Author: Madelyn Bilbrey

Prague, Read Like A Clock

Written by: Mahir Daiyan Ashraf

Fourteen hours on a train does weird things to time. We arrived in Prague around 11 a.m., hungry and a little dazed, and dropped our bags at the hostel. We went to a Czech spot nearby, where I got a beef goulash. Peppery, steadying, and totally carried by the bread, I give it a solid 7/10.

We let the afternoon take the lead. Kafka’s Head appeared like a trick of light, a mirrored face that assembles and dissolves as 42 stainless steel layers rotate on their own choreography. From there we wandered through Klementinum, peeking at cloisters, hoping to see the historic library, only to find it closed for the day. So we detoured through City Hall, paused in St. Nicholas Church, and drifted past the spires of the Church of Our Lady before Týn. As we exited, the Old Town Square pulled us along with everyone else, and there it was: the Astronomical Clock.

A mechanical marvel, the Astronomical Clock came to life in the early 1400s, kept working through fires and repairs and still stands mightily in the centre of Old Town Square. We stared for a while, pretending we knew what everything meant, before doing what every modern traveler does when faced with medieval complexity: we pulled out our phones and looked it up. Here’s the short, actually useful version of how to read it.

What you’re looking at:
The colorful circle in the middle is called an astrolabe, and everything that moves on it is telling you something.

  • Colors: The background is split into three parts. The blue section is daytime. The orange band shows dawn and dusk. The black section represents night. The center, where all the hands meet, marks Earth—and specifically, Prague’s spot on it.
  • Numbers: Three kinds: Roman numerals for the regular time we use now, Gothic numerals on the outer ring for Old Czech Time, and Arabic numerals in gold for Babylonian hours that divide daylight into twelve uneven pieces.
  • The golden hand: This is the one to watch. It points to both the Roman numerals (modern time) and the Gothic numerals (Old Czech Time).
  • The sun icon: On the same rod as the golden hand. It moves up and down through blue, orange, and black, literally following the position of the sun in the sky. It also passes through zodiac symbols as the year turns.
  • The moon sphere: Half silver and half black, it rotates to show the moon’s phase, just like you’d see it outside at night.
  • The zodiac ring: The dark band with golden symbols for the twelve signs. Each tiny section around them represents a few days. Wider sections mean longer days in summer, narrower ones shorter days in winter.

The calendar plate: Below the main dial sits a large circle with painted months and holidays, added later in the 1400s. Above, the little windows where the apostles appear each hour.

  • Modern time: Find the golden hand and see where it lands on the Roman numerals. That’s your hour. If you’re visiting in summer, add one hour for daylight saving.
  • Old Czech time: Look at where the same golden hand points on the Gothic numerals. Count forward to 24 to see how many hours remain until sunset. Back then, a new day began when the sun went down, not at midnight.
  • Babylonian time: Track the sun icon and check the small Arabic number near it. It tells you how many daylight hours have passed since sunrise. The hours change length as the seasons change, which is why it’s mostly symbolic today.

Once you’ve read it once, the hourly show with the apostles feels like a bonus instead of the main event. The real beauty of the clock is that it turns time itself into public art. It’s a piece of science that people have been reading in the open for centuries.

We stepped away from the crowd and followed the light to the river. The Vltava was calm, bridges glowing. Near Náměstí Republiky we found a set of giant colorful mirrors, and Chris, Kyler, and Matthew did a photoshoot there. Dinner was at Giovanni’s, pizza that easily earned a 9/10, and when we came back out, the tower was glowing for the Signal Festival. Butterflies of light fluttered across stone, and every building seemed to hum. Later, we found a basement packed for a Czech punk band. Afterwards, we crossed Charles Bridge under a light rain, and watched the whole city shimmer in that golden European streetlight glow.

The next morning began slower. The city felt softer in daylight. We crossed one of the bridges and started a mini-hike towards a hill-top where the Petřín Tower was. From a distance, I tried to convince everyone that it was actually the Eiffel Tower. We climbed through the park, stopped to breathe in the view of red roofs below, and made our way toward Strahov Monastery.

From there, we followed the crowds uphill to St. Vitus Cathedral. The line wrapped around the church, curled into itself, and then disappeared behind the main entrance. It looked endless. Prague Castle loomed above it all, wide and unbothered.

Lunch was not Czech, not traditional, not even close. We found a Mexican restaurant tucked between souvenir shops and went in half as a joke, but it turned out to be one of the best meals of the trip. A 9.5 out of 10, maybe a perfect 10 if I wasn’t trying to sound objective. 

After regrouping at the hostel, we hopped on a tram to Eden Arena, home of Slavia Praha. The match against FC Zlín was already in motion by the time we reached our seats. The ultras section pulsed like a living drum—chants rolling, flares burning red, flags swallowing the stands. We did not understand a single Czech football chant, but still joined in unison. We left hoarse and thrilled, ears still ringing.

Dessert was a chimney cake, warm and sugared, with a name too dramatic not to order—Spirit of Dubai. Pistachio and chocolate, crisp on the outside, soft inside, everything you want after a day that stretched far past its energy budget.

Sunday came quietly. Some of our group left early for Metz. The rest of us had breakfast at Globe Bookstore & Café, a mix of shelves and chatter, where you can eat and read and forget which one you started doing first. I give it an 8 for the plate and a 10 for the calm it carried.

We spent the afternoon drifting through side streets, vintage stores, and a small antique shop where the owner gifted me a 1950s Austrian ten Groschen coin. Later we grabbed banh mi (8.5 out of 10) and wandered through an art exhibit that Jason disliked so passionately it became its own entertainment. By the time we returned to the station, the sky had turned the same silver-blue as the clock’s dial, and for a moment the weekend felt perfectly looped.

Prague leaves you with that sense of slow turning. The city never hurries you. Time doesn’t just pass here. It circles like the clock, and if you stand still long enough, you feel yourself turning with it.

