Studying abroad in the spring gets cold quick. In the first weeks, every country we traveled to sat around 35F°. Walking around and admiring architecture was entertaining until the cold overwhelmed us. To escape into warmth while staying entertained, we retreat into Sephoras. At the Sephora in Prague, Baran wandered over to the perfumes while I swatched lip liners on my hand. Baran is picky when it comes to scent, so I went over with her and asked what makes a scent “good.” There’s different concentrations of elixirs… and some notes are better than others… but I still couldn’t grasp what makes a scent objectively great.
Since my nose can’t pick up on the best scent for me, I let AI pick. Cosmotecha Vienna is a perfume shop located in Vienna. It’s run by EveryHuman, a company that creates personalized perfumes based on customers’ results to a personality quiz. With Baran’s love of perfume, my love of personality quizzes and our shared CS 3600: Introduction to AI class, this was the perfect activity for us to escape the Austrian cold.
Cosmotecha is a small, narrow space in the heart of the city. On the right, a sleek machine fills small viles with different liquids as the conveyor belt moves. Grey stools line the wall, seating customers as they complete the quiz and watch the machine. EveryHuman’s founder Frederik Duerinck says the machine is AI-enabled and learns how to create new scents with different ingredients. It understands what scents work well together, but takes liberties in creating new fragrances.
The personality quiz starts with multiple choice questions: words to describe your personal style, where you grew up (suburbs, city, countryside) and your hobbies. Then, there are questions similar to personality tests like MBTI. From not at all to very much, customers declare how much they relate with statements like, “is shy,” “easily distracted” and “is curious.” The quiz asked where we would rather be at that moment. The beach? The countryside? Baran and I chose the center of a bustling city. We didn’t want to be anywhere else.
Baran and I took our time answering each question. We added insight to make sure we both had a mix of our own personal vision and the perceptions from those around us. I usually think of myself as a dark, deep purple, but I’m more lavender than I thought. Baran is much friendlier than she thinks. The quiz ends by asking what scents we would enjoy in our fragrances. I chose to have more oud and musk and less citrus and fruit, but the machine had a different formula in mind.
Soon, three perfumes were created, boxed and handed to me. Spraying them on strips of paper, I was schocked. Each one was exactly how I wanted to smell. They weren’t just “fine” or “good,” they were right.
“636” is complex and grounding, reminding me of the luck I have; “audrey” is elegant and admirable; and “vitality” is youthful without smelling immature. While there was some intuitive reasoning behind the names for my scents, the main reason for their names was the reminders I needed.
I cycle through each perfume now, reminded not just of their meanings but of the experience of exploring a friend’s passion.
Emily in Paris is a show you hate-watch. Flashy, funny and cliché. I watched the show with my mom every time a new season came out. We snarked at her crazy outfits and carelessness–yet I was Emily for Halloween in 2022. Emily finds herself in stereotypical “American in France” situations a lot. I dismissed these scenes, believing they were a lazy way to point out the differences between countries. For years, I laughed at Emily Cooper. I gawked at her poor decisions and her inability to conform to French culture. But now, I’m in France, and I’m getting deja vu.
After our arrival at the dorms, my friend knew his room was on the second floor. He went up one flight of stairs, because the ground floor should be “1” and the next should be “2,” only to arrive at a door that was not his. In France, the first floor is floor zero. From there, it then goes to the first floor, second floor, etc. Emily made this same exact mistake in the pilot. She counted five flights of stairs before arriving at floor six, where her apartment should be, and trying to force open the door to Gabriel’s place. When I heard his story, I giggled at the thought of Emily.
Maddie, Baran and I went to Carrefour the next day to get some essentials for our four month stay. The Costco-size store organized in a foreign way was overwhelming. We wandered through the aisles, squinting at French brands. After finally finding the skincare section, I didn’t want to spend any more time searching. I saw what looked like face wash, convinced myself it was face wash, grabbed it and moved on. That night, I opened up my “face wash” and it dripped into my hand like water. Maybe it was just the formula. I rubbed it in my hands but no bubbles were formed. I put it on my face and my skin grew dry and tight. The face wash I got was actually toner, a good skincare item, but definitely not the same. Emily bought dog shampoo instead of human shampoo in a later season of Emily in Paris. There was a dog on the bottle, too. My mistake was the same amount of silly. “Tonique” definitely means “toner.” I thought about Emily on the way back to Carrefour.
In my Introduction to AI class, we looked at a binary tree together and discussed the different ways to search for an item. The nodes on the tree were labeled A, B, C, D… all the way to O. As we discussed the path of Depth First Search, my professor asked what the sixth node explored would be. “J,” I thought. She declared, “G.” Why was it G when it was obviously J? Did I learn these algorithms completely wrong last semester? When I stared at the tree and thought harder, I remembered back to French 2. “J” is pronounced like an American “G” in France.
