On Monday I went to my first live rugby game. I didn’t expect it to be such a big deal, but about an hour before students in Maties Rugby shirts started walking towards the stadium. When I got there just after the start of the game (kickoff?), the stadium was packed. It’s probably about the size of Valley Stadium, but with seating in either endzone. Monday night rugby here is as big as Saturday college football in the USA! I had fun watching, though none of us knew what was going on for the most part. I had only limited knowledge from watching a couple of games with avid fans at King’s, an English sports bar in Leiden. My favorite is when the ball goes out of bounds and there’s something called a “line in” (I think) where each team lifts up one of their teammates off the ground to try to hoist him high enough to get the ball before it comes within reach of the rest of the players.
After the game, I had my first meeting as the co-director of recreational activities for the International Student Organization of Stellenbosch. Ironically, my co-director goes to the University of Iowa. We’re really excited about planning adventure trips and hikes and visits to theater events in the coming semester! I’m thinking white-water rafting, sky diving, abseiling (like rappelling), sand boarding, surf lessons, sea kayaking, and at least one hike up Lion’s Head Mountain in Cape Town during a full moon. The best part: since I’m planning them, I can go on them all!
Also, there was a full moon out tonight (or close enough to full that it counted) and that made me happy :)
Monday, February 9, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Stellenbosch Vineyard Tour by Bike: Asara and Neethlingshof
At about 11am today, I got an SMS (the local lingo for text message) from Kathrin, my German neighbor. I had to laugh at the fact that she messaged me since we can each be standing in our kitchens and talk through the windows to each other. She asked if I was up for a bike ride to a local vineyard. Absolutely! (It turns out she was still in bed and was only planning to get up if I was going, which explains the SMS rather than a knock on the door.)
Stefan, another German in Kathrin’s program, is off exploring Namibia this week, so we had his bike. After visiting a couple of bike shops that were closed on a Sunday, a petrol station attendant was able to help us lower the seat on Kathrin’s bike so that I could actually sit in the saddle while riding for the duration of the day. Kathrin braved the height of Stefan’s bike since she has very long legs and can manage such things. Then, armed with bottles of water, sunscreen, sunglasses, and bags large enough to hold any future purchases, we were off.
Asara is about 5 kilometers outside of Stellenbosch, so not a bad ride, but it’s been a while since I biked in a place that was either sunny or had hills. By the time we reached Asara, we were ready to sit. Luckily, the cellar was air conditioned. We sat down at a large table and made our selections – try any five wines for 30 rands (~$3). As we waited, I practiced my new German phrases (I can now say, “Let’s go out!” and “Have fun tomorrow!”), we listened to two small boys at the adjacent table sing “Twinkle Twinkle” with South African accents, and admired the view of the lake, flowers and mountains.
Between the two of us, we tried 10 of the 12 wines offered for tasting (excluding dessert wines). I was not at all a fan of the Cabernet Sauvignon Blanc, but did like the Sauvignon Blanc and the Chardonnay Reserve. I wanted to like the reds, but on such a hot day (approx 40C/104F), the chilled whites tasted best. We considered making a purchase or two, but decided that it was too expensive (even at $4.50 - $9 for a nice wine) – but what did we expect from a 5-star resort? We wandered around for a bit longer, tasted some truffles (the champagne flavor is nice, the cabernet sauvignon is not), and enjoyed ice cream cones in the shade as we admired the view from paradise.
After consulting the map, we learned that the vineyard next door was also open on Sundays until 4pm. That was 2 km away, home was 5 km, and the sun was at its hottest. On to Neethlingshof we biked.
Then Kathrin got a flat tire.
On to Neethlingshof we walked.
The map was a bit inaccurate in placing the location of the vineyard right on the road as we walked at least .75 km up the oak-lined drive before the cellar came into sight, but we did eventually reach our reward: 6 wines for $3/€2.
We put on our sweetest faces and told the server of our dilemma (a flat tire 7 km from home) and asked if he knew how we might fix it. Indeed he did and as we enjoyed our wines, the house artist patched up the bike. As it turns out, our server had met an American girl on Friday night and wondered if we knew her. Sure enough, when she left the party where she met him, it was to come dancing with us! From then on, we got extra special treatment and he even brought our wine selections out to the patio for us, rather than making us come in to the cellar for the next choice.
Neethlingshof is a strange vineyard in my mind because while I really liked the Gewurtztraminer at Simonsig and generally like Sauv Blanc and Chardonnay (wooded), these ones weren’t my favorites. However, the Lord Neethling Pinotage was fantastic. [Pinotage is the most famous red wine in the Stellenbosch region.] Of course, it was the most expensive on the list and I didn’t have enough of a desire to bike it back home again. At closing time, we paid for our tasting, ascertained an offer of a free tasting in the future, and promised to deliver the server’s number to our friend.
The bikes were fixed and we were set to go. 1.5 km later, Asara appeared at up the road. If I haven’t mentioned it, and I’m sure I have, the African sun is hot, and the atmosphere is thin. Kathrin is quite tan having spent the past 5 months here, but I have only reached “not pale” and occasionally “bright red”. Asara is open until 6pm on Sundays, has several dining options, and is air conditioned. We turned back into the vineyard we had left only two hours earlier and made our way down to the tapas restaurant. We had great seats in the shade on the deck overlooking the water that gave us the sensation that we were on a dock.
Kathrin ordered a Sauv Blanc/Chardonnay mix, her favorite from the earlier tasting, and pizza. I ordered the Sauv Blanc and stuffed calamari, and we got orders of ostrich and fish to start. The food was good, the wine was great, and the view was breathtaking. I decided that this would be a great location for my parent’s first meal in the country and Kathrin thought the same for her friends who are coming in from Germany next weekend.