A Night at Metz’s Arsenal

Written by: Mahir Daiyan Ashraf

The Arsenal (not the football club) is a former 19th-century weapons depot that now hosts one of Europe’s most admired concert halls. It sits a short walk from the Esplanade, right next to two older neighbors: the Templars’ chapel and Saint-Pierre-aux-Nonnains, a fourth-century basilica turned cultural space. Metz kept the history and traded ammunition for acoustics. In 1989, architect Ricardo Bofill reshaped the site into the hall we know today, opening it with the kind of confidence that dares great artists to test the room. People still talk about the sound.

The Grande Salle seats about 1,500. It uses the classic shoebox shape orchestras love, all warm wood, clean lines, and a volume of roughly 13,600 cubic meters. The proportions are in the same family as Vienna’s Musikverein, and every interior choice serves clarity. You hear the bow hair, not only the note. A soft piano line reaches the back row without anyone leaning forward.

Tonight’s student concert was the ideal first listen. Free with reservation, right after classes at 19h. The Orchestre national de Metz Grand Est played under Adrian Prabava, with Jeneba Kanneh-Mason at the piano. Florence Price’s Concerto for Piano in One Movement opened the night. The first entrance was a small lesson in acoustics. The piano line sat clearly over the orchestra, but it never felt separated. In the middle section, when the rhythm leaned into something more dance-like, the woodwinds answered cleanly and the hall kept the details intact. You could sit anywhere and follow the inner parts without squinting with your ears. Mussorgsky’s Tableaux d’une exposition showed the other side of the room. The Promenade stepped forward with brass that had height but no glare. Fast character pieces stayed transparent, so the strings could move quickly without turning into one block of sound. Percussion landed with weight and then decayed naturally. The room does not add drama, but rather allows the music’s own shape to be heard.

What I liked most was how the story of the place and the sound in it met in the same evening. The original Arsenal Ney went up in the 1860s under Napoleon III. In the renovation, one wing was removed to open a terrace, and most of the new hall was tucked underneath it, leaving the Jaumont stone façades to carry the street view. That is why the complex still reads as Metz and not as something that landed from elsewhere. It is also why the acoustics feel so natural. The architecture frames the sound instead of fighting it.

Metz takes music very seriously. The Arsenal, BAM, and the Trinitaires all sit under the Cité musicale-Metz umbrella, and the city holds a UNESCO Creative City of Music label. Translation for students: there is usually something worth hearing, often at prices that do not hurt your grocery budget.

If you have walked past the Arsenal on the Esplanade and never gone in, watch for the next student night. Take a seat and listen to how a whisper carries through the hall.

The Student Shuffle

Written by: Mahir Daiyan Ashraf

After class on Thursday, we did the student shuffle: Metz to Luxembourg by train, a quick hop to Stansted on Ryanair, then National Rail to Tottenham Hale and the Tube the rest of the way. I had heard all the jokes about Ryanair and braced for chaos that never came. It was smooth, which felt like a small gift at the end of a long day. We found our Airbnb, and after a late-night Subway, we all hit the hay.

Friday started early with an omelette and hot chocolate at a small café. Then we took the Tube to Westminster. As we exited the station, we came up into daylight right under Big Ben. I knew it would be big, but not that sharp up close: the clean lines, the gilded edges, the blue face against the stone. We arrived just in time for the bells. It felt like the city was doing attendance and we were on the list.

We moved the way a day should go when there is more city than time. We drifted through the hits: Westminster Abbey, a quiet pause at Isaac Newton’s grave, a look at Buckingham Palace from the fence. St. James’s Park gave us a place to sit and breathe. Pelicans cruising by like they own the lake. Geese mapping out their own traffic rules. It made London feel less like a checklist and more like a place someone lives.

As we passed Trafalgar Square, I called it: Nando’s for lunch. Two friends had never tried it and that felt like a situation I could fix. Growing up in Bangladesh, Nando’s was a little family ritual for us. Sharing it here felt like smuggling a piece of home into the day. Verdict: still a favorite.

After that, the British Museum. It is huge. You could live there for a week and still miss rooms. We focused on the Egyptian, Greek, and Asian galleries. The Parthenon sculptures and the Rosetta Stone felt like pages from a textbook stepping out into real life. When the closing announcement floated through, we let it guide us into the evening. We walked through Soho, peeked down Shaftesbury Avenue, grabbed fish and chips because sometimes the obvious choice is the right one, and took the Tube back.

Saturday began on London Bridge. We aimed for the Tower of London and ran into the Monument to the Great Fire. It is just a tall column until you start climbing. Three hundred eleven steps later, the city is a clean 360 around you: glass, brick, water, cranes. At the bottom they handed us a certificate like we had finished a school challenge. I laughed, tucked it into my bag, and kind of loved it.

A short walk later, we stumbled into St Dunstan in the East Church Garden. Church ruins curled in vines. Gothic arches open to the sky. Pigeons negotiating with squirrels for space. It felt like someone pressed pause on the city and forgot to hit play again.

We did quick looks at the Tower of London and Tower Bridge and then split. I took the Tube north to the Emirates for Arsenal Women vs. Aston Villa. Red scarves, chants that start in one corner and spread, a late Villa equalizer that made the place jump anyway. Great atmosphere.

Back in South Kensington, we stepped into the Natural History Museum, where dinosaurs do their usual work of making you feel small in a generous way. On the way out we waved at the Royal Albert Hall from the sidewalk. A nearby pub had the Women’s Rugby World Cup final on. England over Canada, 33–13, and the room erupted for the Red Roses. Later, dinner at Spoons doubled as sports session three: Georgia Tech vs. Wake Forest. It ended in a nailbiter and the Jackets pulled it out. Three wins (almost), one city. We finished at Canary Wharf where the city took on a cyberpunk aesthetic for the night.

Sunday was for the small joys. We stopped at King’s Cross for Platform 9¾ because sometimes the tourist thing is the right thing. One more glance at Big Ben, this time familiar instead of overwhelming. Then Camden Town did what Camden does, turning the day into a collage. Stalls stacked with vintage jerseys, old film cameras, posters that smell like ink, crochet flowers that look like someone’s grandmother’s side quest, a papyrus shop I did not see coming, and a whole store devoted to leather sporting gear that felt like a museum you could buy from. It was crowded and warm and alive.

