Preface:
I haven't posted to my blog in over a month. Tonight I am posting an essay that I wrote as a part of my Truman portfolio in order to graduate. It is in response to explaining my undergraduate intercultural experience. Due to the subject matter, the essay re-tells some of the stories that have previously been told in this blog. I yielded to posting this for its potential redundancy, but the presentation of my reflections are told in a different way so reading the post may still be of some interest, I hope.
Furthermore, as some of you know, I have a heart for exploration and have recently become intrigued by the idea of pursuing travel writing as a hobby. I am currently searching for freelance opportunities and may start a separate, travel-related blog. (Now is probably a good time to mention that all content on this blog is my intellectual property.) "It's a Fabulous Life" is meant to be a blog that tells stories of who I am or things that I am interested in- and right now a big part of that is wrapped up in wanting to travel the world.
Post:
One time, Truman, you
frustrated me to a point that I literally had to flee the country in order to
recover my hindered spirit. Being holed up in Kirksville sometimes sucks
all the cultural diversity out of you so that even reading the New York Times
travel section will make you tear up a bit. At least, that's what
happened to me. That was when I knew I needed to go. Somewhere.
Anywhere, really. But since I spoke a little French and had always
dreamed of the Riviera, I decided I'd go there.
The ticket and hostel
were booked. Then I called my mom. I remember sitting on a bench
outside of Violette Hall on a nice day when I candidly slipped into the
conversation, "I think I'm going to France in a couple weeks. After
finals." When I told my friends, the most common response was,
"Have you seen the movie Taken?" I didn't care. I'm a dreamer;
I let my mind wander often. This time I would allow my body to
follow.
I had been to France
before, always holding the most romanticist view of Paris and the corresponding
culture. As a child I had been obsessed with the cartoon Madeline, and to
this day I still idealize her sense of spirit and childlike rebellion. I
envied her as she pranced in front of the cartoon drawing of the Eiffel Tower
while munching on baguettes and wearing a yellow beret. I threw nothing
short of an all-things-French-obsessed tantrum when my father traveled to Paris
for his job. "I want to go with yooouu" I would whine. I
was three. "When you're older." he said.
"When?" I persisted. He settled on "When you turn ten."
That was a
semi-promise I didn't forget. So for my tenth birthday I found myself in Paris.
Memories of creamy fondue, gargoyles, the Louvre, and of course
the magnificent Tour d'Eiffel resonated with me years after I left.
I'll especially never forget how a rainy night turned into a snow-laced
wonderland after climbing the height to the top level of the Eiffel Tower.
Ideal for a February birthday. It
was nothing short of magical.
But I wasn't finished
with Paris. It would be another seven years before I would return to the
city, this time as a junior in high school and freshly educated of the mysterès
of the Lost Generation (Ezra Pound, Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, and
Missouri's own T.S. Eliot). It was a family vacation, and of course visiting
the historical sites and attractions was a priority. However, revisiting a foreign place is an
interesting experience. There for the second
time, I was able to see past the necessity of “attractions”; instead I was
determined to soak up the culture as much as I could. I remember saying
"I just want to be there. I don’t
really care what I do once I’m there.”
I remember tracking
down the famous Le Select cafe, where F. Scott Fitzgerald would frequently
spend all day writing manuscripts that would one day be famous. I lingered in the cafe as long as my family
would tolerate, in hopes that something in the air would possibly waft over me,
giving me... something. While I was waiting for whatever that was, I
enjoyed a cappuccino.
I returned home from
that trip a little richer, and content for the time being.
When I began college,
I always had hopes of studying abroad- Maybe France? But then again, I wanted to try something
new. Then an opportunity to study abroad in China arose, but I chose a summer
internship instead. Before I knew it, I
was in the spring of my sophomore year with no real plans to commit to studying
abroad. At the time, I felt too attached
to my schedule at Truman- the regularity of attending classes and
organizational meetings and being surrounded with familiar friends. I didn’t want to leave for an entire
semester; I didn’t want to miss out on what I might leave behind me. I didn’t consider all the opportunity I could
potentially look forward to. While now,
as a senior, I look at that decision with disappointment, I do not necessarily
regret my choice to not study abroad in college.
As a way of
compensating for not formally studying abroad, I made effort throughout my
college career to travel and experience different cultures. My junior year I visited a friend in London during
spring break. A few months later I
crossed the Atlantic again to explore the south of France. During my senior year I was able to visit a
friend in Greece for a week.
I could write pages
upon pages about the cultural experiences I was able to soak up in each of
these far-away places, but I’ll focus the remainder of this essay on my third return
to France. This trip holds a
significantly special place in my heart, as it was a solo trek. Travelling alone made me vulnerable to the
culture. If at any point I was uncomfortable,
I couldn’t turn to a familiar face for comfort, advice, or company. I would have to find that from the people I
met along the way.
I stayed in a youth
hostel in the city of Nice, which is centrally located along the Côte d’Azur. The nearby cities of Cannes, Grasse,
Ville-Franche, and Monaco were easily accessible by short train rides. Staying in a youth hostel felt surprisingly
familiar. Its dorm-like atmosphere
easily led to camaraderie between travelers, a good amount of which were also travelling
independently. While I spent the
majority of my days wandering the streets of these cities unaccompanied by maps
(and almost always accompanied by a baguette), it was nice to return to the
hostel that night to meet up with faces that soon became familiar. Nights were spent cooking dinner in the kitchen
of the hostel, watching a foreign movie, and talking about all topics of life
over glasses of wine. I met young adults
from around the world: Finland, Canada, Australia, Italy, Germany, and
Bulgaria.
It was sad to return from
a day of wandering to realize that a new friend had left Nice- either for home
or another city along their journey. And
when it was my turn to leave, I was immensely jealous of those that were able
to stay another night or two. And though
I was gone for but a week, my week had been fulfilling and wisely spent. I recall wandering through various museums. I recall shopping in both large department
stores and open air food and craft markets.
I recall tasting “socca” and “salade niçiose”. I recall the conversations I had with young
adults of different nationalities and cultural views. And even if these particular moments and memories
ever fade, the feeling of my experience is lasting.
The list of places I
have been fortunate enough to travel to within the United States and across the
world is personally meaningful and significant, but the list of places I yearn
to go in the future is outstanding and daunting. You cannot go everywhere. You will leave the earth before you’ve seen
every place on earth that you want to see.
But travelling is the most classic case of balancing quality against
quantity. I would rather soak up a
cultural experience than rush through a list of destinations. Travelling isn’t about completing a
checklist. To compare it with anything
linear of the sort would indicate a misunderstanding of travel’s beauty. Travel encompasses you in many directions: it
is the food you eat; it is the people you talk to and the questions that you
ask of them.
To quote Anthony Bourdain
(who I wouldn’t mind being someday): “In
the few years since I’ve started to travel this world, I’ve found myself
changing.”
