches on Google maps, this journey with 8 Germanophones (German speakers) but 4 different passport origins took us approximately 22 kilometers (13.67 miles), over 3 hours through the hills and small cities, and to 3 sparkling lakes! In case you were wondering, the rocky descents to the lakes is where both the soreness and the sand came into play.

Sillyness by the seashore
(Otto-Maigler See)

Though we numbered only 6 at the end of our journey, we arrived at the home of a local friend of mine, Anna, and were warmly greeted by 7 hungry friends freshly arrived by car. For the next 6 hours, we feasted on all sorts of German delicacies in flesh, flour, potato and hops formats. While struggling to switch between French, German and English speaking, I made several new acquaintances and filled my belly to the brim. Unfortunately, these festivities went so late that I had missed the last train home and biking would've been madness. After my Swiss friend heroically tried to fit my giant bicycle into his not-so-giant vehicle, I ended up having a lovely 12 year old version of a slumber party with my hostess, chatting far into the wee hours of the morning until we both passed out mid-sentence.

Bike perspective of the wake-boarding
course at Bleibtreusee

How did this adventure hit my pocketbook? Free entrance to the lakes, free flowers in the fields, free sunshine, free laughter, 9€ for the 24 hour Deutsche Bahn Bike Rental and 4€ for food and beer pitch.

Needless to say, I crashed into my apartment this morning with a sleepy grin on my face, just 13€ ($16) absent from my wallet but incalculably richer in experience.

Our route as best I can estimate

-www.callabike-interaktiv.de
-Otto-Maigler See: They offer a cafe and white-sand beaches with volleyball courts
-Bleibtreusee: This lake has a massive wake-boarding course that resembles a ski lift on the water

-Liblarer See: Surrounded by beautiful forest, this lake is quite extensive and is perfect for a day in the water.

Spotlight: Paris, Magical moments in magical places

The museum's exterior

February 13th, 2013
Paris, France
Though many inquiring travelers receive a high recommendation from me for the Musée d'Orsay, I have found something that finally has a fighting chance for the renowned position as my favorite place to be in Paris. Upon my 7th visit to the capital of France, this time accompanied by my German roommate Katrin, I chanced to meet a professor from Brno, Czech Republic who offered me several location recommendations concerning the educated mind of the wanderer. Due to the time constraint of our last day in the city of lights, we selected the one closest to the Gardens of Tuileries (les jardins de Tuileries) called L'Orangerie. Somehow I had never visited this gem of a building and it became the highlight of my Parisian rendez-vous this year. As I am technically a German student at the moment, all of my museum tickets were free since I showed my current, student ID and my German residence card; what a surprise bonus!

A group of ladies peers at the odd arrangement
in the gallery downstairs

There are two floors of this gallery and it is your whim's decision as to where you should start. However, I must spoil you and say that the basement is quite interesting with a collection of several, French artists (both male and female for a refreshing change) and the upstairs contains a breathtaking assortment of previously unseen, unprecedented magic. If that phrase alone doesn't entice your wanderlust, then you are certainly missing the point of my articles. As I entered the first of the two large, oval rooms, I most literally had my breath taken away by Monsieur Monet. Certainly, I have seen many lovely works by the master of impressionism, but the works before my eyes not only took me hours to absorb but had never, in print nor paint, crossed my eyes before. Each room holds four stunning, panorama paintings included in Monet's collection of waterlily works. As with most of Monet's masterpieces, the art critic has multiple perspectives to choose between (and shall repeatedly vary such perspectives before the work can be grasped in the least). The nature of the marriage between oil on canvas and impressionism provides you the up close and messy angle that is severely lacking in details or overall concept. The further removed from the paint one becomes, the clearer the image and the idea becomes. With the help of Monet's paintbrushes, palet choices and the museum's dedication to preservative lighting, the magic moved through the lilies more vibrantly than that to which I am accustomed. Simply said, allow at least an hour for this museum as it is quite prepared to inspire and calm you, granted that you lose yourself in the strokes and shadows for a sufficient amount of time.

