Le mie avventure in Svizzera

In 25 hours, I can legally buy alcohol in the States

2007-05-28T22:57:00.000-07:00

And really the only thing I want is some good wine. Thanks to my parents, I can get that anyway whenever I please, and they have good taste. I still don't like beer, even after spending 4 months near Germany, and I guess the 2 margaritas I had at the Italian-Mexican restaurant in Lugano were decent. I wouldn't want them very often though. But then again, alcohol in general is something I really only drink on occasion, at dinner parties and such.

I'm in San Diego right now for Memorial Day, visiting my dear friends who are still here studying, and it still feels weird that I'm already finished with the school year. Watching Amy and Margret study makes me feel like there must be something I should be doing, but there isn't. Not yet at least. I have an intense 4 weeks of summer school coming up in about a month, so that will make up for now. And when I fly back to Eugene on my birthday, I'm tempted to buy a glass of wine on the plane, just because I can. Though it will be kind of early. I'm not sure...

I want some of Jo and Amy's recipes, I've decided. I've eaten way too many of Amy's snickerdoodles since she baked them last night. And we went to Jo's apartment last night for tofu fajitas that were undoubtedly awesome. And now I'm eating spinach nuggets and watching Hitch in Amy's living room. This weekend has been incredibly fun. I'm happy. And I'm remembering just why I decided to go to school 1,000 miles away from home, and how I can see that I'm in the right place right now. I'll write more later.

Pondering sexual frustration over a cup (or 3) of tea

2007-05-19T19:24:00.000-07:00

So here I am, back in Eugene, on my bed with my cat Huey with a gorgeous view of Fern Ridge reservoir and trying to plan my summer. I have to take a few classes, reorganize my room, and hopefully gain some insight into what I want to study in graduate school. I composed a list of goals for myself for the summer, including creating a better fitness routine, practicing the languages, and spending plenty of quality time with my family and friends here. I also included, though, finding a date for Rachel's wedding.

Coming home has reminded me yet again that one of my best friends from middle and high school is indeed getting married in a few short months, as I know I need to try on my bridesmaid dress and buy the devilishly fun wedding gift I have in mind for her. It's a glaring reminder that we are indeed all growing up whether we're ready for it or not, and I haven't entirely digested that fact yet. As much as I am happy for her, it's still a little weird to think about my newly 21-year-old friend taking the giant leap into adulthood that is getting married in September.

And besides Rachel and her now fiance, my other close friends here in Oregon also have significant others, leaving me to be "the single one". The one always stuck at home with her cats while all my friends are spending time with their boyfriends or girlfriends. Not that I don't enjoy hanging out with the cats, because I love them all dearly, but sometime both parties want to do other things. It can be frustrating while trying to make plans for a weekend when everyone else already has plans with that special someone.

And my sexual frustration doesn't help the matter. I listen to my friends describe their romantic escapades and, while I generally enjoy said discussions, they remind me of that which I still don't have. I have yet to find that one guy who truly captures my interest, even as I keep the Object of My Worldly Lust in the back of my mind. I want someone who can turn me on in every conceivable way- intellectually, spiritually, and, yes, physically. I want someone eager to make his life mean something to the world, someone with a burning desire to leave this world a better place than when he arrived. Someone who can challenge me to become a more compassionate, more proactive, more well-rounded person and with a mind open enough to allow me to do the same to him.

Thus I've decided that I want a date for Rachel's wedding in September. Now I just need to meet some new people. But I don't just want to hang out in places with the sole goal of collecting phone numbers. No singles bars for me, thank you very much. I need a project, a way to improve this society, in which I work with other people. People with similar goals and interests, where I could meet someone truly exciting. Someone, though, who can also realize that sometimes it's fun to just watch the sunset with your cat and drink tea. Which I shall enjoy right now.

Of black dresses and worldly lust

2007-04-23T03:20:00.000-07:00

This past Saturday was the Travies (the Academic Travel Photo Awards ceremony, for which I was a judge) and Arabic Night (essentially food and a dance party). I wore the closest thing I have to a black dress here, a black top and skirt, with my lovely stilettos that make me nearly 6 feet tall. I didn't get to show cleavage this time, but it was slinky. Yay curves. And suddenly being really tall.

So the winners of the photo awards were a bit of a surprise to me, even though I was one of the four judges. I had voted for most of the winners, but some of my favorites weren't even finalists, and some of the finalists were pictures I had barely glanced at. And funnily enough, the photo that was a finalist taken by my friend Katey was not either of the two of hers that I had picked, and while the presenter was opening the envelope, Marissa and I were trying to decide if, should she have won, we should have gone up to accept the award for her. What would we have said? Told a story about her? About our travel experiences? But alas, it was not necessary. We miss her though, as she has returned early to the States for personal reasons.

And then there was Arabic Night, with all its good food and crazy dancing. I really had missed tabouleh and hummus. Despite the open bar, I spent the whole night drinking water, especially during the dance party. It had been a while since I had had the chance to just dance around like an idiot with other people to really loud music, and I had kind of missed it. Unfortunately, said dance party was almost entirely female, as the guys were all too entranced by the shisha tent outside (and admittedly, it was really hot in there). One of these days I want to dance with not-creepy guys that are not almost old enough to be my dad (like many of the guys you will find at clubs in Lugano).

And that brings me to, yet again, the Object of My Worldly Lust (I can't believe I'm writing this in the campus computer lab). He really needs to stop unknowingly tempting me. Stop inducing, as Amy has termed them, "homicidal barber moments" (can you tell we've seen a bit too much Monty Python?), though instead of me wanting to kill him, I want to, as Amy put it, "jump his bones". Really, I wish I could turn off the sex drive when I don't need it. But then again, would I really feel like myself without it? Would I still be human if I could perfectly control myself, with no unexpected urges? Alas, it's not going anywhere, and neither is the latest object of my earthly desires.

So why is he only "the Object of My Worldly Lust", you might ask, as opposed to "The Guy I Like" or something along those lines? Because the only certain part of my attraction to him is sexual. I don't even know if I want the person that comes with that oh-so-attractive body. Don't get me wrong, he's not a bad guy. He has always been nice to me, but there is some not-entirely-known element that keeps me from falling headfirst for him. Are we just too different? Do I want someone more like me, someone who can appreciate good vegetarian cuisine, speak multiple languages, and captivate me with his brilliant wit and vision for a better world? A fellow liberal, compassionate, sexually attuned Christian also trying to make that decision of how to go about changing the world? Not that this necessarily excludes the Object of My Worldly Lust. I honestly don't know.

Lord, grant me clarity and some sort of resolution. Help me to see him for the person he really is, not just the Object of My Worldly Lust. We both need it.