My Computer Organization class experienced a similar confusion. As we discussed state machines, we created a table of State 1, State 2 and State “Prime.” They were written S1, S2 and S^ respectively. Writing the state table out, I grew more and more confused as S^ took on the values I thought S1 was supposed to have. I looked around the room in hopes of finding other confused faces, but it seemed I was the only one lost. A student in my class soon raised their hand and asked what was going on with S1. My professor asked them to point to what they referred to, and they asked exactly what I wondered. The number “1” in French is written so similarly to the carrot (^) that they started to blend together.
That weekend, my friends and I arrived at Gare de Metz bright and early for our train. We picked up breakfast at the café and we all tried to order in French. When it was my turn to order, I sounded more American than before. I ordered “un americano et un croissant.” The cashier first stared at me in horror, then smiled. She promptly corrected me: “UN americano et UN croissant.” Emily also tries ordering a pasty in an American accent, heavily pronouncing the “n” in “un,” making it sound closer to “une.” The baker corrects her: “UN pain au chocolat.”
With un americano and un croissant, I walked away from the café thinking about Emily Cooper. She used to seem so ridiculous–silly outfits, bad pronunciation and an inability to change. But I just got clogs in Amsterdam and I can’t pronounce “un croissant,” so maybe Emily isn’t that weird.
Spring Break at GTE was a test of patience and strength. Ten days, multiple cities and our suitcase named “Suitcase.” Maddie, Baran and I booked two flights for our break: one from Paris to Madrid, and one from Alicante to Rome. Ryanair may have cheap seats, but with the addition of only one small personal item and one 20 kilogram checked bag, we needed to pack strategically.
We agreed to use my suitcase which we named “Suitcase” for our entire trip. Suitcase was filled to the brim with clothes, shoes and toiletries. We all agreed to bring a small amount of clothes, only one extra pair of shoes and a few communal toiletries (NOT toothbrushes). Spring break is in February, so it’s still slightly chilly. This means our clothes were on the bulkier side, adding extra weight to Suitcase.
Arriving at the depressing Beauvais airport, we found an empty scale and weighed Suitcase. Maddie guessed 25 kilograms. Baran guessed 22.7 kilograms. I guessed 23.5 kilograms. We hoisted Suitcase on the scale and it read 26 kilograms. If we didn’t get Suitcase down to 20 kilograms, we would have to pay 72€. We opened up Suitcase right there and started layering. We all put on an extra top and a cardigan. We each threw two pairs of jeans into our semi-empty backpacks and did NOT put them underneath our jackets. Stuffed into the small seats with no way of removing anything on my body, this was an uncomfortable two hours.
We took turns pulling Suitcase around. We called them Suitcase shifts. Each person would have to either take Suitcase from a hotel to a train station or a hotel to an airport. At each train, the person on shift would find Suitcase a spot. This was either on the seats of the train, in a compartment at the end of a car or with us in our seats. Trains in Spain were mostly empty, so Suitcase always had a seat or compartment to herself.
After narrowly avoiding fines on our second flight, Suitcase didn’t have a weight restriction. We could remove our clothes from under our jackets and make Suitcase as heavy as we wanted. A lot of train stations in Italy didn’t have escalators, so in our moments of hurry, I hauled the nearly 30 kilogram bag up and down the stairs.
Our train from Florence to La Spezia stopped in Pisa, and I was determined to make the most of it. We had a one hour layover, and the walk from Pisa Centrale to the tower was 25 minutes. With the addition of Suitcase and the cobblestone sidewalks, this was a challenge. Baran started lugging Suitcase before trading off with me. I got to the tower with real beads of sweat dripping down my face and my shirt damp. We spent two minutes at the tower before quickly walking back to Pisa Centrale. I dodged oncoming traffic so Suitcase could roll on the smooth cement of the streets. I lifted Suitcase on and off of curbs at the many intersections we crossed. At one crosswalk, a man told us that we must walk along the river to see the beautiful views of Pisa. He did not understand our predicament.
We arrived at Pisa Centrale with enough time to get a drink and a snack. With the help of a stranger, Baran and I hoisted Suitcase onto a seat that quickly became the suitcase seat for the other passengers. Leaving Pisa Centrale, the next stop was Pisa S. Rossore, right next to the tower.
A ten minute walk from the dorms is Carrefour. Carrefour is sort of a French super-Target. It sells appliances, clothing, food and more. I got an umbrella at Carrefour. Maddie got a curling iron at Carrefour. Baran got a trash can at a Carrefour.
In my head, Carrefour is split into five sections: appliances, clothes, toiletries, food and drink. The west side of Carrefour is appliances. There are large appliances: vacuum cleaners and fridges; medium appliances: hair dryers and toasters; and small appliances: headphones and chargers. There is a small section south of the appliances that has cleaning items and a random sale section.
Moving southeast of the appliances is a lot of bread. More than three aisles full of bread. East of that is a lot of croissants. Three stands filled with big, cheap croissants.
East of the appliances is makeup and toiletries. They’re not organized like in the US, but I can’t say it’s illogical. Toilet paper (half of which is pink) and paper towels are in two different aisles. All of the men’s deodorant is next to each other near the face wash, but the women’s deodorant is in a different aisle. Some chocolate bars are also in this section… next to the makeup? But there’s another section with more chocolate across the store.
