I took Introduction to Linguistics the summer after my freshman year at Georgia Tech. I needed six credits of humanities, and with minimal credits from high school, I didn’t have much time to satisfy the requirement during a fall or spring semester. My classes have influenced me to stay disconnected from the obscure subjects I learn. There isn’t much time to love writing or history when computer science is my priority. My linguistics class was only a month long and wasn’t neighbored by any computer science, math, or science classes. This made it easier to grow an interest in language.
My favorite assignment asked us to explore an article about how language affects the way people think. Lera Boroditsky traveled to northern Australia to learn about Kuuk Thaayorre. The Kuuk Thaayorre language relies heavily on the cardinal direction. To say “Hello,” the Kuuk Thaayorre people say, “Where are you going?” To reply, one would indicate a cardinal direction: “northwest,” “south,” south-southeast,” etc. When one refers to any object in space, they refer to it in a cardinal direction (I have a giant bruise on my north-northeast leg). The Kuuk Thaayorre people must know the cardinal directions relative to themself at all times if they want to interact with others. This makes them highly aware of their location, and thus incredible at navigating unknown landscapes.
At dinner in Alicante, I dropped my fork on the ground. When asked what happened, an English speaker would respond, “She dropped her fork.” A Spanish speaker would say, “The fork was dropped.” This difference tells us that when Spanish speakers watched me drop my fork, they focused less on who I was and more on the accident that occurred. Later, they may forget about who dropped the fork and only remember that the fork had fallen at some point.
Our trip to Italy made me think more about how language may affect citizens’ personality. Carlotta, our friend back at Tech, is a native Italian speaker with both of her parents from Italy. While on the phone with her, Baran asked for restaurant recommendations in Florence, and Carlotta’s mom immediately responded with Trattoria 13 Gobbi.
We were seated in the back. Twenty minutes later, a group of older men in suits sat down at the round table behind me. The groups’ food was brought out as soon as they arrived before we could even order. I suddenly felt out of place. Some important-seeming people were eating the same food next to us in the same restaurant.
“But we’re computer science majors at Georgia Tech.”
“We won a track at the AI ATL Hackathon.”
“We are the founders of DressCode.”
We tried to convince ourselves we deserved to eat there, but the camaraderie the waiters had with guests was unbeatable.
Shortly after, the waiter began performing a famously hard Italian opera song. I tried my best to look forward. Turning around and gawking seemed inappropriate, and I already felt like I was taking up too much space. But the men at the table pointed to us. They pointed to their ears, then pretended to pull out a camera and smiled. They were gesturing for us to listen and record and were encouraged by our enthusiasm. I’d love to believe it’s because their language has taught them that enthusiasm is necessary for communication.
March 20th was the first day of Spring and Nowruz, the Persian New Year. While we made Dubai Chocolate in the lounge, Baran explained the initial tradition of jumping over a bonfire. There isn’t any bonfire around GTE, so we lit a candle in the parking lot later that day. As one runs over the fire, they say in Farsi, “My yellowness to you, your redness to me.” Maddie and I said, “My sickness to you, your health to me,” as we jumped over the flame.
The next morning, Baran invited us to her room at 10am. A few items lay on her desk in a beautiful arrangement. They all represented different values one would like to uphold in the new year. In Farsi, they all start with the letter S:
Sabzeh (sprouts): Rebirth
Samanu (wheat germ pudding): Power
Senjed (oleaster): Love
Serkeh (vinegar): Patience
Seeb (garlic): Health
Somagh (sumac): Sunrise
Baran laid out a white scarf and gold dress as the tablecloth. She popped out a small mirror from an eyeshadow palette and decorated it with white eyeliner. It sat on a white box wrapped in a white tube top. The mirror was held up with the makeup palette and accompanied by a gold claw clip in the shape of a flower. She filled one of the glasses that came in her cupboard with vinegar.
A young hyacinth was on her desk. She bought it from the flower shop five minutes from our dorms. The hyacinth came in a small pink bucket, fitting the established color scheme well. The wheat paste was in a small metal container. It’s thick, grainy and slightly sweet.
A bouquet of flowers Baran bought from the week before had dried just enough to decorate the display. A dried flower floated in the vinegar, two balanced with the garlic cloves, three sitting in the sumac. The flowers she bought at Carrefour the night before were placed in an empty Coke bottle and a fake tulip she bought in Amsterdam was in another old glass.
