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Le week-end à Marseille

These Marseillan boys clamored politely to be in the photo of my favorite window.

Well, I escaped to the gorgeous Mediterranean town of Marseille for a three-day excursion with my group, started soaking up the sun, and then got a stomach bug/food poisoning and ended up vomiting along the Cassis harbor, which resulted in a French doctor giving me a check-up in my hotel room. I also watched a French artist at his pottery wheel, took harbor walks, found beach, broke out my Bermuda shorts, got some color, visited a striped church, and went to a fish market. It was quite an adventure of a weekend!

Between the workload from my classes and research project, and Paris’ drizzling weather, the vacation couldn’t have come at a better time. The nine of us students and our Lexia chaperone, Julien, boarded the 8:20 a.m. high-speed TGV train Friday morning, and were off to the south of France.

After just one step off the train in Marseille, we knew we were golden. There was lots of sun, and the temperature was in the 60s with a refreshing sea breeze. In Paris, I’m still wearing my winter coat, but in Marseille, I was comfortable in a tee-shirt and Bermuda shorts.

I adored the easy, friendly atmosphere of the city, the lively harbor and authentic portside fish market, the tropical-colored building facades and shutters, and how everyone’s colorful laundry was hanging out to dry in the springtime breeze. I took the same long, meandering walk twice, along the harbor and up and along quaint little streets.

The stomach bug/food poisoning came out of nowhere. I woke up Saturday morning feeling nauseous, but tagged along with the rest of my group on our day trip to the stunning little village, Cassis, and spent the morning trying to appreciate our first French beach through stomach pangs.

While the rest of my group ate lunch at a cute restaurant overlooking the water, I went back outside for fresh air and ended up vomiting all over pretty, portside steps down to the sea. By the end of the afternoon, my roommate Anne had contracted whatever bug I had, and that evening when we returned to the hotel, Julien insisted on having the emergency médecin (doctor) come to our hotel room.

Within an hour, the doctor came a knockin’ and gave us concise French check-ups. He poked my stomach, took my blood pressure, measured my temperature with the old thermometer-under-the-armpit trick (he mentioned that it was customary to stick the thermometer up the patient’s derrière, but he was being kind because we were foreigners), and delivered good news: all I needed was rest.

I heeded the advice, called it an early night, and by morning, felt well enough to venture out and enjoy our final day in Marseille. By some miracle, it was a beautiful and warm night when we returned to Paris and as we deboarded the train, I felt like I was home.

The striped church, or so we called it. Interesting factoid: someone told me that in the movie "Love Actually," Colin Firth's character drives past this chuch.

Posted by at 4:50 PM

Paris is Falling Down?

From today’s international news reports, one would think Paris is on the brink of toppling over and being burnt to the ground by rioters. On the contrary, the ongoing manifestations against France’s new job contract, le CPE, continue to be peaceful, orchestrated protests with power in numbers.

The isolated outbreaks of violence — the ones controlled by police with water cannons and tear gas — are led by small groups of rebels and happen after the manifestations. The unrest is not crippling the city; my day-to-day activities are 100% unchanged by le CPE riots and manifestations.

Yesterday’s manifestation drew an estimated 3 million people across the country with 700,000 in Paris. The unprecedented numbers mounted against the government’s new CPE indicate young people’s unwavering opposition against the job contract designed to lower France's high unemployment rate. Over the past three weeks, young people across the country have doggedly protested the government to withdraw le CPE.

The contract encourages employers to hire young people (under 26) with the flexibility to fire them, for any reason, within the first two years of employment. While employers could offer more temporary positions, reducing the jobless rate, the employees would have zero job security until their 26th birthday, at which point they would be eligible for contracts for specified amount of time.

In Marseille, France this weekend, we watched a little gathering of high school students having a protest on the steps of their school.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t be at yesterday’s manifestation because I had classes all day. However, I did venture out at 5:30, hoping to catch the end of the march at Place de la Republique on the right bank.

I had been cautioned, by everyone — my professors, friends, my building’s concierge — to be careful, and as I climbed the steps to street-level at Republique, I wasn’t in the bravest frame of mind.

The march was over, and thousands of protestors and spectators flooded the street. Everyone was strangely subdued and inert; nobody was being rowdy, but I could sense that something was brewing. I pushed through the crowd, trying to evaluate the situation, then buckled and got back on the metro.

As a so-called reporter, it wasn’t the best move, but I think it was wisest. News reports later announced that, shortly after I left, a little bit of upheaval ensued and police blasted rioters there with water cannons and tear gas. I’m half-kicking myself because the photos would have been good.

I watched from a distance, via the nightly news, which gave lots of play to the afternoon manifestation and ended with an interview clip with a French college student who said the youth are not backing down. They’re one, she said, and sense that government cannot afford to hold out forever. From the students’ perspective, their persistence is paying off.

Le Monde recently reported that 63% of French people are against le CPE.

As an outsider, I’m looking for signs of how the manifestation is affecting life and am finding few. I think manifestations are just so customary and normal for the French, the people aren't phased at all and simply continue to go about their daily life.

I see “F*ck le CPE” scrawled on posters in random places. And everybody is still buzzing about the issue, but besides talk, there's nothing. The manifestations happen at scheduled times and follow a specific route. The riots are contained in certain locations.

Yesterday’s over-hyped grève générale ended up being weak. I was prepared for a day off because I had had heard that the metros would not be running and most businesses, closed. That was not the case, and I went trudging off to my 8:30 a.m. phonetics class. The metros were running, just fewer of them, but many trains were cancelled.

Posted by at 2:23 PM

A Weekend in Florence

I spent last weekend in Florence – a class trip for the sake of art history. Of course, it was a trip full of more art and history than is usually squeezed into three days. But the real attraction was seeing Florence. Never did I imagine that a city just a couple of hours from Rome by train could be so different from the Eternal City. So different, in fact, that it seemed I had crossed the border into an entirely different country.

Florence is, above all, Medieval. Its buildings are not the warm terra cotta of Rome, but the grey stone of Tuscany. The center of the city, in addition to being tiny, is a maze of medieval streets and cobblestones, made even grayer by the rain. The people of Florence are a very cosmopolitan bunch, being as they are at a world center of fashion. The food of Florence is nouveau or traditional, but never both; there is expense, and there is frugality, and they rarely coincide. There is tremendous pride in Florence, a city that was a center of more recent history, the Renaissance. It was, like Italy has been in general, awe-inspiring.

But one night, while sharing a few drinks with an American friend in an Irish pub, I began to think of that awe. I have in my life lived in rural Maine, and urban Washington D.C. and Providence. I know places like New York, where modernity permeates every aspect of life. The smell of urban air like that in Washington is familiar to me – sounds like the squeaking of the metro, the sight of light reflecting off giant glass skyscrapers, the matte mood of concrete parking garages and suburban sprawl. That, of course, is why the sight of something so exotic as Florence or Rome brings that feeling of awe.

People, it occurred to us, live in these places that seem to us pure fantasy. There are children, adults, and old men and women in Florence and Rome. Life goes on. We wondered whether or not being surrounded by such things that we call great art and impressive ancient monuments makes Italians take such things for granted. Having seen large Florentine school groups over the weekend in the various galleries, I can say with some certainty that this is so.

But – and here's the interesting part – what happens when these same Italians who know only their world of ancient architecture, Medieval cities, and Renaissance masterworks, come to our place, come to Washington D.C. or New York. No doubt, they are as awestruck with our world as we are with theirs. Imagine having grown up with only tall buildings made of age-worn stone, and then seeing for the first time buildings ten times taller made of shimmering glass. Or imagine never having seen or even conceived of something like Time Square, or the Empire State building, or modern art.

As the cider lost its fizz on the table and the conversation bubbled over, we both saw that as small as the world has become, it still is a vast, awestruck place.

Posted by at 11:52 AM

'Hey, your epidermis is showing!': Austrians and nudity

This isn’t the Foxy Lady, but many Austrians seem proud to shed their clothes.

One of my male friends belongs to a gym near our dorm. He told me how one day after working out, he wrapped his towel around his waist and headed into the sauna. Inside was a young Austrian woman relaxing in the nude.

“Are you American,” she asked.

“Yes,” my friend said.

“I can tell. Americans are so prude,” she said as she laughed.

Four of my female friends and I had a surprising experience when we went to the Alpen Therme Spa in Bad Hofgastein. We were enjoying the comfort of the outdoor heated pool with the Alps encircling us, when we decided to move to the saunas and steam rooms.

The saunas in the “Sauna World” area of the spa are located in wooden huts outside, but we didn’t know that we had to cross through a crowd of mostly older, nude men soaking in the outdoor hot tub to get there.

Once we left the heated pool, I learned that in most areas of the spa, Austrians keep their bathing suits in the lockers and towels on the hooks.

The surprise wasn’t that people were baring it at the spa, but that men and women of different generations were naked together and everyone except us appeared comfortable with it.

However, there was a separate sauna area for women who didn’t want to join the men.

But spas aren’t the only place where Austrians bare it.

Three times during the bus ride to Zell am See to go snowboarding one Sunday, I saw men urinating in clear view on the side of the road. Rumor has it that there’s no such law as indecent exposure here.

Nudity is found in the live fine arts, too.

While in Vienna, my friends and I attended the musical “Romeo and Juliet”, which was voted Best New Musical Production in 2005, at the Raimund Theater.

During one of the dance numbers, all the men threw off their shirts, but in a manner that reminded me of the Chris Farley-Patrick Swayze Chippendales skit seen on "Saturday Night Live."

And in the scene of Romeo and Juliet’s final night together, both actors woke up naked in Juliet’s bed together. The actors were actually nude because I saw part of Romeo’s bare rear and when Juliet slipped into her sheer nightgown, nothing was left to the imagination.

Maybe that’s why “Romeo and Juliet” was rewarded with its Best New Musical title.

Posted by at 12:12 PM

A Northern Weekend

This weekend I had the opportunity to go to visit another country – without ever leaving Ireland.

Confused?

That’s exactly how I felt when I was told that, while I was asleep on the bus, my classmates and I had entered Northern Ireland, still part of the United Kingdom.

As part of my history course at the Dublin Business School, I saddled up for a weekend of lectures, using pounds sterling as currency, and maybe hear a different accent or two. Instead, I stumbled upon political murals, barricaded borders, and palpable tension.

Welcome to modern day Northern Ireland.

After a sleepy bus ride north, my class and I reached the city of Derry, in the county of Derry, formerly known as Londonderry. Like nearly all of Ireland, this city is steeped in history, dating all the way back to English plantations in the 17th century.

Today, the schism between loyalists (those still loyal to England) and nationalists (those who support a unified Ireland) is still present.

