August 2017 – Page 11 – SLA Profiles (2017)

“Where is Your Lady?”: A Note on the Racist-Classism in Amman

“Excuse me, but where is your lady?”

These are words I have rapidly become accustomed to during my stay in Jordan, and it has taught me much of the racial nature of inequality in this country.

Typically speaking, when one sees an Indonesian (or Southeast Asian in general) woman in Jordan, she is there because she is employed as a maid or helper for a well-off Jordanian family. I began to see many of these women once I was settled in Jordan. In malls, these domestic workers can often be seen walking just behind their employers, holding their bags and pushing their strollers for their wealthy patrons. I remember watching one such of these ‘classy’ women trying on a variety of designer shoes, asking her maids for their opinions as she modeled her expensive shoes for them.

The assumption then when Jordanians see me in public places is not that I am a PhD student from Notre Dame pursuing a study of Classical Arabic at the Qasid Institute, but rather that I am also one of the maids brought from Indonesia to change diapers and scrub floors. The career I have spent so many years building is invisible to the people here, for apparently Jordanian culture has written the word ‘maid’ on my face. I have often experienced Islamophobia or other forms of racism while living in the States, but these were a new set of micro-aggressions.

This is a prejudice that does not trouble every foreigner, but rather is specifically aimed at women from Southeast Asia (a female friend from Thailand at the Qasid Institute also experienced the same case of racism). At restaurants, I often dine with my two housemates and find that waitresses will often hand menus to my Japanese and British-Pakistani peers, leaving me with nothing until I am forced to ask. Apparently, the idea of an Indonesian being able to eat in a restaurant is quite unusual for Jordanians and they thus assume that I have no need for one. And even when I pay with my own credit card, the card will usually be handed back to my peers instead of me, showing once again that Jordanians think I am simply there as a helper for other students.

By far, these acts of racism have been my greatest difficulty throughout my stay in Jordan, for it has permeated every aspect of my life here. Even when I am going for groceries, I am often bombarded with ridiculous questions from random strangers about “where is my master?”. And even a few days ago, a middle-aged man literally rammed me with his shopping cart for not getting out of his way quickly enough. Combined with the sexual-street harassment I face, it is abundantly clear that Jordanian culture sees people that look like me as inferiors who are not worthy of even the most basic level of courtesy.

It seems that I am constantly being reminded of my place in the racial hierarchy here and it is very clear that Indonesians (and Southeast Asians in general) are not welcome here unless they want to work in kitchens or carry bags.

When my significant other visited, this prejudice took on new forms. Refusing to kowtow to Jordanian prejudices, my SO (who is a Pakistani-Canadian that could potentially pass as an Arab) would hold my hand in public and insisted on carrying every bag we happened to get while shopping. Still, while it was amusing to not conform to these racial expectations and flaunt our interracial match, Jordanian racism still followed us. For the sight of an Arab-looking man carrying bags for an Indonesian woman attracted stares and giggles no matter where we went.

If this is my experience being an international student in this country, then I cannot begin to imagine what life must be like for actual domestic workers living here. To be at the beck and call of a culture that clearly and unashamedly regards one as an inferior is incredibly demeaning, and it would take the patience of Job to endure it. Thus, now more than ever, do I have more admiration for those women who have stood up and spoken out in the media against the rampant physical and sexual abuse that inevitably occurs as a result of the pernicious racism against them.

But it is these women we must look to for inspiration. For every time they speak out against this systematic discrimination is another step towards ending it forever.

Where Our Kids Play: The picture shows a roller-skate ring in one of the most luxurious malls in Amman. In the weekend it is full with Amman’s rich kids on their roller-skates, while their nannies are standing outside of the ring, keeping them safe.

Waiting for the Masters: Three Indonesian domestic workers are standing outside of the railing, while their ladies are enjoying their afternoon teas at Paul, a high-end French bakery/cafe chain that is very popular among the upper-middle class here in Amman. The railing aptly symbolizes the different worlds that those women occupied (master and servant), and the racism and classism that sustain it.

