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Rebecca Byerly

American University, Washington, DC
Undergraduate

May 15 , 2005
Cairo, Egypt

For spring break, I traveled to Palestine. The purpose of the trip was to do research on Palestinian children's access to education in the West Bank, and I had the opportunity to talk with several teachers.

The teachers shared similar stories of what their students had endured during this Intifada.

Reem Omari, an English teacher, told the story of Mohammed Fateh, a boy in his 5th grade class, who was shot by an Israeli guard on his way home from school. I asked what he told his students after Mohammed's death and he responded, “I will always encourage my students to get rid of hate.” His words are a flame of hope.

While in Ramallah, I lived with Naela, a journalist and Palestinian refugee. Naela redefined the art of tough journalism. The second day I stayed with Naela she traveled to Jenin to cover a story. On the way to Jenin, settlers were protesting at one of the checkpoints. The Israeli soldiers closed the checkpoint and refused to let neither Naela nor the women she was traveling with pass. Instead of accepting defeat, she and her friends sat on the ground and shouted, “1...2...3...4, occupation no more!”

The settlers responded by kicking and shouting at the women, but in the end “We won,” said Naela. “The soldiers allowed us to pass!” She was not deterred.

On one occasion, I was asked if I was proud to be an American.  Before I could respond, Naela said, “She better not be.” This statement infuriated me. I do not support or like the policies and politics of our current government, but I’m proud to be an American because of the freedoms we enjoy. She sensed my anger and apologized.

“Rebecca, try to see it from my perspective. American bullets crippled my little brother and killed my best friend,” Naela said. “Clearly you are not like your government, but sometimes it is just hard for me to suppress the anger I feel towards America.” The anger quickly turned to empathy, and I realized there was no way I could ever understand how she felt.  However, I could give Naela a different perspective of what it means to be an American.

The stories I share are simply an illustration of what I saw and experienced. If I had stayed in Israel and talked with people there the perspective would have been quite different. However, there is one thing I know: I want to hold myself to a higher standard, and when human rights are violated, it is my moral obligation to inform the world. I believe that human rights are being violated in Palestine, and we cannot and must not turn a blind eye to what has happened and continues to happen to the Palestinian people.
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Lisa Crawford

The George Washington University
Graduate Student

April 22 , 2005
Nanjing, China

A friend here in Nanjing invited me to a performance of Swan Lake. I gladly accepted, hoping for a little dose of Western culture.

To our dismay, it turned out the performance we attended was not Swan Lake, but a Chinese ballet called “White-Haired Girl.” 

The first scene was of the proletariat working in the fields while being whipped by their bourgeois masters. The field hands resist in unison with forceful movements, but to no avail. In the next scene, a daughter lovingly serves her father after his hard day of work. 

Their dinner is interrupted by two men in Qing-style dress who force the father to sign a paper (presumably the deed to his land), beat him to death, and then take the daughter into servitude. Next, she is at the rich house as a servant where again she resists but is beaten. A fellow servant helps her escape. She is chased for days (years?) through the countryside and mountains of China by two men in black, and with each scene, her clothes become more tattered and her hair slowly whitens. 

In the meantime, the People’s Liberation Army is freeing China from its oppression. The white-haired girl eventually returns to the old rich house to find it in disrepair. Part of the choreography even sends her leaping through the old Buddhist altar. She is discovered by a PLA leader and is told the glorious news of the new China. Her pursuers are captured and shot off-stage (after receiving a good slap or two from the white-haired girl). The final scene is full of rejoicing and a climb toward the rising sun.

This performance naturally led us to a discussion of the purpose of art. The performance hall was filled to capacity. The crowd was obviously enjoying the show with a woman behind us even singing along. We were outsiders: disappointed the show wasn’t the one we thought we had paid to see and prepared to see all Communist art as propaganda. 

But, what if we were watching a dramatization of some part of our own history? Wouldn’t there be bad guys and good guys? This led to a discussion of multiculturalism, the cycles of history and shifts in power. Overall, this was an unexpected but very stimulating evening.

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Beth Windisch

Indiana University/Purdue University Indianapolis
Undergraduate

April 13, 2005
Cairo, Egypt

On April 7th there was an explosion in the tourist market, Khan al-Khalili in central Cairo.

Khan al-Khalili is part of a larger group of markets, which are visited by tourists and Egyptians. The explosion was a deliberate attack, a bomb packed with nails, which killed four people and wounded many others.

I was in the market when the explosions happened. I was visiting an Egyptian friend who runs a shop with her dad when people started calling us to see if we were OK. My friend’s dad told us (in Arabic) to go out of the market to avoid the area where the explosion took place.

At first, no one thought anything of it because we assumed it was an accident. Although there have been more protests lately, we just couldn’t fathom an attack happening here. The Egyptians I know and have lived with these past several months are not represented by this incident.

This year has been an interesting time to be in Egypt. We’ve seen the attacks against tourist hotels visited by Israelis in the Red Sea towns of Taba and Nuweiba, the funeral of Yasser Arafat, new waves of protests near our school, and now this. Study abroad really changes your perspective on things. These events have me feeling a little nervous, but I’m still glad I came to Egypt.
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Daniel Bradshaw

Ohio State University
Undergraduate

March 26, 2005
Nagoya, Japan

It seemed as though for one day the city that I am studying in, Nagoya, Japan, was the center of the world with the opening of the World's Fair not 40 miles from my house.

Naturally I was there on the first day to experience a once in a lifetime event. It was dreary and cold, but there were tens of thousands of people, helicopters circling in the sky, and more news crews than one could count. 

The Expo was filled with first-day problems like poor crowd management and the fact that not everything was open, but it showed its potential in beauty of many exhibits. One exhibit in particular, however, said more accurate information about the country it represented than any other that I entered. I decided to go to the American pavilion after a day of seeing how other countries decided to represent themselves to the world. I was pleasantly welcomed by Japanese-speaking Americans who politely escorted me to the only booth in the whole fair that had a metal detector.

Then I was ushered into a room that had the largest area of unused space in the park, and that was followed by a campy movie that starred our national hero Ben Franklin embarrassing himself by dancing to rap music in ghetto garb and country music in an oversized cowboy hat. 

What happened after that, though, is something that I will never forget. When I exited the theatre a man was riding on a Segway, (a recently invented kind of scooter), to display to the world how amazing American technology is. 

I was duly impressed because I had never seen one before, and so was the young Japanese lady next to me. She had the guts to actually go up to the guy and ask if she could ride it, and I was a bit envious that she might get the chance. The man bluntly refused her and rattled off the lame excuse that they weren't letting anyone ride them that day, and also that the Segways are illegal in Japan and therefore she couldn't try it. I turned around with her, disappointed, and we walked away talking about how cool it would have been to ride it. 

But no fewer than a comical 30 seconds later, I looked back to see one of the withered old American VIPs that I saw earlier clumsily getting a lesson in riding the Segway that they “weren't letting anyone ride today.” 