Throughout the city, we saw giant murals, painted along entire the sides of buildings. These man-made monuments were designed to either commemorate an event, remember those lost, or simply to make a profound statement. Many did all three.

We visited the site of a terrible travesty – where 13 people were gunned down by soldiers of the British army during a civil rights demonstration. An event now known as Bloody Sunday and made globally known in a song by U2.

Hundreds of citizens were gathered in a peaceful demonstration, intended to call attention to discrepancies of civil rights between the British and the Irish. However, after police forces perceived some sort of violent threat, they opened fire in a crowd of people.

This would be akin to the United States police force shooting up the non-violent Civil Rights protests of the 1960s.

Bullet holes have been left unchanged in the walls – an ever present reminder of what transpired.

This trip was rapidly shifting from smiling to somber. On to Belfast…

When we got into Belfast, we got the do’s and don’ts of the area. Unfortunately, there were far more “don’ts” than “do’s”.

Belfast was a city completely different than any other I have been in. It put me in mind of the footage you sometimes see of war-torn Eastern Europe; or even Berlin in the 1980s.

We walked alongside 30 foot barbed-wire fencing, planted directly through the center of the city. These “peace-walls” are raised nearly every year and houses literally lie against them.

Much like Derry, there were murals everywhere; letting you know exactly on which side of the split you stood. It was a strange site indeed, seeing the entire side of one building draped with a painting of the flag of England.

It is, however, a city struggling with both it’s heavy history and the push for European modernity. Tourism is beginning to increase and many feel financial success may be the last hope for peace.

Posted by at 7:41 AM

Clearing the Air in Scotland

I'm off on spring break, adventuring in Oxford, London, Paris and Edinburgh until April 6th. While I'm gone, however, Scotland will change dramatically. Smoking will be banned in public places on March 26th.

Those of you in the States may be used to clean air in bars and restaurants, but smoking is a definitive part of the culture here in the UK. Smoking is so prevalent in public areas that signs are posted everywhere about not smoking, including the Divinity Library here at school. Smoking is allowed in the Student Union, but not close to the bar. In fact, the only pub I know that has banned smoking is the Raisin, but other than that, I come home smelling like smoke far too often.

The law was passed in June of 2005 and will take effect this Sunday, so I hope to come home after spring break to a cleaner Scotland.

I find it interesting the number of smokers there are in the UK, despite high cigarette prices. Cigarettes here run about 5 pounds a pack I think, which is close to 10 dollars. I can't imagine that people can afford to smoke. However, they do sell smaller packages as well, but I'm not sure how many are in them or how much they cost.

The warnings on cigarette packages are also much bigger and stronger than those in the states. In America, from what I remember, cigarette companies get away with warning people in such a manner: "SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Quitting Smoking Now Greatly Reduces Serious Risks to Your Health."
Here in the UK, the warnings are much different. There are laws about percentages of the pack coverage, and what exactly you have to say. My favorite warning? 30% of the package has to say either "SMOKING KILLS" or "Smoking seriously harms you and others around you."

If you want to examine the laws a little further, I think Wikipedia has a great breakdown of the UK packaging, along with a picture or two.

Posted by at 11:10 AM

Soccer in Zaragoza

There are basically just two Spanish soccer teams that everyone can name: F.C. Barcelona and Real Madrid. I was lucky enough to go see my hometown team (Real Zaragoza) play against Real Madrid. Coming into this game Real Madrid had been struggling. They fired their coach a little while back and just recently their president resigned. However their team is filled with stars (David Beckham, Ronaldo, Robinho, Raul and Roberto Carlos) and is still in second place in the Spanish League behind only FC Barcelona. Real Zaragoza on the other hand is not as good of a team. They are in 10th place (out of 20) in the Spanish League, and have no immediately recognizable names to the casual fan. Yet what they have showed this year is heart. They have made it to the final of one of the biggest Spanish tournaments La Copa del Rey (The King's Cup). Along the way Real Zaragoza beat both Barcelona and Real Madrid in impressive fashion.

The tournament is set up such that each team plays each other twice (once at each home stadium) and the team that scores the most goals combined advances to the next round. If they tie there are a series of complicated tiebreakers using the amount of yellow and red cards each team received. The first obstacle for Zaragoza was a Barcelona team that was on a New England Patriot like win streak having won 18 in a row. All that Zaragoza did, after not scoring once 5 days earlier against Atlético, was put up 4 against the best team in Spain on the way to winning 4-2. They finished off Barcelona six days later by only losing 2-1 and thus winning by an overall goal total of 5-3. However, they were not done yet. Up next was the big bad Real Madrid team, whose two star players Ronaldo and Beckham made more money than the entire Zaragoza team. In front of the home crowd little known Diego Milito and Ewerthon scored 4 and 2 goals respectively as Real Zaragoza trounced Real Madrid 6-1. All that Zaragoza had to do was not lose by more than 5 goals in Madrid and they would be off to the finals. Zaragoza took care of business by losing 4-0 a week later to advance to the final which will be played April 12th in Madrid.

Madrid returned this past Wednesday to Zaragoza, the site of their 6-1 embarrassment with revenge on their mind. It was a terrific game. Both teams could not get any offense going in the first half with each team only getting 2 good chances to score and converting neither of them. However about 5 minutes into the second half Zaragoza struck. Argentinean and Real Madrid nightmare Diego Milito scored on a header making the score one-nil as it is said. The score stayed that way for the rest of regulation time as Zaragoza fell back and played a strong defense. However in the stoppage time Ronaldo broke the hearts on Zaragoza fans, taking advantage of a muffed save by the Zaragoza goalkeeper and kicking in the loose ball to tie and the game. The game ended shortly after in a tie (with each team getting point in the standings), but it was not the result Zaragoza had hoped for as they played well enough to win the game.

Real Zargoza's stadium: La Romareda. It was here that Zaragoza ended Barcelona's winning streak, beat Real Madrid 6-1 and where I went to the game against Madrid

A corner kick during the game.

A picutre of my ticket to the game.

Posted by at 9:54 AM

St. Patrick's Day

What better a way to get back in the swing of things than to talk about my experiences on everyone's favorite/only March holiday. That's right, the time where religious praise and excess drinking magically combine to form the day where everyone is Irish, Saint Patrick's Day.

Blessed by the holiday falling on a Friday, me and my fellow housemates felt the most should be made of this wonderful opportunity, since we could've been cursed with an early class post-St. Patrick's Day, which wouldn't be much fun for anyone.

The way the week works here in London: Classes meet Monday through Thursday. Friday is an extra day for travel, so we have decent time to spend wherever we go for the weekend.

After a week-long trip all over Italy for spring break, money was tight and I decided to lay low for the weekend, maybe explore the city a bit. A few friends offered me a ticket to Dublin for the weekend, but I had gone in January and knew that as insane as St. Patrick's Day in Dublin would be, I would spend far too much money and might not come back alive.

The original plan was to hit the pubs while the AM was still upon us. However, pre-St. Patty's Day festivities that went until 3 AM at the Roxy prevented an early start on the big day. By 2 PM, we were awake and still not feeling so festive.

A few hours passed. I went with my friend Juan to a traditional St. Patrick's Day dinner at a, well, Argentinan restaurant near South Kensington Station called Gauchos. The place is a small basement joint with about 15 to 20 tables, and you've got to climb down a narrow spiral staircase from the street to get in. It was my first experience with Argentinian food, and I was pretty impressed.

Following a filling meal and some good conversation over a smoke (yes, smoking is still allowed in UK bars and restaurants until summer 2007), we decided to head back to the house and see who was up to hit a few pubs.

We got back and most people had already taken off for the bars. As we were cursing ourselves for staying so late, we ran into a couple girls in the house who had travelled to Brighton for the day and got back late, also missing the departure of the crowd to the pubs. We came to the consensus that we should head to a pub and salvage the night, so we grabbed a pint at the station and took the Piccadilly Line train over to Leicester Square.

Upon arrival, we learned rather quickly that the drink had been flowing most of the day for quite a few blokes. The crowds wandering the square were "happier" than usual and many were sporting the gigantic Guinness hat along with the abundance of green. While trying to find O'Neill's, our Irish drinking destination, our wanderings around the chaotic streets were unmemorable. The one memory I do have is of one girl rushing out of a club to catch up with her friends, yelling, "How DARE you leave me in there!" in an angry British accent. We got a laugh out of it and kept moving, for it was freezing and the pub was still not in sight.

We made it to O'Neill's only to find a line about 20 people deep outside the door of this small pub. We decided it would be more prudent to go to the pub across the street and get things started rather than wait out in the bitter London cold. Upon entering, wading through the thick crowd proved to be a challenge, and the girls, who were almost at the bar, told me they would grab me a drink. Fantastic!

I hung around for a bit, taking it all in, when an actual Irish lad beside me grabbed my attention and asked where I was from. I told him I was from America and immediately he was like, "Oh, **** off..." I knew that probably was not the best route to take, so I corrected myself and said "Oh, I'm from Boston, man!" (Boston was a safe bet with the Irish).

"Boston, man! Fantastic!" We exchanged stories for a bit, backgrounds and the like, took some swigs of Guinness, said cheers and went our separate ways.

One great thing about this holiday is that everyone is in such a good mood. I looked around the pub and saw everyone smiling, conversing with strangers and friends alike, simply having a good time. Only one day of the year is it truly like that no matter where you go.

We ended up making it into O'Neill's a few drinks later and the place was a madhouse. People stood shoulder to shoulder, swigging beers and smoking cigarettes, and U2 blasting from the speakers. As I was making my way to the bar I noticed the big green top hats people had on and requested a few caps free of charge with my Guinness. We proceeded to the back and soaked up the last few hours of the holiday before the lights came up and the crowd was ushered out.

Many of my friends from back home thought St. Patrick's Day in London would be crazy. I must admit, however, that as much fun the night was here, this place has got nothing on Boston and (it hurts to say it) New York City. The parties in those two cities have London beat, hands down, even if London is a couple hundred miles from Dublin.

Posted by at 11:25 AM

Unusual recycling: Coffins

I thought public toilets grossed me out, but the idea of sharing a coffin between multiple bodies really makes me cringe.

The technique was used at Stift Melk, an exquisite abbey located outside of Vienna. The abbey was originally built as a palace, but Margrave Leopold II donated the residence to Benedictine monks in 1089.

In the 15th century, the monks decided to move away from elaborate religious practices and return to a simple, disciplined life, said the tour guide at Stift Melk.

During this time, one of the monks created a reusable coffin. The coffin was basic and a money-saver for the monastery, said the tour guide.

After a funeral, the coffin's trap door would release the body into the grave, so it wasn't buried with the body. Then the same coffin would be used at the next funeral.

