Category: Travels

When the Sun Doesn’t Rise

Written by: Mahir Daiyan Ashraf

I learned something in Tromsø that still doesn’t sound real when I say it out loud: the sun doesn’t rise in late November. The darkness doesn’t budge. We checked the sunrise time so we could decide when to wake up, and Tromsø didn’t give us a time. It gave us a date. January 16. It was November 28.

I reread it three times because my brain was trying to auto-correct it into something normal. I’ve lived my whole life with the sun as a background constant, a promise that even if today is rough, tomorrow will still arrive with newfound light. Tromsø took that promise away, casually, and replaced it with something stranger: time measured by sky color and when the city turned empty.

On the bus ride to Tromsdalen, I kept looking out the window like I was trying to catch the moment my sense of reality would recalibrate. Everything outside was white. Not white as in pretty snow, as well as white as in an overwhelmingly large amount of snow. Snow piled into mounds taller than me. Roofs wearing thick layers of it, like the town had been accumulating winters for years. Houses and sheds looked tucked into the landscape instead of built on it.

Our Airbnb sat up an incline that immediately humbled us. It looked manageable until we were actually on it, boots slipping, hands full. Kyler wiped out first, and I laughed for about two seconds before realizing I was next. I was. We made it up eventually, a little bruised, a little breathless.

That first night wasn’t very glamorous. It was hauling groceries from the nearby COOP, shaking snow off our shoes, turning the Airbnb into a temporary home, and getting ready to watch Clean Old-Fashioned Hate from a place that barely felt connected to the rest of the world. But it felt special anyway, because we were about to do something completely ordinary in a setting that was anything but.

We watched GT vs UGA from near the “top” of the world, and yes, we’re convinced we were the northernmost people in the world doing it. Inside, it was the same tension I’ve felt so many times, and outside was this silent Arctic night pressing against the windows. Sports are ridiculous like that. You can travel all the way to Tromsø, where the sun won’t rise for weeks, and still find yourself cheering at a screen like you’re back home.

The next morning, I opened the curtains and the sky was painted in pink and electric blue, like someone had turned global saturation up. It wasn’t sunrise, not really. More like the world blushing briefly before returning to darkness. We walked to the Arctic Cathedral, and then across the Tromsø Bridge. That view was the first time I truly understood where we were. The whole island laid out beneath us, tucked into fjords and mountains on either side.

We wandered through snow-covered streets and ended up at the Christmas market, which looked like something built out of childhood memory: a huge Christmas tree, wooden stalls, fairy lights stitched into the dark. My friends went for reindeer hot dogs, whale salami, moose salami. Later we grabbed lunch, and I had baked Norwegian salmon that genuinely might have been the best salmon I’ve ever eaten.

What kept catching me off guard was how quickly time moved. It was around 1 pm and the day was already slipping into darkness again. Not gradually. The sky just started shutting the blinds.

We stopped by the Arctic museum, went down to a small dock, and the wind tried to pick a fight with us. It shoved us around like toys while we tried to keep our footing and still get the photos we came for.

After that we walked along the coast toward Telegrafbukta, and somewhere along the way the trip stopped being about sightseeing and became about feeling like kids again. We made a snowman. Started a snowball fight. Threw ourselves into the snow like it was a mattress. Cannonballed into drifts. Made snow angels. There’s something about snow that resets you. It lets you be ridiculous.

That same night we headed out for the northern lights, and we were already negotiating with disappointment. It was cloudy everywhere. We drove and drove and drove, chasing forecasts and hope, and every time I looked out it was just… grey darkness. And then we crossed into Finland, and the clouds finally loosened their grip.

The bus stopped in the middle of nowhere. No city glow. No distractions. Just a parking area and a sky that suddenly remembered it had secrets.

And then it happened.

The aurora didn’t show up like fireworks. It didn’t arrive with a single dramatic burst. It was more like the sky began moving, slowly at first, as if it was stretching after a long sleep. Green spilled across the darkness. Pink followed, softer and stranger. The lights darted and shifted like they were alive, all across the deep blue canvas.

We stood there looking up, and I don’t even remember what I said because I think I mostly just made sounds. At some point we all ended up lying on our backs in the snow, staring upward, squealing like we were watching something impossible, because we were.

It genuinely felt like the sky was dancing.

