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Valentine’s Day

Robby experienced the highs and lows of Valentine’s Day as he made his way to Strasbourg to see a movie. In his latest blog post, laugh with him through the relatable emotions surrounding his rom-com moment.

On a personal note, by virtue of opinion and objective analysis, I am concretely opposed to the idea of Valentine’s Day. Capitalizing on romantic love, the inherent insinuation that romance needs to be a part of everyone’s life and the associated negative feelings that come to those who do not have this idealized love to celebrate on this day, and the general heteronormativity of the day are the reasons that I am opposed to Valentine’s Day. However, as a human, I am prone to irrationally contradict my beliefs, so I love Valentine’s Day. I always imagine these fantastical situations where I meet the man of my dreams and spend an unforgettable day with him – and am constantly disappointed when this is not the case.

This year for Valentine’s Day, I controlled myself. I said, “Self, you are not in a position to find love, and you should just live this day like any other.” So, I decided to treat myself and go see the new film Black Panther. (On a side-note, this film was absolutely amazing. I am not a fan of action movies nor superhero movies, but this film was so much better than I anticipated, and I recommend it to anyone and everyone.)

I did some research and decided that on this Wednesday night I would go to Strasbourg, watch the movie and come home. Fast-forward two days where I meet not exactly the man of my dreams, but an interesting and fun guy. I decide to invite him to see the film with me and he accepts. I am, for the first time in my life, going to have a date on Valentine’s Day. Also, he is French, so this also provides an opportunity for me to practice my French and see what dating is like in France.

On Valentine’s Day, I wake up, go to class, rush home to primp, and then head to the train station. My unnamed companion said he would meet me at the train station after his dentist appointment. (I know! Just like in the movies.) So, I put on my best outfit head to the train station. Because I was ridiculously nervous, I got to the station an hour early—a full 2 hours after his dentist appointment. When I get there, I send him a message to let him now I am there and that I am excited. (At this point, I feel compelled to tell you that I am generally needy and stress out over radio silence. Friends, family, no matter who it is, I cannot stand being ignored.)  I sit in the Metz train station, pedaling the bike powered charger, trying to read, and anxiously checking my phone. 5, 10, 15, 20 minutes drag by without a response. I tell myself at the 37-minute mark I will follow-up, just to make sure that he has received the message. Of course, I cave and send a follow up message at the 28-minute mark. Time slowly passes without a response.

Now counting time from my message turns into counting time before the train leaves. At the 15-minute mark, I tell myself he is going to stand me up. At the 13-minute mark, I invent an elaborate plan on his part that includes showing up with flowers. At the 10-minute mark, I board the train. At the 5-minute mark, I send a last message asking if he is coming. As the train takes off, I realize that I finally had a Valentine’s Day straight out of the movies. However, instead of the romantic gesture and unforgettable evening I imagines, I realized I am in the middle of the romantic comedy, where the couple faces an obstacle that causes heartbreak. (Not really heartbreak, but it sounds better.)

I get to Strasbourg, eat a quick kebab (nothing has changed), go see the film, which, it bears repeating, was absolutely amazing, and head back to the train station. But, as if the evening could get worse, I realize I grossly miscalculated the time of the movie and the necessary time to return to the train station and I have missed the last train to Metz. I end up getting a room in a youth hostel, spend a quiet evening reading, and head back to Metz the next day.

This story, while it is fun to laugh at (no worries, I am able to laugh at it, so you can too), also opens the door for some more emotional or meaningful thoughts that I can share with you.

The first one I want to talk about is being gay in a foreign country. I am so fortunate to have an amazing support system and unending, unconditional (albeit suffocating) love from my family. But, that doesn’t mean that being gay is easy. I worry about being open with my sexuality in the States, despite this amazing support system, so traveling abroad can be especially daunting when it is coupled with being gay. (It shouldn’t be ignored that this abroad experience is still an incredibly privileged situation. I am a United States citizen, traveling with a university program, in countries where being gay is relatively well accepted.)

Being gay in France is definitely different than in the States. France legalized gay marriage in 2012 and French people are often known for their open and accepting attitude toward love. However, there are definitely other barriers in France. One of those is that French people guard their private life (la vie privée) sacredly. Whether it is religion or sexual orientation, French culture has a self-imposed “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. There certainly are not student organizations that create spaces for gay students (or students of color, etc.). It’s not as harsh or strict as I have made it seem, but it is there nonetheless and incredibly difficult to explain or describe. Transitioning from my community in the States, where I am very open with my sexuality, to French circles makes me feel as though I am hiding a part of myself.

However, these are largely theoretical and internal barriers. The community of students at GTL are extremely accepting, and I have not run into a single problem! Also, all of my French friends that I have met are accepting and welcoming, although surprised by the casualness with which I reference my sexuality and how it influences my life.

All this to say: Valentine’s Day is a scam.

