Category: Tips, Tricks, & Advice

Budgeting, lodging, planning, public transport, dorm life + more! Anything and everything our students have given advice on while studying at GTE.

What I Never Would’ve Found

Written by: Leah Injaty

12PM. In the middle of Remiremont. Have you heard of it? Yeah, me neither. I slumped down in the driver’s seat and sighed, staring out the windshield for who knows how long. Despite being a meticulous planner, I was no stranger to plans going astray. But there always has been some way to salvage a thrown-off schedule, some other tour or museum or market hall open at a convenient time where I didn’t have to miss out on too much. Not this time. I came here for one reason only: I was finally going to experience skiing for the first time, a popular pastime of friends at GT who have a lot of internship money and don’t mind broken bones. Instead, I was stuck in an unwalkable town, hungry, with a rental car nearly maxed out on kilometers, and stressing over how I wasted money on my abandoned ski rentals and lodging since I wouldn’t be back at the ski resort before the slopes closed. It’d be another 2 hours until I could return the car due to the completely un-American concept of a 2-hour lunch break, then I’d have to take the bus all the way to the city of La Bresse, and then take the infrequently-running shuttle bus up to the resort. I did the math a million times, there was just no possible way I was going to be able to ski today.

Gare (Train station) de Remiremont

Money is a funny thing. It can be a source of great motivation or great despair. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve usually leaned towards the latter when things go south, even when it’s out of my control. But never before was I forced to sit with such a longing sense of boredom while missing out while the minutes (and wasted dollars) ticked by, bringing me closer to the end of what was supposed to be a lifelong treasured memory. “We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next to find ourselves.” I imagine when Pico Iyer wrote this famous quote, he had something more romantic in mind; maybe losing yourself meant taking a wrong turn in Prague and discovering a tulip field where you could lie amongst the colorful array as birds sang and the wind gently waltzed around you, and you could forget who you were for a moment. I, however, was not having it. If that glamour of “getting lost” is actually attainable for some, I might as well have been sleeping in a dumpster behind a restaurant. Despite knowing exactly where I was, I felt far more lost in that moment than I did when navigating all the uncertainties of studying abroad thus far.

Maybe it was my indignation or my lingering positivity from the excitement of coming to GTE, but I came to the realization that wallowing in self-pity would be a more regretful memory than at least trying to make the most of a day even when everything was going wrong. The only food place within a 10-mile radius was nearby, a charming Vietnamese restaurant situated in the midst of a cobbled road lined by historic buildings, so dense they obstructed my view of the mountains.

It was easy for me to assume that the United States’ reputation as a melting pot implies that other countries are more homogeneous, as seemed to be the case with the countries in Asia that I’ve visited most. However, Europe once again defied my preconceived notions, with people and cuisines from all over the world. Part of me felt uncannily at home when I met a German woman of Indian descent in a museum in Frankfurt, who spoke German with the same accent my parents and community speak English with. It startled me to think about how my family could easily have been Indian-German or Indian-French, and that I could have grown up in an entirely different culture where the “English default” isn’t so ingrained in me. It was somewhat hard to process that I discovered myself in the midst of a large community of my ethnic group outside of just India and America.

Similarly, as someone who loves East Asian restaurants in the U.S., seeing one in the middle of a small town in France was unexpectedly comforting. Being inside the Vietnamese restaurant with figures of glinting golden dragons and depictions of Asian artwork on scrolls decorating the ceiling, contrasted with the rustic French street just outside. It wasn’t until after I was seated and reading the menu that it occurred to me that there wasn’t a single vegetarian entrée I could have. Absolutely wonderful. This day really couldn’t get any better. After a bit of back and forth in broken French, I was able to order a chicken dish… without the chicken. The vegetables were coated in a tangy orange sauce, absolutely delicious yet not very satiating due to the lack of, well, the main part of the dish. Bad, then good, then bad, then good. It was like the universe was playing tricks on me with the undulating series of events over the course of the day.

I made it back to the Renault car rental at the same time as the horde of staff chattering away in French that was far too fast for me to pick up. I approached the lady who rented me the car the previous day; maybe it was due to a regional dialect, but she was the first person to not understand a single French word I said. When I rented the car yesterday, it didn’t even occur to me that they mainly have manual cars in Europe until my travel buddy Cyra spoke up. Luckily, they ended up having an automatic for 20€ more, but I couldn’t believe I had momentarily considered driving a manual for the first time up a snowy mountain. That would have been an absolute disaster. I smiled at the thought of avoiding that mess, looking for any positivity I could find.

Next up was making it onto the bus, which didn’t depart for another hour. After returning the car, I sat in the small, bright-colored waiting area surrounded by cars for sale, as I watched customers come in and out in search of their perfect vehicle to take home. I made up stories in my head about them, almost like what I envision my experience will be like, buying my first car. Maybe they’ve been saving up for years to reach that milestone, maybe they’ll take it on its first cross-country trip when they move to a new city, maybe they’ll take it home today, and their dog will jump in the back seat, and its fur will be forever wedged between the seats. I imagined all the milestones I’ll get to achieve in the next decade; renting my first car, going skiing for the first time, and studying abroad in Europe are only the beginning. What’s one bad day going to do in the long run? There’s so much to look forward to, especially in my early 20s, so how could I possibly feel so stuck in a new place with the world at my fingertips, even if the original plan was completely thrown out the window?



A phone screen placed at my eye level jolted me out of my thoughts. “Would you like some cake?” I looked up to meet the eyes of the same woman who rented me the car; she had Google Translate pulled up on her phone and a kind smile resting on her face. I nearly cried. I’ve never been so touched to receive something as simple as a slice of cake after such a rough day. I had been eyeing it occasionally, still hungry from the insufficient amount of food; I assumed it was for a birthday, but it turns out it was for a French celebration called La Fête des Rois, or “Feast of the Kings.” I savored every bite of that cake as though it were my last meal, overwhelmed not just by the scrumptious flaky layers filled with thick almond cream, but also by the everyday joy of a small kind gesture that I vowed would never go unappreciated.

Since that day, I now believe in magic. Attitude is magic. Because unless someone snuck a four-leaf clover into my pocket, there was just no possible way everything was going to fall into place. Except it was. While planning for the trip, I ruled out night skiing since it was somewhat more expensive than the student pass and since I thought it would be too difficult to learn at night. I genuinely thought I had tried and exhausted all options earlier, but it’s amazing how subtle shifts in attitude can influence perceived possibilities. I left the Renault for the bus station with a spring in my step, finding the small town and the countryside from the bus window far more intimate and scenic than I did when I first arrived.