We rolled into St Pancras with time to breathe before the Eurostar. We were excited for the Channel Tunnel because “Chunnel” sounds dramatic. In practice it is lights, then dark, then France. Quite underwhelming.

By the time we rolled back into Metz, the weekend felt full in the best way. Big sights, three games, Camden buzzing, lights on the water, and a train that showed up on time. I came home tired and happy, with a couple of new favorite corners and a longing to go back again someday.

Walking Metz: Stone, Glass, and Roman Floors

Written by: Mahir Daiyan Ashraf

Waking City (8:45)

Place de la République is still settling when our HTS 2084 group gathers beneath the Galeries Lafayette awning. Café chairs scrape across the paving, and the warm smell of the boulangerie wafts out each time the door swings open. Cyclists coast the square in easy arcs, and the clock on the courthouse roof keeps its patient time. We count heads, tighten backpack straps, and step into the morning with the city awake enough to notice us, but not yet in a hurry.

Cathedral (9:00)

Saint-Étienne Cathedral makes its case in height and glass. High Gothic here is a working grammar: pointed arches teaching the eye to rise, ribbed vaults turning weight into lines, and flying buttresses keeping the reach in equilibrium. Metz calls it La Lanterne du Bon Dieu—The Good God’s Lantern—because so much wall has been given to stained glass that daylight becomes part of the building’s meaning. Windows from the 13th to the 20th century set medieval blues beside modern work, including panels by Marc Chagall. The nave lifts to about forty-one metres, the third tallest in France, and that vertical space exists to serve the glass rather than to outshout it. Bands of colour fall across the pale stone and drift as the clouds move; a few people kneel in prayer; the soft shuffle of footsteps carries through the great hall and thins under the vaults.

In the crypt and treasury, the air cools, and the objects get specific: Saint Arnoul’s ring, a carved bishop’s crosier from the high Middle Ages, and a small group of gilt chalices and processional pieces that mark the city’s liturgical calendar across centuries. Labels fix each work to a workshop and a date, so the craft has a place as well as a name. Nearby, scale models of major French cathedrals show how ideas travel between places. Local memory keeps the Graoully in the frame too, the dragon Saint Clément is said to have banished from the Roman amphitheatre, so legend sits beside light and metalwork, and the cathedral reads as a record as much as it does a monument.

Underfoot (11:00)

The Musée de la Cour d’Or opens the Roman chapter beneath the streets. Long before the Gothic ridge of windows, Metz was Divodurum Mediomatricorum, and you can follow that name in the floor itself: brick piers of a hypocaust holding a once-suspended room, a blackened flue where hot air ran, a stretch of masonry that still suggests the curve of an apse. There is tableware in common clays and finer red terra sigillata, glass vessels with a faint sea-green cast, lamps, keys, weights, spindle whorls, and a patient line of coins that date rulers more reliably than memory.

The route carries you forward into rooms where early Christian and medieval pieces take over: fragments of sculpture, metalwork, and painted stone that show how older techniques were adjusted rather than discarded. What you feel, moving from one level to the next, is practical continuity. Heating, drainage, storage, and craft persist while the purposes change. Infrastructure survives, techniques migrate, and later life stands on earlier work from quite literally, made two millennia ago.

Second Acts (14:00)

After lunch by the Moselle, we visited three nearby churches.

Saint-Martin kept the parish scale and a clear backbone. Set along the old Roman ramparts, it mixed Romanesque weight with later Gothic openings, and it even lacked a traditional façade, drawing entry through the south transept instead. The effect read as weekly use more than display, a steady parish rather than a spectacle.

The Templar chapel gathered space into a compact octagon, built around 1180–1220 and singular in Lorraine. Its ribs met cleanly at the center, fresco fragments lingered on the walls, and the plan recalled the order’s network that once tied Metz to routes far beyond the city.

Saint-Pierre-aux-Nonnains reached furthest back. The building began in the 4th century as part of a Roman complex and became a church by the 7th, later serving as a Benedictine house before centuries of other uses and a modern restoration. Inside, the surfaces stayed plain and exact, the Roman fabric still legible beneath the Christian plan, which is why it is counted among the oldest churches in Europe.

Seen in one walk, the three made the point without fuss, continuity held through reuse, and new purposes took root without erasing the layer beneath.

Continuum

By late afternoon, the day held together on its own. We turned off toward a café, found a table by the window, and let the city settle while cups of coffee and hot chocolate steamed between our hands. Outside, Metz kept moving, older lines still visible beneath the new.

Monza

Written by: Mahir Daiyan Ashraf

On TV, Formula 1 looks fast, a tidy kind of fast, contained inside a frame. But at Monza, you feel it. The engines rattle your chest, every downshift thumps your ribs, and the world narrows to a blur of color as the cars fly by. I’ve watched this sport for years, but nothing prepared me for standing trackside at the Temple of Speed.

Our trip started in Milan: breakfast at Milano Centrale, a metro to Garibaldi, then a Trenitalia to Monza. With every stop, the carriage reddened. Caps pulled low, flags over shoulders, chants in Italian that rose and faded with the doors. Trains, buses, sidewalks, everywhere. A sea of Ferrari red. The closer we got, the louder it became. It felt less like heading to a sporting event and more like joining a pilgrimage. The tifosi were out in force.

Outside the station, thousands pressed into the line for the Black Shuttle to the circuit. We dodged the crush and took a regular city bus instead. Slower, but we could breathe. Even so, by the time we reached the gates the Formula 3 sprint was already over. Our first taste of action was Porsche Mobil Supercup qualifying, which shook the afternoon awake. Adel, meanwhile, tried an octopus burger and, after one brave bite, promised none of us should ever repeat it.

During a quick break we drifted through the infield past stalls stacked with merch. Under white tents, historic cars from the ’70s onward sat gleaming in the sun: long noses, wide tires, slow circles of people. When the music from the fanzone stage dipped, the crowd shifted. Free Practice 3 had begun. We hurried back to our spot at Variante Ascari.

The first flash of scarlet lifted the grandstands to their feet. Flags lifted, shoulders bumped, and the sound of cheers rolled over us like warm air. You could feel the tifosi’s love for the Ferraris. Then the F2 sprint delivered a perfect home script, Leonardo Fornaroli winning in front of his crowd. The place glowed.

