Fun Reading for Me!

Dear Globies,

I have very much enjoyed reading your blog posts.  Your thoughtful insights to the cultural experiences you have had are quite interesting.  Some are funny, some are touching, and they are all honest. Thank you for being willing to share your reactions here in this class forum.  

Given the unique student viewpoints you have provided here, I would love to be able to share some of these blog posts with my ninth and tenth grade classes.  As you know from having had me as a teacher, when I share student work I typically do so anonymously.  If you do not want me to share any of your work at all, please let me know and I will certainly honor this.  Some of your commentary would be perfect for the "I'm Normal, You're Weird" unit we cover with the ninth graders in the beginning of the year.

Best of luck finishing the coursework.  I look forward to seeing most of you soon, and to the graduates, best of luck this semester and let us know how you are doing :)

The Lourve, Notre Dame, and the Riverboat Tour

Blog Entry Three: The Lourve, Notre Dame, and the Riverboat Tour

                Today we visited the Lourve, which is famous for the Mona Lisa, a name I’d be surprised that someone didn’t recognize. I learned the Lourve was actually a castle at one point, but the king moved out of it because it was in the middle of Paris, which wasn’t safe for him, as there was a revolution going on. The place was gigantic. According to our tour guide, if you stopped to look at every painting for 16 seconds, it would take years to have seen every one. Now of course it didn’t seem like that on the inside, as we were rushed and were only interested in seeing some selected paintings, but that’s nonetheless impressive.

                We entered through a glass pyramid in the courtyard, which was quite cool. Inside the place was massive, with three separate wings all full of paintings and sculptures and whatnot. Some classmates and I were rushing through the place looking for the Mona Lisa and the Crowning of Napoleon, so we did not stop to thoroughly examine most of the paintings, but from what I saw, the majority of them were religious. While looking for the Crowning of Napoleon, we ended up finding the Mona Lisa. I had not known before then that it was such a small painting, but what I heard of it was true; no matter where you were, it looked like she was staring at you. That was actually quite freaky.

                In the end, we actually ended up going to find food and a place to sit, as we were all tired from walking, but nonetheless the Lourve was impressive. Which brings us to our next destination, Notre Dame. Notre Dame, in my honest opinion, wasn’t that great. We had visited a church earlier that was ten times more interesting, but Notre Dame was still pretty cool. The inside, of course, was massive, with pillars and arches and stain glass windows. Although the line to get in was a couple hundred feet long, and there were easily 500+ people in the line, we got in surprisingly fast. After only about 20 minutes, we were in the front of the line. I was honestly very surprised about that.

                Later, our half insane tour director guided us to the dock where we’d be taking our riverboat tour. The riverboat tour actually changed my entire view of Paris. There was something about it, seeing Paris at night from the boat, that just made Paris seem… Better. Before the tour, I hadn’t really liked it much. It was dirty and rather boring. Maybe I just liked London too much and that made my opinion biased. Regardless, seeing all the buildings, and the lights, and the people lined up on the river was just absolutely serene. It was on the boat where I realized how beautiful Paris was really, something that I had failed to see before. Admittedly I didn’t pay much attention to the audio part of the tour itself. I preferred sitting there, listening to music and taking in the beautiful sight of Paris at night.

               

Buckingham Palace and Jack the Ripper

Blog Entry Two: Buckingham Palace and Jack the Ripper

                Today was a great day, probably the best day on the trip, not only because of the sites we saw, but because of our tour guide. We had an amazing guide name Sean, and if this guy wasn’t a comedian, I don’t know who is. He was outrageously funny, and one of my highlights of the trip. He was literally the funniest person I’ve ever met, and I would love to go into further detail, but I can’t really remember many of his jokes very well.

                Regardless, we drove all over London, from things to Trafalgar Square, to famous St. Paul’s Cathedral, to the lavish and, quite impressive, Buckingham Palace.  A fun thing I noticed was that at St. Paul’s, all of the trees were painted blue with a bio-degradable paint or dye of some kind. I’d seen pictures of them before but I didn’t even know that they were in London, let alone right outside St. Paul’s. The cathedral itself was massive. Sean explained to us the architect made it a very easy to remember area; 300 feet by 500 feet. Unfortunately we did not get to go inside, but the exterior was quite impressive. Sean explained to us it was one of the only churches to survive the bombing by the Germans during WWII, whether it was luck or just a miracle, which I found pretty interesting.

