Category: Swati

You Get the Best of Both Worlds

Written by Swati

March 30th 2023

At dawn we break. Well at dawn I break to go find my tour bus through Wild Rover Tours for my day trip to the Cliffs of Moher! Our tour guide is effectively an enthusiastic elementary school teacher, sprinkling in fun facts about Ireland and Irish history throughout the tour and her light hearted commentary distract from the fact that we have a 3 hour bus journey starting at 7am to reach the cliffs. We take a quick pit stop at the Obama Plaza, a gas station dedicated to Barack Obama, who apparently is a descendant of the Moneygall Obamas. When we make it to the cliffs around 11, I’m struck by the pure wonder of the thrashing waves against cliffs that go on for miles. I only have 2 hours there before we head off to Galway, so I immediately start down the path to the right. 

Let me say it here first and foremost: I’m really not a nature gal. I’d rather spend a day in a bookstore or art museum than go on a hike, but I wouldn’t trade this experience for the world. I endured snow, rain, wind, and slivers of sunshine at the cliffs and every minute felt like a new adventure. Even if I took my eyes off of them for a second, I’d gasp when they entered my line of sight again. I felt a sense of camaraderie with fellow travelers who were whipped by the strong wind and fought against nature to witness its beauty. It felt like walking through a wind tunnel, but being rewarded with more waves crashing in at every stopping point. The Cliffs of Moher truly feel like a wonder of the world. I walk my way over to the end of the official path and find a castle at the highest point. Arms outstretched, it feels very Titanic, but I say a little “I’m king of the world!” in honor of Leonardo DiCaprio’s legendary film and start the cautious trek up the treacherous path. The unofficial walking paths to the edge of the cliffs aren’t technically endorsed by the tourism office, but there are safety precautions and a trail, so I take the leap and make it about halfway up either end before reaching puddles too large to cross. 

I eventually make my way back to the bus begrudgingly for the last leg of the trip to Galway and our tour guide teaches us some words in Irish and tells us of Irish hospitality. She tells us it used to be illegal to refuse housing to a traveler in Ireland and that food and entertainment, including an evening of  storytelling and songs, were expected. I find Irish hospitality and gentleness to strike a chord in my heart. There’s such an affection for new people hidden in their sing-songy accents. When we reach Galway, I find another bookstore I want to visit and pick up a boba, a box of chocolates, and a Claddagh necklace on the way there. The Claddagh ring, a ring with a symbol of a heart held by two hands, has a unique history in Galway where women wore them on either hand and turned in different directions based on their relationship status. If it was worn on the left hand facing outwards, it meant a woman was single and ready to mingle. Left hand turned in meant she was seeing someone. Right hand turned outwards meant she was engaged and right hand turned inwards meant she was married. The ring’s code was a way for men to approach women on a night out, which the tour guide joked helped the awkward Irishmen land dates. On the way to the coast, I grab a box of fish and chips, and an order of oysters, to enjoy a seaside picnic. I’ve never had oysters before, and while I doubt I’d go out of my way to eat them again, I enjoyed the new experience and the splash of lemon juice. We culminate the tour with a round of old Irish pub songs that she sings with hints of melancholy and cheer at sunset and we part with a list of Dublin recommendations. I snapped a picture, but knew that the tour wore me out and I had a flight to catch in 10 hours back to Luxembourg.

Upon my arrival in Luxembourg the next morning, I felt like I’d just woken up from a dream. Even looking back at the pictures now, I can’t believe I saw the cliffs with my own eyes. And I had 2 full days to rest and recuperate, a first for the semester! If this stat homework and physics lab ever get done, I really get the best of both worlds this weekend.

Books, Books, Books, and.. Oh What Was It? Oh, Yeah Books!

Written by Swati

March 27th 2023

(Trinity College Old Library)

Another weekend. Another solo trip. Except this time to the incredible city of Dublin and to the Cliffs of Moher! At this point, I consider my travel life a pendulum. When I travel alone too much, I crave company, and after a few hours of company, I’m ready to set out on my own again. These past two weekends I paired and trio’d off with small groups to Germany and Belgium but I was able to snag round trip tickets to Dublin for just 2 days at around 40 euros on Ryanair! Truly the best of both worlds as I’ve been needing some time and space away from campus and the recent onset of everyone collectively hitting the wall, but also rest and time to recuperate from the go-go-go lifestyle. 

