I hate textbooks. After my first semester my freshman year, I have avoided courses that have actual textbooks. I hate them the moment I see the $182.34 price tag.  At this point in the game of undergraduate life, I know how to read, am learning how to think and can live without bad graphs, poor writing and 3 inch, fuzzy photos of beautiful art. Students don’t actually attend textbook classes, because they can just read the material on their own time, or so that is the claim. I came to college to learn to think, not to master the art of multiple choice, textbook tests.

 

The best thing about being in Florence is that the city is the book. But it isn’t the primary source document that you dreaded reading for AP History. You only have to walk around to be immersed with art, literature, architecture, religion, and politics. Everything here has its own story, usually including murder, death, revenge or jealousy. The fascinating thing about the city, and in the study of history, is that all the stories are related. While appreciating the beauty of the art, you cannot fully understand the art without understanding their surrounding influences. In Florence, politics and religion are tightly intertwined and it would be impossible to study one without knowledge of the other.

Field trips are on a weekly basis in Florence. Being in a place, looking at the architecture and hard and hearing the history of its creation give me glimpses of the sweeping influence of Renaissance thought.

This morning one of my classes visited Santa Croce, a church of the Franciscan order, which began being built in 1294. It is also the final resting place of two of the greatest minds in the AD era.

Michelangelo’s body was stolen away from Rome in order to be buried here. Galileo’s body was moved here 100 years after his death. He was excommunicated for his scientific testimonies, but later reinstated and given a proper memorial. Though usually assumed to be here, Dante, author of the Divine Comedy, is not technically buried here even though a massive statue is outside. But this is his hometown memorial as he also was exiled from the city.

The fingerprints of the greats are everywhere in Florence, and they are much easier to find after a gelato or a glass of red wine.

 

 

Hola a todos! I’ve now been in Buenos Aires, Argentina, for a little over two months, but I feel like I still have so much of the city left to discover. A little info about me: My name is Weesie, I’m a senior, english major, from Hendersonville, NC. I decided to come to Argentina for part of my senior year because even though I’d studied spanish for a while, I’d never been to Latin America and wanted to see what it was all about, so here I am! While living in the fabulous city that is Buenos Aires, I’m taking classes at La Universidad Catolica de Argentina (La UCA), a private university located in Puerto Madero, one of BsAs’ many barrios. La UCA consists of 3 buildings (a 4th currently in progress), and although they are all separated above ground, they’re connected secret-passage style by a loooong underground hallway.  

 My friend Corey and I at the BsAs cattle show. That’s definitely not the official title though, I just made that up. Yes, we did get to pet the cows!

The city is HUGE and incredibly bustling, but equally as beautiful. I live in an amazing house (we got lucky) with four other international students in an area of the city called Palermo Hollywood. My roommates are: Rachel, from the US (also from UNC! way to represent); Tori, from England; James, from Italy; and Alexis (a boy), from France. The lifestyle here is completely different from anything in North Carolina, especially the nightlife. Dinner doesn’t take place until around 11, and the club scene doesn’t begin to heat up until 2 at the earliest! I have no idea how the Argies can stay up all night and still function the next day, but I am definitely working on finding out.

 A gaucho! Argentina’s version of a cowboy during the livestock show.

To agree with David’s post, the people here are incredible! Although it’s a massive city, BsAs has a friendly neighborhood feel–friends always kiss when they meet on the street, young people give up their seats to the elderly on the subway, taxi drivers wave to eachother when stopped at red lights, etc. If I’m ever lost or have a question, someone is always willing and eager to help me. Los Portenos especially (inhabitants of BsAs, who generally consider themselves superior to all other Argentines) take a genuine interest in foreigners, and always ask the same series of questions: 1) Where are you from? 2) What are you doing here? And, my personal favorite, 3) Do you like George W. Bush?

 My French roommate Alexis and I, bonjour.  