A City of the Dead

One of the highlights of my journey to Jordan was my trip to Petra.

Petra is a ruined city hidden away in a valley just three hours away from Amman. Much like the Citadel of Amman, this ruin has a rich history encompassing Arab, Roman and Ottoman periods and is quite literally a city of the dead.

The ruins of Petra are composed firstly of graves and tombs carved into the sandstone mountains of Petra. These ornate tombs were meant to be the springboard for rich individuals so they could arrive in the afterlife with style. The graves range from simple hollowed out caves to ornate mini-palaces with statues carved into the rock. Thousands of slaves had to have been employed to build these house-sized graves over the course of centuries.

It is amazing to me that these ancient Nabateans spent so much of their wealth and energy in preparation for their death. Seeing an entire city that the people of Petra made to forge their tombs and glorify their dead is simply awe-inspiring. In a way, this belief system is not entirely dissimilar to that of Islam, for Muslims are also taught to spend their life here preparing for the life that comes after (although of course Muslims are told to do that preparing by doing good deeds, rather than constructing elaborate tombs).

In any case, the largest structure that seems to be intact is the Treasury (Al-Khazneh) in the heart of Petra. It is a massive structure in the heart of a huge valley in the middle of the dead city. We traveled there when we first arrived and it is absolutely huge building with Greek gods and goddesses depicted alongside it. On the way there, aqueducts were carved into the mountainside, which the ancient inhabitants of this land used to keep themselves supplied with water constantly. This treasury was the entry point into this mysterious city and showed how the people that lived here wanted everyone who visited to know of their opulence and might of their city.

Later, we climbed up a mountain path called the ‘thousand steps’ to reach the Monastery top of Petra (El-Deir). This name turned out to be somewhat inaccurate, as the ‘steps’ were so badly eroded and cracked that they were hardly steps at all, and I am pretty certain that there were far more than a thousand. Exhausted, we eventually had to ask some Bedouins for a donkey ride in order to get all the way up the towering mountain. The Monks that once maintained the monastery up there must have been quite reclusive indeed if this was the only way for a visitor to reach them.

Atop the mountain, we found that unfortunately most of the Monastery was either ruined or closed off to the public. In this case, the journey became more important than the destination. A reminder that our focus in life is supposed to be on the ‘learning process’ and not on the ‘result’.

Still, climbing this historical marvel and looking down at this vast city of the dead (and Petra truly is huge – a real city of tombs and graves) was magnificent, though afterwards my legs felt like blocks of wood. Hiking in a desert is much more difficult than hiking in Indonesia or out in America. The oppressive heat rapidly drains your energy and even if you have a constant supply of water you will soon feel quite exhausted.

A visitor like me thus can’t but feel a sense of wonder when seeing the Bedouin, who live in makeshift tents throughout the path going up the hill underneath the sweltering heat. Like their ancestors from Petra, these Bedouin live in the desert with a certain joy and seem to take pleasure in galloping back and forth across the desert paths that mark the dead city, sometimes even happily living and sleeping inside of the looted tomes.

My trip to Petra was thus one of my most memorable moments in Jordan, for it showed me a unique window into how religions and traditions can shape entire civilizations.

Journey into the After-Life in Style: One of the most ornate tombs of the Nabateans. The Obelisks showed how many people were actually buried in the tomb.

Al-Khazneh From the Bab al-Siq: Despite the name, al-Khazneh is not a treasury. It is a mausoleum built during the 1st century AD under the reign of Aretas IV Philopatris.

The Treasury: The name comes from a myth that ancient pirates hid their loot in the stone urn located up on the second level of the gate. Another version of the myth tells us that the treasure in the urn was of one of the Pharaohs of the Ancient Egypt.

Bedouin Trinkets: Such makeshift booth can be found along the hiking path in Petra. The Bedouin sells almost anything you can imagine in there. From jewelry to stones from the ancient ruins. Their division of labor goes along gendered lines. Wives and daughters take care of the stores, husbands and sons take care of the donkey and camel ride businesses.

