I think it must be human nature to find superficial difference to draw distance between individuals and those they consider outsiders. I am finding the perfect example of such a phenomenon when it comes to the Christian/Western views of Ramadan. I arrived in Qatar with 11 days to spare before the start of the Islamic holy month of Ramadan. I got told, or rather warned, about “these people” during Ramadan.
“Be careful, Muslims are so grumpy; you don’t want to mess with them during Ramadan.” “Oh, you can’t eat or be seen in public during this time.” “Start storing up your food because you are going to starve during this month.”
I regarded these warnings as little more than baseless stereotypes. I remember living in the same dorm and working with a Muslim girl whom I regard as an awesome friend back at the University of Kentucky and for the life of me, don’t ever recall her being grumpy and mean during her holy month. I do remember her having to wake up before the crack of dawn to eat her oatmeal before classes started. She was surprised when I told her what was said. People should be more at peace during the holy month. Later, those who made their all encompassing statements made the caveat by explaining those fasting from their nicotine addictions could be grumpy during Ramadan. OK, that makes a little more sense.
Lent is six weeks (or forty days) leading up to Easter, marking the death and resurrection of Jesus. Ramadan is four weeks during the time that the Quran was reveal to the people. Ramadan and Easter are both based off the lunar calendar. Ramadan is always the 9th month. And since the lunar calendar moves with the phases of the moon the 9th month moves backwards on the Julian calendar. For example, I always remembered my girl pal celebrating Ramadan during the fall semester all during college. But last summer when I went to visit a friend living in Norway with a Muslim roommate, that roommate was fasting in August. I had to facebook my college pal and ask what’s up with that the change in time. She called me “astute” for my observation and for inquiring. I felt pretty cool. And she explained the differences in calenders. This year, Ramadan started in July. Eventually, a few years from now, it’ll make its way into the winter months and then beginning again in the fall semester. It takes something like eleven years to complete the cycle around the Julian calendar.I can’t help but to liken the Holy Muslim month of Ramadan to the Holy Month of Catholic Lent.Even so, I wondered why the same stereotypes weren’t said of Catholics during their holy month of Lent or anyone else who fasts?
Catholics usually observe a semi-fast by giving up one vice like chocolate, meat, facebook, soda, TV or, dare I say, sexual impulses. Often times these vices are only given up one day of the week. Ramadan is often considered more extreme and strict by Christians who consider no food or drink or smoking or sexual activity during day light hours more uncomfortable. But that’s what a fast is uncomfortable. According to the book of Matthew, fasting done correctly should be done without grumpiness, complaining, or with grand displays for attention. It is a private thing between you and God. Additionally, Catholics during Lent and Muslims during Ramadan both focus on prayer, charitable giving, and repentance. By giving up pleasures they are reminded how blessed they really are. By focusing on charitable giving they are able to be blessings to others.
Clearly, fasting requires self-control and discipline as one denies the natural desires of the flesh. During spiritual fasting, the believer’s focus is removed from the physical pleasures of this world and draw closer to God. Fasting is a time to study God’s Word, meditate and pray. To hear God’s word most clearly, you eliminate distractions like food and media. Be still and focus on God. Look for verses you want to memorize and meditate upon. Fasters spend time talking to God and allowing Him to reveal Himself to you in His Word. It is amazing how little Christians know about fasting or consider it to be a bizarre practice.
In Qatar and I’m sure other religion-focused countries, the entire day gets shifted in order to help citizens more effectively participate in their faith. So work hours are shortened and restaurants are closed but then shops and restaurants have extended evening hours.
At the end of Ramadan is a big celebration called Eid filled with food and family. I doubt I’ll get to be in on this celebration but I hear its fabulous if you make friends who invite you. Christians have a pre-fast celebration —Mardi gras, Carnival, Fasching —depending on what country you’re in to get all their sinning in before they have to give it all up for 40 days.And there’s the Easter feast during our Holy period.
Sure, there may be some doctrinal difference between the two fasts but on the surface, they appear very much alike and probably more alike than they are different. These are my observations and understanding. If I’m off, please share with me!
It’s been one week since my plane touched down in the Southwest Asia and since then I have gained enough cultural insight to rattle off a 20-page Middle Eastern exposé. This place is amazing and I’ve barely scratched the surface. I’m so far removed from all I know and recognize. The Middle East is in fact, a whole new world for me to explore. So far, four cultural differences stand out to me most so far here:
1. Royalty First, I’ve become fascinated with the Qatari Royal Family. The Emir just handed down power to his son. The princess, Sheikha Moza Bint Nasser al-Missned, is on Marie Claire’s most fashionable women list. She studied sociology at the University of Qatar and caught the Emir’s eye with her charm and intellect. Of course he would say that right? He can’t publicly say her hourglass figure was spell bounding or whatever else hip hop stars say about curves. As princess, she founded Education City, a neighborhood that houses five top ranking U.S. Universities including Texas A&M. I just think she’s all around fabulous.
Princess Ameerah @ Kate’s Wedding
The Western World finds interest in Kate, Michelle, and Carla’s fashion but Saudi Princess Ameerah is simply gorgeous in anything that she wears. She was actually at Kate’s wedding. I’d like to think they’d make great BFFs.
Additionally, Qatar oozes of luxury. I went from living in Europe’s richest country to the world’s richest country by GDP per capita. Now I don’t know for sure, but I’ve been told, all Qataris are some degree removed from the Royal family and the most distant get paid a minimum of $80K per year just for having Qatari citizenship. So, technically, every Qatari is royalty in some way and Western visitors can experience a taste of royal treatment. Native Qataris do not work, at least not physical labor. They don’t pump their own gas. They don’t carry their own food out the car. They don’t carry their own shopping bags. They have third country nationals come in to do the less desirable work. Everyday 500 new expats migrate to this country is search of opportunity.
2. Islamic Fashion No I don’t have to wear a head covering, but I want to. It’s part of the blending in. You don’t have to were lederhosen and a dirndle around Bavaria but it’s nice to blend in a little. People don’t readily know I’m American by looking. But with the way I dress, even though its conservative on American standards, I’m still easily identifiable as a foreigner. I never knew how diverse Islamic fashion was until I went Abya shopping. My goodness, who would ever think there could be so much variety in a simple black garmet. There’s lase, bling, embroidery…they range for pocket change to hundreds of dollars.