It was one of the most humorous and utterly sad displays that I have ever seen of how power and money can get you anything in this world. I apologized to the girl out of shame for my country's way of doing things and I walked away from the American pavilion feeling sad, yet satisfied that my country didn't lie about itself to anyone that day.
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Marisa Claire Jones

University of Wisconsin, Madison
Undergraduate

March 23, 2005
Cairo, Egypt

I was reminded that this week marks the second anniversary of U.S. military intervention in Iraq in a rather harsh manner.

I arrived at school Sunday morning to see Midan Tahrir, the city's main square, ringed by police clad in helmets and clutching shields and clubs. Apparently they expected a demonstration to break out against U.S. actions in Iraq to commemorate the anniversary.

Such manifestations often reveal more deeply-seated frustrations not only with the United States but also with the failures and stagnation of the Egyptian government. Although the demonstration on Sunday was quite insignificant, many precautions were taken Monday when rumors surfaced that another demonstration was to take place.

The American University where I am a student is right next to Midan Tahrir, so any disturbances in the square could quickly spread to the university if proper measures were not implemented or unsuccessful. Monday morning hundreds of police clad in riot gear guarded all of the AUC buildings and lined the streets between them. It is rather strange to walk behind barricades past large groups of policemen in order to get to class.

Once again, no harm befell the university and no large-scale demonstration erupted, but the situation was a reminder of the unrest and resentment simmering within Egyptian society. I was interested in gaining insight into the current political situation of the country, even in such a tense context.

To think that large groups of Egyptians are often misinterpreting the goals and actions of my country and that a few small, misguided segments would wish harm upon American property or citizens made me keenly aware that my mere national identification invokes a variety of sentiments, many of which may be unjustified or exacerbated by Egyptian domestic turmoil.

More than anything else, I feel that a lack of unbiased information and adequate communication fuels misunderstandings, and I feel a sort of helplessness in being able to remedy this situation.

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Rachel Houhoulis

American University, Washington, D.C.
Undergraduate

March 23, 2005
Beijing, China

At the eight-month mark of being in China, I have truly forgotten what it's like to be in America. I remember America like I remember elementary school.

“Ah, America! The land where customer service really exists, people stand in lines, the air is clean, people don't spit, traffic laws are obeyed, and I have the ability to truly understand everything that is going on.”

But I have forgotten what it feels like to live in America as an American. What is it like to not be a foreigner? I really can't tell you anymore. What I can tell you is what it means to be an American living abroad. I have learned more about the history of American politics, culture, democracy, and society from living in China than I did for the 20 years I lived in America. There is nothing like going way outside the box to learn what the box is really like.

For one: if one more person tells me how communist China is, I am going to cry. China is more capitalist and individualistic than America. I'm sorry folks, America is socialist and collectivist, and individuality is important, but only in certain areas. If China is so communist, why did communism fail? If they are so collectivist, why are there so many beggars and homeless people crowding the streets? If America is so individualistic and capitalist, why do we have such a comprehensive social welfare system and the “Good Samaritan” mindset?

Also, living as a foreigner in China affords me the opportunity to be the center of attention and invisible at the same time. Here I can feign ignorance while knowing what is going on. I can ignore people and just pretend that I don't understand. So, although I will never fit in, I do in a sense blend in, with every other foreigner in China. I am nothing special (beyond the initial fascination with skin, eye, and hair color). I am just another non-Chinese person living in China, which in many ways is fine with me.

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Lisa Crawford

The George Washington University
Graduate Student

March 08, 2005
Nanjing, China

This is my first missive from Nanjing, China. I’m here taking advanced Mandarin classes at Nanjing University for a semester. I have lived in China before, but this is the first time for my husband, so it is fun to see things through his eyes.

Our life here is simple yet satisfying. Monday through Friday we go to class, eat at one of the many family-owned restaurants for lunch, take a nap, study or go to an afternoon class, eat dinner at another favorite restaurant, perhaps with friends, study some more and go to bed. Cooking, housework, and normal life worries are minimal, and we get the satisfaction of seeing our language skills improve. We get to spend almost all of our time together exploring a new place. 

We found a nice apartment near campus for less money than the “foreign student dorms.” I was worried I didn’t have the skills to negotiate renting a place, but we used a “middle man” from a housing agency who helped us settle things in two days. Chinese apartments aren’t very attractive from the outside, with exposed pipes and wiring, littered common areas and clothes hanging out the windows. But on the inside they can be very clean and pretty. This attitude toward public space is seen everywhere in the city with littering and spitting being quite common. There is talk that the government wants to change things with the Olympics coming, but the weight of history is hard to lift. 

Most of our adventures (culturally speaking) have been with eating and taking buses.  Our food theory is: choose a fairly clean place, but don’t waste your money on a Western-style restaurant that won’t taste quite Western, anyway. We figure since all the food we order is cooked right before it is brought to us, we are safe. We’re told we may get tired of Chinese food, but there seems to be such a variety of dishes with fresh ingredients that in our three weeks in Nanjing, we have yet to explore our Western options. Our bus theory: keep your money in your front pocket and squish with the best of them.

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Elisabeth de Gramont

Occidental College
Undergraduate

March 03, 2005
Beijing, China

I've been in Beijing a week, and despite the below-zero temperatures, I've figured out the best way to get to class at Beida (Beijing University) is to ride a bike along the highway, which takes about 20 minutes.

Bicycles in China never cease to fascinate me. Traffic laws in Beijing are almost non-existent, making the hodge podge of bicycles, taxis, cars, motorcycles, and especially buses a sight to see. And the amazing thing is, despite the chaos, everyone knows how to maneuver.

The most dangerous place for a bike is probably the bus stops because the bigger vehicle has the right of way (maybe not in theory, but definitely in practice). Because the bus stops are in the bicycle lanes, it's likely that at any moment a huge bus will come up behind you and cut you off, despite the fact that you are struggling on a flimsy bike that is likely to fall apart at any moment.

What I love about my bike ride to Beida is that I see things I never would see on the bus: a train of mules pulling carts of computer parts down a small street framed by skyscrapers; the 'Chinese Hamburger's Home', whatever that may be; and a little store with my Chinese name on it, “Meng Li Sha.” Every little shop is a new surprise and every person I encounter reacts differently to seeing a foreigner trying to dodge traffic on a bicycle.

In any case, bicycle rides engage my powers of observation in a way I would never use on the usual commute to and from school. So for now I just cross my fingers that my shiny new bike, (a hard bargain for 15 dollars), doesn't get stolen as most new bikes do on the Beida campus.

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Kevin Downey

University of Wisconsin, Madison
Graduate Student

February 04, 2005
Dhaka, Bangladesh

In Bangladesh, life is always a matter of some steps forward and some steps back; how many of each is what makes it interesting.

The last week, three examples of this come to mind: the January 23rd New York Times article, “The Next Islamist Revolution?” about radicalism in Bangladesh; the recent attacks upon leaders of the political opposition; and the first ever test match and ODI series victories by the Bangladesh Cricket team in more than 10 years of competition. These three overlap in Bangladeshi consciousness and provide an insight to the situation here.