The last leg of my journey was taking the shuttle bus from La Bresse to the resort, which involved a long 40-minute wait. The previous night, we had gone into La Bresse for groceries, and based on the plain surrounding area, we deemed there wasn’t much reason to come back and explore. The bus stop was in a different area, however, not too far from that same grocery store, if only we had walked a little farther. The view from the heart of the city as the sun slowly dropped over the peaks of the mountains was surreal. A blinding yellow glow reflected over the rushing river flowing towards oblivion, as the streets wound in pursuit of the river’s path, black bars holding up the mounds of snow along the sides of the road. I made my temporary home for the next 40 minutes near one of the mounds, seemingly untouched.

Snow. I hadn’t seen this much since the great snowfall in Atlanta last year, where I got to build my first successful snowman, whom we named Quincy. I bent down to touch the top layer of snow with my bare hand. I remembered sledding down the hill where our house stood in New Jersey as a child and uselessly “helping” my dad shovel the snow off the driveway. I remember shaking the trees to make chunks of it fall on our heads and trying to build a snowman, only for him to crumble if he got more than a few inches tall. For the next 40 minutes, I forgot all about the activities I paid for, the very reason I came here, as I fed the river snowballs, drew random letters and symbols in the snow, and tried to make a perfectly smooth and even mini-mound, all for absolutely no reason. I can’t remember the last time I did something so fun and futile just because I felt like it; most things feel like they must have a reason to be worth my time nowadays.

I got what I wanted. I skied for the first time under the stars, with glowing colors lighting up the dome of the magic carpet. I flew down the hill straight ahead one too many times before I learned to properly turn and stop, thanks to Cyra’s help. When I imagine following my initial plan of going skiing in the daytime and calling it a night in the early evening, I hardly imagine that this trip would have been anywhere near as memorable as it was. The irreplaceable feelings of familiarity in a foreign place, the generosity of a stranger, and wonder inspired by resurfaced childhood memories were never something I expected on something as straightforward as a ski trip. Even though I may not have glamorously lost myself in a new city, what I found made up for it tenfold. I rediscovered my fading childlike innocence and unyielding spirit that were central to my personality until a couple of years ago, when other seemingly more important things slowly snuck into the spotlight. If this is what finding myself means, I’ll gladly turn every corner, lie in every tulip field, jump in every snow mound, and leave every door open.





Oh Right, I’m Not in America

Written by: Leah Injaty

“Legend has it that Charlemagne was led by a white deer to cross Main River to flee from his enemies,” said the guide on the Frankfurt Tour. I blinked. Charlemagne? I thought he was European, how did he get over here… Oh right, I’m not in America. That’s a phrase I’ve repeated to myself over and over during the last few days, and it brings a smile to my face every single time. A reminder that this is just the beginning of one of the best adventures of my entire life.

My semester kicked off in a town everyone told me didn’t have much to see, but I beg to differ. I craned my neck up to see the top of Frankfurt’s St. Bartholomew Cathedral, where the Holy Roman emperors were elected and crowned for centuries. It was intricately decorated with small biblical statues and sharp crockets along the pinnacles. To be fully honest, I didn’t realize what was so mesmerizing about European architecture from the pictures during the trip planning phase; it was simply a grand building that I would admire for a few moments and then move on. Standing at the base where the emperors paraded out of the cathedral into Römerberg, the red brick walls engulfed my vision, and I wondered how exactly people in the 13th century managed to construct such an artistic and grand monument with a lack of modern technology. Cathedrals, with their grandeur and history, are now one of my most anticipated places to visit all over Europe.

(Image 1) St. Bartholomew’s Cathedral

(Image 2) Römerberg

Trip planning wasn’t my only purpose over this past winter break, however. Only 9% of people keep their New Year’s resolutions, and call me crazy, but I think this may be my year. I never really had a why when I’d commit myself in the past to ambitious goals where nothing would ever go wrong, and I’d be in my perfect bubble, being ignorant of all the chaos of life as a student. However, everything I do in France contains so much more meaning now. Whether it’s my morning walk to campus by the lake or scouring the Carrefour near campus for the last remaining shower curtain, my resolutions are no exception. Now, journaling every day means I get to hold onto the little moments of a time that I want to remember forever. Going for a morning run means I’ll have more stamina to lose myself in a foreign place all day without breaking a sweat. Having a consistent sleep schedule means that I can make my no-reservation-required 6 AM train without regretting my life choices for the rest of the day.

I carried these hopes with me as I admired the vibrant architecture of Metz from the shuttle taking students from Frankfurt Airport to the GTE campus. I mainly lived in modern cities and suburbs my whole life, and although I’ve seen lots of European cities through pictures, being in Metz felt like home, like a city I could get lost in with no stress. Even the train station was so grand that it looked like it could be a tourist attraction. It was nostalgic, almost like following a miniature train going round and round in a beautifully decorated historic miniature city, except I was the passenger.


 Metz’s train station

It wasn’t long after that we arrived at the La Fayette dorm, where I tried my hand at speaking French with the staff… after not practicing my French consistently in almost 3 years. Surprisingly, I’ve been able to get around pretty well this past week without Google Translate by trying to explain myself using simpler terms that I’m more familiar with, even if I sometimes butcher the gender or conjugation of words pretty badly. French has become a part of my daily life now, and I dread the day I return to the United States, where it’ll inevitably be put on the shelf as a side hobby instead of a way of life. Part of the culture shock for me was experiencing different feelings when speaking a different language. Different intonations, different communities, even different in the way French sounds pleasantly musical. It instilled a worldly confidence in me that I could connect with the people of this new place on a deeper level, instead of panicking whenever the occasional French person I ran into in the U.S. would speak fluent French to me.

Before I had the chance to properly reflect on these mixed feelings of pride, uncertainty, and awe, it was time for the purge, also known as the donation session. It was a flurry of hundreds of jet-lagged students clamoring over trash cans and Britas and Swiffers (oh my!) left by previous GTE students. Although hectic, donation day was one of my favorite parts of the first week, as it not only saved me money and effort in procuring most of my essentials, but I also got the chance to interact with a lot of people in an unusual setting, all working together to find our perfect haul.


