Category: Travels

Endless Surprises

Written by Valerie

I have postcards from Paris, metro stubs from Barcelona, and a museum ticket from Germany. I have gone to all of these locations yet, every destination I visit surprises me. I came to this continent with an idea of what every culture would be like and how I would feel about them. It was all the contrary. For example, when I got to Barcelona, Spain, I was so relieved because I thought, “Finally, a country where I can speak the language.” However, when I got there, I realized that Barcelona is a part of the Catalunya region of Spain, where they speak Catalan. Thankfully, the vast majority of the people spoke Castellano, which is what they call Spanish. As a native Spanish speaker, this was a matter of joy for me. However, a grand portion of the signage for storefronts, products, and restaurant menus was in Catalan, which I could definitely not understand no matter how related it is to Spanish and the other Romance languages.

This unexpected difference created a sense of intrigue. It made me want to get to know more about Barcelona and all her history. That is the interesting thing about a country, it is like the layers of the Earth. There is the surface with its beauty you can see with the naked eye, where the people lie and the music plays, but under that layer is the crust. This is where the recent history lies, where you can see the cracks and imperfections of the past the land has endured like natural disasters, wars, and discrimination. Even further down, you get to the mantle. Here is where you begin to understand why the culture has formed the way it has. Former colonizers and rulers can explain why the Spanish have the ceceo, which is the formal name for the lisp, or why in certain regions of Spain there is Mozarabic architecture. Cultural pillars like language, religion, and architecture are expressions of the past that tell the story of what that land has lived through. Lastly, you reach the core. This layer is the foundation. The geography of a nation ultimately is what sets the stage for what it will become in the future. Nearby bodies of water that stir up fights or mountain regions that create natural separations all influence the formation of a nation.

This being said, I encourage all future travelers to seek out the history of the area you are visiting so you can understand the differences you are seeing. This will create a bond between you and the culture of the country that will make it feel like it is welcoming you with open arms. It wants to be understood, just like you and I.

Valerie – Blog 1

Written by Valerie Rosas – Fall 2023 blogger

Everyone knows when they want something, whether we choose to accept it within ourselves or to others is a different story. I have known for a long time that I wanted to study abroad when I got to college. Approximately six years ago, a close family friend studied abroad in Japan and then in Italy a little while later. Even though the friend is over ten years older than me, she has always treated me like an equal and has been a role model for me my whole life. Her experience abroad sparked my interest the second I received my first postcard from her sent from Venice. Fast forward to the strenuous times of college applications when we had SAT prep, campus visits lined up, and university-hosted events to attend, I remember when I first heard of, what was at the time, the Georgia Tech Lorraine program. That moment was when I knew that program was going to be the one that got me to study abroad. 

Once that was decided, then came the hard part. The logistics surrounding the decision were a hassle, to say the least. I needed to decide what the best time for me to go was with respect to my academics and career goals. Also, who was I going to go with? Most importantly, how am I going to fund this semester? These were my main worries. My thought process for picking the fall semester of my sophomore year was the following: the first two years of college would be reserved for the more fun activities like studying abroad, joining non-academic clubs and organizations, cultivating friendships, and exploring what campus has to offer while the last two years will be geared more toward reserving the summers for internships, gaining leadership positions on and off campus, and acquiring useful skills like certifications or languages. I also wanted to see Europe in the summer, fall, and beginning of winter to get a little taste of what every season looks like. Secondly on the list of worries was who my companion on this trip was going to be. I was not, nor do I think I will ever be ready to be a non-French speaking woman alone in Europe. That being said, I applaud and encourage everyone who decides to study abroad without depending on anyone else because I think everyone should pursue their dreams without having anyone or anything holding them back. It is a matter of knowing yourself and what is best for you. There are so many people in the program that you may not have come in knowing anyone, but you will definitely leave knowing plenty of people. Lastly, the financial commitment that is associated with studying abroad is a concern that hangs over all of our heads. Administrators, teachers, and others around me told me not to worry too much about it. Scholarships and financial aid can take care of it they said but that doesn’t take away the responsibilities we as students have on our shoulders. Scholarships have to be earned and what about spending money to sustain ourselves here for the duration of an entire semester? What about bills? Or helping support our families? None of that simply stops because we are not in the country. This may not be everyone’s situation but if you are a low-income or first-generation student then it is likely this will apply to you. It did for me which is why I want others to be understood and feel related to when voicing their concern about the stress that a financial burden like this can cause. 