                But even more impressive than St. Paul’s, was Buckingham Palace. I’d always wanted to see it, ever since it was part of a setting in a book I read many years back, and my wish had finally come true. The place was spectacular. The gates were black and covered with golden crests of the royal family, and in the middle of the round area was a gigantic statue plated in real gold leaf. It looked spectacular. I couldn’t help but admire how much wealth was in just one area alone. The flowers around were of all colors from red, to blue, to purple, and I wondered how many people must tend to the gardens there.

                We were left alone for around 15 to 30 minutes to look around, and then move to a meet up point. Soon after we met up, Sean took us to the best spot to witness the changing of the guards. However, an army truck was in the way at first, which kind of annoyed me because I could not get a good shot, but as soon as the actual changing of the guard began it moved out of the way. The guards were obviously professionals, moving in perfect unison. There was not a single flaw in their movements, and the band played loud and clear. What I noticed there was that there were actually children amongst the guards, probably being trained.

                Later on was the Jack the Ripper tour. It was dark and rainy, which some people might think helped the atmosphere a lot, but later on in the tour it began literally pouring and thundering, to the point where our guide kind of just brought us all inside of a gigantic market stall area to finish the tour. I learned a lot about Jack the Ripper, and we heard a lot about a theory called “the Royal theory,” which basically connects the killings to two or three people, including the royal family’s doctor, who took it on himself to kill four people who knew that one of the princes had a baby with a Catholic girl, which was not allowed at the time. If it were not for the killings, the queen would not be in place right now. In fact, it would be a man named King Joseph in charge of the royal family.

                Overall, today was a great day, and there was a lot of cool sites we visited, and a lot of very interesting things we learned. Although the Jack the Ripper tour was interesting, I thought it was rather bland, due to our guide. He was rather dull and boring, and there was so much rain it kind of ruined the whole thing.

Arrival in London

Entry One: Arrival in London

            To say the plane ride to London was uneventful would be an understatement. It was cramped, uncomfortable, and rather hot. Some of the students and teachers who were lucky managed to catch some sleep, while others like me were less fortunate. But I knew that in the end it would be worth it. I’d always dreamed about going to London and seeing all the sites. To be honest, when I took this trip, I didn’t care so much about going to Paris, as spending a few days in London. The plane ride was about 6 hours of me attempting to sleep, then giving up and watching movies. After waiting so long, we finally touched down in London, leaving me in a great mood. That is, until, we got stuck in an enormous line to check in our passports…

            If someone said that the students and teachers weren’t tired or crabby, they would be a liar. Even those who managed to fall asleep were only out for a few hours. Everyone was tired and jetlagged the whole day, and rather irritated. On that first day, it seemed all that we did was wait, wait, and wait some more. Our first subway ride into the city, as I remember, was lengthy, and uncomfortable. We were all crammed in a small space with no open windows and no air conditioning for almost an hour. Even the teachers were complaining about it.

            However, we finally arrived at our destination. We explored the city a bit and stopped to have lunch in a nice little area. I was hoping they’d give us some free time to explore on our own, but we only had an hour and we were not allowed to wander off.

            After lunch, we headed to see the London Eye. Needless to say we waited in a gigantic line, but it was entertaining due to the street performers that were interacting with the crowd. This one man had these weird things on his legs that made him jump very high, and he was throwing a beach ball into the group and jumping, and also did a backflip once or twice. The students and even the teachers were hitting it back to him, and it was pretty fun.

            Eventually, we were nearing the entrance for the London Eye. As the man working there asked us how many people we had with us, I simply said “52.” He gave me this look that sent me a message of something like, “Damn tourists…” We split up in to two groups to get on the Eye, and it was an amazing view. You could see all of London, from the Big Ben to the millions of people scampering around down below. The London Eye was the first thing I really enjoyed on the trip, as did most of the other students. Although I’ll admit at the top, looking down seemed to suddenly bring out the fear of heights that I hadn’t really known about before… But other than that it was quite enjoyable.

