Posts Tagged ‘travel’
• China
Over the weekend, my class took an overnight trip to the neighboring municipality of Tianjin. Tianjin is kind of like the baby brother of Shanghai that hangs out with Beijing – the buildings in downtown are a mix of old Western concessions, Soviet-style blocky buildings, and towering futuristic high rises. However, the things that it seems to have more than anything of are building cranes.
One of my classmates looked out the window on the train ride to Tianjin and said that he’d heard a rumor that half of the world’s supply of cranes were in China’s growing cities. The number of cranes I’ve seen so far in both Beijing and (especially) Tianjin does not make me doubt that.
Tianjin is like a lot of Chinese cities in that it could be called “up and coming”. While there was a lot to do there, most of the buildings weren’t really finished yet. This seems to be a general trend in Chinese cities – there is a lot of construction, and if you came back in five years, the city would probably look completely different. Everywhere, Chinese cities are growing and morphing.
One example is the city of Chongqing, that used to just be a city in the Sichuan province. Now, if you look at a map of China, Chongqing is its own municipality, just like Beijing, Tianjin, and Shanghai – it is no longer part of a larger province, but an area with borders in its own right.
Therefore, the architecture was probably the most interesting thing in Tianjin. We spent most of our time walking around the various Western concessions, looking at buildings filled with European architecture and city planning. Now these buildings have been given different purposes, with many of them now housing major banks. The former Italian concession, on the other hand, has been turned into a tourist trap of Western restaurants and wine bars, sort of like a Little Italy in the States.
But that didn’t mean that there were foreigners there. In fact, I didn’t see a single Westerner outside of our group when we were in Tianjin. Tianjin has had a complicated past with the West, and for good reason. The concessions represent many painful memories for the Chinese. One building in particular, a Catholic church now covered in scaffolding, was the site of a violent protest against the French presence in Tianjin.
Today, most foreigners in Tianjin live outside the downtown area. The concessions are now part of the city, embraced by the Chinese. It is interesting to see that most of the European buildings are being kept, while the traditional Chinese courtyard-style buildings are being replaced.
Maybe this is a step in the direction of international diplomacy or forgiving the West. Maybe it isn’t. In any case, it makes Tianjin an interesting place to walk around for anyone remotely interested in architecture.
Confession: this is approximately the fifth document that I have started drafting as my “first blog post.” If you are wondering why I am starting so late, it’s not because I have not had anything exciting to write about. On the contrary, the past week that I have spent in Copenhagen (and it has been a week exactly now!), has been one of the busiest in my life. It is also not because I haven’t tried, or don’t care about blogging—paragraph after paragraph, I’ve been trying to find the perfect theme to write the perfect blog post. But finally I have decided that much like study abroad, it would be better just to dive right in instead of planning excessively.
Few Americans can tell you a lot about Denmark, and before I decided to study abroad here, I was in the same boat. After some research, I came to the conclusion that Denmark is an absolutely fascinating place. Being here now has just reaffirmed this fascination. Although there is a lot I didn’t know about, I did come with certain expectations, and this first week has been full of new impressions that have surprised me in many ways. Let me share some of the ideas I had, and whether they turned out to be right:
Denmark is cold, but not as cold as Chicago. For the past few months, whenever anyone found out that I would be going to Copenhagen, the usual response was something along the lines of, “Wow, isn’t it like freezing there?!” I never really understood why it was such a big deal—after going to school in Evanston for two years, I thought a Copenhagen winter would be nothing! Well, as it turns out, although it is more temperate here and much less windy, it is still cold! My face still feels like it’s going to fall off, but it could also be because I am spending a lot more time outdoors as I explore the city.
Study abroad is a huge change, and it would hit me, hard. Going to a new country for four months to live and study is indeed a big change that you don’t just get used to overnight. So when I arrived and I didn’t experience any overwhelming emotions or culture shock, I felt like something wasn’t right. I kept waiting for “it” to happen, some sort of “Aha!” moment, or big realization that changes everything, or anything to acknowledge the fact that I had arrived in this brand new place with only a vague idea of what I wanted to do here. I guess I can partly attribute my calm acceptance to the fact that I have traveled a lot throughout my life. Still, I know this will be an exciting semester with new experiences that will hopefully be life-changing.