I know I usually don’t add a phrase of the week for the mid-week posts, but there is a phrase that goes so well with this post that I have to add it! Lucky you! “Ça ne tombera pas plus bas.” Literally meaning “it will not fall any lower,” is used to mean that the situation cannot get worse, you can only go up from here. This is what I said to myself as I got stood-up, only to find that “Ca tombera plus bas encore.” And I would miss the train home!

 

Berlin – Hidden History

Berlin is a city striving for a rebirth while simultaneously embracing and rejecting its history; its complicated past makes the city a destination filled with emotion and innovation. In Aria’s latest blog post, she discusses the added dimension history creates during a trip to Berlin.

I’m often struck by how casually historic Europe is, but it has never felt so present as in Berlin. This may be due to the fact that the only historic tour I have taken was in this city, though I am sure I could not be so easily biased. Berlin is ancient, with a long history now entirely overlooked in favor of that of the last century. The negative nature of the history results in an odd attitude of “give it no memorial” yet “never forget so as to never repeat.” For me at least, there was also an eerie sense of how recent this history really is, when a textbook makes it seem so removed.

The ravages of war as well as efforts to obliterate evil leave few visible traces of the 20th century. Brandenburg Tor remains one of the most famous relics of Berlin’s more distant past. The hotel opposite it also survived over 300 bombings during WWII, yet could not make it through one Russian party where the celebration of victory resulted in accidentally burning down the building. The rebuilt hotel now has a bulletproof penthouse that costs €26,000 per night (no breakfast included) and is the famous site of such events as Michael Jackson dangling his child out the window. A more somber example of this trend of demolition can be found in front of a nearby apartment complex. Here, a parking lot where dogs are often brought to pee covers the location of Hitler’s bunker. This, as well as the destruction of other reminders represents Berlin’s efforts to leave no memorial to wrongdoers and instead rebuild anew.

In contrast, tributes to the victims are readily visible and frequent. The memorial for the Jews killed in the Holocaust was the most striking experience for me. This cannot be adequately experienced in any way other than in person. Pictures make it impossible to see its magnitude or depth. These unassuming cement blocks transform into a momentous weight when in their presence. It looks like a cemetery, yet unmarked and uniform, recalling the dehumanization of this population. As you enter, the ground waves up and down, disorienting, but trends downwards as the blocks do so upwards. By the middle, the blocks double or triple human height. They are simply so massive as to force consideration of the weighty events they represent.

Later years in Berlin’s history are marked by the division into east and west Berlin. We happened to be in the city on the weekend after the celebration of the wall having been down for as long as it was up: 28 years, two months and 27 days. Again, the immediacy of this history is startling. I look around and see one united city, yet can still find segments of the wall and people telling stories of their time when it was up.

The last century in Berlin was marked by destruction. A beautiful church, simply blocking the view of a guard tower along the wall, was torn down. Historic monuments and buildings were obliterated in two world wars. Even what remains, such as the beautiful columns of the buildings of museum island, are scorched black and riddled with bullet holes. Statues are decapitated and maimed. Yet the spirit of the city is strong. Now, instead of crumbling under the weight of its history, Berlin chooses to find a new identity.

Berlin is a city of growth. Though the wall was torn down only a few decades ago, the only way you can tell which side you are on now is by a brick path marking the wall’s location. Buildings are being reconstructed, some using original stones and restoring the previous grandeur. Others take a modern spin. Currently, the front of a palace is being rebuilt, but the rear of the building will be modern. In this manner, Berlin is pulling itself up. This city is so valuable that it inspires the efforts of a multitude pour their hearts (and wallets) into bringing back what they have lost, while creating a vibrant new personality.

Lyon On The Fly

Due to some canceled plans, Robby had nowhere to be and everywhere to go for the weekend. Even without planning every detail, he found some worthwhile adventures and moments throughout the city of Lyon.

So, this weekend I was supposed to go to Colmar, a beautiful little town on the side of a river in Alsace, France in order to visit the cousin of my grandfather. Her name is Monique. I met her one time when I was 3 years old when she came to visit my grandparents in Atlanta. However, in the past couple of years, she has started writing letters to my grandparents again, but she doesn’t speak very much English, and my grandparents do not speak French. And so I was dubbed as the family translator. Through that, I started writing letters with Monique to learn more about her and to practice my French. All of this to say, she has a disease that disrupts the communication between her eyes and the neurons, and it sometimes flares up to the point that she cannot leave the house. So, on Thursday she called saying it was flaring up and asked if it was okay to cancel.

While it was pretty stinky that I couldn’t see her, it presented me with an amazing opportunity. A weekend of spontaneity: no planning, no itineraries – just go and explore. So, I looked all over Europe for an AirBnB under $25, that were available the next day, and that were in a fun city. I found one that was perfect in Lyon. So I booked my train and went.

I got to Lyon at about 5 PM, and I was so so excited to be out of Lorraine, so I could escape the daily rain that haunts the region in the wintertime. I get to the Lyon train station, and it is bustling with life. So many people going in so many directions, no matter where I went I felt like a salmon swimming downstream. (Get it? Because salmon usually swim upstream, so if a salmon was swimming downstream, it would be going the opposite direction of all the other salmon, so this salmon would feel like an American in the Lyon train station.)