I put a lot of pressure on myself before the semester started to know how to feel when observing the beauty of Europe and what to blog about before even experiencing anything; almost like my brain was so averse to procrastination at the start of a new semester that I wanted to get it all out of the way early. But that’s simply not possible. To travel is to be patient, to live in the present moment without expectations, to be humble in the face of great beauty and great challenges alike, even if I delude myself into thinking I know a place just through photos. My experience will never be the same as that other travel blogger or photographer or whoever else. It’s so unlike the regular hustle and bustle of student life, where every day is a battle to stay on top of things and get ahead, except there’s always more you could be doing. Time used to be a limited resource necessary only to complete what was necessary. I wanted more time only so that I could be done early and pray for more time later, which never comes. Now, time is still a limited resource, but only because I want more time to pause and immerse myself in my surroundings, because I want to be in the moment longer, rather than be done with it. Without that, I wouldn’t have appreciated the nuance of Mozart’s opera or the stunning view from Main Tower in Frankfurt, nor my everyday interactions with café employees and friends-to-be that I previously only knew online. When work picks up and those heavier weeks inevitably get the best of me, I’ll look outside the window at the French lake, or take a walk to a French café, or remind myself how I’ll take a French bus to the fancy French train station in Metz this weekend, and the insatiable urge to take it all in for a moment will come flooding right back.

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.

Winter Weekend in Europe

Written by: Mahir Daiyan Ashraf

I used to think winter in Europe was just like in the movies.

You know what I mean. Snow falling in slow motion. Warm, bustling Christmas markets. Golden lights. People holding hot chocolate. And it is like that, until the wind hits your face and you realize the cold is very real, too.

I’m from Bangladesh. I’m not built for this.

Vienna was my reminder that Europe does not do winter halfheartedly. We trained in, and the city instantly felt composed. We started with the Vienna State Opera, then wandered along the museums and the kind of grand buildings that made me slow down to appreciate them for a bit.

And then evening arrived and Vienna switched on.

Stephansplatz was glowing. Gold fairy lights hung overhead along the streets and kept catching on red ornaments. We passed St. Stephen’s Cathedral and strolled through the Christmas market there. We ended up at Rathausplatz after, and it really did feel like the center of it all. Decorations so grand, people everywhere, friends and families clustered together, and the magnificent Rathaus lit up in the background.

The food did its job too. Hot chocolate, chimney cakes, bretzels, and that sweet smell of cinnamon wafting through the air and making the cold feel less aggressive for a moment.

The next day I daytripped to Budapest and met up with three friends, and suddenly the weekend stopped feeling composed and started feeling fast. We went up to Buda Castle, into the National Gallery and the library, and then found ourselves watching the sunset. At 4 PM… winter daylight is genuinely ridiculous here.

But it was worth it. From up there, we watched the Pest side slowly wake up across the Danube. Lights came on early, one by one, and the whole city turned this beautiful shade of orange. The Hungarian Parliament stood out across the river, tall and imposing, not just part of the skyline but the thing the skyline was built around.

And then it started snowing.

Not the “cute flakes” kind. Real snow. Massive flakes. The kind that made everything feel ten times colder. We took a hot chocolate break and just watched Budapest in the snow for a bit, hands wrapped around the warm mug.

We went to Fisherman’s Bastion after, got the views, and then immediately made a classic mistake on the way down by taking the wrong bus. It was just the driver and us, and neither side understood the other, so the whole situation became guessing, hand gestures, and awkward laughter. After a long detour, we made it to the Parliament and the Shoes on the Danube.

Eventually I headed back to Vienna, and the wind there was not playing around. The gusts kept pushing me sideways as I walked, snow coming down hard enough to start whitening the streets and piling onto cars, while the red trams kept moving through it all like clockwork.

The next morning, we went to Schönbrunn’s Christmas market, and then it was time to head back to Metz. The train ride back was its own drama. Let’s just call it another Deutsche Bahn tale, by now we can assume what that means.

I got back and the fever hit that night, like my body waited until I was safely home to finally crash. The annoying part is that it makes the whole weekend feel even more real in hindsight, because the photos look magical and my memory of it is basically: lights, snow, wind, hot chocolate, repeat.

And with a trip to the Arctic Circle coming up… oh boy. I better brace up.

Life Between Platforms

Written by: Mahir Daiyan Ashraf

Four hours used to feel far.

Back home, a four-hour trip meant something serious. In Dhaka it could mean traffic, planning, being stuck in a car long enough to traverse half the country. In Atlanta it usually meant a road trip, gas stops, maybe a Buc-ee’s if you were lucky. The distance felt heavy and you had to commit to it being a grand trip.

Then I came to Georgia Tech-Europe and got a Eurail pass.

Suddenly four hours became “Oh, it’s just one train.”

My semester here has been stitched together by platforms and departure boards. When I think back on these months, I know I’ll remember the bigger moments in Prague or Florence, but I have a feeling the quieter memories in between cities will sneak up on me just as often. The hours in motion. The time when you are not really anywhere, just floating through a corridor of tracks.

It starts on the platform.

There is a particular kind of early-morning cold that exists at train stations. You are half awake, wrapped in a hoodie you regret not washing, backpack heavier than you remember packing it, suitcase wheels rattling over uneven tiles. The sky is still a dark blue, the station lights are yellow. Someone is clutching a coffee, someone else is already eating a suspiciously early croissant. Your friends huddle in a circle around one phone, double-checking that this is, in fact, the right train.

The first weekend I did a “long” trip, anything over two hours sounded daunting. I checked the Eurail app every five minutes. What if the connection was too short? What if the platform changed at the last second? What if we got on the wrong half of a split train and ended up in a different country? My sense of distance was still in car mode. Trains felt like magic, but also like they might betray me.

Then came the really long ones.

On the fourteen-hour overnight ride to Prague, time stopped behaving in a normal way. The train left one city in daylight and arrived in another with a completely different language and architecture, and my brain never got a clean transition. We cycled through every possible train activity. Studying. Trying to read. Failing to read. Having snacks that definitely did not qualify as a real meal. Watching dark fields slide past, dotted with tiny clusters of lights.

At some point in the early morning, a few of us woke up dazed and stiff from dozing off in the wrong position. The cabin was quiet except for the hum of the tracks. Outside, there were patches of fog and little toy-like houses. No one said anything for a while. Everyone was half in their own thoughts but still sharing the same experience.