It was a short-lived idea, said the tour guide. To me, it seemed too quirky for the fantastic monastery.

The church at Stift Melk is one of the most beautiful that I’ve seen during my time abroad. Detailed frescos and gold-trimmed walls and columns contribute to its vivid interior splendor. Yet, the décor isn’t overwhelming because of the church’s intimate size.

Fortunately the church’s beauty wasn’t destroyed.

Stift Melk’s existence has been threatened several times. It survived dissolution during the reign of Austrian Emperor Joseph II, who disbanded many abbeys in the late 1700s. It was also threatened by the Napoleonic Wars, which lasted through the early 1800s, and Nazi occupation of Austria (the fascist regime didn’t believe in traditional, religious values). While the Nazis confiscated Stift Melk’s secondary school and other parts of the abbey, they didn’t dissolve the monastery.

Top photo: A reusable coffin in the museum at Stift Melk.
At right: Looking back from the altar inside the church.

Posted by at 9:32 AM

Avila, Segovia, and St. Teresa minus a finger

Part of our 6-credit seminar on the Politics, History, Economics and Culture of Spain focuses on Spain during the Golden Age and the Spanish Renaissance. One group of writers during this period were the mystics, who believed they could come closer to and experience God through prayer, self-sacrifice and self-castigation or punishment. The mystics believed that by foregoing bodily desires, they could repent for their sins and be more open to God's will and word. Saint Teresa of Avila, one of the most famous mystics, is said to have experienced extreme pain and ecstasy during her experience with God. According to legend, an angel pierced her heart with an arrow. Saint Teresa later wrote books such as El Libro de la Vida, or the Book of Life, which detailed her experience with and knowledge of God. We traveled to her hometown of Avila to see what her life might have been like.

When we arrived in Avila, the first thing we noticed was "La Muralla," a massive wall along the perimeter of the city. Nobles, soldiers and members of religious orders, like the order of Carmelite nuns to which Saint Teresa belonged, would have lived inside the wall, while peasants and farmers lived outside.

This is a view of Avila from a hill outside La Muralla.

My friend Sunny liked the statue of this lion. There are stone statues lining the streets around churches when one enters Avila.

This is a view of the roof of a gothic church from the outside.

And this is the inside, where many paintings and statues of religious figures or scenes from the Bible are displayed.

While inside the different churches and buildings in Avila, we saw a painting of Jesus being crucified while wearing a skirt, which is more common in certain Latin American indigenous cultures' depictions of Jesus. So, our guide concluded, the artist was probably Latin American and shipped the painting to Avila to display in the chapel of the church. Many in our group were either shocked to see this, or thought it was funny. It just goes to show that cultural norms and styles differ from place to place.

We then went into a room with artifacts that belonged to St. Teresa. We were not allowed to take photos, unfortunately. But the most shocking thing was that in a display case was a finger. Yes, you heard me correctly, a real, decaying FINGER enclosed in airtight glass. The locals say it is St. Teresa's index finger. Now, I realize the woman had masochistic tendencies due to her mystic beliefs, but somehow taking her finger and enclosing it in glass for all to see seems a little extreme. I only wish I could have taken a picture. It's one of those things you just have to see.

Leaving the chapel of the nine-fingered saint, we then climbed a stone walkway that snaked across the tops of buildings in Avila. From there, we could see spectacular views of the city.

After leaving Avila, we traveled to nearby Segovia, which is much smaller. Segovia's prime tourist attractions are the Roman aqueduct and the palace known as the Alcazar.

Here is the aqueduct. Local folklore ignores the presence of the Romans and says that the aqueduct was built by the devil when he made a bet with a local woman to give him her soul in exchange for finding an easier way to transport water instead of carrying it back by hand. The legend says that the woman then tricked the devil and he ended up building the aqueduct, but failing to win the woman's soul.

This is a close-up of the aqueduct. Our program assistant Cristina said the Spanish flag was draped across the statue of Mary and the Baby Jesus in remembrance of the two-year anniversary of the March 11, 2004 subway attacks committed by Al-Qaeda.

This is one of many gothic-style churches and cathedrals throughout Segovia.

The Alcazar served as a palace and residence for the kings of the Castille region. Each new monarch added new parts to the building, transforming it into a massive palace and fortress.

This is a view from the Alcazar, surveying the land below. The Alcazar stands more than 1000 meters tall.

Posted by at 9:32 PM

Weekend up North

A friend of mine came to visit last week, so we decided to get away from the cold and rainy town of St. Andrews for the weekend. For some reason, we decided it might be sunnier up North in Aberdeen, the Granite City of Scotland.

I'm not sure how I decided on Aberdeen, but a weekend away is always nice. We took a train from Leuchars, and the train ride was absolutely beautiful. Some highlights:

The River Tay

Snow-covered mountains near Aberdeen

We arrived in Aberdeen, and it looked a little like an industrial city, which I suppose it is. We couldn't check into our hotel for a few hours, so we thought we'd look around. We found a cathedral:

Church of Scotland, Greyfriars John Knox Parish

and something that resembled a castle:

The Castlegate

and lots of shopping. But we headed to our hotel, the Hotel Britannia
and walked through the city to get there. Luckily, I had written down directions to it, but unluckily, failed to realize that it is 6 miles outside the city center. So, Dave and I hiked the 6 miles with our backpacks, finally collapsing in the hotel after a hearty meal of fish and chips for him (a Scottish staple) and vegetarian bangers and mash (sausage and mashed potatoes) for me.

In the morning we took the bus back to the city center and walked down to the beach area, which I'm sure is a lot of fun in the summer, but on a cold and cloudy day in March, the only good thing it offers is some hot chocolate. I thought this photo op was ironic:

"Sunset Boulevard" on the Aberdeen Fun Beach

Dave and I walked along the beach for a while before hitting up the science center; always a fun event for everyone. That Saturday it was especially fun for every five-year-old in the area, and the quite random 21 and 25-year old Americans looking for a place to get warm. So, we enjoyed the Satrosphere until it became overwhelming and awkward, and headed back into town for more shopping and some lunch.

We ate lunch in a mall and got a quick dinner at Marks & Spencer before heading back to our hotel, where we crashed for the night after enjoying some American TV: the Simpsons, followed by Stargate Atlantis.

There was one thing in Aberdeen that I hadn't gotten a taste of in St. Andrews. First of all, St. Andrews, the University, is 20% international, 10% of which are American. So, we don't get a lot of Scottish fashion, which tends to be very dark and alternative, at least for the younger set. All the girls look a bit like Avril Lavigne. You won't find anyone wearing pink in Scotland. Maybe it's a reflection of the March weather?

Anyways, it's always nice to get away, but sometimes, it's nice to get away just so you can come back.

Posted by at 11:56 AM

An End to Terrorism?

Spain, especially Madrid, is on edge. The Basque separist and nationalist group ETA (Euskadi Ta Askatasuna), has just announced a truce with the Spanish government. ETA, which has committed hundreds of different attacks on Spanish state buildings, local businesses and tourist spots, is responsible for an estimated 800 deaths since the group´s appearance during the 1960s as a response to former dictator Francisco Franco´s repression of national identities. I was touring radio station Onda Cero yesterday when the news was first announced.

According to news sources, ETA vowed yesterday to lay down arms and start a ¨permanent cease-fire¨ starting Friday at midnight. According to the statement released by ETA and read aloud by three masked ETA operatives on a videotape sent to Spanish media outlets, ¨the aim of this decision is to promote a democratic process" in the Basque country. CNN has a translation of the statement up on its website. You can go here and read it.

Reactions to the news have been mixed. While most people are hopeful and excited at the prospect that this form of domestic terrorism will end, government officials are advising caution. ¨Cauteloso,¨ or cautious, is a word being thrown around by every politician and news reporter. In the past, ETA has promised to lay down arms and has broken those promises, or the ¨cease-fire¨ has ended prematurely. The longest truce between the government and ETA lasted for 14 months, starting on September 18, 1998. Some people are wary of anything ETA says, especially because their past actions do not seem to indicate a desire for peace or democracy.

What is clear is that President Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero´s PSOE (Partido Socialista Obrero Español) has been trying to negotiate with ETA in order to combat terrorism. Members of the conservative Partido Popular have been critical of Zapatero´s links with ETA, even though the former PP-controlled government under Jose Maria Aznar had also tried to negotiate with ETA in order to restore a state of normalcy so that Spanish citizens would not have to worry about being attacked. However, the PP later adopted a hostile attitude towards the Basque separatists.

After the terrorist attacks of March 11, 2004, which killed 192 people, the Aznar government tried to link the attacks to ETA, even though all the evidence pointed to radical Islamicists tied to Al-Qaeda. As a result of the government´s rush to judgment (and opposition of fellow conservatives, moderates and liberals to Spain´s involvement in the Iraq war), Zapatero the PSOE were elected to power three days later. Many PP politicians and sympathizers still say that ETA was tied to Al-Qaeda, but have been unable to provide evidence to back up those claims. Clearly, though, accusations by government officials only further strained relations and the possibility of peaceful settlements with ETA, which is why Zapatero has been pushing hard for such a cease-fire.

If this cease-fire is successful, it could very well serve as Zapatero´s crowning achievement during his presidency, which has been marked by criticism from the left (who believe he is not being progressive enough) and the right (who are upset about his policies, especially concerning social issues such as gay marriage and the attempt to separate the Catholic Church from state affairs).

Hopefully, ETA is serious about their promise to lay down arms and stop terrorist attacks. People should be cautious and wary, as ETA could rescind the truce if they are not granted certain concessions, ranging from the release of ETA members from prison to a complete withdrawl from Spain and the establishment of an independent Basque nation. However, in a culture where national identities are often looked down upon by other Spaniards (there is much prejudice towards Catalonians, Basques, Morroccans, and other ethnic groups due partly to Spain´s history of isolationism and Franco´s reign and attempts to homogenize Spanish culture), it is clear that conservative elements within the country also need to be willing to extend the olive branch, or else they could risk further alienating the Basques, causing them to end the cease-fire and setting the peace process back for decades. I am sure there is a way to find push forward the peace process without forcing the Spanish government to captiulate to every one of ETA´s demands, but it´s going to require hard work and willingness to compromise--not stubborness or strict adhesion to personal ideologies--on both sides.

Will ETA stop its terrorist attacks permanently? Only time will tell.

Posted by at 8:09 AM

Spring is (finally) here!

Its been a long, cold winter for the Romans. Unusually cold, they'd say. True, it didn't snow, but with temperatures for two months hovering somewhere around 8 degrees Celsius (46 F), the 15 degrees (59 F) of today was a long time coming.

Just this past weekend, a friend back at my school in Providence sent me an image of the first flowers of spring peeking up above their beds around campus. No matter where you are, it seems, the first warmth of spring inspires unprecedented excitement and activity. In Rome, its no different.

