2017 – Page 10 – SLA Profiles (2017)

Week 4: Un Américain en France

The weather in Tours is usually temperate, but the temperature has rested between ninety and one-hundred degrees all week, which becomes bothersome in classrooms and houses without air conditioning.

L’Hôtel de Ville de Tours par nuit. Tours semble plus frais dans cette photo.

The greatest challenge I’m having in learning French is speaking English with other Institute students. We are supposed to speak only French, but English is the common language since most students speak it better than French. Perhaps if we didn’t want to know each other, following that rule would come easily, but most people here are vivacious and social and worth getting to know.

I learned on the riverbank that someone had drowned the day before, and I suddenly understood why my host family warned me against swimming near the Guinguette. Whirlpools form above large craters left by bombshells in the World Wars, they explained. They can pull you under. The tree from which our rope hung over the river was situated upstream of a small dam, where the water flows calmly and I could regard from afar the bridge where so many artillerists fought.

Constructed at the end of WWI and bombed by Allied soldiers in Tours during WWII to prevent German soldiers from crossing, the bridge currently connects Tours-Nord and Tours-Sud. Its namesake, Woodrow Wilson, acted instrumentally in creating the League of Nations. His vision for global betterment resonates with the predominantly liberal French outlook.

My host father is open with his opinions, particularly about nations. Proud of his country and the socialist, globally-minded policies which most often find traction here, he laments the U.S. election results. We share consternation towards the adverse environmental effects resultant from everyday American life. Yet, he loves American music and the beautiful landscapes we inhabit. To his mind, figures like Woodrow Wilson, Bob Dylan, Michael Moore, and Obama give America a redemptive quality. He is the person who invited me to visit the American war memorial near Le Pont Wilson, describing it as “incroyable.”

I hadn’t recognized the memorial for what it is when I first walked by it two weeks ago, on the way to Blanc Foussy. I and the German student with whom I conversed have become better friends, and she also freely expresses her thoughts on Americans. From her experience, she finds Americans loud and strange, but lovably optimistic. In the midst of applying for college herself, she has asked me about American colleges, which she associates with college-party movie scenes.

That association has also been made by some faculty at the Institute. Some of the younger professors have inquired of the many American college students whether those scenes represent reality, and have received differing responses. For my part, I go out more in Europe.

J’ai sorti vendredi soir à une boîte de nuit (ma première fois).

Most students come to L’Institut de Touraine for a month, since classes are oriented to teach a level of language per month. Friday consisted of several goodbyes. Saturday I only said one. A fellow ND student wanted help carrying his excess of baggage through Charles de Gaulle airport. Being a student from Africa, he told me, often entails taking other African students’ baggage home for them. I carried a suticase filled with other South African students’ belongings, and a guitar.

Despite the uncertainties caused for him by the derailment of his travel plans, he and I managed to enjoy a short day in Paris. He checked his baggage into a storage service, then we visited Notre-Dame de Paris and the Eiffel Tower, where we met with some friends for lunch on the Champ de Mars.

I hadn’t planned to visit Paris, particularly not the Eiffel Tower, which I had seen before, cheap trinket vendors and all, but I couldn’t help my awe at seeing the historic streets of Paris again, thrilled by the opportunity to study there in spring and see it more intimately.

My train back to Tours was delayed, meaning I would not likely catch the second leg. I sensed something strange in making a connection at Lilles to get to Tours, but boarded the first train anyways, too tired to correctly estimate the frequency of trains between Lilles and Tours.

I remembered the location of the city when I saw it. Far North from the Loire Valley, practically on the France-Luxembourg border, I lucked out. A train, a subway ride, another train, and a navette (town-to-town train) later, I returned at only 4 in the morning. My room in France felt like home.

Task 2

This week I went to Harajuku with my friends. Harajuku is a representative place for youth fashion in Tokyo. Even before we arrive at Harajuku, on the subway to there, there are already many people who dressed very fashionable, even somehow weird to me. Since Harajuku is very popular among tourists as well as local people, it became so crowded on subways and huge groups of people got off at the Harajuku station. Once we got out of the train station, the streets looks so different compared to those around ICU. The streets are filled with people with all kinds of hairstyles and hair colors. Girls, even some male people, wear bold makeups and dress up. An interesting theme is that every people just walk on their own way without questioning others’ looks. The shops along the streets are all very unique. I see in Harajuku a great acceptance and confidence of people’s own understanding of fashion.