Syria has more colorful women’s fashion
The ever chic Qatari Queen
I find the white thobes worn by Muslim men charming. It can make any man look like prince. When I got to Dubai it was like Arabian prince heaven. Seriously.
UAE Hottie, Omar Borkan got deported from Saudi Arabia for being too sexy & making women lust.
I never knew all the fashion available in Abayas, or the long black robes the women wear here. Then there’s the introduction of colors in Islamic women’s fashion. There’s even a fashion week in Dubai! Dubai is the Paris/New York of the Middle East. Everyone talks about its glory. The Americans I’ve met say they could see themselves living there. Fashion is advertised as “From Dubai” as if it gives it more value like the fashions that are advertised as Milano or Parisian fashion. Nevertheless, I’m pretty sure I will end up in a conservative Abaya and hijab while I’m here.
Modesty is such a paradox between The States, Germany, and Qatar. In most places in The States cleavage, shoulders, bellies, butt cheeks, even but cracks are all fair game to be seen in public. But heaven forbid a woman nurse her infant in public or someone sit in a suana naked or want to swim naked. Our prime time television keeps body parts covered. In Germany girls for the most part keep their private parts hidden in public. But on TV, you can see bare nipples like its no big deal. You go to spas and beaches nude. No big deal. In Qatar locals stay covered from head to toe due to modesty aspirations yet the locals can just look over to immodest tourists and expats and western TV and still be tempted into lust. There are still beaches where bikini clad tourist mingle with abaya covered citizens.
In addition to the modesty provided by abayas, this clothing also provides protection from the elements. It’s so freakishly hot and humid here. Abayas provide protection from the sun the sunblock just can’t do because it will get sweated off instantly. Also, just standing outside will drench your clothing in sweat which is just disgusting. The abayas spare us all from having to see sweat splotches all over. Then there are dust storms. Imagine being back on the playground and having 10 kindergarteners hurl sand at you for 15 minutes. Bet you’d rather be in an abaya & hijab than shorts and a tank top.
3. Gas Prices I can fill up a 16 gallon fuel tank for $15 USD or less. It’s crazy how I went from spending 91 euro on a tank in Germany then down to $50 USD in America then down to $10 in Qatar. I laugh when I hear Americans complain about gas prices. Although we don’t have it Qatari good, we still have it good.
4. Green Living Qatar and Stuttgart are polar opposites when it comes to ecological living. I’d venture to say Qatar has a more wasteful culture than the U.S. Due to the scorching heat, people guzzle bottles of water per day and not a bit of it gets recycled. In Stuttgart, recycling is obligatory.
In Stuttgart, of course, there are the sassy European sports cars but most people cruise around in fuel efficient small cars. Here in Qatar, everyone cruises in huge SUVs, pickup trucks, and vans. Because of the terrain, it’s almost a necessity to have a vehicle with off-road capabilities. People here leave their cars running…granted oil is more plentiful than water and the heat forces the air conditioning to remain on.
This is just my initial impressions of this new fabulous country I’ve just inhabited. Can I make it home? Guess we’ll have to wait and see.
I once told people visiting Spain was like visiting home. For once I got to hear Spanish, a language that was familiar to my ears, and it brought a level of ease and comfort that I didn’t experience while being in delightfully strange Germany. Well, for the same reason, being in Scotland also gives me the same sense of home. I’ve gotten into the habit of not speaking to people in public spaces because I don’t want to go through the whole hassle of fumbling with my knowledge of another language…
“Sprechen sie Englisch?”
“Parlez-vous Anglais?”
“¿Hablas Inglés?”
It was in Scotland I realized my conditioning! Here I am at Top Shop (my new favorite fashion store btw) sorting through racks of dresses and a girl starts chatting with me and amazingly…I understand every word! For the first time in two years I can talk to strangers in the shops in my native language and it’s also their native language! You just take for granted that privilege until you no longer have it.
In addition to speaking my (adoptive) mother language, Scotland feels like home because I am of Scottish Decent (or I at least have a Scottish last name…whole other story for another day). I had a sense of belonging to finally get to announce my Scottish last name when checking into hotels or making reservations. I know these people probably do not find any significance about my last name but here, it fits in. It’s not in Germany where my last name clearly stands out.
Since I am three weeks out from training for my first fitness competition, my diet is very restricted and I need the ability to cook healthy meals for myself. Fortunately, Scotland is not known for it’s delectable cuisine. So I got a two bedroom apartment hotel at the Holyrood aprtHotel in the Holyrood neighborhood of Edinburgh. I almost felt guilty having so much for little ol’ me. It made me wish my family was there with me. But it had the kitchen, a fitness room/closet, and a grocery store around the corner. It’s in a perfect location near the Royal Mile touristy area. I’ll certainly stay again when I visit Edinburgh. I spent something like 20 USD on fish, eggs, water and couscous food for four days. Not bad. Besides, I packed my own oat meal, seasonings, and tuna.
Tranquility in the middle of the city
Anyway, of course Apart Hotel was a little pricy to maintain the entire time I was there and I didn’t plan where I’d move next after my first few days. Scotland was having some sort of Bank holiday and all the hotels were booked for the weekend. So I got one day at a budget hotel on Princess Street, the main commerce artery of the tourist center, but I still needed another night to cover me before my flight. Nothing like a good vacation with to add a sense of drama to in if I’ll find a place to stay for the night. After some internet searches I found something in my price range through the goodness of airbnb.com
Overall I love Edinburgh. It’s one of my favorite places in all of Europe. It’s beautiful, peaceful, and Edinburgh is just big enough to be an interesting city but without the crazy hustle and bustle of Europe’s major capitol cities. As one local said, Glasgow has a bigger party at a funeral than Edinburgh does at a wedding. And I certainly believe it after just a few daytime hours in Glasgow. So keep that in mind when planning your Scottish visit. I’d love for my big extended southern family to visit Scotland. And here’s what we’d do if we did:
We’d stay in the ApartHotel or rent a hotel from Airbnb. It’s perfect for exploring the Royal Mile which is the tourist district lined with shops. Royal Mile or actually, High Street, is the mile long road linking the Palace to the castle. From this location you can stroll along the cobble stone streets. If you have the time, I suggest picking either the castle or the palace per day…
Day 1: Get acclimated. Yes! You are really in Scotland! After checking in, buy groceries, visit Holy Rood Palace, stroll the streets, have lunch back in the apartment, spend the afternoon in nature at Holy Rood Park and watch the sunset. You can see the entire city from its highest point. And it’s like being in the country while in the middle of a city. You may be tempted to watch Parliamentary proceedings in their modern building. This I must discourage. I’m not sure why I thought it would be so interesting. It wasn’t. It was as exciting as C-SPAN in a Scottish Accent. Terrible.