Danes are reserved and might seem cold to foreigners. As far as I can tell, this is not true. Because of this stereotype, I was pretty intimidated to be around Danes at first, but every Dane that I have met so far has been so friendly and willing to help me out if I’m lost or asking for directions. Anne, a Danish friend of my sister’s, says that in parts of Denmark outside of Copenhagen, people are not always as open. But after experiencing the energy of a bar full of Danes boisterously cheering on their handball team (who knew that was a thing?) as they won against Spain in the semi-finals, I no longer buy into the whole quiet-and-reserved Danish stereotype.
Everyone is blonde, beautiful, and six feet tall. Oh, and always stylish. This is both true and not true. Yes, there are gorgeous people everywhere, and some of them happen to fit the description as I had been forewarned. However, like cities much larger, Copenhagen is extremely diverse and much more so than I had expected. In the past decade, increased immigration has resulted in changing demographics, which has also led to some political tension (more on this later, I’m sure). As for being stylish, I do admire the Danes’ fashion sense—I am taking a class on “The Meaning of Style” so hopefully I will pick up a thing or two. What I wonder most is how they manage to stay warm while looking so good—it is a welcome change from the winter “fashion” at Northwestern, but I have seen one too many Danish women wearing the thinnest of tights, and sometimes I just want to direct them to the nearest North Face store. Is there something I’m missing??
Anyways, the list goes on and on, but it’s time do some reading before my classes tomorrow. (Some things remain the same…) Here’s to the next four months, hoping it will be full of moments and memories that will meet, exceed, or perhaps completely throw off my expectations.
As much as I love my beautiful sunny home in Los Angeles, I’ve always loved traveling. I can’t remember how exactly I caught the “travel bug” but I just can’t get enough—perhaps it was instilled in me from a young age, having been on countless road trips with my family throughout the West, and visiting my family in Canada and China. Or perhaps it was my high school orchestra tour to Austria and the Czech Republic, or my summer-before-college trip all around France (during which I successfully managed to get hurt on what was explained to me as “one of the most harmless things ever,” a banana-boat, and end up at the emergency room). Either way, my wanderlust has now led me to study abroad and spend a semester living in Copenhagen, Denmark, a country that is completely new and fascinating to me. I’m really excited to have new experiences, and with my luck, there will definitely be some great stories to tell, hopefully non-hospital-related… find out by reading my blog!
I’d be lying if I told you that the first twenty years of my life haven’t been incredibly lucky. Ever since I was born, thanks to my travel-obsessed family, I have had the opportunity to visit various corners of the country and the world. Being in these places, from Seattle, Washington to Suwałki, Poland, has been the best education I could have asked for.
Argentina is a new frontier, but it also represents the culmination of many years of studying Spanish. I knew that living in a Spanish-speaking country would be the only way to truly put my knowledge to the test. I chose to study in Buenos Aires because, as a history major, I am particularly intrigued by Latin America, and I have relatives who may or may not still be living there.
Adventure can be an amusing, profound, and challenging experience, sometimes all at once, but most importantly, it provides memories that stay with you forever. I have no doubt that Buenos Aires will provide these kinds of memories, and I want to capture and reflect on them as I go along. In many ways, I’ve been preparing for this trip for a long time, but the mystery of what lies ahead is what truly excites me.
Before beginning my three months of studying in Vietnam, I had a vision of traveling through Southeast Asia–through Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, and even Myanmar–in the few weeks between my semesters abroad (I won’t be heading off to begin my studies in Madagascar until the end of January.) I must admit that this vision was largely fueled by the fact that I am in such proximity to these countries–an opportunity that doesn’t come around all of the time–combined with a foolish stubbornness of trying to prove to myself that I am making the most of being in Southeast Asia. I realized, though, that realistically, it would be impossible to cover so much ground in such a short amount of time, but nevertheless I was still itching to see Laos.
I don’t quite know why I was, and still am, particularly fascinated by Laos. Perhaps it’s the fact that it is relatively unvisited by foreigners in comparison to its more popular neighbors. Perhaps it’s the fact that much of Laos is still quite pure, untarnished by advertisements and ATMs and modernization. Perhaps it’s the notion that Lao people are said to be among the kindest of all. So in spite of a time crunch, I was not ready to give up the overland journey through Vietnam into southern Laos.