At 6pm, we finished our meals, jumped on the bikes for the final leg of the journey, and returned to our flats, thrilled with a Sunday well-spent.
Stefan, another German in Kathrin’s program, is off exploring Namibia this week, so we had his bike. After visiting a couple of bike shops that were closed on a Sunday, a petrol station attendant was able to help us lower the seat on Kathrin’s bike so that I could actually sit in the saddle while riding for the duration of the day. Kathrin braved the height of Stefan’s bike since she has very long legs and can manage such things. Then, armed with bottles of water, sunscreen, sunglasses, and bags large enough to hold any future purchases, we were off.
Asara is about 5 kilometers outside of Stellenbosch, so not a bad ride, but it’s been a while since I biked in a place that was either sunny or had hills. By the time we reached Asara, we were ready to sit. Luckily, the cellar was air conditioned. We sat down at a large table and made our selections – try any five wines for 30 rands (~$3). As we waited, I practiced my new German phrases (I can now say, “Let’s go out!” and “Have fun tomorrow!”), we listened to two small boys at the adjacent table sing “Twinkle Twinkle” with South African accents, and admired the view of the lake, flowers and mountains.
Between the two of us, we tried 10 of the 12 wines offered for tasting (excluding dessert wines). I was not at all a fan of the Cabernet Sauvignon Blanc, but did like the Sauvignon Blanc and the Chardonnay Reserve. I wanted to like the reds, but on such a hot day (approx 40C/104F), the chilled whites tasted best. We considered making a purchase or two, but decided that it was too expensive (even at $4.50 - $9 for a nice wine) – but what did we expect from a 5-star resort? We wandered around for a bit longer, tasted some truffles (the champagne flavor is nice, the cabernet sauvignon is not), and enjoyed ice cream cones in the shade as we admired the view from paradise.
After consulting the map, we learned that the vineyard next door was also open on Sundays until 4pm. That was 2 km away, home was 5 km, and the sun was at its hottest. On to Neethlingshof we biked.
Then Kathrin got a flat tire.
On to Neethlingshof we walked.
The map was a bit inaccurate in placing the location of the vineyard right on the road as we walked at least .75 km up the oak-lined drive before the cellar came into sight, but we did eventually reach our reward: 6 wines for $3/€2.
We put on our sweetest faces and told the server of our dilemma (a flat tire 7 km from home) and asked if he knew how we might fix it. Indeed he did and as we enjoyed our wines, the house artist patched up the bike. As it turns out, our server had met an American girl on Friday night and wondered if we knew her. Sure enough, when she left the party where she met him, it was to come dancing with us! From then on, we got extra special treatment and he even brought our wine selections out to the patio for us, rather than making us come in to the cellar for the next choice.
Neethlingshof is a strange vineyard in my mind because while I really liked the Gewurtztraminer at Simonsig and generally like Sauv Blanc and Chardonnay (wooded), these ones weren’t my favorites. However, the Lord Neethling Pinotage was fantastic. [Pinotage is the most famous red wine in the Stellenbosch region.] Of course, it was the most expensive on the list and I didn’t have enough of a desire to bike it back home again. At closing time, we paid for our tasting, ascertained an offer of a free tasting in the future, and promised to deliver the server’s number to our friend.
The bikes were fixed and we were set to go. 1.5 km later, Asara appeared at up the road. If I haven’t mentioned it, and I’m sure I have, the African sun is hot, and the atmosphere is thin. Kathrin is quite tan having spent the past 5 months here, but I have only reached “not pale” and occasionally “bright red”. Asara is open until 6pm on Sundays, has several dining options, and is air conditioned. We turned back into the vineyard we had left only two hours earlier and made our way down to the tapas restaurant. We had great seats in the shade on the deck overlooking the water that gave us the sensation that we were on a dock.
Kathrin ordered a Sauv Blanc/Chardonnay mix, her favorite from the earlier tasting, and pizza. I ordered the Sauv Blanc and stuffed calamari, and we got orders of ostrich and fish to start. The food was good, the wine was great, and the view was breathtaking. I decided that this would be a great location for my parent’s first meal in the country and Kathrin thought the same for her friends who are coming in from Germany next weekend.
At 6pm, we finished our meals, jumped on the bikes for the final leg of the journey, and returned to our flats, thrilled with a Sunday well-spent.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Forest Fires Blazing
On Wednesday, I got up and did a bit of scheduling to try to sort out my classes, then packed a lunch and met up with the ISU gals for a hike up Stellenbosch mountain. Hannah, Liz, Shelly (William & Mary in DC), and I made the 30 min trek across town to the base of the mountain, then hiked up for another 30 min or so before taking a break. We intended to hike further up to find a picnic spot, but all ended up sitting on tree trunks, enjoying the view and chatting away as we let the sun turn our hair lighter and skin darker (a paradox that Hannah brought to our attention). Before we knew it, we had to get back down so two of the girls could get to class on time.
I did not have a class to get to, so took advantage of the fact that the gym was at the base of the mountain to try out the equipment. After a quick work out, I met Kathrin and Carly at the pool for sunbathing and swimming laps.
Not too long after we arrived, we saw smoke rising from somewhere beyond the gym. Later, a helicopter flew over towing what appeared to be a container of water. We stayed at the pool for a while, enjoying the last real day of freedom before classes got into full swing. Then Carly headed home and Kathrin and I headed to the Adventure Center to plan for our upcoming visitors: Mom, Dad, Jim, Gina, and Susan for me (YAY!) and two friends from Germany for her. After spending an hour or so with our travel agent, Kathrin introduced me to THE place to get smoothies in Stellenbosch. The smoke had gotten thicker while we were at the travel agency and by the time we finished our drinks, the sun was blocked out by the black smoke originating from the mountain, so all we could see was a pink dot of the sun. It was eerie. We put on sunglasses for the walk home to keep the ash in the air from blowing into our eyes in the wind.