Harajuku’s street full of people looking from a pantry shop

My favorite fashion brand’s window display in Japan

Indeed, I have been interested by the Japanese sense of beauty. On the one hand, Japanese people seems to like extreme beauty. Girls and sometimes middle aged women often make their cheeks outstandingly red using blushers. Last weekend my friends and I went to プリクラ (Japanese photo booth) to experience the legendary “cosmetic surgery machine” (because the photo adjusts faces so much). Even though we tried minimal adjustment, our eyes were like twice as big and our chin were like knives. It was a cute and funny experience but we did not look like ourselves in photos at all. On the other hand, Japanese people also seems to pursue natural beauty. I recently saw a news talking about the most beautiful high school girl selected by the Japanese public. Far from what I described above, she looked very natural, and not so outstandingly beautiful that some of my Chinese friends joked that they might defeat her. I also wondered about Japanese people’s criteria of beauty and so I went to ask some Japanese friends. According to them, instead of stressing the point “sexy” in many western countries, Japanese people value “healthy beauty” more. They think youth should be 元気 lively and they like 可愛い cute girls. There are people who are very bold in expressing themselves, but the large population prefer to be natural in dressing in normal days. That’s why I see many people dressed elegantly with makeups so delicate that I could not tell if it is natural skin or makeup from distance.

I feel that fashion in Japan is such a colorful and amazing topic that I wish to explore more. No wonder why many designers find their inspiration from Japan.

A Blemish on Seemingly Perfect Country

During my time in Hakodate, I often found myself wishing that America, or at least my hometown, would become more like the city of Hakodate. As I previously mentioned, Japan is almost unbelievably clean and possibly the safest feeling country I’ve ever been too. That being said, for all the good that Japan or most specifically Hakodate has, it isn’t a city without faults. As you can probably imagine, 60 students from U.S schools don’t exactly go unnoticed in a rather small fishing village where even tourism is fairly rare. Despite holding historical significance as one of the first ports opened to the U.S by Commodore Perry in the 1900’s, Hakodate has a relatively scarce amount of foreigners. To say that during our time in Hakodate, we were treated with amazing kindness wouldn’t be a lie, but at times, there definitely lingered a sense of xenophobia.

This was best described to me by a classmate of mine at Notre Dame who also participated in this program and happened to be caucasian. Though he rarely road the tram, much preferring the extensive bus system, on occasion he would humor me by coming along for the ride down the line. What he found however, in our opinion slightly humorously, was that in many cases he would find the seat(s) next to him vacant of people. In most cases, we simply chocked it up to there being extra seats available making the seats next to us insignificant. That being said, on one occasion, we found ourselves in fairly packed tram, but yet again too our surprise, the seat next to him remained vacant for the majority of the trip before it was finally occupied by an older man who was incapable of standing during the ride. In one particularly blaring incident, my friend and I boarded the tram and took two available seat, only for the passengers next to us to switch seats away from us at the very next stop. “That’s weird, that has never happened to me before, and I ride the tram everyday twice” I thought.

After some thought, it occurred to me that perhaps being Vietnamese, I simply didn’t standout as much and sure enough I found that when I sat quietly on my own the other passengers would sit next to me with little to no hesitation. In contrast, when I sat next to Alex or any other one of the other students and spoke english, the seat next to me was often left vacant in a somewhat crowded tram. But this too, befuddled me. From my understanding, in Japan, English is often seen as a pretty “cool” language. In some cases, I even found stores with nonsensical English names simply for the sake of attracting customers, and yet there we were being avoided like the plague. In their defense, there was not a single time in Japan where I felt as if anyone had an ill will towards me but this reoccurring phenomenon truly confused me. Historically of course, Japan was notoriously Xenophobic, going so far as closing the nation off, but it was my belief that with all the intertwining with american pop culture, that they became more open. In a way that may be true, as Tokyo was often filled with foreigners, and catered very much to English speaking tourist , but perhaps deep down their old beliefs still linger on?

Not satisfied with my inquires, I went to the most honest source I knew, my host family. Speaking to my Host Grandma, I learned that the xenophobic tendencies definitely exist, especially in Hakodate. In her opinion though, many of those who react distastefully to foreigners are those who have had very little interaction with them. She went on to give the example of how herself and the rest of my host family had the chance to visit Hawaii and as a result, the became more aware and interested in foreign culture and people . That made a lot of sense, especially given that the feeling was most often felt in the small city of Hakodate .