 I’ll finish up by describing the Argentine lifestyle in three words: Beef, Tango, Fiesta. Before I left for Buenos Aires, a friend of mine gave me some valuable advice. He said, “The first thing you have to do when you get there is…join a gym.” Argentines are always eating food that they describe as “muy rica” (steak, pasta, empanadas, dulce de leche, beer!), but even so, they are still an entire country of underweight people. 

 Tango dancers in La Boca

I have taken a few tango lessons since I’ve been here, very exciting! During Orientation Week at school, UCA organized a tango lesson for all of the international students. It was so hilarious, very 7th grade dance style, with boys on one side and girls on the other, and of course the awkward moments of changing partners in between dances. Since then, I’ve been to a few milongas–dance halls where people of all ages gather for a tango show followed by informal lessons. I have some videos, and hopefully I’ll have figured out how to post them by the time you read this! 

 Me and my two roommates, Tori and Rachel at Bahrein!

Argentines party hard. A night out at a boliche–Argentine clubs/discos you might say–begins around 2ish and doesn’t usually end until the sun is coming up. Even more different from the US, Argies don’t really appear to drink very much throughout the night at all. Rather, they seem to focus on finding someone to go home with at the end of the night–hm, actually I guess that’s not so different from the US after all!

Hasta luego!

Before I dive into the rest of this blog I thought it would be appropriate to introduce myself. My name is Clayton Pfannenstiel, and I am a junior economics and Arabic major currently studying in Jordan. Beforehand I was also in Lebanon, and before I return to North Carolina on the 29th of December I hope to visit Egypt, Syria, and the West Bank of Palestine. My two primary purposes for studying abroad this semester each have to do with my respective majors. In economics I hope to write my honors thesis on Islamic finance, and the Arabic here in Jordan should be pretty self explanatory.

The program which I chose for my study abroad is not directly through UNC, but rather a school called S.I.T. I was drawn to S.I.T. Jordan not only because of the language but also because within the program is a month designated solely for independent research withing Jordan. As a result, I am able to pursue my own academic interests in a way I would not be able to at any other study abroad program.

As for the Middle East itself, I have loved every second of it. Starting in Beirut, I was able to see the cosmopolitan city that catches the headlines so often. In Lebanon I was also able to see Tripoli and Baalbeck, two places which are a must on any adventure in the region. That was followed by my current stay here with a family in Amman, Jordan. I have done so many things in Jordan so far, two of the most notable being a stay with Bedouin for a week and attending the Jordan-Palestine football game. Classes are intense, but we are finished everyday by 3:30. Since Jordan is quite small, a day trip can be made to almost any site within the country.

As I am sure Matt Garza has already mentioned, the culture here in the Middle East is amazing. Hospitality rivals that of the American south, and the tea, although served hot here, is just as sweet. Currently, we are in the holy month of Ramadan. While that means that basically nothing happens during the day, nights are filled with festivities and feasts unimaginable in the states.

In regards to Middle Eastern culture and people, it’s amazing here to see the difference between what we witness on the news and what we witness on the ground. I’ve spoken to Islamists who have invited me to break the fast with them and every random stranger you talk to seems to want nothing more than your satisfaction with their country. Everyone here is capable of separating the American individual from the American government, which is a good thing in a country neighboring Iraq.

Language here is also a beautiful thing. While most individuals speak English better than some Americans, Arabic will get you a long way in getting things done around here. People take so much pride in their language, and for good reason. A very poetic language, Arabic is difficult to master. As Matt mentioned, colloquial and standard Arabic have vast differences, although not nearly as much here in Jordan. The dialects are also very different within Jordan; people in the north tend to talk much like Syrians whereas people in the south have many more connections to Saudi Arabia.

I would definitely suggest studying in the Middle East to anyone who wants a challenge in their study abroad. The night life is not nearly as western as other places, but it still exists. Cultural differences are many here, and the need to adapt to them really taxes and individual at first. However, the people you meet here are unlike any other on earth. The history here is unparalleled, and the places to see are magnificent. Below I have set a link to my pictures I have taken so far here, and I would be happy to discuss with anyone traveling in the region. It definitely not your “normal” study abroad if such a thing exists, and will definitely be one of my best collegiate memories.