I walk out of the train station for my first taste of Lyon, and of course, it is overcast and raining! I go to take the tram to get to my AirBnB so I can drop of my bag, and because it’s rush hour, the tram is packed. I can’t even fit on the first one that comes, and on the second one, I am smashed against the door the entire time while simultaneously having body contact with 5 different people. Of course, I love big cities and huge crowds, so I am thrilled and look like a total weirdo on this crowded bus because everyone is bothered by the crowd, and I am just smiling from ear-to-ear.

I get to my AirBnB and get all checked in, and it is exactly what you would expect for a $22 room. Clean, easy to find, but not much more than a mattress on the floor. (Albeit, a mattress that is 30 times more comfortable than I expected and 50 times more comfortable than the mattress in my residence.)

So, I leave my AirBnB, find the metro, and hop on. Like this entire trip, I have planned nothing, so I decide to get off at “Hôtel de Ville,” which I now know is in the center of “Vieux Lyon” (historic Lyon, literally “Old Lyon”). I walk around and find directions to a theatre because I bought a ticket for a play. I get to the place, called “Théâtre le nombril du monde,” and check in. There is a bar part that is separate from the theatre, where you can wait until the show starts. So, I waited around and made small talk with the other people there.

The show was amazing. It was another small café, even smaller than the one in Nancy, and so personal. It was about two people that get stuck in an elevator, so the stage was very simple, and it made the play more intense and intimate. The play was so good, and it was a lot more serious and heavy than the one in Nancy.

After the play, I was soaked and tired from having walked around, so I went home and went to sleep.

On Saturday morning I woke up with 0 plans for the day. I decided to start off by walking around the Hotêl de Ville area, this time in the daylight. It was beautiful again. I looked inside the courtyard of the Musée des Beaux Arts but didn’t have time for a full visit. For lunch, I found a cute little bagel shop, that turned out to be an American-themed restaurant. Everything was in wood: the walls, the tables, the plates. The walls were covered with old-school American advertisements for milkshakes and bubble gum. It was a quaint lunch, and I got a turkey bagel with a side of nachos with guacamole. (It was the worst guacamole I had ever had, but the rest of the meal was pretty good.)

After lunch, I just walked around all over the city. Lyon is beautiful: much bigger than Metz with many different architectural styles. Some of the highlights of my exploring include: accidentally stumbling across a zoo in the “Tete en or,” getting churros and coffee on the side of the road, a 90-minute walk along the Rhône, and an impromptu break in a small park.

Now, I am going to warn you, the next part of this blog post is going to sound super hippy-dippy but bear with me. At one point on my walking journey, I stopped in a little park covered in pebbles nudged between two buildings. I sat down to just enjoy the scenery and closed my eyes and just listened. At first all I heard were the cars on the road nearby. Then, slowly, new sounds started showing up. Peoples feet crunching the pebbles, a woman spraying her hairspray with an open window, and the last sound to come was birds chirping. It was a really beautiful moment to sit there, do nothing, and just enjoy the hustle and bustle of the city around me. I know that it sounded super wanna-be artsy, but you should all try it whenever you visit somewhere new.

Anyway, Lyon was super amazing, much larger than Metz, and very welcoming. But now, it’s time for the best part of every week: PHRASE OF THE WEEK, woohoo, wow, amazing. This week’s phase is going to be “J’en ai marre” which means I am fed up or I have had enough. I thought about this as the phrase of the week because of all of the kebab’s I have eaten, however, it doesn’t apply.

A Tale of Three Languages

Thanks to Mme Serafin’s “On My Radar” program, Aria spent a lovely night at the opera – but only after a few mishaps! Read her blog for the entertaining story about not only getting to the entertainment, but also the struggle to understand it.

France has a worldwide reputation for its refined culture, so I have adopted the posh pastime of attending the opera. With a love for orchestral music and theater, I was eager to spend the equivalent of an entire week’s worth of meals (so, 15 Euro – thank you Crous for the cheap meals) to buy tickets to all three operas offered by Madame Serafin’s “On My Radar” program.

Despite my excitement for my first dip into the more cultured side of Metz (the On My Radar program is providing numerous other opportunities later in the semester), a surprise phone interview the night of the opera kept me from leaving on time. As is necessary for any starving college student, the prospect of a job won out over anything else, but didn’t stop me from trying to catch what I could. Navigating to the opera alone and in the cold, Metz at night provided a gorgeous sight I had yet to experience before. Built in 1752, the opera house is the oldest still running in France, and one of the oldest in Europe. Consequently, my walk from the bus stop (where my bus ended before it was supposed to) led through a beautiful old section of Metz.