Before qualifying we moved again. Robert had heard about a better angle past the old banking, so we followed the path under the trees until the historic curve rose in front of us. Seeing it in person was staggering, the tarmac rose nearly vertically; it felt impossible that cars ever raced on it. We pushed a little farther and found a perch beyond Ascari that looked almost straight down onto the modern track.

It was the perfect place to watch qualifying unfold. Q1, Q2, Q3. Through Q1 and Q2 the McLarens hunted purple sectors. In Q3, Lando Norris briefly took pole and, for a moment, the outright fastest lap in F1 history by average speed. Seconds later, Max Verstappen arrived and stamped a 1:18.792. New track record. Fastest lap in F1 history. The stands erupted, voices in a single chant: “Du du du du, Max Verstappen.”

Then the cherry on top, the historic parade. Machines from past decades rolled out. McLaren’s chrome-liveried MP4-22, early-2000s V10 screamers, cars that built eras. When they lit up, the tone changed, cleaner, higher, and people around us actually jumped. A Ferrari 312 B howled; a 412 T2 followed, the last V12-powered Ferrari F1 car, and grins spread in a wave. I filmed like everyone else, knowing the clips would never hold the heat in the air or the small hum that stays in your chest after a car is gone.

By the time the engines fell quiet, the sun was low. We let the slow tide carry us back toward town and found a small pizzeria called Al Poeta. Top three meals in Europe so far, no contest. What made it memorable was the boy taking our order. He was thrilled to practice his English with us, and his enthusiasm carried the same joy I had seen in the stands all day. After a day of deafening engines and a historic lap, that simple exchange was the perfect ending.

That’s the thing about Monza. It reminded me that Formula 1 is as much about people as it is about machines. The records, the speed, the legends matter, but so do the chants, the flags, the laughter of strangers. And in the middle of my semester abroad, standing in the Temple of Speed, it hit me: some experiences cannot be streamed or replayed. You have to be there.

Finding My Way in Metz

Written by: Mahir Daiyan Ashraf

Before leaving for Metz, I told myself I wouldn’t be nervous. After all, I’d already crossed an ocean to study in Atlanta, far from Dhaka. How different could this be? But as my departure date crept closer, the nerves started piling up. Balancing tough classes, cooking for myself for the first time, navigating buses and trains in a language I half-remembered, planning trips on the weekends, writing for this blog…it felt like a lot to shoulder at once.

By the time I walked through the airport, though, the nerves had dulled into something else, a quiet kind of determination. I’d done this before. I could do it again.

After a long layover in Bahrain, I finally landed in Frankfurt. The first thing I noticed? A food counter stacked high with bread and cheese. Somehow, that tiny image summed up Europe for me more than any welcome sign could. Soon enough, I found the other students at the meeting point, and we piled onto the shuttle. We stared in amazement out the window at the rows of wind turbines stretched into the horizon as the bus drove us toward Metz.

Kyler and I were dropped off first at ResidHome, since we were living away from the main dorms. Tugging our suitcases behind us, we made the most logical choice a pair of jetlagged students could make: instead of unpacking, we set off into the city in search of food (as well as the shrimp Big Mac Kyler was so desperately trying to get). We wandered aimlessly until we found a tiny place called MM Chicken Spicy. To our surprise, we actually managed to order in French and walked out with dürüms in our hands.

We wandered past colorful macaron displays, matcha packets stacked taller than my head, and storefronts that already hinted at how different daily life would be here. Then, in classic “day one abroad” fashion, we managed to board the wrong bus and got dropped off at the opposite end of Metz by a driver heading on break. Welcome to Metz.

The next morning was orientation. We were greeted by faculty, toured the Georgia Tech-Europe building, and were met by food trucks waiting outside. Classes started the following day, and life here began to take shape.

Now, mornings mean walking to the bus stop past Gare de Metz, watching locals carry baguettes tucked neatly into tote bags, the air filled with the smell of croissants and warm bread. At GTE, breakfast often includes pain au chocolat, croissants, and sometimes a jelly-filled donut whose name I still haven’t learned. In between classes, the student lounge thrives, buzzing with students, with mandatory breaks for table tennis and pool in between.

The C12 bus has become my favorite, mostly because it drops me closest to GTE (and because I’m lazy in the mornings). I’ve taken it so often now that the driver nods when I board, a small gesture that makes the city feel less foreign. Even the people at MM Chicken Spicy recognize me when I come in with friends, greeting us warmly. These little connections add a sense of belonging that I didn’t expect to find so soon.

Metz itself has kept surprising me. The city has a Gothic soul, cathedrals and arches that carry centuries of history, but it also feels alive, especially during events like the Mirabelle Festival. Metz’s golden plums are its pride, and for a weekend the whole city celebrates them. Streets filled with music and dancing, stalls offering jams and pies, children running around, and at night, the cathedral lit up in dazzling colors. Standing there in the crowd, it felt like Metz had opened a door for us, saying this is who we are.

GTE is already showing me that this semester will be unlike any other. The small classes make the community feel tight-knit—you quickly learn everyone’s name. But balancing academics with the responsibilities of daily life? That’s no joke. Cooking, traveling, managing logistics, and fumbling through conversations with locals who are patient but amused at my French stretch me every day. And yet, those very challenges are what make me feel like I’m growing.

Now that the first few weeks have passed, the nerves I carried here feel a little lighter. Yes, it’s a lot. But it’s also worth it. Between the smell of fresh bread on the way to class, the festivals lighting up the city, and the laughter that comes from bus mishaps and language slip-ups, like accidentally saying por favor instead of s’il vous plaît, Metz is becoming more than just my “study abroad city.” It’s the place where I’ll build routines, make mistakes, laugh about bus rides gone wrong, and maybe discover a few more festivals I didn’t know existed.

Georgia Tech-Europe is a small community, but that also means it’s a close one. Everyone knows each other, and everyone’s learning to manage life abroad together. The familiar nod of a bus driver. The light catching on old stone at sunset. The moments that feel fleeting but make a place stay with you.