We had a braai (South African bbq) that evening in the courtyard of my residence, but the main attraction was not the fire on which we were grilling, but the one on the mountain. My roommate returned from volleyball practice to tell me that the flames were only feet away from the gym and she had a sore throat from breathing in all the ash. From the third floor walkway of our building (about a mile from the base of the mountain), the mountain looked like lava flowing from a volcano. For the girls from Arizona it wasn’t anything new, but I had never seen a forest fire in person and was amazed at the sheer power of the wind to spread the flames, and the human inability to contain it.
The fire blazed on throughout Thursday, Friday, and today. We watched as the wind carried it from one mountain to the next. On Thursday night, it was mainly burning on the far side of the mountain which created an amazing silhouette of red around the peak in the darkness of night. My camera wouldn’t focus right, but I’ll get pictures from Leena to share.
I got up today for a 10am class. Yes, I am writing on Saturday. “Negotiating Transitions” looks like such a fantastic course that I thought I would try it out, and I can probably manage at 10.00 – 13.00 class on a Saturday morning while most of my friends are still in bed. As much as I would love to take “Transitional Justice,” though, I will not take the course from 14.00 – 17.00 on a Saturday. I was back and forth on the class during the lecture. On the one hand, it’s a course with fascinating topics and it goes in depth on the topics and I think I would learn a lot that I can use in my future. On the other hand, it is a Saturday and the two professors were clearly incapable of saying in 10 words what could be said in 10 minutes. The question: could I handle such complete answers, knowing that I could hear what they said, go off in a tangent about a related thought in my head, realize I wasn’t paying attention three minutes later and start again and not miss anything? Not on a Saturday. But at the same time, I still felt so inspired by the end of the class that it was tempting. Until we went 20 minutes overtime and I lost patience.
At the end of class, a number of students address the professors about the fact that class was on Saturday (they seemed to be oblivious to the fact that study abroad students might be phased by this). After a long negotiation, we agreed that Fridays from 16.30 – 19.30 in Cape Town would be a much better meeting time for all involved (pending agreement by the International Office to find a venue and transportation), and I was happy again, despite just having agreed to take a course on Friday nights.
I spent the rest of the afternoon lazing around. It was really too hot to do anything and the whole town felt dead. We had a surprise party for Ethan in the evening (he turns 20 on Monday), and then the most amazing thing happened: it rained.
Logically, we changed into our swimsuits, set up the slip ‘n’ slide into the inflatable pool, and played in the rain and sprinklers.
We all had dinner at Carly’s, then Kathrin came over and we watched Scrubs on my bed. It made me miss my Leiden roommates. In December it became habit that several nights a week we would watch a movie in Annamieke’s room if we got started early or an episode of Scrubs in my room if we didn’t finish up reading and papers until later in the night.
As I go to sleep, I don’t see any more flames in the distance.
I did not have a class to get to, so took advantage of the fact that the gym was at the base of the mountain to try out the equipment. After a quick work out, I met Kathrin and Carly at the pool for sunbathing and swimming laps.
Not too long after we arrived, we saw smoke rising from somewhere beyond the gym. Later, a helicopter flew over towing what appeared to be a container of water. We stayed at the pool for a while, enjoying the last real day of freedom before classes got into full swing. Then Carly headed home and Kathrin and I headed to the Adventure Center to plan for our upcoming visitors: Mom, Dad, Jim, Gina, and Susan for me (YAY!) and two friends from Germany for her. After spending an hour or so with our travel agent, Kathrin introduced me to THE place to get smoothies in Stellenbosch. The smoke had gotten thicker while we were at the travel agency and by the time we finished our drinks, the sun was blocked out by the black smoke originating from the mountain, so all we could see was a pink dot of the sun. It was eerie. We put on sunglasses for the walk home to keep the ash in the air from blowing into our eyes in the wind.
We had a braai (South African bbq) that evening in the courtyard of my residence, but the main attraction was not the fire on which we were grilling, but the one on the mountain. My roommate returned from volleyball practice to tell me that the flames were only feet away from the gym and she had a sore throat from breathing in all the ash. From the third floor walkway of our building (about a mile from the base of the mountain), the mountain looked like lava flowing from a volcano. For the girls from Arizona it wasn’t anything new, but I had never seen a forest fire in person and was amazed at the sheer power of the wind to spread the flames, and the human inability to contain it.
The fire blazed on throughout Thursday, Friday, and today. We watched as the wind carried it from one mountain to the next. On Thursday night, it was mainly burning on the far side of the mountain which created an amazing silhouette of red around the peak in the darkness of night. My camera wouldn’t focus right, but I’ll get pictures from Leena to share.
I got up today for a 10am class. Yes, I am writing on Saturday. “Negotiating Transitions” looks like such a fantastic course that I thought I would try it out, and I can probably manage at 10.00 – 13.00 class on a Saturday morning while most of my friends are still in bed. As much as I would love to take “Transitional Justice,” though, I will not take the course from 14.00 – 17.00 on a Saturday. I was back and forth on the class during the lecture. On the one hand, it’s a course with fascinating topics and it goes in depth on the topics and I think I would learn a lot that I can use in my future. On the other hand, it is a Saturday and the two professors were clearly incapable of saying in 10 words what could be said in 10 minutes. The question: could I handle such complete answers, knowing that I could hear what they said, go off in a tangent about a related thought in my head, realize I wasn’t paying attention three minutes later and start again and not miss anything? Not on a Saturday. But at the same time, I still felt so inspired by the end of the class that it was tempting. Until we went 20 minutes overtime and I lost patience.