I love solo travel. I truly do. Gosh it’s so romantic. It’s so freeing. It’s incredible, it’s lovely. It makes the globe feel like a bead. Spin the top and go where your finger lands just because you can. And it provides so much more opportunity to seek out hidden alleyways and street murals. Every minute feels like a movie. While I didn’t have nearly enough time in the beautiful city of Dublin, the time I spent there was magic. Several of Dublin’s historic tourist sites are going through a period of refurbishment, the Dublin Castle and the Trinity College Old Library, but I still appreciated the ability to see them in transition. 

The Trinity College Old Library and Book of Kells were historic, beautiful, and so calming. Worth the 15 euro entry fee? Maybe debatable. But when I entered that room, I knew there was nowhere else I’d rather be. A beautiful oak room filled floor to ceiling with the oldest copies of Irish history (but not currently, they’re in the process of tagging and scanning sections of books for their digital collection) and busts of historical figures like Shakespeare, Plato, and Ada Lovelace. I sat on the corner of a wooden bench and just took it all in. I don’t consider myself much of a giftshop person but I made an exception at Trinity College when I found the most beautiful copy of ‘Dubliners’ by James Joyce, a notable author from Ireland. I couldn’t resist the gold lined pages and robin’s egg blue hardback cover. And the Irish bookstores! They’re truly a world of their own. I dreamt of being a writer for so long as a child and literary cities strike a chord in my heart. It’s why I harbor such affection for Edinburgh, whose many famous sites are in honor of Sir Walter Scott, a household Scottish writer, and Porto, for their famous bookstore and literary sites throughout the city. 

Sprinkled throughout Dublin are gems of bookstores and storytellers. I popped into The Winding Stair and picked up a copy of Letters to A Young Poet and browsed through Books Upstairs, another bookstore right next to my hostel. It was quite freeing to wander these English bookstores and stop myself from buying books not out of a lack of understanding but out of respect for my credit card. I’ve been having the opposite problem in Italy, Portugal, Belgium and France where I pick up copies of books and translate the pages individually, attempting to piece together stories before realizing that I can’t keep collecting books that I can’t effectively understand. Every bookstore proudly boasts copies of books written by James Joyce, Oscar Wilde, and WB Yeats, three of the most notable Irish authors. I was also pleasantly surprised to find Salley Rooney, the author of ‘Normal People’ amongst the Irish bestsellers section! The next morning I woke up at 6am for my Cliffs of Moher Day Tour! I had originally planned to spend both days of this short trip in Dublin, but I booked a Cliffs of Moher Tour through GetYourGuide at the recommendation of another group from GTE who went to Ireland last month. Best. Decision. Ever. Stay tuned to find out more!

Where to Rest My Eyes

Written by Swati

March 25th 2023

With UNESCO World Heritage sites on every street corner and historic memorabilia in every city, it’s difficult to give everything the attention and care it deserves. Parts of Europe have developed history and culture over centuries, some over thousands of years in the case of empires, with preserved artifacts marking some of humanity’s most groundbreaking accomplishments. Especially in cities in France, Italy, and Germany, dozens of museums populate towns, and I found myself struggling knowing where to put my eyes. Behold: the black door. This black door found in the room next to Michelangelo’s David caught my eyes in Florence. After about a half hour sat in a corner analyzing the realistic curves and features of David, Googling what he means and why people travel across seas and over mountains to see him, I found myself wandering over to the next room: half in awe, half in mental exhaustion. I stumbled upon the door. It was in the least ostentatious corner in the museum that gave me reprise from the lifelike marble and classical instruments throughout the museum. I found myself wondering what secrets lie beyond. Is it an uncovered exhibition? A storage of old masterpieces? More likely than not it’s a room filled with dusty chairs and stanchions to guide lines of people, but the possibility of something exciting kept me there for a moment longer. 

Guides and walking tours are great wells of knowledge in new cities, and they have information that many cannot amass during their first visit to new places, but it can often get exhausting trying to follow the routes and stay interested in old fun facts and historical tidbits. Don’t get me wrong, the right tour guides and the right instructors can interest you in just about anything, but we all tire of the same things at some point.