Nevertheless, I am here. I didn’t let the stress consume me or detain me from my dream. “Where there is a will, there is a way,” could never be more true than in this situation. There will always be obstacles or reasons in your life that will make you feel like it isn’t the right time to do something like this for yourself. The problem is that it will never be the right time because nothing is perfect. This is the time to exercise those problem-solving skills and find a way to make it happen. Now having been at Georgia Tech Europe for a little over two weeks, I can tell you that there are still problems, but they are simply different ones. The trick is to not let that overcome the beauty, excitement, and happiness in all the situations you end up in. I encourage you to follow me on my journey throughout my semester at Georgia Tech Europe so you can make the decision for yourself if this is the right fit for you.

Places In Europe That Felt Like Portals to New Universes

Written by Swati

I am fully in the thrall of finals, but I wanted to get a quick light hearted post up about some of the highlights of my travels. This is a highly condensed list, but they’re the ones that’ll hold the brightest lights in my heart.

  1. Writer’s Museum in Edinburgh, Scotland

If there’s anything you’ve learned about me the past few months, it’s that I r e a d. And when I have the time and mental energy for it, I write. Going to the Writer’s Museum in Edinburgh was a particularly special experience for me because it felt like I had stepped back into time, and walked alongside some of Scotland’s most notable writers. Literary giants like Robert Louis Stevenson, the author of Jekyll and Hyde, Sir Walter Scott, author of Waverley, and Robert Burns, a Scottish poet. Each of them had a floor dedicated to their lives and work, and personally, I connected the most to Robert Louis Stevenson. He was a sickly child, but learned the importance of travel and widening your perspective from a young age. Much of his life’s memorabilia centered around a love of travel and desire to see more and experience more. Edinburgh as a whole is a beautiful literary city paying homage to Sir Walter Scott through their train station and the Scott monument. And I’ve never found a place that settled so quickly into my bones.

  1. Venezia, Italy

When I was a child, my mom would say the only way to keep me put in a single place was a body of water. I was a pretty tireless child, switching hobbies like changing outfits and belting songs on my bed that could be heard from a floor away. The only magic that kept my attention long enough to stay still was moving water. And Venice was pure magic. I wrote in a previous blog post that Venice must be God’s favorite place. I still feel that way, the whole city feels like a dream sequence. I went the day after Carnival ended, so I got the added effect of empty cobblestone streets and uncrowded ferries. Bonus points go to the two nearby islands, Murano and Burano, chock full of colorful houses and beautiful craftsmanship in the form of molten glass and lace. 

  1. The First Floor of the Shakespeare and Company Bookstore in Paris

I’m not sure if I gave Paris the real love it deserved this semester. My weekend there was very fragmented and in the hustle-bustle of group travel, I didn’t have a chance to sit and enjoy the atmosphere as much as I would’ve liked. Paris is an acquired taste, but the Shakespeare and Company bookstore saved the trip. Everything about the store is the living heart of a writer. The shopkeepers are very strict with photography and demand respect, but I burned every moment into my brain. Gentle piano strokes dance in through the doorway of the first floor. I felt myself at every age. 7 and digging through the “big-kid shelves” at my local libraries, 12 and leafing through ‘A Farewell to Arms’ by Ernest Hemingway, 17 and cozying up in a corner with my journal in hand, 21 and gingerly tracing the antique typewriter in the side room. If there’s anywhere in Paris that’s pure magic it’s the Shakespeare and Company bookstore. 

  1. Menaggio, Lake Como, Italy

This might be cheating because 2 separate cities in Italy are on the list, but what can I say? It’s a country worth making movies about. Every inch has its charm. But Menaggio was a quiet lakeside town, tucked away north of Lake Como. The people have the brightest smiles and shopkeepers tuck sprigs of lavender in the corners of windows and spritz perfume by the entrances. In Menaggio I skipped rocks, collected seashells, went perfume shopping, and skipped through the streets with a gelato in hand. Menaggio is summer “city-fied.” If there’s one feeling I hope everyone feels, it’s complete and total peace and contentment the way I felt it in Menaggio. I also ran into a group of teachers on a reunion for their study abroad a few years prior who encouraged me to adventure far and wide. It’s the only way the heart stays young and the soul grows old. 

  1. Interlaken, Switzerland

I stand by my judgment that Switzerland is a fake country. The water is fake, the Alps are fake, the cheese is fake, the chocolate is fake, everything about it feels straight out of a simulation. Straight dream life, too perfect to be real. But Interlaken is a treasure. Look up and see the Alps, look down and see the emerald water of Lake Thun. The flowers are otherworldly, the water is diamonds on ice, the trees silk leaves, the pages of books coated in gold, the whole country effervesces. 

