Main | March 2006 »

Bloody Saturday

This past Saturday, there was a scheduled parade through the heart of the city center of Dublin.

The parade never took off. Instead, a riot erupted in its place.

The parade, a "Love Ulster" parade organized by Loyalists, was to commemorate the victims of IRA violence.

A decidedly anti-loyalist crowd gathered where the parade was set to begin, effectively blocking the route.

The sounds of drums and flutes were quickly replaced with shouting, chaos and mayhem.

Store fronts were smashed, cars were burned. Debris and construction materials were turned into makeshift weapons, pelting the police force.

A morning paper captured a picture of a rioter hurling a wheelbarrow at a member of the gardai.

All told, 14 people were hospitalized, including six police; 41 people were arrested.

Thankfully, my family (who were in town for the week) and I were able to stay clear of the confusion.

However, some of my friends were in the area to do some shopping.

They described the atmosphere as confusing, even initially thinking the rioters were supporters of the Welsh rugby team, also in town for a match on Sunday.

While their shopping trip was less than satisfactory, they were happy just to be safe. A friend was even forced to stay in the basement of a shop while the rioters broke the store windows and looted.

As expected, reactions were mixed among the people there.

Many were shocked, saying this type of thing never happens – maybe in Belfast, but never in Dublin.

A local taxi driver told me it was the stupidest thing he has ever seen in his life.

While there may have been support for the Republican cause, there was little support for the violent behaviour - the worst the country has seen in 25 years. The destruction is expected to cost the city upwards of €10 million.

And all of this comes at a precarious time for the “Fair City”… St. Patrick’s Day, which is a huge event in the city, is just around the corner. Easter Sunday represents the 90th Anniversary of the 1916 Easter Rising and talks of a celebration have been vehemently discussed for weeks.

Now, talks are tense and fearful and it appears that peace between the North and the South has taken a fretful step backwards.

Posted by at 5:09 PM

Weekend in London

I got back late last night from a weekend in London. I'll leave the details of London itself up to Marc, but I'll fill you in on my experience of traveling, and my views of the urban experience, as a girl with a small-town heart.

Thursday I had class from 2 to 3 and then I ran with my bags to catch a bus from St. Andrews to the train station at 3:15. Tricia, a friend from my study group, and I got a 4:20 train from Leuchars. The train ride was long, 6 hours direct to King's Cross. I couldn't see much because it still gets dark kind of early here (although I've heard in the spring it stays light until 11 p.m.). We arrived in London right on time, met some Colgate friends in the train station and hopped a cab to their flat. A cab, if you have 4 people, is actually cheaper than a tube ticket for each (about a pound fifty versus a 3 pound single ticket), at least for a trip that short. I fell asleep almost immediately - traveling is exhausting, despite the fact that it's 6 hours doing nothing.

On Friday we aventured to Portobello Road and the market there. It was much colder and windier than St. Andrews, which is actually saying a lot. I was excited to see Portobello Road, having been obsessed with Bedknobs and Broomsticks as a child. I'm also always excited by the rows of what we would call townhouses painted all different colors:

Tricia and I then went to Oxford Circus, which I don't have a picture of because my hands were entirely too cold to take out of my pockets. Oxford Circus, I felt, was ultimately comparable with New York City at Christmastime. Full of people, full of noise and shopping, terrible for those with claustrophobia or social anxiety. We enjoyed shopping at Topshop and H&M, neither of which you could find in St. Andrews.

Towards the afternoon we had mastered the tube, and I had found a deep appreciation and sympathy for those who experienced the 7/7 bombings, as they're called here. The tube is incredibly far underground, with escalators abounding, and they are extremely busy all the time. Here's a picture, which I risked security to take:

Friday night I met up with two friends who went to Cumberland High School with me, currently at Syracuse in London for the semester. We went to a few pubs in Chinatown, which is gorgeous at night by the way:

She lives in an amazing flat with 10 people in Hyde Park Mansions, and I thought they looked just like London should. But that's just a side note. In the UK, it takes a special bar, pub or club to have a late license, so most are only open until 11, and it's extremely expensive to go out past 11. A cover charge might run you 8 pounds, or about 15-ish dollars (I'm still trying to convert in my head) if you want to go out late like Americans do.

However, Saturday, after an adventure at the Camden markets and a failed attempt at Harrod's (the tube line was closed and neither of us had a map) I went with a few Colgate friends to a club on Oxford Street called Mean Fiddler. It didn't open until 11 and was a 5 pound cover charge, which apparently was fairly cheap. We were promised live bands and indie rock, but inside I found ridiculous crowds and clouds of smoke and an incredibly loud excuse for a DJ (can you tell clubs really aren't my thing?). It's still legal to smoke inside clubs here, at least until March 26th. I left Mean Fiddler, almost deaf and desperate for air, at 2 a.m., avoided a "minicab" (they're supposedly illegal), and grabbed a bus back to my friends' flat.

Sunday was a traveling day again. Tricia and I took the 6 hour train at 10 a.m., which was incredibly early after having gotten only 4 hours of sleep, but we truly enjoyed the view on the ride home. The King's Cross - Dundee line goes through the fabled English countryside, by English manors, the Edinburgh palace and castle and the ocean. For almost a commuter's train, it really is scenic.

I arrived back at St. Andrews exhausted and desperate for some clean air. London was fun, and I'll be back in a few weeks for a class trip and some touristy stuff and sightseeing. For now, I'm glad to be back in small-ish town life.

Posted by at 3:43 PM

When buying fruit in Rome, what a difference a month makes

Ciao tutti! My name is Joey, and I'm currently studying in Rome, Italy for the semester. I go to Brown University where I study Ancient and Art Histories, but here I am part of the Temple University program. I live in an apartment with other American students, and just last week I bought oranges.

Yes, oranges. About two blocks away from my apartment building there is a mile-long open-air food market called the Mercato Trionfale, and there you can buy most every kind of fruit, vegetable, meat, cheese, spice, pastry, or wine known to Romans. Its all sold in little stalls by real Italians who speak little to no English, so an incursion into this world by an American such as myself, who knows minimal italian and is only haphazardly aware of italian culture, is an endlessly challenging adventure.

My first week in Rome, back in January, was the height of pear season. After walking up and down the market three times trying to gather up the courage to make a purchase, I approached this 30-something Italian lady behind a mountain range of fresh fruit. She looked at me with an inquisitive eye -- my expression was probably that of a man who is about to put himself in a barrel and be launched over Niagra Falls. I reacted in the only way I knew how, by pointing to the pears and saying in italian, "Three, please." She obliged, then told me the price, which only by luck did I manage to understand. The exchange -- coin for fruit -- was made silently, and I think, though I'm not entirely sure, that she wished me a good day. But her obviously frustrated facial expression betrayed her contempt for my utter lack of understanding of her fruit or her language.