Exposing myself in Barcelona

2007-04-11T14:47:00.000-07:00

And no, I don't mean any sort of public nudity. I did not physically expose myself while visiting my friend Irene from UCSD in her European home of Barcelona, where she has been studying for the year. I can honestly say I had one of my best European experiences this past weekend while visiting her, between going to her church there, meeting some of her friends, and seeing a few of the city's most famous sights. I haven't felt so comfortable yet so vulnerable in quite a while, and it was kind of refreshing and cathartic.

It wasn't until I met the customs agent in Barcelona airport that I realized how automatic the Italian language has become in my brain. When he looked through my passport, he came across my stamps from crossing the Switzerland-Italy border at Chiasso, at which point I mentioned that I was studying in Switzerland. I was quite surprised that he asked to see my Swiss residence permit, but I assume he was just curious as he just glanced over it and handed it back to me. Then, while taking the metro with Irene, a machine ate my ticket, and I asked for help from the attendant...in Italian. However, as the weekend progressed, my Spanish became more pure, especially when I met Irene's friends from her church. I was kind of impressed with myself: I was able to communicate more or less effectively and follow all of their conversations. Not knowing their inside jokes, my participation in their conversations was somewhat limited unless they were addressing me directly. However, it's nice to know that I can still speak Spanish.

But more than anything, this Easter weekend would prove to be more of a spiritual experience than anything. It began on Sunday morning, when Irene and I went to the service at the church she has been attending during her year abroad. It felt much like a modern evangelical Protestant church in the States, much like an IV large group. The people were nice, the music was of a similar style, and the pastor that gave the sermon reminded me of a Spanish Ryan Pfeiffer. It also was interesting being able to take communion for the first time in my life, after my past in Catholic high school. At a Catholic Mass, you must be Catholic in order to take communion, so I'm accustomed to just proceeding to the altar with one hand over my heart to ask for a blessing. But this time, I was able actually partake of the offering. I guess that's one nice thing about us Protestants, though I still have my respect for Catholicism.

The best part of it however was being told, yet again, by Jose Luis, the guy who gave the sermon, that I really shouldn't worry so much. As he said to all of us, worrying really isn't healthy, and I guess that really is God's way of telling us not to worry so much and trust God more. Many of the things we worry about really are out of our control, and wallowing in misery really doesn't solve anything. Reminds me how therapeutic prayer is, offering my concerns to God even if it is hard for me admit that there are many times when I have no control. As Irene and I discussed last night after I returned to my apartment in Lugano, it really is easier to trust God with our eternal destiny than with pressing concerns in the present. Worrying is easy, but learning to trust and admitting that sometimes all you can do is pray ultimately is more productive.

My most revelatory moments came though in my late night conversations with Irene over a few glasses of cava and sangria. I guess the alcohol may have been a factor in my willingness to offer numerous testaments to my weaknesses, but I blame it more on my comfort with Irene. It was cathartic to admit to such things as having an Object of my Worldly Lust (don't get too excited, Mom) and that I may harbor a certain bitterness toward certain people from my past (especially middle and high school, as my current dear friends that I met during those times probably can understand). I basically unveiled all of my imperfections for Irene, and fortunately she didn't run away screaming. Sometimes it's hard for me to admit that I am incapable of perfection, but at the same time I'm thankful for Irene's affirmations that being unabashedly me is still a good thing. And I can certainly say the same things about her. Thank you again, Irene.

And another thing I learned: such lowering of inhibitions can also result in sending facebook messages to said Object of my Worldly Lust... should be interesting...

Things I Find Amusing Today

2007-04-06T02:49:00.000-07:00

The weather here in Lugano is quite gorgeous today. Sunny, warm, and I'm wearing a brown tank top. It's the day before the last of our 2 3-day weekends we get here at Franklin College, so my classes have all been missing at least 5 people today. Granted, it's not like I'll be any better, as I'm skipping the Tuesday after our free Monday in order to fly back to Lugano from Barcelona, where I will be visiting my friend Irene from UCSD. I leave tomorrow morning. Should be fun.

So, for funny things. I begin to read God's Politics this morning, my favorite progressive Christian blog, and realized the Beliefnet put some really funny ads on their page today. What made them so funny, you might ask? Well, the first one was advertising the latest installment in the Left Behind series of novels, those often-lampooned apocalypse tales that have spawned a strange fascination with the Rapture theory, which many Christians of various traditions don't believe anyway, and the first Christian first person shooter video game. Fortunately for all of us, as the advertisment graciously told me, this is the last novel in the series. Thank you, Dear Lord.

And then, a little further down the page, as I was reading Diana Butler Bass's reflection on the Resurrection, I see Joel Osteen, of Texan megachurch fame, posing with a blonde woman I'm assuming is his wife, baring his signature, goofy, too white to be real smile. The ad is inviting me to spend "An Evening with Joel Osteen- Coming to a city near you!". Goody. Yay me. I have the opportunity to hear the face of the prosperity gospel tell me all about how to live "my best life now" and probably allow some second-rate worship band play a few songs while his loyal followers raise their hands and sway and possibly break into tears. Oh evangelical megachurches and the culture they have spawned. And then there is the wife, the stereotypical fake-blonde televangelist wife whose purpose seems to be to look pretty and possibly sing some mushy worship song and rave about how wonderful her husband is. And maybe appeal to other evangelical wives trying to fulfill that term that is oh-so-trendy right now: "helpmeet" to their husbands. Can you tell I'm not a huge fan of complementarianism?

In other news, I'm in the Franklin computer lab, and the computer next to me isn't letting anyone log on. It claims that it doesn't recognize your account information. I say it's just throwing a tantrum today. I'm also in the process of writing a more provocative entry with a particularly provocative title. I'll get to finishing that when I'm done eating lunch, going to my Italian conversation class, and frolicking in today's sun.

Musee Cluny- Roman Baths and Medieval Art

2007-03-28T03:20:00.000-07:00

The exhibits in Musee Cluny encompass the primary characteristics of Medieval Europe- Catholicism, nobility, and low life expectancy. From pieces of broken statues from the original construction of Notre Dame to tapestries of noble families, this museum lended support to popular portrayals of the Middle Ages.

The most renowned exhibit at Cluny is a collection of tapestries called "La dame a la licorne", or "The Woman with the Unicorn". A teenaged princess sits among her slightly anthropomorphized animal companions, like a scene from a Disney movie, and in each tapestry they try to convey one of the five physical senses. The animals were cute, but the most impressive thing about these tapestries how much work must have been required to make them and how well they were preserved. Maybe the colors were slightly faded, but that was the only noticeable wear.

Another impressive exhibit consisted of a collection of handwritten pages from books, complete with illuminations. While admiring the calligraphy and detailed pictures, I could imagine a monk locked in his chamber copying texts day in and day out. Hand copies made by monks was how texts were printed in that era, and seeing samples made me appreciate the work that went into making the few books that were available at the time. That also partly explains the low literacy rates in Medieval France and thus the prevalence of visual depictions of stories and ideas in tapestry and stained glass.