The New York Times article was not read by the average Bangladeshi, but the rebuke of the article by the Bangladeshi government has made it a public issue. The present Bangladesh National Party (BNP) contains Islamist parties within its coalition, and in reaction has begun detaining and questioning local journalists accused of giving assistance to foreign journalists.

The political violence has been escalating here since last fall. The BNP takes no responsibility for the attacks against the Awami League (AL) leaders, but at the same time no arrests have been made in connection with the murders. The latest attack took the life of the former Finance Minister under the previous AL government, and has resulted in a series of nationwide transportation strikes that shut down commercial activity. Moreover, these hartals have resulted in the further postponement of the South Asian Agreement on Regional Cooperation (SAARC) meetings to be held in Dhaka. The opposition is organizing further strikes throughout the month of February.

But amid all these troubles, the Bangladesh National Cricket team has finally won its first test match and One Day International series since joining the International Cricket Council. Its victories against Zimbabwe have supplied a measure of national pride in an otherwise forlorn population. 

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Brandon Higa

Stanford University
Undergraduate

January 19, 2005
Tokyo, Japan

Celebrating the New Year in Japan truly was an experience worth sticking around for.

I actually went home to Hawaii to celebrate Christmas with my family (got to love leftover Thanksgiving turkey!). I was on the beach body boarding one day in Hawaii, then the very next day I was back in Japan enduring the year's first snow. 

New Year’s Eve was beautiful; it snowed, and I went with a good friend to the local shrine in Myorenji to bring in the year with the local customary prayer. My Japanese friend also told me a bit more about New Years customs, as we ate soba buck wheat noodles (as the last supper of the year) and opened it up with a trip to Asakusa. 

The next part of the winter vacation was spent dodging all the people traffic in Tokyo and Yokohama. You do not know crazy shoppers until you see Japan during January 3-8. It is way worse than any DVD player special at K-Mart in the States, trust me! 

I beat the rush by sticking to the smaller towns and going for recreation to private spas. Nothing beats going to the onsen (hot spring) during the winter. 

The spring quarter also started this week at my school, IUC. It was nice to see the students and teachers after a long winter break. This quarter we begin specialized topics to prepare us for the final project coming up in June. 

I enrolled in Japanese language for business, politics/economics, conversational Japanese, business/societal problems, and advanced grammar. Among my classmates is NSEP Fellow Maria Farkas, who never fails to liven up the classroom with her insight and humor. I think that for that sole reason this is going to be a great quarter!

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Erica Fitzhugh

Wellesley College
Undergraduate

December 15, 2004
Salvador da Bahia, Brazil

This December feels like none other. It’s not cold, rainy, or snowy. No one bundles up before they head out.

Frost does not accumulate on the hood of my host father's car before he goes to work in the morning. And the Papai Noel in the Pelourinho uses a Billabong surfboard instead of a sleigh.

Christmas in Brazil is quite different from home. For one thing, it's summer down here, so the weather is a lot more intense than the climate I’m used to in December. I’m still trying to get used to the Gisele Bündchen Christmas ads for new summer swimwear.

This holiday season away from home, away from family, has led me to ponder the “real meaning of Christmas.” Yes, the story of Jesus’ birth is important, but it’s the residual effects that precede it. The rituals built around it are what really draw people together.  

Picking out an evergreen on Main Street, or helping my parents dust off ornaments they have had since before I was born also play a part in Christmas. The time we passed together was much more valuable than any stuffed box underneath a tree. Dinner at my Uncle Jerry’s house on Christmas day and piling into the car to see the latest holiday blockbuster — it was always the time we spent together that I valued the most. And now that I am so far away from it all my heart grows envious of those who have the opportunity to partake in home and family. 

Christmas here is special; it's just not home. But I will take advantage of this new opportunity. I will learn how to sing Silent Night in Portuguese, put on sun tan lotion before I head to the beach, and drink coconut milk instead of egg nog this Christmas. Knowing that this is just one Christmas out of 20 that I have already experienced will make the rest all the more sweeter when I return home.

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Daniel Bradshaw

Ohio State University
Undergraduate

December 6, 2004
Nagoya, Japan

The holidays are indeed approaching.  We have broken through the barrier of December and I am already looking back with fondness at all of the things I have done this semester.

It never seems to me like I am doing much until I look back on it all a few months later and realize that I was taking five classes, involved in a martial arts group, playing softball with my host family on the weekend, and going to Tokyo and other tourist spots on a weekly basis.  I don’t know where I found the time, but I have escaped it with a lot of memories and a lot of hope for the next year.

Though my current host family has been very interesting to live with, in the respect that they were totally not what I expected, I am looking forward to my next host family.  Whereas I am living with a family that reminds me much of any family in America, the next house I will live in is much more traditional, or so I hear.  One of my greatest disappointments so far is that I have not participated in as many traditional Japanese activities as I would have liked.

My language skills are increasing daily with the heavy coursework that has crushed some of my fellow classmates.  However, because of the work that they have us do I was able to do research on things like the difference between “Clubs,” groups in Japanese colleges that concentrate on traditional Japanese activities like kendo, tea ceremony, or other sports and are very serious about what they do, and “Circles,”  the not so serious version mostly for students to get together to play around. 

In addition, I did quite a bit of research on abortion in Japan and learned that religion plays very little into a woman’s decision to abort or not.  That decision lies mainly in whether or not the mother feels she can actually give the child a good home or not, and is taken much more lightly than in America.  Whether or not it is a human being upon conception, or upon birth is not really an issue.

In all, I have learned more than I expected to, and a lot more than just a language.  Fluency in Japanese was my goal, but it is impossible to live in a country for this long and not absorb a bit of culture too.

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Rachel Houhoulis

American University, Washington, D.C.
Undergraduate

December 5, 2004
Beijing, China

To study abroad or not to study abroad, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the minds of men to take a risk and explore or stay in the comfort and safety of what he or she knows.

For me it’s all about a sense of humor and adventure. Whether it’s buying dandruff shampoo when I really wanted conditioner or getting a computer fixed completely in Chinese and actually understanding it, it’s all about adventure. Everyday is an adventure, sometimes good and sometimes bad. But in the end, each day teaches me something and makes me appreciate my time here, which is good since I have just six more months abroad.

This past semester was a whirlwind of learning, making mistakes, and adjusting. I am just now in a rhythm of thinking in Chinese and actually understanding what people are talking to me about. Some days I am in a zone and know what is going on: case in point — getting my computer fixed after I spilled tea on it and understanding everything the repairwoman was saying. Then there are moments like the conditioner incident.

You might think that conditioner and shampoo are the same worldwide. You might think that an American brand of shampoo and conditioner would have the same packaging regardless of which country you are buying it in. You might think that Chinese has only two different words for shampoo, and you would be like me, wrong. Not only did I buy shampoo (not conditioner), I bought dandruff shampoo. Now, there is nothing wrong with dandruff except that I don’t have it. And yet, I bought shampoo for it. These are the times that try my patience, but eventually make me laugh. After all, I now know yet another word for shampoo, another for conditioner, and the word for dandruff — all from one mistake. Now that is what I call productivity.  