Today in the streets I found a certain life that wasn't there a few days ago, when winter still held its strong grip over the city. Vendors in the open air market were all smiling -- they are, after all, the first beneficiaries of the warm weather. More schoolchildren were liberal in their enjoyment of their afternoon break from studies, going to cafes and trattorias and enjoying a few hours in the sun. I, for my part, took off my winter coat, and strolled the city on foot in just a t-shirt. There was still a slight chill from the breeze for those like me without extra layers, but the feeling of freedom from the cotton and wool bonds of winter was well worth it.

Such a marked change from one day to the next, based on nothing but the ambient temperature, really shows the fickleness of travel, and the true benefit of studying abroad. No tourist or eager college student would think of going to Cancun, Mexico in the throes of Winter. Similarly, a tourist's experience in Seville, Spain or in Orlando, Florida will be completely different when the weather's cold than when it's warm. Come to Rome in February, and you'll see a quiet city, relaxed but lacking that particular cosmopolitan spark that one expects. But move your week's vacation just a few weeks forward and you'll find yourself in a teeming sea of humanity, buzzing and chirping all their business in the open air and filling the streets with vigor.

But if I were just the common tourist, I would only see that one snapshot of urban life; living in any city for many months gives you a certain perspective of the good and the bad, the high points and the low, that makes it all more worthwhile. Yes, there's studying, but that is timeless and can be done anywhere. Peering into how people in another country live, and watching how they and the calendar evolve in tandem is wisdom far beyond academic knowledge. Look around, be observant, watch how the natives act -- they're the real reason you took the plunge and went abroad. But don't keep them inside that hermetically sealed glass jar for careful study and examination: Whether it's cold or warm outside, and whether or not you're in Rome, do as they do.

Posted by at 2:51 PM

The roots of modern conflict in European Art

While visiting the Kunsthistoriches Museum (Art History Museum) in Vienna, I became fascinated with a story behind several paintings, which I found to be ironic in light of the modern-day conflict in the Middle East.

The Biblical story of Judith and the head of Holofernes has been depicted by several artists, including the Austrian painter Gustav Klimt. Klimt’s version wasn’t in the Kunsthistoriches Museum, but a few others hung on the wall.

The image at right is early 17th-century painter Simon Vouet's version there.

The story is told in the Book of Judith, found in the Old Testament of Roman Catholic and Orthodox Bibles (but not in Jewish scriptures).

Over time historians have debated the validity of the story, but it has generally been accepted as a parable:

King Nebuchadrezzar, ruler of the Assyrians (historically the ruler of Babylon), ordered his general Holofernes to attack the nations that didn’t support his war against Media. All others submitted except the Israelites.

Holofernes proceeded to surround the Israelites near Jerusalem in Bethulia.

A Jewish widow, Judith, played a major role in saving the town from Holofernes. She entered his camp, pretending to have betrayed her people. Holofernes invited her into his tent and after he passed out drunk, she beheaded him.

After Judith brought the head of Holofernes home, the Bethulians defeated Holofernes’ army and the town rejoiced.

Now while I found various artistic renditions of the story, I also discovered different facts of the story online.

According to Wikipedia, Bethulia was a “Jewish city.” But MSN Encarta said Bethulia was a “Palestinian town.”

Ironically, two encyclopedias can’t agree if a city from over 2,000 years ago belonged to the Palestinians or Israelites in a story found in Christian Bibles.

As I clicked through Wikipedia, I learned that Nebuchadrezzar destroyed temples in Jerusalem. The online encyclopedia also said he is viewed negatively by Christians and Jews, but seen as a great leader in Iraq.

Saddam Hussein even named an army unit after him, according to Wikipedia.

All I was looking for was verification of an ancient story told by a tour guide in Vienna. Instead I found early hints and even conflicting historical accounts of the clashes in the Middle East that continue to this day.

Posted by at 7:24 AM

St. Patrick's Day in Dublin

St. Patrick’s Day Weekend is one of the biggest of the year anywhere around the world. I can remember going to a Patty’s Day party back home in September to celebrate mid-way point to the holiday. So, as Dublin took preparations for their population to skyrocket, my excitement went along with it.

I had some friends from home coming into town, so I made some preparations of my own. Trips to the airport, beginning a week ago and continuing until this Tuesday, led to makeshift tours and pint-tasting circuit training.

In between juggling an internship and playing host, my friends and I did manage to find some good “craic”. From cramped dancing halls to antiquated Victorian public houses, I did my best to show my friends the variety of the Dublin night (and afternoon) life.

Some of the highlights:
-- A friend showing up in a newly adorned homemade mo-hawk.
-- Random run-ins with unexpected classmates (…I’m learning everyday that Dublin is a surprisingly small big-city)
-- The blurry glimpses of the St. Patrick’s Day Parade through the center of town
-- Introducing my lady friend to my boss (“Oh, you’re way too attractive to be with him…”) and promptly receiving an additional two days off.
-- The unspoken competition among everyone (!) to sport the most ridiculous "St. Patrick's" Day attire. Anything and everything was fair game.

The weather left much to be desired (40 degrees, rainy) but it couldn’t keep down our spirits (or the spirits themselves). Strolling through the streets of the Fair City, slurring through songs with close friends is a memory that is still vivid and one that I will hold dear.

On the whole, the festivities were a week-long celebration that the city geared up for and delivered. Dublin has experienced a fiscal (and emotional) boom in recent years and is striving to be a prominent, cosmopolitan European capitol. As a result, both the parade and the events leading up to the parade took on a "worldly" sense of importance. And, indeed, the city blossomed into a multicultural melting pot, all adorned in green.

Cheers!

Posted by at 10:40 AM

Welcome to the jungle!

Finally I am back. I have been traveling for almost three weeks now, returning to Cuenca for only a couple of days in between. I started at the Galapagos at the end of February, and then returned to Cuenca to only leave once more to experience the Ecuadorian Oriente.

Although tired and a little sad to return to school and almost reality ( studying abroad is never really full reality), I am also very satisfied that I have officially traveled to all four geographical regions of Ecuador; the Highlands, the Coast, the Oriente and the Galapagos islands. The highland region includes all the cities and pueblos (villages) that reside in the Andes Mountains (Quito and Cuenca are included), which basically run down the center of Ecuador. The coastal region is the western coast of Ecuador, and the Oriente is the eastern region of Ecuador, which is the jungle of the Amazon River basin.

Since I have been to all regions now, I will make sure I include an entry about each region. Since I just returned from the Oriente not even 24 hours ago, I am going to write about it while my eyes are stilling seeing green, and my ears are still listening to the buzz of insects and birds and the random monkey cries.

My trip to the jungle was the first trip I planned by myself, and I traveled only with my boyfriend who came to visit from the U.S. So it was not only an adventure in the jungle but also an adventure traveling there. It was my first time using the public bus transportation, so I was very confused about how the bus system worked here.

To be honest, I have only been to the Greyhound bus station in Providence once, when I was very little, so I can't really compare the bus station in Rhode Island to the Ecuadorian bus stations. I have a feeling that things are run a little different here in Ecuador.

Bus tickets are sold like popcorn in the bus terminal, people yelling the times of their buses, signaling out the gringos and pulling them in all directions. Surrounding the ticket booths are little shops where people can buy snacks and magazines for the bus, and these people act in a similar fashion as the bus ticket venders — yelling and pulling. As beginners in the Terminal Terrestre we had no idea where to go, and as we would look around, venders from all directions holler at us, or try to lead us places we did not want to go.

As a side note, I would just like to describe what we must have looked like going through this terminal. First, I was carrying my daypack, wearing flip- flops and sunglasses (it was pouring rain). But, my boyfriend definitely wins the prize for sticking out the most. At 6 ft. 3 inches, he towered over every Ecuadorian, rolling his black suitcase, and bumping into people through the construction of the hardly cemented floors of the terminal. The only thing he had going for him was the soccer jersey he wore.

Although frazzled and very confused, we made it onto a bus and we embarked on our six-hour bus ride to the city of Tena, where we would stay for a night before we made it to our lodge.

A word of advice when taking public bus transportation into the jungle of Ecuador: Do not drink anything for at least twelve hours before getting on the bus. Four hours of unpaved bumpy roads are bound to make anyone have to use the restroom. There are no bathrooms on the bus either. We had to ask the bus driver to pull over before tears rolled down my face.

At around eleven p.m., we finally arrived and stopped at a hostel called Hostal Traveling Lodge. We cleaned up, dropped our bags, had a cerveza Pilsner (Ecuadorian beer) and then passed out. The next morning we woke up to take the 8 a.m. bus out of Tena to Puerto Barantillo, the closest bus stop to our lodge. We trekked and rolled through the small city of Tena to reach the bus terminal.

We rode deeper and deeper into the jungle. All we saw was green, with an occasional house or soccer field. After about an hour and a half we reached our destination -- a sign and a small dirt path.

We met another fellow North American from California who had been backpacking through Ecuador for two months. Seeing him gave us some comfort to know that this place really did exist, until we walked about 500 ft and realized there was a river, but no lodge and no road to get there. He had read in Lonely Planet that is was a 2 km hike to Liana Lodge, and we really did not know what was going on. We saw a canoe, so I found a motorist in a nearby house, and also found out that our lodge was down the river. Just as we were about to get into the canoe, we heard another canoe coming up river, and sure enough it was the canoe of Liana Lodge.

We jumped in and sped down the rio to our lodge. On the way we saw men fishing and little kids playing on the bank river who all stopped what they were doing to wave at us.

We got to our lodge and we only knew we were there because there was a little wooden sign that read “Liana Lodge.” A French woman who was the receptionist at the lodge greeted us. She led us to the main dining room, which is decorated appropriately for the jungle. It was a giant, round bungalow with carved wooden animals as seats and tables made of what looked liked misshaped tree shavings. There was a place for a fire, and the animal chairs and couches surrounded the fireplace.

The circle bungalow was shaped much like a carousel, with designed railings made of sticks and instead of a cutout for a pole and all the machinery of a carousel there is a spot for trees to grow and a little circular river outlining the trees.

We were welcomed with an authentic tea of the Quechua tribe who live in that region of the Oriente. After tea, we were directed to our bungalow. We climbed a stone path that was lined with giant leaves, trees and beautiful flowers of the jungle until we reached number 5.2, our bungalow. Covered with mosquito netting and a nicely thatched palm tree roof, our bungalow looked like a perfect home for the jungle, and it really was!

There was no electricity in the jungle, and no hot water. There was a generator in the kitchen but others weren’t allowed to use any of its power.