In order to break up the monotony, I signed up for a chocolate making class on a whim after talking to a pair of girls on Spring Break in my Bruges hostel. After a few days of admiring architecture, I started to wonder just what else there is to do in new cities any more. Of course there are the local delights: food, desserts, tourist attractions, but after nearly three months of walking up and down streets, you tire a bit. In my head, one thing never gets old: books and waterways. I find water the most relaxing part of nature, and I think the best when I watch waves lap over each other, but to break up the routine I wanted some new experiences that are specific to a place. The chocolate making class ended up being the most exciting part of my Belgian excursion this past weekend. Two and a half hours of sneaking bites of hardened chocolate and swoops of ganache, I was in heaven. I was in a class of fifteen, including a couple from London and about a dozen Americans studying abroad in different parts of Europe. Our instructor was the perfect amount of informative, encouraging, and hilarious, which encouraged me to sign up for more experiential days on my upcoming trips! I hope you’re looking forward to hearing about the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland and paragliding in Switzerland soon. 

I realize now that we are hitting the point of exhaustion. Somewhere along the way, streets blur together and the beauty and excitement of seeing new places wanes. It’s not that travel isn’t the most liberating and exciting thing in the world, it’s that the real world checks back in upon our weekly arrivals in Metz and sooner than later homework turns to exams turn into projects that were assigned weeks in advance. It’s later than I thought, with only 6 weekends left. I thought I would tire of the nearly full-time travel sooner. It must be the spring blooms, welcoming in the sunshine, putting on a parade for her. With the strikes and travel delays, we’re wearing out in transit, and there can be too much of a good thing. Sundays that used to be spent wandering cities, expecting to take the last train back, have turned into getting to the train station first thing in the morning and crossing my fingers that all legs of my journey still exist. But hardships wither in the face of comfort. And updating friends on the wild transit schemes and making it back safely are more things I can look forward to.

Curating a Sense of Self

Written by Swati

March 24th 2023

Much of our twenties culminate to a strong sense of self, or a person we come to recognize as we grow older. Some people are known as “too much,” having opinions on every little thing, whereas others are so easygoing and blend in so well they barely exist at all. The overarching light behind studying abroad is the ability to pick up stories and experiences from different corners of Europe. From chatting in pre-med to seat partners in chocolate making classes in Belgium to fumbling through a French conversation with women from Montreal along the Portuguese riviera, pretty soon we’ll all be friends of friends that cover the globe. 

In Florence I found a quote by Doris Lessing that has stayed with me over the past few weeks, “Pensa in modo sbagliato, se vuoi, ma pensa con la tua testa.” Think wrong if you will, but think for yourself. 

Doris Lessing was also a citizen of the world. Born to British-Zimbabwean parents in Tehran, Iran, she lived in Southern Rhodesia (modern-day Zimbabwe) before moving to London, where she spent the rest of her life writing. It’s ironic that I found a British writer’s quote to be the most moving amongst a wall of quotes from international authors in an Italian bookstore, but the phrase is something I hope to keep by my side for a long time. When you make mistakes, they are yours. When you triumph, those victories are yours. Autonomy and developing a strong sense of self with opinions and desires is the most freeing part of becoming an adult. You are free to explore, free to examine, free to think, and free to observe as you please. Take advantage of that, especially in a place like Europe, where you are peering in through the looking glass. Soon enough, French and the French lifestyle will fit like a comfortable second skin and you will go in search of more adventure. 

Break off from your group for a few hours and do the things no one will join you for: museums that only you find interesting about cars or bratwurst, a hike through the hills, feeding birds in a park, reading religious text in a new language. Some things are just yours and you’ll grow more as a person by fostering that love instead of trading it in for that which others find more acceptable or traditionally fun. 

I recently read “Everything I Know about Love” by Dolly Aderton, a British journalist, whose quippy memoir warns about the lack of a sense of self. She writes about decades of her party lifestyle that culminate in years of therapy where she grapples with figuring out who she really is. Which anticipates the thought: why do we waste so much time waiting to figure out what it is we like and who we are? I can say with full confidence that I came to Metz to break out of the monotony of my life on the main campus, but also to be away from peering eyes. I didn’t want the noise of competition, drawl about internship compensation, and irritation of far too many assignments to reasonably complete to distract from the fact that I will never be in a position to drop everything and adventure ever again. 

