Author: Madelyn Bilbrey

Personality Isn’t Lost in Translation

Written by: Katherine Sanders

I took Introduction to Linguistics the summer after my freshman year at Georgia Tech. I needed six credits of humanities, and with minimal credits from high school, I didn’t have much time to satisfy the requirement during a fall or spring semester. My classes have influenced me to stay disconnected from the obscure subjects I learn. There isn’t much time to love writing or history when computer science is my priority. My linguistics class was only a month long and wasn’t neighbored by any computer science, math, or science classes. This made it easier to grow an interest in language. 

My favorite assignment asked us to explore an article about how language affects the way people think. Lera Boroditsky traveled to northern Australia to learn about Kuuk Thaayorre. The Kuuk Thaayorre language relies heavily on the cardinal direction. To say “Hello,” the Kuuk Thaayorre people say, “Where are you going?” To reply, one would indicate a cardinal direction: “northwest,” “south,” south-southeast,” etc. When one refers to any object in space, they refer to it in a cardinal direction (I have a giant bruise on my north-northeast leg). The Kuuk Thaayorre people must know the cardinal directions relative to themself at all times if they want to interact with others. This makes them highly aware of their location, and thus incredible at navigating unknown landscapes.

At dinner in Alicante, I dropped my fork on the ground. When asked what happened, an English speaker would respond, “She dropped her fork.” A Spanish speaker would say, “The fork was dropped.” This difference tells us that when Spanish speakers watched me drop my fork, they focused less on who I was and more on the accident that occurred. Later, they may forget about who dropped the fork and only remember that the fork had fallen at some point. 

Our trip to Italy made me think more about how language may affect citizens’ personality. Carlotta, our friend back at Tech, is a native Italian speaker with both of her parents from Italy. While on the phone with her, Baran asked for restaurant recommendations in Florence, and Carlotta’s mom immediately responded with Trattoria 13 Gobbi. 

We were seated in the back. Twenty minutes later, a group of older men in suits sat down at the round table behind me. The groups’ food was brought out as soon as they arrived before we could even order. I suddenly felt out of place. Some important-seeming people were eating the same food next to us in the same restaurant. 

“But we’re computer science majors at Georgia Tech.”

“We won a track at the AI ATL Hackathon.” 

“We are the founders of DressCode.”

We tried to convince ourselves we deserved to eat there, but the camaraderie the waiters had with guests was unbeatable.  

Shortly after, the waiter began performing a famously hard Italian opera song. I tried my best to look forward. Turning around and gawking seemed inappropriate, and I already felt like I was taking up too much space. But the men at the table pointed to us. They pointed to their ears, then pretended to pull out a camera and smiled. They were gesturing for us to listen and record and were encouraged by our enthusiasm. I’d love to believe it’s because their language has taught them that enthusiasm is necessary for communication.  

Read about Boroditsky’s findings: https://www.edge.org/conversation/lera_boroditsky-how-does-our-language-shape-the-way-we-think

My Sickness to You, Your Health to Me

Written by: Katherine Sanders

March 20th was the first day of Spring and Nowruz, the Persian New Year. While we made Dubai Chocolate in the lounge, Baran explained the initial tradition of jumping over a bonfire. There isn’t any bonfire around GTE, so we lit a candle in the parking lot later that day. As one runs over the fire, they say in Farsi, “My yellowness to you, your redness to me.” Maddie and I said, “My sickness to you, your health to me,” as we jumped over the flame. 

The next morning, Baran invited us to her room at 10am. A few items lay on her desk in a beautiful arrangement. They all represented different values one would like to uphold in the new year. In Farsi, they all start with the letter S: 

Sabzeh (sprouts): Rebirth

Samanu (wheat germ pudding): Power

Senjed (oleaster): Love

Serkeh (vinegar): Patience

Seeb (garlic): Health 

Somagh (sumac): Sunrise 

Baran laid out a white scarf and gold dress as the tablecloth. She popped out a small mirror from an eyeshadow palette and decorated it with white eyeliner. It sat on a white box wrapped in a white tube top. The mirror was held up with the makeup palette and accompanied by a gold claw clip in the shape of a flower. She filled one of the glasses that came in her cupboard with vinegar. 