Last week was the sunset of orange season. For a month citrus fruits like lemons, oranges, and clementines had been flooding into italian markets from the fertile lands to the south of Rome -- and for a month, I have been buying them by the kilogram. Just last Thursday, I bought six oranges from the same 30-something Roman woman I've patronized since January. Imagine it went something like this, though in italian and full of spring cheer:

"Good morning! What a wonderful day, thank goodness its not raining."
"So true, its a beautiful day. What would you like?"
"Perhaps six of those Sicilian Oranges, what do you call those?"
"Spremuta oranges, they are very sweet. Anything else?"
"No, thank you."
"One euro, please"
"Here you go, thanks! Enjoy the day!"
"You too, bye!"

This is why I came to Rome.

Posted by at 3:13 PM

I attended a real big fat Greek wedding!!

In a small village where everyone knows everyone else, a wedding of one of its young women is quite an ordeal. Last weekend a few of us were invited to go and watch the evening-long process -- which is quite different from anything we are used to.

When we first arrived at the house of the bride, we were all pinned with small white fabric roses that showed that we were a part of the wedding. From there we were offered more pastries and drinks than we could handle, which was a good thing because we were missing dinner!

The groom was not allowed in the house to see his future wife until she was fully dressed and ready to go to the church. About an hour after we got there, she was still getting her hair and makeup done, so I'm sure the groom was getting a little restless -- they were already two hours behind schedule. The bride was in her room with the bridal party and her family while about 50 people waited outside for her to get dressed. Getting a bride dressed is an old tradition that involves her removing her clothes and her family dressing her. Usually this is done in a living room with everyone watching and singing, but she was shy and wanted it to be done in her own room. (I dont really blame her.)

A man playing an accordion and another playing a violin went into her room and all the elderly women sang as she was dressed. After about 20 minutes of singing she was finally ready and everyone lined the street outside her house to throw nuts and candy at the couple as they began the short walk to the church. I think the entire village may have been there, and a few of my friends were pelted with walnuts by a few of the younger attendants.

We all followed the bride and groom to the church, which was about a 10 minute walk. The bells from the church rang out with the traditional wedding song. An interesting side note -- the bells only ring for a person three times in life: when they are baptized, when they are married, and at their funeral.

At the church everyone gathered around the men with the violin and the accordion and they began to play once again. First the bride and groom started to dance in a circle, and soon other members of their family joined. The dancing was cut short because the wedding was behind schedule, so we all entered the church.

The most dramatic difference between this Greek wedding and an American wedding was evident once the ceremony started. Everyone who was there to see the bride and groom get married did not sit quietly and take in every detail of what was going on. Instead, everyone walked around freely while having full conversations with the person next to them and did not hide the fact that they were being loud.

However, this did not seem to distract the bride and groom as they went through the motions of the rings, of switching a crown-like veil on their heads, and of dancing around in a circle while getting rice thrown at them. They were married within one hour, and then everyone in the chuch lined up to give their congratulations to the happy couple.

At this point my friends and I left, but not without getting one of the small goody bags filled with chocolate that were being passed out as we left the church!

Posted by at 8:48 AM

An unexpected Olympics adventure

On Friday night about a dozen of my friends and I left Salzburg for a last-minute trip to the Olympics in Turin, Italy. We were excited about our spur-of-the-moment adventure, but we didn’t know that we were in for some unexpected twists.

Hockey: Italy vs. Germany

I originally planned to go to Turin to just hang out in the Olympics atmosphere -- until I heard about the possibility of scoring hockey tickets. Naturally, I assumed that tickets were sold out. Glad I was wrong.

I was hoping to catch either the Slovakia-USA or Kazakhstan-Russia games, but neither fit with our train schedule. Instead we decided to watch Italy-Germany.

Keeping in form with our spontaneous decisions, we arrived a few minutes late to the game because we purchased tickets at a location different from the Palasport Olimpico stadium, where the game was played. Italy was already leading 1-0 and we sat in an Italian fan section. It was only 1 p.m., so while the crowds were enthusiastic, they were not drunk and rowdy. The Italian fans were the most abundant and loudest, as they cheered, “Italia! Italia!” Several times cheerleaders led the 8,000-person crowd in the “wave,” which I probably did for the first time since I was five.

The style of the game was a lot cleaner than what I was used to watching. My friend Laura, who is from Minnesota, commented that she had seen high school games rougher than this. No fights broke out and there wasn’t a whole lot of checking. But the game was close throughout and fun to watch. The final score was 3-3.

The city atmosphere

I’m relieved that I went to a hockey game not only because I got to see an event, but I probably would have been bored just hanging around. I’ve never been to the Olympics before, but it wasn’t what I expected.

I thought there would be more hype spread throughout the city. I understand that many of the events weren’t in Turin, but farther west into the Italian Alps. Even still, with Turin being the official host city, I expected it to be crazier than what it was. When we were leaving the train station, there were only some banners posted along the median in the road. The only real signs of the Olympics were at the stadiums that we visited, Palasport Olimpico and Torino Esposizioni. I couldn’t even find a T-shirt to buy for my sister outside the merchandise shop within stadium gates. There were ushers only at the gates and within the stadium. I expected to see more Olympics employees throughout the city at major travel points and near the stadiums. However, the employees who were present were extremely friendly and helpful.

Traveling problems back

We had to ride on three trains to get back to Salzburg. The first was from Turin to Bologna, Italy. That train left Turin late. Now, this was where the weekend turned interesting.

We missed our connection from Bologna to Kufstein, Austria by one minute. It was the last train to leave Bologna, and at 1:30 a.m., there were no railroad employees in sight. Even when we were still on the train to Bologna, knowing that we were going to be late, we couldn’t find a conductor to help us.

We were forced to stay overnight in the deserted station until 6 a.m. when the ticket booth would reopen. Everything, including the bathrooms, was closed. However, right outside of the station was a 24-hour McDonalds. Ah, a little comfort from corporate America.

Surprisingly it was packed with people and playing American music from the ‘90s, so we made the best of our situation by chomping down some greasy food and rocking out to some old tunes. When it was time to settle our stomachs, we headed into the waiting area in the train station.

While we couldn’t find a station employee in sight, the room was hopping with a crowd of homeless people and a handful of travelers and policemen. We tried to sleep on the cold, metal seats by crouching into uncomfortable positions, but few of us were successful (luckily, I was one of them for an hour). I couldn’t spread across two seats though, because one of the homeless men walked around scolding anyone who took up more than one seat. There was another man who sat in several areas of the room because he threw up at each chair he sat in. Finally, after the man puked for the fourth time, a few policemen escorted him outside the building. It was an interesting night to say the least.