After finally reaching the opera almost an hour late, I was met with yet another gorgeous building, but with no clear entrance. I guess there’s no red carpet laid out for late comers. After testing some doors, finding them locked, and getting yelled at for trespassing when entering what is apparently an adjacent, but different building, I began to question whether French culture even allows anyone to come late. While I respect the integrity of the opera and the need for quiet during each act, entering during intermission didn’t seem unreasonable. Success did eventually come after following a man back through a door after his smoke break, getting yelled at by security, escorted to the ushers, and finally plopped into a seat in the back.

Once I could actually settle in for the show, I remembered that I had never actually attended an opera before. Singing words inherently makes them more difficult to understand, as is often an issue in musicals. However, operas tend to be sung in the original Italian, making the effort considerably greater. Luckily, subtitles were provided on a handy screen above the stage. In French. While I have taken a few years of French, I am not particularly fluent and have forgotten most of it in the years since my instruction.

One can argue that the point of the Opera is not so literal. “The magic of the stage expresses emotion without the need for words!” I could imagine my orchestra conductor saying. This didn’t prevent the plot from being entirely lost on me, however. Intermission brought an opportunity to catch up from the Wikipedia synopsis, which is something that should be done in advance when time allows. From then on, I acted as a sleuth, piecing together the tale of Eugene Onegin from visual depictions, the plot overview in English, my sparse French, and at times a bit of Italian that was loosely comprehensible. The story is an interesting one that left me without a satisfying ending. In essence, Onegin spurns the love of a girl, gets into a fatal duel with his best friend, and later realizes that he loves the girl after she is already married. She then rejects him, and the story ends. No happy ending, but no dramatic fall from glory. Simply a rejection. A reasonable result, actually. This, in combination with the brilliant Tchaikovsky score, made for a glorious night.

Depth vs. Breadth Touring

A semester at Georgia Tech-Lorraine holds endless possibilities – within a limited span of time! As Aria is starting to come to this realization, she offers some advice on travel theory for current and future travelers.

Maybe it’s the looming exams, but the realization that my time at GTL is finite has hit with full force. I came with dreams of London, Vienna, and every quaint town between. Four months in Europe seems endless, but throw in the stress that is a Georgia Tech education and it becomes much more limiting.

Unable to avoid the tendencies instilled in me by my classes, I’ve been looking at the situation as an optimization problem. How does one have the ideal European trip? Like most problems in engineering, the system in overly complex without some simplification. Ignoring the fact that I have little idea what actually is available to do in most of the places I want to visit, not to mention those I haven’t even decided on yet, it is fairly easy to come up with two general approaches to being a tourist: depth and breadth.

GT students don’t like being conventional. Coming back from stellar weekend just to find out that everyone else planned the exact same itinerary as you dampens what felt like a personalized journey. So, in theory, I’d love to blend with the locals and eschew the tourist traps, but given that I have never been to the continent before, I can’t help but feeling like I am missing out if I don’t go to Paris and Rome. These approaches also apply to how to tour within a given destination. Do you skim and hop, exposing yourself to as much as possible, or slow down to discover the historical context and consequential significance of that statue in the corner?

There is no perfect strategy, but the cliché answer is that everyone needs to find their own approach. My best memories have been longer experiences, some of which I couldn’t plan if I wanted to. On the other hand, I feel like I can grasp the personality of a city better by hitting as many spots as possible. It’s best to do both. Even an individual trip can feel too rushed or as if I am missing out on the entire point of the city. To counteract this, I’ve adopted the strategy of moving quickly at first, to  calibrate to the new city. From there, I keep open to opportunities to stay if something grabs my attention, but try to learn to let go of the things I know are not as interesting to me.

Above all, I advise to put an emphasis on opportunity. The best stories can’t be planned. When in Paris, I missed out on almost everything the city has to offer, but I spent so long in the Louvre that I not only can navigate such a monstrous maze with ease (and my favorite part of these museums is always the building they are in) but I genuinely learned an insane amount about art and history in general. I’ve become a bit of a snob about the dynamics of subtly spiraling contrapposto sculpture. While in Germany, my mobility surprised me, and I ended up waking up
at 4 AM and walking so many miles as to cover the majority of Frankfurt in a day. This led to day trips in the area and a better understanding of Europe outside the major cities..

We’re Not in France Anymore

Having re-injured her ankle, Aria visited a city with one of the best public transportation systems – Frankfurt! But it was a nearby town that stole the show. Read about Aria’s weekend in her latest blog.

This weekend, I stayed in Frankfurt, Germany. The city is beautiful, where skyscrapers strain around historic landmarks, but the trip was inspired by a desire to rest my injured ankle. Frankfurt is known for some of the best public transportation in Europe. Everyone seems to just step on the trains, but just as I was contemplating whether the tickets were only an obligation for unaware tourists, I noticed a sign translated into English scolding that it was “never less worth it” and how deep the fines were for that very act. I still ended up walking over 10 miles the first day, feeling great and excited to get to know the city I hadn’t researched beyond its trains.