After her differential equations quiz, Baran bought eclairs and tartes from Paul. She arranged them on a tiered platter made with two plates and a glass cup.
We sat in front of the display with the window open, ate the pastries, and drank tea. The brightest sunlight I’ve seen in Metz shined into the room.
Traveling to a new country means a new version of the Little Prince. For some, it’s a new postcard or magnet. For us, it’s another Dubai Chocolate bar.
At a street vendor in Berlin, Baran asked if she should buy a Dubai chocolate bar for us to split. A Dubai Chocolate bar is a milk chocolate bar filled with pistachio cream, tahini, and toasted knafeh. I had never been particularly intrigued by the bar due to its odd texture, but I’ve never said “no” to a new food. We took the bar to Dead Chicken Alley, sat down at a picnic table, and tried it. We’ve never been the same.
On our way from Prague to Salzburg, we stopped at a Spar to grab dinner. Maddie gasped and pointed to a shelf while we waited to checkout. It was a Dubai chocolate bar. This bar had less crunchy knafeh than the first, but it was still good. In Salzburg, we heard a woman say “Dubai Chocolate” and snapped our heads around. A local coffee shop sold a Dubai chocolate milkshake. We had to get it.
Our spring break allowed us only a few hours in Madrid as we hopped along coastal Spanish cities. We walked quickly through El Retiro park towards Myka, a frozen yogurt shop with Dubai chocolate toppings. Melted chocolate and pistachio cream mixed with knafeh on frozen, plain greek yogurt.
I’m embarrassed about Vienna. Walking around the market in the morning, a man tried to convince us to buy a 15 euro bar of Dubai chocolate. We refused – something we wouldn’t do now. Heading towards the opera house, we went into Spar to get an energy drink. A lime green drink with a brown label caught my eye. It was a Dubai Chocolate flavored drink. It looked like Mountain Dew. I bought it. The three of us sat outside the opera house and sipped from the bottle. Horrible. Thirty seconds after Maddie left for brunch with her cousin, Baran and I spotted a Lindt chocolate store. Large green posters displayed in the windows read: Dubai Chocolate. Lindt’s new Dubai chocolate bar was released that week. It was 10 euros and still the best Dubai Chocolate bar I have tried.
We searched for Dubai chocolate in Edinburgh. We stopped in every random grocery store and chocolate shop in hopes they sold the bar. By the end of the trip, I grew frustrated. “We haven’t had Dubai Chocolate since Vienna!” That was six days ago.
Maddie and I flew from Paris to Belfast to celebrate St. Patricks Day in Dublin. The Belfast shopping mall has a Belgian Chocolate shop. It sells cups of strawberries topped with chocolate, pistachio cream and knafeh. We got the bus off a stop early to stroll through the mall and pick up a cup before our train left. The toppings were perfect, but there were too many strawberries. The strawberries were too thick. We wanted more of the topping.
Baran came back from Poland with a jar of pistachio cream. With a free afternoon and an unsatisfiable craving, we got the C12 to Carrefour.
INGREDIENTS:
1. Milk chocolate bars (ours came in a pack of five, but we used two)
2. A crunchy cereal substitute for knafeh (preferably a shredded wheat cereal)
3. Tahini
4. Cooking mold used for madeleines
We arrived in the GTE lounge kitchen with our ingredients and started on our chocolate. It only took us an hour.
INSTRUCTIONS:
1. Melt two bars of milk chocolate
2. Crush the cereal up and mix with pistachio cream
3. Add a bit of tahini and salt
4. Paint the madeleine molds with a thin layer of chocolate and let harden in the fridge
5. Add a spoonful of the pistachio/cereal mixture
6. Cover with melted chocolate and let harden in the fridge
Although nothing will ever match the Lindt chocolate, these little bars will hold us over for when we miss Dubai chocolate.
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!!!
A ten minute walk from the dorms is Carrefour. Carrefour is sort of a French super-Target. It sells appliances, clothing, food and more. I got an umbrella at Carrefour. Maddie got a curling iron at Carrefour. Baran got a trash can at a Carrefour.