And if the beginning is any sign, there are plenty more stories waiting to be told.

Why We Romanticize Old Tech in a Digital World

Written by: Mahir Daiyan Ashraf

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine pulled out a film camera during a weekend trip. It wasn’t some modern digital device dressed up to look retro; it was an actual 35mm film camera, complete with the satisfying click of the shutter and the roll of film waiting to be developed. Watching him take a photo, carefully framing the shot without the instant feedback of a screen, I found myself quietly fascinated. In a world where everything moves quickly, it felt oddly grounding.

I’ve been noticing it everywhere: film photography is back in style. Vinyl records are selling better than CDs. Mechanical watches, once seen as outdated, are now prized possessions. Even handwritten letters, something that should have disappeared with the arrival of email and texting, are quietly making a comeback among certain circles.

But why are we, a generation raised on smartphones and streaming, reaching for technology that is slower, clunkier, and, in many ways, less convenient?

I think part of the answer is hidden in that word itself: convenience.  

The digital world is designed for speed. Swipe, tap, scroll. Everything is instant, efficient, and optimized. Photos are snapped endlessly, stored in the cloud without a second thought. Songs play with a single voice command. Conversations flash across screens in blue and green bubbles.

And yet, for all this convenience, something feels missing—the life in it.

Old technology forces us to slow down. But more than that, it demands care and intention. Film photography makes you think before you shoot, knowing that every click counts. A roll of film is expensive. Each shot makes you pause, frame, and commit. A vinyl record demands your attention. You can’t shuffle tracks or skip ahead with a click. Writing a letter means sitting down, thinking about your words, and trusting that they will take days to reach their destination.

There is a kind of intention to it. A weight. A sense that what you are doing matters, even if only to you.

Maybe that’s why the imperfections of old tech feel less like flaws and more like features. Film photos with their grain and light leaks. The warm crackle of a vinyl record. The ticking of a mechanical watch that’s never quite as accurate as your phone. Interestingly, even film’s grain has a human touch: silver halide crystals are irregular in shape, so their texture feels organic and natural, unlike the rigid grid of pixels. These flaws remind us that the world isn’t supposed to be perfect. Life is textured. Messy. Human.

I’ve felt this myself. I still keep a physical notebook where I jot down thoughts and sketches. Last year, I switched to taking notes on my iPad, thinking it would be simpler. And it was. Everything tidy, synced, and searchable. But after a while, I missed the feeling of a pencil scratching across paper. Writing by hand felt slower, but also somehow more honest. Ideas took shape more naturally, and they stuck better when I physically wrote them down. There was no pressure to backspace and edit every sentence as I went. It felt more real. Maybe more human.

Even printed photographs carry that same weight. A few weeks ago, my mom unearthed a stack of old photos tucked away in a drawer: shots from my first birthday, my parents during their college years, my grandfather standing proudly in front of the small store he once owned. Their edges were worn, their colors slightly faded. But holding those moments in my hands felt different from scrolling through an endless camera roll. They were memories with presence, something tangible. Something that lasts.

And perhaps that’s what we’re searching for in these analog rituals: a sense of connection to something real. In a digital landscape where everything is designed to be smooth and efficient, physical objects give us something to hold onto.

It’s not just nostalgia for a past we never lived. Many of us who are drawn to these older technologies didn’t grow up with them. I’ve never used a rotary phone, and my first camera was very much digital. But I think it’s less about wanting to return to a specific time, and more about craving an experience we’ve never really had: depth in a world built for constant refresh.

There’s also something quietly rebellious about it. Choosing to shoot film, or listen to records, or write letters, is choosing to step outside the endless upgrade cycle. It’s saying no to the pressure to always have the newest phone, the fastest app, the latest update. In a way, old tech offers a break from the future.

I think about the photos we take today. Thousands of images, stored somewhere in the cloud, forgotten almost as quickly as they were taken. Compare that to a printed photograph—the way it ages, the way you can hold it in your hand, pass it down, frame it on a wall. There is permanence in that fragility. Once a digital photo is deleted, it’s gone. But a physical photograph carries a sense of presence, of memory solidified.

Even the visual aesthetic of the past has come back into style. The film grain effect is all over Instagram and TikTok, not because it improves image quality, but because it feels more real. More alive. Filters that mimic vintage cameras or scratched film aren’t attempts to hide flaws. They’re attempts to recreate warmth in images that otherwise feel too polished.

In the end, I think the resurgence of old tech is less about rejecting the modern world and more about finding balance within it. We’re not giving up smartphones or cloud storage anytime soon. But every now and then, reaching for something slower, something tactile, reminds us that life isn’t always meant to be optimized.

So maybe that’s why we romanticize old tech. Not because it’s better, but because it feels human.

And in a world obsessed with speed, choosing to slow down might just be the most radical thing we can do.

Chasing Stories Across Europe: An Introduction

Written by: Mahir Daiyan Ashraf

If you’d told my 10-year-old self—stuck in Dhaka traffic, face pressed to the window watching people go about lives completely different from mine—that I’d one day be heading to France to study, I probably would’ve laughed. That boy was curious, yes, but he couldn’t yet imagine the world being that close, that real.

And yet, here I am.

Bags packed, passport stamped, and a heart full of curiosity.

I didn’t grow up traveling abroad constantly, but I grew up learning how to observe. Whether it was during long drives through rural Bangladesh or afternoons in the local farmer’s market, my parents always reminded me to look closer, to ask questions, and to keep an open mind.

They believed that every person, every place, every plate of food carries its own story, and they taught me to listen to it. When we traveled within Bangladesh or nearby countries, we would go beyond tourist sites and into villages where we’d sit for community festivals or eat dishes we couldn’t pronounce. That’s how I first fell in love with travel, not just the physical movement from one place to another, but the cultural immersion. The little rituals, the stories in between, and above all, the people and the omnipresence of humanity.

Fig: Aarti ceremony at the Tal Barahi temple, Pokhara, Nepal

Fig: A family moment around a globe of light

(Also, that’s how I fell in love with Nasi Goreng in Singapore. Still undefeated in my book.)