An-bhlasta!

I would be remiss if I didn’t talk about all the amazing food I have had the opportunity to eat in Ireland! My bean an tí, Lucy, is an incredible cook. We have been treated to all kinds of food over the past few weeks but I have especially loved the meals that are authentically Irish. Within breakfast alone, I cannot express how much I love the brown bread. It sounds so simple but it is the most delicious toast I have ever had. I would eat it for every meal if I could! The delicious bread paired with the fresh butter is an unbeatable breakfast. I can’t go back to American butter! For dinner, Lucy has served the most delicious Irish lamb stew and there are always endless potatoes. I have eaten more potatoes in the last four weeks than in the last 19 years of my life! Oh, but they are so good! The stew has lamb, carrots, onion, parsnips, potatoes, and all kinds of spices. I am going to make her write it down before I leave! Tonight, Lucy made us some traditional blood sausage with potatoes. I am going to miss her and her food so much! At the very least, I will be bringing back tea culture to the United States. Having a “cupán tae” midmorning has become one of my favorite routines. Apparently, it is very important to let the tea brew for a while rather than just boiling water. I have been scolded (playfully) for making my tea too weak!

We also got the chance to visit the Cliffs of Moher this weekend! I have dreamed of going to the cliffs for years so I was very excited. They did not disappoint in the slightest. The color of the water when the waves crashed against the rocks was stunning. The green and brown of the cliffs next to the blue of the sky was unbelievable. I couldn’t get over the sheer size and scale of them. There was definitely an element of fear there though! It would’ve been so easy to go over the edge. Some people were very bold in their search for the perfect photo-I thought a father and son were going to fall off! The beauty of the scene far outweighed my fear. The weather wasn’t bad; there were only a few clouds. I have found that Ireland is beautiful whether it is raining or sunny. I hope I can make it back to the cliffs on a sunny day!

Going to places like the cliffs reminds me how incredibly blessed I am to be here. I have learned so much about this country and these people, gotten to see the most beautiful sights, and made friends that I will keep for the rest of my life. I can’t thank everyone enough for helping get here!

The Whole World in Carraroe!

It feels like forever since I’ve written even though it’s only been a week! This week, we learned more about sentence structure and the genitive case. My vocabulary has definitely grown and I am getting used to the pronunciations. I feel very confident when reading and writing Irish because my foundation has gotten even stronger these past few weeks. I am also learning a lot about the Connemara dialect. My teacher, Dónall, is great because he offers such an interesting perspective. He was born in Canada, grew up in Ireland, but now lives in Germany and teaches Irish there. He told us that the difference between the Connemara dialect and the dialect in Dublin is like difference between listening to a grand piano and a cheap keyboard. I hope that I can get to the point where the differences are that obvious to me too! It’s so interesting to hear what sounds the dialect cuts out and adds and what words they use instead of the standard. Dónall makes a point of giving us our readings in the standard Irish and in Connemara Irish. We were speaking Irish with some locals in the pub this last week and they were correcting us and instructing us on how we can sound more like a native. I am going to miss this direct contact with natives so much! In addition to the natives, I’m learning so much from the other students in this program. There are people from all over the United States, Canada, the Netherlands, Cyprus, England, and Japan! I can’t believe the Irish language has reached as far as Asia. I love meeting people from other countries because they have such different experiences growing up and such fascinating opinions of the United States. The people from Japan find Irish to be easier to learn than English! Mostly, people can’t believe how large of a country the U.S. is and how divided everyone is politically.