C-Span for Scotland (beautiful but boring!)
Day 2: Explore. Stroll streets, Visit the castle as soon as it opens, have lunch in town, explore the streets while picking up information for evening walking tours from one of the countless advertisements. Rest back in apartment, have dinner before going on an evening walking tour or taking a whiskey tasting evening.
Day 3: Spend time in the Royal Botanical Gardens, check out and return to places in the area you might have missed or want to revisit on The Royal Mile, stroll down to Princes street across the river stopping by the Edinburgh University Library, the free Scottish National Gallery, listen to the Kilt-clad bag piper, shop on George Street and Princes Street (Top Shop, Princes Mall, and Primark are my favorites). Walk Multrees, the city’s first street build since the 18th century. Dine out or Rest up with a meal at home.
Day 4: Time for a city break! Eat a big breakfast and take a Scottish Tour to the Loch Ness and the Highlands. I went on this tour. I was a bit disappointed it was a whirlwind with a lot of driving and pointing but not much getting out and exploring. Besides, when I went in May, it was cold and rainy. Additionally I was afraid to drink anything all day because there were no facilities on the bus and they made it clear they wouldn’t be stopping for comfort breaks. The best thing about the tour was the guide providing insight on Scottish culture and history in her lovely accent with her terrific story telling abilities. If it weren’t for that, I’d suggest making the same trip on your own.
Day 5 Branch out. I explored much of Edinburgh on foot. Now it’s time to branch out. Next time, I’d use this day to taxi, rent a car, learn the bus system and visit the zoo, the pier, and any other extraneous locations that weren’t in walking distance. See Edinburgh’s neighborhoods outside the tourist district. Relax.
Not to Miss! If you don’t have five days I’d say Spend your time on the Royal Mile. Holy Rood Palace, Holy Rood park, Edinburgh Castle, the streets, and the monument on Princes Street. If I had more than five days, I’d spend the rest of my time in Scotland road tripping to Carsethorn south of Dumfries on Colvend coast southwest Scotland/Galloway district or to Kippford and Sandyhills. I could spend a summer exploring the gorgeous landforms and coasts on the Scottish country side. Of course, that’s just the country girl in me coming out.
When you are an American living overseas you start to view the things that go on in your homeland a little differently. You have other standards to compare the American way.
In America, we often like to think we are the standard of excellence. I’m sure many countries believe the same. But with only 30 percent of Americans owning passports, how much expose to other ways of life do we get? Do Americans understand that there are countries that exist were women can walk down the street, intoxicated, at night, alone without fear of attack? Do they realize there are schools that are not locked down and checking students for weapons? Do Americans consider, that, in some countries, if they leave their front door wide open while on a long weekend get away, their belongings will be safe and secure when they return home four days later? I have seen all of those scenarios play out here in Germany and each time I thought, Man, if that was in America, things may not have turned out the same way. Safety is part of the way of life here in Germany. I left my designer purse on a train with my credit card and cash and do you know the finder tracked me down on Facebook to get the purse back to me. I’ve had a busted window for two weeks, and no one broke into my home. I travel alone.
I was once on a train when I met a Nigerian Universität student who was getting his graduate degree in mathematics. I will never understand why people will pay to get a degree in math but that is beside the point. He said something that was so profoundly simple:
“You will never do things excellently if you have never been exposed to excellent ways of doing things.”
When I sit here, saddened and feeling helpless by all the terrible tragic news spawning out of my country, I wonder if Americans are aware that there is a better, safer way. Now, media sensationalism is an issue on its own, but just the fact that terrible tragedies and massacres happen for the news to report on is a concerning issue. Americans are quick to believe that bad, crazy things like the Boston Marathon bombing happens everywhere, we just don’t hear about them. As if it somehow makes the regular occurrence of violence in America more normal. I just don’t think most American have been exposed to a non-violent way of life.
I hear those who oppose gun control. The moment they hear the phrase, “gun control” they know they are opposed without hearing how guns will be controlled. I hear the common argument from gun enthusiast, “guns don’t kill people, people kill people”; “Guns causing deaths is like saying a fork causes obesity” ; “Gun laws only are only followed by law abidding citizens.” I get it. But I wonder if those people would change their tune if they were the ones frantically calling their teenager who went to the movies on a Friday night with friends that got shot up. I wonder if they’d change their argument if they were standing in the lobby of that movie theater surrounded by dead, brace-faced teens with phones going off in their pockets.
Photograph by Nick Ut/AP Photo
I am a southern girl who believes no civilian needs to own an AK-47 or an AR-15. The purpose of these guns is to stop battalions of approaching, adversary armies equipped with equally deadly weapons. And what American, with the except on of the less than 1% in the military, will ever be faced with a situation where they need to protect themselves with a machine gun? No one shoots a deer or a dove with a machine gun! So why have one? So really the only reason for one is to use on humans. A machine gun is overkill (excuse the pun) for self defense. And how can one even practice shooting with one? What gun range allows such weapons? If you are not in the war fighting industry, in the profession of arms, protecting your country against an enemy army, what right do you have to won a military weapon? We often confuse rights with privileges. And Americans have abused the privilege of legally owning military-style weapons. If a zombie apocalypse happens let the U.S. Military handle it. They are trained and equipped far better than the paranoid folks down home who are storing up arsenals for it. Besides, 40% of the military comes from the south. They will defend their homes first, no doubt.