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Daniel Bradshaw

Ohio State University
Undergraduate

November 18, 2004
Nagoya, Japan

Living in a country like Japan that pays a great deal of attention to its holidays has kind of distracted and separated me from my own traditions.

One peculiar thing about Japan is that it took many holidays from America and adapted them to Japanese standards. For instance, America's Thanksgiving just so happens to be on the same day as Japan's "Thanks for Work” Day, a good excuse not to work. Japan also celebrates Christmas, with all the gifts, lights and trees, but the meaning behind it all is lost and makes it merely a gaudy display of glitter and commercialism.

The more time passes the more I long for the kindliness and relaxation of my friends in the countryside in America. I am reluctant to say that Americans are nicer than other people in other countries of the world, because blanket statements never really cover cold feet, but I will say that there is a great deal of social pressure here in Japan. This probably stems from a constant fear of insulting someone with an incorrect verb inflection, or my inadequacy with the language, but I feel constantly on edge.

I took a class trip to a Buddhist nunnery. The first thing I noticed is all of the bald female heads. Then I saw how immaculately kept the grounds are, and realized that besides my own breathing and the shuffling of 20 other students’ feet there is hardly a sound to be heard. 

I was escorted along with my classmates to a room that outsiders are never allowed into except for this special occasion – the Zen Hall. Apparently, these women sometimes sit in the extremely unnatural Zen position for 15 hours a day, stopping only to walk around in turn and make sure the other members aren’t falling asleep by hitting them with a big stick. 

I was, thankfully, not hit with the stick. However, being hit might have helped distract me from the searing pain in my ankle resulting from the sitting position I was in. When we were all finished (by the way, time goes by really fast when you space out Zen-style), I had trouble standing and walking, but felt good about the emptiness of my mind. 

I am so full of anxiety these days that the emptiness was a welcome relief. I think that I just needed an excuse. After the Zen training, the head priestess lectured us with a few thought-provoking stories. Here’s one:  If two ceramic bowls smash together they will both inevitably break. However, if only one of those bowls is soft enough, neither of them will break. Have a soft heart and an accepting mind.

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Megan Furman

Barnard College
Undergraduate

November 15 , 2004
Ngoundere, Cameroon

You cannot see the moon through the gap between the wall and roof and of my Ngoundere homestay family's compound.

I know because I look before bed each night and again before preparing Ramadan breakfast with my home-stay mother, Mariamou. For 10 minutes at 3:30am, before settling down to make couscous, we stand together and look at the stars, but not the moon. For Mariamou, who only leaves the compound a few times a week and never at night, this means she will not see the moon until she goes to her husband's village next month, or maybe the month after. I always notice the lack of moon because it is the moon that starts the Ramadan fast, the reason we get up so early.

Muslim women in northern Cameroon generally marry young and rarely leave their compounds or attend school. Mariamou, at 22, is more sister and friend than mother. It is easy to forget that she married at 14 and is a mother until 2 year-old Yasmine runs into the kitchen followed by 6 year-old Abdou. In the kitchen we speak a combination of broken Fulfulde and French. Because she never went to school, Mariamou began learning French just a few years ago from her husband's university-student brother.

Cameroon's gender divisions are frustrating sometimes. I never really felt hemmed in by my gender in the United States, but there are things and places that my combination of skin color and gender forbid here. I often envy the ability of male students in our group to go to Ngoundere's omnipresent meat-and-tea spots without heckling. They invariably return raving about the Fulani men they met and the conversations they had about politics, commerce, and cows.

Fortunately, I'm not only coming to terms with my limitations but also realizing that I have enviable experiences, too. No man could ever sit with the women here, talking about pagnes (cloth) or hair or the effects of water and wood shortages on a family. For every man met at meat-and-tea, I have an hour cooking or peeling in the kitchen; a story from the old Mboum woman in the next compound who holds my hands tightly and speaks a language I don’t understand; or a 4 a.m. confidence about Mariamou's hopes for Yasmine: school, literacy, and a good marriage to a kind man.  Coming from America where success is often so tangible and money-driven, it has taken time to begin understanding the importance of these experiences and the lives of women of Cameroon.

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Thais-Lyn Trayer

NYU
Undergraduate

November 15, 2004
Prague, Czech Republic

What is a healthy democracy? The United States is a healthy democracy in which 51% of voters chose George W. Bush to be their leader.

As someone who worked for John Kerry since March of 2003, I was naturally very upset at thinking of what kind of America I would return to in December. Then again, as my professor Vaclav Bartuska said, “it’s no fascism.” Touché.

The Czech Republic is a healthy democracy in which its citizens, now 15 years after the fall of communism, feel comfortable enough to let everyday worries about, who knows, maybe grocery shopping, predominate their thoughts rather than news about the inner workings of their government. Sounds like any other Western country filled with apathy towards politics, the United States included.

But a few days from now is the anniversary of something extraordinary: the Velvet Revolution. Those who weren’t around to experience the events of November 1989 like to think of the people involved as most exceptional and courageous. How many of us can imagine being in the position of Bartuska, the first student to be arrested by the Communists when he was 20 years-old? He became involved in publishing secret newspapers, calling for a pivotal nationwide strike, and was later elected by the Parliament to interrogate the Secret Police. But when I talk to him about ’89, he calls himself one of a few lucky idiots. I can’t figure out if he’s just being humble, or if we could all find a similar suicidal determination to change our government if our backs were against the wall.

Bartuska says the young people in the Czech Republic today haven’t had the chance to see for themselves whether they’re made of steel or plaster. Maybe these very nice and mellow conditions in which we live in turn us mostly into plaster, he says. We Americans and Czechs are lucky to live in healthy democracies, no matter who our elected leaders might be, for the fact that at least they’re legitimately elected. However, I don’t like that apathy and disillusionment towards politics are symptoms of health. I think of November 17, 1989 and hope that maybe students, myself included, can find they are made of steel, or maybe we’ll be lucky enough not to have to find out.

What is a healthy democracy? Bartuska says, “It makes life so nice and so easy that we stop realizing that life actually is an effort."

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Rebecca Byerly

American University, Washington, DC
Undergraduate

November 12 , 2004
Cairo, Egypt

One of the benefits of being an American in Cairo is that the system of class according to social status does not apply. 

The ability to socialize and make friends with whom ever I want from the richest student at AUC (American University, Cairo) to the poorest kid on the street is a freedom I have and exercise regularly. Though this behavior may seem completely alien to many Egyptians, I think it is important to remember everyone has a story to tell and people do not get to choose the class in which they are born.

The other day I took two of the girls who sell tissue on the street for an iftar dinner at McDonalds. I did not take the girls to dinner because I felt sorry for them or thought they really needed food. We ate dinner together so we could learn from each other.  I wanted to know what these girls dream about.  What do they want to do with their lives?  What would be your motivation in life if you had to sell tissue on the side of the street everyday?  These girls do not want to stand on the street corner and haggle with people but what else is there for them to do?  You may get annoyed with the behavior of the kids on the street, but think for just a second how lucky you are your parents took the time to teach you how to behave. Being friends with these girls is not going to drastically change their lives but maybe they can learn a little bit about self-respect.