I set up my tripod. Arthur pulled out the drone. Took more photos than I can count. Part of me was trying to capture it, and part of me knew I couldn’t. Not fully. Some things are too big to fit inside a frame. Still, I tried, because trying is part of loving something. We drank hot chocolate and ate biscuits. I attempted to track the North Star for a star trail shot and it didn’t come out how I wanted, which normally would have annoyed me, but out there it didn’t really matter.

Then we got back to Tromsø around 2 am, half asleep and still wired, and ate salmon pasta as our victory meal.

The next day was softer. Less chasing, more wandering.

We explored the city, and at some point we booked a sauna and polar plunge. It sounded like a good idea. It also sounded like a terrible idea. I don’t know what possessed us but we did it anyway.

We went into the sauna first, and then walked straight into the ice-cold water. We stayed in for five minutes. It was awful, obviously, but not really. It wasn’t pain so much as a full-body reset, like the cold flipped a switch and everything else disappeared. We got out shaking, ran back into the sauna, laughed through the shivering, warmed up, and then did it again. I’d never experienced anything like that before. It was brutal, but in a weird way it was also very invigorating. And afterward, wrapped up again, it felt like we had earned something. Like we had met the Arctic on its own terms for a moment, and survived.

One of my favorite sights from Tromsø was the colorful wooden houses down by the dock. They looked like something from a fairytale, bright against all that white and dark.

Later we went to a park and ended up trekking through snow that looked flat until you stepped into it. At one point I straight-up dropped into waist-deep powder and just stood there for a second like… bruh. The lake was frozen, the trees looked dusted over, and the woods made everything feel a little enchanted.

And then, just like that, it was time to leave. Flight back to Paris.

Paris after Tromsø felt like switching worlds. The cold disappeared and suddenly there were headlights, traffic, people everywhere, and those orange streetlights that make everything cinematic. We spent the day walking until we couldn’t feel our legs, catching all the iconic Paris landmarks in passing, letting the city be the last loud, bright send-off to the semester. And when the Eiffel finally sparkled that night, it felt like a closing scene.

It felt like the perfect ending to the semester’s last trip. Not because it was the most “productive” day, but because it was a goodbye that matched the scale of what the semester had been.

A full stop before finals.

A deep breath before the sprint.

If I’m being honest, I don’t remember Tromsø as a list of events. I remember it as a feeling.

I remember the surreal truth of a place where the sun doesn’t rise. I remember how snow reshaped everything, softened everything, made even a simple walk feel like a tiny expedition. I remember the way the sky turned pink and blue as if it was trying to apologize for the darkness. I remember the wind pushing us around on that dock like it was amused by our confidence. I remember rolling around in the snow and laughing until my stomach hurt.

And I remember lying on my back in Finland, staring at green and pink lights moving across the sky, feeling my world expand.

That night did something to me. It made me stop, properly stop, in a way I haven’t done in months. It made me appreciate the sheer beauty this world carries. It reminded me that I’m lucky. Lucky to be here. Lucky to see this. Lucky to have friends to share it with. Lucky to be young enough to throw myself into snow without worrying about looking stupid.

Tromsø made me feel small and grateful. Paris made me feel present and sentimental. Together they felt like the perfect closing scene to a chapter I’m not ready to end.

Now I’m back in Metz, staring down finals week, bracing for the brutal part.

But the world doesn’t stop being beautiful just because I’m stressed.

And sometimes, if I’m lucky, it reminds me.

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.

Art Beyond the Frames

Written by: Ashlyn Willis

One of the most rewarding parts of studying abroad through Georgia Tech Europe has definitely been how the weekends offer a constantly changing backdrop for adventure, learning, exploration, and more. Each place has its own charm and tempo. I have experienced countless breathtaking moments from cathedrals in Bratislava to grand parliament buildings in Brussels. But two in particular in my experiences so far have made a definite impact in my memory. Vienna, Austria, and Florence, Italy struck me for the thing that felt as if it was ingrained in their very stones–art. In these two cities, art does not just exist inside museums;  it flows throughout the structure and culture of the palace itself. On every wall, around every corner, it is embedded in the very way life seemed to be designed there.

Both cities felt like walking through a living museum. In Vienna, I was not just taken aback by the quantity of beautiful architecture, but how detailed it all was on seemingly every other building. St. Stephen’s Cathedral and the City Hall, for example, are absolutely awe-inspiring in both size and detail. They are definitely Gothic masterpieces, with towering spires reaching straight up to the sky. Even beyond its landmarks, Vienna’s everyday cityscape felt like a celebration of some sort of grand ornamentation. Whether it was the embellishments carved into public buildings, golden adornment and filigree in shopfronts, or the way the street gates curved gracefully, everything had a certain elegance that felt like the city was designed by artists, for artists. It made perfect sense that this was the home of Gustav Klimt, a workplace of Mozart, the subject for Billy Joel’s classic song, and so many more.

