Tag Archives: travel

Hello Wicklow!

Last weekend I had the amazing experience of spending the weekend in Wicklow with my friend Sally and her family at their home in Baltinglass. Three of my other American friends came, too, which made the weekend one of discovery and adventure for all of us. Looking back, I can definitely say that last weekend was one of the best I’ve had in Ireland by far!

On Friday we boarded the train in Galway and traveled across the country to Kildare, where Sally’s mom picked us up and drove us to Baltinglass. Once there, we were introduced to Sally’s family and were allowed to spend some time relaxing before heading down to the shop, which was only a two minute walk from Sally’s front door. At the shop we picked up ingredients to make brown bread, which is a staple in Ireland and is served as a side to many dishes. It’s also a bread I have fallen completely in love with and plan to make at home. Thankfully, Sally’s mom gave us her recipe.

Brown bread baking in the oven!

Sally then set us all to work – we teamed up and began making a loaf of brown bread each. Team Mary and Kelly competed against Team Maddison and Nicky… and things got pretty competitive. In the end, though, Sally and her mom said that it was a tie because both loaves of brown bread turned out well.

Two fully baked loaves of brown bread sitting out on the kitchen counter.

Two perfect loaves of brown bread!

The next day we woke up early, got ready, and headed out to Glendalough, which is a national park in Wicklow with medieval monastic origins. Sally drove and I read the map to ensure we knew how to get to and from where we were going. A lot of the roads we drove on were narrow country or mountain roads with a lot of hills, so even the ride to Glendalough was really fun. Before we arrived in Glendalough, Sally stopped to let us have a look at the incredible beauty of the Wicklow mountains.

A lovely view on a foggy day.

Once we arrived at Glendalough, we walked around the grounds, taking in all of the natural wonder and history of the site. A large, old cemetery takes up a large portion of the land; it is eerily beautiful. Some of my favorite parts were visiting the immensely large round tower and attempting to get my arms around Saint Kevin’s cross, which is a large stone Celtic cross that visitors hug in an attempt to get their fingers to meet around it.

Me with my arms wrapped around a large stone cross.

I didn’t quite get my fingers to touch, unfortunately!

Me with my arms around a smaller stone cross.

Luckily I found one that was more suited to my size.

We also visited the lakes around Glendalough and were overwhelmed by how picturesque the views were. It was easy to see why scenes from the movie “Leap Year” were filmed at the upper lake in Glendalough – cameras simply can’t capture how breathtaking it is to stand at the bottom and look out at the lake and up at the mountains.

A lake with mountains and blue skies in the background.

The Upper Lake at Glendalough.

After we spent hours walking around Glendalough, we all boarded our lovely coach and drove to Avoca, which is another town in Wicklow. Avoca is better known to some as Ballykissangel, which was a television series filmed in Avoca in the 90’s. The town was called the fictional name Ballykissangel in the show, but Avoca, looking vastly unchanged, still represents its claim to fame today.

A sign reading "Ballykissangel" on a panel at the front of the pub.

Ballykissangel sign at the front of Fitzgerald’s Pub.

My parents and I watched Ballykissangel back home and really enjoyed it, so naturally I was very excited to be visiting Avoca. It was strange to arrive in a town and know exactly where everything was and how to get around, even though I’ve never been there before. We walked up and down the main street, admiring the quaint atmosphere and then eventually stopping into the most recognizable film location, Fitzgerald’s Pub.

Me standing outside of Fitzgerald's Pub.

I was so glad to be at Fitzgerald’s!

Once inside, my friends and I enjoyed chocolate cake and Guinness (the epitome of health!) while watching Ballykissangel on a television that the pub plays on a loop. There were also several decorations around the pub that denoted its involvement in the show. I was a little bit disappointed because the main bar area is where most of the show was filmed, but I couldn’t sit in that area because there was a rugby match on and the bar was full of people who were invested in nothing but ensuring a good view of the television. But even so, it was really cool to see how all the locals gathered in the pub to watch a match, just like many of the characters did in Ballykissangel.

Me standing with a Guinness in the front bar of the pub.

Standing proudly in the front bar area where much of Ballykissangel was filmed.

We left Avoca and headed back to Sally’s, where we got fish and chips from the “chipper” just down the road from her house. We were all really hungry, so we were glad to see that the portions were generous. They were, by far, the best fish and chips I’ve had in Ireland so far… I might have to stop back sometime or ask Sally to bring some to Galway!