The following night I went to sohour at the Arabella Country Club in Katamaya and saw Amr Diab perform for a private audience.  Needless to say, the friends I went with could not be more different than the girls I shared iftar with the night before.  The atmosphere was exquisite, people were dressed extremely well, and the country club looked like a palace. One of my friends commented, “Most of the people in Egypt do not know places like this exist.”  His words struck me hard and I knew how right he was.  These people were blessed with the ability to see life beyond the street corner and had the freedom to choose what they wanted to do with their lives.

Ramadan is a time when Muslims come together and give to the poor.  In theory, it is the month when all of the social classes in Egypt, though still very separated, are acknowledged. Have you ever thought what Allah would think of social classes?  Do you think on the day of judgment our creator is going to think about our clothes, cars or educational degrees?  How do you look in Allah’s eyes?

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Daniel Bradshaw

Ohio State University
Undergraduate

October 29 , 2004
Nagoya, Japan

Fall fell fast and hard here, and before I knew it the T-shirt I put on in the morning wasn’t enough to keep me warm when I went home.

But fall in Japan brings a lot of things besides cold weather: Akimatsuri, Undoukai, Tsukimi, and lots of essays at school! 

Akimatsuri (fall festival) is a time for people to get together to celebrate the coming of fall. The festival in Nagoya this year was rather disappointing. It seems that a change has taken place, that the Japan I read about in books and that resides in my imagination has now been relegated to a sideshow fabricated to fulfill the curiosity of foreigners. It was sad to watch the parade of uncaring people march down the middle of the street in their traditional garb, because nobody seemed like they wanted to be there!

Undoukai (sports festival) was appealing in many ways. People in certain areas or districts get together to play sports or do exercise games together for a day. I participated in the tug-o-war. Other games were the three-legged race, ball toss, centipede (40 people tied together by the legs with long poles trying to walk), and various foot races. I found it rather interesting how close all the people in the neighborhood are with each other. When I think about my suburban neighborhood back home, hardly anyone knows each other’s names, let alone goes out of their way to try to get to know each other. 

Tsukimi (moon viewing) seems to me another random holiday invented to promote the sale of mochi (eaten while watching the moon) and alcohol (drunk while watching the moon). It seems to stem only from the reason that the moon is the fullest and clearest this time of year.

In Japan there does not need to be much of a reason to get together and have fun with each other, a welcome relief from a problem I never realized I had in America.

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Kevin Downey

University of Wisconsin, Madison
Graduate Student

October 23 , 2004
Dhaka, Bangladesh

I know we're not supposed to spend our time talking solely about food in these posts, but this being my first Ramadan in a Muslim country, I'll take the liberty.

Muslims explain that the month of fasting is not meant to be a time of self-torment, but a celebration of Allah's relationship with his community. This sense of celebration is quite apparent at iftar, the daily breaking of the fast just after sundown. 

Bangladeshi iftar is a month-long event. Every restaurant closes during the day, and prepares wonderful dishes to set out on sidewalk tables for all to buy on their way home or back to work. Special fried foods only available during Ramadan dominate the menu, but there are also biryanis, kebabs, beans and vegetable salads, even spring rolls and pizza if those are the restaurants' specialties. Iftar is spent with family, co-workers, and fellow worshippers at the mosque – basically anyone around at the time is welcome to sit and share a meal. It is a living symbol of the spirit of equality and community embedded in Islamic societies.

I had the great fortune to spend Friday iftar at the home of the late Dudu Miyan, son of the founder and second leader of the Fara'idi community, the focus of my dissertation research. I was able to meet the sixth and seventh generations of the founder's family and briefly discuss my research. I was also invited to visit the ancestral homes in Faridpur and Shariatpur to meet the current leaders of the religious community and begin the conversations that will, inshallah, guide my dissertation research in the two years to come. 

Ramadan is a special time of community building and inclusion.  It was the most fortunate of times for me to meet these people and begin my work.

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Thais-Lyn Trayer

NYU
Undergraduate

October 14 , 2004
Prague, Czech Republic

Last night I met a Holocaust survivor, Jan Wiener, who escaped from the Nazis to fly for the Royal Air Force.

Upon returning home to the Czech Republic he was imprisoned by the Communists for his former “Western” activities. Still, he asked us not to judge his country as we watched The Fighter, a documentary following Wiener’s journey to retrace his steps during and after WWII. At one point in the film he returns to Italy to find a man who saved his life by giving him food.

“It’s me, Johnny,” he says to his now-passed-away savior’s daughter and son.

“Who? …Sorry, we just don’t remember you,” reply the incredulous shaking heads.

Wiener survived the death of his mother in a concentration camp and his father’s suicide. He spent his young adulthood fighting Nazis and Communists, and yet Wiener gets the uneasy sense that perhaps something has changed 50 years later. The modern Odysseus returns to discover that the rest of the world has moved on without him. He whose travels were so courageous, and who so longed to return home to tell of what he had survived, now possesses only forgotten memories existing in a separate consciousness from those he left long ago.

I’ve come to learn that Wiener’s is one of many similar stories – of people and of countries such as the Czech Republic. The fledgling democracy was forgotten as the proud seat of the Habsburg monarchy. It was forgotten as a center of European artistic brilliance, and was betrayed by those closest to it in 1938. “If to exist means to exist in the eyes of those we love, then Central Europe no longer exists,” said Milan Kundera in 1984.

I try to remember Odysseus while living in a country that in its young adulthood saw its fathers powerless, its mothers murdered, and its children tortured by totalitarians. When they returned in 1989 the world remembered something sad and Eastern, but when asked to recognize something beautiful and of the same European fabric, it shook its incredulous head, saying, “Who? …Sorry we just don’t remember you.”

Wiener is 84 and still fighting. I think the same about the Czech Republic and have a new lens through which to understand the people around me. “Please do not judge the people,” said Wiener. “They are still trying to heal. Maybe in two or three generations they will be a happy people.”

Muslims explain that the month of fasting is not meant to be a time of self-torment, but a celebration of Allah's relationship with his community. This sense of celebration is quite apparent at iftar, the daily breaking of the fast just after sundown. 

Bangladeshi iftar is a month-long event. Every restaurant closes during the day, and prepares wonderful dishes to set out on sidewalk tables for all to buy on their way home or back to work. Special fried foods only available during Ramadan dominate the menu, but there are also biryanis, kebabs, beans and vegetable salads, even spring rolls and pizza if those are the restaurants' specialties. Iftar is spent with family, co-workers, and fellow worshippers at the mosque – basically anyone around at the time is welcome to sit and share a meal. It is a living symbol of the spirit of equality and community embedded in Islamic societies.

I had the great fortune to spend Friday iftar at the home of the late Dudu Miyan, son of the founder and second leader of the Fara'idi community, the focus of my dissertation research. I was able to meet the sixth and seventh generations of the founder's family and briefly discuss my research. I was also invited to visit the ancestral homes in Faridpur and Shariatpur to meet the current leaders of the religious community and begin the conversations that will, inshallah, guide my dissertation research in the two years to come. 