-Clayton

Pictures 

Two days before my departure to London on September 5th, the butterflies started.

Beginning in February with the application process, studying abroad in London was this big, fabulous idea I was excited for. I diligently read my Lonely Planet guides this summer, asked friends and family what to expect, and of course talked about the trip endlessly with 3 of my guy friends who are also on this program, but it didn’t become real until i started packing my bags. That’s when I had to contemplate heavy issues like, how often will I really wear this sweater? Is it lame to bring a stuffed animal? and, is it wise to buy these trendy brown suede Puma sneakers since it rains so much in London? (it has only rained once since I’ve been here so I severely regret not buying said sneakers.)

The butterflies really stepped it up as my parents waved goodbye to me with nervous smiles at John F. Kennedy Airport and my mom called out her parting words to me: “Don’t forget to take your vitamins!” I couldn’t sleep on the plane, I was so excited.

Six hours later, I landed in Heathrow, paid 40 pounds to a sketchy minicab driver (the cruel equivalent of 80 dollars…it’s a 2:1 conversion rate) to get to my flat on 105 Gower Street and soon experienced one of the greater shocks of my life.

When receiving room assignments this summer, we were informed that we would live in doubles or triples that would include a living room, a kitchen and a bathroom. Forgetting this is London, I foolishly envisioned a beautiful, spacious living space with pretty walls and you know, maybe even a generic painting of a flower or two. Instead, I squeezed down the world’s narrowest stairs, open the door to Flat #4 and gazed in horror upon a glorified Hinton James dorm room. I’ll send some pictures along soon, but the room has 2 really narrow beds, one desk, a table, a separate bathroom and a surprisingly legitimately-sized closet. The promised kitchen is against the back wall, which means the sweet scent of any (inevitable) cooking disasters will haunt my dreams. And the bathroom’s pretty tiny (probably a little bigger than my closet)…interestingly, my shower has a “Start/Stop” button and a dial for water pressure. That living room that was promised to us is actually the hall’s “lounge.” I will soon include pictures of the 3 most hideous paintings I have ever seen which decorate my wall.

While I felt a little misled at first, I’ve come to terms with it and kind of like living in The Box as I’ve fondly begun calling it…to future program-goers, it’s the worst of the lot, as the others have a separated kitchen and larger bathroom. But I’ve found that a number of things in Europe are generally smaller, so I suppose this is cultural.

I have one roommate, Christina, who I get along with (or as the British would say, get on with) very well. There are about 20 kids on the program and we’ve quickly become friends as we’re mostly in the same classes and our flats are all in the same building. Not to mention almost everyone is very cool.

The first night we were here, one of my best friends Andy, Christina and I went and explored our neighborhood, which is Bloomsbury. This is the same neighborhood in which Virginia Woolf, T.S. Eliot and Charles Dickens once lived. With any luck, the literary genius waves in the area will soak into my brain during the coming weeks, and you, blog-reader, will be in for a real treat. We stumbled across (and literally stumbled out of) the London Pub, which is full of Australians. It reminded me of Pantana Bob’s with its outdoor patio, but the clientele was a little older and what’s the word…rougher? Not a pink polo with a popped collar in sight. I’d recommend it and anticipate returning there soon.

The next day, we took a bus tour of London and viewed Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace and more landmark spots in London. Sadly, the tour was not in a bright red double-decker, but looked exactly like a Greyhound, except the driver sat on the right. It was amazing to see these buildings that are so often photographed and written about, and it is no wonder they receive the attention they get. Westminster Abbey and Big Ben in particular are magnificently intricate and so much of the architecture in London is simply breathtaking.

I have plenty more to write about since I have neglected this blog in the excitement of London for the past week and a half but I don’t want to overwhelm my readership. Thus, I will write more this weekend and catch you all up to speed. I think we’re about to head to a hookah bar right now, anyway.

Cheerio!