My first time outside France, Frankfurt introduced me to the wonders of German food. Bakeries with pretzel sandwiches and jelly doughnuts just scratch the surface. While walking to the metro from the Airbnb, we ran into a Saturday morning market where we ate fresh lamb kabob and bought a huge half loaf of bread that we snacked on all weekend. These markets are extremely common in Europe, so finding a morning meal at one is a must every Saturday. The best food, though, is incomparably My Currywurst in Heidelberg. With pork, beef, and vegan currywurst, all diets can eat this amazing meal coated in sauces that are so addictive they should become controlled substances. To complement, their sweet potato fries and homemade ice tea are heartily approved by a certified southerner. This was by far the best meal I have had in Europe, and it was so affordable that I don’t have to starve this week.

From my experience, Germans love Americans. English seems to be much more common there, and I was most often regarded oddly when I didn’t just assume they spoke English. I’m convinced a German accent sounds more American than the British do. I was even mistaken for British, so they seem to be matching my country’s accent better than I can. My only complaint about Germany, though, is how incredibly common it is to only accept cash. I spent the last of my money through questionable means, leading to a jog down the block to the nearest ATM while my food was already being prepared for me.

To get the most of the city, we purchased museum passes. This is a 48-hour pass that allows you to get into any museum in Frankfurt, and as they all line the river in what is called the “Museumsufer” or “Museum Riverbank”, it’s easy to get your money’s worth. I do not even remember how many I made it to, after getting up at 4 am to get started on this trip and forgetting to make room for food on the first day’s itinerary. As world-class museums are beginning to be old news, I sought out the slightly more obscure. Instead of another historic art museum, I opted for one on the design of everyday objects housed in a modern, minimalist addition to an older house. This museum chooses to organize its contents into “elementary parts” based on “thematic orientation” as opposed to time period, material, geographic origin, and so on.

After covering most of the highlights of Frankfurt in one day, I wanted to find a way to escape another day of sprinting between museums in a city. A huge benefit of staying in Frankfurt is its central location, so even while in the same Airbnb for a weekend, we got a sampling of German towns. Heidelberg became the main destination, and ended up creating my favorite day at GTL so far. This day was perfect. Our Airbnb was the entire top floor of a kind family’s home in the outskirts of the city, where the best tea I have ever had was provided for free, and the Saturday market was just up the street.

“Picturesque, but compact,” as my grandparents, who have apparently visited here, phrased it, Heidelberg has it all. The town has a uniform architecture with classic red roofs to match the rosy sandstone common in the area. An arched bridge crosses the river to a grand gate that introduces the city. The best, however, is the castle dominating the mountainside and overlooking the town nestled in the valley. I’ve been adapting to European city life, but my love for nature has been neglected. I still cannot walk well enough to make the hike up the mountain, so a train supplied my mobility and the mountaintop view I’ve been missing. This castle has it all. Ancient and evolving since 1214, it has medieval towers that have collapsed into ruin, while a pristine renaissance palace stands within. To describe this beautiful mess, Mark Twain stated that “Misfortune has done for this old tower what it has done for the human character sometimes – improved it.” You can peruse gardens and forests, ponder the variegated architecture, or go inside to the German Apothecary Museum and a quaint café. Though originally unplanned, Heidelberg was the highlight of my weekend and I highly recommend finding time to stop there.

Losing is Not an Option

How do Georgia Tech students play ping-pong? Hard – just like we study. Just a few weeks into the semester, the BDE brought the students together a lively, competitive tournament of table tennis in the student lounge.

I once heard that Tech students “binge everything.” While people often bring a certain intensity to their main endeavors, I have never encountered a population with such competitive camaraderie in all areas, from optimizing their path to class to seeing how absurd a game of chess can get when you are allowed to add a new rule every turn. It comes as no surprise that the BDE’s first event of the semester – a game night – was a smashing success.

At least I can blame the bad pass on my teammates.

Given that I can only handle 3-dimensional mechanics when I’m in a dynamics classroom, as others flocked to the ping pong table, I stuck to the relatively less embarrassing realm of foosball. Still, I am quite terrible at all games, due to a lifetime of never winning against my brother (also a Tech student and ultra-competitive). I still managed a surprising number of points scored for the other team by my own goalie, but I chock that up to the frantic thrashing.

With my camera identifying me as a member of the media, I made a few connections with members of the BDE who wanted my photos, and got a bit of an inside look into future events. With the mix of personalities here at GTL, the board seems to be following a brilliantly varied trend, but I’ll let them reveal the coming surprises. For this event, free food, games, and danceable music formulated a lively atmosphere that continued on an hour past the intended end time of the event. In contrast, a presentation on four itineraries for visiting Berlin by a student who lives in the city, added an informative spin that led me to book an Airbnb promptly after.

The evening was given direction by a ping pong tournament building in the background. As the matches passed, it grew to become the center of attention for everyone, whether winner, loser, or unaffiliated. Not for the likes of I, who habitually misses while serving and once accidentally referred to the sport as “ping pong ball,” this event was the culmination of weeks of practice in the lounge and seemed, for some, to represent something greater. Going into the experience with
little knowledge of the sport, I thrived on the spirit of the crowd. The excitement was palpable. I found myself choosing favorites, and anticipating certain prodigious matches with the athletic contortions of the most dedicated.