In my head, Carrefour is split into five sections: appliances, clothes, toiletries, food and drink. The west side of Carrefour is appliances. There are large appliances: vacuum cleaners and fridges; medium appliances: hair dryers and toasters; and small appliances: headphones and chargers. There is a small section south of the appliances that has cleaning items and a random sale section.
Moving southeast of the appliances is a lot of bread. More than three aisles full of bread. East of that is a lot of croissants. Three stands filled with big, cheap croissants.
East of the appliances is makeup and toiletries. They’re not organized like in the US, but I can’t say it’s illogical. Toilet paper (half of which is pink) and paper towels are in two different aisles. All of the men’s deodorant is next to each other near the face wash, but the women’s deodorant is in a different aisle. Some chocolate bars are also in this section… next to the makeup? But there’s another section with more chocolate across the store.
The center of Carrefour is the produce section. Berries are not refrigerated and there is no sign of kale. If you want to buy fruit, let’s say a bunch of bananas (some are displayed on a giant fake tree like you’re picking them yourself), you must weigh them, put them in a bag and stick the printed barcode on it. If you don’t do this, the cashier will be VERY upset. Nearby are packaged nuts, a self-serve station of olives, and cheese. A lot of cheese. The cheese section is half the size of the produce section. You must purchase your cheese in grams.
Northeast is the actual butcher. There are lots of options for different cuts of meat and different types of meat. Sausages, ham, prosciutto, etc. You can buy meat by the pound or prepackaged, and some is pre cooked.
In the international aisle, there is a small section for the US. They sell hamburger sauce, barbecue sauce, hot dog buns and pancake mix. Not too accurate. East of that is typical cooking materials: flour, sugar, oil and spices. Beans and other canned items are found here as well.
The prepackaged food section introduces a new concept: the nutriscore. A nutriscore is displayed on almost every packaged food item but applies to all food items sold. It rates the item on a scale from A to E and I still don’t understand how it’s determined. Apparently, it’s a point system based on nutrients that are limited and encouraged. Saturated fats, calories, sugar and sodium are limited; fiber, protein, fruit, vegetables, pulsed flour, nuts and olive oil are encouraged. While we can live without saturated fats and sugar, we can’t live without calories. While fiber and protein are important for satiety, nuts are definitely not essential.
Some Lay’s potato chips are a nutri-score C. I’ve seen some get a B. The tub of plain greek yogurt I got was a C. Most cheeses are a D or E. Coke Zero is a B. With no further explanation, I’ll say I don’t love this system.
Walking back towards the center of the store, you reach the milk aisle. None of the milk is refrigerated. Other than plant based milks, there is no clear indication what type of milk a carton is. The milk isn’t in cartons, though. It’s in opaque plastic bottles, and it all looks exactly the same. The eggs aren’t refrigerated either. These aisles are pretty bare.
North of these aisles are energy drinks, snacks, cereal, and so much more chocolate.
Checking out, you are behind the happiest French person ever. They banter with the cashier. You only pick up “c’est bon!” from their conversation. Is the cashier going to try to banter with me only to realize I can only understand “ticket” and “par carte”? Each time, somehow, the cashier seems to know you’re American. They only ask a couple of questions and usually rely on hand motions and clear, simple French words. There is never any attempt to small-talk. At Trader Joe’s, they ask you where you’re from and why you’re getting the purple sweet potato instead of the regular sweet potato. The cashier at Carrefour doesn’t ask ça va.
Maddie woke up on the night train with a nail missing. Ever since she learned how to do her nails in the summer, Maddie always has her nails long and painted. When she turned to me with her finger up, I knew it was going to drive her crazy. Prague, one of the cheapest cities in Europe, also has the cheapest manicures. Baran was enthusiastic about getting her nails done, too.
Whenever I have nail polish on, I find a way to rip it off. Acrylics might be different since they can’t tear off easily, but I’d probably find a way. Although quite cheap, it wasn’t in my best interest to get my nails done. My other option was to stay at our hotel and get some work done. Homework? Homework… no.