When I was growing up, when our car started breaking down around hour 10 of the drama filled family car ride, one of my parents would always say, “The vicissitudes of travel must be met with grace and good humor.” Since beginning my travels around Italy, this saying is becoming a learned art.

This past weekend, my fabulous roommate Liz and I headed for the famed Cinque Terre, five cities along the Mediterranean Sea. We were not intended to go with such fickle plans, but alas, after a few wrong trains which blitzed passed our destination, with the wrong tickets, we arrived to the Italian coast without a place to stay. An hour later, after name dropping everyone we knew (and just met) we headed up, up, up to our hostel, which was at the top of the top of Riomaggiore. We celebrated with a dinner of red wine, homemade pesto and bread along the rocks.

Saturday we headed off on a hike that links the five towns together. It was beautiful in the way that the word ‘beauty’ is supposed to be used. The towns looked like images from a picture book, watercolors depicting a vision. Don’t get me wrong, the hike wasn’t exactly a walk through Coker, but the views were certainly worth the sore legs. The hike follows the coastline between the towns. The region is known for it’s sweet wine, and the vineyard rows lace the mountainside. The trail sets you in the center of each town, letting you walk around and see the unique character of each. It was a six-scoops of gelato type of day.

Sunday morning we headed up and out to the beach to relax before heading back to a week of classes. We went to Manarola and Vernazza two towns in the middle of the hike. Manarola gives great views of the coastline and boats skimming along the sea. In Vernazza, I kept waiting for Daniel Craig to blitz by in a boat. It was exactly what I image a beach town in the 1950’s to look like: it had the bright multi-colored umbrellas, colorful buildings which were complemented by the clearest blue-green water I have ever seen. Small boats line the harbor and larger yachts float just out to sea. The sea is so salty you just float. On our way out of town, racing to the train station of course, we passed a t-shirt for sale that captured life in Vernazza reading: “Do not disturb, I am listening to the smile of the sun and the sounds of the sea.”

David

And the sun sets on another day in Florence, just beyond the Arno River; it casts a glow across the city. This is why I wanted to study in Florence. To bask in the glow of a sun which has provided inspiration, glimpses of the Good, to the lifetime ‘Hall of Famers’ in the arts and by some form of osmosis, absorb the air of Florence.

Life abroad is not immune to the usual challenges that arise at the beginning of the semester. In an attempt to change a terrible course, I found myself wishing for my drop/add buttons on Student Central and the famous professor ‘write in’. Over 25% of my courses at Carolina I couldn’t get into, but after a few emails and a few in person appearances, the professor picked up on the fact that I was interested in his course for the material, not the time it met or because it fulfilled a degree requirement.

But, on a better note, the highlight of studying the liberal arts in Florence is that she is the birthplace of the arts. Most of my courses have fieldtrips, bi-weekly, where the class goes and sees the masterpieces which a textbook photo cannot encompass.

While I will never fully blend into the Florence culture, I feel as if I am becoming more ‘local.’ I now buy all my fruits and vegetables from the local fresh market, teeming with stalls of fresh imports. I also gave directions to two confused American couples yesterday. And, drum roll please, Tuesday nights at the Academia, home of David, are free! So last night I headed over and stood in awe of Michelangelo’s David. Beautiful in pictures, I waited for him to move. The veins on his hands pop along his skin. His toes curl. His knees slightly bend. I know where I will be heading for Tuesday nights the next four months.

Ahlan wa Sahlan! Welcome to the first of what will hopefully be many substantial entries about life and study in the Middle East. I write today from Cairo, the capital of the Arab Republic of Egypt and center of the Arab Middle East. The people here are beautiful, but due to gender division the women don’t talk to me so it’s more or less like the United States. No culture shock whatsoever.

Check out the Q+A below for some information about me and the blog (credit is due to the incomparable Susannah Nitz-Gund for this idea).

Q: Who are you?