The center of Carrefour is the produce section. Berries are not refrigerated and there is no sign of kale. If you want to buy fruit, let’s say a bunch of bananas (some are displayed on a giant fake tree like you’re picking them yourself), you must weigh them, put them in a bag and stick the printed barcode on it. If you don’t do this, the cashier will be VERY upset. Nearby are packaged nuts, a self-serve station of olives, and cheese. A lot of cheese. The cheese section is half the size of the produce section. You must purchase your cheese in grams.
Northeast is the actual butcher. There are lots of options for different cuts of meat and different types of meat. Sausages, ham, prosciutto, etc. You can buy meat by the pound or prepackaged, and some is pre cooked.
In the international aisle, there is a small section for the US. They sell hamburger sauce, barbecue sauce, hot dog buns and pancake mix. Not too accurate. East of that is typical cooking materials: flour, sugar, oil and spices. Beans and other canned items are found here as well.
The prepackaged food section introduces a new concept: the nutriscore. A nutriscore is displayed on almost every packaged food item but applies to all food items sold. It rates the item on a scale from A to E and I still don’t understand how it’s determined. Apparently, it’s a point system based on nutrients that are limited and encouraged. Saturated fats, calories, sugar and sodium are limited; fiber, protein, fruit, vegetables, pulsed flour, nuts and olive oil are encouraged. While we can live without saturated fats and sugar, we can’t live without calories. While fiber and protein are important for satiety, nuts are definitely not essential.
Some Lay’s potato chips are a nutri-score C. I’ve seen some get a B. The tub of plain greek yogurt I got was a C. Most cheeses are a D or E. Coke Zero is a B. With no further explanation, I’ll say I don’t love this system.
Walking back towards the center of the store, you reach the milk aisle. None of the milk is refrigerated. Other than plant based milks, there is no clear indication what type of milk a carton is. The milk isn’t in cartons, though. It’s in opaque plastic bottles, and it all looks exactly the same. The eggs aren’t refrigerated either. These aisles are pretty bare.
North of these aisles are energy drinks, snacks, cereal, and so much more chocolate.
Checking out, you are behind the happiest French person ever. They banter with the cashier. You only pick up “c’est bon!” from their conversation. Is the cashier going to try to banter with me only to realize I can only understand “ticket” and “par carte”? Each time, somehow, the cashier seems to know you’re American. They only ask a couple of questions and usually rely on hand motions and clear, simple French words. There is never any attempt to small-talk. At Trader Joe’s, they ask you where you’re from and why you’re getting the purple sweet potato instead of the regular sweet potato. The cashier at Carrefour doesn’t ask ça va.
Maddie woke up on the night train with a nail missing. Ever since she learned how to do her nails in the summer, Maddie always has her nails long and painted. When she turned to me with her finger up, I knew it was going to drive her crazy. Prague, one of the cheapest cities in Europe, also has the cheapest manicures. Baran was enthusiastic about getting her nails done, too.
Whenever I have nail polish on, I find a way to rip it off. Acrylics might be different since they can’t tear off easily, but I’d probably find a way. Although quite cheap, it wasn’t in my best interest to get my nails done. My other option was to stay at our hotel and get some work done. Homework? Homework… no.
I made a list of gyms in Europe during winter break because I thought that one day I might need a day pass on a weekend trip. Today was the day. I searched up the gym, Form Factory, and found a location two minutes from our hotel. I went to street view on Google Maps and didn’t see a sign or a door, so I went to investigate when Baran, Maddie and I split up. I walked around a small strip mall for a couple minutes. Before giving up, I passed a girl my age also looking around, confused. I backed up and watched as she entered through a side door. I followed her. As she held the door open for me, she said something to me in Czech, to which I responded, “ahaha, yeah!”
I walked up two flights of stairs before reaching the front desk. She took my passport, email and phone number. She said, “Do you need a drink before your workout?”
“Do I need to pay?”
My day pass was free. I ran back to the hotel and changed into–don’t think I’m disgusting–one of my sleeping outfits. It was my only option. I only brought one pair of shoes for this trip: my Dr. Marten Mary Jane’s. My gym fit was definitely questionable. I got weird looks, but gains are gains.
The weight lifting area was a small spiral staircase down from the main lobby. One side was for dumbbells, cables and machines. It had the usual: chest and shoulder press machines, a couple cables, leg extensions and a hamstring curl. The other side had benches, large leg presses, a smith machine and hip thrust.
Back in the states, I had a strict routine I followed consistently. I split up my body into four sections: back and biceps; glutes, adductors and quads; chest, shoulders and triceps; glutes, hamstrings, abductors and calves. I lifted heavy weights and pushed until failure frequently which is hard to recreate without a gym. For glutes and quads, I can fill up my backpack with the heaviest items I have and perform step ups with a chair. For my chest, I can do deficit push ups. For biceps and shoulders, I can do movements with resistance bands. I took this time in Prague to do the exercises I never get to do.