Think deeply about who you are, and who you want to be. Run amuck, strike up a conversation with a stranger (during daylight hours and in the vicinity of others-please!), throw flower petals and skip rocks, wave at dogs on the street, and fall so incredibly in love with your life that it physically tears at your heart to have to change it. 

What a wild and wonderful thing it is to be you in a world with millions of possibilities and millions of universes in which if one thing changed, your whole life would look different. In the most cheesy, 2012 Tumblr way possible, be yourself because everyone else is taken. Thanks, Oscar Wilde!

L’Oiseau Bleu

Written by Swati

March 15th, 2023

That which we go in search of will never be found. But that which we choose to find in the world around us, appears more easily. Something I heard from my philosophy professor freshman year that changed my mindset: The opposite of depression is not happiness, it is purpose. As humans we must always be headed in a direction, any direction at all. We must be going after things, not as a means to an end, but focusing on the journey.

A fairytale that I recently learned about is L’Oiseau Bleu, an old Belgian tale about two impoverished children on a quest looking for a blue bird, the secret to happiness. After a long adventure to different worlds, searching, capturing, and losing different birds, they find the bird waiting back for them in their own home. 

Why is it that the further we chase, the less we catch? The more we search, the less we find? I know very little about manifestation but I can say that the general improvement of my quality of life is due to a habit I developed thanks to one of my very best friends. When I first started college in the midst of the pandemic, I was truly alone for the first time, I didn’t know what to do with myself and all of the time I had to sit and think led me to some dark mental corners. But a beacon of light came through one of my best friends who encouraged me to always look for one good thing in every day, even just opening the blinds and letting the light in or slipping on a pair of flip flops to run to the dining hall. And some days it was difficult, I’d report back to her with dismal news. “Today it was raining and the dining hall ran out of fries and ice cream and every possible edible thing I could possibly imagine putting in my body.” I’d conclude it was an awful day and move on. “But?” She’d gesture. “Well I saw a flower on my way to class,” I’d relent finally. “I’m sure it was beautiful.” And just like that the sunshine in my heart was restored.

And days when I couldn’t possibly find anything she’d start off instead. “Today I got a milkshake and a nugget meal from Chick Fil A!” Finding joy in the simple things and looking for small victories which once seemed so difficult now appeared on their own. But it wasn’t because I went chasing after them, it was because it felt like they had appeared serendipitously, a miracle of their own. It’s tough to say after so many weeks of constant praise, but bad days happen everywhere, even in Europe. But it’s a mindset shift to have a sequence of bad events that don’t culminate to making for a bad day.

Just this week I had a terrible few hours where I lost one of my gloves (a recent heartbreak as they were my favorite purchase and a fur-lined pair from Edinburgh), had my umbrella inverted by the biting wind, a series of very confusing lectures that I couldn’t even pretend to follow, I was thirty minutes late to my physics meeting, and the constant rain seeped into my boots. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse a pounding headache settled in between my eyes. But right then I looked up and caught one of the most beautiful sunsets in Metz all semester. Watching the colors turn right before my eyes felt like magic. Recently, a travel buddy asked me if optimism is natural or learned. And my first instinct was to say it was natural. I was always told I was a pleasant child, smiling, and trying to brighten the atmosphere, but it wasn’t until further reflection that I’d say it’s more learned than anything. Focusing on the bad zooms in on the bad and focusing on the good zooms in on the good. Though your situations are the same, the mindset at which you approach them, and thus the conclusions you reach from them, are inherently different because of a change in processing. 

Even when we were stuck in the train station for hours due to a series of cancellations and when we spent an extra hour on the metro, small pieces of good come out of everything.

Fill your life with good things. Or fill your life with things and see them as good. 

Anywhere you are, you are the same person. You look at the world with the same eyes, and if something is to change, it must change within you to change outside of you. New locations, new cities, and new architecture might provide some refuge or excitement but at the end of the day the biggest change starts with you. And the blue bird can be found, perched right on your shoulder.