I made a list of gyms in Europe during winter break because I thought that one day I might need a day pass on a weekend trip. Today was the day. I searched up the gym, Form Factory, and found a location two minutes from our hotel. I went to street view on Google Maps and didn’t see a sign or a door, so I went to investigate when Baran, Maddie and I split up. I walked around a small strip mall for a couple minutes. Before giving up, I passed a girl my age also looking around, confused. I backed up and watched as she entered through a side door. I followed her. As she held the door open for me, she said something to me in Czech, to which I responded, “ahaha, yeah!”
I walked up two flights of stairs before reaching the front desk. She took my passport, email and phone number. She said, “Do you need a drink before your workout?”
“Do I need to pay?”
My day pass was free. I ran back to the hotel and changed into–don’t think I’m disgusting–one of my sleeping outfits. It was my only option. I only brought one pair of shoes for this trip: my Dr. Marten Mary Jane’s. My gym fit was definitely questionable. I got weird looks, but gains are gains.
The weight lifting area was a small spiral staircase down from the main lobby. One side was for dumbbells, cables and machines. It had the usual: chest and shoulder press machines, a couple cables, leg extensions and a hamstring curl. The other side had benches, large leg presses, a smith machine and hip thrust.
Back in the states, I had a strict routine I followed consistently. I split up my body into four sections: back and biceps; glutes, adductors and quads; chest, shoulders and triceps; glutes, hamstrings, abductors and calves. I lifted heavy weights and pushed until failure frequently which is hard to recreate without a gym. For glutes and quads, I can fill up my backpack with the heaviest items I have and perform step ups with a chair. For my chest, I can do deficit push ups. For biceps and shoulders, I can do movements with resistance bands. I took this time in Prague to do the exercises I never get to do.
The machines in Europe are identical to the ones in the states. The only difference is the weights are exclusively in kilograms. In my head, I multiplied the numbers by two to get a rough estimate of how much I was lifting. The conversion from pounds to kilograms is actually 1lb to 2.205kg, so in the end I lifted much more than I thought.
I stayed at Form Factory for about an hour. The five minute walk back to the hotel left me with time to clean up and relax. Maddie and Baran returned, showing off their new nails. The price was low for how well they came out. I hope they get their nails done again soon.
When Maddie first proposed a ski trip, I made it clear that I had never downhill skied before. I hadn’t even put on ski boots since I was ten, and they were always cross country. I didn’t know what I needed, but I knew I had none of it.
Get the bare minimum.
I needed a ski jacket, snow pants and gloves. A bus stops outside the LaFayette dorms and goes straight to the Metz mall. In the mall, there are stores that provide nice ski gear, but with our budget, Primark delivered. I left with a white and black boys’ ski jacket, grey waterproof pants and black gloves for under 50€.
Enjoy the trains.
The train to Chamonix was the best one yet. We started in Metz at 5:45 am before switching trains in Strasburg, then Basel. The train from Basel to Visp was two hours and went from 8 am to 10 am. We had a beautiful view.
Explore the town during long transfers.
In Visp, Switzerland, we had a forty minute transfer. The station was so small and it was so beautiful outside, we took a walk. We also took a walk in Martingny, exploring a ski shop. Maddie bought pink snow pants for the next day, and if I was an avid skier, I would have gotten some too. The train from Martingny climbed up the mountain and provided us even better views than Visp, weaving through stone arches and pine trees.
Visp
Train to Chamonix
Save money on accommodation and rentals.
Chamonix has one hostel. It’s a long-ish walk from downtown given how small the town is, but it’s doable. It has scratchy blankets, no sheets and no soap. The sink is also in the room with the beds, which I’m learning now is common in hostels. Leaving the hostel is easy with how beautiful Chamonix is. The view in downtown is generous with snow covered mountains. People with skis thrown over their shoulders and clicking ski boots passed us as we walked down the cobbled roads, exciting us for our next day.
We purchased our rentals online from Snowbrainer and picked them up at the Intersport in the center of Chamonix. It was just under 20€ for a day of ski boots, skis, poles and helmet. After we picked up our equipment, we bought our own goggles from a discounted ski store across the street.
Dress appropriately.
Arriving back at the hostel with our boots hung over our shoulders and helmets on our heads, we changed into our ski outfits. I frequently am underdressed for the cold, so I layered heavily. The bottom half of me was at a perfect temperature the entire time: fleece lined tights, leggings, sweatpants and our waterproof pants. However, my torso was uncomfortably hot: long sleeve top, turtleneck, patagonia fleece jacket (big mistake) and ski jacket. I ended up getting a little wet from unzipping my jackets, so I would only wear the top and the sweater under the jacket. We tried out our goggles, and they were horrible. They made everything slightly blurry. A waste of 22€.