            Overall, I really did not like my first day in London, mostly due to the fact that I was tired, crabby, and extremely jetlagged. I’m sure if I had gotten some sleep it would have been a bit better, however, I really enjoyed the London Eye. 

The Big Guns: European Churches

The Big Guns: European Churches It wasn’t the reason I wanted to go to Europe. No, I can’t say any one thing really pulled me into coming along on this trip. But it was certainly a wonderful experience. Back at home, the churches I attend are well under a century old. The main one I go to weekly just celebrated its 50th anniversary. However, compared to the churches we saw on the trip, the ones back home are only babies. My favorite one, Rouen Cathedral, has been around for a good 200 years— at least— and it’s still standing strong. It’s built in a gothic style, with tall pointed towers and gargoyles to keep out evil spirits. Unlike Notre Dame in Paris, which was crowded and offered little peace and quiet, you could hear a pin drop in Rouen Cathedral. The stone pillars inside stood perfectly spaced like enormous cement trees, climbing over your head and melting into the ceiling. That ceiling seemed like the sky, so tall it was crazy to picture someone building it. On the outside the church was massive, but I had seen massive. I have been to big cities with skyscrapers that stretched to the sun. However, the experience of being inside something so great can only be described as powerful. Powerful enough to make you feel a part of the church, part of the ancient walls. Inside the Rouen Cathedral, I stood in the church soldiers attended during the Hundred Years War, where Joan of Arc’s executor prayed. Generation after generation, people would go to that church long before I was ever born. And they won’t stop coming. Our guide explained to us that the church still has masses every Sunday and also holds other religious celebrations as well. People will continue to include the Rouen Cathedral in their daily lives, just like they’ve been doing for hundreds of years. Though the building is aging, the locals are making an effort to preserve the church. Sections of the building, walls with intricate carvings for example, are netted to keep away birds. During the world wars, the stain glass windows were removed to prevent them from shattering. The church as a whole was very well kept for its age, so I know it was well taken care of. Something that made the Rouen Cathedral stand out from other ancient churches was the line of saint statues that went all around the back of the altar. I don’t think they were made for the church. They seemed to be created at different times, judging by the wear of each statue. Though I looked, I was disappointed to not find a Joan of Arc statue. Considering she was executed in the very same town, I thought they would’ve had something related to her in there. I suppose they saved that for the monumental Joan of Arc church a few blocks away. What spoke to me at that church? The quiet. We went into three churches over the course of the trip. I guess you could say they were all the same. But the others were much more crowded, lacking a sense of peace you can only find in silence. You could really hear your thoughts in that building. Ceilings so high made a person seem so small. I knew I could wander for hours in that building, yet still not find everything it had to hold. It’s the memories in the church that seemed to speak to me. The old voices of the wall call out to you: listen. You’ll never know what stories you’ll find.