Special Mention: London, United Kingdom

You know I had to do it. The different entities within the United Kingdom have just stolen my heart whole, but London is in a league of its own. Scotland, Wales, and England each have their own unique charm, but something about London will stay with me for the rest of my life. The city felt like something I’ve always known, somewhere I’ve always been ready to be, I sent messages back to friends telling them I’d finally found somewhere I’d never leave. Not many loved London the way I did, but that’s the beauty of travel, you run into the things you need the very most right when you need them and you find the things you never knew you were looking for.

this is our last chance: love

Written by Swati

And for my last weekend, it’s one chock full of repeats. A weekend full of the old, to find where the new has filled in the gaps. Le Centre Pompidou, shopping at Muse, meeting friends at Fox Coffee, and Indian food at Le Vallee du Kashmir. 

I love the Centre Pompidou. I love it because I hate it. It’s confusing and disconcerting and the exhibits consistently knot up my veins and crinkle up the folds in my brain. They’re disturbing and distressing, which means they strike a chord in me. The works rampage through my brain, French modernism is eons beyond my art comprehension. Sure, much of it is lines and squares, eerie videos and whispering audio files, but art disturbs the comforted and comforts the disturbed. My first visit to the modern art museum was my second weekend abroad. I was lost and confused, and I found comfort in piecing the science fiction exhibit together. And it gives me such joy to know that the very same things that comforted me, now disturb me. 

Modern art reminds me of my favorite English teacher in high school who also taught art history and yearbook (she was a very busy woman), but always made time for what mattered. She told us we were art, pressed sunflower seeds in our hands and said the world was ours. Her classroom was a sanctuary, her teachings sacred. When I’m empty inside, I look for her in the corners of paintings and sculptures. I look for the art she sees everywhere. And this weekend, I could feel her hand in my life. Her warmth seeping out of my smile, her gentle nature caressing flower petals.  

A particular painting moved me, the one above, sans titre. I spent a good 15 minutes sat in front of it. Pulling the characters apart, what they must be thinking, how they’ve lived, how they’re interconnected, how my perception of them is altered based on my perspective, what doors they unlock in my heart. I reach a dismayed conclusion: maybe we’re all doomed after all. Maybe we actually will leave the world as we enter it: alone. Maybe happiness is a task too heavy for us to carry out with our own two hands. But that can’t be it. 

We haven’t entered the world alone. What of the doctors and the nurses that spent months making sure we’d enter safely? What of the friends that press flowers into our hands and light candles on the day we entered this world? What of the smiles of strangers on the street? What of every single person who has pulled out threads of happiness tangled deep in the fabric of our hearts? Perhaps we are patchwork quilts, full of knitted squares where the goodness of the outside world seeps in one seam at a time. 

After I was satisfied with my level of unsettlement, I marched off to Fox Coffee to find my friends after an intense game of Go. We had a conversation about the merits and flaws of modern art, but at the end of the day, I believe we need more spaces to force us to think autonomously in an oversaturated world of thought. Sometimes you must be given the time, space, and material to form your own opinions. Listen a little closer to your lost heart. It’ll always have something to say. 

I ended off the evening by getting matching color changing polar bear lamps for my little sister and I from Flying Tiger and heading to get Indian food with another friend. I try not to eat too much Indian food my mom hasn’t made. Not that it isn’t any good, just that I’m picky and my mom has a special hand when it comes to cooking. But sometimes you get a bite of chicken tandoori that’s just unbeatable. Sharing a meal with a friend over sweet, rose lassis reminded me of community and starting deep connections off with shared meals and easy smiles. By the time we made it back to the dorm I was convinced I had spent the absolute perfect last weekend in Metz. 

Maybe love is all we have. Maybe love is all we need. Maybe love is our gravity, that which pulls us towards each other.

A Love Letter to Metz

Written by Swati

April 21st, 2023

I’m sitting in Fox Coffee, the buzz of a pianist tapping away keys in the background, business men in meetings, friends catching up over coffee, and babies crying meld together, creating a harmony of chaos. Life is about finding peace in the turmoil, focus in the wreckage. Periodically taking a sip of my chai latte and glancing up at a man swiping on an iPad in John Lennon-esque glasses and another shuffling a handful of sketches in the corner, I feel the tension release from my shoulders as my vision clears. This must be the French joie de vivre. I finally feel it. I felt it so quickly in every other country, in every other city but I fought a battle with Metz during my first few months here. It’s a bit bittersweet to reach this conclusion so close to the end, but somewhere along the trek through muddy pathways and tapping excess rainwater out of my shoes, I fell for Metz in my own way. 

Metz kicked me when I was down, trickled rainwater into my teary eyes, then baked me chocolate eclairs, poured me a hot cup of tea and ran a hand through my hair, pressing a menu-etudiant in my hands when I had long forgotten about eating. Metz is a mother, taking my rage with a gentle hand, welcoming me back with warm, albeit misty and rainy, arms.  