This weekend, we went back to Galway and we were lucky enough to be able to stay with our friend Kelly’s mom. She has been staying in an apartment in Galway for the past month while Kelly is at the program with us in Carraroe. She has become a real local in the city-getting to know all the hotspots, volunteering at the Galway Arts Festival events, and meeting all kinds of people. She told us about the politics of Ireland over the last few years. Apparently, there was a big economic boom a while back that is referred to as the Celtic Tiger. However, the economy is now on a bit of a downturn and the people haven’t quite changed their spending habits. She referred to it as the “Paddy greed.” It was really cool to hear about what she had seen and heard because it’s not something someone could’ve picked up on on a normal vacation. I hope I get the chance to become a local in a city like that someday. Despite her warning of the abundance of “Paddy greed,” we had an amazing day. Everyone in Galway was very welcoming. There were lots of people in the city this past week because of the Galway races. A group of students in our program went to the races and had a great time. Those of us that stayed in the city also had a great day exploring. I don’t think I could ever get tired of Galway!

pit stop in Spiddal on the way to Galway!

the view from the apartment we stayed in

Chinese Thoughts on America

It is always interesting to hear what people from other countries think about the United States. Sometimes people outside the US have the funniest things to say about Americans, and sometimes their opinions cause me to reconsider my own take on things. In China, a vast country of long tradition, most of the people you see are the Han Chinese. China is not as diverse as the States, or even the United Kingdom. As a result, foreigners, or “wai外 guo国 ren人” in China visiting famous sites often themselves become attractions to the locals. In a sea of silky black hair and dark eyes, blue eyes, blond hair or anything that is evidently not Chinese is an unusual and interesting figure. Foreigners are sure to stand out a great deal more in China than many other nations, and so it is common to find people taking your picture. In better situations, they sometimes ask first, but stares and shameless picture-taking of foreign strangers is commonplace.

The first person who gave me his opinion of America volunteered his opinion without me even having to ask. He was about a middle-aged gentleman at a small street clothing store, or a xiao小 tan摊, where I was shopping around for a pair of pants. He was really a lively individual and never stopped talking; he seemed to be either praising every pair of pants I picked up as the perfect fit, or making very random, general statements about America. If I so much as eyed a pair of pants, and he’d immediately pick it up and pat it authoritatively, press it into my hands, and pace around me. While doing this, he would repeat three or four times, “This design is very beautiful, it would look very beautiful on you,” then would say in broken English, “America! Everything! Big!” or “America! Guns!”, and would conclude with a good laugh. Despite this interesting accompaniment, I managed to select my pants, and eventually turned to the conversational gentleman and asked if he knew anything else about America. He laughed a great deal, but made a remark about the States that to me, an American, was disappointing. He said that America was dangerous because of the many guns, and I later learned this view was not one unique to him. The vendor also added that Americans eat too much. He was not the last person to express disapproval for American eating habits.

Several weeks later, I had the chance to speak with a schoolgirl around 13 or 14 years of age. “What’s your opinion of America?” I asked. Her first response was one word: “independence.” This was cheering for about five seconds until she followed up with another word “lazy.” Her take on America seemed somewhat more favorable than the previous interviewee; she’d named the pros and cons. But then again, I thought, perhaps she named these two qualities as a way of saying that Americans enjoy freedom without taking responsibility. Chinese culture holds a high regard for faithfulness, placing duty above individual rights. I pressed her for more information and asked her what she thought Americans did with their lives on a daily basis. Her answer was once again simple, but less complimentary. “Fat,” she said, with a giggle. I again urged her to elaborate. She finally said that we must be so fat due to living off of burgers and fries. I smiled, and thanked her for her time. So far, all my interviewees had knocked American health habits.

The third group of people I talked to were my Chinese teachers, a group of women from different parts of China, all very fashionable, all graduate school-aged, and all under 5 ft 3 in. Like the voluble vendor, they expressed concern over the amount of guns in America, but were also curious about the American fondness for cars, especially those on the larger side. “Why do you need such big cars?” was the question, which began a discussion of gas-guzzlers, Jeeps, and monster trucks. This “car talk” revealed that, for the most part, Americans don’t really need the big cars, it’s just that we like them, which then led to “Why do you like the big cars ?” And, despite almost never touching the topic of Chinese politics, the teachers are often ask our opinion on American presidents, both past and present. Like my first respondent, several teachers have an impression of America as dangerous nation because of the easy access to firearms. It was disappointing, because I would have hoped that America could project a more refined image to the world. At the same time, I could not be surprised; on the subject of guns, many from other nations express similar views, and mistake most Americans to be gun-toting citizens who like their cars like they like their food servings: big and full of oil.

