Carnaval is one of the most magnificent displays of humanity I've ever seen. It is sort of the equivalent of Mardi Gras in New Orleans, but much, much better--everyone (and that means quite literally everyone from the cradle to the grave) dresses up from head to toe in costumes or neon colors or garbage bags and there is an enormous party on the streets of Maastricht for three days straight. I really love that demographics aren't held so sepearately here-- there are drunks wandering the streets from noon to night but they don't act so awful that people are afraid to bring their children along. I myself have been wearing an Austrian yodelling dress for about 36 hours straight. The apron has proven far more functional than it was intended to be and I have all sorts of festive foods on display on my front. I spent some time wandering around with Norwegians in plastic horns who stabbed strangers indiscriminately with plastic swords.
My lack of a roommate has actually made me far less lonely--it's kind of my own space where I can serve pots of lentils, play Ace of Base, and wear cowboy hats at four in the morning. All of our little dinner-parties have helped me discover not only that I can, in fact, cook--I actually like to; and now I'm dreaming of starting some sort of organic bed-and-breakfast someday. It's been kind of a hotel. Olivier took refuge from his horrifyingly patriotic American roommate for a little while, Kata the German debutante blessed me with her presence for a few days and then sweet sweet Patricia came from Paris. It's really wonderful; sometimes the Europeans flatter me by saying I don't look or act American like the 90 or so of my compatriots running around the dorm because I've made an effort to get to know them. But it's just human nature, even They tend to hang out in nationalistically homogenous cliques. It's pretty easy to meet new people because everyone wants to practice their English with a native speaker. I've been hanging out with a hoard of Italians that meet every stereotype known to man. They are extremely welcoming, always, always invite dozens of people to eat pasta, never make it out the door before midnight because they're waiting for someone to decide which shoes to wear, and always stop to talk to you on the sidewalk. It's kind of funny how much of a difference little cultural differences like that make--in the US it is acceptable to just smile and wave (or even ignore your friends) about 90% of the time. It seems like the Italians go to great lengths to make everyone feel appreciated and to ensure that no one feels like they were the last one picked for the football match. It's a great quality that I've tried to pick up--sometimes a little awkwardly--but for the most part it makes this place feel a lot more like home.
Classes are pretty intense, with plenty of frustrating group work to suck the hours out of the day. It's a little funny because my life here consists of school, going running around harbors full of house boats, cooking, and dancing til the cows come home. It's a happy routine I'm starting to find monotonous, but I think anything can seem monotonous when the weather is so gray. Jessica and I made an effort to seek out the campus Amnesty International, but it seems like all of the activist groups just have one meeting a month for 'discussion' at the nearest pub. It's really easy to let weeks roll by without any sort of thoughtful reflection. When I think about it I really miss everyone from home. I'm starting to crave my genuine friendships in the face of so much general pandemonium.
On a related note, the time has come to decide whether or not to answer the eternal siren-song of camp this summer. If I don't, I'd get to travel around, attend a summer institute at the Quaker United Nations Office in Geneva, and maaayyybe see a friend or two in the Balkans. If I do, I get to bask in the glow one of the only communities and places that feels consistent in my life before the dramatic exit from liberal arts la-la land into the great and probably not-so-exciting unknown of (un?)employment.
My lack of a roommate has actually made me far less lonely--it's kind of my own space where I can serve pots of lentils, play Ace of Base, and wear cowboy hats at four in the morning. All of our little dinner-parties have helped me discover not only that I can, in fact, cook--I actually like to; and now I'm dreaming of starting some sort of organic bed-and-breakfast someday. It's been kind of a hotel. Olivier took refuge from his horrifyingly patriotic American roommate for a little while, Kata the German debutante blessed me with her presence for a few days and then sweet sweet Patricia came from Paris. It's really wonderful; sometimes the Europeans flatter me by saying I don't look or act American like the 90 or so of my compatriots running around the dorm because I've made an effort to get to know them. But it's just human nature, even They tend to hang out in nationalistically homogenous cliques. It's pretty easy to meet new people because everyone wants to practice their English with a native speaker. I've been hanging out with a hoard of Italians that meet every stereotype known to man. They are extremely welcoming, always, always invite dozens of people to eat pasta, never make it out the door before midnight because they're waiting for someone to decide which shoes to wear, and always stop to talk to you on the sidewalk. It's kind of funny how much of a difference little cultural differences like that make--in the US it is acceptable to just smile and wave (or even ignore your friends) about 90% of the time. It seems like the Italians go to great lengths to make everyone feel appreciated and to ensure that no one feels like they were the last one picked for the football match. It's a great quality that I've tried to pick up--sometimes a little awkwardly--but for the most part it makes this place feel a lot more like home.
Classes are pretty intense, with plenty of frustrating group work to suck the hours out of the day. It's a little funny because my life here consists of school, going running around harbors full of house boats, cooking, and dancing til the cows come home. It's a happy routine I'm starting to find monotonous, but I think anything can seem monotonous when the weather is so gray. Jessica and I made an effort to seek out the campus Amnesty International, but it seems like all of the activist groups just have one meeting a month for 'discussion' at the nearest pub. It's really easy to let weeks roll by without any sort of thoughtful reflection. When I think about it I really miss everyone from home. I'm starting to crave my genuine friendships in the face of so much general pandemonium.
On a related note, the time has come to decide whether or not to answer the eternal siren-song of camp this summer. If I don't, I'd get to travel around, attend a summer institute at the Quaker United Nations Office in Geneva, and maaayyybe see a friend or two in the Balkans. If I do, I get to bask in the glow one of the only communities and places that feels consistent in my life before the dramatic exit from liberal arts la-la land into the great and probably not-so-exciting unknown of (un?)employment.
posted by Sandy at 10:02 AM
1 Comments:
Summer Institute in Geneva? Visiting friends in the Balkans? This is easy advice to give - GO FOR IT! You are gaining much from broadening your horizons. Unlike some Americans abroad, you are making an effort - successfully, I expect - to get to know people from other places, and to let them get to know you. Take every opportunity to continue this activity. It will benefit you in the long run in ways we cannot begin to predict. Harumph.
Post a Comment
<< Home