Not every long journey is that cinematic though. Some are just pure survival. In Switzerland, our gondola coming down the mountain broke down, then the train itself broke down, and what was meant to be a light connection of an hour and a half turned into a race against time. We basically launched ourselves out of the carriage and sprinted down the platform so fast that the conductor actually looked alarmed. On paper it was a zero-minute transfer. In reality it was a blur of stairs, backpacks, and the motivation of knowing that missing this train meant sleeping on a bench for the night.

Other nights, we did not even have a bench. In Chiasso, in the middle of the night, we ended up trying to sleep on the floor of a train station when it was four degrees Celsius. With no actual doors separating us from the outside world, the cold cut through every layer we were wearing and settled straight into our spines. The station echoes differently at that hour. Every passing person’s step feels huge. Every announcement feels louder. I remember thinking that this was still technically part of my “study abroad experience” and wondering if future me would ever look back on it fondly. (Right now the answer is still no.)

And that is what trains gave me this semester more than anything else: frames. Pieces of time where life was temporarily narrowed to a window and some tracks and whoever happened to share the row.

Planes never did that for me. Planes are about getting it over with. Cars are about controlling the route. Trains are different. They turn travel into something you inhabit. You are not just going from Metz to somewhere else. You are living through the distance between.

I realized how much my sense of “far” was changing one random weekend when I caught myself saying, “Yeah, it’s just a quick three-hour train.” Three hours. “Quick.” My past self would like a word.

But that is what Europe and its rail network quietly do to you. They shrink the mental map. Cities that once sounded like separate chapters suddenly sit on the same double-page spread. Paris, Madrid, Milan, Prague. In my head they are no longer disconnected points on a globe, but rather stops, transfers. Places where I once sprinted up or down concrete stairs with my backpack bouncing behind me.

Of course, it is not always peaceful. Sometimes “life between platforms” looks like running through a station, scaring everyone around you because your first train was late by eight cursed minutes. It looks like frantically scanning departure boards in a language you do not speak, trying to decode which “Verspätung” is going to ruin your carefully planned itinerary. It looks like hauling your backpack down a platform that seems to go on forever, past thirty calm people who absolutely know where they are going, while you definitely do not.

Sometimes it looks like other people’s disasters too. Friends who sleep through their stop near Munich and do not realize until they are well past where they were supposed to get off. Friends who hop off at what they think is their stop and end up stranded in Strasbourg with no trains back. Friends who took an early-morning train in such a daze that they forgot their suitcase, which is probably still commuting Metz–Luxembourg somewhere out there.

But even those chaotic moments have their own kind of adrenaline memory. The relief when you fall into your seat and the doors close behind you. The way your group dissolves into a communal sigh of relief once the train actually starts moving.

And then there are the returns to Metz.

Late at night, on the last connection home. The carriage is dimmer and quieter. Everyone tired but our minds still replaying the weekend in fragments. A cathedral here. A wrong tram there. A plate of something you cannot pronounce. People scroll through photos, send updates to family, or just stare out into their own reflection in the window.

You pass through small towns lit by a handful of streetlights and think about how many versions of “home” you have now. Bangladesh. Atlanta. Metz for this brief chapter. The train is literally moving you from one to another, but there is a part of you that feels strangely stationary, like you are watching your own life slide by outside.

That is what I will miss when this semester ends. Not just the convenient access to a dozen countries or the ability to say “We could do a day trip there.” I will miss the in-between part. The platform adventures.

When I go back to a world of highways and airport security lines, I think some part of my brain will still be tuned to the rhythm of European trains. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there will always be a departure board flipping to a new city and a voice saying, almost casually,

“It’s just one train away.”

Prague, Read Like A Clock

Written by: Mahir Daiyan Ashraf

Fourteen hours on a train does weird things to time. We arrived in Prague around 11 a.m., hungry and a little dazed, and dropped our bags at the hostel. We went to a Czech spot nearby, where I got a beef goulash. Peppery, steadying, and totally carried by the bread, I give it a solid 7/10.

We let the afternoon take the lead. Kafka’s Head appeared like a trick of light, a mirrored face that assembles and dissolves as 42 stainless steel layers rotate on their own choreography. From there we wandered through Klementinum, peeking at cloisters, hoping to see the historic library, only to find it closed for the day. So we detoured through City Hall, paused in St. Nicholas Church, and drifted past the spires of the Church of Our Lady before Týn. As we exited, the Old Town Square pulled us along with everyone else, and there it was: the Astronomical Clock.

A mechanical marvel, the Astronomical Clock came to life in the early 1400s, kept working through fires and repairs and still stands mightily in the centre of Old Town Square. We stared for a while, pretending we knew what everything meant, before doing what every modern traveler does when faced with medieval complexity: we pulled out our phones and looked it up. Here’s the short, actually useful version of how to read it.

What you’re looking at:
The colorful circle in the middle is called an astrolabe, and everything that moves on it is telling you something.

  • Colors: The background is split into three parts. The blue section is daytime. The orange band shows dawn and dusk. The black section represents night. The center, where all the hands meet, marks Earth—and specifically, Prague’s spot on it.
  • Numbers: Three kinds: Roman numerals for the regular time we use now, Gothic numerals on the outer ring for Old Czech Time, and Arabic numerals in gold for Babylonian hours that divide daylight into twelve uneven pieces.
  • The golden hand: This is the one to watch. It points to both the Roman numerals (modern time) and the Gothic numerals (Old Czech Time).
  • The sun icon: On the same rod as the golden hand. It moves up and down through blue, orange, and black, literally following the position of the sun in the sky. It also passes through zodiac symbols as the year turns.
  • The moon sphere: Half silver and half black, it rotates to show the moon’s phase, just like you’d see it outside at night.
  • The zodiac ring: The dark band with golden symbols for the twelve signs. Each tiny section around them represents a few days. Wider sections mean longer days in summer, narrower ones shorter days in winter.

The calendar plate: Below the main dial sits a large circle with painted months and holidays, added later in the 1400s. Above, the little windows where the apostles appear each hour.

  • Modern time: Find the golden hand and see where it lands on the Roman numerals. That’s your hour. If you’re visiting in summer, add one hour for daylight saving.
  • Old Czech time: Look at where the same golden hand points on the Gothic numerals. Count forward to 24 to see how many hours remain until sunset. Back then, a new day began when the sun went down, not at midnight.
  • Babylonian time: Track the sun icon and check the small Arabic number near it. It tells you how many daylight hours have passed since sunrise. The hours change length as the seasons change, which is why it’s mostly symbolic today.