Overall, I gathered that many Chinese have a rather poor regard for America. One of my teachers did note that American men seem well-mannered, in terms of opening doors. The only other thing that might be considered favorable was that most everyone seemed to have a high opinion of McDonald’s, which I do not share, to the great surprise of some of my teachers. “The burgers are so good!” she exclaimed, “How do you not like them?” I just wish I could’ve brought them a real, homestyle burger from a family-run cafe to show that there’s more to American burgers than just McD’s, and, perhaps, introduce a different side of the U.S.A.

A Dish to Remember

Originating during the Yuan Dynasty, Beijing Roast Duck is one of the city’s most renowned dishes. Throughout the dynasties the dish grew more and more popular until it became a mainstream dish for the social elite. The cooking preparation practices over time have become streamlined into the form it has today. This dish is so characteristic of Beijing, that a trip here would not be complete without trying it.

In the restaurant I visited, each duck was prepared in a glass walled kitchen so the customers could watch. Each duck is slowly roasted in a hung oven and then carved into thin slices to be served. Each slice was then laid out on a large platter, a mix of meat, skin, and a combination of the two. Each customer is then provided a private pallet with a variety of sauces and spices. When eating the meat, one has an number of options: wrapping the meat in a thin pancake, eating it with cucumber, and a variety of other savory sauces. The skin is more of a crispy delicacy and is often dipped in sugar or some sweet sauce when consumed. One of the best characteristics of this dish is how it can be altered to fit each person’s preference. With a whole group sharing the duck, each person can get a mix of interesting flavors and combinations that they enjoy.

Anyone who visits Beijing needs to sit down for a delicious meal of roast duck. One of the first dishes that every Chinese student learns about is Beijing roast duck. Chinese people from all over China rave about this dish and insist that everyone passing through the city should try it. For hundreds of years, roast duck has been a favorite of Chinese people from the lowest class to the highest class. This relatively simple dish can bring friends, coworkers, and family together for a delicious, savory meal that anyone can enjoy.

Week 3: Mon Genre de Magique

When my fellow students and I returned from La Rochelle last Sunday we went dancing à la Guinguette, where I encountered the other student housing with my host family. Students frequent the place, but less so on Sundays, so seeing her surprised me. That’s how certain daydreams of France I’ve entertained for years materialized this week. By surprise.

I had proposed kayaking to the other Notre Dame students at L’Institut, one of whom left this week, so organizing a trip became a priority to me. The ticketing system for buses in France is intuitive, as are the maps, but finding buses that circulate after school hours to and from less frequented places such as canoe/kayak rental facilities proved tedious. I wound up having to postpone the trip to Friday, but I succeeded in finding buses and internalized the necessity of checking bus schedules.

Considering the focus required to profit from daily intensive courses, the planning shouldn’t have seemed like much, but I enjoy my French courses. My classmates must have noticed, as they nominated me to represent the class in a survey-style meeting with faculty at the end of next week. Although I’ve been inconsistent with listening to French news every morning, I finished the volumes of Fullmetal Alchemist available to me at my host family’s home, and have begun reading Harry Potter et La Chambre des Secrets.

My host mother noted that the vocabulary in Harry Potter is rather specific to its setting and she’s correct, but magical vocabulary applies to a charmed week.

Busy with planning both a kayak trip and a day-trip to Paris with a friend, I almost forgot that I had reserved a spot on an Institute-guided visit to Chenonceau this Wednesday. I didn’t know anyone on the trip and felt tired, so I boarded the bus only marginally excited to see one of the Loire Valley’s most beautiful châteaux.