Religion was perhaps the most important ideological force in Medieval France, and the collection of stained glass windows and broken statues from Notre Dame conveyed this. These pieces of art were often the only way most parishioners learned Bible stories, given abysmally low literacy rates. With the help of labels, I could recognize a number of the stories partrayed in the selection of windows, though I mostly admired them for their vibrant colors. Religious motifs were also used in the coffins and tombstones displayed in the museum. Death was a prevalent theme, though portrayals of the crucifixion of Jesus were the only mentions of bloody death.

Hearkening to an even earlier period were the Roman baths that formed the museum's courtyard, and the thought of standing in a Roman public space was formidable. Like the other exhibits in the Musee Cluny, the most impressive aspect is how well everything has been preserved. Being in the presence of artifacts that are so old amazes me still, especially that their physical beauty is still more or less fully intact. I first studied the Medieval period as a second grader in Eugene, Oregon, and it was amazing to see firsthand the sources of the picture of medieval life we examined, to know that there is evidence to support it.

Protesting in the Streets of Paris

2007-03-27T12:48:00.000-07:00

I never had the opportunity to climb the hill in Montmartre to see the Basilica of Sacre-Coeur, but I did see it from the fifth floor of Musee d'Orsay. I have to agree though that it is not a particularly beautiful building. Striking it is, and it's not ugly, but it's not beautiful in the sense that most ostentatious churches built with similar motives are. It's presence, though, as this big white building on a hill overlooking the city is an effective symbol of repressing protest, something that is central to Paris' reputation.

The Basilica was built in response to the rise of the Paris Commune of 1871 over those in power at the time, no longer just the nobility but the bourgeois class. This bloody struggle, on the part of both sides, included both sides executing their opponents, much like the Jacobins during the French Revolution of 1789. The Commune was the first instance of class warfare as we know it today, as the working class, following a socialist platform, briefly seized control of Paris and attempted to destroy symbols of the old order, such as the Vendome Column.

Thus when the Commune fell, the bourgeoisie allied with the Catholic Church, that eternal symbol of old order in France, to construct something to assert their power. The hill of Montmartre was a place of martyrdom for both sides, notably two police officers trying to quell a working class uprising and not too far away, in Pere Lachaise cemetery, the last of the Commune leaders fell victim to a firing squad. The French monarchy had long flirted with a devotion to the Sacred Heart, vowing to erect a monument like Sacre-Coeur after times of hardship, but now this was to become a reality. The Basilica was finally consecrated shortly after World War I and stands today as an imposing symbol of order over an often unruly city.

However, the presence of Sacre-Coeur has hardly discouraged protest in the city of Paris. On our last day, walking through the Place de la Sorbonne, we encountered a protest led by CGT, France's largest confederation of labor unions. Like the Commune once did, CGT rallies for the interests of the working class, though unfortunately I do not know exactly what prompted this particular protest. I remembered, while watching people carrying banners down la Rue de Victor Cousin and chanting "21, 53" (I don't know the significance of these numbers), that CGT was responsible for the strike at the Bastille Opera that resulted in our ballet being cancelled. However, despite that disappointment, I do not know enough abut French labor politics to know whether I sympathize with their concerns.

Walking past the Sorbonne, France's most prestigious university, every day, I was not surprised that it would be a popular location for protests. Universities have long had a reputation as hotbeds of new and controversial ideologies, and the Sorbonne is no exception. Counting among its alumni many of France's major thinkers, from Voltaire to Moliere to Victor Hugo, whose names are also displayed on the roof of the Sorbonne metro station. It was a funny coincidence that the day after Prof. Silver gave us a mini-lecture about the Paris Commune and Paris' reputation for protest, we see protestors marching past the Sorbonne. It actually reminded me a bit of Eugene, and the University of Oregon having a similar reputation, though it had been a while since I had witnessed a particularly big protest.

Musee Carnavalet and Conciergerie- La Revolution Francaise

2007-03-27T11:55:00.000-07:00

It was the revolution that would come to inspire countless others in just about every corner of the globe. After the commoners realized that those in power were not willing to concede their positions, they decided to overthrow the Ancien Regime, beginning with the Storming of the Bastille, which was more symbolic than anything as there were very few political prisoners on July 14th, 1789. The concentration of power into the hands of the aristocracy and the clergy permeated nearly every area of life in pre-Revolutionary France, including the Estates-General, where the clergy, the aristocracy, and the commoners each received a vote, clearly stacking the odds against the common people. The nobles tried to appease them by allowing them twice as many representatives, but this was a hollow offer, as the number of votes did not change.

Thus the Revolutionaries began to create their new order. The Conciergerie, on Ile de la Cite, was their main prison, where Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI were held before losing their heads to the guillotine in Place de la Concorde. The building now has become a museum devoted to this, with the main attraction being a reconstruction of Marie Antoinette's prison cell. Original locks and weapons are also on display, but overall it was a bit of a disappointment. The cell reconstructions feel a bit Disneyland-like, complete with dummies, and most of the pictures and documents referred to in copies are actually on display at Musee Carnavalet. The completely random exhibit about Armenian history was interesting, as I know very little about the subject, but the only thing that particularly struck me about the Conciergerie was looking around and imagining it during Robespierre's Reign of Terror, filled with countless aristocrats (and other opponents of the Jacobins) soon to meet their end at the guillotine.

The Musee Carnavalet showed a less violent side of the French Revolution. The museum presents an approximately 500-year chronology of Parisian history, from the building's origin as a palace through the Revolution and beyond. The reconstructed manor rooms were similar to those in the Loire castles, so the exhibit about the Revolution was more interesting. Large copies of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen adorned one wall, with portraits of Robespierre and other leaders of the Revolution on others, alongside depictions of such events as the Storming of the Bastille. This exhibit is more favorable toward the Revolutionaries, though not without the occasional painting of a brutal execution. It was also interesting to see examples of the outlawed large signs once displayed by shops along Rue Mouffetard and other examples of 19th and 20th Century Parisian life.

On the Palais Justice, to which the Conciergerie is attached, is engraved the national motto that was born of the French Revolution: "Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité". Utilizing tenets of Social Contract Theory, the Revolutionaries forever changed the balance of power in France and inspired many a later revolution. These ideals were implemented, but it came at a violent price, and Revolutionary leaders were not immune to their own thirsts for power either. However, they planted those three words that define Western democratic ideals to this day.

Musee d'Orsay- Sex and Impressionism

2007-03-27T04:17:00.000-07:00

I must say I preferred the Musee d'Orsay to the Louvre. There were not as many pieces of art stuffed into each room, so it was easier to enjoy what was there. Of course the Impressionism exhibits, the museum's most famous works, were impressive. Seeing the original paintings that are so often copied for posters, purses, and just about everything imaginable was quite enjoyable. The vibrant colors of Monet's water lilies and Van Gogh's sunflowers are a visual treat, and I never knew that many of Degas' depictions of ballet dancers were done in pastels. The works in Orsay are not so much the products of thievery, and the museum does not quite have the same infamy as its neighbor across the Seine.