Once you’ve read it once, the hourly show with the apostles feels like a bonus instead of the main event. The real beauty of the clock is that it turns time itself into public art. It’s a piece of science that people have been reading in the open for centuries.

We stepped away from the crowd and followed the light to the river. The Vltava was calm, bridges glowing. Near Náměstí Republiky we found a set of giant colorful mirrors, and Chris, Kyler, and Matthew did a photoshoot there. Dinner was at Giovanni’s, pizza that easily earned a 9/10, and when we came back out, the tower was glowing for the Signal Festival. Butterflies of light fluttered across stone, and every building seemed to hum. Later, we found a basement packed for a Czech punk band. Afterwards, we crossed Charles Bridge under a light rain, and watched the whole city shimmer in that golden European streetlight glow.

The next morning began slower. The city felt softer in daylight. We crossed one of the bridges and started a mini-hike towards a hill-top where the Petřín Tower was. From a distance, I tried to convince everyone that it was actually the Eiffel Tower. We climbed through the park, stopped to breathe in the view of red roofs below, and made our way toward Strahov Monastery.

From there, we followed the crowds uphill to St. Vitus Cathedral. The line wrapped around the church, curled into itself, and then disappeared behind the main entrance. It looked endless. Prague Castle loomed above it all, wide and unbothered.

Lunch was not Czech, not traditional, not even close. We found a Mexican restaurant tucked between souvenir shops and went in half as a joke, but it turned out to be one of the best meals of the trip. A 9.5 out of 10, maybe a perfect 10 if I wasn’t trying to sound objective. 

After regrouping at the hostel, we hopped on a tram to Eden Arena, home of Slavia Praha. The match against FC Zlín was already in motion by the time we reached our seats. The ultras section pulsed like a living drum—chants rolling, flares burning red, flags swallowing the stands. We did not understand a single Czech football chant, but still joined in unison. We left hoarse and thrilled, ears still ringing.

Dessert was a chimney cake, warm and sugared, with a name too dramatic not to order—Spirit of Dubai. Pistachio and chocolate, crisp on the outside, soft inside, everything you want after a day that stretched far past its energy budget.

Sunday came quietly. Some of our group left early for Metz. The rest of us had breakfast at Globe Bookstore & Café, a mix of shelves and chatter, where you can eat and read and forget which one you started doing first. I give it an 8 for the plate and a 10 for the calm it carried.

We spent the afternoon drifting through side streets, vintage stores, and a small antique shop where the owner gifted me a 1950s Austrian ten Groschen coin. Later we grabbed banh mi (8.5 out of 10) and wandered through an art exhibit that Jason disliked so passionately it became its own entertainment. By the time we returned to the station, the sky had turned the same silver-blue as the clock’s dial, and for a moment the weekend felt perfectly looped.

Prague leaves you with that sense of slow turning. The city never hurries you. Time doesn’t just pass here. It circles like the clock, and if you stand still long enough, you feel yourself turning with it.

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.

Finding My Way in Metz

Written by: Mahir Daiyan Ashraf

Before leaving for Metz, I told myself I wouldn’t be nervous. After all, I’d already crossed an ocean to study in Atlanta, far from Dhaka. How different could this be? But as my departure date crept closer, the nerves started piling up. Balancing tough classes, cooking for myself for the first time, navigating buses and trains in a language I half-remembered, planning trips on the weekends, writing for this blog…it felt like a lot to shoulder at once.

By the time I walked through the airport, though, the nerves had dulled into something else, a quiet kind of determination. I’d done this before. I could do it again.

After a long layover in Bahrain, I finally landed in Frankfurt. The first thing I noticed? A food counter stacked high with bread and cheese. Somehow, that tiny image summed up Europe for me more than any welcome sign could. Soon enough, I found the other students at the meeting point, and we piled onto the shuttle. We stared in amazement out the window at the rows of wind turbines stretched into the horizon as the bus drove us toward Metz.

Kyler and I were dropped off first at ResidHome, since we were living away from the main dorms. Tugging our suitcases behind us, we made the most logical choice a pair of jetlagged students could make: instead of unpacking, we set off into the city in search of food (as well as the shrimp Big Mac Kyler was so desperately trying to get). We wandered aimlessly until we found a tiny place called MM Chicken Spicy. To our surprise, we actually managed to order in French and walked out with dürüms in our hands.

We wandered past colorful macaron displays, matcha packets stacked taller than my head, and storefronts that already hinted at how different daily life would be here. Then, in classic “day one abroad” fashion, we managed to board the wrong bus and got dropped off at the opposite end of Metz by a driver heading on break. Welcome to Metz.

The next morning was orientation. We were greeted by faculty, toured the Georgia Tech-Europe building, and were met by food trucks waiting outside. Classes started the following day, and life here began to take shape.

Now, mornings mean walking to the bus stop past Gare de Metz, watching locals carry baguettes tucked neatly into tote bags, the air filled with the smell of croissants and warm bread. At GTE, breakfast often includes pain au chocolat, croissants, and sometimes a jelly-filled donut whose name I still haven’t learned. In between classes, the student lounge thrives, buzzing with students, with mandatory breaks for table tennis and pool in between.

The C12 bus has become my favorite, mostly because it drops me closest to GTE (and because I’m lazy in the mornings). I’ve taken it so often now that the driver nods when I board, a small gesture that makes the city feel less foreign. Even the people at MM Chicken Spicy recognize me when I come in with friends, greeting us warmly. These little connections add a sense of belonging that I didn’t expect to find so soon.

Metz itself has kept surprising me. The city has a Gothic soul, cathedrals and arches that carry centuries of history, but it also feels alive, especially during events like the Mirabelle Festival. Metz’s golden plums are its pride, and for a weekend the whole city celebrates them. Streets filled with music and dancing, stalls offering jams and pies, children running around, and at night, the cathedral lit up in dazzling colors. Standing there in the crowd, it felt like Metz had opened a door for us, saying this is who we are.

GTE is already showing me that this semester will be unlike any other. The small classes make the community feel tight-knit—you quickly learn everyone’s name. But balancing academics with the responsibilities of daily life? That’s no joke. Cooking, traveling, managing logistics, and fumbling through conversations with locals who are patient but amused at my French stretch me every day. And yet, those very challenges are what make me feel like I’m growing.