Saudade

Written by Swati

March 9th 2023

I’m fully convinced that people who live in places with nicer weather are better people. Never have I been smiled at on the street so often or found street musicians playing love songs from the early 2000s as the sun set. In the coastal cities of Portugal: Porto, Aviero, and Coimbra I see such an affection and pride for life. Life is art and art is the simplicity of life. Pastel de nata with a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice first thing in the morning, the laughter of children tinkling in the background. In Portugal I see public displays of emotion for the first time in Europe, couples dance in the streets, babies waddle up to drop change in open guitar cases, others stroll by on daily walks, laughter in their eyes. How could life even be that bad with a protective blanket of sunshine over you?

I see a woman swipe away tears on the train to Aveiro, a connection on my way to Coimbra for a day trip out of Porto. White wired headphones in, I can only imagine what was floating through her ears. An old love song, reminders of a former flame, or a voicemail from a loved one thousands of miles away. Gentle waves lap at the shore out of the window, tenderness clouds her face. When our eyes meet she sends me a sad smile and I wonder what realizations she’s having on this train ride, where she’s headed, and what decisions she’s made recently that led her up to this moment. Accompanied only by a simple black tote bag, worn leather heels, and a swipe of red lipstick, she could be headed off to see the lake and decompress after a long work week or mourn a loss in her starched black dress pants. Maybe she hugged someone for the last time or hasn’t seen the sea in years and the fondness of it all brings tears to her eyes. This must be saudade. The longing and melancholy for something lost, something that may have never existed. 

Across from me a French couple does crossword puzzles together. If I was feeling any more adventurous I would’ve struck up a conversation but I’m too wrapped in scribbling down answers to Physics practice tests, sneaking in glances at the sea, and making up backstories for my fellow train dwellers. I love catching people in the midst of existence. Running to catch the bus, nodding off on early morning transportation, caught in the rain, burnt tongues from hot coffee, sticky fingers from melted gelato, widening eyes when realization hits. Struck by the humanity of it all I made the last minute decision to stop off in Aveiro and spend some time by the water before taking the next train out to Coimbra two hours later. With the lake a 30 minute walk away, I took a waterside stroll, saw Aveiro’s salt fields, and sat by the pier. On the way back to the train station I had bacalhau à lagareiro com batatas (cod with potatoes) and the blend of fresh caught seafood, homeliness of the restaurant, and kindness of the waiter made for an incredible meal. I was a bit rushed to get back to catch the train, but Aveiro was a sweet coastal town.

Monthly Musings #2

Written by Swati

March 6th 2023

They say it takes 21 days to build a habit. How sweet it is to know that your body works with your mind to make sure you thrive anywhere you go. In just three weeks you could be good as new. From weighing my own produce and getting stickers to scan at grocery stores to walking up cobblestone streets and deciding that 30-minute walks to the corners of new cities are good for the soul, every place I’ve been to has been so kind to me. I’m constantly surprised at the patience, gentleness, and warmth I’ve received from strangers and the reminder that every problem has a solution.

As always, here are 5 more things I’ve learned over the last month:

  1. Make mealtimes fun with friends! This sounds like the tagline to an awful commercial you just can’t get out of your head, but sharing meals with friends in the dorms make for good memories and opportunities to learn new recipes! Whether it’s a risotto or a simple pasta, sometimes life can get hectic and trying to figure out what to buy for your weekly grocery haul feels a bit too overwhelming. Share the burden with your neighbors and bundle in some time to swap stories about your travels!
  1. Reconnect with old friends and see who you can find nearby. Recently I shared about how I was able to spend time with an old friend from high school, but you’ll surprise yourself with the number of family or childhood friends that are currently in Europe or spent some time here and have recommendations! Keep your community and support system strong by having people outside of the GTE bubble to reach out to and connect with. 
  1. Go grocery shopping in new countries and pick up snacks and easy to eat on-the-go items! If one thing’s for sure it’s that businesses in several countries operate on their own schedules. Some restaurants close in between lunch and dinner, some close after lunch, some open just for dinner. With long days of traveling and arriving in new places at odd hours, try to stop by a grocery store to stock up on snacks and local favorites without the hefty tourist prices. If you’d like a recommendation, I favor Lidl over all of the other ones for both price and quality. Whether it’s a pastel de nata in Portugal or gelato in Italy, grocery stores have their own spin and charm on local classics. 
  1. Take pictures of everything! (Or videos, draw sketches, keep momentos, whatever your thing is.) It’s easy to fall into the normalcy of seeing cobblestone streets and grandiose balconies on every street corner, but I try to keep a collection of photos and journal entries with momentos from each city I go to just to see the differences in architecture and energy between them. They say a picture is worth a thousand words and while I’m unwont to agree completely, each city is unique and having the opportunity to look back on a clear retelling of it is truly something special. 
  1. Try to say something, anything, in the local language wherever you go because the effort is always appreciated. Even if it’s a greeting, please and thank you, and asking if someone speaks English in the local language if you’re truly at a loss for words will get you far in terms of warmth and reception. There’s a reason tourists are often regarded with exasperation and weariness, but showing appreciation and respect towards new cultures and languages will expand and increase the value of your time spent in a new place!