After three long and never-ending hours, the international ticket booth opened. We purchased tickets for a train that would leave in two hours for Verona, Italy, where we would connect to travel to Innsbruck, Austria. Once in Innsbruck, we could use our Vorteils card (a discount card for trains in Austria and Germany) to purchase tickets to Salzburg. We weren’t allowed to exchange our unused tickets for the new ones, but the agent did give us a group discount in which we paid 25 euros ($30) each.

None of our trains were delayed for our return to Salzburg. We arrived home hours later than expected, tired, dirty and hungry, but the experience was worth it. Our minimally planned trip had some surprising twists, but it gave us a great story to share.

Train ticket cost details

While 13 students and I traveled to Turin, we each bought our tickets in separate groups. I bought mine in the largest group with three other girls and paid the least amount. In our group of four, we each paid 114 euros ($136) and we had a sleeper cabin on Friday night from Munich to Turin. However, one of the groups of three paid 150 euros ($178) each and only had typical seats (no beds for the 13-hour train ride to Turin). The couple that traveled paid 175 euros ($208) each. We all had the same itinerary, but the group discounts were significant.

Fortunately, all 14 of us purchased our tickets from Salzburg to Munich together on Friday evening. When purchased in groups of five, travelers only pay 6 euros ($7) each (that’s cheaper than my cab fare from downtown Salzburg to my dorm). The ticket agent still gave us the discount even though we were off by one person for a multiple of five.

Another discount that we all used was our Vorteils card. The Vorteils card costs 20 euros ($24) and gives travelers half-off on trains in Austria and a 25 percent discount on trains in Germany. We used the card discount for our original tickets and when we traveled from Innsbruck to Salzburg.

On Monday, one of the girls on the trip discovered that we can get refunds for our tickets purchased in Bologna. Since we bought a group train ticket (even though we paid separately), we all have to go to the train station with that ticket and our unused individual tickets. That paperwork will be sent to Vienna and then one person’s credit card will be refunded with the total amount due to all of us.

Posted by at 12:03 PM

Dans la rue (on the road)...

I just read Karlene's post, Getting Around in the UK, and see that the French aren't the only crazy drivers on the continent! How the French take to the road was one of the first things that struck me: they're aggressive, rude, and absolutely audacious. My shuttle driver from the airport was a great example. I was jostled around inside the van as the driver cut corners and went crashing over curbs, slammed the brakes, and raced down tiny little rues.

It's fascinating to me the way they drive -- it's really a reckless art form. The other day I was walking to the library and spotted a driver who was actively reading a newspaper. The paper was sprawled across the steering wheel and he was turning pages while careening down the street. Somehow, it wasn't a surprise to me.

My favorite of their quirks is they way they parallel park themselves into itty-bitty spots that, as far as I can see, are impossible to get out of. I watch but still don't understand how they finagle themselves into these spaces, leaving just centimeters -- if that -- between themselves and the two cars they're sandwiched between.

As Karlene was saying, pedestrians in Scotland don't have the right of way. The same applies in France. The first time I stepped up to a crosswalk, I was confused because the drivers kept racing by. The reality is that you're in their lane, just an obstruction in their way. They don't even yield for emergency vehicles. In the bustling streets at Châtelet, I watched as an ambulance — lights flashing and siren wailing — struggled to make its way through an intersection. I was disappointed with the drivers who refused to even slow down.

Nearly every taxicab I see is a Mercedes Benz, as was the case when I visited Dublin last January. My favorite French vehicles are the little green garbage trucks. I've seen a few station wagons and sport-utility vehicles, but the majority of cars here are small because they're the most functional in city streets. Peugeot is a very popular make, as is VW (especially Golfs) and Mini (Coopers). The most popular are Smart cars which are so tiny there's only space for 2 passengers and a baguette.

Posted by at 12:15 PM

¡Saludos desde Ecuador! (Greetings from Ecuador!)

HOLA Rhode Island! Greetings from Cuenca, Ecuador!

My name is Jenna McCrory . I graduated from North Kingstown High School in 2003 and I am a student now at Marist College in Poughkeepsie, NY. I am a Communications Radio/TV/Film major, with minors in Spanish and Global studies and hopes of being a broadcast journalist, perhaps a travel journalist, in the future.

I chose Ecuador hoping to find a place where I felt completely culture-shocked, and out-of-whack. I wanted adventure, I wanted poverty, I wanted mountains, I wanted rainforest, I wanted indigenous people, I wanted to learn Spanish!

Did i get what i wanted? Si, mas o menos... I have had adventure for sure, seen lots of poverty, seen the unbelievable mountains and volcanoes of the Andes and I have seen and practiced rituals of the indigenous people. Rainforest? Not there yet, and the Spanish part...still working on it.

It's hard to recount what i have done in this entire month, it has been so much, it's too much for my brain to remember. So I will start with my city, Cuenca, and continue later with some unique places.

Cuenca. The first thing I noticed about Cuenca after traveling for a week from Quito (which is in the North) down to Cuenca (Southern highlands, an approximately 11-hour bus ride), was that it was a rich. Yes, rich. Cuenca, compared to the rest of Ecuador that I have seen, has a lot of money. As soon as our tour bus of 30 American students from all different states and schools reached the outskirts of the city, the scenery began to change from small, falling-down wood shacks with cornfields to brick three-story houses guarded by iron fences. The shacks that we passed were either not guarded, or guarded by cows. Cuenca was completely not what I expected. I did not even know it was a big city, and it is the third-largest city in Ecuador.

The second thing I noticed, especially after meeting my family, was there are many white people here. My host mom, sister and cousin here have red hair and light skin. In my culture tour from Quito to Cuenca, we stopped in many pueblos of the indigenous community, and my group and I clearly stuck out. In Cuenca, we still stick out as "gringas" by our mannerisms, but there are times I have been mistaken for an Ecuadorian (very proud of that).

On that note, what is a gringa/gringo? A gringo is a white person, whether North American or European. A gringo typically dresses differently, a little more earthy and a little more artsy. Gringos are usually loud when walking down the street, can't dance salsa or merengue, and of course speak Spanish with a broken accent.

South America, and I think Central America and Spain too perhaps, are celebrating Carnival this coming weekend. So a tradition here in Cuenca before Carnival is throwing bombas de agua -- water bombs -- at people or, more specifically, at gringos. Los niños love to throw water balloons at me, and yell out "¡GRINGA!" Sometimes it's funny, but there are those days when it definitely is not. I have had my share of throwing water back at the little squirts.