A: I am rising junior but my upperclassman status will have to wait as I am deferring this semester at Carolina in order to live and study in the Middle East (my presence on this blog is only by the good graces of my editor). This time around, I am traveling for language study. Arabic is a central piece of my life, and I expect that much of my personal and professional experiences in the future will revolve around Arabic and the Arabic-speaking world. My time has been split between Jordan (June) and Egypt (six months beginning last July), all in an effort to improve my skills with the language. But, in sha Allah, I will find time to relax and take photographs. Expect to find the better ones posted on the blog.

Q: I’ve heard that even though you studied Arabic in school, you cannot understand the people there. Is this true?

A: In many ways yes. There are two kinds of Arabic: Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) and the colloquial forms found throughout the Arabic-speaking world. MSA is the formal language which unites Arabic speakers and Muslims around the world. It is the language of the Qur’an, the holy book of Islam, as well as public addresses, radio, and TV news like Al-Jazeera. Given its religious and political prominence, Arabic-speakers hold MSA in high regard. Much respect is given to those who can master its overwhelming complexity and beauty. This is the language which has existed for thousands and thousands of years and which I have studied for the past two. Unfortunately, no one actually speaks it.

People speak a local dialect which is a variant of the original MSA. As is the case with any ancient language, as time passes it develops local iterations which can, in time, become incomprehensible from the original language. The Arabic in the Levant region (more or less Israel and the Palestinian Territories, Lebanon, Syria, and Jordan) is closest to MSA. So, for example, a Jordanian and a Syrian can hang out, smoke some shisha, and make plans with one another. But if you’re from Morocco, no one outside the country will understand you. Also, everyone tends to understand Egyptian Arabic. This is because its movies and music are popular throughout the region (quick fact: Cairo operates the fourth-largest movie industry in the world, behind the US, India, and Hong Kong) and because of its political prominence in the region. Egypt is in many ways at the heart of the Arab World.

Q: Is it safe there for an American? Are you packing a Canadian flag? Don’t they hate our freedom?
A: It is easy to caricature the region based on reports from Iraq, but this is a mistake. Egypt is not Iraq and Jordan is not Gaza. The places where I will travel are safe and pleasant for all travelers. In my Lonely Planet guide, the author spoke of witnessing a protest in Iran where people shouted “Death to America” and similar mantras. He, a blond-haired man from Britain, described two guys who peeled off from the crowd, approached him, and asked how he liked Iran and whether he would like to have tea with them.

The larger point, though, is that most people are not collecting in the streets. They are doing what people do the world over: going to work, raising kids, and voting on American Idol (Arabian Idol in this part of the world; democracy in action). People can easily distinguish between a government and its citizens. So while they might enjoy talking about the administration, I am rarely confused with George Bush.

A quick story from Jordan: On the plane ride over, I sat next to a Palestinian man who thankfully engaged me in conversation. As I always do (and as everyone tells me not to) I steered the conversation towards politics, asked him who he voted for (Fatah it turns out) and what he thought about Israel and the US. He spoke of “the occupation” and how it was as though he was living in a jail given restrictions on his movement. He had little praise for the US, but at the end of the flight he offered me his phone number and told me to call if I had any questions about Jordan. Note: He lives in Jerusalem. Interesting folks…

That should do it for the first post. If you have any thoughts/ideas/suggestions, please share them in the comment section. I would like to know that more than just my mom is reading this blog. Many thanks for visiting.

~Matt

Truth – I’m writing this in a Starbucks. A Parisian Starbucks, but still the same coffee cup collages adorn the walls below the same speakers that let out the exact kind of melodramatic music that you’d hear in the United States.

So American.
But not really.

For one thing, I can see a French flag outside the window, and the server spelled my name “Mégane” on my paper cup.

But, if I’ve learned anything from my last week in Paris, it’s that living a Parisian life has little to do with frequenting fancy restaurants, museums, or famous monuments. It’s the different way of life here – calmer, more relaxed, more random that really defines the beauty and diversity of Paris.