Day passes for Les Houches range from 31.90€ to 57€. Ours was on the lower end, about 38€. Les Houches is a bus ride away from Chamonix and is open to 4:00 pm. Purchasing two day passes is probably best for a full weekend of skiing. We could only get our rentals at 8:00 am, and the line took forever, so we ended up at Les Houches at 11:00 am.
We started on the bunny hills so I could learn. I got a hold of turning and stopping, ready enough to join Maddie and Baran for the real runs.
I was not ready. I have never been on a ski lift.
Understand how ski lifts work beforehand.
To enter the lift area, skiers have to scan their passes. I took off my right glove, grabbed my phone and pulled my ski pass from my wallet. I pushed myself through with both my gloves and poles in my left hand and my phone in my right. I start sliding backward and drop my phone on the ground. My phone ends up in Maddie’s hand and, somehow, she and Baran are about to get on the lift. In the haze of stress, I think another skier pushed me forward into the area with the rotating lift. Apparently, I’m breaking a lot of rules because everyone is screaming at me. I try to get out of the way but that seems to make things worse. The next group of skiers, a French couple, ushers me to join their lift.
“You will join us!” She grabs my arm and pulls me forward. We sit down on the lift. “Are you ready? Pull down!” At twenty years old, I’m crying on the ski lift with my new mom and dad.
I fall immediately as I get off the lift. It’s time for a break. After I get back up, I ski over to the rest/food area to calm down. It had a great view. To cover up my face from other skiers, I put my goggles on. They are so hazy, I can’t see anything.
Don’t be scared.
Baran and Maddie met up with me for a much-too-expensive lunch at 1:30 pm. After fueling up from the tireless skiing I’ve definitely done, I am ready to conquer the slopes. I go down a green to reach the dreaded ski lift. I fell a couple times and struggled to put my skis back on, but I was having a lot more fun. This time, my ski pass is loose in my pocket so I can press my coat against the scanner.
Do not let the ski instructors put an eight year old on the lift with you.
Going up the ski lift a little later, the Les Houches ski instructors declare that a little girl will sit with us. The first time, Maddie watched the little girl, stressed as she leaned far over the bar. The second time, Baran and I were deep in conversation when we heard Maddie say, “Oh my god! He fell!” We looked down at the ground behind us where the little boy lay flat. He only fell about seven feet, and the ski instructors didn’t really seem to care as they carried him by his armpits back to the still-moving lift.
I can’t say much about the runs, but the blues were great. I fell less and less each time, and if I fell, I could pick myself up quickly. Unfortunately, the mountain started closing at 3:45pm. We skied back to our starting point and passed a blue that went down to the base of the mountain.
What if we ski down the mountain?
Ski down the mountain.
Baran is not a fan of this plan. It’s completely fine if she takes the gondola, but this is so much more fun! We’re all okay until a steep, icy hill. Ski patrol is beginning to make sweeps of the mountain at this point, and they ask if we’re okay. We explain that yes, we are okay, it’s just taking us a while to get down, and I have definitely skied downhill before, just not much. I start going down, and my legs fly over my head and I smack on the ground. “I’m okay! I’m okay!” I say while laughing. I get up again and fall even worse. The Jake-Gyllenhaal-ski-patrol-look-alike shakes his head and laughs.
Ski patrol convinced Baran to wait for a ski mobile. The next run, ski patrol told me, “This is a good idea. Ski a little, fall, ski a little, fall again!” I was forced to wait for a ride down five minutes later. It was free and I grinned ear to ear the whole way down, fully convinced I was going to fly off at any second.
My view from the ski mobile
Take the film off the outside of the goggles AND the inside.
On one of our trains from Geneva to Metz, Baran pulled out our waste-of-twenty-euro goggles. Her eyes grew wide.
My first and smallest class, Multivariable Calculus, starts at 8:30 am. While I consider myself punctual, I was twenty minutes late today. I woke up well rested, but freaked out as I noticed how light it was outside. I ran around my room to get ready ten minutes before my class started. This class has six people in it, and although oddly small, all GTE classes are small. With classes like this, there’s no room for tardiness, absence or confusion.