Now that the first few weeks have passed, the nerves I carried here feel a little lighter. Yes, it’s a lot. But it’s also worth it. Between the smell of fresh bread on the way to class, the festivals lighting up the city, and the laughter that comes from bus mishaps and language slip-ups, like accidentally saying por favor instead of s’il vous plaît, Metz is becoming more than just my “study abroad city.” It’s the place where I’ll build routines, make mistakes, laugh about bus rides gone wrong, and maybe discover a few more festivals I didn’t know existed.

Georgia Tech-Europe is a small community, but that also means it’s a close one. Everyone knows each other, and everyone’s learning to manage life abroad together. The familiar nod of a bus driver. The light catching on old stone at sunset. The moments that feel fleeting but make a place stay with you.

And if the beginning is any sign, there are plenty more stories waiting to be told.

That’s All Folks! Parting Words and a Small Surprise

Written by: Alex Stallworth and Ashlyn Willis

As a final goodbye, we’ve decided to come together to create an exhaustive list of advice for surviving and thriving at Georgia Tech Europe! The program can definitely feel overwhelming at first, but after 10 weeks of trial and error, we’ve picked up a ton of knowledge that should make adjusting to life in France a whole lot easier. So, without further ado, here is essentially everything we wish we knew before we got here.

Do’s and Don’t’s: 

Living Situation and Shopping

  • Don’t try to get absolutely everything for your room the first time you go to the store, especially if you go to Carrefour, which is essentially French Walmart. My first Carrefour experience was not ideal in the slightest: I was very jetlagged, very confused because I don’t know how to read French, and very tired after I had to carry my large-ish haul on an over-25-minute walk back to my dorm. It’s best for your first visits to be small trips, just for the basics, then you can come back for larger items later, after you are more acquainted with the store. 
  • As for other stores, Normal is good for “around the house” items: think 5 Below, but with better quality. For food, the best options are Carrefour Express or Auchan, which are more like grocery stores than “everything stores”. 
  • Don’t exclusively buy in bulk, and that goes for both food and dorm items. That’s not to say that you should only buy small-scale items; just keep in mind that you will have plenty of time to go to the store throughout the semester, and it’s better to go back and get more of something rather than end the semester with a bunch of wasted food or product! 
  • Make sure you have enough room for souvenirs on the way back. I recommend putting aside an extra packing cube or leaving additional space in your suitcase for anything you may buy while overseas. 
  • Don’t buy a bunch of additional Tupperware or dishes if you are planning to cook or meal prep. You can do a lot with what is provided, and you can always clean and re-use store-bought containers, like jelly jars. 
  • The dryers in Europe are more energy efficient, but unfortunately, less effective, meaning that your clothes will likely still come out a bit damp. I recommend buying a cheap drying rack or a few hangers, either in addition to typical drying or as a substitute for it. 
  • Getting a haircut in Metz might seem a bit daunting, but a good strategy is to go to the barber shop with a collection of pictures of what you want, as English hair terms like “fade” or “taper” naturally don’t translate into French. The good news is that Metz is a pretty diverse city, so you can easily find a barber who specializes in your hair type. This was one of my biggest apprehensions before coming to GTE, but in my experience, the barbers here do pretty good work, usually for much less than it would cost in America. For someone with type 4 hair, I would recommend going to KAL Coiffure Metz or Kacy Afro Center. 

Academics

  • Do as much work as you can during the week. You may think it’s a good idea to do work either on a train or during free time on a trip, but that will probably lead you to being less productive. Some trains have wifi, but some don’t, and if they do, it is often slow or spotty. This goes for hotels and hostels as well. Moreover, unless you explicitly plan otherwise, it is very unlikely that you’ll have a lot of free time on the weekends that you travel on. And plus, you don’t want to be solving equations or writing essays instead of exploring a new city, do you? So, try to optimize the amount of work you get done during the school week, to avoid working on weekends as much as possible. (Make sure to explore Metz and hang out with friends on the weekdays when you can as well; time management is essential!)
  • Work in the GTE building when possible! Although I am someone who usually prefers to work alone in my dorm room when on the Atlanta campus, the GTE building has a much cozier vibe than many of GT’s academic buildings, making it much more appealing to work in, at least in my opinion. Besides that, the GTE building has something for everyone! Want a busier, CULC-like vibe? Study in the student lounge, where the majority of students find themselves throughout the day. Want some fresh air? There’s plenty of outdoor seating around the building, from benches to tables to hammocks. Want some peace and quiet? The GTE building has several study pods and a few quiet rooms throughout the building, which remind me of the 7th floor of Crossland Tower.

Travel

  • (For some tips and tricks about trains, visit Alex’s latest blog!) 
  • We highly recommend you purchase a Eurail pass for your time in Metz, as a 3-month pass is just $839, and for someone who has taken over 70 trains in 10 weeks, I have more than gotten my value back and then some. Even if you prefer to travel by plane, it still has some value, as Metz doesn’t have a major airport, meaning that if you want to fly anywhere, you first need to go to a different city (which will probably have to be by train). As for where to fly out of, you have a couple of options:
    • Luxembourg is the best place to fly out of. The airport is very easy to navigate, and the public transportation to get there is completely free. It’s also a hub for the region, so there are plenty of routes to and from the city. Finally, and best of all, security there is an absolute breeze to get through; the last time I was there, the line was literally non-existent. 
    • Brussels is your next best option. With the Eurail pass, it only costs 8 euros to get to the main airport. The secondary Charleroi airport is free to get to, although it is some 35 miles out from the city. Both airports are bigger than the Luxembourg airport, so there are more routes to and from the airport, at the cost of longer security lines. It also takes around 4 hours to get to either airport from Metz. 
    • Flying out of Paris is a bit tricky. Firstly, even with the Eurail pass, the cost of your round-trip will be anywhere between 20 to 40 euros more expensive, as you have to catch a TGV to get to Paris. Then, each Paris airport is 45+ minutes away from Gare de l’Est, and it of course costs money to get to each airport as well. Granted, Paris probably has the most plentiful flight options in Europe, but their air traffic controllers have a tendency to go on strike, which dissportationally leads to the cancellation of budget airline flights, which is something that a few of my friends have encountered over the semester.
  • On the topic of budget airlines, they are all very serious about their baggage policies, and they will fine you a lot of money if you violate them. It’s best to plan accordingly and measure your bag to make sure you are within the allowed dimensions before you go to the airport. 
  • To keep prices low, budget airlines usually don’t fly to “main airports” within a city. (i.e., going to London-Stansted instead of Heathrow or Paris-Beauvais instead of Charles de Gaulle). Most of these airports will have trains or shuttles to get to the main city, but they usually will cost something, so make sure to do some research before you get on your flight. 
  • Don’t wait for the last minute to plan or book things. It’s more expensive, more stressful, and you’re more likely to overlook something important at the last minute than if you planned ahead. That’s not to say that you should have your entire summer booked before you come to Europe, but booking things 2-3 weeks in advance can be quite helpful. 
  • Avoid short connections on trains as much as possible. On the Eurail app, you can set a filter to only show journeys with connections longer than 10 minutes. This is a good measure to take to lower the chance that your whole trip gets derailed, but more than likely, it will still happen, at least once. The best advice here is to be adaptable. Have a plan B or C for any long trip, whether that be another train that can still get you to your destination, or a bus that plays the same role. 
  • On that latter point, buses operated by companies like Flixbus or BlaBlaCar are quite good in Europe; they don’t have the negative reputations that companies like Greyhound have in the US, and they are actually the favored method of transportation among a lot of European young adults and teenagers. With that being said, buses usually won’t be faster or more convenient than taking a train, but it can be quite useful if you find yourself in a pinch, especially for an overnight journey.