My vision became a reality when, last week, I stepped foot on Laotian soil. It was ultimately a very brief journey that only lasted a few days, most of which were spent on busses, but it was nonetheless worthwhile and quite eye-opening.
While it’s impossible to say that I’ve become adequately acquainted with Laos, I’ve seen firsthand that Laos is quite similar to Vietnam in many ways and completely, completely different in so many others. I speculate that Lao culture is more similar to Thai culture than to Vietnamese culture, though I won’t be able to confirm this until I visit Thailand.
And for some inexplicable reason, a recurring thought that passed through my head as I sat and watched the Lao scenery in the busses was that Laos reminds me of lot of Africa (especially in terms of the aridness and the variegated shrubbery) and of Central America (in terms of dwelling units, the large groups of children giddily running around barefoot in dirt roads, the roadside vendors, and the palm trees.) Of course, I’ve never been to Africa or Central America, so I’m making these extremely superficial and naive connections because of media images I’ve been exposed to in the past, so the logic of my comparisons is completely questionable.
Perhaps the highlight of the interim Laotian adventure was that I am now good friends with a lovely Israeli couple in their mid-twenties who took me under their wing and shared this segment of their Southeast Asian journey with me (they’re traveling for six months after having serving in the Israeli army and working to save money. They won’t start university until they go back to Israel–they explained to me that this trajectory is quite the norm among their peers.) Together, we experienced excruciatingly slow, jam-packed local bus rides, and we celebrated the first day of Hanukkah (a first for me) with a makeshift menorah in Pakse. We talked about traveling, our experiences in Vietnam, education, life in Israel, life in America, and so on. And none of this would have happened–I may never have crossed paths with these fellow trekkers– if it weren’t in part for my determination to go to Laos. One must not forget that one never knows who one will meet, and how such encounters can change one’s life.
My time in Laos flew by before I could say sabaidee, and hopefully, I’ll be able to return someday. But for now, I have returned to Hue, Vietnam, for one final week to soak up every moment I possibly can before facing the reality of departure.
“Where are you from?”
I used to have no trouble answering this question. If you asked me just a few months ago, I probably would’ve immediately answered “California” with a happy smile, pausing to remember fondly the place I call home.
But now, it’s a different story. Before you read further, I just want to clarify that this isn’t a post about Asian-American identity issues (though I probably have a good amount of those), or even the story of someone who has moved way too many times.
It’s just something I found amusing because I’ve been asked this countless times during my travels, and I always have to think before I answer it, simply because I’m not sure which answer would be the most suitable.
I’ve realized that my answer varies, depending on the situation:
If I think you’re asking because I’m Asian, I’ll tell you that my parents are from Taiwan.
If I think you’re asking because I’m speaking English with an American accent, I’ll tell you that I’m from Chicago.
If I think you’re asking because I’m commenting on the weather, I’ll tell you I’m from California (and probably quickly add that I go to school in Chicago before you jump to any conclusions about my tolerance for low temperatures).
But most of the time I’ll have this sudden urge to tell people that I’m from Copenhagen, regardless of why I think they might be asking. Although that answer probably makes the least sense, considering I’ve only been here for a few months.
In reality, I’ll usually end up giving one of the other answers or somehow putting all four together into a sentence, if I’m feeling talkative.
But I know exactly why I want to tell people about Copenhagen: I’d like to express how much this city has come to mean to me and also my pride at having the opportunity to become acquainted with it in this manner.
I only have 13 days before I have to leave, three of which will be spent in Vienna. The classic panic, excitement, dread, and whirlwind of emotions have officially set in, and I’m not quite sure exactly how to handle it.
Recently I’ve been feeling a little jealous. Jealous of my friends studying abroad in Europe and posting pictures of their fabulous weekends in Paris, London, Prague and Amsterdam. Jealous of the way they can hop on a train and be in a brand new country in a matter of hours. Jealous that they can hit so many amazing travel spots all in one semester.
Okay, so my bratty moment of complaining is over. It’s true that it takes more than a full day to get most places from Nanjing. It’s also true that leaving the country is expensive and tricky. It’s even true that train tickets only go on sale 10 days in advance and in a country of 1.3 billion people, attempting to book even that early can still not guarantee you the trip you want. But, in all of my envy, I have also done some reminiscing.