As I said, Japan is an amazing place that in my opinion is unmatched in the world when it comes to culture and environment. That being said, in this age of continued globalization, Japan too has some more growing to do.

Ahlan Amman!

As my date of departure approached, I was filled with anticipation and excitement. I was excited to be immersed in the Arabic language and have the opportunity to study in such an environment, but naturally I was nervous to dive headfirst in a new culture. However, I had heard from many others about the amazing experiences they had in Amman, particularly at Qasid, and I was looking forward to creating my own memories.

Before I even boarded the plane, I was given an insight into the Arabic culture and began to appreciate the hospitality and warmth of many of the locals here. Sitting next to me on the plane was a professor at Providence College and her son. She was interested in my Arabic studies and helped prepare me for my oral interview. Additionally, she shared with me some of her insider knowledge about Jordan and its culture. Her interest in my studies and ambitions was genuine, and I knew from then on that I was entering a society where locals would “look out for me.”

Upon arriving in Amman, I was fortunate enough to be placed in a large flat with six other girls! We quickly started exploring areas around Amman such as the downtown markets and the Roman amphitheater. As we drove to various sites via taxi—an adventure in an of themselves—I would stare out the window and try to pronounce all of the Arabic words to myself. It was so new to see store names in Arabic letters rather than strictly English.

As the first week of classes came to an end I could already sense how much Arabic I was going to acquire. In this fully immersive setting both inside and outside of the classroom I was learning so many new words. I also had my first experience with Ammiya, or the colloquial dialectwhen I accompanied one of my friends on an excursion to the home of a local family who lived on the outskirts of Amman. The family had emigrated from Syria to six years ago. The experience was like no other.

The family lived in a three level apartment building. Although their home was not large and they did not have much to offer they openly welcomed us. They were eager to feed us plates of peaches and freshly squeezed orange juice. They quickly asked us to spend the night and to celebrate Iftar—breaking the daily Ramadan fast—with them and their extended family.During Ramadan practicing Muslims will fast from sunrise to sunset and at sunset they will eat a larger meal with their family to celebrate breaking the fast for the day. Since my friend and I had never met the family, as my friend knew the daughter of the father of the home, we were humbled to be asked to break the fast with the family. There my friend and I discovered the wonders of fattah hummus, a traditional dish with chickpeas, tahini and fried bread. Although the family was not as fortunate as those in other parts of Amman and lived with worry and longing to be reunited with the rest of their family that was still in Syria, their ability to laugh at each other and enjoy their time together was humbling.

5-Immigranti in Italia

This week started out very interesting. After the adventure I’d had the past weekend in Nemi, I had a relatively relaxing week.

Sunday, I went to a contemporary art museum. Each first Sunday of the month, museums offer free admission. My appreciation of contemporary art started during the winter of 2015 when I went to a museum in Vienna. Since then, I have been fascinated in the narratives and mediums in which contemporary art manifests itself.

Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna e Contemporanea

Since August is the month of vacation for Italians, our instructor left on vacation and we have a substitute. Monday in class, we talked about racism, the European immigrant crisis as it pertains to Italy, and political correctness, or the lack thereof in Italy. It was a really refreshing conversation to have with an Italian, and our teacher, Martina, was very interested to hear what we had to say on the subject. Martina had just returned to Italy in May from a Fulbright fellowship in the U.S. and expressed to us the large influence that the U.S. plays on Italy. We read an article about a Senegalese musician in Italy, McTalibe. He was going into a radio interview, and the interviewers wanted to play an innocent prank on him. They knew he had a large family with lots of siblings, and they were planning to call a vacation apartment rental for him that they knew would be too small for his family. The joke was that they would ask the landlord if there was room for his 27 brothers. Once they called the landlord, however, and she found out that he was a Senegalese immigrant, the apartment was suddenly unavailable. One of his Italian radio counterparts called the same woman to ask about the availability of the space, and she told him it was at his disposal.