It takes about ten minutes to get from the Lafayette dorms to the GTE building. I take the rocky, muddy route as a shortcut. I scan my International Student card at the gate and the front door before walking up two stories to the second floor. The classes at GTE are labeled by color, and my calculus class is in the yellow room. The tables have yellow legs. The chairs are yellow. The door is yellow and was open for my late arrival.
Still feeling a lingering embarassment, I needed something to warm me up. Maddie and I headed to the lounge to get coffee after class. On average, I probably consume 200-500mg of caffeine a day. Sometimes I have a Monster in the morning with a cup of coffee, or I’ll have two to three cups of coffee (only two from the provided canister, I swear.)
My next class was a lab for CS 2110: Computer Organization and Programming. I brace myself for this hour. Due to the small enrollment, twelve people, and the hands-on nature of the lab, students are chosen to complete problems at random. I can’t say I know my classmates well enough to feel comfortable making a stupid mistake in front of them. This pressures me to understand the content thoroughly enough to avoid embarrassment. 2110 is a notoriously difficult class with the content spanning a wide range of subjects. When a new topic is introduced, our class has to grasp on quickly in order to answer questions correctly.
This is my first time experiencing cold calling. I’m not used to my professors and TAs knowing who I am, let alone caring that I understand the content. My punishment for skipping lectures or not thoroughly understanding content was always seen in my grades, never through word of mouth. My concern isn’t just on my final letter grade anymore, but on how I’m viewed in the eyes of my professors. Due to this, I have performed better in my classes this semester compared to others, but I’m definitely more tense in each one.
The lounge fades in between hectic and dead silent. Maddie and I arrived when it was hectic. We sat, working on our homework, hearing excerpts of conversations about Frankfurt, Prague and Chamonix. Usually, it’s a mix of stories from the past weekend or the prospects of the coming one. I admittedly eavesdrop and compare our trips with theirs. We also missed our train this past weekend. I grow anxious when the topic of the coming weekend is discussed. I hate how short our weeks in Metz are. They come and go too quickly.
As soon as Baran returns to the lounge, we head to Crous Cafeteria. The seating dynamic is too emotional: a small room of tables and chairs with big groups of high schoolers. After getting our food, we head into the seating area with the French high schoolers. It’s a search to find empty spaces that will fit three or more of us. Sometimes, enjoyable conversation flows endlessly. Some weave through conversation but never hold on. Most of the time this happens on Monday, a time to debrief everyone’s weekends. As the week goes on, conversation grows more deliberative and prepatory between the three of us. We must choose a train, hostel, day plan, etc. for the coming and following weekend.
Back at the lounge, Maddie and I worked on our CS 2110 homework. Most everyone at GTE takes four classes, and almost all of those classes either have homework due on Tuesday or Wednesday night. I try to start my homework before we leave for the weekend, but end up truly starting on Monday morning. My weeks are filled with homework because of this, but compared to the six other options, Wednesday is the best due date.
After our 3:30 pm Statistics class, Maddie and I headed back to our dorms to clean, eat dinner and finish up homework. This time is sometimes used for grocery runs or laundry, but rarely is there time for a trip into Metz. I hope one week I can finish up my chores early in the week so I can explore Metz again.
I worked on my statistics homework before starting one of my odd dorm workouts. Before I arrived in Metz, I weight trained eight to twelve hours a week. I worked with heavy weights and was building muscle rapidly. Now, a gym membership at BasicFit here seems useless to me. I would only use it four times a week at most, and the time spent getting there, working out and coming back would take up too much of my time. That leaves me with resistance bands, a chair and my backpack in my room. I often reminisce on my old routine. I miss going to a commercial gym and working out on machines, but the change hasn’t burdened me. It’s only temporary.
These days tend to fizzle out. Maddie, Baran and I hung out for a little before heading to bed. I tried to go to bed early in order to wake up for class tomorrow. As I laid in bed working on homework, Zach started a FaceTime call on our groupchat with Maddie. We joined the call in our pitch-black rooms. In Atlanta, it was 6 pm and the sky was blue. Zach walked back from the gym and described his past week–a Grammy’s watching party, spending hours at the CRC and times with his friends.