Lost in London

Lost in London I think we’re all aware of the baby bird metaphor. When the time comes, the mama bird will push her children out of the nest so they learn to fly. It’s symbolic of learning to survive on your own, making a stake in life, growing up. The baby bird must learn to get around on its own. It’s pretty simple: fly or die. I’ll admit, I’m a sheltered child. I grew up in a small town, and I can get around only because I know where everything is. My sense of direction— well, I never knew if it was any good because I never got the chance. Any new vacation was taken with an adult, one armed with a map. Whenever there was a chance I was away from home, someone else was there who knew their way around. I needed a good, healthy push out of the tree, pronto. Thankfully, this trip was that push. It was our first full day in London, and someone decided to let these dazed, recently un-jetlagged kids loose into one of the most crowded cities in the world. I was pretty relieved at first. One of my least favorite things about the trip was marching around in a group of fifty-three. We might as well carry signs that say “Tourists crossing, pickpockets welcome!” To be out in a small group of our choice was a blessing. After about twenty minutes of hunting for food, it slowly dawned on my merry group of two that we weren’t sure which path to take. Our map didn’t have the majority of local streets we were on. Come to think of it, we didn’t know even know where we were going. We were in a foreign country, and nothing we passed seemed remotely familiar. It was just about as lost as you could get. In today’s age, anyone can whip out a phone and call someone who knows the way. But funny thing about a foreign country: no phone service. I can say from experience being lost in the city is far worse than being lost anywhere else. It's because of the people! People crossing the streets, driving cars, waiting for you to get out of the way— they were everywhere. While in America there are benches you can sit on and wonder what to do, there don’t seem to be any in London. Locals would sit on the edges of the street or on the doorstep of a shop if they had to rest, but there was no designated area. Not only were we panicking about what to do, but we were caught up in the flow of human traffic. We had to get directions, and we had to do it the old-fashioned way. Asking a local for directions was something I’ve never had to do before, but I found it didn’t take much time. The British family we pulled over was happy to help, despite their lack of street knowledge. It was interesting to see how they interacted with one another, not so different from an American family. They were down to earth and friendly, unlike the stereotype of hoity-toity Englishmen you hear about. We were directed to street maps located on the corner every few blocks or so. It was pretty smart of the English to put those maps there, or a quarter of the tourists in London would still be stumbling around today. Maybe I’d still be there. But like that baby bird, I learned how to make my own way. And I did it pretty well too.

Talk to Me

Talk to Me I had to have one. Though I was unaware of it before arriving, macaroons in France are pretty well known. Devouring the crisp, sugary shell bearing gooey sweet filling suddenly became the main goal of my existence. There, right across the cobble stone street where I stood, a shop of these lovely treats beckoned me forward. With a fresh stack of Euros in my pocket, who could resist? I went over to the counter, and then I remembered. I resist the programmed custom I’ve been raised with to say hello to the shop owner. “Hello” doesn’t cut it here. We’re in France. You speak French. Bonjour was my correct and welcomed greeting to the owner. Soon after my hello I got the expected stare down from the owner. Whatever accent Americans had in France, I certainly had it too. She knew I was a tourist. Her eyes told me right then and there any English would not be accepted at her booth. This was a test. She expected— no, wanted me to speak English, so she could go home and tell her family how rude these Americans were. I’d bet my hat she spoke English too, but she’d never admit to it. Not to me. Right now, it was all up to me. If I gave in, I’d forfeit any shot at respect and become the stereotypical American tourist. If I used my broken French, I’d sound like an uneducated bum and probably screw up my order. I didn’t have time to contemplate; the owner was waiting. I took a breath: “Je vous dre… nutella,” I managed, pointing to the one I wanted. They’re very picky about language here, the French. And who can blame them? You might as well hike up to your local McDonald’s and order in Arabic. Not only will nobody understand you, but you’re not making any effort to respect the local customs. Even a slow spoken, mispronounced grammar nightmare effort is better than no effort at all. And believe me, my French was poorly said. Though I made a mild attempt to study French before I left, all past experience went out the window as soon as I stood in front of a real Frenchman. Not only was the language spoken too quickly to comprehend, but my mind would always blank on all learned vocabulary. When you study a second language in America, it never feels like a real language. Not literally of course; I know it exists. But growing up around all English made the idea of anything else seem silly. It was mind blowing to be in a place where this mythical “French” was used frequently every day. Here was a place where English seemed distant and silly. Here, I learned something vital to understanding mankind but which can never be taught in a textbook or a classroom: being a minority. As I slowly improved, I learned to ask for crepe de nutella instead of a nutella crepe. When I bumped into something, the automatic “excuse me” became “pardon” or “excuse aye mwa.” When the sandwich shop clerk jabbered a long, incomprehensible sentence in French, my best bet was to nod, smile and say oui. To my delight, people became much more responsive to my French. I was able to order food more confidently and fluidly. Locals would make a bigger effort to step aside when I asked in French, compared to others who asked in English. I was becoming comfortable in a language I barely understood. After my experience, I know if I ever met the macaroon lady again I would order correctly and clearly. And maybe, I’d be able to ask about her day too.