The machines in Europe are identical to the ones in the states. The only difference is the weights are exclusively in kilograms. In my head, I multiplied the numbers by two to get a rough estimate of how much I was lifting. The conversion from pounds to kilograms is actually 1lb to 2.205kg, so in the end I lifted much more than I thought.
I stayed at Form Factory for about an hour. The five minute walk back to the hotel left me with time to clean up and relax. Maddie and Baran returned, showing off their new nails. The price was low for how well they came out. I hope they get their nails done again soon.
When Maddie first proposed a ski trip, I made it clear that I had never downhill skied before. I hadn’t even put on ski boots since I was ten, and they were always cross country. I didn’t know what I needed, but I knew I had none of it.
Get the bare minimum.
I needed a ski jacket, snow pants and gloves. A bus stops outside the LaFayette dorms and goes straight to the Metz mall. In the mall, there are stores that provide nice ski gear, but with our budget, Primark delivered. I left with a white and black boys’ ski jacket, grey waterproof pants and black gloves for under 50€.
Enjoy the trains.
The train to Chamonix was the best one yet. We started in Metz at 5:45 am before switching trains in Strasburg, then Basel. The train from Basel to Visp was two hours and went from 8 am to 10 am. We had a beautiful view.
Explore the town during long transfers.
In Visp, Switzerland, we had a forty minute transfer. The station was so small and it was so beautiful outside, we took a walk. We also took a walk in Martingny, exploring a ski shop. Maddie bought pink snow pants for the next day, and if I was an avid skier, I would have gotten some too. The train from Martingny climbed up the mountain and provided us even better views than Visp, weaving through stone arches and pine trees.
Visp
Train to Chamonix
Save money on accommodation and rentals.
Chamonix has one hostel. It’s a long-ish walk from downtown given how small the town is, but it’s doable. It has scratchy blankets, no sheets and no soap. The sink is also in the room with the beds, which I’m learning now is common in hostels. Leaving the hostel is easy with how beautiful Chamonix is. The view in downtown is generous with snow covered mountains. People with skis thrown over their shoulders and clicking ski boots passed us as we walked down the cobbled roads, exciting us for our next day.
We purchased our rentals online from Snowbrainer and picked them up at the Intersport in the center of Chamonix. It was just under 20€ for a day of ski boots, skis, poles and helmet. After we picked up our equipment, we bought our own goggles from a discounted ski store across the street.
Dress appropriately.
Arriving back at the hostel with our boots hung over our shoulders and helmets on our heads, we changed into our ski outfits. I frequently am underdressed for the cold, so I layered heavily. The bottom half of me was at a perfect temperature the entire time: fleece lined tights, leggings, sweatpants and our waterproof pants. However, my torso was uncomfortably hot: long sleeve top, turtleneck, patagonia fleece jacket (big mistake) and ski jacket. I ended up getting a little wet from unzipping my jackets, so I would only wear the top and the sweater under the jacket. We tried out our goggles, and they were horrible. They made everything slightly blurry. A waste of 22€.
Day passes for Les Houches range from 31.90€ to 57€. Ours was on the lower end, about 38€. Les Houches is a bus ride away from Chamonix and is open to 4:00 pm. Purchasing two day passes is probably best for a full weekend of skiing. We could only get our rentals at 8:00 am, and the line took forever, so we ended up at Les Houches at 11:00 am.
We started on the bunny hills so I could learn. I got a hold of turning and stopping, ready enough to join Maddie and Baran for the real runs.
I was not ready. I have never been on a ski lift.
Understand how ski lifts work beforehand.
To enter the lift area, skiers have to scan their passes. I took off my right glove, grabbed my phone and pulled my ski pass from my wallet. I pushed myself through with both my gloves and poles in my left hand and my phone in my right. I start sliding backward and drop my phone on the ground. My phone ends up in Maddie’s hand and, somehow, she and Baran are about to get on the lift. In the haze of stress, I think another skier pushed me forward into the area with the rotating lift. Apparently, I’m breaking a lot of rules because everyone is screaming at me. I try to get out of the way but that seems to make things worse. The next group of skiers, a French couple, ushers me to join their lift.
“You will join us!” She grabs my arm and pulls me forward. We sit down on the lift. “Are you ready? Pull down!” At twenty years old, I’m crying on the ski lift with my new mom and dad.
I fall immediately as I get off the lift. It’s time for a break. After I get back up, I ski over to the rest/food area to calm down. It had a great view. To cover up my face from other skiers, I put my goggles on. They are so hazy, I can’t see anything.
Don’t be scared.
Baran and Maddie met up with me for a much-too-expensive lunch at 1:30 pm. After fueling up from the tireless skiing I’ve definitely done, I am ready to conquer the slopes. I go down a green to reach the dreaded ski lift. I fell a couple times and struggled to put my skis back on, but I was having a lot more fun. This time, my ski pass is loose in my pocket so I can press my coat against the scanner.