They say it takes 21 days to build a habit, and it’s been a little over 55, I slowly realize I could get used to this life. A desire to live, a desire to survive, a desire to thrive. I realize I’ve talked your ear off about Italy, what can I say it was 10 out of 28 days of the month and few more of preparation. But the sweetness of life is an addicting flavor. Lazy wandering streets and squeezing through back alleyways make the world feel like a treasure box. I’m glad to never know what I’ll find.

A Slice of Home (Haha! Get It? Laugh, It’s Funny.)

Written by Swati

March 3rd, 2023

What does it mean to find a piece of home everywhere you go? To me it’s following the heart, doing what feels right, chasing impulses with wild abandon, whether it means I spend the day staring at water or wander the streets of a new city and strike up small talk with shop owners and seat neighbors on trains. It means leaving a piece of your soul in every city, just hoping you’ll have a chance to come back to find it one day. 

This week I was infinitely lucky to plan part of my spring break to spend time with a good friend of mine from high school, Shelby! She traveled to Europe a few times in high school and her love of adventure and interest in politics and culture always inspired me to reach further out of my comfort zone to see what else I could learn. She was often the first of my friends to catch on to international trends, music, and TV shows, and her openness to the unknown still continues today. When I found out she’d be in Florence studying abroad for the semester, I knew we had to plan to spend some time together. 

After a particularly life-changing train ride to Florence from Venice, I trudged down the cobblestone streets with a backpack too full for my own two feet, and settled into an apartment turned into a homestay for guests. Shelby and I settled on meeting for dinner and strolled the streets of Florence before finding a restaurant. It was in her eyes and in her presence that I could truly feel how much I had changed. Gone were the days crying over points lost on exams, fitting in meetings at the crack of dawn and between lunch and class, signing myself up for leadership of any club I could get my hands on. I could finally live. I could finally breathe. I could finally understand life is all about balance.

When I went to visit Seattle last summer, it was my first time truly traveling and learning what was beyond the world that I knew. It was the first time I’d stood on a pier and thought to myself: if this is life, I must be living it. Staring out at the water I felt limitless. Ever since then I’ve chased that feeling. And I’ve found it hidden in narrow alleyways in Venice, in smiling strangers turned to friends in Glasgow, between pages at the Writer’s Museum in Edinburgh, in collecting seashells by the shore at Como Lago, and in front of my own two feet. 

Wandering Florence with Shelby and speaking fondly of our days in high school I was once again hit with the sudden realization of how much we had both grown up. How suddenly we make decisions like tidal waves in our lives that seem like ripples at the time. How easily we can find ourselves thousands of miles away from where we met, meeting again as the same but somehow fundamentally different. How three years as young adults helped solidify our senses of self and knowing that which we truly desire, even if it changes every day. 

And how sometimes pieces of home are sharing pizza with a familiar face, hearing recognizable laughter, and easy-flowing conversation. Sometimes we don’t need to go search for pieces of home in bookstores and museums in new cities. They just as easily come to find us. 

Lately I’ve been thinking about people. How people make a city. How I won’t quite remember the restaurants or exhibits I visited but I’ll always remember people and the conversations and memories that I’ve made with them. Everywhere I go I find myself staring at busy streets wondering what goes in people’s minds, what they worry about, what takes over their conversations, where they’re headed. 