However, the works displayed in Musee d'Orsay show a transition in sexual attitudes that occurred over the Nineteenth Century. Female sexuality is still the most blatantly displayed, such as a painting we saw and nicknamed "Every (Straight) Man's Dream": a man dressed in an elaborate suit of armor charging into battle on a horse with a naked woman clinging to him. The Louvre was similar, with female nudity in a large portion of the French and Italian paintings. However, it was not until visiting Orsay that I saw male nudity outside of the traditional statues of naked soldiers brandishing swords, where male sexuality is directly correlated with physical power. Many post-Impressionist works displayed nude men not fighting but celebrating, sometimes with naked women and other times in vaguely homoerotic situations. The most memorable for me was a depiction of the Last Supper in which the apostles are all nude and embracing each other, in an otherwise completely platonic fashion. However, the feminization of many of their features showed a continued bias toward sexualizing the Female more than the Male, so sexual power was still not equally shared though progress was made.

According to John Baxter in his book, Orsay, after its use as a train station, became a theater for experimental plays, many of which were not all that well received. As a museum, it shows the transition between the traditional depictions of male and female sexuality as shown in the Louvre with the experimental sexuality of the expatriate authors of the 1920s. Nathalie Clifford Barney's trendy lesbianism would have been unthinkable without the cultural shift indicated by these works of art. The Musee d'Orsay provides an invaluable link between traditional Western Europe and the Paris that was a haven for eccentric authors and artists during the early Twentieth Century.

The Louvre- Historic Art and Noble Thieves

2007-03-26T14:27:00.001-07:00

The Louvre, the art museum made famous in modern times by the rather underwhelming Mona Lisa and The Da Vinci Code, is indeed "one of the most elaborate paradoxes in the world of architecture" (68). Once a magnificent palace, it still maintains its seventeenth century exterior, with its intricate carvings, and some of the beautifully painted ceilings common in such other palaces as Versailles. These ceilings are actually more impressive than some of the paintings showcased in the museum, but then again, some of the rooms have so many works of art crammed into them that it is difficult to really appreciate many of them. Other parts of the Louvre, however, contrast starkly with its palatial past, from the glass pyramid outside to the more recently redesigned parts inside, with some walls having about as much character as the walls of my dorm room and the entry resembling the center of a shopping mall.

With the exception of certain rooms, the history of the Louvre as a royal palace with its ballets and extravagant parties is practically invisible. However, its present incarnation as an art gallery reflects the many individuals that contributed, over a few centuries, to adding to it and redefining it, with "no one consecutive intention behind the builders' activities" (73). In fact, the most fascinating exhibits are those completely incongruous with the museum's location. The artifacts from Ancient Egypt were impressive because of their age and that some of the texts had attempts at French translations beside them. The Middle East exhibit was also fun to see, giving a picture of a completely different civilization that grew parallel to, and sometimes faster than, Western Europe. These exhibits were also more enjoyable because they were not as overcrowded.

However, I also realized that the reason artifacts from Egypt, the Arabian Peninsula, and other European countries were gathered in the Louvre was due to Napoleon I and his armies stealing things from the places they conquered. The military ethic of "the man who won the war won the art as well" provided the present-day Louvre with many of its most interesting exhibits, and Napoleon and Vivant Denon exploited this as much as they possibly could. Granted, Napoleon had plenty of things stolen from him at the Louvre as well, but his own thievery has had a further-reaching impact. Some of his bounty has been returned to its respective countries of origin, but it is hard not to enjoy what remains in the Louvre, even if it was acquired through now grossly illegal means.

Versailles- The Tribute to Louis XIV's Ego and Paranoia

2007-03-26T14:26:00.001-07:00

After watching members of his family be brutally murdered by unhappy aristocrats, Louis XIV developed a deep fear of insurrection. His paranoia extended to the entire city of Paris, long a hotbed of political protest. Therefore, he decided to move himself and all of France's aristocrats to a grandiose estate at Versailles, just less than 20 kilometers outside of Paris proper, and bankrupted France in the process. He tried to appease the Parisians, unhappy that he had used over half the national budget on his grandiose palace, by ordering another building project, that of another bridge over the Seine.

Louis XIV was the epitome of the absolutist monarch, and his palace reflects the tenets of absolutism quite nicely. The royal bedchamber is right in the middle, and outside it is a clock on the shape of a sun, his personal symbol. The sun was just discovered by Copernicus to be the center of the Solar System, just as Louis XIV believed himself to be the center of France, the entity around which everyone and everything else orbited. The ceilings are ornately decorated, and larger than life portraits of the Sun King adorn numerous staircases, mantles, and random wall spaces. Like in the castles of the Loire, the king's initials are carved into the ceilings on the lower level.

The unbelievably large palace was designed to house all of France's aristocrats, so that Louis XIV could monitor them for any signs of subversive activity. Exploring the ornate parlors and bedchambers, I could easily imagine the Sun King calling his lower nobles and servants to attend to his every need, from the political to such personal tasks as dressing him. Walking through the maze-like gardens and the orangerie, I could imagine the thousands of people who inhabited the seemingly never-ending building and who also walked among these trees. Versailles functions as a monument to absolutism and to Louis XIV himself. It displays both his ego and his paranoia, as he had to be the constant center attention and monitor of all. As it says on the facade of the main palace, it is dediciated to "toutes les gloires de la France", which the Sun King truly believed to be the fruits of his reign.

Chateaux of the Loire Valley- Living as Nobles Before the Revolution

2007-03-26T12:50:00.000-07:00

"S'il vient a point, me souviendra"= "If [the castle] is finished, I will be remembered". This quotation from Thomas Bohier, a royal official who oversaw the construction of the castle of Chenonceau between 1515 and 1521, is carved into a mantle piece in said castle and aptly describes how well the legacy of France's pre-Revolutionary nobility has been preserved in the Loire Valley.

The history of Chenonceau is rife with drama, and the events that took place within its walls would have been the subjects of sixteenth and seventeenth century tabloids, if such things had existed. King Henri II gave the castle to his favorite mistress, Diane de Poitiers, in 1547, and portraits of her still adorn her old bedroom. However, once the king died, his wife, the headstrong Catherine de Medici, took over Chenonceau and ordered de Poitiers to leave. This triangle can also be seen in carvings in some of the ceilings, where technically a C and an H are entwined, for Catherine and Henri, but their placement makes the C look like a D. Chenonceau was the site of many a lavish royal party and probably its fair share of controversy. Later, Louise de Lorraine, wife of King Henri III, inherited the castle and never left upon hearing of her husband's death. Her bedroom was painted all in black and she reportedly never wore anything but her white mourning clothes for the rest of her life.