As I grew older, I searched for more ways to explore cultures beyond mine. I picked up French in school and held onto it for three years, imagining one day I might visit France and speak it outside the classroom. But eventually, the emergence of COVID-19 put a halt to it.

That’s part of what drew me to the Georgia Tech-Europe program, returning to something I once loved.

GT-Europe feels like the perfect middle ground: an opportunity to continue my coursework while reconnecting with the French language and culture in an authentic, lived way. I get to wake up in Metz and walk through the very streets that once only existed in my textbooks. All while staying on track academically. As someone who values both structure and spontaneity, that’s a rare opportunity.

But beyond the language and the credits, what excites me most about this semester is the chance to slow down and notice.

I’ve always been drawn to moments that feel fleeting: the glint of sunset on old rooftops, the quiet rush of a train station before departure, the laughter of friends at a roadside tea stall (or tonger dokan, as we call it in Bengali). Maybe that’s why I found my way to photography, an attempt to hold onto the things that pass too quickly.

Fig: Tea shared with friends
Fig: Silhouettes at sunset, Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh

This fall, I want to chase those moments all across Europe.

I’ve already started planning with my friends:

  • Hiking in the Dolomites
  • Wandering through the streets of Vienna
  • Catching a glimpse of Aurora Borealis
  • Watching the Monza Grand Prix in Italy (I’m a huge Formula 1 fan)
  • Getting lost in cities I’ve never been to just for the joy of finding something unexpected

But even more than that, I’m excited for the everyday moments: the morning walks past a bistro, the quiet bike rides by the river, the language slip-ups that turn into conversation starters, perhaps sitting in a café, watching all the people passing by, each with a story to tell.

Through this blog, I hope to document both the spectacular and the simple.

You can expect photos, of course, plenty of them. From landscapes and architecture to little details I stumble upon. But I also plan to write about the contrasts I experience: between my life in Dhaka and Atlanta, and life in Metz, between comfort zones and adventures, between what I thought I knew and what I continue to learn. 

There may be stories about food, conversations with locals, spontaneous trips with friends, and even reflections on what it means to travel with intention as someone who never took that opportunity for granted.

In short: I want this blog to feel like a journey we take together.

Whether you’re a future GT-Europe student looking for tips, someone craving travel stories from your desk, or just a fellow curious soul, I hope you find something here to relate to.

One of my favorite quotes comes from a video I once watched: “You don’t need to go far to explore. You just need to notice what others overlook.”

That mindset has stuck with me. And while I am going far now, I’m hoping to keep that same spirit alive, one blog post, one photograph at a time.

Thanks for reading! I am excited to share my adventures with you.

Fig: Sunrise over the Himalayas
Fig: Courtyard reflections in Putrajaya, Malaysia
Fig: A quiet corner in Nepal
Fig: Sunrise from a hot air balloon
Fig: Hills in Bandarban, Bangladesh
Fig: A fisherman in Tanguar Haor

Introducing…Mahir! GTE’s Fall 2025 Blogger

Written by: Mahir Daiyan Ashraf

Salut! I’m Mahir, a second-year Computer Science major at Georgia Tech, and I will be studying at Georgia Tech-Europe this fall 🙂 

I’m from Dhaka, Bangladesh, a city that never slows down, a place where centuries-old Mughal forts rise behind rickshaw-filled streets, and where chaos and charm somehow coexist in a way that feels like home.

Growing up, I was lucky to travel often with my family, which sparked my love for wide-open landscapes and winding roads. That eventually led me to photography, trying to hold onto those small moments before they slip away.

This fall, I am excited to take that curiosity across Europe as I hike in the Italian Dolomites, wander through the Baroque streets of Vienna, maybe catch a football match in a city I’ve never been to. I’ll be sharing bits of it here through photos, stories, and the everyday things that catch my eye.

When I’m not behind a camera or on a train, you’ll probably find me playing guitar, watching Formula 1, or trying to relearn the French I picked up nine years ago. I also love spontaneous adventures with friends like taking the long way home, getting off at the wrong stop just to explore, or walking into a café for a mug of hot chocolate.

I’m looking forward to seeing where this semester takes me, and sharing the journey with you.

That’s All Folks! Parting Words and a Small Surprise

Written by: Alex Stallworth and Ashlyn Willis

As a final goodbye, we’ve decided to come together to create an exhaustive list of advice for surviving and thriving at Georgia Tech Europe! The program can definitely feel overwhelming at first, but after 10 weeks of trial and error, we’ve picked up a ton of knowledge that should make adjusting to life in France a whole lot easier. So, without further ado, here is essentially everything we wish we knew before we got here.

Do’s and Don’t’s: 

Living Situation and Shopping

  • Don’t try to get absolutely everything for your room the first time you go to the store, especially if you go to Carrefour, which is essentially French Walmart. My first Carrefour experience was not ideal in the slightest: I was very jetlagged, very confused because I don’t know how to read French, and very tired after I had to carry my large-ish haul on an over-25-minute walk back to my dorm. It’s best for your first visits to be small trips, just for the basics, then you can come back for larger items later, after you are more acquainted with the store. 
  • As for other stores, Normal is good for “around the house” items: think 5 Below, but with better quality. For food, the best options are Carrefour Express or Auchan, which are more like grocery stores than “everything stores”. 
  • Don’t exclusively buy in bulk, and that goes for both food and dorm items. That’s not to say that you should only buy small-scale items; just keep in mind that you will have plenty of time to go to the store throughout the semester, and it’s better to go back and get more of something rather than end the semester with a bunch of wasted food or product! 
  • Make sure you have enough room for souvenirs on the way back. I recommend putting aside an extra packing cube or leaving additional space in your suitcase for anything you may buy while overseas. 
  • Don’t buy a bunch of additional Tupperware or dishes if you are planning to cook or meal prep. You can do a lot with what is provided, and you can always clean and re-use store-bought containers, like jelly jars. 
  • The dryers in Europe are more energy efficient, but unfortunately, less effective, meaning that your clothes will likely still come out a bit damp. I recommend buying a cheap drying rack or a few hangers, either in addition to typical drying or as a substitute for it. 
  • Getting a haircut in Metz might seem a bit daunting, but a good strategy is to go to the barber shop with a collection of pictures of what you want, as English hair terms like “fade” or “taper” naturally don’t translate into French. The good news is that Metz is a pretty diverse city, so you can easily find a barber who specializes in your hair type. This was one of my biggest apprehensions before coming to GTE, but in my experience, the barbers here do pretty good work, usually for much less than it would cost in America. For someone with type 4 hair, I would recommend going to KAL Coiffure Metz or Kacy Afro Center. 