“Sorry, I forgot how late it was like, 11 pm there. I’ll call you guys tomorrow,” he says.
Baran and I walked back from lunch at Crous Cafeteria discussing how little we knew about Dutch culture. One search led us to a main list of items: stroopwafels, frites and clogs. Perfect. We will eat stroopwafels and frites, and I will buy a pair of clogs.
Our six hour train to Amsterdam landed us in the Amsterdam Zuid station. A metro took us straight to an outdoor mall. We passed thrift stores, a KFC and TK Maxx before reaching our hostel, or hostelle. “Hostelle” is what you would guess it is—a female only hostel.
Hostelle didn’t shy away from its feminine nature. The lobby is decorated in pink and orange with bouquets of flowers on tables and an amalgamation of art work. The kitchen is tiled with colorful, floral porcelain. Walking past the lobby to the stairs, six makeup mirrors line the walls on pink tables with pink chairs. Up the stairs and around the corner, we opened the door to our eleven-person room. The beds and curtains were hot pink, and below each bunk were hot pink lockers where we stored our bags before heading out to the city.
We enjoyed the streets of Amsterdam as we made our way to the Van Gogh museum. The museum is in a canal-side park and looks like a small, glass box. Entering, we headed down below the ground before traveling up three floors of exhibits. I, like many others, was interested in seeing Sunflowers. The office in my grandparents’ Wyoming house had a copy of the painting. I wasn’t particularly amused by the one in Amsterdam because I had firmly believed the copy at my grandparents’ house was the original for so long. There were plenty of other paintings to amuse me, though. The museum displayed many other pieces from artists that inspired Van Gogh or at least had some sort of connection to the artist.
I enjoyed the depictions of Montmartre, other floral works, and a wall dedicated to paintings of worn out shoes. Van Gogh bought shoes from flea markets, destroyed them in the mud, and painted them. The museum had ways of drawing the audience into the exhibits. For the shoes, a pair of real, worn-out vans were on display. The wall reads, “How about your shoes? What kind of experiences have they had?”
The Dutch food tour started the next day at Firma Stroop for stroopwafels. I personally call stroopwafels “caramel cookie waffles.” I don’t really know where this came from, but I had never heard them called “stroopwafels” before this trip. Firma Stroop makes pancake size caramel cookie waffles, dips half of them in chocolate, and tops them with two toppings of your choice. Maddie and Baran both chose raspberries while I chose caramel and hazelnuts. Nothing can really go wrong with a caramel cookie waffle.
As we wandered the streets of Amsterdam, I kept my eye out for a pair of wooden clogs. Maddie, on the other hand, was determined to get a black tube top. If you know Maddie, you know how she feels about her black tube top. Maddie has the perfect black tube top, a staple that I also love to steal. Unfortunately, the item never made its way into her suitcase which meant she had to find a replacement as soon as possible.
We entered into &OtherStories with Maddie going straight for a promising rack while Baran and I eyed the shoe sale. A pair with an oddly clog-like toe caught our eye. We noticed that there were a lot of these peculiar flats on sale, and since I was craving a clog, this was the closest I could get to wearable. The first pairs of “clogs” were a little too pricey and fuzzy for me. As Baran and I returned to the front of the store, we found Maddie with no black tube top in hand.
H&M had one pair of flats with a clog-adjacent toe. They were black satin with a gold buckle. I told Baran if they were under 15€, I would get them. She flipped over the price tag and smiled. 13€. Aesthetically, I could do better. We arrived at the front of the store to find Maddie empty handed.
In Zara, Baran and I kneeled down by the racks to find an enjoyable clog that fit (enough.) A deep burgundy clog caught my eye. It was adorned with a double grommet silver buckle. I put them on and was generally satisfied with the fit. We made it to checkout, but once again, Maddie, with a straight-mouthed smile, stood holding no black tube top.
Our tiring search took up a lot of our energy. We went to Fabel Friet for their iconic fries to recover. The line was fast moving and the fries were very affordable. They come with a choice of cheese and a choice of sauce. Maddie and Baran chose parmesan and truffle mayo. I got cheddar, so we could all try both options, and curry ketchup. I knew that I would taste and probably finish Maddie and/or Baran’s fries at some point, so I wanted to give myself as much variety as I could.