Do not let the ski instructors put an eight year old on the lift with you.
Going up the ski lift a little later, the Les Houches ski instructors declare that a little girl will sit with us. The first time, Maddie watched the little girl, stressed as she leaned far over the bar. The second time, Baran and I were deep in conversation when we heard Maddie say, “Oh my god! He fell!” We looked down at the ground behind us where the little boy lay flat. He only fell about seven feet, and the ski instructors didn’t really seem to care as they carried him by his armpits back to the still-moving lift.
I can’t say much about the runs, but the blues were great. I fell less and less each time, and if I fell, I could pick myself up quickly. Unfortunately, the mountain started closing at 3:45pm. We skied back to our starting point and passed a blue that went down to the base of the mountain.
What if we ski down the mountain?
Ski down the mountain.
Baran is not a fan of this plan. It’s completely fine if she takes the gondola, but this is so much more fun! We’re all okay until a steep, icy hill. Ski patrol is beginning to make sweeps of the mountain at this point, and they ask if we’re okay. We explain that yes, we are okay, it’s just taking us a while to get down, and I have definitely skied downhill before, just not much. I start going down, and my legs fly over my head and I smack on the ground. “I’m okay! I’m okay!” I say while laughing. I get up again and fall even worse. The Jake-Gyllenhaal-ski-patrol-look-alike shakes his head and laughs.
Ski patrol convinced Baran to wait for a ski mobile. The next run, ski patrol told me, “This is a good idea. Ski a little, fall, ski a little, fall again!” I was forced to wait for a ride down five minutes later. It was free and I grinned ear to ear the whole way down, fully convinced I was going to fly off at any second.
My view from the ski mobile
Take the film off the outside of the goggles AND the inside.
On one of our trains from Geneva to Metz, Baran pulled out our waste-of-twenty-euro goggles. Her eyes grew wide.
My first and smallest class, Multivariable Calculus, starts at 8:30 am. While I consider myself punctual, I was twenty minutes late today. I woke up well rested, but freaked out as I noticed how light it was outside. I ran around my room to get ready ten minutes before my class started. This class has six people in it, and although oddly small, all GTE classes are small. With classes like this, there’s no room for tardiness, absence or confusion.
It takes about ten minutes to get from the Lafayette dorms to the GTE building. I take the rocky, muddy route as a shortcut. I scan my International Student card at the gate and the front door before walking up two stories to the second floor. The classes at GTE are labeled by color, and my calculus class is in the yellow room. The tables have yellow legs. The chairs are yellow. The door is yellow and was open for my late arrival.
Still feeling a lingering embarassment, I needed something to warm me up. Maddie and I headed to the lounge to get coffee after class. On average, I probably consume 200-500mg of caffeine a day. Sometimes I have a Monster in the morning with a cup of coffee, or I’ll have two to three cups of coffee (only two from the provided canister, I swear.)
My next class was a lab for CS 2110: Computer Organization and Programming. I brace myself for this hour. Due to the small enrollment, twelve people, and the hands-on nature of the lab, students are chosen to complete problems at random. I can’t say I know my classmates well enough to feel comfortable making a stupid mistake in front of them. This pressures me to understand the content thoroughly enough to avoid embarrassment. 2110 is a notoriously difficult class with the content spanning a wide range of subjects. When a new topic is introduced, our class has to grasp on quickly in order to answer questions correctly.
This is my first time experiencing cold calling. I’m not used to my professors and TAs knowing who I am, let alone caring that I understand the content. My punishment for skipping lectures or not thoroughly understanding content was always seen in my grades, never through word of mouth. My concern isn’t just on my final letter grade anymore, but on how I’m viewed in the eyes of my professors. Due to this, I have performed better in my classes this semester compared to others, but I’m definitely more tense in each one.
The lounge fades in between hectic and dead silent. Maddie and I arrived when it was hectic. We sat, working on our homework, hearing excerpts of conversations about Frankfurt, Prague and Chamonix. Usually, it’s a mix of stories from the past weekend or the prospects of the coming one. I admittedly eavesdrop and compare our trips with theirs. We also missed our train this past weekend. I grow anxious when the topic of the coming weekend is discussed. I hate how short our weeks in Metz are. They come and go too quickly.
As soon as Baran returns to the lounge, we head to Crous Cafeteria. The seating dynamic is too emotional: a small room of tables and chairs with big groups of high schoolers. After getting our food, we head into the seating area with the French high schoolers. It’s a search to find empty spaces that will fit three or more of us. Sometimes, enjoyable conversation flows endlessly. Some weave through conversation but never hold on. Most of the time this happens on Monday, a time to debrief everyone’s weekends. As the week goes on, conversation grows more deliberative and prepatory between the three of us. We must choose a train, hostel, day plan, etc. for the coming and following weekend.
Back at the lounge, Maddie and I worked on our CS 2110 homework. Most everyone at GTE takes four classes, and almost all of those classes either have homework due on Tuesday or Wednesday night. I try to start my homework before we leave for the weekend, but end up truly starting on Monday morning. My weeks are filled with homework because of this, but compared to the six other options, Wednesday is the best due date.