Amboise was the permanent residence of Catherine de Medici and Henri II and was the only officially royal castle we visited. A small part of the interior has been reconstructed and furnished like the rooms at Chenonceau, but the most impressive part was the small chapel sitting in front of the castle. As the official royal home and the place where royal children were raised, Amboise does not have the same tawdry history as Chenonceau, and its most prominent feature is the influence of the Italian intellectuals invited by the French court to work there. The gardens are credited to an Italian priest, and the Chapel of Saint Hubert contains a memorial to Leonardo da Vinci, who spent his last years at Amboise. Whether he is actually buried under the chapel, I cannot know for sure, but the bilingual memorial (in French and Italian) was the most memorable feature of the visit.

From the outside, Chambord is spectacular, with its many towers and ornate decorations on the roof. It is somewhat of a maze, and we climbed all of the spiral staircases we could find and barely knew where we were half of the time. It seemed, however, that the restoration taking place had prompted the removal of many of the exhibits, making the castle feel kind of empty. The one obvious feature though was it use as a hunting lodge for Francois I. His initials adorn many of the walls, and many of the exhibits that were available featured weapons and tapestries displaying bloody animal carcasses. There was even this one really strange room where all there was was a projected image of trees and a soundtrack of howling dogs playing. No one could figure out the significance of that exhibit.

Cheverny is the smallest castle we visited, and it had a distinctly Victorian-seeming air to it, as opposed to the earlier centuries evoked in the others. The inclusion of memoirs and pictures of the family currently owning it made it feel a bit more modern than the others, as the exhibits seemed to encompass a wide span of the castle's history. It was never really used by the French royalty and feels more like a noble manor than the other castles, both in its layout and the content of the rooms. The exterior contributes to this as well, being less ornate and ostentatious than the others.

These large monuments have preserved nicely the legacy of the pre-Revolutionary aristocracy in the Loire Valley, but there is little evidence of the lower social classes from that era. Unable to afford the fortified homes of the nobility, their homes and workplaces have probably been long destroyed. The only trace I could find was a sign pointing toward Les Ormeaux, a town mentioned in George Sand's La mare au diable as where the poor farmhand Marie must go to make some money to support her mother. The vast difference in wealth illustrated here allows me to understand the discontent of the lower classes that led to the French Revolution.

Notre Dame and Chartres- The Grandeur of Holy Places

2007-03-26T11:50:00.000-07:00

Gothic cathedrals are impressive structures. The flying buttresses, the colorful stained glass, and the intricate detail of the figures carved into their sides are visually stunning, and one cannot help but think of the years of labor their construction required while admiring them. The architects designed them to focus one's gaze upward, toward God and Heaven, and I understand how they parallel the beauty and grandeur that is God. In accordance with the tenets of medieval Catholicism, the imposing cathedrals make you feel small, much as the average French Catholic felt in comparison to the far-reaching power of the Church and, by extension, God. The Masses during much of these cathedrals' existence was performed by a priest who faced away from the congregation, reciting prayers and scripture verses in Latin, a language their parishioners would barely understand. Unless a member of the upper classes, an average parishioner would be lucky to even receive bread at Communion. Thus the vast majority of the attendees on a given Sunday would feel quite small indeed in these large places.

Standing outside Notre Dame, one such French Catholic that came to my mind is Victor Hugo's famous fictional hunchback Quasimodo. However, it was difficult to truly imagine the lonely hunchback ringing the church bells amid the hordes of tourists clamoring about the cathedral. The restoration that Victor Hugo, among other prominent figures of nineteenth century Paris, fought for is admittedly impressive, and one cannot deny Notre Dame's historical importance as the site for many a royal wedding and funeral, such as the wedding of Napoleon III and the funeral of Philip V of Spain. However, it was not until watching for a moment the Mass taking place, despite the eager tourists and their cameras, that I could even remotely get a sense of why an author in our reading packet deemed Notre Dame "a family church with all France for its family" (246). There I saw the cathedral as still a living entity, still a "meeting place," and I found myself wishing I could slip into the congregation and experience that for myself. However, what could I possibly expect from a place so famous in the middle of the day besides throngs of tourists and the corresponding atmosphere?

I had a very different experience at Chartres. Away from the activity of the city, the town was peaceful and the cathedral was, fortunately, not a second-rate Notre Dame. Standing inside the cathedral was made all the more impressive knowing that the stained glass and the facades are all the originals from its construction in the Thirteenth Century. Exploring the altars and stained glass windows was more enjoyable without the crowds from Notre Dame, as I could get a better sense of the place's holiness. It captures well the grandeur and power of God in its own material beauty, and I could imagine myself a parishioner sitting in a pew and admiring this thing so much larger and more impressive than myself, just as its designers intended.

However, I cannot allow myself to fall into the ideological trap that claimed much of the medieval Catholic Church. Clergy members borrowed some of the philosophy of their royal benefactors, making these cathedrals not just as testaments to God's grandeur but to the magnitude of their own power. Just because a building is grandiose, visually stunning, and costly (both in money in labor) does not make it a holier place. In fact, Jesus was, in many ways, the exact opposite of an ostentatious Gothic cathedral- a humble carpenter who exhorted his followers to serve others unselfishly and maintained an unassuming presence. It would be a mistake to believe that grandeur translates into holiness, that Notre Dame or Chartres are any more holy than a small church in Oregon or an organization devoted to helping the disenfranchised members of the community. Visually stunning Gothic cathedrals have their place as historical monuments and impressive houses of worship, but they are not the utmost representation of the God they proclaim.

The Seine- The River that Unifies Paris

2007-03-26T03:06:00.000-07:00

So, here is the first entry from the travel journal I must submit to my professor for Academic Travel, and thus the first installment in my Reflections on Paris series. Enjoy!

I discovered the prominence, almost omnipresence, of the River Seine during our walking tour on our first morning in Paris. It divides the city nearly in half down the middle, and it would become the most helpful landmark for navigation while walking around the city. When we finished our tour in front of the Place des Vosges, we figured that, in order to return to our hotel eventually, we needed to head toward, and then cross, the Seine. This strategy proved effective, and would continue to be so throughout our stay. We found the Louvre by locating it across the river and found our way back from the Musee Carnavalet in the same manner, despite not knowing any of the necessary street names.

The River Seine is perhaps the best symbol of Paris for the visitor, even moreso than the Eiffel Tower. The Eiffel Tower sits to the side in the Eighth arrondisement and required a deliberate metro journey from our hotel. However, the Seine was always there. Even on the metro, when we did not necessarily use it to navigate, the symbol was still everywhere we looked, as its path is an integral part of the Transportation Department's logo.