Officially in the jungle, we started Day 1:
Day 1 consisted of a visit to a local Quechua tribe, we were taught how to use a sirvelleta de Guerra (a war weapon). The sirvelleta was a hollow tube made from a certain type of tree, The "bullets" were small sticks with cotton on the end of them. The cotton was used the make sure the small stick did not slip out so easily. They would take the venom of a serpent and put the venom on the small stick, then put the small stick with venom and cotton in the hollow sirvelleta. Then they would simply aim and blow. Once the victim was hit with the venom it would only be minutes till it felt the venom and no more than two hours for it to die.

We also tried a typical drink of the Quechuas, a chichi de yucca. Yucca is a vegetable similar in taste to a potato. A yucca would be cooked, mashed and then fermented for at least 2 days, sometimes more depending on the strength of the drink. The woman of the household spits in the drink. Luckily I did not know that before I tried it.

After we returned from the visit to the Quechua home, we went to our bungalow and the sounds of the jungle made us fall asleep until dinner. Without electricity, dinner was a romantic candlelight dinner for my boyfriend and me. After dinner, there was not much to do but sit by the fire and chat with the others at the lodge, but communication was difficult because the others spoke German and French, which led to an early night's sleep.

Day 2 we woke up for breakfast at 8 a.m., and by 9 we started our long day in the jungle. We hiked for three hours up rigorous paths of mud until we reached Rio Rodriguez, a clear blue river in the middle of the jungle. We tried to swim a little, but I have this weird phobia about the bottoms of rivers -- the feeling of the mud scares me. So we just sat on rocks and ate a lunch packed by the lodge. They had cooked macaroni salad for us and instead of plates, we ate it on giant leaves!

After Rio Rodriguez we hiked for another hour and a half until we reached the Amazoonico, a non-profit rescue center for animals run by volunteers from all over the world. The animals there are either being protected from the locals who hunt them, or found in random places in Ecuador or they are animals that people tried to domesticate and failed. They have ocelots, monkeys, snakes and more.
Some animals are kept in cages for protection. Most are encaged because they have had too much human contact and would not survive in the wild. One male spider monkey was let free for a while until the volunteers realized that he was the culprit oin more than thirty animal deaths -- he was actual a serial killer. Now he is kept far away in his own cage, and is never to be let out.

The Amazoonico has a policy that they will never put down a healthy animal; therefore the monkey will be in captivity until death.

After the Amazoonico we returned to the lodge by canoe. Completely exhausted from our long day of hiking we took a nap until dinner, and then shared our last romantic candlelight dinner in the jungle.
Day 3: We woke up early for breakfast and we were on a bus by 8 a.m back to the Tena. From Tena we caught a bus back to Quito where we officially concluded our jungle tour.
Now I am back here in Cuenca, and the clean fresh air and peaceful sounds of the jungle have been replaced by polluted air and loud, honking horns of the city. Feeling nostalgic, I can only hope to return to another jungle someday.

Posted by at 9:27 AM

A taste of my life as a Cuencana

Now that I have been here in Cuenca for two months, the first impressions I had have faded into my way of life. The highlights of my life are no longer just dodging cars, water balloons and walking by the prison but rather my host family, salsa, fùtbol, and traveling through the diverse geography of Ecuador.

The program that I am a part of CEDEI –the Semester in the Andes, is an American program stationed in Cuenca, Ecuador. CEDEI is an intercambio school (exchange) that is also for local Ecuadorians who wish to learn English, and solo English speaking travelers that want to join the Spanish immersion programs. Solo travelers pay weekly for Spanish intensive language programs.

I am one of 30 students in my Semester in the Andes program. St. Ambrose University in Iowa, led by Arvella Lanseng, our director, is the main affiliate with CEDEI. Most students are from St. Ambrose University and also Salisbury University in Maryland, another affiliate. The other students come from schools all around the states. I am the only student from Marist College, and there are a couple of other solo students. Marist does not affiliate with CEDEI, I discovered my program on the Internet, and worked with Marist to join the program.

The Semester in the Andes is not a Spanish program. It offers Spanish classes, and every student takes Spanish here, but it is not just a Spanish program. They also offer classes in other areas such as Business and Environmental Science.

Since our program is separate from the other programs at CEDEI we only share classes with each other. I came to this program as a Spanish minor and knowing enough Spanish to get myself around. My classes here have been all in Spanish because my level was high enough. However, not all classes are in Spanish.

My program is the majority of my life here. Each day my classes change, but usually I am in class from 8 am to 1 pm. In the afternoons we have cultural classes where we take cooking, painting, ceramics and dance classes. We also have weekly lectures about Ecuador, mostly focused on the political and economical situation of Ecuador.

I traveled with my group to the Galapago. Most weekends my program has planned trips to places in Ecuador, which makes it hard to meet Ecuadorians.

Despite my busy schedule, I have made some Ecuadorians friends. Every Friday and Sunday that I am around, I play soccer with a group of locals. I have made most of my Ecuadorian friends through soccer.

My soccer friends are all local artists here in Cuenca. For example, one is a painter, another is children’s book writer, another is a theatre clown, and the rest are musicians and are in a band together. Meeting them has influenced my obsession with the music here in Ecuador.

Fortunately for me, my host cousin, who lives two houses away from me, is a guitarist in another band as well. The best part about it is they practice in a rundown house in my back yard. Many nights I fall asleep with my window open just listening to the rhythms of salsa and meringue.

Another popular music here is Reggaeton, which is hip-hop with a Latin twist. I personally do not care for reggaeton, but it plays in mostly all clubs and discotecs in Cuenca. Bars in Cuenca usually host mùsica en vivo (live music). These are my preferred nights.

Since I came with a group of Americans, most of the time I go out with my friends from my group, but there have been occasional nights where I venture off with only my Ecuadorian friends. Whether I am with my American friends or Ecuadorian friends it is always a night of dancing.

Occasionally on the weekends I go on day trips with my family here. I live with my host mom, Irene, who is an elderly woman, her daughter Ximena (pronounced Hi-mena), and her daughter Sofia who is six. It is a house full of girls! Irene loves to cook, and she is good at it too.

Our weekend day trips have been to the valley, to a placed called Gualaceo. In Gualaceo there is a fruit market, and shoes galore! They have shoes for five dollars a pair and up. Most of the shoes are for women, specializing in fashionable high heels.

A family member here owns a house in Gualaceo, so when we go there more than family members join us. We have almuerzo (lunch) and walk around their beautiful yard.

Family time is very important here in Cuenca, so whenever I am not busy I make sure to spend time with my host mom either chatting in the kitchen or watching T.V.

My house was completely not what I expected either! I was very surprised the first night I walked in (probably why I thought Cuenca was rich) to find a four-story house, and an entire floor to myself. I have a room with two beds, a TV, and a bathroom to myself. I am surprisingly spoiled here.

My favorite part of my house is the terrazzo, or the roof, where I can overlook the entire city; the grand cathedral in the center with the blue dome and the surrounding Andes.

Although my life here is completely not what I expected, thinking I was going to live in a small pueblo in the country sharing a room with my five brothers and sister, I love it. ¡Me encanta Cuenca, especialmente la música! ¡Viva la música! (I love Cuenca, expecially the music! Let music live!

Posted by at 6:26 AM

Paris Manifestations: Marching with a Mission

Video clips of the demonstrations are after the jump.
9 more photos and the full take of 85 photos

Eighty thousand young manifestants (protestors) plastered themselves with STOP-CPE stickers, linked arms, and marched through the streets of Paris yesterday afternoon, waving banners, and chanting vociferously for the French government to listen to their complaints about the controversial new labor law, CPE.

In the largest demonstation yet against le contrat première embauche (CPE), manifestants began marching at 2:30 p.m. at Place Denfert-Rochereau on the left bank of south-east Paris, and rolled into Place de la Nation on the right bank two hours later, still with boundless energy and stamina.

Against the advice of the U.S. Embassy and my program director, I was waiting there on the sidewalk at Nation to meet them, and watched for two hours as the manifestants streamed past. When I arrived around 3:30, the streets were empty and calm. An hour later, the circular place was flooded with the protestors and a sea of spectators.

I left around 6:45 as the last manifestants were marching towards the place. According to news reports, some angry protestors moved back to the site of Thursday night's riots, Place de la Sorbonne, wreaking more havoc in the historic square.

Video - Story continues below

"Aujourd'hui, dans la rue" --> "Today, on the street"

3 secs mpg | Real Media | Windows Media

The soundtrack is dance music.
18 secs mpg | Real Media | Windows Media

A strong voice: Roughly, "Everybody stop working, Let's have a general strike."
14 secs mpg | Real Media | Windows Media

The ongoing manifestations are being orchestrated by young French people, who believe that CPE would put them in a vulnerable position where they can be hired, but also fired, easily. The labor law was designed to lower the unemployment rate among young people (under 26) in France, currently at a high 23%.

For employers, the law is attractive because it allows them the flexibility to hire young, inexperienced workers without a commitment or attached strings. For the first two years of employment, they can fire the workers with any or no reason. While CPE is favored by the government and industry leaders as a way to lower the jobless rate, it offers no security for young people for those initial two years on the job. If fired, they would lose their income and could have a difficult time finding another job and paying rent. This vulnerability, being imposed on them by the government's CPE, is what's fueling the manifestations.

During the protest, manifestants wore stickers and buttons that depicted young workers being dumped head-first into garbage cans. One banner was marked with a red swoop and the words “Just don’t do it,” playing off of the Nike slogan. Onlookers sitting on top of a bus stop, waved a sign that read "CPE = Blague de l’année" (Joke of the year). The sentiment among the youth is that the government is looking for an easy way to lower the jobless rate, at the expense of young people.

Yesterday morning, my host mother said to me, “the (French) government has been a bastard for months,” by not listening to the people. To get the government's attention, people are engaging in protests, which are mostly peaceful, where they draw power from numbers. An estimated 500,000 to 1.5 million people marched across France in protest against CPE yesterday, in cities like Lyon and Marseille. Here, unlike in the U.S., the people actively and unrelentingly challenge legislation. The matter of CPE has riled up the French enough that it seems the law might be overturned.

Walking around Paris, it’s not that obvious that a major protest is going on. I eavesdrop the word manifestation in nearly every conversation that I pass by on the street, but can’t make out much more than that. Everybody -- young and old -- is talking about CPE, but there are few tangible signs of a major protest. This morning, I saw signs posted at a street market advertising another manifestation planned for this Tuesday at 7 p.m. on avenue de la Republique. I'm supposed to attend a piano concert that my host mother is organizing for the first Journée Mondiale de la Trisomie 21 (she's president of AFRT, the association for Down Syndrome research in France), but I'll try to make it to both.

I think what's going on here is really important and I'm learning a lot about politics and the power of the French people.