Back to my first impressions of Cuenca. The third thing I noticed was the driving. Rhode Island drivers definitely would not survive here, and many Rhode Island pedestrians would struggle too, because cars do not stop for pedestrians. Cars and buses speed through small, car-and-a-half--wide cobblestone streets. They don't use blinkers, they honk at everything, and bus drivers even participate in water-balloon throwing.

My first morning walking to school included some of that adventure I was talking about. First, I was lost, did not know where to go, but wanted to act like I knew where I was going so I thought it was a good idea to try to cross the streets fast and just not look. Horrible idea, Ecuadorians do not do this, and don't even try it. I almost lost my life at every street, horns honking and almost car crashes because of my stupidity. I stuck out that morning, and I still looked lost.

There are no speed limits here either, and no police are on the streets to enforce any driving rules. Never trust a red light, they are only optional. Buses speed up for gringas, be careful.

My final surprise: Every morning I walk past the la carcel de Cuenca, or the Cuenca prison. The prison is nothing like the prison in Rhode Island. There are no gates surrounding the building, nor any high security -- only a yellow-brick building with no windows (that I know of) and one door that is barred. The street is blocked off for cars except for authorized vehicles. On the opposite side of the prison are little tiendas (shops). I haven't figured out who goes there besides policemen yet, but I think the stores do good business on visiting days -- Thursdays and Fridays. Other than that, not many people pass through besides me.

I get excited for visiting days because there is so much commotion. Snipers walk across the roof, indigenous women come and sell their fruit outside the prison and policemen are on alert walking around with their big guns. I haven't completely figured out the whole visiting process yet. There is a big line of family and friends waiting to see their loved ones. Sometimes women are exiting from the barred door, and sometimes it looks like the jailbird is outside with their loved one. One interesting point to note though is that visitors always, always, always have a scarf around their neck covering their face. At first I thought it was because they were crying, but I soon realized after catching a breeze that it's the smell of the people in jail.

Overall my ten to fifteen minute walk to school can be rather interesting, dodging cars and water balloons, and observing the action of the prison.

These were only my first impressions of Cuenca, Cuenca is actually a very beautiful city. Located in the Andes, the Southern highlands of the Andes, its about 8,000 feet above sea level, and the mountains surround the city on all sides. Weather is crazy, changing every hour from rain to extreme heat to thick fog, back to rain and sun. Always bring an umbrella, and a chompa (jacket, Cuenca-style)!

This weekend I am headed to the Galapagos Islands for seven days. Charles Darwin here I come! ¡Que les vaya bien! ¡Chau!

Posted by at 10:17 AM

Trip to Toledo

Buenos Dias!

I have not written in a long time, but I will keep you updated about what has been going on for the past few weeks.

Part of the semester in Madrid for AU's study abroad program includes trips to other cities in Spain and a trip to Morocco. What is unique about Spain is that every city or region has a distinct language or culture. This fact is plainly obvious every time one picks up a paper or watches the news on TV. Basque, Galician, and Catalonian independence movements have gained momentum, and some people in those regions are demanding that they be allowed to secede from Spain and form their own nations.

One reason why there has been a resurgence of nationalistic pride in recent years is due in part to the rule of Francisco Franco, the dictator of Spain from 1936 to 1975. In order to create a single, unified culture, Franco outlawed the public use of any language besides Castellano, or the traditional Spanish dialect. He was especially repressive toward the Basque, Galician and Catalonian people. Even today, there is a divide between people in those areas who identify as "Spanish" and those who identify as some other nationality.

My teachers in seminar and Basque country classes stress that understanding these differences is essential to understanding Spain. In order to fully "know" the country, one has to investigate and study the country's different regions, as well as the individual cultures in each area. For example, some parts of Spain, including the city of Toledo, have served as centers of Christian, Muslim and Jewish culture as the result of hundreds of years of Muslim rule (from approximately 711 to 1492) prior to the Reconquest and the Inquisition, led by "The Catholic Monarchs" Ferdinand and Isabel.

Enter American University students.

Toledo is about an hour outside of Madrid by bus. The long, winding roads cover mountainous terrain. As we entered Toledo, our bus paused and we were able to get out and take photos of the view.

In Toledo, there were many examples where one could see a mixture of Arab, Jewish and Christian culture. One such place was St. Mary's Synagogue. Once a Jewish place of worship, the synagogue was taken over by the Muslims. Later, it was turned into a church. This changing pattern of ownership was quite common in many parts of Spain, especially in Toledo or places like Andalucia, or the southern part of Spain that borders the Mediterranean. The walls and columns are covered in geometric patterns and there are many Arabic-style arches, in keeping with the Muslim tradition of not drawing pictures of living beings (and especially of the prophet Muhammed), since only Allah, or God, can create life.

Here is a picture of the inside of St. Mary's Synagogue:

Even though the inside of the synagogue was dark, if you look closely at the picture, on either side of the cross, there are geometric tile designs, and the supporting arches of the synagogue are ornately decorated.

Since the three major cultures were distinguished from one another by their religious practices, there are appropriately many religious sites throughout the city. Here are some of a Catholic cathedral. Inside the cathedral is a mural painted by El Greco, a famous artist in Spain known for his religious art.

Our group also explored a monastery during our visit. What surprised me the most, though, was that there was an orange tree growing in a protected pavillion inside the monastery. First, I was not expecting a live garden in the middle of the monastery courtyard. Second, I was shocked to see full, ripe oranges growing in February in central Spain, which is known for its cold winter temperatures, aridity and blustery winds.

We also got to see the carvings that monks had made over time in the walls of the monastery. While most were tasteful and of artistic merit (usually those depicting saints), there were some others that proved that even monks had sick senses of humor.

That's right. It's a monkey having a bowel movement on a chamber pot. Lovely.

In spite of all the religious-themed sites, the streets of Toledo were thin, cobblestone walkways going past rows and rows of gift shops and eateries. More than once, our group was surprised by cars driving through the streets, forcing us to squeeze by the moving vehicles and other pedestrians blocking the way. It's a good thing nobody tried to drive an SUV through!

And, because it is situated in the mountains, Toledo had some amazing scenic views of the surrounding area.

I took this last picture of Paul, a fellow AU student, because it's somewhat of a funny story. We were surveying the cliffs overlooking the river from behind a metal fence, when Paul realized there were dirt paths leading down to the edge of the cliff. So, he took his camera and JUMPED over the side of the railing, walking down the paths. As soon as he did that, Cristina, our program assistant (who is experiencing her first semester as a coordinator and chaperone), nearly had a heart attack. And, of course, did the other program participants stay still? No! They decided that they should follow Paul down to the cliff's edge. The rest of the group then started joking with Cristina, saying they were going to come back on their own free time and re-visit the cliff. Cristina just said, "Don't call me if one of you falls. I don't want to know." Luckily, there were no accidents or mishaps, though I think Paul likes tormenting Cristina by keeping her on her toes. At least no one can say our group outings are dull and boring!