With only two weeks left in China (taken up mostly by finals and farewell dinners), I have started to look back on the incredible things I’ve seen and done.
- I spent a weekend battling with Huang Shan. Experiencing some of China’s (and possibly the world’s) most beautiful scenery and making unbreakable bonds with the rest of my group that have only grown stronger over the past four months.
- I visited the world’s ninth largest Buddha and sat on his toes. No more explanation needed.
- I got to show my parents around this intriguing country. Showing off my Chinese skills in Shanghai, Nanjing, Guilin, Xi’an, and Beijing. Leave no tourist site behind.
- I spent 10 days hiking, panda-watching, yak-eating and Tibetan-dancing with my CIEE family. We hit every corner of the Sichuan province and we really delved into a part of Chinese culture that I previously knew nothing about. When I dream about traveling, it’s usually to commonly known places. Cities that everyone says you should see or mountains I’ve always wanted to climb. This trip showed me that the lesser known spots can be just as majestic and eye-opening.
- I returned to the big city with my weekend in Hong Kong. Appreciating the “melting pot” of cultures (and also my tiny break from mainland China).
- I day-tripped in Suzhou, the Venice of China. Spending a serene afternoon in the gardens and shopping my heart out in the street market.
But, most importantly, I got to really know Nanjing. This is MY city. If I had been in a place where travel had been easier or a bigger more bustling center, I might not have had the opportunity to really bond with my city. I am so very lucky to have been able to create the home that I have. I can’t believe how much I’ll miss it.
Like most of the people I know in the States, I don’t think of Jordan as a prime vacation spot. Sure, there’s a really cool desert with some good hiking and camping, but the U.S. West has the Grand Canyon. There is one beach resort town, but beaches aren’t the first thing I think of when I think of Jordan. And there are always a few crazies, like me, who come here for some noble reason such as studying or working in a foreign culture.
But, apparently, that is a very American mindset. Since I’ve been here, I have met plenty of Europeans who view this region as their ideal vacation. The brightly painted “Bedouin Garden Inn” hostel in Aqaba, Jordan’s resort town, was full of Germans, British and Israelis this past weekend. Most were on extended vacations through the south of Jordan, some planning to continue on to Israel, others to head up north. They braved the cold desert nights for Aqaba’s scuba diving and Wadi Rum’s desert climbing and camping opportunities.
The few times I traveled in the past, I stayed in nice, private, anonymous hotels. It was a given that I wouldn’t meet other vacationers, and I didn’t want to. I explored where I wanted to, and spent my down-time reading or watching T.V. and relaxing.
But there is a totally different type of traveling, one that makes a place such as Jordan very appealing. That is the kind where you visit a place not to see, but to do. Rather than wandering around a neighborhood to see what it is like, you visit a beach to go diving, or visit a desert to climb some cliffs. It’s easy to spend your down time meeting new people over a cup of tea.
This is the type of traveling I got to experience this past weekend in Aqaba, short though it was. The colorfully landscaped hostel had plenty of outdoor seating—and Bedouin tea, of course—in the assumption that lodgers would want to spend their evenings meeting each other. It wasn’t abnormal that I took my scuba diving class without anyone I knew, and that we were all terrified to try breathing under water together. We bonded easily over how nice it was to get away from the cold and rain of Amman. It wasn’t strange that my friend’s brother, who had just spent a week exploring the desert by himself, introduced us to the traveling partners he had found.
There is something about spending your free time sitting and talking over a cup of tea (or Nescafe) that is very Arab. Arabs frown on spending too much time alone, and I have always gotten weird looks when I go to a café to do homework alone. But then, there is something very American about looking forward to relaxing alone with a good book.
I have already brought up a couple of different times the fact that my experience in Buenos Aires has been completely different from my expectations. If someone said Argentina to me five months ago, it was another word for exotic. Especially after my previous trips in places like Mexico and Jamaica, I was expecting to find the polar opposite of my own world.
But the more I see and learn and encounter, the more it becomes clear to me that finding exoticism is not the point. I am in a region of the world that is so diverse and filled with extremes of every kind. Yes, I happen to be in an crowded urban city right now instead of in a hut in the Amazon, but there are so many levels of culture all around me. And I have a feeling that my time in Buenos Aires is part of a bigger destiny to meet the cultures in every part of the region as I continue down this path.