Even in Roman times, the city was centered around the River and then grew outward, as shown in how the current arrondisements are numbered and how most of the historical attractions are, if not on the River, near it. As our boat tour that first night cruised up and down the Seine, our guide was able to point out nearly 75% of Paris's famous landmarks, from the Eiffel Tower to the former palace and prision known as the Conciergerie.

From the first few readings in the course packet, I learned that the juxtaposition of beauty and carnage is a central theme to Parisian history, and perhaps nothing embodies this better than the Seine. As I sat on our boat admiring how the Eiffel Tower's lights sparkled on the water, I also remembered learning in a French class back at UCSD that in 1961, the Parisian chief of police ordered the drowning of numerous Algerian immigrants peacefully protesting French colonial rule nearby. During the day, I admired the souvenirs and used books the bouquinistes sell to tourists walking along the River and seconds later, noticed the homeless men and women sleeping in tents on its banks.

Walking along Rue Mouffetard during the same initial walking tour provoked similar thoughts, thanks to the provided text I had read days before. Shops have operated there for centuries, and the vendors with their colorful fruits and tempting cheeses continue this tradition into the present. However, I also could not help but remember the gruesome stories the author mentioned. The most haunting reportedly occured behind those very shopfronts, as a barber and a butcher a couple centuries ago murdered homeless teens and made a popular pates from their flesh.

The juxtaposition of life and death, beauty and misery, peace and violence, is the central tenet of the history Paris has carried with it into the present, and the omnipresent River Seine embodies this principle, and thus the entire city, better than any other landmark.

Voglio dormire...davvero

2007-03-19T04:23:00.000-07:00

It is definitely the first day back in class after a break. And all I want to do right now is walk back down the hill to my ex-brothel room and curl up in my bed. But alas, I have one more class today in 45 minutes. I'm really looking forward to 2 PM today. I can;t really complain though. Back at UCSD, I would be starting Winter Quarter finals today, whereas here, it's just class as usual. But I will still provide pictures and blog entries to give everyone study breaks (or just distract people; I know how it is).

So, my dad will hopefully arrive in Lugano on Wednesday, after a failed attempt last week. I'm excited. I miss my family, and I'm happy that I get to see at least one of them very soon. And Dad will hopefully teach me what is actually good wine here. Should be fun. Eating too much Italian food, tasting wine, staring at Lake Lugano, eating too much gelato, and all those other little delights of this little city.

I have quite a bit of writing I need to upload on here. Starting either tonight or tomorrow will be my Reflections on Paris series (also known as my travel journal that I will be turning in to my professor). So be prepared for some reading. I also have a funny original one for tonight. I now must go eat lunch and go to my last class of the day. So until later...

I'm finally done with midterms!

2007-03-02T02:52:00.000-08:00

After having my four midterms spread out over two weeks, I finally finished my last one this morning at 10:40 my time. My first one was last Monday, the day after Carnevale weekend, and of course it was for my Italian conversation class, which meant a sort of oral presentation in Italian. So I couldn't be comatose for it and thus, I spent the first of my two 3-day weekends in Lugano, wandering aimlessly around downtown. Then was my written Italian midterm that Friday, which was fine. I of course made a few stupid mistakes, but I can't complain with an A-. Then yesterday I took my Spanish midterm, and today was French. I don't feel too badly about either one, but of course I won't see the grades for a couple weeks now. But I'm still glad that I am now finished with midterms for the rest of this school year.

And that is a weird thought. I'm not used to this semester system, only having two sets of exams each year instead of three. But I can still rub it into my friends back at UCSD (and of course the U of O). In fact, this is the end of week 9 back at home, which means one more week of classes and then Winter Quarter finals. It's hard to believe that much time has already passed. I wish you all luck on your finals. If it makes you feel any better, I'll be taking my finals here around the time you all are taking your Spring midterms. And before you think I have it really easy this year, I am taking some summer classes, so I'll have some more work to compensate. I can't brag too much.

I also don't get a real Spring Break here, but what they replace it with isn't too bad. Franklin has this program called Academic Travel, a one-unit class where you go somewhere else with a professor and 25-30 other students. I'm going to Paris with a history professor (who actually did his undergrad work at UCSD), so we'll have walking tours, visit a bunch of museums, and write about all of it in a travel journal that we turn in at the end. I'm glad I didn't get one of the travel classes that has an exam or a research paper, like I know some have. It should be fun. And it will be the first real test of my French skills. I'm hoping for the best...

Wedding bells over Lake Lugano

2007-02-17T14:21:00.000-08:00

Oh February. The month of Carnevale, relatively cold weather (Lugano's weather is very similar to Eugene's at this time of year, though we've had a few unseasonably warm days), and midterms (even here, on semesters, I am taking midterms now). And it's also the month that contains that celebration of romance and candy hearts known as Valentine's Day. As much as the holiday can be horribly cheesy and sometimes depressing (Singles' Awareness Day, anyone?), it also provides a convenient opportunity to affirm relationships and, as I've discovered over the last few days, to get engaged. I guess it's the season of love. The engagement announcements just seem to keep coming. I'm genuinely happy for my friends who have found that special person with whom they want to spend the rest of their lives. But it also reminds me how quickly we are growing up and just how far away I am myself from making the decision to marry.

So, for those of you who haven't yet heard, my friend Rachel, one of my closest friends from middle and high school, agreed to marry her boyfriend of about a year and a half, Ryan, on Valentine's Day. And as much as I could never apply the situation to myself, I can't help but be happy. Yes, sometimes it has felt like my beloved friend had suddenly gained about 10 years in 6 months when she tells me about going to Tupperware parties and buying houses, but I do not, and cannot, feel like this is a bad, hasty decision. They have taken their time to get to know each other and each other's families. They are clearly not just infatuated with each other. I've never felt uncomfortable around them. They don't feel the need to prove their love to everyone they meet, and for this I believe that they actually do have the maturity and mentality required to make the decision to marry. I also have to commend how much they have involved their families in this important decision. They are even waiting for Ryan's parents to return home from a vacation before setting the date. They are taking their time, being rational, and reaching out to their families and friends, and for this I am thankful. I also have to say that Ryan is a good guy. He has always been nice to me and as far as I can tell treats Rachel as well as any friend could hope for.

So, congratulations! I can't really think of a better way to celebrate finishing my Fall 2007 finals that to fly back to Eugene to be a bridesmaid in the wedding. Rae, I just ask, please pick flattering bridesmaid dresses. I have faith that you won't try to dress me in pink tulle or anything.