Some argue the simple point that gun control is unconstitutional. They argue prohibiting them infringes on their constitutional rights. Really? Every American has the right to own a weapon of major destruction? Americans have the right to bear arms. No one is taking away our right to own a gun. But just because someone is American does not give him the right to spray bullets at anyone. And concerned Americans should not wait and punish such people after they do. They should make it more difficult to allow it to happen in the first place. I’m pretty sure when Thomas J and his buds wrote up the constitution they had no idea America would be turned into a vigilante, child-killing state.
Yes there will always be ways to kill. But hitting 20 kindergarteners to death with a baseball bat will take more effort than hosing them down with an AK-47. The National Rifle Association released an advertisement hours before Obama spoke on gun control that accused him of hypocrisy for accepting armed Secret Service protection for his daughters. The White House only called the ad “repugnant” and didn’t dignify it with any other response, but allow me to state the obvious— the secret service does not carry machine guns to protect little Sasha and Malia! Besides, those two little girls are targets for evil doers. Most Americans are not. I’d bet most who own or lobby for semi-automatic rifles are not high interest targets for attacks.
So how should Americans prevent violent massacres from becoming common place? Americans do not want their rights to own whatever guns they want taken away. They do not want limits on violent media — that would be censorship and a violation of freedom of speech and expression. What do we do when it is our liberties that breed our violence? Some say stop shielding kids from disappointment so they learn they don’t always get their way, put God back in public schools, parents need to know what’s going on in their kid’s lives, better yet, and women should stop working so they can focus more on their family. I do think families are key. But not everyone has good a good family. How do you enforce parental responsibility? Just shrug our shoulders and say it’s not our problem…until someone comes to our children’s school, mall, or movie theater?
When do we get tired of having to set out memorials?
Since I’ve lived in Germany I’ve watched a list of shootings happen: Tucson Shooting, Portland mall holiday shooting, Aurora, Colorado Movie Theater Shooting, Sandy Hook shooting, and now the Boston Marathon bomb. But nothing of the sort has happened in Germany during that time. In fact, I can only find three school shootings in German history on in 2002, 2009, and one before I was born in 1964. The most recent ones, committed by teenagers just as American shootings are usually committed by young people. The Washington Post and New York Times reported that America’s homicide rate is 20 times more than any other developed country. No other developed country has this problem! Are we leading or trailing? America is on par with war-torn, poverty-stricken, developing (or formally third world) countries. Violence is becoming a common part of our culture like Gaza, Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan and Iran. And yet we pride ourselves at being world leaders and the standard of excellence. If I were from a developing country with America’s crime rate, I wouldn’t be out of line to file asylum and get to stay in Germany as a refugee.
The European political science students I run into just don’t understand our need to balance our constitutional right to own arms. “Why does your country allow crazy people to have guns and kill children,” Hugo, a Political science student at Valencia Universidad in Spain asked. I had the same conversation with a French guy in a bar. It’s so difficult defending our politics to Europeans.
We’ve got to try something. Some politician has got to be confident enough to try to do what’s right without regards to what is going to keep his nice pay check flowing. In Germany, only sportsmen can have guns after getting a license and testing. Either we acknowledge that access to the most deadly weapons are part of the problem or we just shrug our shoulders and chalk it up to our culture. We just accept that school shootings, and killings in public places are just a part of the American way just as those in Gaza, Yemen, Iraq, and Pakistan have adjusted to life with bombs constantly going off around their homes. I say let’s try the president’s plan out. Let’s be concerned with mental health. Let’s do more to keep guns out of the hands of unstable people. Let’s do more than just sit around talking about the travesties then oppose every idea to prevent future tragedies. If we care let’s just try to put laws in place. If they don’t work we can re-evaluate later. Otherwise, let’s just accept violence as an inherent part of our liberties.
Lauren and I met in school and amazingly both ended up living on this content at the same time, She in England and me in Germany. Although we were both criss crossing the country we never crossed paths until one day in February, I announced that I was looking for a travel buddy for a Mediterranean cruise. Minutes later Lauren is giving me the number to her travel agent for a cruise she and a roommate had just booked. within the hour she and I were set for a spring break cruise in the Med leaving out of Italy and ending in Athens. This would be Lauren’s final European adventure before she’d make her way back to The States.
Although it’s April, this lush green in Olympia was a sight for sore eyes. Stuttgart and England were still battling cold, gloomy winter.
Springtime in full bloom in Olympia.
We got to the location where the first Olympic games were hosted before the big crowds of tourists.
Greek gardens were simply gorgeous this time of year.
I love that the Greek Islands are full of vibrant colors this time of year.
Cheaters during the olympics would get their names inscribed in stone for their shady character to be remembered for all times! Maybe we should consider that for our cheater pro athletes of today.
Loren looking silly…but really she’s using her artistic talents to capture the simple beauty of the purple flowers.
So much more than gyros. Greek Food, where have you been all my life!
Zorbas…as in the restaurant in My Big Fat Greek Wedding!
The food devoured on this trip needs its own blog entry. Delish!
Looks like it should be a post card. We arrived to Mykonos two weeks before the tourist season so it was quiet but most shops, restaurants, and hotels were not open for business.
We are at the starting block of the original track and field events for the Olympics! How cool is that? How cool is that for a runner?
It is only fitting that our epic European adventure would come to an epic end in a city equally as epic… Athens, Greece. Lauren, Angie and I would spend a day in Greece before parting ways after a week of adventure after adventure. Quit the bitter sweet end.
Athens is a big city and the ancient wonders are such a small part of it. The three of us paid a small fee to enter the historic section. We strolled around paths that millions had walked for centuries, taking note of the ancient ruins and statues of the men we read about in history books. That Hadrian sure got around by the way. I had just seen his villa outside of Rome and Lauren had visited his wall in the UK. And here he is again in Greece.
We climbed a slippery, huge rock overlooking the rest of the city with a 360 degree view to realize that the ancient city, although grand in its own right, was only a small but insignificant part of Athens. There was so much more that we would no way get to see and experience during our short stay.
There’s nothing quite like walking around ancient Greece to make one feel so insignificant in the grand scale of the world. Of all the people who once lived, worked, and loved here… I could only name a few by name. And out of those few, most of them are factitious Greek Gods. Aesop, Aristotle, Euclid, Homer, Plato, Sokrates, Thucydides, all the guys that inspired Raphael’s School of Athens…did they wander around these gardens. Did they recline on the Parthenon steps like us?