General Advice and Information:

Items to Bring/Buy

  • Portable Charger/Adapter: Whether it’s an issue of trains and planes not having charging outlets, hiking in remote places, or not having the right plug for the charging ports (emphasis on Ireland, the UK, and Switzerland for this one), a portable charger can be a lifesaver!
  • Tote Bag: In Europe, most supermarkets don’t provide free plastic bags, meaning that you either have to buy your own plastic bag or bring a tote bag. Neither are particularly expensive: each plastic bag is maybe .30 euros, and you can get a tote bag for less than 5 euros, easily. But, it might be worth packing, considering that they are so light and take up virtually no space in a suitcase. 
  • Ziploc Bags: Super useful for getting through airport security with liquids (make sure your bag is no more than one litre to make things go more smoothly), as well as keeping things organized on trips. Also, I recommend bringing a separate bag to store your dirty laundry in for each trip, so that you can keep your clean clothes nice and fresh. 
  • Laundry Detergent Sheets: A personal favorite of mine, laundry sheets are not only more eco-friendly than most laundry pods; they also are lighter, take up less space, and are just as effective! You still can handwash your clothes with the sheets too, which is something you’ll probably do once or twice at GTE, as laundry does cost money, and sometimes, you just need a few things clean without doing a whole load. 
  • Travel Containers: Not all living situations on your trips will have shampoo or bodywash, let alone conditioners or other products. I recommend bringing travel-sized containers to fill up with your preferred hygiene products. 
  • Your Favorite Hygiene Products: On that note, I advise you to bring at least some of your favorite hygiene products to Metz. As we talked about before, it’s not a good idea to buy too much too fast for your dorm in Metz, and unsurprisingly, it’s a little difficult to purchase hygiene products that you may be fairly particular about in a language that you aren’t fluent in. I know a couple of people who bought the wrong products and had to eat the cost of it, so to try to avoid that, come with some of the more important ones. 
  • Shower Shoes: Most hostels have communal showers. While you may luck out and get a private bathroom, it’s best to bring shower shoes just in case. 
  • Towel: Most hostels and GTE dorms do not provide towels (although for the former, you can usually rent one for a couple of euros).  Plus, you probably will want one if your travels take you to a beach or a lake! While you can buy towels at Carrefour for less than 10 euros, if you have additional space in your suitcase, it is something that I would prioritize. 
  • Fan(summer): A majority of GTE dorms, and to a greater extent, buildings in Europe in general, don’t have air conditioning. The temperature may get up to a max of like 92 degrees over the entire summer, which doesn’t seem bad, but because of the lack of AC and the way European buildings are built, it will often feel warmer inside your room than outside your room. Although it’s only hot like that for a week, buying a fan can help that week feel much better. You can get a decent one from Carrefour for 20 euros or so, or pick one up from the GT donation drive when you arrive. The donation drive is a system that you get to partake in at the beginning of the semester,  where previous students leave unwanted supplies for the new students, which usually entails a lot of fans.

Items to Leave Behind

  • Hangers: Although you’ll need hangers for your room, hangers are inexpensive to buy and quite bulky to transport in your luggage, so you’re better off just getting them at Carrefour or the GT donation drive.
  • Lots of Shoes: You don’t need a lot of shoes. They take up a lot of space in a suitcase, and since you’ll be walking a lot, you don’t really have much need for athletic shoes. One to two pairs of walking shoes, the aforementioned shower shoes, and maybe a pair of sandals or slides should serve you very well.
  • “Just in Case” Items: Now, this one is a bit vague and can mean different things for different people. For me, it’s the extra books,  just in case I wanted to read, or the pair of gloves,  just in case I went somewhere extremely cold. As I pack up for the end of the semester, I look at the books and the gloves and sigh, as they never left my primary suitcase. While it is good to come prepared and limit buying more items that you could’ve brought from home, definitely make sure you are thinking twice about those non-essentials before you bring them.

Travel Locations

While everyone has different preferences and options, we have included some of the places we have visited and enjoyed! Europe is a huge and diverse place with so many countries and cities to explore, so don’t feel limited by just what the majority of people visit. The biggest piece of advice is to use this opportunity to explore what you want, whether that is just around the city of Metz itself or across the continent!