Also, this lovely Carnevale weekend, I learned that two of our UCSD IV staff members got engaged to each other (I didn't even know they were dating) at large group on Valentine's Day. And the pictures are adorable. Also, perhaps the biggest shock, came right before I left Eugene to come to Lugano, when I learned via Facebook that another friend of mine at UCSD got engaged to a guy I still haven't met (They started dating just before the beginning of last quarter, I think). They're getting married in June, and as much as they are going through this whole process much faster than I ever would, it's nice to see her so happy. And I can't complain about anything that makes a friend of mine happier than I have ever seen her before. I had better meet this guy when I go to San Diego for my 21st birthday at the end of May.

But most of all, watching my friends get engaged has made me realize that we are all truly entering into adulthood. On Saturday night, I watched The Lion King with a few of my neighbors in the building here, and I couldn't help but sympathize with Timon and Pumbaa when they fear that they will lose their friend Simba if he marries Nala. As I sit here in Switzerland, nowhere near ready for marriage and still trying to figure out what I want to do with my life, I find myself fighting similar feelings, fearing that my friends' partners will steal them from me, so to say. But I assure myself that I have nothing to fear, that this is the best thing for them at this moment in time.

So I stand here, on a sunny afternoon, overlooking the beautiful Lake Lugano, admiring the splendor that is a part of life. I know that this adventure in Switzerland is where I'm supposed to be now, living the life I have set out for me, figuring out just who I want to become. I walk along the lake to the grocery store downtown, watching the swans that groom themselves beside the lake, and realize that I am in a pretty cool place right now. But Rachel is in an equally good place, even if it is a very different one. And I feel hopeful that having friends experiencing different facets of life right now will prove to be enriching, sort of like how the Alps and the Mediterranean combine to create the harmony that surrounds this lake in this town that is my temporary home.

Chinese Food in Italy

2007-02-05T02:50:00.000-08:00

This past Saturday, 3 friends and I went to a town on the Switzerland/Italy border called Ponte Tresa (which straddles the border on both sides). Getting there is sort of like going to Tijuana from San Diego. We took a 15-20 minute train ride to the Swiss side of Ponte Tresa and then walked across the border into Italy. The weather this weekend was gorgeous and Spring-like, with plenty of sun and temperatures in the 60s F. And the officers never asked for our passports going either direction. It was kind of strange. The Italian border guard was just talking on his cell phone as he watched us walk past him, and the Swiss border guards on the way back were too busy checking cars to care about 4 girls walking across with shopping bags.

The main attraction of the Italian side of Ponte Tresa is this open-air market that happens I think every Saturday where you can buy relatively cheap food, clothes, and other random stuff. There's even a booth that sells small pets, like turtles and birds. Needless to say, I spent my euros on fruit (3 kilos of bananas, apples, and kiwis for about $10 US) and a block of semi-soft cheese. People in this region really like their cheese. Besides the cheese we bought, we were given many more samples by the vendors. In fact, as soon as I told the vendor that I wanted to buy something, her handed me a second large chunk of parmiggiano. I hadn't even finished my sentence yet. "Vorrei comprare... ecco un altro, etc." So I couldn't complain.

After shopping, one of the regular students took us to this Chinese restaurant near the market, which was realtively cheap and had decent food. Not Ocean Sky in Eugene, but still good, especially for being in Italy. They even had vegetarian pot stickers.

So that was fun. Alas, the next morning, I woke up with a sore throat. I've caught the cold that's been going around. So now, I'm just going to class and really wanting to sleep. Being sick definitely took away any motivation I might have had to join the midnight Super Bowl party that was last night. But I'll be fine...eventually.

Why are televangelists just so damn funny?

2007-01-30T12:59:00.000-08:00

Marissa, Katey, and I asked ourselves this very question on our train ride coming back from Zurich. Between a Catholic and two Protestants of varying degrees of liberalism, we know a thing or two about Christianity in its various forms, and we have each formed our own unique identities within that. And none of them correspond with the popular perception of "the Christian" as the moralizing zealot intent on proving that their belief system is the only legitimate path to fulfillment.

As much as most people within Christianity acknowledge the ideological diversity of its members, the very vocal Christian Right has created a less-than-positive image of the faith for those on the margins or the outside. Granted, there is a sizable group of Evangelical Protestants that does adhere to the ideology of Christian conservatism. Pat Robertson's 700 Club remains on the air, and megachurches on Texas and Colorado Springs get their members from somewhere. But their tenets of exclusiveness and following the Republican Party platform as if it were directly derived from Scripture have tainted the image of Christianity as a whole, leaving the rest of us that have discovered that the Bible does not command us to persecute homosexuals, repress any hint of sexuality as if it were a manifestation of Satan, or place conversion to our own ideology over serving others without pretext to defend our decision to assume a Christian identity.

And televangelists and Evangelical Christian culture as a whole takes a significant portion of the blame. The Christian Right has a lot of money and, for some reason, a disproportionate amount of influence. And many of their spokespeople are just really funny in their ridiculousness.

There's Pat Robertson and the 700 Club, the almost-daily "news and inspiration" program that usually makes me laugh and my friend and first-year roommate Jo cry. Pat Robertson makes mainstream news for declaring that US operatives should assassinate Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez (to be fair, I haven't exactly decided how I feel about Chavez yet, but that is beside the point) and recently claiming that God has given him a prophesy that there will be some forthcoming disaster that will kill numerous Americans for their "hedonistic ways". And then there is when Robertson and his co-host of the day pray, and it seems that they believe that the more they squint, the more likely God is to listen to them. Somehow conservative political propaganda, pleas for conversion, and self-praising montages about all that Operation Blessing has done are inspirational.

Then there are the even more outrageous ones that seem to do nothing other than ask for money while wearing awful mustard-colored suits, showcasing a wooden wife with a bad blonde dye job who thinks she can sing, and offering to tell you "how to pay your bills supernaturally" in exchange for a "donation". Oh, what you see on TV while proofreading MMW papers at 1 AM. You know you've seen that one.

Then there are the too-happy megachurch pastors that have somehow been able to market everything about themselves. Joel Osteen now has the Your Best Life Now board game (based on his best-selling prosperity gospel treatise) that promises to let you "experience the book in a whole new way". There are also the reportedly awful Rapture sagas known as the Left Behind novels (and movies) and the new video game, where the player tries to convert the "heathen" residents of New York City before it's too late. These people would love for us to believe that all this stuff will be indispensable tools for our lives as "good" Christians. You know, all the good Christian teens have their True Love Waits rings that they received at their purity balls (that's a rant for another time) and their WWJD bracelets... And this is why the off-Broadway musical Altar Boyz is so phenomenal. Evangelical culture was just begging to be parodied. And how can you argue with Scott Porter singing to you that "Girl, you make me want to wait".