Thanks for reading about my adventures in Wicklow!

-Maddison

Location: County Wicklow, Ireland

Mañana, Mañana

The past 10 days have been a whirlwind. It’s been a struggle to find time to post, but now that I’ve gotten into a pretty good schedule, I’ll be much more on top of things. For the first few days, I would immediately fall asleep whenever I touched my bed. The busy schedule is enough to leave you exhausted. Not to mention all of the walking around the city. And of course, the jet lag is real.

Here are some things I wish I had known before I left and have had to learn very quickly.

Luggage can and will be lost. Pack your carryon bag with at least one outfit and hygiene essentials. (No liquids more than 100mL allowed in your carryon bags, so be careful. Getting stopped at security is a hassle best to be avoided.)

Exhausted. Luggage stuck in London

What a way to start our trip. Our layover in Heathrow, London was short and I guess it took a while to transfer all of the bags from our first plane to the connecting flight to Barcelona. Half of our flight’s luggage didn’t make it. This included my suitcase and two of Lauren’s. It was surreal when the baggage carriage stopped turning, signaling that all of the luggage had been unloaded, and our carts were still empty. We were in a brand new country with none of our clothes. Great.

If this happens to you, do what we did. Go to the lost baggage claim and give them your boarding pass. Then, describe the suitcase that you had lost and provide an email where they can contact you when the luggage is located. If you provide your address, the airport will have the suitcase delivered as soon as it is located.

Lauren excitedly awaiting her luggage… that never came.

My suitcase came the next day, and luckily I had enough clothes inmy carryon to somewhat clothe me and Lauren until my bag came. Lauren didn’t have any clothes in her carryon, and her luggage didn’t come for three days. Someone told me that about 85 percent of luggage is delayed while traveling abroad. Be prepared.

2. People don’t work on the weekends, and most businesses are closed on Sundays.

Mañana, mañana is a saying in Spain that describes the work ethic of the people here. Everything is very relaxed, which is great. But it also means a lack of efficiency.

Our shower has been broken twice since we got here and it has been extremely difficult to get it fixed because it always breaks right before the weekend, where no one is around or willing to fix it. There is a lesser sense of urgency than in the United States, which is something that needs to be accepted.

We also found that all of the major shops, except for the cafes and restaurants, were closed on Sundays. Our day for being productive and crossing errands off our list turned into a huge waste of time when we took the train to Plaça Catalunya to find everything closed.

3. It is winter in Barcelona, despite the 60 degree weather.

If you walk around in a short-sleeve T-shirt in January, you will be stared at.

If you go out at night in a crop top and a skirt, no tights and no jacket, people will stare out of the windows and laugh at you. Because no matter how warm that weather is compared to Penn State, it is still winter. The temperature fluctuates enough that I would also recommend bringing your winter coat.

Bring a jacket to the bars and clubs that you don’t mind holding, or bite the bullet and pay for the coat check. Or, be the American that doesn’t mind the cold and ignore the stares. But you will stand out, and that isn’t always a good thing.

4. Cat calls are everywhere, and so are money scams.

You will be whistled at and called to on the streets if you are a girl. Just keep walking, it’s pretty harmless. One guy screamed in my friend’s ear when we were out in Tarragona, but that was just weird. You should never walk alone at night, even if you are a guy. There are particular areas you should avoid when it’s dark and it’s really important to know them before you go out, no matter what city you are studying in. In Barcelona, Las Ramblas becomes particularly sketchy at night if you are not in a group.

People asking for money are everywhere in Barcelona. While it may tug at your heartstrings, this is where judgement and a bit of cynicism comes in. The first day on the train a young boy got on and put a pack of tissue on the empty seats next to us and one on our windowsill. Attached was a short paragraph and a picture of him and what he said was his daughter. The paragraph was asking for money to help feed his daughter and support their life together. I was so sad when I saw it, but the next day I saw at least three other men doing the same exact thing. Your money is limited while abroad and you don’t want to be the sucker that falls for the scam. Be aware.

5. Sometimes you just have to pay.

Sometimes you just have to pay a little bit more for a better experience. It’s hard not to be obsessed with spending money and the current exchange rate. (Although right now it’s the best it’s been in a while!) But it’s important not to let it stop you from experiencing all the great things that the city has to offer. This is the time to enjoy life to the fullest. Be smart with your money, but understand that this may be the exact opportunity that you have been saving for for all these years. It’ll never happen again.