Hasta luego!

Posted by at 10:36 PM

Getting Around in the UK

So I've heard it's not just me that has problems getting around in the United Kingdom. We do drive on the other side (left side) of the road here, but I'm not talking about that. I don't drive here. It's hard enough being a pedestrian.

I don't think pedestrians have the right of way here. In fact, I know they don't. In order to cross the street, first you must decide which way to look first (you look right - it took me a week to figure that out) and then you have to be totally sure that no one is coming. If a car is coming, they will not stop. I've heard engines gunning for me. I have heard rumors that if a pedestrian is hit, the pedestrian has to pay for damage to the car. I'm not sure that is true, but I'm still careful.

I definitely don't mean to say that I never walk in St. Andrews. I have to. I haven't figured out the bus system, and most of my classes are in St. Mary's College on South Street, which is a good 15 to 20 minute walk from my dorm room in New Hall (Side note - New Hall is a Three-Star rated hotel used in the summer by golfers). St. Andrews itself is a small town, with four main streets:

Map of St. Andrew's with some cross streets and alleys.

I've managed the crosswalks so far. Crosswalks here look a little like those at home, although they're accompanied by flashing lightpoles, which I don't yet understand. There are also two of the kind that have the button and the red light, and they work fairly quickly and beep loudly when you're allowed to cross.

There's also plenty of space for leisure walking, if you want to avoid the cars. St. Andrews lies on the Fife Coastal Path which runs right in front of the Old Course Hotel and up along the cliffs of the Scores and right by all of the ruins. Here's a picture of me on the East Sands side of the path, and an example of the view from the path:

On the other side you can see the ocean. So, I guess getting around here isn't all that bad, as long as you know what you're doing.

Posted by at 2:58 PM

Baloncesto Espanol (Spanish Basketball)

In light of the recent NBA All-Star Weekend in Houston, now seems like a good time to recount my practice today.

On Mondays school ends at 5:15 in the afternoon (well by the definition of afternoon by Spaniards) and practice starts at about 6-6:15. After about 1/2 hours of sitting around in school, checking my email and such, I headed over to the court which is only about 2 minutes away walking. I got there, and as usual, I am the only one there.

After about 5-10 minutes the smallest player on the team shows up. This little gentleman is nicknamed "Speedy Gonzalez" because, well, that's who he is, short, small and fast. Anyway we had a short game of one on one on one of the little baskets (about 6 feet high). We worked up a sweat with him a few times making me look silly on a couple of behind the back and through the legs dribbling moves, but in the end it was a pretty equal game.

Eventually the rest of the team showed up and we started the real practice. We started with a fast break drill, followed by a 3 point shooting drill where we were split up into 2 teams and asked to make 9 three pointers (as a team), then sprint to the other court and make 8, than back and 7, etc. until we reached 1. Finally, once we finished those drills, the fun part of practice started. The coach split the teams up into two teams of 5 and we played a real game of 5 versus 5. This team is quite good. They run at will, sometimes dunking the ball, scoring points at will.

For me however the sport of basketball is not quite as effortless as they make it seem, and after about 15 minutes I was fatigued. I was slowly jogging up the court as the rest of the team flew past me on the way to scoring a hoop. Sadly this was not my best day at practice, but I'm hoping to soon arrive on the scene.

Jersey of the team I play with. The school is named Compañia de Maria (Company of Maria). Photo courtesy of http://www.ad-ciamaria.com/

Posted by at 11:31 AM

Cheers From London!

Hello! My name is Marc Choquette, and I write from the Knightsbridge area of London, where I am studying abroad for the semester. While college has taken me to Southern California and Pepperdine University, I have close ties with Rhode Island, being a native of North Kingstown and an alumnus of Bishop Hendricken High School in Warwick. Rhode Island is where I spent the first eighteen years of life and is still considered "home" despite all of this travel.

Things have been rather strange since I was handed the high school diploma at the Cathedral in Providence. Fully intending to attend college in Boston, close to home, things didn't work out that way (as they usually don't) and all of the sudden it was Labor Day weekend and I was stepping off the plane at Los Angeles International Airport. A short ride up Pacific Coast Highway into ritzy Malibu, up the winding hills to Pepperdine's campus, and...I'm home for the next four years? It was quite surreal, like nothing I could have envisioned. In fact, I still don't believe it at times.

So you're probably wondering where I am going with this. Well, shortly into the first semester of the first year, we were introduced to Pepperdine's renowned International Programs division. The school owned houses in Florence, Heidelberg, and London, with additional programs in Hong Kong, Buenos Aires, and Lyon. I'm probably forgetting some but that's besides the point that I had quite a few options. Truthfully, I leaned towards London from the beginning because: a) there is no major language barrier, b) the history and worldly culture of the city, and c) my infatuation with British rock (i.e. The Beatles).

Long story short, I was accepted in the program for London in the Spring of '06. Problem was, I received this letter in November of '04, so I had quite the anticipation time and it helped to increase the anxiousness to leave America for the first time (not counting those weekend excursions to Tijuana and Montreal).

Finally, a few days after the ball dropped and our hangovers were expunged, I was on a plane from Boston to London aboard Richard Branson's dreamchild Virgin Atlantic. Ironically, the flight from Boston to London was shorter than the trip out to Malibu. Due to the time change, however, what was an early-evening departure in Boston became an early-morning arrival in London, a fast-forward of the night, if you will. Navigating from Heathrow Airport to the house (pictured right) is another story, for another time, however. I gotta keep some fresh material!

That is it from here for now. I hope you all have a good idea of how I actually ended up in London from way back in the redundant shirt-tie-blazer-khaki days at Hendricken. I will be adding more soon!

Cheers, Marc

Posted by at 3:07 PM

Bonjour à Paris

Bonjour from Paris, France! Je m'appelle Danielle Ameden and I’m writing from the City of Light where I’m studying until May with seven other American students in the Lexia International program. I’m a junior communications-journalism major and graphic design communications minor at Roger Williams University in Bristol, R.I. My adventures here have begun — what a whirlwind first three weeks in Paris! There are museums and landmarks to visit, cafés to frequent, street markets and grand boulevards to explore, and beaucoup de baguettes to eat! Classes reel me back towards reality, but even those are an exciting Parisian adventure. I’m taking a Sorbonne extension class to learn the language, learning about the historic French civilization, and mapping out an independent research project.