And I wish I could meet fateful strangers every day, Scottish philosophers that ease the weight of the world, Korean families owning seaside restaurants, college students abroad on weekend getaways. But then I remember that not everything can matter and not everything can break and make the world whole because it would be like highlighting the entire planet. But it’s the highlights that color a memory, and it’s the feelings that make those memories last. And home can be found in people, not in places.

The People We Meet On The Train

Written by Swati

March 2nd 2023

The people we meet on the train are Fate’s hands knitting the cloth of our lives right before our eyes. On the way to Venice, a massage therapist from Thailand settled in Albania, hoping to move to Switzerland to join the rest of his family. A couple on vacation from

Gyeonggi-do, South Korea, on a romantic getaway from the cityscape. Fathers wrangle rows of children together, mothers patiently gather tickets and baggage for disembarkment.  The people I meet on the train will be scored on my heart forever. 

On the way to Florence, I could feel Fate’s hand pushing me forward into my life. After a gentle morning in Burano, a fishing village off of Venice with rows of colorful houses and small pieces of handmade lace, I took some extra time to write by the water. I decide that Venice must be God’s favorite place on Earth. Manmade creations meant to mimic greatness I’d assume he respects the attempt, and allows it to prosper. It wasn’t a place where I necessarily found happiness, but where I found that happiness could be found. And with that I took a ferry back to Venice, with more than enough time to make it to my train. Or so I thought. 

How quickly an hour disappears. Delays in turn to new ferry lines, turn into frantic scrambling down Venetian streets, canvas bag in hand, hair whipping through the wind. By the time I made it back to my hotel to pick up my bag, I had 25 minutes to make the 22 minute journey to the Venezia Santa Lucia train station. I had all but given up, but something about traveling abroad alone has instilled more fight in me. If I am to miss a train, I must first attempt to make it. A big problem I had growing up was giving up too early. As it goes with young children who are identified as talented early on, I always wanted to be a natural. I wanted to be good at everything. I wanted assurance that all attempts are rewarded. But the world doesn’t work that way. And it’s alright. Sometimes Fate reaches out a hand. And that’s all we need. 

After clattering my way to the train station, a glass bottle toppled out of one of my bags splattering all over the stoned road. I couldn’t tell you why, but once I decided I’d be spending more than 2 days at Lake Como, I fell into the domesticity of it all, and ran to the nearby Lidl to purchase supplies for a lakeside picnic. The unfortunate thing about going grocery shopping with me is that I’ll always shop as my Indian mother taught me to, looking for deals and purchasing a mix of fruits and snacks. But this meant that I ended up with 2 full bags of groceries that I then needed to take to Venice, and later Florence, with me. I’d managed to pack a backpack crammed full of clothes for 10 days in Italy, but the rest were plastic bags from grocery stores knotted haphazardly around my fingers. I ran to the terminal a mere 3 minutes prior to departure, only to find that my seat was in the last car of the train. In the midst of the chaos, I make the split decision to settle into the second car, and cross my fingers that no one else has reserved the seat that I just claimed. Across from me, I snuggle my backpack, two bags of groceries, and my tote bag. Sigh of relief. I’ve done it. I’m on the train and I will be in Florence in 2 hours. Enter Fate.

Stopping at a nearby station, Padova if I recall correctly, a dozen new passengers enter the train. A woman walks over to the couple next to me, explaining that she had reserved one of their seats, starting a bit of a stir that had me wondering if it was my mistake that would finally be revealed. But Fate would have it otherwise. A man enters as well, gesturing that he has reserved the seat that held my belongings. Eyes widening, I apologize profusely, knocking over my water bottle full of San Benedetto Allegro, a sparkling citrus fruit juice. Lovely. While I’m gathering my bearings, the couple and a nearby train hostess discuss, asking the woman with the original seat reservation if she would be okay taking a different seat nearby, as the train car was close to empty. With an agreement from all four of us in the vicinity, she heads over to a different seat and the man sits across from me, apologizing as well. I detect an English accent and a lack of the normal European distaste towards my clumsy nature. I take the plunge, asking if he was English which led to the most engaging conversation I’ve had in months.