Budgeting is important and saving money where you can is definitely a must. We try to find the cheapest bars and lunch spots. We’ve started going back to our dorm during our lunch break so that we don’t have to pay at a cafe or restaurant, even though it’s about a 20 minute trip. But, indulging every once in a while is part of the experience and nothing to feel guilty about.

Once we start traveling I’m sure that I’ll figure out some more tips for booking the cheapest flights and hostels. I hope this post was helpful!

The best lunch I have had in Barcelona from Mussols right off of Plaça Catalunya

Mushroom croquets and vino rosado with Lauren to celebrate the start of classes at the PETIT POT Bistro

Crab croquets, veal and potatoes from our dorm’s dining hall

Attention World Travelers: Helpful Hints for Surviving in Transit Derived from my Stupidity

My sincerest apologies for the delay, (I’ve been here for a week), but I compiled a list of my thoughts while traveling here. While they may be obvious, I can’t take that for granted seeing as hindsight is always 20/20 and I didn’t foresee them happening before I departed.

I. Don’t bank on the idea of sleeping on the plane!

To anyone taking a connecting flight or a train straight out of the airport: the airport-to-train process is exhausting, and rather frustrating if operating on a low battery. Whether you can’t get sufficiently comfortable or you’re enticed by the shockingly awesome movie selection- your sleep will in some way be jeopardized. Devil’s advocate says, ” I sleep just fine on the plane!” Ok, so you’re lucky enough to fall asleep. 30 minutes will elapse and you’ll wake up because your butt keeps tingling pins and needles but you can’t stand up because you don’t want to inconvenience your neighbor or seem like a freak for shaking about to restore blood flow to your numb butt. Just do yourself a favor and sleep the night before.

II. Only bring what you can manage!

Unless you are He-Man- see if you can physically manage moving your bags by yourself before you commit to them for the entire journey. While this may seem excessive: I recommend that you actually try to walk around your house and potentially also ascend modest inclines with all of the baggage that you intend to haul around the world like a human pack animal. I have decided that I am a fool for not thinking of this. The best part was when people saw me collapsing under the weight of my immense luggage and waited for me to move them like, ” Oh ok I’ll give you a sec,” but I just gave them a helplessness shrug and a look as if to say, “No. Homie- you simply don’t understand. I physically cannot move the bags. But I don’t need help, no. Leave me here to die.” They did.

III. Carry all forms of ID and anything you used to pay for your journey with you

If you take a train directly out of the airport, bring along the credit card with which you bought the ticket online. The order confirmation is not enough! Luckily I got a young man who I was able to make feel sympathetic for me through strategic pouting and a few well-placed sighs. One cannot anticipate having such good fortune every time.

IV. Consider the little things

Ask yourself: what items do I need to be comfortable? The fact that I didn’t pack tissues or Benadryl when I’m allergic to 97% of my environment was a considerable oversight on my part. My nose ran the entire journey and my shirtsleeves suffered the consequences.

I’ve got to run to class now, (Grammaire et Méthodologie,) but I will soon write about my first week here!

Xo,

RJB

Location: Philadelphia International Airport, Charles de Gaulle Aeroport, Montpellier

Adfrenchures: Chapitre 3

Adfrenchures: Chapitre 3
Pas de Cheval // Horse Step

So between travelling to S�te, St. Guilhem le D�sert, horseback riding, classes, and a CRAZY head cold that leaves me sniffling/coughing/whining/crying constantly, it has been quite the time since my last blog entry.

Due to my cold, I’ve barely slept at all the past three days, because I just keep coughing and wheezing and waking myself up. No amount of soup or my host mom’s tisanes has assuaged it. I’m 99% sure “having an eternal cold” is one of Dante’s rings of hell. So this entry will be less narrative/reflective and more of a r�sum�/summary.

Here’s S�te. S�te is a town about a 15 minute train ride from Montpellier. Half of the fun of going there, for me at least, was taking the train. I love trains. They are my favorite form of transportation. There is something that is swift and yet incredibly manual about trains in a way that doesn’t exist in cars and planes– you can feel the ground pass underneath you, you can see scenery fly by. It’s like a mix of driving and flying.