It’s hard not to be hyped when competitors are lunging and projectiles are flying.

The energy was at times released unexpectedly, with a backwards spring leading to a somersaulting fall. Unfortunately, the most comfortable seats with the best view are situated immediately behind one of the players, but a series of skilled defenders prevented my face from joining the casualties. In perfect moments, the beats of the ball synced with the music in an ephemeral flow. Rampant heckling bolstered the hype, and calls of “You got it buddy! No matter what we say behind your back, we believe in you!” brought back an element of humor. Still in the early weeks of the program, competitors would learn a name then happily vow to demolish them.
It’s this kind of instant friendship that characterizes the spirit of GTL, showing on their faces as the intensity melted into a grin between points.

As the final match geared up, calls for a more appropriate atmosphere were met with the beats of “Eye of the Tiger” and “The Final Countdown” blasting out and instigating a bit of dancing as it’s hard not to be hyped when competitors are lunging and projectiles are flying. the competitors played. This extra-long match was hard fought for the title of “Supreme Leader” and a corresponding crown, but the crowd seemed eager to cheer for everyone involved.

Cobbled Together

Aria managed to resprain her ankle while at Les Invalides – which is almost farcical, given the exact translation for the old military hospital – and wandering around Paris, but that can’t stop anyone from having a good time in Paris! She reflects on her unique experience in the City of Love in her latest blog.

Written by Aria.

Paris: perhaps the most overdone, cliché city in Europe. Rightfully so. Home to some of the most famous examples of art, architecture, history, and culture in the world, there are so many things to do that with the chance to spend three entire days there I got to see…a single landmark and three museums. Not the gargantuan list I was anticipating. The City of Love holds no affection for me and entirely removed my ability to walk for two and a half of those three days.

Getting injured while traveling ranks highly on the list of fears of many GTL students. Tales of overly-enthusiastic skiers stuck immobile have cautioned us all, but I never thought simply walking could debilitate me. A few months back I badly sprained my ankle, and it seems 10+ miles a day of walking on cobblestones in less than wonderful shoes were enough to suddenly, and with great pain, reawaken the injury. Without realizing it, my excited trot down the steps of Napoleon’s tomb would be my last. At least, as I soon learned, there is no better place to be
crippled than Paris.

This casual pose is the product of an inability to stand on my own.

Immediately following the injury while at Les Invalides, I managed to limp the 1.5 km to Grand Palais, punctuated with stops at a delightful crepe street cart and the gorgeous Pont Alexandre III bridge at sunset. Despite the searing pain, it was one of the most beautiful walks of my life. Once at the Grand Palais, the understanding that I wouldn’t be touring another museum that night set in around the time I pondered the beautiful, and absurdly tall, staircase to the entrance. Instead, I took to the stairs of the metro and suffered back to my Airbnb. Despite a notable lack of escalators or elevators at many stops, the Paris metro system is extensive, and wonderful for minimizing walking.

The next day, as if gearing up for a battle, I planned my routes, eliminated waste, and gritted my teeth for the ultimate journey: a block, downhill, to the McDonald’s (breakfast) and one of the pharmacies that inexplicably appear on every corner. Despite this taking more time than I care to admit, I was equipped with calories and a crutch, ready to enact phase two: reach the bus stop across the street that travels directly to the Louvre. Buses, unlike the metro, require no stairs. The Louvre is the world’s largest museum, and when you want to minimize transfers, few places can match its ability to entertain for a solid two days. With free wheelchairs available, it becomes almost preferable to be crippled when planning to spend so much time in a place with few other chairs.

My superpower: pity.

From the moment I sat in my wheelchair, everything seemed to be right again. The pain abated. Suddenly, convenient hooks for bags and coats were available to rest our shoulders. Perks abounded. In my two experiences now being impaired, I have experienced another perspective. While people often looked away and loudly ignored me, this meant the same beggars I panicked into giving a euro the day before left me entirely alone to berate my companions instead. When attempting to view the Mona Lisa, I was initially too short to see anything through the crowd. Before I could even settle in to wait, kind staff members ushered me all the way through the barriers set up to keep the crowd back. I would gladly trade the ability to walk for the chance to sit, unobstructed, directly in front of the Mona Lisa. People often complain about its small size and unassuming nature, but if you break your legs for the experience, proximity brings it to life.

Of course, there are always mobility issues in wheelchairs. While everything in the Louvre is technically accessible, it is easy to get lost ordinarily, and laughably so when staircases routinely intrude in the middle of hallways with no elevator or direct path around. After exploring the upper levels for the good part of a day, our extreme hunger convinced us to head to the café downstairs. Unfortunately, it took an hour of multi-floor maneuvering, sprinting through Napoleon’s apartments, around staircases, and up, across, and down passages with déjà vu at every turn just to finally reach our access point and find the elevator out of order.