Images of Vienna City Hall and St. Stephen’s Cathedral

With Florence, the city felt like an art piece itself. Walking through its streets could have very well been like travelling back in time to a visual scene of the Renaissance. The Duomo looks like a bold painting come to life, with its intricate green and pink marble pattern and a dome too impressive to be real. I was constantly swiveling my head around just to take in the buildings and their terracotta-looking rooftops all around me, all decorated with some kind of flourish, whether subtle or bold, be it a statue, a fresco, or some ornate doorway. Florence definitely does not let people forget it was once the heart of an artistic revolution. I think what I loved most was how naturally the art felt embedded into the city. It wasn’t just limited to its impressive galleries like the Uffizi; rather, walking out of this museum felt like I was just stepping into a larger exhibition. It was the way the simple alleyways opened up into the sunlit piazzas, where artists were in markets selling drawn sketches, and the way at sunset golden rays complemented the sandy tones of the city’s skyline from the Piazzale Michelangelo.

Images of the Uffizi Gallery, a view of the Florence rooftops, and the sunset at Piazzale Michelangelo

What struck me in both cities was that art was not treated as something separated from regular life to be only admired in the isolated pockets of museums and showcase attractions. Rather, it seemed to be a part of life, with people walking past sculptures and ornate buildings all around. I realized in reflecting on my time in these two cities, as they have stuck with me so heavily, how much I love that blend of old and new, of beauty and function, of history and casual life. My classes this summer have definitely helped me to appreciate these layers with connections in what I have been learning about and what I have experienced in each city. In many ways, Vienna and Florence have helped me deeply appreciate the importance of the arts and how important they are to history as a whole. However, this is not limited to just these two cities, as everywhere I have been so far has had its own form of incomparable beauty. There is so much to appreciate in how each city, each town, each place, something I am greatly thankful to be able to experience in such a way.

A Journey to the South

Written by: Charles Stallworth

A little bit of a fun fact about GTE: your weekends will vary in length throughout the semester! While the usual weekend lasts three days, you’ll also have a couple of four-day and two-day weekends sprinkled into your schedule. Naturally, where and for how long you travel to a destination is heavily dependent on the length of the weekend, and being aware of this information beforehand is very important to planning your trips successfully. If you can’t already tell, I’m speaking with the benefit of, at this point, over a month of hindsight. Here’s a tip: If at all possible, plan your trips, at least in some part, before you arrive in Metz. Trust me, it will save you a lot of time and future headaches. On a completely unrelated note, let’s talk about my recent and entirely spontaneous solo trip last weekend.

An Idea Becomes Reality

Toulouse, France, plays host to a number of Airbus’s final assembly lines for many of their aircraft, including the A320, A330, and A350, as well as their corporate headquarters. As an aerospace engineering student, the city was naturally on my shortlist of places to visit while in Europe, but due to a number of extenuating circumstances, my odds of making this a reality dwindled as the trip became more complicated. First of all, Toulouse is quite far from Metz, with the shortest trains taking around 8 hours. Second of all, it just isn’t a city where there is enough to do to justify it being the sole objective of a 3-day weekend. Finally, and most crucially, the Airbus experience in Toulouse is quite popular, with it being fairly difficult to acquire last-minute tickets. 

But last weekend, the stars aligned. A canceled class. A short weekend. A night train that could double as both my lodging and transportation. And the kicker? The only ticket left for the Airbus experience over the next two weeks was at 3 pm, on that Saturday, in English. I didn’t have any excuses left not to make this happen, so I booked the tickets on Thursday evening and headed for Paris the following afternoon. 

To get to Toulouse, I had to change trains in Paris; however, due to my canceled class, I had around 7 hours to kill in the city. I made the most of this time by visiting the Louvre. 

The Louvre? The Labyrinth.

The Louvre might just be the most absurd place I’ve ever been to. The museum is absolutely massive: I’d argue that if you wanted to walk through every inch of the place without looking at a single work of art, you’d probably be in there for a good hour at the minimum. It almost feels like a labyrinth, with its sheer size and scale becoming more apparent the further you venture into it. With that being said, even with all of that space, it still felt quite crowded in the museum; I’d guess that it could hold the population of a mid-sized football stadium during any given visit.