A young hyacinth was on her desk. She bought it from the flower shop five minutes from our dorms. The hyacinth came in a small pink bucket, fitting the established color scheme well. The wheat paste was in a small metal container. It’s thick, grainy and slightly sweet. 

A bouquet of flowers Baran bought from the week before had dried just enough to decorate the display. A dried flower floated in the vinegar, two balanced with the garlic cloves, three sitting in the sumac. The flowers she bought at Carrefour the night before were placed in an empty Coke bottle and a fake tulip she bought in Amsterdam was in another old glass. 

After her differential equations quiz, Baran bought eclairs and tartes from Paul. She arranged them on a tiered platter made with two plates and a glass cup. 

We sat in front of the display with the window open, ate the pastries, and drank tea. The brightest sunlight I’ve seen in Metz shined into the room. 

Will Travel for Dubai Chocolate

Written by: Katherine Sanders

Traveling to a new country means a new version of the Little Prince. For some, it’s a new postcard or magnet. For us, it’s another Dubai Chocolate bar. 

At a street vendor in Berlin, Baran asked if she should buy a Dubai chocolate bar for us to split. A Dubai Chocolate bar is a milk chocolate bar filled with pistachio cream, tahini, and toasted knafeh. I had never been particularly intrigued by the bar due to its odd texture, but I’ve never said “no” to a new food. We took the bar to Dead Chicken Alley, sat down at a picnic table, and tried it. We’ve never been the same.

On our way from Prague to Salzburg, we stopped at a Spar to grab dinner. Maddie gasped and pointed to a shelf while we waited to checkout. It was a Dubai chocolate bar. This bar had less crunchy knafeh than the first, but it was still good. In Salzburg, we heard a woman say “Dubai Chocolate” and snapped our heads around. A local coffee shop sold a Dubai chocolate milkshake. We had to get it. 

Our spring break allowed us only a few hours in Madrid as we hopped along coastal Spanish cities. We walked quickly through El Retiro park towards Myka, a frozen yogurt shop with Dubai chocolate toppings. Melted chocolate and pistachio cream mixed with knafeh on frozen, plain greek yogurt.

I’m embarrassed about Vienna. Walking around the market in the morning, a man tried to convince us to buy a 15 euro bar of Dubai chocolate. We refused – something we wouldn’t do now. Heading towards the opera house, we went into Spar to get an energy drink. A lime green drink with a brown label caught my eye. It was a Dubai Chocolate flavored drink. It looked like Mountain Dew. I bought it. The three of us sat outside the opera house and sipped from the bottle. Horrible. Thirty seconds after Maddie left for brunch with her cousin, Baran and I spotted a Lindt chocolate store. Large green posters displayed in the windows read: Dubai Chocolate. Lindt’s new Dubai chocolate bar was released that week. It was 10 euros and still the best Dubai Chocolate bar I have tried.

We searched for Dubai chocolate in Edinburgh. We stopped in every random grocery store and chocolate shop in hopes they sold the bar. By the end of the trip, I grew frustrated. “We haven’t had Dubai Chocolate since Vienna!” That was six days ago. 

Maddie and I flew from Paris to Belfast to celebrate St. Patricks Day in Dublin. The Belfast shopping mall has a Belgian Chocolate shop. It sells cups of strawberries topped with chocolate, pistachio cream and knafeh. We got the bus off a stop early to stroll through the mall and pick up a cup before our train left. The toppings were perfect, but there were too many strawberries. The strawberries were too thick. We wanted more of the topping.

Baran came back from Poland with a jar of pistachio cream. With a free afternoon and an unsatisfiable craving, we got the C12 to Carrefour. 

INGREDIENTS:

1. Milk chocolate bars (ours came in a pack of five, but we used two)

2. A crunchy cereal substitute for knafeh (preferably a shredded wheat cereal)

3. Tahini

4. Cooking mold used for madeleines

We arrived in the GTE lounge kitchen with our ingredients and started on our chocolate. It only took us an hour. 