Yet the unknown lives of the past were still significant and made a difference…even if it wasn’t recorded for thousands of years. People mourned of these unremembered deaths and yet they were only a few generations removed from being forgotten. Souls connect for a brief moment in time then wither away without witness and without memory as if their epic love story never existed. I wondered what the pillars holding up these temples would say if they could talk.
Perhaps lovers and best friends have been walking nervously down the same paths I strolled since before Jesus came. Perhaps three chica friends dressed in their white Grecian robes and gold sandals from 500 BC laughed and told jokes with one another in the very space Lauren, Angie, and I posed taking selfies. Perhaps they dished the dirt on guys, discussed their worries, and gushed about their awesome weekend.
While touring the Acropolis, a group of photographers, in Athens for a photography convention, stumbled upon us trying to take selfies with my iPad. They did us a favor and took some pics of us with their cameras.
Although I’m sure I could have learned more from having a guide, so much of what I saw in Athens I had studied from high school arts and humanities, world civ, or college history classes. So many images from moves were brought to life where I could say, “Hey! I recognize that.” Like the Caryatid (female sculpture serving as a column) Porch of the Erecheion… I recognized them most from the women singing in the intro to Disney’s animated film, Hercules.
Athens is a city that you feel. Like Marc Cohn felt about Memphis, Tennessee, Athens is a city that changes you. When you leave, you leave a different person. I would love to return and explore with more time here; next time with my parents who I know would get a kick out of Greece. It’s relatively cheap in comparison to the rest of Europe. You can eat gyros and other street food for a euro. Trains and mopeds will get you around town for next to nothing. It’s warm enough to peel the skin in early April while it’s still snowing in Stuttgart. The islands are beautiful and lush. The big city is captivating. Tourist season is certainly summertime and the islands are shut down and activity on them is sparse before then. I didn’t see much evidence of the unemployment and economic hardships emphasized in the media but I will say Athens was a bit grimier than Germany but heck, what part of Europe isn’t? The further east of Germany one travels in Europe, the grimier the big cities get with litter and graffiti it gets. Athens was no different than say Budapest, Budva, Tirana, from what I saw.
Greek Olives
If I returned I’d probably start in Athens, take about five days to really explore the history and enjoy the contemporary then take tourist ferry trips to the other islands. I bought tons of junk the first time around. I’d enjoy the night life and delve further into the city to see the real Athens apart from the tourist Athens. I’d channel my inner Athena and charm locals while taking part in the active night life. Next time, like I always say, I’d save more money on gifts!
Here’s me, trying to model
My time in Athens was short. I didn’t even scratch the surface. I got the tourist view — Not an insight to Greek culture or an insider’s view. But that small 56 hour snap shot of the archeological playground certainly left a lasting impression on my perspective of time and on my curiosity just as its left a lasting impression on the world.
Eating 1 euro gyros on the streets of Athens
Our little photographer
The model
The photographer
Awe striking Athens by night
We’re just goofing around. The photos below remind me of a Gap advertisement.
So I’m learning the culture of Skiing. I went on a four-day ski trip to Port Du Soleil on the boarder of France and Switzerland for Martin Luther King Day. It was divine being on the mountain. I love the Alps! They take my breath away no matter the season, no matter when I see them. I however, had to be hotel bound for one day writing a gosh darn paper for the final class of my Master’s Degree while everyone else hit the slopes. Anyway, I traveled six hours on a bus with a great crew from Stuttgart. I made new friends and had a blast laughing and joking with them.
You can ski over to the Swiss side but make sure you spend your money on the French side…it’s go further that way.
My ski extraordinaire pal, Lucia
The Church in which the ski town was named after.
Fondu party in the Apres Ski
The Après-ski is one of the most memorable parts of a ski vacation. During the day everyone dispersesbased on their skill level but in the evening, when the slopes close friends can all come together to hash out the day’s most memorable events over food and drinks. We had a fondue night where we made a meal out of dipping breads, veggies, and meats in warm cheese. Wine flowed freely as wine should when you’re in France and the laughter got louder with crazy plans to take a photo in the blizzard in our bathing suits. this crazy plan never manifested but it sure was fun to discuss.
The name of the town
The Chapple that the town was named after…Which by the way, is the camedian Dave chapple’s name…it’s French!
These photos were taken on the day I stayed in a coffee shop to write my paper. Of course it was a beautiful clear sky day.
This is one of my favorite ski resorts because it had a variety of slopes for all skill levels. One green run was four kilometers long with gentle back and fourth curves perfect for practicing. Not only that, there were several green runs for me to practice on.
I pretty much decided I was done with the basic instructor. I don’t need to spend 60 euro for someone to tell me pizza- french fry any more. I just want to practice on my own. I was bored and I felt like it wasted a whole day when I could have been doing trial and error an finding by own way on longer runs.
I just can’t get enough of the Alps, Spring, Summer, fall or snow-capped winter, just breath taking.
More Apres Ski, or After Ski, going on in the bed and breakfast hot tub.
Of course, we’ve got Alabama men and Kentucky men trying to stream football games!
Me doing homework as I wait for the dinner festivities to commence.
Oh the goofy men I associate with.
This guy was working on his PhD in engineering and took a day off from skiing as well.
I don’t know what it is but it was delish!
New friends, cute couple from Bama.
this ski town is joined with the city of Evian. You know, like the water. In fact, Evian water comes out of the tap here. So Fresh, so Clean!
Life is but a dream. I am so glad I have the opportunity to celebrate Martin Luther King Day in such a beautiful place with great friends.
Holidays are seasoned with tradition. Although most traditions are steeped around Thanksgiving and Christmas, New Years also has its traditions in my family. Before every year my mom makes her signature dish, hoppin’ John, on New Years. And every year, even though my mom’s dish was delish, my sister and I would go out with friends or eat something else. Which lead to my mama, bless her heart, fussing about all her effort and food that got wasted.