(The Mona Lisa, a lot smaller than you’d probably expect it to be)

(A mosaic from within the Islamic Art Exhibit at the Louvre)

(An exploded view of a pot, from within the Chinese Art exhibit at the Louvre.)

At first glance, you may assume that I view these absurdities negatively, but it’s actually quite the opposite, as it just added to the majesty of the experience. There’s just something surreal about walking around a beautiful palace, surrounded by 35,000 of the finest artistic pieces in human history, while in a crowd of thousands of strangers speaking dozens of languages. If that’s not what the international experience is all about, I don’t know what is. 

Anyways, here are 3 tips I picked up while visiting the Louvre. 

  1. Order your tickets ahead of time. Despite its size, the Louvre does in fact have a maximum occupancy, and on busy days, museum officials will turn away people seeking walk-up tickets. Prevent this from happening by buying a ticket ahead of time on their official website. 
  2. Get there early. Although it is very difficult to see the entirety of the Louvre in one day, you can still see a good amount of it if you get the earliest ticket slot possible. Getting there early will also give you plenty of time to take as many breaks as needed in the museum, integral to having a good experience. 

Enter through the Carrousel du Louvre. There are two ways to get into the Louvre: the pyramid in the courtyard, and the Carrousel du Louvre, a nearby shopping mall that connects to the space under the pyramid. The Carrousel just makes things a whole lot easier, as the lines are significantly shorter, and you also get to be inside, not exposed to the surprisingly hot Paris sun.

After leaving the Louvre, I spent a lot of time roaming the streets of Paris. I’ve found that wandering around without a specific goal in mind really allows you to get a feel for the different neighborhoods in a city, giving a more relaxed and authentic view of what the city is actually like. Plus, it is so rewarding to find a hidden gem, whether it be a restaurant or some other type of shop, by yourself, and not because of some internet recommendation. 

Getting There: A Night Train Experience

Eventually, it was time for me to head to the station and board the train to Toulouse. This was the part of the journey that I was admittedly pretty concerned about. This train was set to leave Paris at 10 pm and arrive in Toulouse at 7 am. I am no stranger to sleeping upright, but doing it two nights in a row was a bit daunting. Also, since I was traveling alone on a train that required seat reservations, I had no idea, nor could I control where I was sitting, or who I was sitting next to. I am pretty tall (around 6 ‘3), so a bad draw in either seating location or seatmates could doom me to a pretty uncomfortable night. While this wasn’t something that would make or break my trip, I was still pretty cognizant of it while I was on my way to the station. So, you can imagine my sheer joy when I got to the car and saw nothing but bunks.

(A Sleeper Car on the Intercities Night Trains.)

The bunk wasn’t overtly impressive, consisting only of a couch-like twin mattress, a thin sleeping bag, and a small pillow, but for what I expected, I was more than pleased with this. I slept soundly throughout both train rides. 

Time for Toulouse: Planes and Processes

When I arrived in Toulouse, I headed straight for the Musée Aeroscopia for my tour of the Airbus factory. The tour made the entire journey there more than worth it. Walking through the factory and hearing all of the detailed explanations of the Airbus assembly processes was a really insightful experience. The only downside of the tour was that we weren’t allowed to take any pictures inside the factory itself, which was a bit of a bummer, but understandable. 

On a more positive note, we did get to see 3 of the 6 active Airbus Belugas at the factory; we even got to watch one come in to land. That plane is something remarkable, so goofy-looking yet so grand; the experience made my day. The museum itself was also packed with a lot of cool things to see, from Concorde to a plane from every generation of Airbus aircraft. Eventually, my time at Aeroscopia came and went, and after spending the rest of my afternoon galavanting around Toulouse, I found my way back to the station, back to Paris, and back to Metz. 

(One of the Airbus Belugas, taken from inside the tour bus)

(Concorde)

(Airbus A340-600)

And thus concluded my solo trip. Was this an amazing experience that I’m still excited about, even now? Yes, of course. Am I excited to do another solo trip? Well, let’s just say that I’m putting a pause on that idea for the foreseeable future.