INSTRUCTIONS: 

1. Melt two bars of milk chocolate 

2. Crush the cereal up and mix with pistachio cream

3. Add a bit of tahini and salt

4. Paint the madeleine molds with a thin layer of chocolate and let harden in the fridge

5. Add a spoonful of the pistachio/cereal mixture 

6. Cover with melted chocolate and let harden in the fridge 

Although nothing will ever match the Lindt chocolate, these little bars will hold us over for when we miss Dubai chocolate. 

Eating My Way Through Metz

Written by: Katherine Sanders

I take food VERY seriously. For me, experiencing a new country primarily means experiencing a new cuisine. In Germany I needed schnitzel, in Italy I needed gelato, and in Belgium I needed chocolate. My willingness to eat out on the weekends usually means that in Metz, I take advantage of all the free food opportunities I can get. 

Breakfast is catered by Paul. You can expect to get a different breakfast every day of the week, but there isn’t an assigned food for each day. It rotates between full size croissants and pain au chocolats; mini croissants, mini pain au chocolats and mini gourmandises; powdered jelly-filled beignets and nutella-filled chocolate-dipped beignets; and chocolate chip brioche with an assortment of breakfast cakes.

Coffee, orange juice, and apple juice are always provided. There is also a vending machine in the lounge that serves lattes, cappuccinos, americanos and potage “tomats” (tomato soup???).

As I’ve mentioned before, lunch at GTE is provided by the nearby high school, “Crous.” The lunch period for French high schools is very long. In French culture, lunch is a time to take a break and socialize. Working while eating is unacceptable and fortunately, I comply. 

Unlike in the U.S., where lunch is usually a grab-and-go situation, French organizations take their lunch seriously. The local cafeteria available to GTE students serves lunch consisting of a savory side, main, and sweet side. Students are allotted ten points. Five of those come from the main course and the other five come from two sides. You can mix and match however you like, but your plate cannot exceed ten points.

Sides are usually carrot, celeriac root, beetroot, green salad or potato salad. Depending on the size, these are usually worth two points. Sometimes, there’s fish, liver pâté or hard-boiled eggs. These sides are worth three points. Every day, a new type of cheese is given as a side for two points.

The main meal is typically a combination of meat (or substitute), grain, and vegetable stir fry. Students have a good amount of power in what they get on their plate. You can mix and match a single protein with different sides. There are two types of meats, one a vegetarian option and one chicken, turkey, or beef. Couscous, rice, or mashed potatoes are the grain, and the constant vegetable stir fry always has green beans and carrots. There are a few odd days where french fries, lasagna, or kebab are choices. If you tell the servers you are “grosse faim” (very hungry), they will give you “une grande portion” (a large portion). The same goes for if you are “petite faim.”

For dessert, fruit, coffee, flan and vanilla yogurts are always offered. Typically, there are one or two flavors of mousse or pudding. Since these desserts are prepackaged, they are worth two points. If students are lucky, there can be hazelnut fritters, crepes, tartes or cake. These are all three points. Fruits are always bananas, kiwis, apples and oranges. A large piece of fruit and two small pieces of fruit are two points.

At the end of the line, you place your prepaid “Izly” card on the scanner. I’ve seen some French students pay by card, and it looks like the total is only 3€. After paying, you offered a free “pain” (roll of bread.) I’ve described the cafeteria multiple times, but again, it’s like a high school cafeteria. Water pitchers are at the tables, and students fill them up with a pedal-powered water fountain. 

Even after weekends with nice meals and authentic European food, the cafeteria never disappoints me. 

P.S. I have a food account (@nibblesbitsandbytes on Instagram (it’s a play on terms for binary strings)) and write food reviews!!!

Following the Scent of AI to Vienna

Written by: Katherine Sanders

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.

Katherine in Metz

Written by Katherine Sanders

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.

Suitcase

Written by Katherine Sanders

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.

POV: You’re Shopping at Carrefour

Written by Katherine Sanders

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.

A Day Pass for a Prague Pump

Written by Katherine Sanders

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.