Metz is taking off the mask, letting the facade go for a moment, wandering through a book festival and finding authors from different corners of the continent gathered in one place. Metz is knotted eyebrows and narrowed eyes bumbling through French conversations, picking out a few intelligible words and gesturing wildly in grocery stores. Metz is kind strangers with understanding eyes, encouraging smiles. It’s wondering who’s lying in intense games of One Night, suspecting new friends and questioning trust, observing strategy in a fierce game of Go. It’s slathering Nutella and strawberries into homemade crepes. 

In its own way Metz is both comfortable and suffocating, beautiful and boring, a calm pool of water next to the tumultuous sea. She is a baseline, a sanctuary, a suburban hideaway tucked away in the middle of madness. She is the last date before a breakup, wondering if the spark is still there. Whispered conversations over coffee, staring emptily at the ground, irreconcilable differences. Freedom from the chains of love or imprisonment in your solitude? Pick your poison. 

Metz is closing your eyes in the rare moments of sunlight, drinking up the precious, fleeting warmth. Metz smiles sadly as you grit your teeth, scribbling out half-hearted notes in class while staring out the window, always in wait for what’s next. She is a curious fusion of exhausted parents and spirited youth. Leather jackets and black puffer jackets populate the buses, dogs scamper next to their owners, teenagers dot the sidewalk, gasps blended with “c’est pas vrai!” and “mais non!” color their heartful conversations. 

Metz is now a piece of home, a shard of my heart, a worn couch cushion, every layer in a croissant. She is a complicated blend of chai, all of the emotions seeping together, each finding their own place in the mix.

From London With All My Love

Written by Swati

April 13th 2023

London, London, London, how I truly love you. Being in London is like slipping on your old favorite shoes, flipping through your favorite childhood book, finding a sweatshirt that fits just right. Wandering through Kensington and Westminster, I felt my heart fill up with the greatest sense of belonging. London bookstores feel like a boost of glucose straight to your bloodstream. A perfect mix of classics and currents, well-loved second hand treasures and mint condition newly printed novels. So many cornerstone female and feminist authors hail from these streets: Virginia Woolf, the Bronte sisters, and Mary Wollstonecraft. I spend many hours digging through bookshelves to find their stories and muses. Life in London is a thrill, it’s a city that’s exciting, it’s a city that’s inviting. Londoners, in my experience, also went out of their ways to help me. At the British Library, a man drew me a map to his favorite bookstores nearby and told me to be safe in the protesting Parisian streets when I Ieft England. Two elderly women stopped me on my march to the train station to let me know my backpack was open and made sure nothing fell out. Every upbeat pop song that dances through my head feels just right in the city. The brick architecture, the newly restored Big Ben, the London Bridge that is not actually falling down. It feels like the buzz of New York with the charm of Paris. As soon as I stepped off the platform at St Pancras International Station on Thursday morning I put on the rose colored glasses of life and didn’t take them off for six full days.

I spent my first and last day in and around books, The British Library, where I registered myself for a library card (my favorite souvenir!), and three bookstores, Waterstones, Judd Books, and Collinge and Clark for collectors. Taking the day to settle in and pop into shops while strolling the streets was the perfect beginning to my London adventure. I ran into the Thursday afternoon street market by University College London and found an Indian street food stand run by a Tamil man, from the same hometown as my mother, who made chicken curry that tasted the same as my grandfather’s. I spent hours flipping through old novels and found books written by the philosopher I met on the train in Italy. Over the next few days I saw the London Eye, Big Ben, Kensington and Buckingham Palaces, walked the streets of Soho and Chinatown, spent a morning in Wales, fell hard for the Phantom of the Opera, and indulged in English breakfasts and tea.

London is not just a place, it’s a feeling. High tea with delicate sandwiches, flower petals falling between pages, sun sparkling on the Thames. My mother says I fell in love with London before I even knew what love was. And after this past weekend, I can fully attest to that. I love people watching on the Chube, despite how slow it is. I love afternoon strolls in the Kensington Palace gardens, the fields gently caressed by clusters of spring flowers. I love walking down the streets and seeing black trench coat-clad shoulders and simple leather bags, haphazardly layered gold necklaces. I love the hum of traffic along Portobello Road, the jewelry stalls in Camden Market, the busking in Covent Garden. I like to think London taught me what love is. As soon as I stepped off the platform, it was at first sight that I fell. Dearest mum, you could’ve made me English. What a shame. Never mind the past. London, I will be back. For a year or two at the very least, the better part of this lifetime if I’m lucky. 

You Get the Best of Both Worlds

Written by Swati

March 30th 2023

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

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

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

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

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

Written by Swati

March 27th 2023

(Trinity College Old Library)

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

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

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

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

Where to Rest My Eyes

Written by Swati

March 25th 2023

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

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

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

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

Saudade

Written by Swati

March 9th 2023

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

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

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