At the end of class, a number of students address the professors about the fact that class was on Saturday (they seemed to be oblivious to the fact that study abroad students might be phased by this). After a long negotiation, we agreed that Fridays from 16.30 – 19.30 in Cape Town would be a much better meeting time for all involved (pending agreement by the International Office to find a venue and transportation), and I was happy again, despite just having agreed to take a course on Friday nights.
I spent the rest of the afternoon lazing around. It was really too hot to do anything and the whole town felt dead. We had a surprise party for Ethan in the evening (he turns 20 on Monday), and then the most amazing thing happened: it rained.
Logically, we changed into our swimsuits, set up the slip ‘n’ slide into the inflatable pool, and played in the rain and sprinklers.
We all had dinner at Carly’s, then Kathrin came over and we watched Scrubs on my bed. It made me miss my Leiden roommates. In December it became habit that several nights a week we would watch a movie in Annamieke’s room if we got started early or an episode of Scrubs in my room if we didn’t finish up reading and papers until later in the night.
As I go to sleep, I don’t see any more flames in the distance.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Nov 22: Pisa!
On September 4, 2008, I found very inexpensive tickets from Eindhoven, the Netherlands to Pisa and Rome. So naturally, I bought them. The plan: fly to Pisa, catch a train to Rome, then return from Rome, all in 4 days (classes hindered a longer adventure). I had met Tracy a week or two earlier at orientation and she was fun, so I asked if she wanted to join and of course she did! The only “problem” was that we had to wait two and a half months to go. That said, when November 22 did finally arrive, we couldn’t believe how quickly the time had passed.
As it turns out, I’m not sure I could have chosen a better time to go. My final pleading session for my international law moot court was on the Wednesday of that week and I was ready for a break. I had enjoyed the class, though. I wasn’t on a team as I had been in mock trial, but getting up and presenting reminded me of a closing argument with a rebuttal, and the competitive side of me was thrilled to finally make an appearance, having had few opportunities since high school graduation. I ended up arguing against a Brit who had much more moot court experience than myself and went on to earn cum laude of our class, but I held my ground and was happy with my performance.
On the night before our flight, I biked through the rain over to Tracy’s flat for dinner with my guide book in my basket. As we ate, we chatted with another tenant in the building about his thoughts on Rome and flipped through the books to plan out our journey. Perhaps some would have planned it out a little earlier, but we were full-time students and Tracy being a master’s student was even busier than myself. I returned home biking this time through hail and realizing how convenient a helmet would have been.
(Sidebar on biking: In all of my 5 months in the NL, I saw maybe 10 bikers wearing helmets, all on men wearing racing uniforms. It’s just not common, but I would still wager that biking there sans helmet is safer than biking in the States with a helmet. In the NL, you have bike-only lanes everywhere next to the sidewalk and separated from the road by a median. There are stop lights for cars as well as for bikes and pedestrians, though the locals seek the bike lights as more of a guideline than car stoplights. Even in turning circles, rather than cars driving past when they could fit through in front of a bike, they almost always stop, even if it means waiting longer than just a pause. The official right of way goes pedestrians, bikes, buses, cars, but in practice bikes are before pedestrians.)
Back to the story: I got home around 11pm to find two of my roommates in quite a state, dancing around Stoyan’s room with assorted liquors. Apparently they had just turned in a large assignment for their moot court competition as well, and it was time to celebrate. At their insistence, I stayed and attempted to teach a Bulgarian and an Irishman how to do a country line dance. By the time I got back to my room, it was about 1am, so finished the last of my packing and decided to chat online with some friends back home for a while – I had to be up at 3am anyway to catch the train to Eindhoven and board my 8am flight.
Tracy and I met at the train station as scheduled and boarded the 2.5 hour train to Eindhoven – a very long journey as neither of us had slept. We then waited, shivering in the train station for about an hour until the first bus came to transport us to the airport. We shuffled through the snow that was falling lazily and sticking to the ground and imagined the warmth of Pisa.
Upon boarding the flight, I immediately fell asleep. I woke up to find we were back on the ground, very disappointed to see that there was indeed snow in Pisa as well. Tracy quickly corrected me – the flight was delayed, we were still in Eindhoven. So I resumed sleep and when I next woke up during our descent, the sun was shining and the snow was gone. As we stepped off the plane, we took off our jackets enjoying the warmth. We bought two train tickets to Pisa Central and onward to Rome and jumped on the next train. In Pisa, we stored our bags and wandered into the city.
Our wandering took us past a lovely pastry shop, so we had to stop for some treats. It reminded me of Joseph’s with the assorted treats and the spritzer cookies with pink frosting. Eventually our wandering took us around a corner, and there in the middle of everything was a grassy knoll and THE Leaning Tower of Pisa! We walked into a nearby shop, purchased two slices of pizza and drinks, and sat in the grass, eating lunch and admiring the view against the clear blue sky. We didn’t have tickets to go up the Tower, but did wander into a church (unfortunately without my guidebook handy I can’t recall which one) and stared at the beautiful paintings and sculptures.
After purchasing a few souvenirs and taking photos of us holding up the Tower (or attempting to at least), we went in search of other Italian foods to try. Alas, the next slice of pizza was a bit of a let down. We walked along the river and stared at the way the sun struck the buildings as it sank lower in the sky, making the bricks appear to glow. Occasionally we could hear a roar that we speculated might have come from the crowd at a football stadium, though we never found it. For the most part, the streets that did not immediately surround the Leaning Tower were pretty empty for a sunny Saturday afternoon.