As an adult, I’ve started my own traditions. I’ve welcomed the New Year by fasting and praying and getting into my Bible for some direction. The quiet days away from class and work are the perfect time for reflection on the past year and planning for the next. Since college graduation I’ve spent my New Year’s in some pretty exciting towns: Nashville, Orlando, Atlanta, and last year in Paris. This year I’ll be spending “Sylvester” as the German’s call it, with a dear cousin, at the biggest party spot in Europe, Berlin!
In 2012 I vowed to do more and I have to say in comparison to 2011, I succeeded. I wanted to: 1. Run More – I ran a 10K dressed like super hero, Storm. 2. Be more health conscious – I competed in a team obstacle course, started training for a fitness competition which requires weight lifting and a clean diet. 3. Write more – I’ve published 50 blog posts this year. 4. Travel more – I traveled to 15 different countries and spent 67 days traveling and exploring Europe. 5. Be more proactive in learning a language – When it came to learning a language, I took 12 hours of German language lessons, 12 hours of Spanish language classes, and 72 hours of French language lessons. I can get directions and order food in four languages. 6. Complete more of my Master’s program – I have one class left before I can call myself An International Affairs Master. 7. Patron the arts more – I started the year by watching a ballet in Vienna. I’ve been to Monet’s home, visited the Louvre three times, and been to enough art museums across Europe to establish the standard that if a museum costs more than the Louvre, it’s not worth seeing (take that Switzerland!) 8. And paint more. I have completed one ceramic and one canvas all year.
Now it’s time for me to start honing in on the goals I want to accomplish for myself for 2013. I need to go for quality, not quantity. Pick one language and really master it. Take longer, more relaxing trips instead of trying to cover too much ground in a short time. This year will be the year to eliminate. Eliminate distractions, clutter, commitments. Then I won’t be stretched out too thinly and I can produce better projects and better results. And after being completely finished with my degree, I just want to relax as much as I can and enjoy being young and in Europe.
I don’t know a single Southerner who grew up on skis. In fact, I can only name two Southern folks who claim to participate in any type of outdoor winter sport be it skating, hockey, skiing, snowboarding or that weird Olympic sport were you push a rock around on ice. The south has two professional hockey teams (in Nashville and Atlanta) and I’m willing to bet all the players come from outside the south. When it’s cold in the south, we just prefer to stay in doors. But for some reason, when passing by a ski shop while on a holiday gift shopping excursion prompted my best buddy to ask, “Do you want to go skiing tomorrow?” I said yes.
Everyone in Europe seems to be a skier or snowboarder so such a question is commonplace in Stuttgart. The Austrian and Swiss Alps are two driving hours away so spur of the moment ski trips happen all winter. Back home, skiing is quite a planning undertaking which requires plane tickets, requested time off from work, and hotel reservations. My family talked about skiing at Paoli Peaks one winter. That’s about as far as it went. So here I am, closer to turning 30 than I am 20 and I am making decisive measures to strap on skis for the first time in my life.
Getting the Gear According to my avid skier beau, who grew up skiing in Utah, Wyoming, and Colorado, nothing can ruin a great ski day faster than being improperly dressed. So we stepped into the discount ski shop to buy pants and a jacket. It was then that I learned that maybe I hated the snow so much because I just haven’t been properly taught to stay warm. I was reared by a Kentucky mama and an Alabama daddy so when it snowed we hunkered down and rode out the treacherous storm in the house by the fire place or kerosene heaters! If we did venture out, my parents would have my sister and I wearing so many layers of clothes that we waddled like the Michelin man and our limbs stood out away from our bodies like a gingerbread man cookie.
Amazing after centuries of inhabiting inclement weather regions, humans have unlocked the mystery of o the art and science of staying warm and dry in the snow. I never knew such a thing was possible! And get this… it can be done in only need three layers!
1. Do long johns (thermal) or under armor for your first layer. 2. Next do an over layer like a turtle neck, sweater, or sweatshirt. 3. Your final layer includes your water proof ski pants and ski jacket. Viola! You’ll stay warm and you can still move around.
Tips: If you get wet, head to the lodge because you have no chance of staying warm. You don’t want to wear jeans either. They allow you to get wet and restrict you from movement. I never guessed you could also get hot while skiing. Skiing is a work out, you can sweat so you need to be able to open and vent your ski pants or jacket.
Thin socks are a Godsend. Your ski boots will keep you warm enough. If you layer socks or wear think wool ones you risk cutting off circulation and getting cold. You’ve got to be able to wriggle your toes. Some ski socks come with padding on the shins to protect you while you lean against the boots. Ski gloves, goggles, face mask to keep your cheeks and chin warm on cold windy days. Just like when you ride a bike, wear a helmet! This can save your life no matter how good you get.
So, after mixing and matching colorful pants with different jackets I settled on the first jacket I tried on, a bright, sunny one with white pants. This unplanned purchase was justified by my lack of winter clothing and their versatility of being able to wear them off the slopes.
Getting to the Slopes
So Sunday rolled around and we journeyed two hours south to Oberjoch for my first go on skies ever. The ride to Oberjoch was one I had made several times in the summer but it was absolutely gorgeous with snow gracing the evergreens and mountains. The GPS claimed we were at our destination at the bottom of the mountain but we had to continue up the curvy roads to the resort. In The States, ski resorts are all inclusive where you can lodge, buy your lift tickets, and rent your gear all in one place. Not so in Germany. There’s a company that rents ski gear, then another company that owns lifts, and you have to find your own hotel and restaurant. We’d come one week too early for the season opening. No lessons were available at the ski school. There were no lifts, most of the runs were not open, but amazingly, the mountains were active and I was eager to add to the activity. Expectation Management
While I was being strapped in my boots by the ski rental employee, I watched this adorable little tot who couldn’t have been any older than three years and whose parents were calling her Cassandra, pick up her mini skis and toss them over her shoulder and strut out the door like a pro. We handed the Kasse (Cashier) 18 euros to rent the skis, poles, and a helmet and headed out behind little Cassie. If this little tot could confidently go onto the slopes I was sure I could do the same. To me, being an adult on the bunny hill is about as ego bruising as having to play “Twinkle twinkle” as an adult at piano recital. I’d rather skip the right hand only songs and jump straight to Chopin’s Opus 64 No.1 “Petit Chien” or, in ski terms, skip the bunny hill and head straight toward the Black Diamond run. I envision myself as a super woman who, with a little time, can conquer anything. I realized as soon as I put my skis on that that goal was a serious optimism. Probably the most humbling of experiences. Skiing encouraged expectation management. Let me tell you what you can expect within your first 15 minutes on the runs:
You will not be skipping the bunny hill.