Following that, we talked about the large number of northern African and middle eastern refugees who have had to flee their homes to come live in Europe. One of my classmates is partially Italian and has relatives who live in northern Italy. Upon visiting them, he told us that his cousin expressed hate for refugees. Her idea was that they would just come into the country and take welfare, but didn’t contribute to the economy or community in any way: they don’t spend money, they don’t work, and they don’t speak italian. This, to me, is such a narrow-minded view of people. If there were a way fro these people to stay in their countries, they wouldn’t leave the places they call home. Additionally, the process in order to obtain visas and resident documents is something that has to be taken into consideration. Not only is there a negative view of immigrants (and foreigners in general) in Italy, but there are many inappropriate terms and slang used to describe them. One thing I have noticed in Italy over the time spent here is the lack of political correctness. The United States has it’s own (and larger) issues when it comes to racism, but one thing that activists and anyone sensitive to the racial divide are sensitive to is the language we use to talk about one another. Here, I think it is more accepted to use inappropriate and targeted language because, to those Italians, its a joke. They are “playing.” Despite the issues that these terms and attitudes breed, I can’t help but see it as “racism lite.” I don’t want to seem like I am discrediting the gravity of the immigrant crisis and I certainly don’t condone or agree with the ideas, but in light of recent events in the United States, I can’t help but dread my return. After I read this article, I was deeply upset and disappointed at the lack of reaction that I witnessed from the nation.

On a brighter note, today, I was went to the historic Porta Portese market. The largest and oldest market in Rome, the Porta Portese market is famous to locals and tourists alike. There are a variety of items from clothing and shoes to antiques and even antique alcohol. I ended up buying earrings for my mom and sister and a rug for my apartment!

My nice rug from the Porta Portese market!

Los Estados Unidos

Over the past several weeks I have spent living with and getting to know my family, we have discussed los Estados Unidos, the United States, a lot. They always have questions, but I have quickly discovered that they know so much about our language, culture, and conventions already—much more than I had known about Spain before this summer. For example, my hermana, María, loves American music. She listens to Green Day and Avril Lavigne every day, and she enjoys watching our music videos on Youtube. She is extremely curious about everything she sees or hears in these, always questioning what a certain phrase in a song means, or inquiring if the popular girls in America are really always cheerleaders. She also told me that she wants to go to college in the United States for a couple of months (at first, she had Harvard in mind, but I’d like to think that I have convinced her to go for Notre Dame instead J). My hermano, Miguel, watches American TV shows and movies. One day, as soon as I arrived home after class, he came racing up to me to show me that a character in “Malcolm in the Middle” had been wearing a Notre Dame sweatshirt during an episode. From these popular movies and songs, my Spanish siblings are aware of American holidays, customs, cities, and more.

My Spanish papá’s perspective is different. He is more interested in historical and current events, which I have found produce a more negative image of the United States in his mind. He is constantly mentioning Trump’s latest news-worthy decision or tweet, and he has told me several stories, one about an American sea vessel claiming treasure found in Spanish waters and another about the United States (in his version) unrightfully detaining a Spanish lawyer. From these conversations, I have gathered that while he admires many things about the United States, he does not worship it in the way many adolescents do; he considers that our country, at times, has acted and continues to act entitled, racist, sexist, and more. It has been very interesting to hear about their views of our country and culture.

The Bulls

Currently, one of the more controversial topics in Spain concerns the toros (the bulls). The bull fights that take place throughout the whole country are a very long-standing tradition and notable aspect of the culture. However, while some Spaniards still consider this practice acceptable and important, it is estimated that at least half of the present population are against the bull fights because (I tell you this, reader, in case you are as blissfully ignorant as I was upon arrival) the bulls are always killed afterwards! Thus, the majority are against this massive scale of animal cruelty for the sole purpose of human entertainment. Yet the issue is certainly more complicated than that, because the industry of the toros in a substantial part of the nation’s economy, from the many jobs it provides directly to the millions of tourists it attracts each year.

I decided to ask my professors about their thoughts on this topic. One, a middle-aged man, immediately responded that he does not support it whatsoever because of the aforementioned slaughter of the toros. He commented that most of the people he knows are also not in favor, but that it tends to still be defended by older generations. My other professor, a young woman, hesitated for a moment before answering. She explained that, of course, she does not like that the bulls die, but that her grandfather was a bull fighter and that her whole family still enjoys bull fights, so she has gone several times. She appreciates the tradition, and also mentioned the significance of the toros to the Spanish economy as one of the reasons she is reluctant to advocate against the custom completely.

When several of my classmates decided to attend a bullfight in Alicante this week, I chose not to join them, and I am glad. While I acknowledge that the subject is complex, and I respect other opinions, I personally had no interest in seeing the bulls tricked and teased before marching off to their deaths. Turns out, most of the other girls ran out of the arena 10 minutes into the show anyway. Guess it was a good choice!

Already 1/4 done?!

And just like that, Week 2 comes to a close! My life here is starting to settle down a bit, to become more of a routine—but at the same time, I still cannot believe I get to live in this beautiful place for two whole months.