The people of Latin America may be spread out across wide expanses of land, and they may foster distinct and specific cultures from nation to nation, but they are also united by an indescribable passion and spirit that runs throughout. They have a common history, a common language, a connection with the land, a vibrancy, a spice, roots that run deep and a fire that burns stronger than any other culture I know.
There has always been a richness and seductiveness, a mysticism, an ancientness, an anguish and profound love that is irresistible. For years I have admired the writing of Gabriel García Márquez because his tales of Latin America blend reality with the magical. It is fantasy in so many ways, but at the same time I get it: Experiencing Latin America requires feeling a spark of that magic, an allure to a way of life that is rich even in poverty, happy in despair, and continues to believe in spells cast by ancient peoples lifetimes ago.
In “One Hundred Years of Solitude”, García Márquez describes incredible things happening, like the spread of a plague of insomnia throughout a pueblo, or the arrival of gypsies and alchemists to a secluded village. In his world, there is something in the air and the water that affects every person and persists from generation to generation. I believe I have felt it. My father began an adventure to Central America decades ago that made him fall in love with the culture. That passion has been infectious and I, in turn, have inherited the desire to come to this corner of the world in search of something I can’t quite put my finger on.
A couple of days ago I was reading one of the city’s newspapers and came across an article about a recent music video by Calle 13 called Latinoamérica. Although the group is originally from Puerto Rico, the members have shed that label in an attempt to represent the region as a whole. This particular song is a call to all people from the North of Mexico, to the jungles of Central America, to the islands of the Caribbean, to the arid Andes, to the Brazilian slums, down to frozen Southern Cone to embrace the identity of being Latin American.
It is a musical mural demonstrating that each nation’s pain and passion is one and the same. The main singer reiterates, “soy latinoamérica” – “I am Latin America” – in an anthem uniting all. I have only recently been turned on to Calle 13, but the hypnotic melodies and images that they put out there continue to feed my ever-growing spark of obsession with this land and this heritage. Take a look and see what you think:
I know there is no way to ever fully learn the secrets of a foreign culture, but if I could somehow adopt a new one as my own, it would be this one. It feels strange trying to write about all of this here in a neatly typed format, and with an unknown audience reading my personal thoughts. Part of me feels like I should be drawing it in sand or spray painting it across the streets or making a scene out of it in a painted tin shadow box. Nevertheless, here it is.
It’s officially November. Thus, it’s officially my last month in Buenos Aires. I genuinely can’t believe how fast the time has passed! When I arrived here at the end of July, the four whole months that lay before me seemed like plenty of time to enjoy the city and travel as much as I wanted. However, my ill-informed faith in the slow passage of time has had to face the reality of attending actual classes and logging internship hours. Now, as I sit staring at my iCal, all I can think about is how quickly my youth is vanishing.
Just kidding—I’m not feeling that dramatic, but I am definitely feeling the pressure to cram as many experiences as possible into these last four weeks. When I told my internship supervisor that my last day at work would be in less than three weeks, even he commented that the semester has seemed to fly by. Before the end of the month, I’ll have to take finals, finish some projects for whatsupbuenosaires.com, plan my post-semester travels and remember to appreciate everything I’ll be leaving behind when I board my plane to the U.S. on December 5th.
My friend Nolan—who has been aiming for a shout-out in this blog for quite some time—has drafted his own “bucket list” of places throughout the city he’d like to visit before he departs. Although he’s made an impressive dent in it so far, I don’t think I’ll be following suit, as I think writing down all my remaining goals would be just a bit too overwhelming. I’ve accepted that I won’t be seeing every corner of Argentina—or even of Buenos Aires—and I’ve decided to adopt the philosophy that as long as I’m enjoying each day here, then I’m still taking advantage of the mythical “study abroad experience.”
Nonetheless, I have made an active effort to spend as little time in my room as possible. Over the last few weeks, I’ve used every free hour I’ve had to try to abolish any “I-haven’t-been-there-yet-but-I-want-to-go” moments. No more Sunday afternoons with Hulu. It’s crunch time.
Great article!