Between adjusting to the language barrier and all the bustle of a major European city, the first week was a lot of culture shock. I’m a small-town girl from Jamaica, Vermont (population 935), a place where there are no taxi cabs or traffic lights. For perspective, the nearest Dunkin Donuts from my home is 30 minutes away. Paris, with a population of 2,144,700, was quite the leap. I’ve settled right in though, and feel remarkably comfortable. I’m navigating the metro pas de problème (no problem) and have a pretty good sense already of how to get around the city à pied (on foot). I'm always armed with my Paris Pratique map book because I don't have a strong sense of direction and the streets criss-cross in such illogical ways. Knock on wood, but I haven’t gotten lost yet.

I've seen Parisian police officers patrolling the streets on horseback and rollerblades, putting on quite a show.

I’m staying with a Parisian mother and daughter in the 15th arrondissement on the Left Bank, near the Invalides, Montparnasse, and the Eiffel Tower landmarks. My host mother is a biology professor and 20-year-old Clara is a public relations student at a Paris university. They’ve really made me feel comfortable in their home. The first day I got here though, I arrived at my home-stay completely jet-lagged, exhausted, and overwhelmed after a very long plane ride, and was lugging my incredibly heavy suitcase up the stairs to their apartment on the sixth floor and I heard this woman shouting, “What are you doing? What are you doing?” from above. It was my host mother and she was yelling at me because I didn't know there was a “lift,” the tiniest elevator imaginable. Ahhhhh. Welcome to Paris.

Posted by at 11:23 AM

Ich fahre gern Snowboard! I like to snowboard!

Last Saturday my friends and I traveled to Gastein for our first skiing and snowboarding experience during our semester abroad. The weather was perfect, the mountains were enormous, the crowds were minimal and the price was a bargain.

We took the Salzburg Snow Shuttle, which takes skiers and snowboarders to a different mountain each day of the week. The shuttle, sponsored by Toursimus Salzburg, leaves Mirabellplatz at 8:30 a.m. and departs the mountain at 4 p.m. It costs 13 euros ($15) round trip to ride on the shuttle and 37 euros ($44) to ski at the mountain all day, along with a three euro ski pass deposit. Ski passes are electronic keys that scan when getting on the lift. As long as the ski pass is returned at the end of the day, the deposit will be returned.

We didn’t arrive to Gastein until 10:30 a.m., which I consider to be a late start (I usually start riding at 9 a.m. back home). By the time two of my friends gathered their rental gear (I brought my own), it was already 11 a.m. However, we were amazed to discover that there were no long lift lines and we had our first run all to ourselves.

We rode the gondola up again. There were two more lifts that we could take further up the mountain, so we went on those. On the side of the packed snow trails were areas of powder snow that we tried to slide through. Riding through powder is a lot harder, since you need to shift your weight differently than riding on the marked trails. The snow can build up on the front of the board, forcing it to sink. It is also harder to turn when carving through deep powder.

Trying to ride through the powder was the best part of the day. When I fell, it felt like I was jumping into a giant foam pit. My body didn’t hurt because I wasn’t slamming onto a hard surface. After my friends and I tried out the powder, we hopped back on to the trail and continued gliding down. We kept repeating the process through the day because the variety of snow conditions made the session unique and incredible.


AIFS students Marnee Peterson and Jessica Schaefer taking a break on the slopes.

Posted by at 10:00 AM

Catching up on some history...

One of the first things I noticed about the town and University of St. Andrews is how old everything is. There's a lot of history here, and it's not all just golf. I want to catch you all up on the really fun and interesting stuff.

The town of St. Andrews was founded in 1140...that's definitely something I didn't know before. For the first 400 years it was the religious hubbub of the United Kingdom, which I think is great, since I'm a religion major. I don't know a lot of the details about those first times...but there is a castle here!

St. Andrew's Castle, as seen from the Scores

St. Andrew is Scotland's patron saint, and his relics were the inspiration for many more structures in our little town, including St. Andrew's Cathedral.

St. Andrew's Cathedral

A lot of the town's history lies in its churches, including the martyrdom of Patrick Hamilton at St. Salvator's. He was burned at the stake right in front of what is now the University's Chapel. His initials are in the cobblestones there, and it is said that you can see his face projected up in the bricks on the wall. You can see for yourself:

St. Salvator's, with a view of the quadrangle. The face is about 5 bricks up from the center.

That's what I know so far. I'm slowly getting integrated into the history, as is the town. It is so funny to see a cell phone store next to a real, live butcher shop (with carcasses hanging and everything) and a bus parked in front of the ruins of Blackfriar's Abbey.

You'll all have to wait for the golfing pictures...hopefully one day the sun will come out.

Posted by at 2:32 PM

Kalimera!!!

Hi everyone! My name is Lauren Whaley and I am here in beautiful Rhodes, Greece studying history for the semester. I am originally from Narragansett, Rhode Island (the locals here get a kick out of me coming from a state that has the same name as their island) and I graduated from Narragansett High School in 2003. I now attend the University of Rhode Island where I am majoring in journalism and minoring in both history and political science- hopefully to prepare myself to go to law school in the near future.

School here is different than anything back home. I am taking five classes, three history, one political science, and Greek 101. They are taught in three different buildings all spread throughout the island. One is at the University of the Aegean campus and looks much like any college building. It is in the middle of Rhodes Town, the main city of the island. Another building is actually an aquarium that is located on the tip of Rhodes Town which is also the tip of the island. As my fellow classmates and I are taught we are given a panoramic view of the ocean with the mountains of Turkey silhouetting the horizon a mere five miles in the distance. The third building is located in the town I live in, Soroni, which is about 45 minutes from Rhodes Town.

Soroni is a small village where everyone seems to be related to everyone else. There are about 20 students in the study abroad program and we are all housed in apartments that are more of a mini dorm. The locals have been extremely nice to us so far, and the instant we go anywhere they will ask if we are the Americans from Soroni. I guess we really stick out.

Posted by at 9:19 AM

Hallo fra Norge!

Hei Hei! Hello from Norway! My name is Katie Owens and I am writing to you from Hønefoss, Norway. I am attending Buskerud University College here in Norway, and back home I attend the University of Rhode Island. I am a 21 year old, Communications major, in my senior year. I attended North Kingstown High School and although I am not originally from North Kingstown, Rhode Island, I now consider it home. Now Hønefoss, Norway is my home away from home for almost 7 months, so, I am certainly here to make the most of my stay!

I have already been in Norway now for about a month and a half. I arrived here on New Year's Eve and brought the New Year in with a fresh start! I was slightly disappointed when I turned in my last paper only days before Christmas and then had to start school again on the 2nd of January. So although I was extremely jealous of my fellow URI students with the long break until January 23rd, I was thrilled to be embarking on a new adventure!

Norway is an incredible place! For a girl originally from Alaska, this is my kind of country. I think that may have been some of the deciding factor in why I chose Norway. If I was not used to the climate of Alaska and the long winters, Norway may not have been such an easy place to get used to at first.