Even tough, coordinated, athletic Belles will fall down. A lot.
It takes a lot of energy to get up. It’s worse than falling in ice skates.
Six-year-olds will show off cool karate kicks in their skies while you are still trying to get off the ground.
You will be embarrassed, frustrated, leaning toward self doubt and start thinking skiing is a terrible lame sport that you will never get into.
You only have two speeds as a beginner, “too slow” and “too fast.”
Good news is, it doesn’t take long to get straightened out and gain confidence. Just like riding a bike, you’ll fall off a few times but soon you’ll be riding with no hands!
How to Have a Good First Ski Experience I was fortunate to have an expert skier as a friend willing to give me private, focused lessons. And fortunate that most slopes were closed so he had no choice but to pay attention to me rather than running off to the Black Diamond runs. A patient, free instructor who doesn’t take it for granted that you know anything is a plus. Make sure you are appropriately dressed because skiing is no fun when you’re miserable.
First, I had to learn the most basic of the basics: how to snap in and out of the skis and walk in the boots. Then it was just being able to stand up on flat ground that became a challenge. It’s like when you first learn to drive a stick shift, you become very aware when the ground is not flat because you’ll roll backward. Same of the skis. Every little incline, inclines your mind wouldn’t readily notice, I was sliding— sometimes backward, or sideways. Then after a seminar about keeping my skies parallel like French fries to move fast and turned in like a pizza wedge to slow down I took my first downhill adventure. It went a little something like this:
BFF: French Fry!
Me: I’m doin’ it! I’m doin’ it!
BFF: Good!
Me: Whooa, Whoa! Too fast! Too Fast!
BFF: You’re not going to fast
Me: Too fast!
BFF: Pizza wedge! Pizza Wedge!
Me: Ahhh!
Crash! I hurl myself into a pile of snow to slow myself down as a German two year-old bundled up in a florescent striped onesie parka waves at me as she slides by on a pink toboggan sled.
This went on for a few more times. It was frustrating. It was then that I thought to myself, I don’t foresee myself ever being good at this sport and no one likes something they’re not good at. I spent time accidentally sliding backwards, accidentally skiing up hill, and learning that trying to get up after falling takes a lot of energy. I started to resent the preteens that whizzed past doing kung fu moves in the air and landing on their feet and envied the toddlers who made it all the way down a slope on their parent’s leash. One little girl in particular was fussing in German at her parents who held on to a leash behind her. I imagined she was saying, “I can do it all by myself!”
A kind German man offered his words of encouragement to me, “Next week you’ll be up there” he pointed up the mountains. He explained how he was just like me five years ago. That was encouraging and I appreciated his words (I should have let him know that). Everyone starts at the bottom. Even Jimi Hendrix sounded like a hopeless child when he started playing the guitar. The challenge of gliding down steep mountains like a pro seemed overwhelming but even pros started on the bunny hill. In the future there will be powder, bumps, and steep drops but for now, I just need to learn how to maintain control of myself on skies. I also realized that without the ski lifts running, I needed to learn to conserve energy. Being physically fit is important because this sport is deceivingly active. It looks so simple. Having to march back up snowy hills kinda detracted from the incentive of going down.
Toward the end of the day I slowly gained more confidence and control and skiing slowly became more fun. I could stop when I wanted to and turn the direction I wanted. I certainly don’t foresee skiing becoming popular among southern folks any time soon but I will be returning to the slopes this weekend with a professional instructor and with operational ski lifts for round two of Southern Belle’s skiing adventures! Tell you more about it later! Tschüss!
People in the U.S. are generally less mobile than those in Europe. Certainly, you can point out a few exceptions: President Barack Obama, singer Amerie, basketball player Kobe Bryant, actor Boris Kodjoe, missionaries, and military members, and so on who have had experiences living long-term abroad. But for most Americans, the biggest move they will ever experience is the one they make when they leave home to attend college. Or perhaps they move across town, across the state, or in more rare occasions across the country. Some estimates say only 30 percent of Americans own a passport, thus even less than that have been out of the country, and even fewer have ventured outside of the North American continent. The concept of remaining in one’s own country is simply unheard of in Europe. Why? Because the European countries are small enough that a two hour drive can launch you across international borders into neighboring countries with different languages and varied cultures.
I believe it is because of our lack of travel experiences that we Americans are particularly comfortable putting simplified labels on other people in an attempt to categorize their background and make assumptions of their beliefs and upbringing. It bothers us when we cannot readily categorize someone — in essence, simplify our understanding of their being. I am not saying Europeans do not do the same thing as well, however, I do believe they are more aware that simple labels do not adequately classify people because they have the opportunity to come across a diversity of people every day. You may say, “America is very diverse! We have so many different ethnic backgrounds that make up Americans.” But that’s just it…at the end of the day we are all Americans with the same primary culture.
In Europe, these simplified categorizations become, well, not so simplified. When you ask a person where he is from, you can expect a variety of answers. Truly, what does that question mean? In the U.S. you will either get a response that articulates where a person was born, where that person grew up, or where that person identifies as home. On rare occasions you may get an answer that deals with lineage to another country. Recently at a Mexican restaurant in Stuttgart-Vaihingen, the owner had the strangest accent that I could not place. My friends and I asked where he was from.
“I’ll give you your meal on the house if you can guess,” he said, “But you’ll never guess.”
I guessed he was a Brit. I would say I was closest, but was I really? He was born and reared in South Africa by parents of English decent. He served in the United States Military, lived in southern California where he learned how to cook Mexican food, and then he moved to Germany for, what else, love. So how is a white South African of English decent who served in the United States military and has lived in Germany for a large portion of his life identified? He didn’t grow up with the same experiences as a British child. He’s kind of South African…but not a Dutch South-African, as he made certain we were aware. According to the article, “Black, White – or South African”, 82 percent of white South Africans identify themselves as South African as opposed to only 44 percent of the black majority of residents there. Yet only 5 percent of white South Africans consider themselves as African. Seems inconsistent right? How can one be South African but not African?