Borrowed from Panoramio.org as photos were forbidden

“Musee de l'Orangerie” Metro station: La Concorde
Jardin Tuileries 75001 Paris
01 44 77 80 07
EU students: free!

Step Three: Moving to Cologne

Fachhochschule Köln
Cologne University of Applied Sciences

Though you may be unclear on the different terms associated with your exchange, as I was at first, there is a major difference between acceptance and enrollment at a university. The city of Cologne demanded my matriculation paper which is a specific document from my host university that details my enrollment at their institution. In order to obtain this piece, I needed to seek out the international office which is a short walk through a park filled with large, aging trees that stretch upward toward the sky and outward to greet the small children running through their shaded gaze. The building itself is majestic in its age and stature with three sets of iron clad doors that both beckon and prohibit entry; her back faces the long and wide stretch of the river Rhine that wanders with a wink toward the cluster of students filing in and out of the doors. I made my way into the quiet gut of this stone-cold building and sought the directory which was helpful for all who spoke the native tongue of Deutschland. For me, however, it became a riddle of numbers, letters and hallways. After a bit of confused wandering, which had not gone unnoticed by an older gentleman behind a desk on the opposite side of the lobby who offered a corner of a smile to me, I made my way down a sunken hallway and sought out the esteemed coordinator from whom I had received so many cordial communications.

The architecture of Cologne has
 a character of its own

The process itself, after having finally found the lady who was much more vibrant than I had imagined, was fairly straightforward and proved to offer few speed bumps. I had arrived more than a month earlier than expected and was greeted with surprise but not with refusal. It seemed to be that I was on my own until September when the student benefits would start to kick in, though I had mentally prepared myself for such a case. My passport and insurance exemption form were requested with a smile and a well-prepared, well-accented English tongue. Just a few moments, simple questions and colorful, welcoming brochures later, I was on my way to picnic under the convivial trees with a sandwich and many forms through which to rifle. With another step completed, I paused to breathe in the delicious Cologne air before running off to find the registration office and the infamous “Laurenplatz” with just a notebook of address and a good head for maps.

The International Office of the Cologne University of Applied Sciences is located at Claudiusstrasse 1, room 56. They are open from 9 am to 4 pm Monday through Friday. Be sure to ask about the ‘Karibu’ program for incoming international students. 

The Newest Adventure: Deutschland

May 21, 2012

Siegen, Germany

Once again, here I find myself in the enchanting land of Europe. I believe that some people would term this repetition as addiction, but I prefer to call it passion. Just over one month ago, I received a final word from the international office in Berlin that I had not made the final cut for the DAAD Study and Internship Program; I was devastated. My world whirled for only a few minutes as I struggled to find my list of plans B through E; I had prepared for this moment just in case but the rejection hit me hard nonetheless. Within an hour, I had filled out an application to Sejong University in Jochiwon, South Korea, created a list of programming ideas to keep me excited for being a Resident Assistant at my own University in case I needed to stay, filled out a budget for a French school in case I could gain acceptance for the fall and had called my mother. I marched into the Center for International Exchange at my home university the very next morning and presented my circumstances to the coordinator. She looked at me confusedly and inquired, “I thought you wanted to go to Germany?” 

Well, that IS what I thought. I wanted to go to Germany because of so many reasons really: I wanted to expand my language repertoire, I wanted to study at one of their top international business schools, I wanted to be back in Europe and I wanted to be near my boyfriend, Björn. We had decided in February of 2012 when he came to sweep me back off my feet that we couldn’t possibly continue living without the other in our lives. Strangely, I had applied to the SIP in Germany before he even came back because I was so taken with the idea of this competitive program and prestigious university in Cologne. Now, here I sat in the international office with love back in my life but no ticket to Germany.