Last Sunday night, I had a picnic behind the Eiffel Tower. While hundreds of tourists were standing in line for to see the views, my friends and I sat on the grass behind the tower with a bottle of wine and watched the sun set behind the most famous symbol of France.

 

Then, last Friday, at 11pm (or 23h), we were sitting on the terrace of our hostel (with more wine) when suddenly we heard what sounded like far away ocean waves, and they got closer and closer until we saw, seven stories below, thousands of men and women rollerblading on the street below. 

Or we were riding the train when suddenly an entire band of musicians boarded and played some traditional French tunes while the accordion player held out a cup for “donations.” And another person strummed Pink Floyd and Eric Clapton on an acoustic guitar outside of the Sacre Coeur.

 

And the PDA… From young people making out in the metro station to an older couple kissing affectionately on a park bench – everything that is too romantic for the Untied States is the public norm in Paris.

Mostly I love Paris best when I have nothing planned. Those are the times when I stumble across the best chocolate muffin I’ve ever had (in a cafe near Versailles) or end up on a walk to the Eiffel Tower at 2am.

 

Buona Sera! Upon seeing Florence, one cannot help but to be struck by her immense beauty; it is everywhere. From the Duomo and Arno to a caffe from the corner bar, life in Florence centers around appreciation of beauty. Dinners are late and slow, people make it a priority to take time and to enjoy their company around a meal.

Everyday I continue to learn new Italian, to see something in a new light, and to have a larger understanding of the workings of humanity. As I continue to dig around the history of Italy, I catch glimpses of the larger threads of humanity. This was the arena for politics, the angora, the marketplace in which ideas were freely shared. They held the pursuit of the liberal arts in the highest respect. Why are the desks broken in Greenlaw?

Everything is still quite new in Florence; I can finally get to class without getting lost. The first time I saw the Duomo I was dumbfounded. I hope that in four months, that sentiment will still remain. As TS Elliot wrote,

“We shall not cease from exploration/
And the end of all our exploring/
Will be to arrive where we started/
And know the place for the first time.”

For about five minutes, a bird meticulously soars through the air searching for the perfect place to soak in some rays. After all, these moments during the winter afternoons in which the sun decides to emerge from its cloud blanket are few and far between.

 

Eventually he touches down a suitable spot and begins to preen his feathers as if it were just any other day. But what makes this nesting spot different, is that its located on the edge of “La Garganta del Diablo” the signature fall of the breathtaking waterfalls of Iguazu, which are nestled on the boarder of Argentina and Brazil.

As unusual as that scene could seem, it’s nothing out of the ordinary for life abroad in Buenos Aires, Argentina – South America for all you geography buffs. Where the only thing standing in your way from a weekend getaway to Iguazu is a 17 hour bus ride (but isn’t as bad as it sounds in a posh Coche-Cama complete with dinner, breakfast and champagne) and a 100 dollar fare away.

 

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my time since July 16, it’s to take advantage of every available opportunity. Taking a walk through one of Buenos Aires’ European style plazas on a sunny but chilly (damn Earth’s titled axis) afternoon. Making conversation with complete strangers on a random street corner – just to practice your Spanish (or as they say here Castellano). Or going out to a club until 7 a.m. ‘cause that’s just what people do here.

Because when you’re abroad you don’t want to be a tourist – or at least not all the time – you want to immerse yourself in the culture and try not to stick out like a sore North American thumb. Even it’s damn near impossible if have blond hair, blue eyes and carry a map with you at all times, or at least that’s what I’ve discovered when each conversation begins with either “De donde sos” or “you from the States.”

Besides those aesthetic differences, and the occasional language barrier, people here aren’t much different from people in Chapel Hill or any other town in the U.S. People stay up to date on news and pop culture (especially what’s going on in the States). And people our age go out and party just like us. Only not to the extent of a black-out freshman – oh wait, first-year student – during the first couple of weeks of the semester.

 

Life is relatively the same in Buenos Aires as it is in Chapel Hill, but with added latina flava to make things more interesting.

-David Ely

For more info on Argentina:

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