The South-Africa-with-English-lineage-Mexican-restaurant-owner asked how I’d describe where I was from.
That’s been the kicker since I have lived in Germany. Do these people want to assume I’m a tourist and desire to know where in the United States I am from, or do they want to know where in Germany I live, or do they want to know about the origins of my European last name? During a visit to France, a man refused to call me an American. I told him my German & Scottish heritage. African was the only label he would accept. African — as if that label is not complex enough in itself. The Mexican Restaurant owner talked about how he’s called folks back in the United States “African American”, and they corrected him with more accurate labels which influenced him to no longer label people, or to live by the labels incorrectly adhered to him.
The discussion with the restaurant owner led me to recall a student in one of my undergraduate courses who discussed her dilemma whereby she was encouraged to apply for an African-American scholarship. The problem? She was actually only “African”. She emphasized that there was a big difference between African, African-American, and Black American. The cultures, heritage, and traditions are different. That same year, a white South African who earned his American citizenship applied for that same scholarship, causing a stir when it was awarded to him. Some claimed he was more representative of the title “African American” than the intended scholarship target group who were actually black American students who had never been to the continent; yet some refused to accept this pale-skinned man as African even though he lived in Africa for the majority of his life. Perhaps South Africans do not consider themselves as African since others on the outside have a hard time accepting them as such. Is saying that a white person cannot be an African equal to saying that a black person cannot be American or European? How is it different? That was the year I no longer considered myself African American but a Black American.
Then there’s the concept of the Black American vice the American Black which stems from the consciousness of how one self identifies. The differences lie in the distinction of meaning when the words “Black” and “American” are used as an adjective or noun. Is one a Black (noun) who identifies with the world’s collective Black population and you happen to be the American (adjective) representation of Black? Or is one an American (noun) who identifies with America as a whole and happens to be a brown-skinned (adjective) representation of “American-ness”? My college roommate said she thought all the Jews of the world were united as one until she made a pilgrimage to Israel. She then realized she is certainly a Jewish American and not an American Jew.
I have two friends whose identities are a patchwork of beautiful culture, birth, and residence. Annie is a first Generation American from Ghana. Bibi is a first generation American from Nigeria. They speak to their parents in Twi and Yoruba respectively. They grew up with African dress, manners, music, family gatherings, and seemed to know everyone from their countries within a 100 mile radius. Annie had both a traditional southern debutant ball as well as a Ghanaian event where she was introduced to society. I have had classmates who were first generation Americans from Senegal and Sierra Leone, they seemed more representative of the term “African American” than me. I identify more with the “Black American” whose roots are so deeply embedded in America’s history that I cannot claim a particular country in Africa, but could certainly lay legitimate claim to origin from countries on the European continent.
In Europe I find more and more intriguing stories of identity like this. Just recently in the Canary Islands someone approached my beau and I. “American Accents!” he exclaimed before asking where we were from. He called himself a native Virginian (but didn’t call himself a Southerner, though he did label me as such.) He said he left a lucrative job as an attorney after being disgusted when he discovered that justice was dependent on income. Instead, he chose a profession as a videographer recording whales and sea life in Spain. His mother was from Tenerife in the Canary Islands, and he held dual citizenship in Spain and the U.S. He spoke with quite a strange accent. He almost sounded British, which made me wonder if he developed his dialect while hanging around the Brits who inhabit the islands, or perhaps his mother was a British Canary Island dweller or a native Spaniard. There he was, a fellow southerner with a complex identity. I wonder if he ever reflects on his unique identity.
One of the most intriguing conversations of my life was with someone with an unclassifiable identity. My beau and I were dining in a fancy French restaurant in downtown Stuttgart (Le Cassoulet you’ve got to try it if you’re ever in the area). Our interest was inexplicably drawn to a party of four at a nearby table. They flowed smoothly in conversation switching back and forth from French to German. My Beau, a mildly talented French speaker, eavesdropped to see what he could understand. Finally, the most verbose of the group had enough wine to break the ice with us. We asked if he was French or German. The three men and one woman in the party chuckled. “Where are we from?” the lady pondered, buying time until she could decide how she would tell the story. The lively man’s German-Jewish parents knew something was heating up in Germany before WWII, they fled to Shanghai just before he was born.
“Why Shanghai?,” I asked.
“Why not?,” was her response.
The West had restrictions on immigration at that time. So the only place to go was east, “and who wants to go to Poland?” the man joked (or so I think). So his family, like many others, went Far East where he spent the first seven years of his life in China. When it was safe to return to Europe, his family settled in France. His first European home was France. Now he is a well-traveled business man who frequents Stuttgart. So where is he truly from, and how does a one-city or one-country response to “where are you from” adequately articulate anything about this man’s experiences?
In The South you’ll often times hear, “Where are your people from?” as if the answer will validate your existence and shed light on your character and what is to be expected of you. Sometimes people will proudly tell you the county or state they hail from or even what schools they attended as if that should tell you all you need to know of them. It’s not uncommon for folks in The South to live on the same family land for generations, so perhaps that question was appropriate many years ago. But since WWII, people have been set in motion and are constantly on the go. Among the hundreds of discoveries I’ve made about myself and the world through my European experience, I am learning that it is less apt to try to define people by where they are from than to get to know their story. Accents, bone structure, skin color, eye shape, language, teeth, and mannerisms can help gauge where a person is from but you’ll miss out on their amazing story if you stop there and don’t get to know them. Although our history forms the building blocks of our collective societal foundation, it’s our personal experiences that completes the construction of the individuals we truly are.
I challenge my readers to venture out and get to know someone’s story; even someone you think you know quite well (like a family member or co-worker with whom you sit beside every day). You may have to build relationships up or break barriers down to get past the “What are your hobbies, how many kids do you have” type questions. Wonderful soul-revealing conversations include discussions of what drives and motivates a person or how they overcome conflict. You might be delightfully surprised to find that your unassuming aunt has stories that offer a depth to who she is, and that could inspire you for years to come.
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