No one should know the Louvre as thoroughly as I do after having only three days is Paris. Regardless, the experience was unique and I always appreciate a good story. I plan to revisit Paris, so missing out on all else it has to offer is not devastating. I have healed considerably since then, but still take my injury into consideration, setting my sights on Frankfurt, known as having some of the best public transportation in. While incredibly distressing when things don’t go according to plan, alternatives always exist to make the experience more memorable than you may have wanted.

A Visit to the Football Club de Metz

One of the most exciting things to do in Metz is going downtown to watch FC Metz dominate on the soccer (okay, football) field! It’s always lively, and thanks to some of Robby’s “travel rules,” so was the rest of the night. Check out his latest blog!

I am so very thankful for my French class because on the first day of classes, I made a friend named Fernando. And on that first day, we decided to go to a soccer game together. And we bought the tickets on the spot.

Fast forward to Wednesday, January 17th, when FC Metz takes on FC Saint-Etienne. To give you all some back story, I am not the world’s biggest soccer (football if you’re feeling European) fan, but I do enjoy watching it – a lot. I am a HUGE Atlanta United fan, but know next to nothing about the French football leagues. I did learn a couple of things before the game: FC Metz is dead-last in the league, French people are just as fiercely loyal to their teams as southerners are to college football, and the logistics of trash-talk are just as nonsensical here.

However, the game was absolutely amazing. We got to the stadium, and although it was very small, it felt just like a sporting event in the States. You could feel the excitement: there were tons of  people walking in every direction, and the stadium and surrounding area was full of “ball park foods” (a.k.a. kebabs).

One of my favorite parts of the match was the cheering. Fernando and I had some pretty sweet tickets, in the fourth row right behind the goal, so we were right next to what I have decided to call the “wild fan section” (think of it as a student section but no students). There were all types of chants that lasted throughout the entire game. Some were very creative, some were very vulgar, but most of them consisted of “allez” (the French verb for “go”). The opposing team’s wild fan section even lit road flares throughout the game. These fans were enthusiastic, to say the least. Keep in mind that it was raining, around 40 degrees farenheit, and the worst team in the league. There was no stopping these fans.

Apart from the wild fan section, the stadium was pretty empty. There was not a single person in front of us, and the 4 rows behind us were completely empty as well. However, the game was wildly exciting. FC Metz scored one goal off a free kick and then another goal within the first 25 minutes. The rest of the game was action-packed and lively, but not another goal until around the seventy minute mark, when FC Metz scored again. So, end of the match and FC Metz won 3-0. After the game was over, a lot of the fans went down to the field and sang one of the chants to the players. The players came to the goal box, clapped along, and waved their appreciation, and then everyone filtered out.

Instead of going straight home, I decided to force Fernando to come get a kebab with me. (He hadn’t yet been fortunate to have the deliciousness that is a kebab, so it was heavily suggested on my part.) On the way, we did get a little bit turned around, thanks to me. And, I forced Fernando to follow my rule, that when I am lost with no time crunch, I don’t use a map. It forces me to really get to know Metz, although it may sometimes be unpleasant (especially in 40-degree rain). Finally, we had a beautiful meal at BurgerKebab, what is surely the most authentic kebab in all of France, and then walked around downtown. We walked through the tiny winding streets and then to the cathedral. (Fernando hadn’t seen it at night yet, so I also “heavily recommended” this.) Of course we got a little lost again, but we found it, thanks to the other benefit of my no maps rule: it forces you to practice the language by asking random people for help. All in all, the evening was a full two hoots. Who would have thought I could have this much fun on a Wednesday?

And now, for this post’s phrase: “Où est …. ?” This is how you say “Where is…?” in French. It came in very handy when we wound up on the opposite side of town from the cathedral, and in trying to find the bus to go to BurgerKebab, BurgerKebab itself, the soccer match, our seats in the stadium, and so on. I decided to share this phrase with you because not only is it helpful, but it also gives you a good idea of how our night went.

Time Travel to Trier

It’s #FeatureFriday! Take a trip through time to the historic city of Trier, Germany with current GTL student Thomas Walker – and read to the end to find the pot of gold (coins)!

Written by Thomas Walker.

Last week, I went to Trier, Germany. Trier is a very old city that still retains much of its original Roman architecture. There are several locations where the original walls are still standing or still identifiable, as well as ruins from the Roman baths, amphitheater, and a basilica built by Constantine. Of course, there were obviously many other examples of old architecture between Roman times and now, but I find it utterly amazing to walk down a street that looks mostly as it did to the same people walking it 200-300 years ago.

This is the Porta Nigra (“Black Gate”), built 160-180 AD. It used to be white, but centuries of weathering have turned it black, thus the name given to it during the Middle Ages stuck. It was originally built to be a gate to the city. In the 11th century, it was destined to be dismantled, and the bricks reused in other projects, which was often the case with Roman buildings. A clergyman named Simeon, in an attempt to save the building, took up residence in the building. He was canonized after his death, and the gate was turned into a church, which is why it still exists today.

A section of the original wall that surrounded the city.