My favorite of my three classes is my colloquial language and conversation class. We learn a lot of really valuable vocabulary and expressions—the kinds of things one can’t find on Google translate. The material has been more helpful than I could have ever imagined; every day my family says something that I only understand because of that course. There are certain slang words that are particularly interesting, one of which is leche. Literally, leche translates to “milk”, but they apply it in all sorts of different ways, both positive and negative, in the local dialect. For example, pegarle una leche means, more or less, “to hit someone”, while ¡Eres la leche! means “You’re the best!” Another intriguing term is hostias. This word translates to “hosts”, like the Body of Christ, but here it is used as a cuss word used to express shock or frustration.

Fortunately, I was able to ask my Spanish siblings and parents about their thoughts on these expressions. According to them, leche is very normal in this city and region, but nowhere else. All Alicantinos, men, women, adults and children alike, understand it and say it frequently. Hostias is different, however. In fact, one time my host dad said it at the dinner table while relating a story, but when I told him we had just learned that word in class, he blushed as my host mom shook her head. He was embarrassed that I had caught that word because, as my mom explained, he should not have said that in front of me and the other kids at the dinner table. Clearly, that word is more inappropriate. Instead, there is a similar word that many people, especially kids, use to stop themselves from saying hostias, which is ostras (the beginnings sound the same in the Spanish pronunciation).

These kinds of terms certainly can make understanding native speakers more difficult, but it also makes learning more interesting! Who knows, maybe soon I will feel bold enough to try using one myself.

China Blog Post #1

During our third weekend in Beijing, we had a “ND Alumni” lunch celebration at a restaurant near the new Notre Dame Beijing Global Gateways office (which we toured afterwards). At the restaurant were previous/current ND students who were also in China, as well as Chinese international students who were about to start their first year at Notre Dame. I sat with some of these students, their parents, as well as a couple Chinese teachers. During the lunch, waiters and waitresses brought out one dish at a time, each dish unique to the Hunan province that the restaurant specialized in. When they brought out the first tofu dish (which was incredible), my one of my Chinese teachers mischievously asked me, “Eric, do you like to eat tofu?” in Chinese. I, naive to Chinese slang, responded enthusiastically, “I absolutely like to eat tofu!” This prompted giggles from the other Chinese students and snorts from the Chinese teachers. Turns out, someone who “likes to eat tofu” is slang for someone who has…”promiscuous” tendencies. When I replied how much I liked to eat tofu, I was basically saying that I liked to flirt with lots of women and pursue multiple relationships. It seemed like this particular slang was known to both young adults and older generations, and was used to poke fun at friends. If you actually want to express your honest and innocent appreciation for tofu, you have to say so in a slightly roundabout way: “Tofu is a dish I love eating,” or “Eating tofu is something I like.”

You Want a Bag?

In China, the import taxes on luxury goods is extremely high, leaving Chinese people unable to purchase name brand products from foreign countries. This situation has created an expansive market for fake products within China. Two of the most popular shopping locations for such products are the Silk Market and the Pearl Market. When entering into these establishments, the sheer number of products is overwhelming. Rows upon rows of bags, scarves, shoes, and jewelry overflowing with fake name brands. At each little shop, aggressive saleswomen call out to anyone who walks by the shop. Common calls such as “pretty girl, you want a bag?”, echo throughout the market. Even if you just bought the exact product they are offering, the salespeople will try to sell you a different color.

When shopping at these markets it is extremely important to know how to bargain. Walking throughout the store, one can easily spot foreigners being ripped off. Bags that you wouldn’t pay more than a hundred yuan for others can pay something in the high hundreds. When bargaining it is essential to be focused otherwise the salespeople will take advantage of you. One of the best strategies one can employ is the walk away. Often times the women will give outrageous prices and refuse to bring them down, but if you begin to walk away it will more often than not break them into dropping their price much closer to your offer. If you are willing to dedicate time and energy into bargaining with these shop owners, you can get great prices for name brand products look alikes.

A large difference exists between the quality of different fake products in China, something that is reflected in the price differences in the Pearl Market versus the Silk Market. At the Pearl Market you can get almost anything for under 100 yuan. At the Silk Market however, if you offer them too low of a price they will kick you out of the store and sometimes yell at you. Looking at the purses in the Silk Market, much of the quality there is almost identical to purchasing the real thing, if you know where to look. There is nothing quite like these markets in the US and the experience is unique upon itself.