Posted by at 2:36 PM

Thursday Night Riot: Student demonstrations in Paris

Curious to see the ongoing labor law manifestations (demonstrations) in Paris, I walked up to a scene from an action thriller Thursday night: the busy Boulevard Saint Michel had been closed to traffic and was smoky and littered with debris.

From French media coverage, I had learned about the manifestations over the new labor contract, CPE, which applies to French workers under the age of 26. It’s unpopular among young people who already have difficulty landing and keeping good jobs. CPE gives employers the right to fire their employees at any time without warning or reason. The lack of job security implied by the contract has prompted many young people to voice their discontent by engaging in demonstrations.

Up until this week, the worst “riots” I had ever seen were nothing but rowdy students stomping around during the Red Sox-Yankees A.L. East pennant race in 2004. Here, however, cars had been set on fire, and pompiers with fire hoses were on hand to battle the flames. Vengeful protestors were on the streets, charging blockades of riot police officers and pelting them with beer bottles and debris.

Hundreds and hundreds of spectators were milling towards the scene, stopping to watch the riot from the sidewalks. I stood there, at a safe-enough distance, attentive but completely dumbfounded by the unfolding of this event.

The protests over the new labor contract, CPE, have hogged French media coverage for the past week, but I had somehow sidestepped all the manifestations on the streets. The story had piqued my curiosity however, so I decided on Thursday afternoon to go searching for a manifestation in order to better understand what was going on. I knew they are centered at the Cluny-La Sorbonne area of Paris, near the historic Sorbonne building and Pantheon, so I headed that way. By the way, my Sorbonne language class is not physically in the historic building or even in that vicinity, which is why I hadn't come across the protests before.

I learned afterwards that the riot I found on Blvd. St. Michel was the worst of all the CPE demonstrations because it was taken over by young people coming into Paris from the outskirt banlieues (suburbs), the same ones who had organized the November riots outside Paris. Thursday night, they weren’t fighting specifically to protest CPE; they just used the cause as a reason to riot and create havoc.

I was shaken most by two things. First, the audacity of the rioters as they kept creeping closer to the blockade of police, pelting debris and taunting them before being chased back. I literally got goose bumps every time a beer bottle was shattered as it was blocked by the riot officers’ shields. Despite the demonstrated vengeance of the rioters, I didn’t feel like I was in grave danger, so I stayed, out of curiosity.

The second thing that really floored me were the completely shattered windows of cafés and storefronts in the historic Sorbonne square. I stood dumbfounded in front of the windows of one café that had been completely smashed by rioters, and couldn't make sense of the message. The storefront of Gap, on the corner, was ravaged by graffiti and irreparable cracks in the glass.

There’s another big manifestation today, and I’m heading out now with a friend to meet it. I’m excited because I think this one, during the day, will have a completely different dynamic.

Posted by at 6:33 AM

Urban Poetry

When I first arrived in Rome, the dean of the school I attend here said to a group of about a hundred of us, “In Rome, there's less order, less organization, less customer service, but – maybe – more poetry.” At the time, I didn't know exactly what he meant, but any person who dares live in Rome for more than a tourist's week will discover the truth of those words.

The very first thing that a new resident of Rome is confronted with is the traffic. Roman drivers are notorious for driving excessively fast, often making for hair-raising experiences while in taxis and crossing the road. They are all very skilled drivers, don't get me wrong, but they all love speed. To add to this, it seems that a third of the population of Rome, everyone from old women to young males with stylish haircuts to priests in vestments, drives around on little scooters, Vespas and their knock-offs. These little things, which to Americans who know the girth of the Harley-Davidson seem like toys, are able to weave in and out of traffic at incredible speeds, many times avoiding collision by merely a hair's breadth. Crossing any street in Rome is an adventure unto itself – you have to read the traffic, make eye contact with the drivers coming your way, and time your walking (or running) so that you yourself weave around the Smart-cars and motorbikes careening towards you.

But every street in Rome has its own character. The Via Vittorio Emanuele, for instance, is a broad, four-lane thoroughfare, leading from the Tiber to a monument to a man of the same name. It is lined with tall, official buildings, shops of artists, towering hotels, and looming Renaissance-era churches. Then there is the Via del Corso, a narrow street that styles itself as the most fashionable district of the city. Few cars traverse this street even though it is a major artery of the city, due to the fact that large numbers of Italians are constantly walking in the road, entirely unconcerned with traffic in front or behind. Upper class fashion designers, like Gucci and many local brands, as well as big corporate names like Nike and Adidas, make sure to place their wares on this street.

Then there are the streets of Trastevere, one of the oldest sections of the city. Here the buildings are old, small, and humble. Mostly built during the late Renaissance, they are covered in a terra-cotta colored plaster and are themselves the borders of a thousand tiny, narrow streets. Across these streets every morning can be seen the day's laundry, placed out to dry in the sun. Here the sound of traffic is not heard, the din of the city disappears altogether, and is replaced by icons of the Madonna with child, preserved for hundreds of years, installed in simple walls at intersections. Especially at night, when the alleys filled with restaurants are lit by candlelight and torches, you feel as though you just stepped backwards four hundred years in time. On warm nights, vendors selling everything from jewelery to flags, from touristy trinkets to wine set up tables on the cobblestones, tempting passersby with shouts of special discounts.

So perhaps the drivers speed dangerously. Perhaps the traffic signals lie. Perhaps even the city's fleet of mopeds don't stop for a owly pedestrian crossing the street. But those same streets are robust, are unique, are alive with a vigor that surpasses that of the cold iron and concrete of the modern city. To marvel at the life held by seemingly inanimate urban topography, that is poetry.

Posted by at 5:33 AM

Chicken, potatoes and an Austrian history lesson

Last Thursday night I was invited to dinner at Frau Schöttke’s apartment, where my American friends Marcus and Jon are living for the semester. She served a delicious meal of chicken and potatoes, and I finally enjoyed some good home cooking (at the dorm, my culinary skills limit me to pasta, sandwiches and soup).

But in addition to the hearty meal, dessert and wine, I had the opportunity to listen to a first-hand account of European life during World War II.

Frau Schöttke hosted three other American students for dinner in addition to Marcus, Jon and me. She is from Salzburg and has taken in students studying here for a number of years, so they could have the chance to live in an Austrian home environment. Even one of her former residents, Anna, who is Spanish and now living independently in the city, joined us.

I thought I was in a comedy club during the beginning of the meal, as Frau Schöttke entertained us with jokes. She is a sweet, older woman, yet knows how to get college students rolling on the floor with laughter.

But with three history major students seated at the dinner table that night, it was inevitable that she would be asked about World War II. Her eyes were glassy as she recalled her experiences during the war, but maybe that was just a result of the glass of whiskey that she drank.

Frau Schöttke was 9 when the war ended. Her father was a Nazi during World War II, working as a neighborhood watchman. One of his duties was to warn residents of bombings because their home in Salzburg was near a targeted airplane-part production center.

When asked about her mother, Frau Schöttke said “she was the opposite” of her father. She also had brothers and sisters, but didn’t elaborate on their individual personalities.

Frau Schöttke said she was excited the first time the bombs fell because it was during school and she was thrilled to miss class. She didn’t tuck and roll under a desk, but instead ran away from the building. She was told that she be safer if she ran into a field or woods, since it was less likely that those areas would be targeted.

The alarms sounded frequently during the war, Frau Schöttke said. She took cover in a bomb shelter when she was at her house. She said that she never knew what to expect when it was time to leave the shelter, whether everything would be erased above the ground.

Even though Frau Schöttke was a young child during the war, she said that she will never forget it because it was so extraordinary.

The dinner conversation then transitioned to a weekend trip in Croatia. Frau Schöttke offered to take Marcus, Jon and any other students there for an unbeatable bargain price. Right now the only conflict with the trip is the excursions planned for the World War II history class, which many students are in.

I’m not taking that course, but I know that if I want to listen to a personal perspective about the war, I just need to travel to an apartment across town.

Posted by at 8:11 AM

Skiing in The Pyrenees

I have never been skiing. I am just going to put that out there. Hard as it to believe, given the fact that I live in New England, I have never been skiing. Sad huh? Well that all changed with my trip up to the Pyrenees Mountains this past weekend. I had my first experience flying down a mountain. Skiing is not something I claim to be an expert on or anything like that, in fact in reality I know pretty much nothing about skiing and that was quite evident in my first attempt at skiing.

The whole ski trip was sponsored by my school. We (a group of about 20-25 kids) left on a Friday afternoon and headed up to a little town at the base of the mountain. The trip up was an adventure in itself. Our trip included a stop at a cafe, a foosball game and a pass over a bridge about the width of our bus with no railings. But when we finally got to our Albergue (hostel) we were welcomed with a nice dinner and snow!!! For the first time since last winter I saw and got to feel real snow! The trip was already worth it! Unfortunately by the time we got there it was dark and there was no possibility of going skiing, so we all called it a night.

The next morning we headed up to the ski slopes, rented all our gear and all that good stuff and got ready to get on the lift. Well since I had never been skiing this was quite an adventure for me. I got my skis on fine, but what I hadn't accounted for was the fact that I had no idea how to stop. On the way to the lift there was a little hill, well it was not really even a hill, a lump I'll say. Well what ended up happening was I slid down this lump and smacked into my friend who was standing in front of me (and an expert skier I should add). To make things worse I managed to fall over, in the middle of about 40 people, none of whom were having any trouble at all. Well here is where I got to practice for the first time something that I got really good at by the end of the weekend. Standing up without taking off my skis (I got good at standing up with my skis off too). After about 3 min of struggling to raise my self up I finally managed to stand and get on the lift.

OK, so I was ready to go, up all the way on the lift (which was quite fast), to the top part of the mountain in between the end of the lift and the lodge. This is where my day of falling began. OK so the lift is only about a 10 second ski ride from the lodge, it is a cinch for everyone who has ever skied in their lives before. But of course, since I had never skied, never taken a lesson, nothing, it was quite embarrassing. I fell at least 3 times, got stuck in powder and ran into a fence all between the end of the lift and the lodge. Good times.

On this mountain, which was called Cerler, there were four types of slopes. Green, blue, orange/red (we never decided what color it actually was) and black. Green was the easiest and they rose in difficulty all the way up to black which I think I might have killed myself if I had tried it. I stuck to the green slope. Now for most skiers, the green slope is just a warm up slope. They go down the green once only for the purpose of getting to a harder slope like blue or red or something like that. It is a good thing that I am a Celtics fan; because green was definitely my color. I stayed the entire weekend on the green slope in the attempt to learn how to ski.