My coordinator pondered for several very long minutes between my anxious eyes and my application and then quickly turned to her computer, murmuring something under her breath. Typing quickly and dragging a file with my name into the attachment box of an email, she smiled, “What if we sent you to Cologne anyway?” Here’s the part where my heart stopped. No, there were no romantic beat-skippings taking place; my heart just took a brief vacation from pumping my blood in order to wander around the room for a minute. “Seriously? Was that ever an option? It’s not on any of the catalogues or website and I talked to everyone in the office and…” She stopped me short. “I know, Bethany. Let’s make an exception.”

I walked out of the study abroad office that day with all of my other applications and plan Bs still in my hand and a soaring heart (it had graciously decided to return to my chest). The University of Northern Colorado had decided to send me to my university of choice as an ambassador and hoped to create a solid exchange program with them following the success of my exchange. There was the possibility of scholarships, I had already filled out my course lists and glanced over living accommodations and area transportation because I had applied to their school through the SIP earlier that month. It was all in place. My family was a bit shocked that everything was happening so quickly and, admittedly, so was I. Björn’s jaw dropped when I told him the news that I would be living in Germany, at a school only 90 minutes from him, for 15 months. We planned to start our time together in June and I would stay with him and his hilarious roommate, Miki, over the summer.

On the 14^th of May, 2012, less than a month later, I was on a morning plane to Deutschland to surprise my adoring boyfriend for his 23^rd birthday. I had coordinated with several of his friends and the surprise went down with few hitches; he was shocked for several hours, kept kissing me and wouldn’t dare let me go. That night, he whispered to me while his arms were lovingly wrapped around me, “Baby, I can’t believe you’re here. Please still be here when I wake up.” 

Now the 21^st of May, I’m still here, completely relaxed, absolutely blessed by the Lord, totally in love and I couldn’t be happier with the way life has changed. I have an extensive list of wonderful things, ancient places and lovely people to visit this summer. Björn will finish his semester in July and then we’ll take a vacation to someplace exotic, romantic and new (maybe Croatia) with my best friend Gena, her Czech boyfriend David and perhaps Miki and his girlfriend as well. I will move to Cologne in August or September and then begin my studies until the end of July 2013. 

This is me. This is my life: always on an adventure.

The Cure? Culture Shock 3.0

I have found that the best way to cure my culture shock so far is a short list of Bethany Habits. Some come naturally and some are being purposefully created. Whatever the beginning might be, I have the same end in mind: normality. (However, I still can't identify if that's a reasonable or even desirable goal. Perhaps I should shift that to comfortability or belonging, since neither of those have been achieved as of yet).

1.) Fill your schedule. If you're busy enough, you won't have as much time to miss what you left behind. This works most of the time until you have a mental breakdown because you're overwhelmed and suffering from culture shock. In my life, this seems to be a common issue. Therefore, I move on to step two.

2.) Avoid pictures and conversations with those you met abroad; wanderlust will only return at this point. I have failed with this idea, mostly because I think it's unhealthy. Granted, I yearn even more for my home in France when I sift through old photos and Skype with my buddies from abroad but, without doing so, I feel like I would be denying new pieces of myself that I just acquired. If I just bought a new book, I will want to read it even if it reminds me that I can't go back to that store I love so much for a very long time. Not doing so would be ignorant.

3.) Do not search to see how much flights cost to return. I have also failed at this. I search about once a week to see just how much effort, how many extra shifts and how much time off I would need to return to answer the call of my heart to that land far away.

4.) Hide your passport from yourself. This is a great tool if you tend to try to use it too often and are thus suspected of terrorism or at the very least suffering from over-wanderlust syndrom. In my case, it was a joy of looking over my arrival stamps, so I hid it in a "very safe place" that I am still trying to recall.