The town of S�te is cut through by canals, so to get to many places, you have to locate the nearest bridge. It was quiet and sleepy on the Saturday afternoon that we visited. On our way back to the train station, Rachel and I stopped at a caf� where the owner was sitting and talking with his friends outside. He was funny as he put up with our struggling French (there was some confusion over “pressed orange juice” and the particular brand he sold, which was not fresh-pressed).

We sat down and finished our beverages and when we went to leave, he seemed disappointed that we were going so quickly. He asked us where we were from, if we enjoyed S�te, what we were studying. Just thinking about his kindness makes me want to go back to S�te and hang out in his caf� all day.

While the rest of the group hiked the giant hill behind S�te, Rachel and I decided to check out the Regional Center for Contemporary Art in the Languedoc-Roussillon region which was on the other side of a canal. (Languedoc-Rouissillon is the name of our area, which is unfortunately incredibly difficult to pronounce.) We waited 15 minutes for it to open, not knowing what to expect.

We were greeted with the most emotionally striking art exhibition I have ever seen.

Pierre Adouvin, “Helpless.”

The first half of the exhibit was a meditation on childhood, helplessness, anxiety, nostalgia, fairytales, and dreams. The second half provoked questions about entertainment, pop culture, fanfare/celebrity, and memory. Each room was its own exhibit and was deliberately created to invoke certain emotions and reactions. Surprisingly, you learned more about yourself in there than you did about art.

I think that was the point.

In the room in the photo to the right, entitled Le vide remplit mes yeux, there were feelings of claustrophobia, confusion. The room was a blank white, the ceiling lowered to just above your head, with no “escapes” except for two white holes in the ceiling. At first, the holes merely looked like lights, but when you got underneath them, you could see into a bright white room, nondescript, as if this section of the exhibit was merely under construction.

Rachel said she didn’t like this room until she found out there were exits. I was confused and thought it was just a path to the next exhibit or a place under construction. The artist anticipated both of these reactions– it was so bizarre to cross to the other side of the room and read the little plaque explaining the piece, seeing ourselves mirrored back in it.

This past Saturday, we went to St. Guilhem le D�sert, which is not a real desert, but a “spiritual desert,” as our tour guide explained. It’s a well-preserved medieval town out in the middle of the mountains. It only has one main road. There’s a gorgeous church there which used to be a monastery.

If you lived at the “top” of town, nearest the church (and thus nearer to God), you were more wealthy and had higher social status. Later on, Catholics lived “en haut” (up top) and Protestants “en bas” (down low). The tour guide told us that, even today, if you were to ask some of the elderly people who live in the upper side of the village, they would tell you that, when they were young, their parents instructed them not to play with the children who lived “en bas.”

After touring around the town, we hiked a mountain. Then, we went off the beaten path on the mountain in order to check out some unmarked castle ruins at the tippy top of the mountain. I led the way for most of the journey, picking a path out of the underbrush. It was hilarious and fun as we climbed, slid, and shouted to one another from different peaks.

Reminder: I did all of this hiking with a huge head cold. Not pictured here is the mountain of tissues I went through.

Yesterday, a small group of us went back to Grau du Roi and went on a two hour ride through the beach and wildflower fields on horseback. It was probably my favorite trip so far. We rode a kind of horse called a Camargue, which is a wild horse native to France– it’s like the French version of our mustangs. They are pure white (although some are dappled), and my horse was named Bosco.

Bosco was the boss. He did not listen to me.

Bosco, turn right, I’d say, nudging him and pulling the reins. No, Marie, Bosco would reply. You have no idea what the hell you’re doing. Bosco was technically right.

“Bosco, let’s go faster, let’s trot,” I’d say. Bosco would snort, almost as if laughing at me, and he’d be like, “I’d really rather not. How about we slow down, actually? That sounds nice.” So Bosco and I would slowly meander around with the rest of the group while I nudged him faster in vain.

“Bosco, let’s go off the path, let’s just go the ittiest bit to the right of the path,” I’d try to say with the reins. “Everyone else is doing it, it’ll be fun. Let’s go.”

I was trying to get Bosco to think out of the box. He was a very conformist horse. Bosco was having none of my shenanigans. At one point, he actually bent his head and pretended as if he was going right, while still staying on the path. I’d have been mad if it weren’t so hilariously clever.

In short: Bosco was completely, utterly perfect.

By the end of the trip, I was able to get him into a trot at will, and he wasn’t as obstinately sticking to the path (presumably because I’d finally gotten my sh*t together in terms of learning to ride a horse). While trotting is fun, it’s barely faster than walking, and twice as bouncy.