On said bus, however, I met an adventurous American student with whom I could reminisce about American road trips and talk about plans to remain traveling, where to, how, why. And off the bus, I met two students who just arrived in Tours this week, one Italian and the other Nigerian by birth, both attending Bard College. After a tour of Chenonceau enlivened by the opera-like history of the Marques family, the latter and I wandered the gardens, the hedge maze, the display of carts and carriages throughout history, talking about poetry and photography. What better way to conclude the afternoon than with a wine-tasting at Vouvray.

That outing never felt pretentious. On château grounds, where royalty lived and visitors have strolled for decades, enjoying gardens feels so natural. An afternoon discussing art is just as valuable as an afternoon working when I can imagine art’s significance across centuries. I knew that the French value art and conversation, but before arriving I braced myself for reality. I couldn’t imagine the semi-daily coverage of plays on national news any more than I could imagine the quiet dinner during which my host family reminded me that conversation is “expected.” J’ai le tournis. C’est aussi éblouissant qu’un pétard, some of which I learned how to say from Harry Potter.

After school on Friday, conspicuously donned in athletic clothes (uncommon attire in central France, where pants are worn in 80-plus weather), the group of three students who met at Place Jean-Jaurais as planned managed to arrive at the CKCT (Canoë Kayak Club de Tours) by Le Cher, the river on the other side of town from La Loire, to find the club closed during business hours. We asked members of the other clubs based out of the same facility for information, found nothing useful, then returned to central Tours for ice cream. One of the other students left for Belgium this weekend, so she said goodbye to our friend right then.

For my goodbye, our friend invited me to a birthday party at her host mother’s house. After a long day and a disappointed endeavor, entering this home was magical.

The entryway was outdoors, leading directly to the wooden patio illumined by lights strung between the garden wall, the trees, and the kitchen roof where a moonlit silhouette could be seen walking. The garden beyond resembled a grotto in candlelight, and the guests passed between there, the patio, and a room inside washed in bright red, dancing to a jazz trio with champagne in hand. When I couldn’t focus in class last semester, this is why. Dreamy France. Realized.

I didn’t drink. Or dance, which is unusual for me. Normally I can’t keep still on dance floors. J’étais sous un charme. Un sortilège held me to the couch facing the jazz players and the garden in awe, and my French left me. I only spoke with my friend, it being her last night in Tours and me being suddenly inept. I did have a slice of cake, rich and creamy and somehow chewy. Hopefully the next time I encounter something like that, my joy will do something other than paralyze me.

The WaiGuo Ren Effect

From the first moment I stepped off the plane onto Chinese soil, the differences between America and China were obvious. In America, the population is an ever changing mix of nationalities and ethnicities. China, however, is a largely homogenous population lacking in diversity, because of this my brown hair, pale skin, and blue eyes stood out easily in the crowd. In restaurants, on the subway, at touristy locations people openly stared, discussing us in loud voices, many talking photographs. If our group is posing all together, people will out their phones and start taking their own photos. With China lacking in terms of diversity, many Chinese people have never seen or rarely see foreigners or as we are called in Chinese ‘WaiGuo Ren’.

As a result, some people will have their children stand next to us for a photo, others run after us asking for us to pose with them and their friends. One day a friend and I were exploring the lake on campus when a tour group came upon us, for the next fifteen minutes or so we took countless pictures with preteen girls smiling and holding up peace signs.

When I first arrived in China, this phenomenon fascinated me and I wasn’t bothered by people taking my photo. As time progressed, however it began to grow irritating for people to openly talk about you and take photos without your permission. If you asked them to stop they often laugh and ignore you.

By this point in the trip, I have adapted to this fascination and no longer resent it. Some of my best memories were directly caused by the WaiGuo Ren effect. Once when traveling back to Beijing via overnight train, I was brushing my teeth when a young boy of about 7 burst through the door, brandished his finger, yelled “WaiGou Ren”, and ran away. Funny moments like this have been scattered throughout my time here in China. From small children staring is shock to old men yelling out “hello” as you go by, life in China for a foreigner transforms one into something similar to a small time celebrity.