Nearby, there was a Roman structure that would have housed one of the three bathhouses in the city (see below). This one would have been one of the largest in the Roman Empire, attesting to the wealth and prestige of the city. The presence of the amphitheater also supports this. I did not get to explore the ruins because I spent too much time in the museums (more on that later), so I plan on going back.

This structure would have housed three Roman bathhouses.

 

The first museum I went to was of Romanesque construction built on the original Roman walls.

Below is one of the original Roman walls the museum was built on. There were many coins and mint supplies found around this wall during excavations for the museum, suggesting the Roman Trier mint was nearby. The gift shop had several genuine Roman coins for sale, but they were all low-grade, high-priced, and had no provenance to Trier.

The museum was built on the original Roman walls.

Now for a bit of history into the town. The name “Trier” stems from the name “Trevori,” which was the name of the Gallic tribe that was living in the area. The city was annexed by the Roman Empire after the defeat of the Gauls by our good friend Julius Caesar. According to legend, the city was founded 1,300 years before the foundation of the Roman Empire by a man called Trebeta. This legend is recorded by a medieval inscription on the “Red House”: “ANTE ROMAM TREVIRIS STETIT ANNIS MILLE TRECENTIS. PERSTET ET ÆTERNA PACE FRVATVR. AMEN.”

 

The Red House (on the left, with the inscription above the first floor).

During the Middle Ages, the City of Trier tried using this legend (since proven to only be such) to gain autonomy from the Archbishopric of Trier. Alas, they were unsuccessful. As a part of the Roman Empire, the name was changed by emperor Augustus to “Augusta Treverorum.” He then decided that this city should be one of the regional capitals. The city quickly became of great importance and size, with upwards of 80,000 people. An amphitheater was built in 100 AD, and a major mint was established in the 3rd Century AD, signifying the importance of Trier.

In the 3rd Century, Trier became the seat of an archbishopric, which is basically an area where the archbishop has authority. This early start eventually made it one of the most

 

A model showing what Roman Trier would have looked like.

important states in the Holy Roman Empire (or as my high school history teacher called it, the Not-Holy Not-Roman Not-Empire). Then in the early 5th century the city was captured by the Franks, then by Attila and the Huns in 451, and then firmly held by the Franks again in 475 AD. The city became incorperated into the Kingdom of Lorraine in 843 with the Treaty of Verdun, ruled by one of Charlemange’s three grandsons, Lothair II. When he died in 870, Trier became part of the East Frankish Empire under Henry I, which would later become Germany.

An example of the Archbishop’s power was erected in 958 in the market square, which stated his authority and that God, through him, will protect the city. The original is in the city museum for protection, and a replica was put in its place. As you can see, this amount of power is very likely the reason the city tried to break away from the archbishopric:

I did not get a good picture of the cross in context, but it can be seen over the hut in the center of the picture.

The city of Trier got a boost in the first half of the 14th Century when Archbishop Baldwin of Luxembourg took the position from 1307 to 1354. He was elected into the position at 22 years old, and was very reluctantly recognized by the people of Trier. During his term, he greatly expanded the city’s territory and made it quite prosperous.

Archbishop Baldwin’s grave in the Trier Cathedral (which was INCREDIBLY beautiful and ornate):

In 1583, Trier was finally able to achieve its dreams of autonomy.

Now, as a coin collector, I have to mention the coins in the museums. In the first museum, there were only a few dozen coins on display, but they were a selection spanning 2,100 years from the Roman Republic to the Euro. The audio tour gave a fascinating tale on how they each related to the history of the region and what events and cultural aspects led to the next coin type. As I am a visual learner, I was disappointed because I don’t think I grasped the info as well as I could have if I had read it. After finishing up at this museum, it was 3:30pm. I had become separated from the friends I had come with, and they happened to be on the other side of the city. I meandered over there to the museum they were in by 4:00pm. When I arrived, they had already toured the museum, so I was a bit disappointed. Then they start talking with me excitedly about the coins on display.

Since none of them collect coins, I knew the display must have been amazing. Now with only 45 minutes to tour the museum, I buy a ticket and proceed to look at as many artifacts as possible and find this legendary coin display. Most of the museum comprised of Roman artifacts attesting to the wealth of the ancient city. Apparently, there was a path dedicated to monuments erected for the dead.

I soon found that I had the whole museum to myself, and after I was done with each room, a guard would lock it up behind me. The closer it got to 5:00 pm, the more irritated the staff started to look. So I rushed through the exhibits trying to feast my eyes and camera on as much as possible as quickly as possible. I soon get to the end with 15 minutes to spare, but I did not see any impressive displays of coins. Knowing I could not have simply missed it, I walk up to the security guard (whose face turns to “Aw, crap, what does he want?”). I just simply ask “Münzen?” and the guard brightens and leads me to the glory room. Here is what greets me:

A giant pile of gorgeous Roman aurii, the largest intact hoard of such in the world. I can assure you I had a stupid grin on my face since I had never seen so many incredibly valuable coins heaped in one place before.