Ending the night on a canal cruise was a great way to wrap up our day. Houseboats float on the sides of the canal, and as we floated down, families ate dinner and watched TV inside. We gawked at the beautiful buildings and the people in the windows. We talked about which one we’d live in. We watched as two boys sat talking on the window sill of a tall building. There were a few software company buildings here. We could make it work for a couple years.
I wore my clogs on the Wednesday after our weekend trip. They were slightly uncomfortable, but as a frequent wear-er of Dr. Martens, I could deal with the pain. I showed off my clogs to everyone I could. No, they’re not wooden. Yes, I did buy them in Amsterdam. No, they only hurt a little.
I returned to my room that night, took off my gorgeous clogs to reveal my sock half drenched in blood. All day, my toenail had been rubbing so much on my other toe due to my flats’ pointy tip that it bled… a lot. A nauseating amount. I was filled with stroopwafel and frites and things close enough to clogs were on my feet. Amsterdam, my favorite city so far, was a success.
Two of my friends returned to Atlanta for the fall semester with stories from their time abroad. Both had gone to France for a summer semester, Zach in Metz and Lilly in Lyon. I loved hearing about their travels. From Charli XCX DJ sets to sunbathing in the south of France, the stories excited me. By the time I returned to Atlanta in August, my friends knew I was leaving for Metz that Spring. Some had advice for living in Europe while others had recommendations for travel.
My friends Maddie and Baran both expressed interest in going to Georgia Tech-Europe in the spring of their sophomore year, so we all planned to go together. Baran was adamant we plan every weekend ahead of time. We created a Google Doc with a list of every weekend. Slowly, we assigned each weekend a travel destination.
If someone asked where I would go in Europe, I pulled up our Google Doc on my phone and flipped it around. Initially, they would gawk, warning me that I would become exhausted. I understand the concern. However, I usually responded with “Probably, but we can figure that out when we get to that point.”
These conversations came with advice I found entertaining and useful.
“Germans think Americans are really funny, even if you aren’t trying to be.”
“Sightseeing in Spain is beautiful until your phone gets stolen.”
“Ask for a pitcher of water rather than a glass of water in France.”
These conversations also brought some critiques from what weather would look like, or how long it would take to get to our travel destinations. At some point I wanted to ask, “why can’t you let me suffer on my own?” It was hard to keep all of the conflicting warnings straight, so I opted to make my own mistakes. I wanted most of my journey to come from my own accord, or at least from a place so deep down I can’t see who shaped it.
For so long, I avoided talking about studying abroad to stay present in my first semester, but when I landed in Montana, I couldn’t keep my mind off of France. As I made my lunch, I thought about the foods I would eat. As I went to the gym, I thought about how I would continue weight training. What skin care items would local stores provide? Could I find my favorite snacks? Despite my worries, I was interested in arriving so I could discover the answers to my questions.
The first two weeks in Metz were exciting and exploratory. Students are given a studio apartment to live in with a personal bathroom and kitchenette*. The kitchenette provides a stove and microwave with an assortment of cooking pans and utensils. The interiors of the apartment buildings are completely monochrome: lime green, red, orange, and yellow. It’s eerily similar to Squid Game.
The GTE building is the size of a small high school, and the environment is similar to one. I usually see the same groups of people in my classes and in the cafeteria. Breakfast and coffee are provided in the lounge every morning. The lounge is where you can find students studying, playing pool, or practicing piano. Lunch is also provided by the school but is through the neighboring high school. Just like high school, you grab a tray and slide down, receiving a plate and side to go sit with the high schoolers in their own cafeteria. The process brings a special case of nostalgia.
Although I am grateful for the opportunity to travel and live in the center of Europe, I can’t say I don’t miss home. Finding reasoning is useless when all the “bad” comes with infinite good, so I’ll say I’ve come down with a case of homesickness. I try to find hints of familiarity in Metz every day. Maybe the cold nips in the same way it did when I walked around campus late at night. I took a walk late last night around Lac Symphonie, and I can’t say it feels like North Avenue. Soon, this new norm will settle into place, and these cold foggy mornings will feel more friendly.
*Dorm situations vary between Fall/Spring and Summer semesters at GTE