5.) Hang out with international students and do cultural things. This will indeed help you to feel as if you have switched shoes and can now properly welcome newcomers to your home culture. This is also a great resume builder and eye-opener to the world surrounding. However, it will also increase your urge to follow them back to their countries of origin in order to experience yet another adventure. Deny this if you ever want to lose the culture shock. Accept it it you want to thrive in a global world and to continue on the crazy train. (I chose the latter route).

Culture Shock 2.0

So I unwittingly decided to learn the hard way. Is this a new thing for me? Not really. I tend to do my research before jumping into anything. When I think that I am fully prepared and feeling as adventurous as anyone could be, I leap. However, life seems to think that there are additional lessons to learn that research can't teach me; that includes falling flat on my face sometimes.

Before returning to the US, I had researched my way through culture shock, expatriatism and repatriatism as those sent abroad return to their homeland. My family and few close friends stood by in an accepting and loving welcome, as I had prayed they would be. What I wasn't expecting, however, was for my homeland to not be waiting with open arms. Sure, I knew that my stories wouldn't be received by all with excitement, but rather jealousy and ignorance on a rare occasion, but that is not the hard part. The hard part is flying into a place so familiar but yet so changed. Life went on. It's as if I tripped into a novel halfway through; everyone knows the plot line and details and I am clueless but afraid to let anyone know. I suppose I could take the "fake it 'til you make it" road, but instead I choose the "dive in and become so busy that you don't notice the storyline they're following" road. After a few weeks of being back, however, it seems that I am reading a different book entirely; not only that, but it's written in a different language.

My eyes are different, my processes are different and my heart lies elsewhere.

Don't get me wrong, I beg of you, I really love my country. The United States of America is my home! My family is here, my school is here and my past is here. But is it so strange of me to consider picking up another book in a different land for awhile?

Problem (and answer) number two: I am in love. However, that is not the only reason why my heart is called abroad! I want to broaden my horizons so much so that I can make a valuable impact in my communities; those communities are not just within the boundaries of the wonderful US. I have pushed them to France, Germany, and who knows where else? I want to become knowledgeable in my field and gather experiences from all around the world. Also, I want to follow my heart. I want a family someday and a happy, healthy marriage to be a good example for my family, myself and my kids. I want to be ministering in three languages, cultivating a community and never stop learning. God is the only one who knows where and when I can and will accomplish these things, but He has laid them on my heart and soul and I will follow.

Door after door slammed in my face. After being locked inside that room of confusion and desperation, the windows are being thrown open to let the sunshine in and are beckoning me to climb through. I must confess to you all that one of those windows is painted with black, red and yellow and the other in a patriotic, three-striped, red, white and blue fashion. I don't know if I can crawl through both, but I sure plan on trying.



Culture shock 2.0: My homeland never moves, but I'm evolving.

The Viewpoint of the Angels

March 2nd, 2011

Top of the Duomo, Milan, Italy

The views from the precipice are beyond spectacular! The thousands of statues seem to guard the massive, Catholic cathedral as they face outward toward the grand city of well-dressed and fairly friendly people. Though it might be easy to assume some theory of protecting religion, something about the separation of Church and state or religion becoming a relic, I see the 2000 some statues in states of study, worship, repose and communion. The gold pieces surrounded by brilliant types of marble stand as beauty and grandeur against the surrounding storms, as it has for hundreds of years. Lesson application possible and that I choose to see today: we all stand together in the house of the Lord; grand, strong, and beautiful. Most importantly, however, we stand together with arms raised towards the heavens. I soak up the sights, sounds, memories and lessons as I stand amongst the statues in awe.