All in all skiing was tons of fun. By Sunday I could get down the entire green slope without falling or hitting anyone and thus I was quite proud of my improvement, especially because I did not take a single lesson. The snow was fantastic and definitely one amazing experience.

The Green Slope from one of the lifts:

A view of the mountains:

The main lift from the lodge. It doesn't look all that far does it?

Posted by at 8:58 AM

Life in Madrid

Everything is going well in Madrid. I am currently enjoying one of the most relaxing semesters of my college experience. I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. As I have mentioned before, the pace of life is much slower and the people more easy-going. Unfortunately, I have still not gotten used to how slowly people walk. It drives me crazy when I want to go somewhere and I end up either stuck behind someone who is strolling along, or waiting for some of my fellow program participants who have eagerly adopted this trait.

I am living with a host family in a suburb of Madrid. Technically, we are still inside the city limits, but we are a bit removed from the actual "city center." Sometimes, it takes 40 minutes via Metro to get to school!

We live near the Casa de Campo, which is a large park that spans for miles along the southwest border of Madrid. It reminds me a lot of Rock Creek Park in Washington, D.C. The Casa de Campo has hundreds of entrances along its perimeter, with trails inside that are good for running, biking or taking a stroll. Many housing developments have sprung up near the Casa de Campo in recent years. There are also basketball courts, tennis courts and playgrounds that have been constructed in the area. Below, I have some pictures I have taken of our neighborhood and some of the things that my housemate Jeff and I see every day when we walk down our street to the Metro station.

This is the wall along the perimeter of the Casa de Campo. There are many "tags" and pictures or murals along the length of the wall.

I think this view is beautiful. What do you think?

Posted by at 2:24 PM

A Night Out at the Pubs

So what is there to do at St. Andrews, after you've finished your 6 hours of class for the week (or your one hour of class on Tuesday or Thursday)? Pubs! The town has 26 of them! (Rumor has it this is more per capita than any other city in the UK, but I haven't verified it.)

In "the States," it is generally acceptable to go out to the bars on Friday and/or Saturday and do the normal American thing. In St. Andrews, however, you can find people out at the pubs every night of the week, if you're determined enough. Tuesday, Thursday and Friday are the big nights, as far as I have been able to tell.

In our town you can find any sort of pub you fancy. The Raisin, a favorite of my friends, has the feel of "someone's basement," as one of them described it. It's the closest to us on this end of town. There's also the Victoria Cafe, or the Vic as it's known, which is a little bit more lounge-y with a danceclub vibe on Tuesdays, when they have 1 pound drink specials. The Gin House has those specials on Thursdays, when it's "Back to Skool" night and some people dress like Catholic schoolgirls (and boys). The Gin House is, as far as I can tell, the biggest of the pubs in town. If you want dancing and a mixed crowd of locals, golfers and students, there's always the Lizard Lounge at the Inn on North Street, where you can gawk at the terrible dancing or participate in it yourself. Here's a picture from my night last night at the Lizard:

I think most of them were locals and golfers last night. If you're a student, the night usually ends at the Student Union, where there is usually a "Bop" (or a dance). The Union has the latest license in town, which is usually 1 a.m. or 2 a.m. on weekends. Things generally shut down pretty early here. And after that, if you're lucky enough to escape by 2, there's always chips and cheese at Empire.

Posted by at 1:37 PM

The peculiar relationship between time and place

During the past two weeks, I have reflected on the relationship between time and place. It started when I traveled to Munich two weekends ago. On the first night, my friends and I toured the city, went to the infamous Hofbräuhaus and partied all night at the local clubs.

But the next morning was a completely different experience. We traveled 30 minutes outside the city to Dachau, the first regular concentration camp established by the Nazis before World War II. It was a bleak and bitterly cold day as we explored the camp.

An extensive museum was created inside the camp maintenance building and I learned about how Adolf Hitler rose to power, the role of the Dachau concentration camp, the treatment of those placed in the camp and many other issues of the time.

Some of the most interesting information was about the role of propaganda and the press. The museum displayed posters and newspaper clippings from the period. I learned that at the beginning of World War II and the Holocaust, the foreign press relied on reports from the local press, controlled by the Nazis, without challenging or investigating it first. But as the war progressed, even with access restrictions to journalists, more of the truth came forth to readers.

Propaganda was found everywhere, even on the camp’s front gate, which read “Arbeit macht Frei.” That means “work sets you free” in German, as the Dachau camp was projected as a work and labor camp, not a death trap. I learned that everyday the writing on the gate taunted those trapped inside the camp.

Ulli, one of my advisers in Salzburg, said that she grew up near a former concentration camp that was hidden in a quarry. When she went to it, she said that it remained in almost the same condition as when it was used. Children’s shoes were left scattered at the end of the crematories. She said that Dachau was cleaned up too much and should better resemble its original condition, as it is necessary to prevent another tragedy from occurring.

I realized one of the unique experiences of traveling after my trip to Munich. No matter what occurs in a place today, it won’t necessarily parallel the place of yesterday. But through historical preservation, we can remember and learn from the past.

On Sunday, my roommate moved in, as students taking classes directly through the university began their semester this week. (I’m taking my classes through the American Institute of Foreign Study, so while they are through the university, I’m in a separate program from other students). Elena, my roommate, is from Moscow. With the time and place relationship on my mind, I wondered if our housing situation would have been possible over 15 years ago, when the Cold War still divided the world.

Posted by at 4:40 AM

A city's character

I just returned from a spring-break vacation to London and Paris, and to return to Rome was a shocking experience. In London, I spent my time visiting museums and monuments, but also spent quite a bit of time with a friend from home who goes to school there. He introduced me to his friends (an international bunch) and I spent my evenings with all of them, doing what they do.

We went to English pubs, specifically the typical corner pub called the Devonshire. We spent whole evenings there, a fluctuating pack of ten on average, lounging around a coffee table in a dimly lit pub. We talked, debated, and laughed. We listened to the pop music from all over the world that was playing, and we drank the occasional strawberry-flavored beer. We just had a wonderful time.

Another night my friend took me to a club where there were four local punk bands playing. The large room was three-quarters full of people of all ages, some with drinks in their hands, others having conversations around the few tables near the walls. The bands' quality ranged from barely tolerable to excellent, but the whole experience was well worth the evening and the seven pounds sterling.

Then I went to Paris. Paris, like London, has a quite a bit of vigor. One evening I patronized a nightclub filled with young people and rhythmic dance-pop music. Even my lack of proficiency with the French language was not a deterrent to my having a good time that night. The next night was spent at the Louvre, which on Wednesdays and Fridays is open until 10 pm, and after 6 pm on these days people under 26 years old get in free. The Louvre became my nightclub, of sorts. (French young people, amazingly enough, take their dates to the Louvre, rather than a movie.)

Three days later, I returned to Rome, and remembered what it was like. Rome doesn't have nightclubs with amateur bands. Rome doesn't have corner pubs. Rome doesn't have museums open late nights. No, Rome is not Paris or London. The entire city seems to shut down, close up shop before 11 (for the most part) - Romans like to get their sleep. There are clubs and bars, yes, but they are on the outskirts of the city, in places like the San Lorenzo district where many Italian students live, but they are not common.

Rome may not have the entertainment, the vigor and nightlife that other, more cosmopolitan cities have, but it has a different charm which is entirely unique. The people here have no desire for grandeur on the scale of Paris, or international importance like London. Instead, they pursue a more social, leisurely life, develop communities within the city, make friends of shopkeepers and local policemen. They enjoy simple things, like cheap bread and coffee, as well as a good home-cooked dinner. In Rome life is slower, not as stressful, not as exaggerated as the extremes of a modern city. Rome may not have many modern entertainment venues that young people from urban America have come to expect, but there is no place in the world better to spend night after night in a trattoria with friends, eating consistently wonderful food over a glass of wine.

Posted by at 12:41 PM

Fruhling oder Winter? Spring or winter?

And you thought New England weather was unpredictable.

When I used to go camping with my family in New Hampshire’s White Mountains, we never knew when it was going to rain.

In Salzburg?

Be prepared for snow.

In early February, my advisor, Ingrid, told me that Salzburg was having an unusually long winter (the snowing began in November and was still continuing strong). Typically the snow would start to melt by this time, she said.

After a couple of weeks of on-and-off snowy weather, the snow started to melt. That is, until a few days ago.

BAM! Salzburg was hit with snow again. Every day this week it has snowed, but in the most inconsistent way. For one minute the skies were clear. Next? Oh, just some light flurries. But then all of a sudden I thought I was trapped in the middle of an Arctic blizzard. And the erratic cycle continued.

Today it is sunny and clear with a light breeze in the air. But I’ll wear my Ugg boots just in case.

Looks like a blizzard to me. Yesterday, March 7, in downtown Salzburg when the heavy snow began. But less than an hour later? Not a flake in the sky.

*Update to this morning's blog entry: It's just before 8 p.m. and yes, it's snowing after a day of pure sunshine. Good thing I wore the boots.

Posted by at 6:29 AM

A Ball! With kilts and everything...

Sunday night was the second-biggest annual ball in St. Andrews - and I was invited! That may have something to do with the fact that it was the New Hall Ball - and I live in New Hall.

The ball was at the St. Andrews Bay Hotel, a Five Star hotel right outside our little city, and the theme was "Under the Sea." The result was reminiscent of a high school prom.

I wore black, of course, and took a friend from Andrew Melville Hall, who also attends Colgate full-time, as my date:

Alisha Sedor and I, in the New Hall Lobby

A lot of the guys, especially JSA's (Junior Semester Abroad) wore kilts:

John Slefinger and Gabe Gates

There are two kilt-hire shops in town, and apparently you can pick your color. John's is reminiscent of the Scottish flag. Normally, if you were buying a kilt, you'd research your family tartan and have the kilt be of the same pattern.

We took a bus to the hotel, where everything was decorated like we were inside the Disney movie The Little Mermaid. There were about 5 separate rooms, with bars in every room and in the lobby and hallways. One room had a swing band at first, and then a student band that was absolutely amazing. The main room had a live Ceilidh band, which is a Scottish line dance that is incredibly difficult to do if you're wearing heels (and if your date has found a partner wearing a kilt).

Apparently the whole dance cost about 18,000 pounds, which is impressive, considering only 500 people actually paid for their tickets. The other thousand were given to New Hall residents and their dates.

The highlights of the night? The student band, which was not just your normal rock band with guitars and such. They were dressed up in zebra print outfits and wigs and had a saxophone and a trumpet, and played anything you can think of. The Ceilidh is always a highlight, although I didn't get to participate - just watch.

And. Of course. The kilts.

Posted by at 4:36 AM

It's COLD!!!

Hallo fra Norge!