I was met at the airport by a lady named Anne. I must have looked very confused and very American, because she ran up to me right away and said,

"you must be Katie,"

with a big smile on her face. I was grateful to have someone meet me at the airport! As we loaded my two massive suitcases, guitar, snowshoes, laptop, and stuffed-to-the-brim napsack into her tiny little Toyota, I think it hit me:

" you're here for 7 months!"

Instead of getting sad though, I got excited! This was really going to be an adventure!

Anne drove me from the aiport in Oslo, the capital of Norway, to Hønefoss; about an hour drive. What a beautiful drive it was too! The entire drive was through the mountains, and all you could see for miles around was mountains, trees and snow. Snow was everywhere! The roads then, and even now, were covered in snow. (I have yet to walk on solid ground to this day.) It had begun to snow when we walked outside of the airport and it continued to snow throughout the evening. It seemed as if the day was over already, with the sun setting at 3:30 p.m. Luckily, I had expected that. Anne brought me to my house on a street called,"Tandbergmoveien," helped me bring my things in, kindly let me make a call on her cell phone to mom, and then she was off. There I was : Hønefoss, Norway.

Thankfully I had been in contact with another student over here before I left home, and we had planned to get together that evening. So, my friend Henriette picked me up at 7 and drove to her house where we celebrated New Year's Eve! She, her boyfriend and a few friends and I ate a traditional Norwegian meal, consisting of moose, mushrooms, onions and potatoes. It was delicious! We had a great time that evening!

(I probably should mention the fact that I barely knew any Norwegian,"Norske," before I arrived. I had gone to Barnes & Noble to pick up a language learning cd a little while before I left the states, but I apparently did not pick the best selection. I was told applying to this school that language would not be an issue, but I wanted to make sure I knew the basics. Luckily for me though, Norwegians take English,"Engelsk," in school from an early age, and so there are many people fluent in English here. I have had, thankfully, only a few awkward moments with language being an issue so far! I am trying to learn Norwegian as quickly as I can though, pracitcing with my roomates everyday. )

The evening continued with many discussions about politics and world affairs. They wanted to know how I felt about President Bush and they certainly gave me their opinions! I got the feeling I was not in a "Bush-friendly" part of the world that evening. I enjoyed the discussions we had and we had them up until midnight when everyone was to meet outside. New Year's Eve is the one night out of the year, I was told, that everyone is allowed to light fireworks. We all ran outside, not forgetting to bundle up, because it was still snowing, and ran to the middle of the neighborhood. There we watched everyone light their fireworks and at midnight, bottles of champagne were cracked open and everyone yelled out,

"cheers!,"

or

"skole!,"

as they say in Norwegian.

"God Nytt Ar"

was the other phrase yelled out that evening, meaning

"Happy New Year!"

Needless to say, in one day, I had truly had a first-hand Norwegian experience and I loved it!

I had a bit of jet lag and so the next day, when I figured out the hard way that I had brought the alarm clock from home that didn't work, I was shocked to find out that the day had already come and gone. I woke up at 4:45 p.m.! I was going to use that Sunday to find my way around town, because I was to start school the very next morning, but instead, I ended up sleeping through the entire day! Luckily, I met two of my four roommates that day.

The first roommate I met was Robin. Robin is a 17 year-old Norwegian boy/guy studying at the local school to be a plumber. The other, is a 33 year-old Chinese lady, named Jiang, who is studying economics at the school I am attending. Robin, thankfully, walked with me down to the college and showed me around so I would at least know where I was going. I was ready to start school the next morning, after arriving roughly a day before, thanks to a borrowed, working, alarm clock.

I am going to end this blog here for now. I will write more within the next few days. I am excited to share with you the fun Norwegian experiences I have had since I've been here the past month and a half! New roomates, friends,school, travel, exploring, food and more! Norway is a fascinating place and I hope that I can relay to you just how incredible of a place it is! Until then...ha det bra!

Posted by at 5:32 AM

Greetings!

... And thanks for reading.

I suppose here would be a good place for me to introduce myself. My name is Brian Andrew Hodge and I am from Seekonk, Massachusetts. I am a junior at Marist College in Poughkeepsie, New York and am majoring in communications with a dual concentration in journalism and sports communications.

Good, now that that is out of the way…

Currently, I am studying at the Dublin Business School in Ireland. The school is a fragmented campus with three separate buildings, all within the heart of the city. I share travel to school with well-to-do Dubliners, students, tourists, street performers; as well as countless cafes and pubs.

I was initially attracted to Dublin because I have some Irish roots. Also, the flight to Sydney would have been far too long and London would have been far too expensive… and I can only speak English with any sort of fluency, so that, too, narrowed it down. Plus the live music? The pints of Guinness? All set in what was being called a “friendly, clean New York”? I was there.

(By the way, did you know that Dublin has over 1,000 pubs? That means I could go to a new pub every night I am here… Just throwing that out there…)

As I write this, I have been here for a little over two weeks. And, for the most part, it has been as advertised, if not better. Dublin is probably closer to Boston than to New York City, an older, friendlier, sky-scraper-less Boston…let’s go with that.

I was also told to prepare for rain – that part is pretty much dead on. It is grey for most of the day, here. Days that do not rain are few and far between – and are celebrated. However, the weather has been much milder than I could expect Massachusetts and far less windy than off the banks of Hudson River at college in New York (and no snow to shovel!). And, if this is the only thing I have to complain about, I would say things are going pretty well.

I have already seen several castles, seemingly never-ending coastlines, green rolling hills, weathered statues, and many other ancient and historical things I simply could not see anywhere else (Guinness Brewery, anyone?).

Here’s a quick example:

Wednesday, classes ended at 1, so some friends and I skipped down to the aptly-named coastal town Sandycove. Once there, we walked along the shoreline, felt infinitely small along the rocky beaches, and even saw a few seals. They were happy to swim alongside the rocky walls; but I suspect they just expected a few fish to float there way and not due to the seal impressions we were doing.

(Educational fact: There are about 90 seals in the area and the locals expect those numbers to increase. With no natural predators, the seals are the top of the food chain, and not incidentally, the ire of many local fishermen. Moving on…)

That evening, I met some friends at a smaller, upscale pub outside Dublin. We enjoyed some traditional Irish music and some traditional Irish drink with some real-life Irish people – an experience like no other.

Traditional melodies laced the laughter as a violin flowed over our stamping feet and the thumping Bodhran drum; the euros in our pockets keeping time with the strumming guitars and plucky mandolin.

Everyone enjoyed their fare share of pints, smiling, joking, and laughing. It was simply a good time – “craic”, as it is referred to, here in Ireland.