Forgotten Metz: The Value in the Local City

Written by: Ashlyn Willis

I, along with many other students in this program, was initially enthralled with this program for all it offers on the international scheme. Travelling across Europe every weekend for the entire summer? Say no more! Like clockwork, we scrambled around booking trains, sketching itineraries, and drafting packing lists every week, all in the pursuit of new cities, new experiences, and more. Paris, Amsterdam, Vienna, the list goes on. However, between the excitement of these outbound journeys and the exhaustion of returning late Sunday nights, these past few weeks, I began to realize I had begun overlooking the city we were actually living in. 

Not long ago, if you had asked me to point Metz, France, out on a map, I wouldn’t have even known where to look in the country. And yet, it has slowly become a quiet place of significance in this movement-filled summer. Particularly in the last week, as I spent much time downtown, I found myself wandering down the cobblestone streets and admiring the softness of the town. It has a gentler rhythm, with less broadcasted stories than larger, more tourist-drawing cities, but the history here is anything but quiet. From its Roman ruins to its huge cathedral, Metz itself is rich with history. Even for its beauty alone, Metz to me seems like something from a fairytale or storybook. The Moselle River, the main river running in its center, is always so magical to me with how lily pads float on the edge of the water, washing up against the stones of the pathways lining its bank. It is a nice calm, especially walking down alongside it on the lower levels with a tree-lined park by the marina.

Images at sunset of the Metz marina on the Moselle River and the Temple Neuf.

One of my favorite discoveries has been the small corner near the Temple Neuf, the castle-looking building where the river splits and creates a little island park. You can sit under a tree or on the benches and watch boats drift by or people walk along the streets, with the sound of the many tree leaves rustling or the church bells in the distance. Just uphill from the river lies the cathedral, so mentioned, one of the biggest draws I have found myself to in Metz. The way its towering height appears out of nowhere never ceases to amaze me. One of my favorite things about it is the color scheme; the sandy gold stone matches the colors of the town, so despite its intricate Gothic engravings, it still blends in seamlessly.  

Metz has reminded me that exploration and travel aren’t always about how many miles have been travelled or how many cities have been visited; sometimes it’s about looking a little harder into what’s right in front of you. Don’t get me wrong; I still catch plenty of trains on the weekends (having travelled 2 days, 22 hours, and 52 minutes worth of time so far according to my Eurorail app) and I love the thrill of stepping into a new place, but I have definitely come to realize Metz is so much more than a place to sleep and attend classes. Whether it’s wandering around at dusk with gelato from Amorino’s, reading the stories about the dragon Graoully, or catching the MB bus from Francois Arago to visit the train station for a field trip, Metz has grown on me immensely for all it has to offer!

The Graoully dragon, hung up in the street or “village” of Taison.

History and Humanities: The Promises They Offer

Written by: Ashlyn Willis

Walking into the first day of classes was rough; it was a quick and immediate turnaround from the nine hour flight and four hour bus ride from Hartsfield-Jackson, Atlanta to Frankfurt, Germany, and finally to Metz, France. Furthermore, there was no masking the fact that it was indeed at its core, school. However, soon after the first week of classes I was quick to count my blessings. I have made several friends enrolled in classes like computer science, math, and more, and although I am a science major as well, I am using this summer as an opportunity to complete my free-elective credits. I therefore strategically designed what I deem to be a spectacular schedule:

Monday and Wednesday

10:25 am – 12:20 pm: History, Science, and Technology

Tuesday and Thursday

10:25 am – 12:20 pm: Creative Writing

1:30 pm – 3:25 pm: Documentary Film

(On Tuesdays, the occasional 6 pm – 8 pm GTE 2000 lecture as well)

I was able to choose classes I was passionate about, rather than ones I directly needed for my major of environmental science. Because of this, I have been able to take what feels like a much-needed breath of fresh air after my first year academic experience completing core classes at Georgia Tech. I am incredibly passionate about history and the arts, and given that I am a person who is motivated for schoolwork when I am interested about the subject, I was incredibly grateful to be able to take these classes. Furthermore, I was unaware of the fact that many of my GTE classes would overlap in content. In GTE 2000 and field trips to the local Metz museum with Creative Writing, we discussed ancient Roman architecture and its impact on the region.

Images of Roman baths and carvings in the Museum of La Cour d’Or based here in Metz, France.