I find that he’s John Armstrong, a Glasgow native and Oxford-educated philosopher, professor, author, and art collector. It’s difficult to read strangers, and with all the stranger danger training I received beginning at age 5, I’ve favored safety in traveling alone. But life in Italy, and maybe in overarching Europe, has an emphasis on most strangers minding their own business, often not starting conversation unless approached first. It gives me a greater feeling of control and ability to walk myself out of unsavory situations or break if conversation tapers off. In fact, the way a conversation begins is quite interesting. It feels too technical to ever engineer perfectly, which is why I’ll always believe Fate led me to that train, that train car, that seat, and that conversation. 

John Armstrong has enough stories to last lifetimes, but I find that much of the work that he’s done and continues to do in literature are along the lines of the realizations I’ve had along my European adventure thus far: small joys and finding beauty in the little things, more specifically why we are pulled to beautiful things like the stroke of a brush in a painting, or a curve of a hand in a sculpture. I’m amazed to have found a writer, but also such a mind, passing through at the same time as I did.  I’ve never quite been able to look Fate in the eye the way I did that Thursday afternoon.

If by chance you’re reading this now, Mr. John Armstrong, I hope you find that opening line you’re looking for to start your newest book. 

The people we meet on the train won’t fix us. But they will teach us, lead us, and guide us into understanding that we are fixing ourselves.

The World is your Oyster and Your Pearl

Written by Swati

February 24th, 2023

The World is Your Oyster- And Your Pearl

Gentle waves crept along the shore, a mid-morning lullaby, I watched as a border collie eagerly threw herself into the lake in search of a tennis ball. There was a quiet chill in the air, but in the midst of dogs on walks and families on morning strolls I couldn’t help but be selfishly blissful to get this moment of utter peace along the shores of one of the most beautiful sights in Italy all to myself. It felt like my whole life was on pause, la dolce far niente. The sweetness of doing absolutely nothing. As the sun took her slow, hazy rise, I admired youth. What a beautiful thing. A little boy waddles to the shore and skips his first rocks while his parents watch in admiration of their little creation. Plum cake in hand, I realize that this must be life. All I need is what’s in front of me. The sweetness of sitting on a shore, dipping my toes in and letting inspiration take her rightful place rooted back in my heart. I’ve always been so fortunate to be surrounded by people who believed in me and shepherded me to roles and positions of greatness. With acceleration in school, leadership, and hobbies, I grew up with an innate need to make something of myself. And I found no shortage of opportunities or support, something I’m endlessly thankful for. But it also led to severe feelings of inadequacy and an inability to stop and appreciate anything for long enough to realize how much was put into it. It felt like life started and never paused from the age of eleven to twenty-one. I was constantly in preparation for something or in the process of something else. As the fog receded over the lake and the warmth of the sun settled into my bones, I think I finally understood simple pleasures, small joy. The waves are a smattering of stardust, diamonds atop water, hypnotizing to say the least. I knew I could spend hours there, and to no surprise, I was there from ten in the morning to five in the evening. 

Gazing at the water, I reached another big conclusion: the world is your oyster-  and she is your pearl. You are free to take anything she offers you, experiences, lessons, and life. And she will be everything beautiful in return: joy, sadness, excitement, and youth. 

As the sun set over the alps, I felt a prick of tears in my eyes. How lucky am I to be alive in such a beautiful place in this crucial moment in my life? How perfectly have the pieces fallen into place so that I can see such beauty across the world at such a young age? Running to catch the bus after a pasta lunch with a gelato in hand in Bellagio with new friends studying abroad in Paris and London all the way from Harvard. If there’s anything I’m most thankful for, it’s the kindness of strangers and the shared experience of other young adults traveling Europe, as students or otherwise, and my newfound ability to strike up conversation and find new friends anywhere. This is the sweetness of youth, the excitement of freedom. 

The same water that softens the potato, hardens the egg, the same lake that rounds the pebble, sharpens the rock. How fascinating it is that we are all living the same lives in such different ways, each on our own paths. Another little Italian boy skips rocks and I watch his small joy rocket as he runs up and down the shoreline, tossing in more pebbles and watching the ripples disappear. In the midst of his seashell collecting expedition, he sees me watching and runs up with a handful of seashells, depositing them carefully into my palm. 

Existence is just a shout in the void, a ripple in the lake, footsteps along a shoreline, a stroke in a painting. How beautiful it is to know that you must not always shake the world whole.