OK, enough for now – I am getting thirsty.

Thanks again for reading.

Cheers!

Posted by at 10:13 AM

Meet Zaragoza

Welcome! Well I'll first start off by telling you about me. My name is Jesse Mills and normally I live in lil' ol' Providence, RI. Right now though I am sitting at my school for the year in Zaragoza, Spain. Zaragoza is right about in the middle between Madrid and Barcelona and it is probably a perfect city to do a year abroad. It is the 5th biggest city, behind Madrid, Barcelona, Valencaia and Sevilla (I think), and almost no one speaks english.

So when I got here on the first day, one of 63 freaked out Americans, I was welcomed by my host family. I live here with a single mother named Pilar and her son, Juan, who just turned 19 a few weeks ago. I go to school in what in reality is a large apartment in the center of town. The school is located in La Plaza de Aragon. Like I said before I am one of 63 Americans in my school, with a extremely skewed proportion of about 3 girls to every guy.

Zaragoza is a very old city, dating back to Roman times when it was known as Cesaragusta. It was also Muslim dominated in the day where the Muslims were prominant in Spain. Anyway Zaragoza is very art dominated, with art ranging from a Roman theater to an amazing basilica.

The Basilica and the River Ebro (which flows through Zaragoza):

Roman Theater:

Main street outside my school:

Anyway that's pretty much the main parts of Zaragoza. I'll talk to everyone later.

Posted by at 4:55 AM

Servus!

Ich heiβe Vickie. I graduated from North Kingstown High School in 2003 and currently attend the University of Rhode Island. I am studying journalism and international relations, while taking German language classes in addition to my majors. My goal is to become a foreign correspondent for a newspaper or wire service.

I love to surf, snowboard or do anything outdoors. One of the reasons I chose to study at the University of Salzburg in Austria was so I could ride in the Alps.

During my senior year in high school, I traveled to France, Switzerland and Italy with other students on a school trip. We took a train to the top of a mountain in Lucerne and the view was incredible. As I took in the fresh, cool air, I decided that I must return to the Alps. Luckily when I researched study abroad programs last year, I discovered the American Institute of Foreign Study program, which has a strong international relations curriculum in Austria.


I live in the Europa Kolleg, which houses university international and Austrian students. It is located 15 minutes by bus from downtown Salzburg. The view of the Alps from my bus stop (Ginzkeyplatz) is spectacular! It snowed here for the first few days, so I couldn’t see the mountain backdrop to the city. But once the skies cleared up during the weekend, I was able to see what motivated me to come to Salzburg.





Looking across the street from the Ginzkeyplatz bus stop.


The city culture seems to be very laid back so far. I have never seen a baby cry or a dog bark yet in Salzburg. Many Austrians bring their dogs into restaurants, shops and food markets. Bus transportation operates on an honors system. The driver doesn’t check to make sure that everyone has a ticket. Instead, people are expected to purchase tickets (daily, weekly or monthly) at a Tabak (corner store that also sells newspapers and cigarettes) or at an electronic machine at various bus stops. One can also purchase one way rides by paying the driver with cash. However, there are undercover bus employees, dressed in street clothes, who randomly check people when they are getting off the bus. My advisor here said offenders who don’t have tickets are publicly scolded, fined 35 euros and required to give their passport numbers to the authorities to keep on file. While I haven’t been stopped yet, one of my friends has been asked twice to show her ticket. Fortunately, she had a valid monthly pass.

Posted by at 6:26 PM

Bienvenidos a Madrid

Hola! Que tal? Or, in other words, "Hi? How's it going?" My name is John and I am a junior at American University in Washington, D.C. majoring in journalism and Spanish language. I am a graduate of La Salle Academy from Providence, R.I. This is my first time traveling abroad.

Since I arrived in Madrid about three weeks ago, my life has been extremely hectic. But then, my life is always hectic. Upon arriving in the city, 33 other students and I were placed overnight in a hotel in the middle of Madrid. After we became accustomed to the city, we were all placed with host families.

My hosts are the Hernandez family, made up of Marichu, the mother, Marichu, the daughter, and 12-year old Rocio. My classmate Jeff and I both have our own rooms in the house. The Hernandezes have been kind and open to us, and are always willing to talk, so we get a lot of practice perfecting our Spanish. In turn, I also can help Rocio with English, since she takes language classes every day after school.

One of the most interesting things about Madrid is that the daily schedule is so different from the routine in the United States. For example, most people wake up later, go to work in the mid-morning and leave after dusk, and some younger people even go out after dinner (usually about 9-10 p.m.) and go to bars or clubs.

On the weekends, Madrid seems like a city on the go. People are constantly moving, constantly going somewhere, from the mid-afternoon until the wee hours of Saturday and Sunday morning. The average time when people begin leaving the clubs on weekends is about 6 a.m.! Imagine if that were the case in the U.S.!

And here are the four troopers who decided to tough it out and stay up for the full experience on "International Night" at a local club:

Photo courtesy of: Jessica Pfleiderer

Another difference in the lifestyle here is that most people are laid back. The attitude of "no pasa nada," which, roughly translated, means "think nothing of it/It doesn't matter" is like an unwritten rule. If you accidentally bump into someone on the Metro, and say "I'm sorry," people will often smile and will literally say, "No pasa nada."

As part of the semester, we have planned field trips to different cities in Spain. Already, we have traveled to Toledo and Barcelona, and have visited El Retiro, a large park inside Madrid where many Spaniards pass Sunday afternoons. I will have to fill in details in my later posts, but, for now, I will leave you with a taste of what's to come:

Hasta luego!

Posted by at 5:09 PM

Cheers from St. Andrews!

Hi all!
Just a quick introduction to my life as a whole: I graduated from Cumberland High School in 2003, and I'm a junior at Colgate University in fabulous (yet cold) upstate New York. I arrived in St. Andrews on the morning of January 31st, and I'm stuck in this amazingly gorgeous place until May 25th. I'm here on a Colgate Study Group, so I'm travelling with 17 fellow Colgate students and a professor of Philosophy.

Just to give a quick sense of what it's like to be here, the sun has been out a whopping 2 whole days in the past week and a half. Today was one of those lucky days, and it got up to about 2 degrees C, which I believe is close to 35 degrees F. It never gets overly cold, like it does back home, and apparently this is the coldest it has been in a long time. But it is always wet. The ground is never dry. However, I've been lucky in that it has not rained but once.

As my professor said before I arrived...the sky is gray,

but the grass is green,

and the sea is sublime.

When I first arrived, the weather was what I (and my sinuses) noticed, so that's the first thing I'll tell you about. It's supposed to warm up in the next couple of days, with some rain. Finally.

Posted by at 2:17 PM