(We had to ask a man to stop taking our photo when posing for this.)

Cab Drivers and Store Clerks Can Be Teachers Too

Prior to arriving to China, I did not expect to have anyone to help me with my studies besides my teacher and fellow classmates. My expectations were easily exceeded once I dared to use my choppy Chinese to engage a taxi driver in a simple conversation. After he asked me what I was doing in Beijing, he took it upon himself to help me with my pronunciation and my grammar; a few sentences into the conversation he realized I mixed up the proper order of a sentence, and he proceeded to tell me what the correct order was. He went above and beyond in his teaching abilities when he fixed my “r.”

For those who don’t know, people from Beijing, unlike other cities in China, often use “r” at the end of words, and, for non-native speakers, this can be difficult. After meeting that man, I didn’t think I’d meet any other civilian on the rest of my trip that would bother to stop and help me with my pronunciation. I was mistaken, because in one of my many visits to the Pearl Market, the store clerk happily sat down with me to help me with some of the common mistakes I made while I was bargaining with her.

I am very grateful to the people that would waste their personal time just to help me, a random person, with the difficult language. Those are just a few fascinating encounters that I’ve had on my trip thus far. I hope to have many more before my time in Beijing ends!

Cultural Divide of the Pyrenees Mountains

July 7- July 9, 2017

This weekend on an excursion with my International Studies Abroad program, I crossed the Pyrenees Mountains, which act as the border between France and Spain and divide the Iberian Peninsula from the rest of Europe. Along the way were stops in Girona, Montpellier, Arles, Aigues Mortes and Colliure. As we stopped in these small cities and towns in Northern Spain and Southern France, it was obvious that the barrier created by mountains created significant differences in architecture, language, food, and history. Although these smaller cities in the South of France were once included in the kingdom of Catalunya, and still hoist the red and yellow stripes of the Catalan flag, so much of their culture was totally distinct from the Catalan heritage present in Barcelona.

Below is a quick recap of my favorite spots as well as some photos of the beautiful towns, landscapes, and food that this weekend beheld.

Girona, Catalunya

This medieval town was used as a backdrop for Season 6 of Game of Thrones, but has been home to Greeks, Romans, Catalonians, and the people of Westeros during its storied history. With a Roman wall surrounding the city still standing, and architecture that walks you through its centuries of history it has an incredible charm. There is even an Eiffel bridge, constructed by Gustav Eiffel before he began his project on that tower in Paris.

Montpellier, France

Montpellier bared a striking resemblance to Paris with royal architecture, white washed buildings, rot iron details decorating store fronts and balconies, marble lined streets, and lovely squares with intricate carved statues. Being much smaller than Paris, however, this town had a much more friendly and homey feel. We ate a delicious dinner, served by a very handsome french waiter, watched the blur of the lights of the merry go round as the sun set, and strolled through Montpellier’s annual festival with local artisans, wine tastings, food booths, gelato, waffles, crepes, churros, and live music. The city park filled with the whole town as friends greeted each other in french, exchanging three kisses on the cheeks.

Arles, France

This charming town, originally modeled after Rome by the romans, featured a colosseum, forum, and theatre with original stone from the era before Christ. More recently however, Arles was the home of Van Gogh for 18 months and a muse as he discovered new ways to use light in paintings and depict the night sky. Van Gogh would paint starry night while in a mental institutions just several kilometers from Arles.

Aigues Mortes, France

A tiny town still withheld by its medieval walls was set on the banks of a lake with a salt concentration similar to that of the Dead Sea. The lake has this mesmerizing red-pink color, brushing with white foamy strokes and blues reflecting the midday sky.

Collioure, France

this tiny beach town that sits underneath a castle and windmill on the hill, at the foot of the Pyrenees mountains was a daydream. Although the beaches were rocky, not sandy, the breathtaking views of the Mediterranean spotted with sailboats and fishermen distracting from the pain in my butt.