After our 3:30 pm Statistics class, Maddie and I headed back to our dorms to clean, eat dinner and finish up homework. This time is sometimes used for grocery runs or laundry, but rarely is there time for a trip into Metz. I hope one week I can finish up my chores early in the week so I can explore Metz again.
I worked on my statistics homework before starting one of my odd dorm workouts. Before I arrived in Metz, I weight trained eight to twelve hours a week. I worked with heavy weights and was building muscle rapidly. Now, a gym membership at BasicFit here seems useless to me. I would only use it four times a week at most, and the time spent getting there, working out and coming back would take up too much of my time. That leaves me with resistance bands, a chair and my backpack in my room. I often reminisce on my old routine. I miss going to a commercial gym and working out on machines, but the change hasn’t burdened me. It’s only temporary.
These days tend to fizzle out. Maddie, Baran and I hung out for a little before heading to bed. I tried to go to bed early in order to wake up for class tomorrow. As I laid in bed working on homework, Zach started a FaceTime call on our groupchat with Maddie. We joined the call in our pitch-black rooms. In Atlanta, it was 6 pm and the sky was blue. Zach walked back from the gym and described his past week–a Grammy’s watching party, spending hours at the CRC and times with his friends.
“Sorry, I forgot how late it was like, 11 pm there. I’ll call you guys tomorrow,” he says.
Baran and I walked back from lunch at Crous Cafeteria discussing how little we knew about Dutch culture. One search led us to a main list of items: stroopwafels, frites and clogs. Perfect. We will eat stroopwafels and frites, and I will buy a pair of clogs.
Our six hour train to Amsterdam landed us in the Amsterdam Zuid station. A metro took us straight to an outdoor mall. We passed thrift stores, a KFC and TK Maxx before reaching our hostel, or hostelle. “Hostelle” is what you would guess it is—a female only hostel.
Hostelle didn’t shy away from its feminine nature. The lobby is decorated in pink and orange with bouquets of flowers on tables and an amalgamation of art work. The kitchen is tiled with colorful, floral porcelain. Walking past the lobby to the stairs, six makeup mirrors line the walls on pink tables with pink chairs. Up the stairs and around the corner, we opened the door to our eleven-person room. The beds and curtains were hot pink, and below each bunk were hot pink lockers where we stored our bags before heading out to the city.
We enjoyed the streets of Amsterdam as we made our way to the Van Gogh museum. The museum is in a canal-side park and looks like a small, glass box. Entering, we headed down below the ground before traveling up three floors of exhibits. I, like many others, was interested in seeing Sunflowers. The office in my grandparents’ Wyoming house had a copy of the painting. I wasn’t particularly amused by the one in Amsterdam because I had firmly believed the copy at my grandparents’ house was the original for so long. There were plenty of other paintings to amuse me, though. The museum displayed many other pieces from artists that inspired Van Gogh or at least had some sort of connection to the artist.
I enjoyed the depictions of Montmartre, other floral works, and a wall dedicated to paintings of worn out shoes. Van Gogh bought shoes from flea markets, destroyed them in the mud, and painted them. The museum had ways of drawing the audience into the exhibits. For the shoes, a pair of real, worn-out vans were on display. The wall reads, “How about your shoes? What kind of experiences have they had?”
The Dutch food tour started the next day at Firma Stroop for stroopwafels. I personally call stroopwafels “caramel cookie waffles.” I don’t really know where this came from, but I had never heard them called “stroopwafels” before this trip. Firma Stroop makes pancake size caramel cookie waffles, dips half of them in chocolate, and tops them with two toppings of your choice. Maddie and Baran both chose raspberries while I chose caramel and hazelnuts. Nothing can really go wrong with a caramel cookie waffle.
As we wandered the streets of Amsterdam, I kept my eye out for a pair of wooden clogs. Maddie, on the other hand, was determined to get a black tube top. If you know Maddie, you know how she feels about her black tube top. Maddie has the perfect black tube top, a staple that I also love to steal. Unfortunately, the item never made its way into her suitcase which meant she had to find a replacement as soon as possible.
We entered into &OtherStories with Maddie going straight for a promising rack while Baran and I eyed the shoe sale. A pair with an oddly clog-like toe caught our eye. We noticed that there were a lot of these peculiar flats on sale, and since I was craving a clog, this was the closest I could get to wearable. The first pairs of “clogs” were a little too pricey and fuzzy for me. As Baran and I returned to the front of the store, we found Maddie with no black tube top in hand.
H&M had one pair of flats with a clog-adjacent toe. They were black satin with a gold buckle. I told Baran if they were under 15€, I would get them. She flipped over the price tag and smiled. 13€. Aesthetically, I could do better. We arrived at the front of the store to find Maddie empty handed.