I have not written in a while... Norway is still amazing. I am writing this as my friend from home is taking a nap. She has a serious case of jet-lag at the moment, but I'm being a nice friend and letting her sleep. :)

The past couple of weeks have been very fun and filled with new adventures. It is still cold here, in fact, VERY COLD. This morning we looked out at our thermometer, and it was - 5 F. I think my friend is wondering why she came to Norway, when she could be sitting on the beach somewhere... I think she'll be very pleased with her decision after this week.

This month is very exciting for me. I have 3 friends and my mom visiting, within the next four weeks. Besides missing them like crazy and how excited I am to see them, I am also extremely excited to do more traveling. Within the next month, we will be traveling to places such as Bergen, Lillehammer (where the 1994 Winter Olympics was held) Gol, and Oslo. Who knows, we'll most likely be spontaneous and travel other random locations as well, but for now, that's the list. We are all extremely excited.

So what have I been doing since my last and only blog post? Well, I have been up to many things. As I had mentioned before, in my last post there are many things to do outside here in Norway. This is certainly a place for those who love to be outdoors. There's a saying that goes, "Norwegians are born with cross-country skiis attached to their feet." Quite a popular thing to do here, you see many people outside on their cross-country skiis. As a rookie in the world of cross-country skiing, let's just say I don't have the natural talent that my friends have here.
I have been out with my snowshoes, which are quite fun. However, every time I bring them out to go, my roommates laugh at me. They think I look ridiculous. Apparently snowshoeing is not all the rage here. I had to learn the hard way. I don't mind the mocking, I think I look stupid as well, but it's good exercise and a lot of fun.

Another fun thing to do is to go sledding. We went up to an area called "Ringkølen" the other day and had a blast. I couldn't feel parts of my body by the end of the day, but every moment was worth it. (The hot cocoa and Norwegian Freia chocolate goodie certainly helped to finish off a fine day of sledding as well.)

Posted by at 3:07 AM

Update!

Sorry for the shortage of posts! To be too busy to update is a luxury… But, if you are curious, here’s how I spent my last few days.

Wednesday, March 1, 2006:

Score!

My friend Marissa phoned me with international soccer tickets, the first friendly match of the year … Republic of Ireland versus Sweden. It is also the first game for Ireland’s newest manager Steve Staunton.

“Stan” was brought in shortly after I arrived… a former Republic of Ireland player; I remember there was much to do in the press.

Sweden is a solid club that boasts more than one international star. They scheduled this friendly (that is, a scrimmage) as a tune up before upcoming World Cup play this summer in Germany. Last year, Ireland failed to qualify.

I am expecting a spirited Ireland effort, a young squad under a new manager, but to eventually fall to a stacked Swedish team.

But, as the Jameson began to effectively fight off the winter chill, and I allowed myself to get swept along in the cheers, chants, fanfare and pageantry, I noticed that the scrappy Irish squad was sticking around.

Eventually, Damien Duff struck a ball off a defender’s foot and behind the Swedish goalkeeper. 1-0 Ireland.

Ireland ended up winning 3-0 (or in Irish, “tree – nil”) and I ended up having a grand old time for myself… cheering and chanting with the supporters, and even making up some of my own.

While it was a mere friendly, to the 49,000 + people in attendance, it certainly felt of much more. And, for a few hours at least, I could say I was a part of the future of Ireland “football”.

Thursday: I took some time off from my internship and decided to meet my girlfriend in Brussels. She is studying abroad in Spain and we chose a time and place to meet… Brussels, Thursday.

So after a day of traveling and a night of sampling the many varieties of Belgian beer, we retired until…

Friday...

Upon more than one recommendation, mi novia and I took a bus tour of Brussels, and it was a pleasant treat – much like the chocolate.

But, by early afternoon, we were ready to visit a classmate studying nearby – in the world of canals and coffee shops.

Amsterdam.

After a sleepy train ride, and a whirlwind ride through the city via tram, we hit the town pretty hard.

And here is where the blog will get a little hazy… “When in Rome…”

Saturday/ Sunday...
I distinctly remember seeing the Heineken Brewery and the Van Gogh museum.

Classic, colorful paintings and free half-pints.

And I also remember seeing the red-light district… a trip in and of itself.

Little more than a few shady streets, it was not exactly what I was expecting.

Potential customers stroll down narrow alleyways lined with wide, open windows with red neon lights surrounding the windows.

(Closed windows means business is being transacted…)

Prostitutes can be seen in these windows, acting coy or employing little catcalls. Some pretend to idly chat on their cell phone or nonchalantly twirl their hair and blow bubbles with their gum.

My personal favorites were the ones who were blatantly talking to themselves, but still playing the “part”.

For some reason, they felt the need to pretend to be uninterested in customers to be effective. It was all very funny.

And despite their professions and brazen exhibitionism, they were also very camera shy.

Sorry, no pictures, Mom… Although, I did snag some of the city so look for those here soon.

All told, I had some fun while seeing some unique foreign culture. Amsterdam is a beautiful city… fantastic architecture and sprawling canals… modern and fast-paced transportation, and people bike Everywhere! … Must be all the coffee.

Thursday I head to the west side of Ireland to Galway and the Arran Islands… So check back for some new additions.

Cheers!

-brian h.

Posted by at 2:36 PM

"...and there'll be dancing in the street"

I took a Sunday morning stroll down Rue Mouffetard in the 5th arrondissement, near the Panthéon, and came upon something wonderful: an impromptu dance floor. There, next to the crates of clementines and pineapple being peddled at the market, was a cluster of older French couples dancing merrily in the street to a small ensemble of musicians. Onlookers were huddled around them, singing songs that they knew by heart. My favorite couple was an adorable little girl spinning around with her grandmother.

One man handed me the a sheet with the lyrics, which I accepted with a “merci.” Here’s the chorus for “Ou est-il donc?”:

Où est-il mon moulin de la Place Blanche?
Mon tabac et mon bistrot du coin?
Tous les jours étaient pour moi Dimanche!
Où sont-ils les amis les copains?
Où sont-ils tous mes vieux bals musette?
Leurs javas au son de l'accordéon
Où sont-ils tous mes repas sans galette?
Avec un cornet de frites à dix ronds
Où sont-ils donc?

Posted by at 11:16 AM

Snow!

It snowed for the first time since January here yesterday. Although it was only an inch and a half that had mostly melted by 2 pm, everyone here was clearly excited. I received emails from the University telling me to bundle up and enjoy the snowball fights. Some New Hall kids built a snowman. A plow chased me down the sidewalk in town.

The Scots may get excited by the snow, but they clearly aren't as used to it as New Englanders (or those who go to school normally in Upstate New York!). I ventured out in the snow for my daily run by the Old Course, and I was shocked to see that mine were the only footprints on the path, which is normally pretty busy. Maybe they just like the rain better.

Posted by at 3:16 PM

Is an Orange Beanbag "art"?

Is an ordinary orange beanbag art? Art that belongs in a museum? At the chic Parisian modern art musée Centre Pompidou, curators believe the answer is oui. The bean bag in question, Italian artists Piero Gatti, Cesare Paolini and Franco Teodoro's Sacco, is part of the controversial Big Bang exhibit that celebrates the modern art genre, one that challenged conventional standards and begs a number of philosophical questions about the intentions of artists and the aesthetics of their creations. Does art have to be beautiful? What does beautiful mean?

The placard in the Le Mou or Softness room where the beanbag is displayed, reads in English: Using unstable, passive materials, the artist releases the plastic and metaphorical potential of softness. Subject to gravity, form becomes free and modifiable, an infinite anti-form. "Le Mou" belongs to the Construction/Deconstruction category of the exhibit. I couldn't help staring at the orange poof, wondering why it was there.

Every room of the exhibit was filled with provocative things, many that I had a difficult time undestanding. In the first room, I thought a pot-bellied, grotesque monster of a male model represents a kind of rebellion against conventional standards of perfection, such as those embodied by Michelangelo’s sculpture, David. There’s a ticker on one wall that spits out frank, provocative phrases and proverbs like a fortune cookie. Art? One 3-D work has pieces of a dilapidated organ jutting out from the canvas.

There are canvases that are simply a solid color:

And, oh yes, the upside-down man with his head in a bucket (Alain Séchas’ Le mannequin):

I first visited the exhibit last week with the other students in my civilization class but didn't get to see everything because there's a lot and we moved slowly. For homework, we wrote a reaction to the exhibition and I said that Big Bang had certainly stretched my perceptions about art. Afterwards, I spoke -- in French! -- to my 23-year-old Roman friend, Chiara, about the modern art era and she shook her head, saying she thinks abstract art is neither convincing nor aesthetically pleasing. I'm still not sure what to think. The Big Bang art is certainly shocking, but I don't think that's a bad thing -- perhaps art is meant to provoke and inspire the audience even if it's done by stupefying them.

Posted by at 6:55 AM

Salzburg celebrates Turin victories, 2014 bid

On Monday evening fans greeted this year’s Austrian Olympic medal winners and celebrated Salzburg’s bid to host the 2014 Olympic Winter Games.

The crowd rallied in Salzburg’s Kapitelplatz, located in the city center. I hopped on a bus and headed downtown to join the excitement.

When I entered the square, I was given a goody bag filled with an Austrian flag, rain poncho, loaf of bread and one Mozart Drink (tastes like rich chocolate milk). Classical composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was born in Salzburg 250 years ago, so for the entire year the city will celebrate this anniversary. But more about that in another post.

I proceeded to the crowd of joyous Austrians gathered in front of the stage. Fans of all ages attended – toddlers, teenagers, middle-aged parents and elderly citizens waved their flags in the air.

Even amid the doping scandal involving the Austrian men’s cross country ski team coach, the nation’s athletes still brought home 23 medals (just 2 behind the United States).

The emcee kicked off the festivity by leading the crowd into cheers for the returning athletes and then unveiled the city’s proposal for the 2014 Olympics.

A multimedia presentation showed improvements made from the 2010 bid plan, which Salzburg lost to Vancouver. According to the 2014 plan, the entire span of sporting venues is only 55 minutes from end to end. Salzburg is easily accessible to the mountains and I can testify to this, as I have already taken multiple snowboarding day trips in the Alps.

The International Olympic Committee will decide the 2014 host city in July 2007.

After the presentation, a Salzburg cover-band called Straight Up played Shania Twain’s “Man! I Feel Like a Woman.” It was strange to me that a city with so much pride would start off a rally concert with an American pop-country song from a Canadian-born artist. But American music is prevalent in the local bars and clothing stores.

The band finished playing and the medal-winning athletes were interviewed on stage. Unfortunately my German is nicht gut, so I didn’t understand everything that was said. Nonetheless, it was still an electrifying atmosphere.

Austrian Olympic medal-winners on stage at the rally.

Posted by at 11:39 AM