In History, Science, and Technology, and another outing with Creative Writing to the Gare de Metz, we discussed architecture choices and Gothic builds. In Documentary Film, we covered how to conduct a good interview, of which I will be doing with peers for this very task as a GTE blogger! (Another shout-out to Creative Writing, as the overarching focus of the class for this summer is travel writing…convenient with helping me to better my skills in writing blogs!) Not to mention, these classes have helped me appreciate my travels even more. Up to this point, I have utilized my weekends to visit Luxembourg, Paris, Brussels, Amsterdam, Vienna, Budapest, and Bratislava; all places with diverse and rich histories. Given the subjects of my classes, I have been able to notice certain things with different cities that I may not have fully understood before. For example, in my GTE 2000 class, we learned how the use of flying buttresses in Gothic architecture helped to raise ceilings so much higher than before, lending way for the massive cathedrals found all across Europe. In visiting Vienna, I was able to see a magnificent example of this with St. Stephen’s Cathedral; a towering build with the most intricate designs I had ever seen. In my History class as well, we have an individual project for our case studies to present to the class, and I chose to discuss building Gothic architecture, a topic which I now feel quite knowledgeable in due to these classes.

Images from inside and outside St. Stephen’s Cathedral, Vienna, Austria, showcasing its towering ceilings and spires.

The experience of being able to travel to learn more about our topics has been incredibly beneficial to deepening my appreciation for both my classes as well as for weekend trips. I have also found myself doing research on different places in an attempt to learn more about what I will be seeing. For instance, it was interesting to note how both the city of Luxembourg and Bratislava were somewhat built into cliffs as fortifications. Both were cities that I had not known too much about before visiting, and in reading about them, I was able to gain a better appreciation and understanding for their impressive construction. Taking these humanities classes has helped me to realize there should never be a lack of underappreciation of all that they have to offer; you’ll never know how the things you gain from them could help you appreciate more of the world we live in and all the unique perspectives there are!

Views from Bratislava, Slovakia and Luxembourg City, Luxembourg showcasing their fortress-like build.

Eating My Way Through Metz

Written by: Katherine Sanders

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Following the Scent of AI to Vienna

Written by: Katherine Sanders

Studying abroad in the spring gets cold quick. In the first weeks, every country we traveled to sat around 35F°. Walking around and admiring architecture was entertaining until the cold overwhelmed us. To escape into warmth while staying entertained, we retreat into Sephoras. At the Sephora in Prague, Baran wandered over to the perfumes while I swatched lip liners on my hand. Baran is picky when it comes to scent, so I went over with her and asked what makes a scent “good.” There’s different concentrations of elixirs… and some notes are better than others… but I still couldn’t grasp what makes a scent objectively great. 

Since my nose can’t pick up on the best scent for me, I let AI pick. Cosmotecha Vienna is a perfume shop located in Vienna. It’s run by EveryHuman, a company that creates personalized perfumes based on customers’ results to a personality quiz. With Baran’s love of perfume, my love of personality quizzes and our shared CS 3600: Introduction to AI class, this was the perfect activity for us to escape the Austrian cold.

Cosmotecha is a small, narrow space in the heart of the city. On the right, a sleek machine fills small viles with different liquids as the conveyor belt moves. Grey stools line the wall, seating customers as they complete the quiz and watch the machine. EveryHuman’s founder Frederik Duerinck says the machine is AI-enabled and learns how to create new scents with different ingredients. It understands what scents work well together, but takes liberties in creating new fragrances.

The personality quiz starts with multiple choice questions: words to describe your personal style, where you grew up (suburbs, city, countryside) and your hobbies. Then, there are questions similar to personality tests like MBTI. From not at all to very much, customers declare how much they relate with statements like, “is shy,” “easily distracted” and “is curious.” The quiz asked where we would rather be at that moment. The beach? The countryside? Baran and I chose the center of a bustling city. We didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Baran and I took our time answering each question. We added insight to make sure we both had a mix of our own personal vision and the perceptions from those around us. I usually think of myself as a dark, deep purple, but I’m more lavender than I thought. Baran is much friendlier than she thinks. The quiz ends by asking what scents we would enjoy in our fragrances. I chose to have more oud and musk and less citrus and fruit, but the machine had a different formula in mind.

Soon, three perfumes were created, boxed and handed to me. Spraying them on strips of paper, I was schocked. Each one was exactly how I wanted to smell. They weren’t just “fine” or “good,” they were right.

“636” is complex and grounding, reminding me of the luck I have; “audrey” is elegant and admirable; and “vitality” is youthful without smelling immature. While there was some intuitive reasoning behind the names for my scents, the main reason for their names was the reminders I needed. 

I cycle through each perfume now, reminded not just of their meanings but of the experience of exploring a friend’s passion.