Around 4 o’clock we found what appeared to be a main street in town. There were children everywhere jumping rope and playing other games for what appeared to be a school fundraiser or perhaps just a game day organized in which parents could have fun with their children. As we walked up the street, a number of shops were just opening – very different from in Holland where the shops would be closing up at that time. We admired the clothes in the windows, tried on real Italian leather boots and wished we were already rich, successful lawyers so we could buy them, and stepped into a chocolate shop already decked out with holiday décor to sip hot chocolate and cappuccinos.
As we made our way back through town to catch the train, we decided that we couldn’t wait to return to Florence, not even having left yet. We wandered through a little craft market and I lingered to look at Christmas ornaments in various colors, shapes, and sizes. The bell with the nativity scene inside reminded me of Fr. Jack and Aunt Mary.
Just outside the train station, we passed a large parade of protesters waving signs and shouting and police on either side, ready if it got too rowdy. Unfortunately, my Italian is not up to par, so I didn’t catch the reason for the protest.
At the station, we retrieved our bags from storage, got an ice cream cone from McDonald’s, and jumped on the train to Roma. By 5:30pm, the sun was waning, so for most of our journey we couldn’t actually see the countryside. It would have been nice to be able to see it, but another time. We didn’t want to spend our daylight hours on a train anyway.
Several hours later, we arrived at San Pietro station and we greeted by my cousins, Brendan and Rachel Egan. It was soo wonderful to see them! The homesickness and culture shock had gotten to me a bit over the previous two weeks as I missed Grandpa’s birthday, harvest, Helen’s birthday, Mary’s birthday, and there was other excitement and drama with friends at home and I was ready for a weekend away – my own personal fall break. Seeing my college friends and getting a wonderful Rachel Downey hug (her surname until May 2008) made me feel “home” again, even in a place I’d never been.
Rachel and Brendan walked us around Rome and the Vatican City, pointing out historical buildings, St. Peter’s Basilica (hard to miss), the Pope’s window where he holds audiences each Sunday, and other places they liked to visit, like Old Bridge – the most gelato with the best flavor at the best price in the city. Naturally, we had to try it immediately. We were in awe of the flavors, but finally chose three that sounded good and jumped on the bus back to Brendan & Rachel’s.
Brendan and Rachel were living in Rome for three months preparing for 1 – 2 years of service in East Timor through a Catholic organization based in Rome by learning the language, the culture, and how they could best share their faith through their actions. At the time we were there, they only had two weeks left in Rome before they began the journey to East Timor and we could tell they were getting excited. They had been kind enough to find us two extra beds in the house and their housemates – other lay missionaries as well – were warm and welcoming. They made us some dinner and we chatted for a while, then turned in early, ready for a big day of sightseeing on Sunday!
As it turns out, I’m not sure I could have chosen a better time to go. My final pleading session for my international law moot court was on the Wednesday of that week and I was ready for a break. I had enjoyed the class, though. I wasn’t on a team as I had been in mock trial, but getting up and presenting reminded me of a closing argument with a rebuttal, and the competitive side of me was thrilled to finally make an appearance, having had few opportunities since high school graduation. I ended up arguing against a Brit who had much more moot court experience than myself and went on to earn cum laude of our class, but I held my ground and was happy with my performance.
On the night before our flight, I biked through the rain over to Tracy’s flat for dinner with my guide book in my basket. As we ate, we chatted with another tenant in the building about his thoughts on Rome and flipped through the books to plan out our journey. Perhaps some would have planned it out a little earlier, but we were full-time students and Tracy being a master’s student was even busier than myself. I returned home biking this time through hail and realizing how convenient a helmet would have been.
(Sidebar on biking: In all of my 5 months in the NL, I saw maybe 10 bikers wearing helmets, all on men wearing racing uniforms. It’s just not common, but I would still wager that biking there sans helmet is safer than biking in the States with a helmet. In the NL, you have bike-only lanes everywhere next to the sidewalk and separated from the road by a median. There are stop lights for cars as well as for bikes and pedestrians, though the locals seek the bike lights as more of a guideline than car stoplights. Even in turning circles, rather than cars driving past when they could fit through in front of a bike, they almost always stop, even if it means waiting longer than just a pause. The official right of way goes pedestrians, bikes, buses, cars, but in practice bikes are before pedestrians.)
Back to the story: I got home around 11pm to find two of my roommates in quite a state, dancing around Stoyan’s room with assorted liquors. Apparently they had just turned in a large assignment for their moot court competition as well, and it was time to celebrate. At their insistence, I stayed and attempted to teach a Bulgarian and an Irishman how to do a country line dance. By the time I got back to my room, it was about 1am, so finished the last of my packing and decided to chat online with some friends back home for a while – I had to be up at 3am anyway to catch the train to Eindhoven and board my 8am flight.
Tracy and I met at the train station as scheduled and boarded the 2.5 hour train to Eindhoven – a very long journey as neither of us had slept. We then waited, shivering in the train station for about an hour until the first bus came to transport us to the airport. We shuffled through the snow that was falling lazily and sticking to the ground and imagined the warmth of Pisa.
Upon boarding the flight, I immediately fell asleep. I woke up to find we were back on the ground, very disappointed to see that there was indeed snow in Pisa as well. Tracy quickly corrected me – the flight was delayed, we were still in Eindhoven. So I resumed sleep and when I next woke up during our descent, the sun was shining and the snow was gone. As we stepped off the plane, we took off our jackets enjoying the warmth. We bought two train tickets to Pisa Central and onward to Rome and jumped on the next train. In Pisa, we stored our bags and wandered into the city.