In Zara, Baran and I kneeled down by the racks to find an enjoyable clog that fit (enough.) A deep burgundy clog caught my eye. It was adorned with a double grommet silver buckle. I put them on and was generally satisfied with the fit. We made it to checkout, but once again, Maddie, with a straight-mouthed smile, stood holding no black tube top.
Our tiring search took up a lot of our energy. We went to Fabel Friet for their iconic fries to recover. The line was fast moving and the fries were very affordable. They come with a choice of cheese and a choice of sauce. Maddie and Baran chose parmesan and truffle mayo. I got cheddar, so we could all try both options, and curry ketchup. I knew that I would taste and probably finish Maddie and/or Baran’s fries at some point, so I wanted to give myself as much variety as I could.
Ending the night on a canal cruise was a great way to wrap up our day. Houseboats float on the sides of the canal, and as we floated down, families ate dinner and watched TV inside. We gawked at the beautiful buildings and the people in the windows. We talked about which one we’d live in. We watched as two boys sat talking on the window sill of a tall building. There were a few software company buildings here. We could make it work for a couple years.
I wore my clogs on the Wednesday after our weekend trip. They were slightly uncomfortable, but as a frequent wear-er of Dr. Martens, I could deal with the pain. I showed off my clogs to everyone I could. No, they’re not wooden. Yes, I did buy them in Amsterdam. No, they only hurt a little.
I returned to my room that night, took off my gorgeous clogs to reveal my sock half drenched in blood. All day, my toenail had been rubbing so much on my other toe due to my flats’ pointy tip that it bled… a lot. A nauseating amount. I was filled with stroopwafel and frites and things close enough to clogs were on my feet. Amsterdam, my favorite city so far, was a success.
Two of my friends returned to Atlanta for the fall semester with stories from their time abroad. Both had gone to France for a summer semester, Zach in Metz and Lilly in Lyon. I loved hearing about their travels. From Charli XCX DJ sets to sunbathing in the south of France, the stories excited me. By the time I returned to Atlanta in August, my friends knew I was leaving for Metz that Spring. Some had advice for living in Europe while others had recommendations for travel.
My friends Maddie and Baran both expressed interest in going to Georgia Tech-Europe in the spring of their sophomore year, so we all planned to go together. Baran was adamant we plan every weekend ahead of time. We created a Google Doc with a list of every weekend. Slowly, we assigned each weekend a travel destination.
If someone asked where I would go in Europe, I pulled up our Google Doc on my phone and flipped it around. Initially, they would gawk, warning me that I would become exhausted. I understand the concern. However, I usually responded with “Probably, but we can figure that out when we get to that point.”
These conversations came with advice I found entertaining and useful.
“Germans think Americans are really funny, even if you aren’t trying to be.”
“Sightseeing in Spain is beautiful until your phone gets stolen.”
“Ask for a pitcher of water rather than a glass of water in France.”
These conversations also brought some critiques from what weather would look like, or how long it would take to get to our travel destinations. At some point I wanted to ask, “why can’t you let me suffer on my own?” It was hard to keep all of the conflicting warnings straight, so I opted to make my own mistakes. I wanted most of my journey to come from my own accord, or at least from a place so deep down I can’t see who shaped it.
For so long, I avoided talking about studying abroad to stay present in my first semester, but when I landed in Montana, I couldn’t keep my mind off of France. As I made my lunch, I thought about the foods I would eat. As I went to the gym, I thought about how I would continue weight training. What skin care items would local stores provide? Could I find my favorite snacks? Despite my worries, I was interested in arriving so I could discover the answers to my questions.
The first two weeks in Metz were exciting and exploratory. Students are given a studio apartment to live in with a personal bathroom and kitchenette*. The kitchenette provides a stove and microwave with an assortment of cooking pans and utensils. The interiors of the apartment buildings are completely monochrome: lime green, red, orange, and yellow. It’s eerily similar to Squid Game.
The GTE building is the size of a small high school, and the environment is similar to one. I usually see the same groups of people in my classes and in the cafeteria. Breakfast and coffee are provided in the lounge every morning. The lounge is where you can find students studying, playing pool, or practicing piano. Lunch is also provided by the school but is through the neighboring high school. Just like high school, you grab a tray and slide down, receiving a plate and side to go sit with the high schoolers in their own cafeteria. The process brings a special case of nostalgia.
Although I am grateful for the opportunity to travel and live in the center of Europe, I can’t say I don’t miss home. Finding reasoning is useless when all the “bad” comes with infinite good, so I’ll say I’ve come down with a case of homesickness. I try to find hints of familiarity in Metz every day. Maybe the cold nips in the same way it did when I walked around campus late at night. I took a walk late last night around Lac Symphonie, and I can’t say it feels like North Avenue. Soon, this new norm will settle into place, and these cold foggy mornings will feel more friendly.
*Dorm situations vary between Fall/Spring and Summer semesters at GTE
My flight from Billings to Dallas was filled with the Navy and Gold of the Montana State Bobcat fans. It was the FCS championship for the beloved Montana football team. They played North Dakota State in Frisco, Texas the next day. Thus, I was met with some familiar faces from high school while walking down the aisle. Flying out of Montana, the cabin was filled with white light. The snow was the best gift I could have received from the holiday season: I hadn’t seen it since the last. My small flight didn’t let me miss my home.