  • Amsterdam, Netherlands: A city with an interesting history, we recommend taking a boat tour on the canals, as you will be able to learn a lot of information about different parts of the country and city, with lots of fun niche facts. The stroopwafel there is absolutely delicious as well!
  • Interlaken, Switzerland: This is a great place to have a “home base” for a weekend if visiting Switzerland, as it is just a short train ride away to the more elevated villages of Grindelwald, Lauterbrunnen, or other good hiking towns, yet very accessible. (Note for popular hiking destinations in Switzerland: many towns are based in the valleys, so to do many mountain hikes and trails, you may often have to pay for a gondola ride up and occasionally back down a mountain if you want to avoid a very timely and strenuous additional hike upwards, which can sometimes be expensive.)
  • Luxembourg City, Luxembourg: While not a large city, the city of Luxembourg is a great place for a day trip! Although often overlooked just for being an area of connection for travel elsewhere, the old city area built into a fortress is a beautiful and green place that makes for a relaxing day of exploring. And once more, the public transit is completely free, which is a great bonus!
  • Vienna, Austria: If you like classical art and intricate buildings, Vienna is a perfect city for this vibe. It has a very regal feel to it, with many museums and lots of beautiful architecture to admire!
  • Bruges, Belgium: A very pretty and quaint city to visit. There are a lot of walkways along the canal as well as markets and shops to go through; it makes for a good day trip if you are staying in Belgium.
  • Edinburgh, Scotland: Although the UK is definitely more of a trek to get to than the mainland European countries, Edinburgh is an absolute gem to lovers of an academia vibe, history, and mystery. It is a beautiful city with Gothic architecture everywhere, and it is built in the valley of steep hills stretching to the sea, making for lovely scenery and hiking opportunities as well. If visiting Scotland for longer, taking a tour of the Highlands and lochs is also recommended!
  • Florence, Italy: Definitely a popular choice and justifiably so, Florence is another hub for art and overall beauty. There are so many museums and historical points to see in the city, and the food is absolutely spectacular.
  • Marseille, France: If you want to visit more of France, Marseille is an interesting and unique city to visit! Being a port city so far South, it has a completely different vibe from Paris and other cities in France, and has a beautiful coastal area along with lots to explore.
  • London, England: Between West End shows, sporting events, the copious amounts of museums, and the most famous monarchy in the world, London is the perfect place to go for an action-packed weekend. 
  • Budapest, Hungary: Although a bit far from Metz, Budapest is one of the cheaper cities in the EU, with a charming beauty from the dual influences of Western and Soviet architecture.

And…well, that’s it! Thank you for reading along. We hope that our blogs have been helpful, inspirational, or made the decision to sign up for GTE just a little easier. While we may sound a bit irritated while discussing some of these topics, these are just some growing pains with being abroad. Trust us, GTE is an absolutely amazing experience that we would both do again, 10 out of 10 times. 

Now, for a bit of a surprise. You may be wondering, “Why are both of the bloggers working on one post?” Well, that’s actually because we are quite good friends outside of work, and we have traveled together on a lot of the weekends during this semester!

(Ashlyn, Alex, and Friends atop Arthur’s seat in Scotland)


With that being said, this is Ashlyn and Alex signing off for the final time. Au revoir!

Traveling Europe by Train: Tips, Tricks, and Advice

Written by: Alex Stallworth

One thing about GTE is that you will become really familiar with the European train system, really fast. In just 56 days, I’ve been abroad 65 of them, and at this point, I think I can finally claim to know a thing or two, to say the very least. Here’s what I’ve learned through trial (and a lot of error). 

During your time at GTE, you can opt to purchase a Eurail pass. This pass will allow you to book trains throughout Europe. However, this comes with a few caveats that you need to be aware of.

1. Seat Reservations: 

To start, not every train is free. Some trains require a seat reservation to board, usually high-speed trains, night trains, and trains that run routes that are in high demand. Seat reservations range in price, from the Normandy Railroad, which costs around 2 euros, to the TGVs in France, which cost an average of 20 euros. 

1a. Buying and Using Seat Reservations:

The Eurail app will usually let you view the price of a seat reservation, but you can’t actually buy them there, and often, the list price is inaccurate. While you can buy the seat reservations on your phone’s browser or at kiosks in train stations, it’s a lot easier to do it on a laptop and send the tickets to your email. Finally, you will also need to load your ticket in the Eurail app, alongside the seat reservation, to pass the on-train ticket inspection. I place emphasis on this because, in my experience, the train agents get a little cross with you if you mess up some part of this process, so it is best to have everything prepared before you board.

1b. The UK:

The Chunnel, the longest underwater tunnel in the world that connects the UK and France, has always fascinated me as an engineering marvel. However, getting to the UK via the Chunnel is a bit tricky. To start, seat reservations on Eurostar, the company that operates routes to and from the UK, run around 32 euros, which are the most expensive single-seat reservations that we have encountered with the Eurail pass. Then when you account for the fact that most Eurostar trips will require you to go to Paris first, this results in an over 100 euro round trip. A bit pricey, sure, but the real problem comes in booking the seats. 

Sometimes, Eurostars will sell out, and fairly far in advance, too. For a future trip to London, which I tried to book some 20 days in advance, I was unable to find a single train to take me back to Paris. This is more of a symptom of most of the UK and Europe taking holiday at the end of July and early August and not some broader issue, but it was still pretty frustrating to deal with at the time. Luckily, there are other options to get to and from the UK, from flights to ferries, which are also often cheaper than taking the train. 

2. Seat Reservation Optional Trains: 

There are also seat reservation optional trains, which are usually found in Germany and some of the surrounding countries. These trains can be reserved like the ones listed above, but they will also have a number of open seats. The number of seats that are reserved depends on the route’s popularity and its length, with longer trains having more seats reserved as more people hop on throughout the journey. 

Not reserving a seat is a bit of a risk; sometimes, the train is relatively empty, and you can easily get a seat with your friends. Other times, you aren’t so lucky, and you might wind up separated, or worse, without a seat entirely. The gamble is often worth it; I’ve been on 15 or so seat reservation optional trains, and I’ve only had a seating issue, and a mild one at that, once or twice. However, it’s best to evaluate each train situation based on the factors that I listed above, as well as your personal comfort. 

3. Be Ready For Anything:

Traveling by train is a bit of a different dynamic than traveling by plane. I would say that maybe 90% of the trains I’ve been on have been exactly on time when leaving or arriving at a station, and when they are delayed, it’s usually by ~10 minutes. However, things can still happen. Natural disruptions to the actual train tracks aren’t uncommon, whether it be via landslide or some other force. These will shut down a track for an extended period of time, requiring a diversion. It’s far more common to see strikes, although they are usually resolved in less time, and they’re often scheduled, so travelers can plan around them. 

Regardless of the cause, the biggest issue with these types of disruptions is making your connections. Longer train trips will often involve 3, 4, or 5 different trains, leaving more of a possibility that something may go wrong and derail your trip. While your train’s punctuality is out of your control, you can control the length of your connections. I advise you to only pick journeys that come with a 15-minute or longer transfer time. As stated above, most delays are relatively short, so that extra cushion should serve you well. It has worked wonders for me: as of writing, knock on wood, I haven’t missed a single train in Europe yet. 

While all this information may seem daunting, in reality, it really isn’t that bad. I came into GTE with very limited knowledge of how the trains work, and within 2-3 weeks, I had a pretty stable grasp of it. To be honest, learning along the way was just part of the adventure, and it’s something I don’t regret in the slightest.