On a long straight away next to the beach, Bosco and I galloped. Galloping is the most beautiful feeling, like being on a train, a cross between pushing against the earth and flying. Instead of all four feet touching the ground, for a moment you are airborne, leaning forward in the saddle, clutching the reins, the horse’s mane brushing against your hand. You’re moments from losing control, or– in my case– falling off the saddle, because holy crap does horseback riding take some serious thigh strength.

I’d never ridden a horse before, but now I understand why Julia and Emily (who have ridden for years) needed to get their riding fix while abroad. There’s something gorgeously addictive about the whole experience.

Well, now you’re all caught up on my latest escapades, albeit not as eloquently as usual. I’m going to go take some aspirin for my fever, cough up half of my lung, take a nap, think healthy thoughts, and have enough soup and oranges to cure twenty sick people.

A tout � l’heure!

Location: Le Grau du Roi, Montpellier, France

An Overdue Ireland Edition

I am finally back to Copenhagen after travelling to Ireland and Austria, and I have plenty to report. I will limit this posting to Ireland, though, so as not to confuse anyone (namely myself.)

Upon arriving to Ireland I immediately noticed some differences in the way people relate to one another there as opposed to Denmark. In Copenhagen I would never expect to be approached by a stranger, or to have conversations of any sort with people I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, the Danes are very nice, but they keep to themselves and are generally a private bunch.

I was traveling with a group of friends to Dublin, and we were tragically lost trying to find the B&B we were staying at for the night. A kind woman who must have noticed how confused we were stopped us and took the time to clearly spell out where we should go. Later that evening I went to a show, Once, (it was amazing!) and the woman I was sitting next to talked to me before the show, all through intermission, and afterwards as well. She even introduced me to her granddaughter and her son-in-law and they all gave me plenty of suggestions on what we should do while in Ireland. (Ironically enough she said she thought it was wonderful we decided to visit the weekend before, not of, St. Patricks Day. “All the locals hide out on St. Patricks Day… that’s not who we really are. People who come for that day aren’t really seeing Dublin, or real Dubliners.” she said.)

We visited the small coastal community of Malahide, which was very beautiful.

We walked around the grounds of the Malahide castle …

Later that day we ventured downtown and toured the Guinness factory. Tickets included a free pint and an opportunity to learn from the experts how to officially pour the perfect Guinness.

Admittedly our hostel was a little frightening. It was $16/night, so I suppose the old “you get what you pay for” speech is actually applicable, but it’s just mildly unnerving when the elevator wiggles so much that it should be a carnival ride and some of the doors to rooms are ajar because the only thing futilely attempting to keep them closed is a rusty old lock that some employee probably scrounged up from his locker when a guest complained that their door wouldn’t lock.

(Not my door, mom. My door locked. Twice. And we had two complimentary German Shepherds and one of those Brazilian fighters that are legally bound to declare their hands as lethal weapons.)

Overall I think my favorite thing that we did was take a day tour to the Cliffs of Moher. I highly, highly recommend it to anyone traveling to Ireland. I know spending all day on a bus sounds horrific but the drive itself is beautiful, and the Cliffs are definitely worth the journey.

Anyhow in keeping with my traditional blog style, since my last posting I have

– Visited Ireland

– Visited Austria

– Planned more details of an upcoming trip to Switzerland

– Watch an entire season of Gilmore Girls. (I know it’s kind of a crappy show and a random thing to share with readers such as yourself, but I’m embracing the concept of relaxing more here. Also, it’s really, REALLY cold outside and drinking coffee and watching crappy TV is nice. “Spring,” they call it. Lies.)

I can’t bring myself to make a personal to-do list…. my family arrives in Denmark in two days and that’s all the further I need to look into the future for now!

Location: Frederiksberg, Denmark

桜が咲いた

Another episode of Wow, Japan Sure Loves Nature!
Once again, people have been retreating into mountains and visiting gardens, shrines and castles just to see what the trees are doing. In the fall, I wrote about the changing of the leaves. Now it’s spring, and I’m talking about cherry blossms.

The blooming of the cherry blossoms (or 桜 sakura) represents new beginnings and a chance to start fresh for many Japanese. This is reflected in literature, art and music from way back when and up until now. Academically, around this time, it’s the end of the school year with graduations and the start of a new one. And nothing says a fresh start more than a celebratory picnic with family and friends (and sometimes alcohol). This is called 花見 or Flower Viewing.