Ramadan is a special time of community building and inclusion.  It was the most fortunate of times for me to meet these people and begin my work.

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Marisa Claire Jones

October 9, 2004
Cairo, Egypt

Since the bombings on the Sinai Peninsula two days ago, there has been an atmosphere of increased concern and tension in Cairo, although life goes on as normal and security hasn't been increased to a large extent in most areas

Some people believe that Al-Qaeda is responsible for the attacks, while others blame Egyptian terrorist groups. While people are trying to explain to me why some Egyptians might carry out these attacks, I feel that I am gaining a much deeper insight into the dissatisfaction and desperation that many Egyptians feel about their lack of control in political matters. Many of them feel that they have no voice or power to put an end to unfair and unrepresentative government practices. Rising food prices further fuel frustrations and may find an outlet in extreme forms of expression, possibly even violent ones.

Yesterday, an Egyptian friend took my American roommate and me to a popular tourist site only to whisk us away after ten minutes. We were in the vicinity of a very famous mosque, which welcomes large groups of worshippers for Friday prayers, which were due to start soon after we arrived at the site. Police and military vehicles encircled the area, and my Egyptian friend worried that a major anti-Israeli/anti-American/anti-Mubarak demonstration would break out at the end of Friday prayer services in response to the bombings and to military operations in Israel and Palestine.

As we left police and military officers holding shields and dressed in riot gear poured out of their vehicles. I didn't feel afraid at the time. I was more interested to see what would transpire, but I heeded my friend's advice to get away as quickly as possible. It was a strange event for me, having never seen preparations for a possible mass demonstration and associating such events with the Vietnam War era, yet the currents of emotion that are periodically let loose in Egypt seem much more ominous.
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Megan Furman

Barnard College
Undergraduate

September 18, 2004
Dschang, Cameroon

We were in the Bamboutous foothills, one mile from Fongo-Tongo and just outside Dschang, the second time we had to push the truck.

I slipped both times, which our driver informed me requires special talent, and happily walked behind the truck that last mile, drying. Aside from pushing our vehicle out of Cameroon’s rainy season mud and talking our way out of armed roadblocks, the journey from Douala's airport to orientation at Fongo-Tongo was beautiful but uneventful. Located on the Guinea coast, in Central or Western Africa depending on whom you ask, Cameroon is incredibly verdant and lush. Our drive afforded my group, 15 students on a School for International Training program, incredible views of houses perched on valley walls and plots of tiered farming.

Our final destination was Camp SIT, the former home of a Fongo-Tongo notable later promoted to chief. We spent a week with our Academic Director, Dahveed, and Cameroonian program staff experimenting with WCs (pronounced "Way-Cay" and referring to an outbuilding with a hole) and bucket baths while attending lectures on Cameroon and acclimation into a new culture. We also enjoyed a two-hour health lecture with subsections on "worms" and "other fun stuff." I'm two weeks in Cameroon and most of us have experienced the discomfort of Type-1 diarrhea at least once. It's amazing how quickly Larium-induced dreams, methods of checking for Tumbu fly eggs, and bodily functions wriggle their way into conversation. Sharing and discussing problems and fears, and letting others help you, is a necessity of life in Cameroon. In retrospect, that was the real lesson of Camp SIT.

I am starting to adjust to life in Cameroon. I live with a family in the Valley, and my morning walk amid whizzing motorcycle taxis to attend French class at the University of Dschang feels normal. They are 30 sensation-drenched minutes: through slightly dusty streets, past tape stores blaring music, by women selling fruits, vegetables, grilled bananas, and (my other favorite street food) batons de manioc. Already nightly power outages are routine; my sunglasses are buried in my pack (no one wears them); and, when someone greets me at 12:01, I say "Bon soir." "Bon soir" begins at noon, not 6:30 sunset. I only grin at the Cameroonian hand signal for "Courage," which has serious sexual connotations in the U.S.

Life is simple in Dschang right now, and I’m adjusting to the child-like role my inexperience in Cameroon forces me to assume. No one cares that I'm American (it's better than being French in most areas of this former colony), and the country's upcoming Presidential elections are more important than distant events in Iraq. Until a few days ago, when the opposition coalition collapsed and John Fru Ndi announced his individual candidacy, political change and social unrest were possibilities. Now, with 30 individual opposition candidates registered and the deadline past, it's likely that Paul Biya will be reelected, the semester will continue as scheduled, and Cameroon will remain "sur place."

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Kevin Downey

University of Wisconsin, Madison
Graduate Student

September 18, 2004
Dhaka, Bangladesh

I've been in Dhaka for a week, but the first five days were completely lost to the worst rains in Bangladesh in fifty years, the most being 13.5 inches of rain in a 24-hour period.

The whole city flooded, and on some streets water stood chest high. Things have changed in Dhaka since I came here seven years ago scouting for dissertation projects. There has been a lot of retail development, but not much in terms of infrastructure. More on this in future posts.

A short story about the effects we can have as a visitor to our host countries. 

When I was here in 1997 there was a 14 year-old rickshaw puller named Robi that I came to know. He was my regular ride — he knew my schedule and would show up at the house or language center right on cue. One day his rickshaw was stolen and he asked me for 2000 Taka ($55 dollars at the time) to pay back his boss. Without this, he would have been trapped in debt. I gave him the money as a gift, and for the next three months he would not let me pay a fare.   

When I left the country I gave him another 2500 Taka. I always wondered what happened to him. Three days ago I was registering at the American Club, and when I left a man in his early twenties saw me. “Kevin?” he asked. “I thought you would be back earlier.” It was Robi. In a country where most people know very little English, his was impeccable. We laughed and hugged, and I told him I still had a photograph of us at my home in America. He no longer pulls rickshaws; he is in charge of the auto drivers. He has done well for himself, and he thanked me for my help seven years ago.

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Beth Windisch

Indiana University/Purdue University Indianapolis
Undergraduate

September 16, 2004
Cairo, Egypt

Cairo is amazing. While I feel like a bumbling idiot here sometimes, people are so nice and helpful.

When I first arrived, I really treasured small victories, like finding the post office or the local grocery. My progress has been slow, but it is continually accelerating.

The American University in Cairo is a good school, but they definitely don’t do things the way I'm used to. Americans have a tendency to always want to wait in line, while this makes some of the Egyptians uncomfortable. They prefer us to all sit and have a far less formal system. The chaos of 200 international students descending on the university overwhelmed some of the courses, which have had to be split into multiple sections. Getting settled into classes is taking a little bit of time, but it is happening.

The courses are interesting in content and as a cultural experience. In lower level courses, sometimes the jargon of the subject is stretching the English abilities of first or second year students, which is interesting to observe. In upper level courses, the perspectives on the topics are very different and refreshing.  

I have already gotten a case of the “mummy tummy,” which wasn’t pleasant, but was survivable. Luckily there is a clinic at the dormitory. The doctor there wrote out the medicine I needed and I called the pharmacy to have it brought to me.

