(I wrote this column for the CSB/SJU Record)
Studying abroad is like cooking vegetable soup.
We gather our ingredients, boil them together and anticipate success.
Forget to add the right spice though, and we risk a dull flavor. Arrive with exaggerated expectations and we risk the disappointment of mediocre soup.
I arrived on the Greek island of Paros last September weighed down with only a red suitcase and jet lag.
Thrilled to be a Mediterranean castaway, I was like Goldilocks meets Robinson Crusoe.
As our boat pulled into harbor and we saw our island for the first time, I vowed to exercise my taste buds. Like every good soup, this experience has sometimes been too hot, sometimes too cold, but with patience and a dash of humor, it has sometimes tasted just right.
Here’s a bowl and spoon.
Try the soup yourself.
Don’t be alarmed if you taste disillusionment. That can be the most overpowering ingredient.
In the past nine weeks, I’ve learned ten Greek words. Nobody looks twice when I speak English.
The city where I live, Paroikia, is a tourist destination and the local culture has been permeated by backpackers on vacation. Disillusionment is the bitter flavor of tourist shops crowding pristine water front. The paved road where I walk to school was a donkey-path fifteen years ago. I’m not sure if things are changing for better or worse, but poverty and corruption have taken their toll.
Sunshine does not equal paradise.
Now try the soup again. We can’t base this experience on a single flavor. There are large chunks of happiness floating amid the tough skin of homesickness. For variety, I’ve added red pepper and left insecurity and minor worries at home. Good riddance.
The weather is changing and our time on Paros is growing short, but I’m still hungry for hikes along the coast, sunsets dropping into the Aegean, stray dogs following me home and long afternoons click-clacking away at poetry.
In Greece I’ve learned to accept quiet moments alongside the mountain peak variety, to realize most major life lessons occur outside the classroom and to understand that while this experience has been marked with questions like: did I choose the right program and do I deserve this privilege? It’s also been complimented by the enthusiastic cheering of my inner child, relieved to find she has time here to be an artist without restraint.
It’s a delicious feeling.
If you plan to leave the country soon, travel light and laugh often. If you’re staying home, taste your soup and ask what’s missing. It might be outside your front door or waiting three miles down the highway. At the risk of sounding cliché, I wish you safe travel wherever you go. As for myself, I have a few things left to do. Be kind to yourself. I’ll be home soon.
We gather our ingredients, boil them together and anticipate success.
Forget to add the right spice though, and we risk a dull flavor. Arrive with exaggerated expectations and we risk the disappointment of mediocre soup.
I arrived on the Greek island of Paros last September weighed down with only a red suitcase and jet lag.
Thrilled to be a Mediterranean castaway, I was like Goldilocks meets Robinson Crusoe.
As our boat pulled into harbor and we saw our island for the first time, I vowed to exercise my taste buds. Like every good soup, this experience has sometimes been too hot, sometimes too cold, but with patience and a dash of humor, it has sometimes tasted just right.
Here’s a bowl and spoon.
Try the soup yourself.
Don’t be alarmed if you taste disillusionment. That can be the most overpowering ingredient.
In the past nine weeks, I’ve learned ten Greek words. Nobody looks twice when I speak English.
The city where I live, Paroikia, is a tourist destination and the local culture has been permeated by backpackers on vacation. Disillusionment is the bitter flavor of tourist shops crowding pristine water front. The paved road where I walk to school was a donkey-path fifteen years ago. I’m not sure if things are changing for better or worse, but poverty and corruption have taken their toll.
Sunshine does not equal paradise.
Now try the soup again. We can’t base this experience on a single flavor. There are large chunks of happiness floating amid the tough skin of homesickness. For variety, I’ve added red pepper and left insecurity and minor worries at home. Good riddance.
The weather is changing and our time on Paros is growing short, but I’m still hungry for hikes along the coast, sunsets dropping into the Aegean, stray dogs following me home and long afternoons click-clacking away at poetry.
In Greece I’ve learned to accept quiet moments alongside the mountain peak variety, to realize most major life lessons occur outside the classroom and to understand that while this experience has been marked with questions like: did I choose the right program and do I deserve this privilege? It’s also been complimented by the enthusiastic cheering of my inner child, relieved to find she has time here to be an artist without restraint.
It’s a delicious feeling.
If you plan to leave the country soon, travel light and laugh often. If you’re staying home, taste your soup and ask what’s missing. It might be outside your front door or waiting three miles down the highway. At the risk of sounding cliché, I wish you safe travel wherever you go. As for myself, I have a few things left to do. Be kind to yourself. I’ll be home soon.
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