Our wandering took us past a lovely pastry shop, so we had to stop for some treats. It reminded me of Joseph’s with the assorted treats and the spritzer cookies with pink frosting. Eventually our wandering took us around a corner, and there in the middle of everything was a grassy knoll and THE Leaning Tower of Pisa! We walked into a nearby shop, purchased two slices of pizza and drinks, and sat in the grass, eating lunch and admiring the view against the clear blue sky. We didn’t have tickets to go up the Tower, but did wander into a church (unfortunately without my guidebook handy I can’t recall which one) and stared at the beautiful paintings and sculptures.
After purchasing a few souvenirs and taking photos of us holding up the Tower (or attempting to at least), we went in search of other Italian foods to try. Alas, the next slice of pizza was a bit of a let down. We walked along the river and stared at the way the sun struck the buildings as it sank lower in the sky, making the bricks appear to glow. Occasionally we could hear a roar that we speculated might have come from the crowd at a football stadium, though we never found it. For the most part, the streets that did not immediately surround the Leaning Tower were pretty empty for a sunny Saturday afternoon.
Around 4 o’clock we found what appeared to be a main street in town. There were children everywhere jumping rope and playing other games for what appeared to be a school fundraiser or perhaps just a game day organized in which parents could have fun with their children. As we walked up the street, a number of shops were just opening – very different from in Holland where the shops would be closing up at that time. We admired the clothes in the windows, tried on real Italian leather boots and wished we were already rich, successful lawyers so we could buy them, and stepped into a chocolate shop already decked out with holiday décor to sip hot chocolate and cappuccinos.
As we made our way back through town to catch the train, we decided that we couldn’t wait to return to Florence, not even having left yet. We wandered through a little craft market and I lingered to look at Christmas ornaments in various colors, shapes, and sizes. The bell with the nativity scene inside reminded me of Fr. Jack and Aunt Mary.
Just outside the train station, we passed a large parade of protesters waving signs and shouting and police on either side, ready if it got too rowdy. Unfortunately, my Italian is not up to par, so I didn’t catch the reason for the protest.
At the station, we retrieved our bags from storage, got an ice cream cone from McDonald’s, and jumped on the train to Roma. By 5:30pm, the sun was waning, so for most of our journey we couldn’t actually see the countryside. It would have been nice to be able to see it, but another time. We didn’t want to spend our daylight hours on a train anyway.
Several hours later, we arrived at San Pietro station and we greeted by my cousins, Brendan and Rachel Egan. It was soo wonderful to see them! The homesickness and culture shock had gotten to me a bit over the previous two weeks as I missed Grandpa’s birthday, harvest, Helen’s birthday, Mary’s birthday, and there was other excitement and drama with friends at home and I was ready for a weekend away – my own personal fall break. Seeing my college friends and getting a wonderful Rachel Downey hug (her surname until May 2008) made me feel “home” again, even in a place I’d never been.
Rachel and Brendan walked us around Rome and the Vatican City, pointing out historical buildings, St. Peter’s Basilica (hard to miss), the Pope’s window where he holds audiences each Sunday, and other places they liked to visit, like Old Bridge – the most gelato with the best flavor at the best price in the city. Naturally, we had to try it immediately. We were in awe of the flavors, but finally chose three that sounded good and jumped on the bus back to Brendan & Rachel’s.
Brendan and Rachel were living in Rome for three months preparing for 1 – 2 years of service in East Timor through a Catholic organization based in Rome by learning the language, the culture, and how they could best share their faith through their actions. At the time we were there, they only had two weeks left in Rome before they began the journey to East Timor and we could tell they were getting excited. They had been kind enough to find us two extra beds in the house and their housemates – other lay missionaries as well – were warm and welcoming. They made us some dinner and we chatted for a while, then turned in early, ready for a big day of sightseeing on Sunday!
Monday, November 17, 2008
Nov 17: Thoughts on South Africa
What have I gotten myself into?
Last week, I bought my plane ticket to Capetown, signed my housing contract, and purchased health insurance for the duration of my stay. It's real! I leave the Netherlands in mid-January and have an extended layover in Munich before I bid farewell to the life I've built over the last five months and begin anew for another five months or so. I won't be returning to the US until the summer. Many people have been emphasizing this fact lately - that I'll have been away from home for nearly a year (51 out of 52 weeks really, counting DC). It's a fact that I know but prefer not to dwell on. While studying abroad, you have the highs and lows and admittedly, this last week has been a rough one.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not re-thinking going to South Africa. I'm thrilled! I can't wait. I'll have a chance to live, work, and study in a new culture. The academic program looks like it was practically designed with me in mind, the only problem being that I want to take about twice as many courses as the university allows.
From a weather perspective, this is a brilliant move. Winter hits in the Northern Hemisphere, I move to the Southern Hemisphere and experience instant summer. Winter hits in the Southern Hemisphere? I head back home for a Northern Hemisphere summer.
But this morning, rather than doing my assigned readings on the historical development of the EU, I've been reading blogs of other students who have studied in South Africa. The theme: Racism in South Africa. While the most recent post I've seen is over a year old, I can't imagine that the last 19 months have miraculously brought about an end to racist sentiments. And I'm moving into an Afrikaaner stronghold.
Really it's not the fear of exposure to racism that worries me. I'll be exposed to it, and it will be upsetting, but I'll learn about tolerance in society and how to cope with racist comments made against me and comments made against others.
I have heard nothing but positive sentiments about America electing it's first black president. Now South Africa has had black presidents since 1994. But how will I respond to a comment made by a white supremacist questioning what the world is coming to when even the all-powerful America is run by a black man? Not because he's a democrat, but simply for the color of his skin. Does the racism extend to all blacks in the world, or just those living in South Africa? Will I be distinguished as an American rather than an Afrikaaner, or are we all just white? My hope is that this will not matter, because American or Afrikaaner, Xhosa or Zulu or African-American, I am a person not defined by the color my skin.