All and all, everything is well here in Cairo. I’m still adjusting to a different rhythm of life, but I’m having a great time doing it.

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Rachel Houhoulis

American University, Washington, D.C.
Undergraduate

September 16, 2004
Beijing, China

You may think you know what a bathroom is, and you may even believe you have used the nastiest bathroom in the world, but until you have used a cesuo or public bathroom in rural China, you have experienced nothing.

To start, the average Chinese or Asian-style toilet is very different. It features what I have affectionately termed a “flushing hole in the ground.” Basically, there is no bowl; instead there is a basin in the floor that flushes, sometimes. Toilet paper is never supplied; that is something you have to bring yourself. You can never flush it down the toilet, as the Chinese sewage system cannot handle it. Instead, you deposit your T.P. in a trash bin by said flushing hole.

The more rural the place you visit, the scarier the cesuo becomes. Slowly, they evolve from flushing holes in the ground to just holes in a cement floor. As the flushing feature vanishes, so does any notion of privacy. The private stall is nonexistent in the rural cesuo. Instead, the cesuo will feature three holes in an open room. At this point, feel free to add flies, an overwhelming stench, and/or random Chinese people staring at you because you are a waiguoren (foreigner).  

The most important tips I can have for anyone visiting China include never travel anywhere without toilet paper, anti-bacterial hand-wipes, and a cesuo buddy. T.P is self-explanatory, the handi-wipes can give you a feeling of pseudo-cleanness, and a buddy can be used as a distraction to block the entrance for privacy. With this and a healthy sense of adventure, you can truly experience the wonder that is the rural Chinese cesuo.

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Alisha Lynn Kirchoff

University of Wisconsin, Madison
Undergraduate

September 15, 2004
Vladimir, Russia

Until a little over a week ago, Russia had been a place that I’d only seen in pictures, on the news, or in text books. When I arrived to the place that I’d studied for so long, the experience was both everything, and nothing, that I could expect.

One event that neither I, nor the rest of the world could have predicted was the violent seizure of an elementary school by Chechnyan terrorists on September 1st. Despite the fact that Russia is a place where acts of terror and violence are becoming more common, there is still an understandable tension in the air when a horrific act like this occurs. The unease manifests itself in ways that are obvious to observe, like an increase of armed police in the streets, and the constant coverage of events on every television station. But the tension is also apparent in less visible ways, such as an overall uneasiness that everyday Russians feel toward visitors from abroad.

Perhaps it was the nature of the attack, or maybe the innocence of the target that made the nation stop for three days while every citizen held their breath to see what would become of hostages in the Ossetian school.

Last weekend I visited a local shopping mall, and as I walked out, I looked up the road to my bus stop and couldn't help but notice the large red stars and hammer and sickle ornaments that adorned each street lamp. The irony certainly was not lost on me. The icons of communism juxtaposed against the capitalist image of a shopping mall subtly represent the true nature of Russia.

Russia has a long, rich history trying to reconcile itself to a sometimes exciting, yet largely uncertain future. The violence in the southern region of the country lends itself to this air of uncertainty, as does a relatively new fledgling economy. Yet despite political, social, and economic movements to the future, Russia cannot escape its past. As a constant reminder of where this enigmatic nation came from, gilded domes of orthodox churches peek over glossy, new storefronts. Russia is a nation of many different beginnings, but no real ends. Despite the turmoil of the past and the present, I cannot imagine a place where people are more genuine, hospitable, and generous.

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Daniel Bradshaw

Ohio State University
Undergraduate

September 13, 2004
Nagoya, Japan

Japan has proven to be a wonderful and interesting place to be. I studied a lot about the culture before I came, so not much has surprised me.

I am studying at Nanzan University, and my language courses alone are three hours a day, five days a week, and the homework is two to three hours a night also. Nonetheless, my Japanese is progressing well.

I have tasted my first not-so-good foods: horse and liver. In the week since I arrived, my host family has brought me along to two drinking parties, and I have come to know almost all of their friends, as well as a number of different brands of beer.  My host family has two daughters, ages 5 and 8, and all of the emotional issues that go along with them. I have found it most interesting that despite the language differences, nothing really separates them from my family at home.

All the families I have met so far are all outwardly similar to those back home, and nothing extremely peculiar has happened yet. I’m sure that as the days go by little differences in our ways of thinking will show up, but outwardly everything has become strikingly similar to America. I cannot help but wonder why.

One thing that I have noticed is how good Japanese people are at talking with each other.  At parties and such, three or four people are all you need to keep a continuous conversation flowing for the whole evening.  What I can catch with my shaky Japanese tells me that they speak in very specific terms, and about every little detail so that the conversation does not hit any quiet spots.  I have trouble with this because of my weak language skills, so mostly I listen. However, I imagine my conversation abilities in English will improve even though I’m speaking Japanese here. Sore de wa, mata ato de.

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Matt Harsha-Strong

Yale University
Undergraduate

September 10, 2004
Cairo, Egypt

I arrived in Egypt on the 26th after a grueling overnight trip. The total flight time was 15 hours, all sleepless.

What struck me in the plane's descent into Cairo was the monotone color of the city...everything is very dull and sandy looking from on high.

Most of the buildings here are constructed with earthy materials, most trees cannot survive, and sand that blows in from the desert keeps everything mostly brown. I was pretty bewildered walking through the Cairo airport. An unimaginable number of cab drivers attempted to lure me to their cabs. Everyone pretends to help you out but they really just want to get you into their taxi.

After a couple weeks of living here, I think that people back home exaggerated Cairo's security concerns. As told to us even by the U.S. Embassy, the biggest danger to Americans here is probably the unruly traffic. Cars disregard any traffic signs, traffic lines, and most traffic lights. And they certainly disregard pedestrians. Cars have the right of way here.

Experiencing the Third World has really opened my eyes. The poverty and rudimentary ways of life here will no doubt have an impact on my material ambitions when I return home. Here, you can eat for under three Egyptian pounds, or 50 cents, a day if you find the right place. I definitely overestimated the number of American dollars I would spend here.

So far, I would recommend Egypt to anyone studying abroad -- you can't experience the world and appreciate your life in the West until you come to a place as different as Egypt.

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Erica Fitzhugh

Wellesley College
Undergraduate

September 8, 2004
Salvador da Bahia, Brazil

I have been in Salvador for almost three months now, and I think I’ve finally been able to get into my groove.

Looking back, I was really nervous when I first arrived because I knew little Portuguese and everything was so new. I’m almost fluent now, or a least the lady at the Xerox store tells me so. Now that my Portuguese has improved getting around is a lot easier, especially since I’m using the public bus system for the first time.

Salvador has the largest black population outside of Africa, and because I’m African-American I’ve been mistaken for being Brazilian several times. I live with a Brazilian family with four siblings all around my age. Even though we have different interests, this has made settling in a lot easier. My host mom treats my like a baby, she even gave me a nickname, Eriquinha.  Almost every week she takes it upon herself to introduce me to a new Brazilian fruit. 