No wonder Christianity gets a less-than-honorable reputation. The stories on the news about Christianity are about Ted Haggard and his homosexual prostitute, not the countless Christians who are quietly but truly following the example of Jesus to love our neighbors as ourselves. We need to pay more attention to things like UCSD Intervarsity's Impact1 conference, where we discussed the urgency of a humanitarian response to the burgeoning AIDS epidemic. Or a group of people from a church in Portland, OR who regularly visit homeless people in the city and wash their feet. We need to pay more attention to the varying opinions within Christianity and exalt our ideological diversity. Because really, what ultimately concerned Jesus more- converting people so that they would be saved (and spending countless hours debating who exactly we think gets to partake of salvation) or going out into the world and loving our neighbors, without pretension, recognizing our common humanity and manifesting on Earth at least a portion the love that we know God has for all of us?

World Records and Linguistic Incompetence

2007-01-29T03:00:00.000-08:00

This past weekend, two of my new friends and I took a 3-hour train north to Zurich, Switzerland's largest city. We saw snow, ate rosti (more or less Swiss hash browns), and learned how to navigate the city's Old Town/downtown quarter.

Zurich, as many of you probably know, was a prominent center of the Protestant Reformation and is still very Protestant. We visited 4 colorful and architecturally impressive Reformed churches concentrated in the main tourist district, each possessing a grandeur rarely seen in American Protestant churches (or really in any American church, for that matter). We climbed the 180 (I think) stairs to the top of the Grossmunster, which gave us a phenomenal view of the city and Lake Zurich (and of course the requisite cranes that seem to be everywhere in Switzerland). We also saw stained glass windows created by Marc Chagall (at the age of 80, no less) in the Fraumunster, and I can't even begin to describe how impressive they are. There are pictures, but they can't truly convey their beauty, especially as the light was nearly perfect when we were there. The Swiss National Museum was also impressive, with 500-year-old artwork that was so well preserved that the dates were almost unbelievable. Many of the pieces also brought out my literary analysis mind, as I was trying to come up with theories to explain the significance of the various portrayals of Jesus, for example.

In contrast to the strong religious presence in Zurich, you also see lots of pictures of naked women on various buildings. And not tasteful nudity. I have no problem with tasteful nudity. It's the obviously pornographic, this doesn't really resemble sex or the female body in any respectful way nudity that was oddly juxtaposed against the reverence demanded by the city's grandiose historical landmarks. It was a little shocking to my American sensibilities, even as I consider myself to be fairly open-minded.

Also, Zurich is a German-speaking city, and I have never felt so linguistically inept in my entire life. I'm accustomed to being the one that knows what's going on, that can talk to the locals, and doesn't need the special English menu. Fortunately my new friend Marissa knows German, so she functioned as our interpreter. But it still felt strange, being that I'm usually in the interpreter position. None of my four languages could really help me that much.

And also, as my mom told me when I called her that night, she broke a world record in Zurich. We never did see the supposedly famous track there though. I think I'll have to do that one with my mom someday, bring back some fond memories for her.

I live in a brothel...sort of

2007-01-22T14:46:00.000-08:00

Apparently the building I live in here in Lugano was, 6 or 7 years ago, a brothel. And my little single room with a private bathroom and a kitchenette was, to put it politely, one of the "transaction" rooms. I guess that explains the built-in full-size bed. And the wonderfully (at least compared to our dorms at ERC) soundproofed walls. Though compared to our nearly uninsulated ERC dorms, anything is more soundproofed, as you could hear pretty much everything the people above and below you were doing. Especially those things you never wanted to hear them do. Sex really is only a participation sport. Being a spectator in that situation just isn't a whole lot of fun.

I have realized, though, that if I wanted to have sex with someone here, I have a fabulous room for it. I can't say I have anyone here that I would particularly want to prove that theory with, but the hypothetical situation is a nice one. In reality, this school is so small that it would be nearly impossible to do anything of the sort inconspicuously, soundproofing or not.

At the same time, I really don't like to think about what these walls have probably seen. This place once housed a combination of desperation and objectification that manages to make something that can be really, really good into something terribly exploitative. A ghastly mutation of sex that takes usually destitute women forced to choose between prostituting themselves or letting their children starve (can you truly call that a free choice?) and places them at the whims of men in search of, really, an ultra-realistic blow-up doll and those that will do anything to ensure a profit from it. It is the ultimate projection of the insidious sexual double standard: men have no self-control and women are simply passive objects. It is the ultimate manifestation of the virgin/whore dichotomy, and I know that is often how it is rationalized.

I, now, just sit here and take comfort in my new mattress and repainted walls. In the fact that I know that I am the one who defines my sexuality and its expression. In knowing that I have the right to enjoy my sexuality on my own terms, as an active being, an equal participant. I am no one's whore and no one's virgin. I also sit here on my bed and pray for all those, women and men, who have had that right taken away from them somehow and hope that someday, we can embrace a sexual ethic that uplifts and respects us all. One that allows each of us to fully enjoy our sexualities free from the double standards and dehumanization that, ultimately, harm us all.

I told you this would also be a soapbox...

Benvenuti in Svizzera!

2007-01-17T11:17:00.000-08:00

So, I've been in Switzerland for a couple weeks now, and I'm finally getting around to starting the blog I promised. It's been a busy week of traveling, orientation, and figuring out what exactly I'll be doing for the next 4 months. It's already been an adventure, to say the least. So far, I've chased a hotel shuttle while dragging 3 suitcases, had a bit too much fun with my in-seat television while doped up on Ambien, and battled 9 hours worth of jet lag.

I've met a very interesting group of people in my fellow study abroad students and a few new full-time students of Franklin, who are in many ways very unlike me. But I love them nonetheless. One of the guys reminds me a lot of (for all my UCSD friends) John Chung, with that same laid-back, friendly, will go along with almost anything personality. I am definitely the one who drinks the least, so I'll need to watch my probably not very high alcohol tolerance. All I really do drink though is the wine I'm beginning to develop a taste for, thanks to my semi-wine connoisseur parents and that bottle of Gewurztraminer Susan and I had last quarter.

I am a bit closer to two of the study abroad girls, and we had a fun weekend walking around Lugano and trying a couple of restaurants. I like Italian food, but I don't think I'll want it for a few months after I get back to the States. I've had some sort of pasta almost every day that I've been here. It was also surprising just how quiet downtown Lugano was at 8 PM on a Saturday night. Quite a contrast to San Diego.

As for the rest of this overview, I have a single room with a full-size bed in a converted brothel. I have also dropped both of my political science classes, picked up third year Spanish, and am now trying to decide if I want to change the secondary track on my International Studies major. I promise most of my entries will be more exciting than this little summary. I'll expand on some of the points I mentioned above and tell new stories of my experiences and thoughts here in Switzerland. I have many thoughts I look forward to sharing with you all, and I hope you are all doing well, whether in Eugene, San Diego, Lugano, or somewhere else. Now I will drink the Apricot Decaf tea I brought from Oregon.

I just want to see what this looks like

2006-10-06T20:07:00.000-07:00

Here's that one test post just to see what my new blog looks like. My computer is being quite annoying right now. Yay.