Academics

  • Do as much work as you can during the week. You may think it’s a good idea to do work either on a train or during free time on a trip, but that will probably lead you to being less productive. Some trains have wifi, but some don’t, and if they do, it is often slow or spotty. This goes for hotels and hostels as well. Moreover, unless you explicitly plan otherwise, it is very unlikely that you’ll have a lot of free time on the weekends that you travel on. And plus, you don’t want to be solving equations or writing essays instead of exploring a new city, do you? So, try to optimize the amount of work you get done during the school week, to avoid working on weekends as much as possible. (Make sure to explore Metz and hang out with friends on the weekdays when you can as well; time management is essential!)
  • Work in the GTE building when possible! Although I am someone who usually prefers to work alone in my dorm room when on the Atlanta campus, the GTE building has a much cozier vibe than many of GT’s academic buildings, making it much more appealing to work in, at least in my opinion. Besides that, the GTE building has something for everyone! Want a busier, CULC-like vibe? Study in the student lounge, where the majority of students find themselves throughout the day. Want some fresh air? There’s plenty of outdoor seating around the building, from benches to tables to hammocks. Want some peace and quiet? The GTE building has several study pods and a few quiet rooms throughout the building, which remind me of the 7th floor of Crossland Tower.

Travel

  • (For some tips and tricks about trains, visit Alex’s latest blog!) 
  • We highly recommend you purchase a Eurail pass for your time in Metz, as a 3-month pass is just $839, and for someone who has taken over 70 trains in 10 weeks, I have more than gotten my value back and then some. Even if you prefer to travel by plane, it still has some value, as Metz doesn’t have a major airport, meaning that if you want to fly anywhere, you first need to go to a different city (which will probably have to be by train). As for where to fly out of, you have a couple of options:
    • Luxembourg is the best place to fly out of. The airport is very easy to navigate, and the public transportation to get there is completely free. It’s also a hub for the region, so there are plenty of routes to and from the city. Finally, and best of all, security there is an absolute breeze to get through; the last time I was there, the line was literally non-existent. 
    • Brussels is your next best option. With the Eurail pass, it only costs 8 euros to get to the main airport. The secondary Charleroi airport is free to get to, although it is some 35 miles out from the city. Both airports are bigger than the Luxembourg airport, so there are more routes to and from the airport, at the cost of longer security lines. It also takes around 4 hours to get to either airport from Metz. 
    • Flying out of Paris is a bit tricky. Firstly, even with the Eurail pass, the cost of your round-trip will be anywhere between 20 to 40 euros more expensive, as you have to catch a TGV to get to Paris. Then, each Paris airport is 45+ minutes away from Gare de l’Est, and it of course costs money to get to each airport as well. Granted, Paris probably has the most plentiful flight options in Europe, but their air traffic controllers have a tendency to go on strike, which dissportationally leads to the cancellation of budget airline flights, which is something that a few of my friends have encountered over the semester.
  • On the topic of budget airlines, they are all very serious about their baggage policies, and they will fine you a lot of money if you violate them. It’s best to plan accordingly and measure your bag to make sure you are within the allowed dimensions before you go to the airport. 
  • To keep prices low, budget airlines usually don’t fly to “main airports” within a city. (i.e., going to London-Stansted instead of Heathrow or Paris-Beauvais instead of Charles de Gaulle). Most of these airports will have trains or shuttles to get to the main city, but they usually will cost something, so make sure to do some research before you get on your flight. 
  • Don’t wait for the last minute to plan or book things. It’s more expensive, more stressful, and you’re more likely to overlook something important at the last minute than if you planned ahead. That’s not to say that you should have your entire summer booked before you come to Europe, but booking things 2-3 weeks in advance can be quite helpful. 
  • Avoid short connections on trains as much as possible. On the Eurail app, you can set a filter to only show journeys with connections longer than 10 minutes. This is a good measure to take to lower the chance that your whole trip gets derailed, but more than likely, it will still happen, at least once. The best advice here is to be adaptable. Have a plan B or C for any long trip, whether that be another train that can still get you to your destination, or a bus that plays the same role. 
  • On that latter point, buses operated by companies like Flixbus or BlaBlaCar are quite good in Europe; they don’t have the negative reputations that companies like Greyhound have in the US, and they are actually the favored method of transportation among a lot of European young adults and teenagers. With that being said, buses usually won’t be faster or more convenient than taking a train, but it can be quite useful if you find yourself in a pinch, especially for an overnight journey.


General Advice and Information:

Items to Bring/Buy

  • Portable Charger/Adapter: Whether it’s an issue of trains and planes not having charging outlets, hiking in remote places, or not having the right plug for the charging ports (emphasis on Ireland, the UK, and Switzerland for this one), a portable charger can be a lifesaver!
  • Tote Bag: In Europe, most supermarkets don’t provide free plastic bags, meaning that you either have to buy your own plastic bag or bring a tote bag. Neither are particularly expensive: each plastic bag is maybe .30 euros, and you can get a tote bag for less than 5 euros, easily. But, it might be worth packing, considering that they are so light and take up virtually no space in a suitcase. 
  • Ziploc Bags: Super useful for getting through airport security with liquids (make sure your bag is no more than one litre to make things go more smoothly), as well as keeping things organized on trips. Also, I recommend bringing a separate bag to store your dirty laundry in for each trip, so that you can keep your clean clothes nice and fresh. 
  • Laundry Detergent Sheets: A personal favorite of mine, laundry sheets are not only more eco-friendly than most laundry pods; they also are lighter, take up less space, and are just as effective! You still can handwash your clothes with the sheets too, which is something you’ll probably do once or twice at GTE, as laundry does cost money, and sometimes, you just need a few things clean without doing a whole load. 
  • Travel Containers: Not all living situations on your trips will have shampoo or bodywash, let alone conditioners or other products. I recommend bringing travel-sized containers to fill up with your preferred hygiene products. 
  • Your Favorite Hygiene Products: On that note, I advise you to bring at least some of your favorite hygiene products to Metz. As we talked about before, it’s not a good idea to buy too much too fast for your dorm in Metz, and unsurprisingly, it’s a little difficult to purchase hygiene products that you may be fairly particular about in a language that you aren’t fluent in. I know a couple of people who bought the wrong products and had to eat the cost of it, so to try to avoid that, come with some of the more important ones. 
  • Shower Shoes: Most hostels have communal showers. While you may luck out and get a private bathroom, it’s best to bring shower shoes just in case. 
  • Towel: Most hostels and GTE dorms do not provide towels (although for the former, you can usually rent one for a couple of euros).  Plus, you probably will want one if your travels take you to a beach or a lake! While you can buy towels at Carrefour for less than 10 euros, if you have additional space in your suitcase, it is something that I would prioritize. 
  • Fan(summer): A majority of GTE dorms, and to a greater extent, buildings in Europe in general, don’t have air conditioning. The temperature may get up to a max of like 92 degrees over the entire summer, which doesn’t seem bad, but because of the lack of AC and the way European buildings are built, it will often feel warmer inside your room than outside your room. Although it’s only hot like that for a week, buying a fan can help that week feel much better. You can get a decent one from Carrefour for 20 euros or so, or pick one up from the GT donation drive when you arrive. The donation drive is a system that you get to partake in at the beginning of the semester,  where previous students leave unwanted supplies for the new students, which usually entails a lot of fans.

Items to Leave Behind

  • Hangers: Although you’ll need hangers for your room, hangers are inexpensive to buy and quite bulky to transport in your luggage, so you’re better off just getting them at Carrefour or the GT donation drive.
  • Lots of Shoes: You don’t need a lot of shoes. They take up a lot of space in a suitcase, and since you’ll be walking a lot, you don’t really have much need for athletic shoes. One to two pairs of walking shoes, the aforementioned shower shoes, and maybe a pair of sandals or slides should serve you very well.
  • “Just in Case” Items: Now, this one is a bit vague and can mean different things for different people. For me, it’s the extra books,  just in case I wanted to read, or the pair of gloves,  just in case I went somewhere extremely cold. As I pack up for the end of the semester, I look at the books and the gloves and sigh, as they never left my primary suitcase. While it is good to come prepared and limit buying more items that you could’ve brought from home, definitely make sure you are thinking twice about those non-essentials before you bring them.

Travel Locations

While everyone has different preferences and options, we have included some of the places we have visited and enjoyed! Europe is a huge and diverse place with so many countries and cities to explore, so don’t feel limited by just what the majority of people visit. The biggest piece of advice is to use this opportunity to explore what you want, whether that is just around the city of Metz itself or across the continent!

  • Amsterdam, Netherlands: A city with an interesting history, we recommend taking a boat tour on the canals, as you will be able to learn a lot of information about different parts of the country and city, with lots of fun niche facts. The stroopwafel there is absolutely delicious as well!
  • Interlaken, Switzerland: This is a great place to have a “home base” for a weekend if visiting Switzerland, as it is just a short train ride away to the more elevated villages of Grindelwald, Lauterbrunnen, or other good hiking towns, yet very accessible. (Note for popular hiking destinations in Switzerland: many towns are based in the valleys, so to do many mountain hikes and trails, you may often have to pay for a gondola ride up and occasionally back down a mountain if you want to avoid a very timely and strenuous additional hike upwards, which can sometimes be expensive.)
  • Luxembourg City, Luxembourg: While not a large city, the city of Luxembourg is a great place for a day trip! Although often overlooked just for being an area of connection for travel elsewhere, the old city area built into a fortress is a beautiful and green place that makes for a relaxing day of exploring. And once more, the public transit is completely free, which is a great bonus!
  • Vienna, Austria: If you like classical art and intricate buildings, Vienna is a perfect city for this vibe. It has a very regal feel to it, with many museums and lots of beautiful architecture to admire!
  • Bruges, Belgium: A very pretty and quaint city to visit. There are a lot of walkways along the canal as well as markets and shops to go through; it makes for a good day trip if you are staying in Belgium.
  • Edinburgh, Scotland: Although the UK is definitely more of a trek to get to than the mainland European countries, Edinburgh is an absolute gem to lovers of an academia vibe, history, and mystery. It is a beautiful city with Gothic architecture everywhere, and it is built in the valley of steep hills stretching to the sea, making for lovely scenery and hiking opportunities as well. If visiting Scotland for longer, taking a tour of the Highlands and lochs is also recommended!
  • Florence, Italy: Definitely a popular choice and justifiably so, Florence is another hub for art and overall beauty. There are so many museums and historical points to see in the city, and the food is absolutely spectacular.
  • Marseille, France: If you want to visit more of France, Marseille is an interesting and unique city to visit! Being a port city so far South, it has a completely different vibe from Paris and other cities in France, and has a beautiful coastal area along with lots to explore.
  • London, England: Between West End shows, sporting events, the copious amounts of museums, and the most famous monarchy in the world, London is the perfect place to go for an action-packed weekend. 
  • Budapest, Hungary: Although a bit far from Metz, Budapest is one of the cheaper cities in the EU, with a charming beauty from the dual influences of Western and Soviet architecture.

And…well, that’s it! Thank you for reading along. We hope that our blogs have been helpful, inspirational, or made the decision to sign up for GTE just a little easier. While we may sound a bit irritated while discussing some of these topics, these are just some growing pains with being abroad. Trust us, GTE is an absolutely amazing experience that we would both do again, 10 out of 10 times. 

Now, for a bit of a surprise. You may be wondering, “Why are both of the bloggers working on one post?” Well, that’s actually because we are quite good friends outside of work, and we have traveled together on a lot of the weekends during this semester!

(Ashlyn, Alex, and Friends atop Arthur’s seat in Scotland)


With that being said, this is Ashlyn and Alex signing off for the final time. Au revoir!