While enjoying the cherry blossoms with Japanese folk, one might learn the different varieties of cherry blossoms like I did. To simplify, there’s the droopy kind, the white kind (which is also the mountain kind), the dark pink kind, the stereotypical kind, etc. There are also cherry blossom exclusive terms for the night time viewing (夜桜 yozakura), the falling petals (桜吹雪 sakurafubuki), and the trees who’s petals have all flown away (葉桜 hazakura). I’m sure there are even more, but my mind can only hold so much.

The fact that this is all common knowledge in this culture fascinates me, who comes

from a culture that doesn’t

quite pay attention to what’s blooming when on a national level.

Unfortunately cherry blossoms have a pretty delicate lifespan and after they’re gone it’s just greenish brown leaves (which you can kind of see in the photo). It’s been about two weeks since they have been blooming so they are on the decline from here on out. As pretty and magical as the falling petals are, I’m sad to see them go.

Location: Kyoto, Japan

まあまあだった

Has this happened to those of you studying in major cities like London, Paris, etc, or even just the country in general? Where you just realize it’s just not as big of a deal as you initially thought?

Since I was a child I have been interested in Japan. Obsessed might be a better term. If you didn’t know it, you just hadn’t met me yet. Much like many a great (and not so great) celebrity, I knew from early on I knew exactly what wanted to do with my passion.

That being said, you would think going to Tokyo would be the cherry on top of this dreamy dessert. Instead, it hardly shivered me timbers. And it rained nearly the whole time.

To see it all for myself with my own eyes was the only way to end this day dream era that I’ve been living in. I had seen the place through so many mediums, it was only fair to remove the third party and put my senses to the test.
I was able to gobble up ramen from Hokkaido at the Ramen Museum. In Akihabara, I bought a tiger kigurumi after eating lunch at the Gundam Cafe, and I got to see Hachiko in front of Shinjuku Station.

But as I walked down the street, it just felt like bigger Nagoya with a whole lot more lights and foreigners (despite the awesome Gundam Cafe with a Gundam simulating bathroom! So cool~). Although I will admit it was pretty nice to feel more like a minority and less like an alien from the planet America. I just had imagined so much more.

Having already been in Japan about seven months now, it’s getting hard to surprise me, however. Mostly the way I was treated was different than anything else. No one gave my Japanese a chance. In fact, when ordering food at Disney Sea, the cashier wouldn’t even look at me until he pulled out a binder, flipped through some pages and started reading his bit in English. Statistically speaking, perhaps they are right to assume such, but that doesn’t curb my frustration so easily.

Classes and Akaroa

Classes started this week and honestly it has been hectic. I’m only taking 4 classes but trying to figure out which ones I want to take and what they could possibly count for back home is really difficult.

Since this is a specialized agriculture school they don’t have general education credits or just a class you can just take for fun like astronomy or skiing. Every class people take counts toward their major and people don’t take classes outside their major. They also generally don’t change their major so it’s not possible to ask one person about classes in a several different disciplines. Instead I’ve taken to sitting in on lectures for classes that interest me this first week just to get a taste of what I want to stick with.

In my last post (which for some reason isn’t showing up in my achieve but can be found here http://geoblog.psu.edu/2012/02/1-week-down.html) I mentioned the setup of classes and how there are large blocks or full days where there are no classes, this is because they have a lot of outside class time for the classes which they call ‘papers’. There are things called “tutorials” which set up through the instructor on your own time where you meet up with other students and talk about the class topic. They’re mandatory but not on your schedule till your sign up. The labs for classes are also set up on your own time and aren’t put on your schedule until you sign up for them. There are also days where certain classes have field trips so classes for students that don’t have field trips are cancelled for the day.

Times of classes can sometimes overlap, meaning they will be at the same time so you have to watch for that because their scheduling program doesn’t keep you from doing it.

Students and teachers are also on a first name basis which I learned very quickly when I accidently called one Professor and he gave me the oddest look. The instructors also tend to know their students of hand and recognize them outside of class because the campus and classes are so small. My largest class this semester is 70 people but I have heard of someone having a class as small as 5. Thus, people tend to be blown away when I tell them there can be hundreds in a class at Penn State. But the odd thing is that they don’t put caps on how big the classes can be. Instead people can come and go for two weeks and after that you are not allowed to switch classes anymore without it being on your record. After that teachers have to put in a request for a bigger or smaller room depending on what their class size ended up being. Many classes are also team taught by multiple people that will cover a very specific area of the course.