As for the question of Barack, I suppose I'll deal with that question when it comes. Lucky for me, I've got plenty of ammo to fire back as to why he is indeed the best candidate for the job.
I'm not quite sure what I have gotten myself into. I imagine that thought will enter my mind frequently over the next few months, but I'm excited for the challenge.
--
"Confronting Racism in South Africa" by Sarah Menkedick
Last week, I bought my plane ticket to Capetown, signed my housing contract, and purchased health insurance for the duration of my stay. It's real! I leave the Netherlands in mid-January and have an extended layover in Munich before I bid farewell to the life I've built over the last five months and begin anew for another five months or so. I won't be returning to the US until the summer. Many people have been emphasizing this fact lately - that I'll have been away from home for nearly a year (51 out of 52 weeks really, counting DC). It's a fact that I know but prefer not to dwell on. While studying abroad, you have the highs and lows and admittedly, this last week has been a rough one.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not re-thinking going to South Africa. I'm thrilled! I can't wait. I'll have a chance to live, work, and study in a new culture. The academic program looks like it was practically designed with me in mind, the only problem being that I want to take about twice as many courses as the university allows.
From a weather perspective, this is a brilliant move. Winter hits in the Northern Hemisphere, I move to the Southern Hemisphere and experience instant summer. Winter hits in the Southern Hemisphere? I head back home for a Northern Hemisphere summer.
But this morning, rather than doing my assigned readings on the historical development of the EU, I've been reading blogs of other students who have studied in South Africa. The theme: Racism in South Africa. While the most recent post I've seen is over a year old, I can't imagine that the last 19 months have miraculously brought about an end to racist sentiments. And I'm moving into an Afrikaaner stronghold.
Really it's not the fear of exposure to racism that worries me. I'll be exposed to it, and it will be upsetting, but I'll learn about tolerance in society and how to cope with racist comments made against me and comments made against others.
I have heard nothing but positive sentiments about America electing it's first black president. Now South Africa has had black presidents since 1994. But how will I respond to a comment made by a white supremacist questioning what the world is coming to when even the all-powerful America is run by a black man? Not because he's a democrat, but simply for the color of his skin. Does the racism extend to all blacks in the world, or just those living in South Africa? Will I be distinguished as an American rather than an Afrikaaner, or are we all just white? My hope is that this will not matter, because American or Afrikaaner, Xhosa or Zulu or African-American, I am a person not defined by the color my skin.
As for the question of Barack, I suppose I'll deal with that question when it comes. Lucky for me, I've got plenty of ammo to fire back as to why he is indeed the best candidate for the job.
I'm not quite sure what I have gotten myself into. I imagine that thought will enter my mind frequently over the next few months, but I'm excited for the challenge.
--
"Confronting Racism in South Africa" by Sarah Menkedick
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Nov 9: Americanism
It seems that everywhere I go these days, people congratulate me. It's wonderful.
On election night, all the relieved internationals congratulated us Americans.
At the end of an email from a friend about rowing club: "Woo, Obama!"
Walking into my Moot Court class, the TA says, "Hey congratulations. That's a big win." In fact, my professor used Obama as an example of a strong orator and said we should watch a speech and note the way he pauses for emphasis. Then when she asked one student what the Bush Doctrine was (he had referred to it in his arguement), he stumbled. She cautioned him not to be like Sarah Palin.
Friday night before going to see 007, some Dutch students were talking about how much fun they had on Obama night (and got a definitive glare from the American Republican in the group). But as I pointed out, it clearly wasn't Obama's night. The glare turned to me. As Kier pointed out later in the evening, we had quite a diverse group going to the movie: two Dutch, one Russian, one Chinese, one Mexican, an American Democrat and himself, an American Republican. Oh the discussions we could have had...but for the sake of getting alone, we resisted.
At an international student conference on Saturday, we painted wooden clogs. The girl next to me painted the Obama symbol on the top of hers. We got to talking - she's an American law student studying in Amsterdam - and she said she hasn't seen this much support for America since she was in Scotland the week after Sept 11 and 75% of the shop windows bore American flags. So much has changed in the past 7 years, but we're finally back on track.
In the church bulletin today: "Pope Benedict sent the newly elected President of the USA his blessing, expressing his joy to see the first black President taking the dream of Dr. Martin Luther King one step further. Our parish also congratulates the USA on this democratic achievement."
The world has been watching, and it cares! I've heard nothing but positive comments about America all week.
There is one discrepancy in the way I've heard the Obama win talked about in the news media versus personal discussions, though. That is, in the news, there's a large emphasis on the first black president. When Hillary still had a chance, there was potential for the first woman president. But we students aren't 106 years old. We don't remember segregation, lack of women's suffrage, or the civil rights movement in general. To our parents, it may be significant that he's a man of color. To us, he's young and fresh and new and a change. We didn't vote for him because of the color of his skin or for Hillary because of her gender. We live in a world that, at least in much of the USA, is relatively egalitarian. Sure, there is still racism and sexism. Blacks still comprise a disproportionate percentage of the poor and women are still underpaid relative to men. But it's getting better - somuchso that my generation doesn't quite understand why the older generations are making such a big deal about these things. And that's certainly a step in the right direction.
On election night, all the relieved internationals congratulated us Americans.
At the end of an email from a friend about rowing club: "Woo, Obama!"