Adventuring on "Winter Break"

March 1st, 2011

Milan, Italy

What a journey! Lushuana and I just spent the last two days in Paris, France seeing the Louvre, l'Arc de Triomphe, les jardins des Tuileries, la Seine river, le Musée d'Orsay, la Bastille, la Défense, and les Champs-Elysées. We met up last night in a sketchy area in search of a little jazz club with my new American friend Clint, French alias 'Claude,' and our French friend, Ben, from ESC. Unfortunately, it ended up being closed, so we went to the corner bar where the local crowd danced, sang, and chatted. We did not fit in at all but yet I did not feel uncomfortable; at least the atmosphere was acceptable because the neighborhood itself was a different story. The next hour or so was then spent trying to find a way home to our hostel near Moulin Rouge because the metro was halted due to a suicide somewhere down the line. It was a mad rush of maps, buses, directions, questions, metro lines and long walks. We finally arrived just before the hostel closed the doors for the evening. The boys eventually got home, too, as we were on the phone with them the entire way just to ensure that everyone was settled and safe. Thank goodness for them. When we came to our room, there were two girls asleep who we found out the next morning were Stephania from Venice and a girl from Argentina who had decided that it would behoove her more to keep sleeping all day than to shake our hands.

Breakfast was typically French and typically delicious. The hot mint tea felt good on my throat as my bronchitis couch seems to be holding on like a weed in an old well, probably due to my overcapacity of adventures. We had a wonderful day in Paris and I absolutely love le Musée d'Orsay! Impressionism seems to hold a secret of my heart, perhaps because it is the only art where the artist can add his opinions and expression directly into the art, thus communicating his inner spirit and not just what the eye can see. I saw two of my favorite paintings in the whole world: Renoir's "Le Moulin de la Galette" and Van Gogh's "Starry Night" in their original grandeur and my senses tingled with both excitement and inspiration. There were famous paintings one after another and the museum was one of the most beautiful things that I have ever seen! Photos were forbidden, but we snuck in a few on Lushi's iPhone just because we could barely believe our eyes! The coolest thing is that, as we are residents and students in France, we get into the Paris museums and a few attractions for free. We received free entrance into l'Arc de Triomphe on Monday the 28th and several other things as well. I really want to take advantage of this superb opportunity and will go back to Paris soon to see the rest of the Louvre, le Centre Pompidou, the Picasso and the Musée of Contemporary Art. Why not? That has become my motto over these last few months. I may never again have this opportunity. In fact, I'm learning to take advantage of any and all opportunities in order to push myself to new horizons.

After all the fun, we took a shuttle for Ryanair, 15 Euros, and arrived at Paris Beauvais. After having arrived in Milan, we took a shuttle to the train station and had to hire a taxi to take us to our hostel because our cheap flight arrived very late in the night and the city had shut down. Because of this, we couldn't buy a map so we went off of Google Maps that we had printed before the voyage. We made the last minute call, however, to go for the safety option and hire a taxi driver to escort us there. Finally, we reside happy, exhausted and ready for more adventures.

Letters to Home, Part 4

January 1^st, 2011

Chantepie, France

My Dearest Mother,

My new home! Chantepie, France

I am so sorry that I haven’t been highly in contact. I can’t figure out whether or not I have access, limited or not, to the internet and things are very different here; it takes some getting used to. Today, Madame Deschamps is taking me to see my school and understand the bus system. I am very tired and have not yet completely adjusted to the time change. I fell asleep around 5 pm my first day, Friday, and slept until 3 am. Then, I couldn’t sleep and it was dark and quiet so I unpacked, got settled into my room as quietly as possible, and journaled. I just started my new book with which I am sure you are very familiar. H.G. Well’s Time Machine. The lofty language is intense after speaking only French, but I like it. The introduction was 30 pages long, so I really have only read that so far. I figure this way, I can keep my nightmare of forgetting English from coming true!

Understanding the metro system in Rennes, France

Madame Deschamps is very nice! She and a friend picked me up at the train station, la gare de Rennes, and drove me to the house. It’s fairly big for a French house and there are artifacts from all over the world that scatter the walls and surfaces. She’s a widow of 8 years and she lost her mother 7 years ago. We talked about it a bit and she said that the holidays are very hard for her. She’s probably 60 years I would guess; yes, you called it!