Fruta-pão (breadfruit) is hard to describe. Artocarpus altilis, or fruta-pão, is a starch in the mulberry family. When uncooked it looks like a fresh giant green pinecone before it seeds. I asked my host sister why it had the name breadfruit and how it tasted. 

“Well,” she said, “it’s a fruit, it’s not a root like manioc or potatoes, but it has the same taste.” She also said that people eat breadfruit because it can be a bread or starch substitute, like potatoes or aipim. 

The next day for breakfast my host mom cut the fruit into fours and boiled it. She put some on a platter in front of me and plopped some on my plate as well. Knowing my whimsical tastes, I asked her not to put so much on. “I just want a little piece,” I said. 

“No, Erica, eat all of it,” she replied. She reached for some butter and slapped it on my serving of breadfruit. It looked like Jaca or Jack Fruit, another Amazonian fruit that’s sweet, stringy, and also in the mulberry family. I asked her one more time if it tasted sweet. She said of course.  I cut off a little piece, to taste. It was buttery, gooey, and warm, just like a baked potato. All it needed was salt, chives, sour cream, and cheese, and it would have been on and popping. She asked me if I liked it, I shook my head in affirmation.

“Yes,” I said, “does it come fried as well?”

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Thais-Lyn Trayer

NYU
Undergraduate

September 5, 2004
Prague, Czech Republic

“Man muss immer fragen – einmal, zweimal, dreimal, viermal…” A tiny, elderly Swiss man I befriended was telling me how important it was to always ask questions – once, twice, three times, four times.

I was on a train to Poland and confused that half of it was headed for Prague, and the other half to Krakow. I still don’t quite understand the quirky system of trains splitting in different directions en route to seemingly one destination. The real problem, however, was not so much getting to Krakow, but getting back to the Czech Republic in time for the start of my study abroad program. Sit in the wrong train car without asking where you’re going, and you might end up back on the Polish border. With my broken Czech, I eventually made it to Prague after many frustrating detours in the Eastern European countryside, evoking the wisdom of a Polish cab driver: “Life is beautiful, but it is not easy.”

In Prague, a different, harder life is apparent when discovering that meals of delicate pork and potato dumplings in rich cream sauces cost only four dollars. Even in the center of the old town square, an expensive meal “ripping off” foreigners might go for the same price of an Applebee’s entrée back home in Pennsylvania.

Besides impressions as a tourist, something different and harder becomes apparent inside the classroom as my professors talk about what it was like to be dissidents fighting communism in 1989. Leaders of the Velvet Revolution sit around a table reminiscing, as if it were the same table in the pub where they first met.

“Didn’t you have to escape through the roof that night?”
“I could never refuse Vaclav Havel anything.”
“They killed my father, my child… for me it was a blood feud.”

Life is ashamedly too beautiful and easy right now studying abroad. Tours through the Prague Castle gardens and Indian summer afternoons in bohemian cafés feel like undeserved luxuries. Retired ex-pats, cab drivers, and political leaders all reveal something deeper to learn.

Man muss immer fragen…

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Tara Eriksen

College of William and Mary
Undergraduate

August 29, 2004
Beijing, China

Since I arrived in Beijing three months ago, I think that I’ve been open-minded in trying anything and everything put in front of me at a meal. Ordering in Chinese is supposed to be one of the hardest things to do. My friends and I have gotten pretty good at it, but in the beginning, there were some interesting experiences.

There was one meal at the beginning of the summer when we were in Chengdu (Sichuan province) where they served us an appetizer of small, red-colored crustaceans. Our tour guide explained this was one of her favorite dishes, and something that we absolutely had to try. When we asked how we were supposed to eat them, she popped the entire thing into her mouth. After contemplating whether or not I’d be able to swallow the thing once it was in my mouth, I gave it a shot. It wasn’t bad – very spicy, but with a slightly disturbing texture. I don’t think I’ll be adding those to my list of favorite foods.

Then there was the meal where they served us pig brain. Never eat brain of any kind if you want to finish the rest of your meal without a sprint to the bathroom. I remember the time in Beijing when we ordered a big plate of fried strips of fat by accident. Another favorite of mine was when I ordered a bowl of cold noodles by pointing to the table next to me and telling the fuwuyuan (waitress) that I wanted what they were eating. Little did I know that my innocent-looking bowl of noodles came as a side dish to a plate of boiled cow stomach. Imagine the most revolting thing you have ever smelled. Boiled cow stomach smells worse. Unfortunately for me, it’s a very popular dish in Beijing, and I catch a whiff of it every time I eat in an open-air market.

When people ask how much I’ve changed after being in China for three months, my response is easy. I tell them that I’ve discovered a newfound love for the safety of tofu-based dishes and green vegetables. In short, I’ve sworn off the uncertainty of consuming unidentifiable meat bits and become a vegetarian.

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Brandon Higa

Stanford University
Undergraduate

August 28, 2004
Tokyo, Japan

I finally made it to Tokyo and have been here for two weeks, settling in (sort of) before my program with IUC starts on September 6th. To be honest, trying to get adjusted to this lifestyle is taking more out of me than I expected, so I haven’t studied as much as I’d hoped.

At the moment, I’m staying with a college friend in Hiroo (part of Shibuya), and it’s a really nice area. My friend's family has taken care of me from time to time before, so it is nice to have a security blanket while I prepare for the long year ahead. 

Though it’s only been two weeks, I feel that I’ve already experienced the difficulty one could encounter as a Japanese-American who cannot speak fluent Japanese in Tokyo. The language barrier aside, I’m already having difficulty with the cultural barrier that exists between the Tokyoites and me. 

Though my face looks completely native, my way of thinking is definitely American. While in the States, I am considered relatively passive and quiet; here I am often perceived as headstrong and maybe even over the threshold of acceptable bluntness. All difficulties aside, I’m looking forward to spending this next year not only learning the Japanese that will prepare me for further research, but more importantly, assimilating this culture so I can function in this foreign society. 

Believe me, it has been a bit stressful, but at the same time each day has its golden moments.

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Marisa Jones

July 13, 2004
Cairo, Egypt

The first thing I noticed upon arrival at the Cairo airport were the crowds of people, which continue to annoy and enthrall me.

People are everywhere in Cairo, cramming the buses and trains, darting across the streets (which is no easy feat), and packing the sidewalks. During the summer months, people never seem to sleep. I’ve seen families, including small children, having dinner outside at one o'clock in the morning. Along with crowds comes heat, not only from the unrelenting sunshine but also from the masses of bodies forced closely together.

Cairo is full of new and unusual sounds. One of the most noticeable is the call to prayer, which sounds from the minarets five times a day and often wakes me up at five o'clock in the morning, (that is if the neighbor's dog hasn't woken me up first).

I’m staying with friends of a friend until I move into an apartment. Their generosity is amazing; they give me a place to stay, food and lots of conversation and advice. They say that their hospitality is representative of the way any Egyptian would treat a guest. Cairenes are often eager to help when I get lost, (which happens quite often), or when I look confused in any way. Even though many of them don't speak English and my formal Arabic is not always understood, hand signals and smiles go a long way.

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