Walking into my Moot Court class, the TA says, "Hey congratulations. That's a big win." In fact, my professor used Obama as an example of a strong orator and said we should watch a speech and note the way he pauses for emphasis. Then when she asked one student what the Bush Doctrine was (he had referred to it in his arguement), he stumbled. She cautioned him not to be like Sarah Palin.
Friday night before going to see 007, some Dutch students were talking about how much fun they had on Obama night (and got a definitive glare from the American Republican in the group). But as I pointed out, it clearly wasn't Obama's night. The glare turned to me. As Kier pointed out later in the evening, we had quite a diverse group going to the movie: two Dutch, one Russian, one Chinese, one Mexican, an American Democrat and himself, an American Republican. Oh the discussions we could have had...but for the sake of getting alone, we resisted.
At an international student conference on Saturday, we painted wooden clogs. The girl next to me painted the Obama symbol on the top of hers. We got to talking - she's an American law student studying in Amsterdam - and she said she hasn't seen this much support for America since she was in Scotland the week after Sept 11 and 75% of the shop windows bore American flags. So much has changed in the past 7 years, but we're finally back on track.
In the church bulletin today: "Pope Benedict sent the newly elected President of the USA his blessing, expressing his joy to see the first black President taking the dream of Dr. Martin Luther King one step further. Our parish also congratulates the USA on this democratic achievement."
The world has been watching, and it cares! I've heard nothing but positive comments about America all week.
There is one discrepancy in the way I've heard the Obama win talked about in the news media versus personal discussions, though. That is, in the news, there's a large emphasis on the first black president. When Hillary still had a chance, there was potential for the first woman president. But we students aren't 106 years old. We don't remember segregation, lack of women's suffrage, or the civil rights movement in general. To our parents, it may be significant that he's a man of color. To us, he's young and fresh and new and a change. We didn't vote for him because of the color of his skin or for Hillary because of her gender. We live in a world that, at least in much of the USA, is relatively egalitarian. Sure, there is still racism and sexism. Blacks still comprise a disproportionate percentage of the poor and women are still underpaid relative to men. But it's getting better - somuchso that my generation doesn't quite understand why the older generations are making such a big deal about these things. And that's certainly a step in the right direction.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Nov 5: Election Night
Election Night 2008 began at 11:27pm on November 4 when my housemate Catlan banged on my door and woke me up from my nap to tell me to shower and get ready to go! Groggy, but excited, I did as I was told. I made dinner and watched Fox News with Cat, Josh, and Stoyan on Josh’s laptop until about 1am when we all got motivated enough for the 20 minute bike ride across town to the “official” Leiden University Students for Obama Election Watch party. It was pretty crowded when we arrived – I’d say maybe a quarter were Americans at the beginning. By about 3am the ratio was closer to half Americans and half international students. We watched anxiously, listening to Wolf Blitzer and Anderson Cooper analyze the numbers. We counted down the seconds to poll closings each hour and cheered when
I was thinking last week about what an amazing opportunity it has been to be abroad during all of the election hype. I mean, as an Iowan, I’ve been experiencing the election for nearly two years. It’s been two State Fairs for sure. After our population diminished by half in January 2008 (as all of the candidates, staffers, and media moved on to the Super Tuesday states), the election wasn’t nearly as exciting for us Iowans. I went from talking to 3 candidates a week to zero. My summer in DC gave me an interesting perspective as I heard people who actually know the candidates personally talking about the individuals – not just the candidates. But being here… I just didn’t appreciate the way in which the
I first began to understand when some American ex-pats came to
As I made my way back to
Of course, the Europeans know who they’re supporting. In the Netherlands, throughout all of the political discussions I’ve had, and there have been many – there were 3 debate parties leading up to the election and that’s usually the default small talk conversation when an international student meets an American – I met only one McCain supporter, and he’s American. As one Dutch student told me, it’s ok that he supports McCain, because he’s American. He cares about domestic policy. I don’t know about domestic policy, maybe McCain is better. But for foreign policy, it’s Obama all the way. It’d be stupid for any non-American to support anyone other than Obama.
And last night, our dreams came true. In a landslide victory. The five of us from my house that attended the party waited until 4am when
We arrived back in plenty of time, but as soon as I sat down to keep watching I was out. I’d gotten 1.5 hours of sleep the night before and while the nap helped, it only kept me going for so long. I went up to my room at 5am and my computer started ringing (internet calling). I answered the phone to my sister Mary bearing the good news. Then Mom joined the video call and we shared our election night experiences. I hung up and not 3 minutes later my friend Amy called to share the excitement too. As I crawled into bed, I got a text message from my sister Helen saying “We did it!” And that’s exactly how it felt. Not “he” did it. “We” did it. Americans came together. My parents knocked on doors, my sisters made phone calls, I sent emails. We were behind him and we, we Americans, did it. We have a new President-elect. An African-American. A democrat. An American. A man that we believe in. He’s no messiah, but he has instigated the largest voter turn-out and made people believe in
I woke the next morning having slept through the alarm I had set to watch Obama’s speech live and through my 9am class as well. Oops. It’s ok. I figure last night was a better political science lesson than I would have gotten in class this morning. Watched the two speeches and was impressed by both of them. I expected Obama to impress me, but McCain came as a surprise. Whoever his speechwriter is has got a strong career ahead of him. And his response to the crowd booing Obama was classy. Barack was fastastic as well. Maybe it was just that they both were finally saying something new - finally. (See “Synchronized Presidential Debating”) Barack’s story about the 106 year old woman was well told and illustrated several good points. My favorite part, though, was when he said, “To those Americans whose support I have yet to earn: I may not have won your vote tonight, but I hear your voices. I need your help. And I will be your President too.” Classy.
So now we celebrate. And recover. And in January, we begin anew.
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