I landed in Dallas at 11:00am. Zach, GTE summer program alumni and one of my closest friends, texted me that his flight from Dallas to Frankfurt was delayed eight hours when he came to GTE. I jokingly replied that I would find a way to spend the time. However, my six-hour layover was already too long.
When my flight was delayed the first time, I was excited to have similar landing times to my friends Maddie and Baran. When it was delayed the second and third time, I could still make the last shuttle provided by GTE. When it was delayed the fourth, fifth, and sixth time, I desperately needed a friend. I scanned the area, convincing myself that I had seen all the nineteen- and twenty-year-olds somewhere around campus. Before I started approaching everyone with “Do you go to Georgia Tech?” I texted the GroupMe to see if anyone would reveal themselves first. Aarush let me know that he was with two others on the same flight. I found Aarush, Manish, and Jacob at our new gate.
I swore a more familiar face walked by. I was determined to find everyone that I could, so I broke away to test my theory – am I delirious, or is that someone I recognize? “Do you go to Georgia Tech?” was met with a yes when I saw Juan just past the gate. He introduced me to Ray who had been waiting in Dallas even longer than I had. The three of us sat at a charging station for an hour finding ways to get to Metz from Paris. I hoped I could figure out European transportation with Maddie and Baran when we planned our first trip in France. Instead, I had to learn in a heavy haze of stress.
I was concerned about my bags. I had two large, 50lb suitcases waiting for me at baggage claim. I wore a long-sleeved top, sweater, and jacket on the plane to save space, but the copious layers created uncomfortable warmth, so I always ended up carrying one or the other. I also had my backpack, filled to the zipper with makeup bags, electronics, and other random items. It was so full it could barely fit under the seat in front of me on my first flight. And for my personal item, a neck pillow from my dad. I was constantly carrying two or more items along with twenty pounds on my back.
Alex, who was arriving in Paris around the same time we were, sent us the information for a train she booked. This led us to ditch the car rental idea and the $500 taxi idea for tickets for the same train. On the SNCF website, we could search for trips from the Charles de Gaulle airport to Metz Ville. The options that came up provided us tickets to trains and connecting buses, so we didn’t have to figure out the connection on our own.
Ray, Juan and I sat on the ground at our oddly small gate when Aarush, Manish and Jacob found us. We all bought a €70 ticket for a 5:30 train and 6:40 bus when priority boarding started. The process was simple–we entered our payment information, and it gave us QR codes that acted as our tickets.
The most exciting part of the plane was the plane meals (sorry Juan). I had never been on a long enough flight to have eaten a meal, and the meals meant we were finally getting closer to Metz, and I was finally out of that airport. Eating the plastic-packaged bread almost brought me to tears.
Immigration only took ten minutes, and getting our bags was calm and simple. The five of us tried to learn French from those around us while Aarush asked why his bag wasn’t at the carousel. It took an hour for support to tell him his bag somehow never made it on the plane (the one we waited more than five hours for). It’s nightmare after nightmare.
Getting our bags onto the train was also nightmarish. We were the last ones entering the car, meaning there was not much room for our belongings. Manish and I attempted to rearrange the bags of French passengers while they stared. Jacob ended up going to the cabin above to find more space. After we got to our seats, I stared blankly ahead without my headphones on to stay aware of the people around me. I was already so embarrassed from before; I wanted to collapse into my seat for the hour long ride. The least I could do was focus on staying silent and still.
We arrived at Lorraine on our toes as we had less than 10 minutes to make the bus to Metz Ville. Rushing out of the car, we were met with a long, cement staircase leading up to the bus stop. I only carried one of my bags up the stairs (thank you Aarush), more than enough to leave me more exhausted than before. Straight through the station was our bus to Metz. Getting our bags into the bus was similar to the train, especially for me. We rearranged existing bags and shuffled around to make sure everything fit (thank you Ray). My legs are still purple with bruises from kneeling on the ground.
The bus ride was the most calming transport of the evening. It was only a quarter full, and it lasted around 40 minutes. The seats were comfortable, and the inside was warm. Getting off the bus, we were placed too far from our dorm to walk but too far out of the city to get distracted by a pleasing view.
The easiest way to get to campus was an Uber. We knew that our bags might cause issues, so Aarush called the first Uber while we decided who would go where. The first Uber came, a Tesla, and the driver arranged the bags inefficiently in the trunk. This left Manish with his small suitcase at his feet in the front seat while Aarush and I sat in the back with our backpacks in our laps and two carry-ons in between us. One of my suitcases was in the car, but the other was left behind with the others. We awed at the purple streetlights and the French architecture of the street side buildings during our ride.
In front of the Lafayette dorms, I was slightly more grateful for the journey than annoyed. I learned a lot about European transportation before crossing the ocean, and I made great friends along the way.