I still have not heard English spoken since I left Texas, but I met some tourists along the way and some sweet, older French people who helped me find my way. I suppose this immersion thing will happen faster than we counted on!

Apparently my Hungarian roommate is no longer coming because her father was diagnosed with cancer, so I will have the room to myself and a higher rent payment. She says that there may be more students coming and one of them might share my room, so I will see what happens!

It’s cold here, but no worse than Colorado except for the sea being so near that the air holds a denser and more chilling humidity level. Yesterday it was about 32 F and today it warmed up to 40 F. We watch the news everyday so I am learning to understand the relative temperatures in Celcius and to catch the weather descriptions in rapid French.

Happy New Year! Bonne année! I hope that you did something fun and are thoroughly enjoying yourself. It’s nice to write in English! At least my language skills are being challenged; I can understand most of what people say but it’s very difficult, especially since I’m still so jetlagged. They told me that I am doing very well and am responsive. I try to ask a lot of questions in order to comprehend the context and underlying meaning of their comments; French humor shall soon be mastered! It at least helps me to understand how my International students feel! Empathy is a powerful tool and emotion.

I miss you so much already and wish that you could see these beautiful and different things with me! Please tell everyone that I’m ok and share my stories because I cannot write to everyone.

Toujours/Always,

Bethy Ru

Traveling Tips: France

December 31^st, 2010

Paris, France

Wow, navigating the Paris Charles de Gaulle airport by yourself is not easy. Future warning:

·         Pay attention and always be aware of signs! For instance, when you go through customs, greet them in the language you wish to speak, otherwise you might end up with an international crisis as they believe you are refusing to answer their interrogations.

·         After passing customs, STOP. Do not go to the doors that say exit because you will be passing baggage claim altogether and may need a security escort to return to this area and they generally speak French coupled with an angry tone.

·         Ask for help! There are information desks in each terminal and, as long as you can understand a French accent, you will have your questions answered (though maybe not in the preferred or expected way).

·         It may take 30-40 minutes for your baggage to arrive on the belt. It’s not the same efficiency as US airports, so take that into consideration and keep your frustration levels to a minimum. Drawing attention to yourself is generally a negative thing in airports.

·         There are few clocks around and most of them are in the 24 hour setting. Just subtract twelve. Also, don’t be afraid to ask strangers, “Quelle heure est-il?” This will prevent you from missing your train. That’s the plan, anyway.

·         ATMs are tricky and may not like you or your card for some unspecified reason. Deal with it. You’ll find one eventually that appreciates you and your money.

·         The train stations may be under a roof and look like a building, but they are freezing in winter time. Dress warmly and be prepared for the seasons into which you are traveling.

·         Find your seat according to the platform and car locators before the train arrives. This way, you can jump right onto the train when it pulls up; they don’t wait long.

·         “Parlez-vous l’anglais?” This question will pull you out of trouble if you’re confused. Most people speak a little bit and, by combining your knowledge of the two languages, you can figure out where to go and what to do.

If you have a ticket like boarding pass, be sure to validate it before getting on the trains. If it’s printed at home with a barcode, you don’t need to validate it. The conductor, if he ever comes by, will do this.

Music is International

February 24, 2011

Chantepie, France

I discovered something beautiful today at the French Gospel Chorale workshop which I was privileged to attend with my director and a few new French friends:

Though the instructions and techniques were half understood and the language barrier was strong, 

MUSIC IS INTERNATIONAL. 

Once she sang, the notes and the rhythm explained themselves to me. Perhaps I am actually tri-lingual or perhaps I unlocked the secret to world peace.

All I know is that I love music.

Also, in talking to Fiza about men and relationships as usual, I came across a new idea that I want to explore later. Everyone has baggage, but it depends on how we carry it, if we left it somewhere, if we're searching for baggage that we left behind, etc.I suppose that's just me being philosophical again.