As far as grading goes they do many more projects and paper for grades instead of test. Written exams are also more common or at least partially written and the have to count for at least 40% of your grade according to the school rules. Needless to say I was flabbergasted and plan on studying like mad in order to ace the exams since due to the grading scale it is hard to get an ‘A’ but nearly impossible to fail. I’d rather pull of A’s just to be safe.

But to be honest this week hasn’t been all work. The halls tend to get together after classes and watch movies, eat dinner together or plan trips around the island. Yesterday I had the pleasure to travel just an hour away from here to Akaroa with my RA, who was playing in a touch rugby tournament, and a girl in my flat. We were only there a few hours but it was really beautiful on the water and we got the best advice from a local, my RA, on the best fish and chips and town. I’m determined to go back there and get more because it was that good.

We stopped up over a ridge to take a look over the peninsula first before going down and the sky manged to open up and provide some good shots of everything below us. It was a little cold so we didn’t go down on the beach but we did get some pictures next to the water and get to walk the streets.

It was the perfect time to be on the water because once the sun started to set it looked like the sky was on fire over the mountains. It was completely worth the cold weather.

Iplan on doing a video soon on some of the words and pronunciations used in New Zealand. I have a lot of them so it may end up being a two part thing. So keep an eye out for that!

Location: Akaroa, New Zealand

願い

Every culture has it’s own approach and formula when it comes to encouraging the universe to yield in favor of our wild wishes. Back at home, if 11:11 caught my eye, I’d take that as my cue to hope for the best. Then there is the whole falling star business, but that is a little more rare. As expected, as a country filled with ritualistic phrases and manners, Japan is no different. Let us embark on this touristy pilgrimage for the sake of wish making.

From Nagoya we went to Nagahama port on Lake Biwa. This is one of the biggest lakes in Japan and it really looked like an ocean, I could just barely see the other side. We took a ferry to a small island named Chikubu. I fell asleep on the way since it took about 30 minutes.

When we got there we got two clay plates for our names and wish and were told we needed to throw them threw the gate up the way. Fresh from my nap and wanting to write in Japanese, I kept it simple: I want to become fluent in Japanese.

The stairs were steep, there was snow on the ground and it was rather cold. We walked up the way up on accident because we weren’t paying attention. Our lack of focus allowed us to see the whole setup before we went to the shrine. We got to see this peculiar statue, so I regret nothing. Always leave time to get lost abroad, you never know what you’ll find.

When we finally got to the cliff behind the shrine, we realized the difficulty level was worthy of

wish granting status. Using our names as practice throws, we quickly realized this was purely chance and let go of all hope for the sake of fun. Though one of us was able to successfully get it through, I missed and tossed my disc into the lake. Something tells me my wish will come true, regardless.

It was an interesting little pilgramage and seeing the traditional spots never gets old to me. Especially when we take such untraditional photos. How much more space do I have in my “unforgettable” slot?

Location: Nagahama, Shiga-ken, Japan

Ropas y Rebajas

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In Spain, there is an emphasis on appearance and looking pulled together. In Europe, showing up to class at college in your pajamas or sweats in unheard of. At Penn State, I have seen people show up to classes in their robes, I’m not kidding. (He claimed it was laundry day, and of course it was a he.)

Men, women, kids, babies, teenagers- Everyone appears pulled together. Their clothes are less trendy, and more classic. Dark jeans, scarfs, blazers, boots, a nice coat and bag. I have come to appreciate their sense of style. For them, it seems to be less about the amount of clothes or choices you have, but rather having a solid wardrobe that you can mix and match and make the most of. It’s been a welcome change to look nice each day (rather than just throwing on my fitness clothes that I would wear to teach at the gym later like I did at PSU) to go to school, although it does require me to wake up an extra ten minutes earlier to pull myself together.

These signs are tempting me at every store!

One thing I have a love-hate relationship here concerning clothes are the “rebajas” or sales. Everything in Spanish stores is on a huge sale right now, and has been since I arrived. Twice a year all the stores in Spain have a huge sale- once in January for the winter clothes, and once in June for the spring clothes. Everything is on a huge sale. And, their stores are amazing. It’s taken a lot of self control not to blow my entire semester’s budget on one shopping trip!

Location: Alcala de Henares, Spain

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