Over the next eleven days, starting today, I'll be traveling to Dublin, London and Paris. Today I fly to Dublin, where I stay for two nights, and then the London for three nights. After that, I'll be joining the Dickinson group in Paris for four nights, a trip that is completely paid for by Dickinson (nice, right?) Some of the attractions I plan on hitting:
Churchill War Rooms
London Eye
Shakespeare's Globe Theater
London Zoo
Tower of London
HMS Belfast
St. Paul's Cathedral
Buckingham Palace
Guinness Factory
Trinity College Library
And then a bunch of stuff in Paris. If anyone has any suggestions for me, send me an email -- I should have internet access on my iPad to check that out. Pictures and stories to come after my trip!
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
Comparing Academic Styles
I've been asked by The Dickinsonian, Dickinson College's student newspaper, to write a biweekly column about being abroad. Sometimes, in lieu of writing a blog post, I'll just post the column here. Thus, here is my third column for The Dickinsonian:
It’s pretty cliché to write about the differences between
your host country and the United States, but that’s pretty much the point of
going abroad – to be somewhere different. So, despite your protests, I’m going
to write some more about cultural differences. I’m going to compare the college
experience of a Dickinson student and a French student. Obviously I am not
trying to speak for all Dickinson students or all French students, as my
current expertise is rooted only in a month and a half of studies. But, it’ll
give you a rough estimate.
First of all, I study at l’Institut d’Etudes Politiques (IEP), which is the political science
college here in Toulouse. I take three classes – two of them have about 150 students,
and the third has 30. The professor walks into the amphitheater, turns on the
microphone, and proceeds to lecture nonstop for two and a half hours. She
doesn’t pause, doesn’t ask for questions, doesn’t ask if what she’s saying is
clear – she just goes, and when the clock runs out she walks back out of the
class and we all leave. As you can see, this is not Dickinson College.
Also on the academic side – I barely have any homework. I
have to keep up with current events, and read a pertinent document every now
and then, but other than that I have no homework. There is one final exam at
the end of the semester, and that is my only grade. Unlike Dickinson, I don’t
have to read chapters of a textbook (oh and no textbooks) and there are no
projects or biweekly essays. This is a perk if you ask me, but it is important
to remember that my grade is based on one exam and one exam only.
Interestingly, French students traditionally go to school in
their hometown or close to it; it is rare to travel great distances to go to
college, as we do in the United States. Thus, none of the students live on
campus. In fact, there is no “campus” per se. No academic quad, no Morgan
Field. Just the building, the parking lot, and the sidewalk. And this isn’t
just at IEP; this is most of the schools in the area.
Sciences-Po, as the school is nicknamed, is a single building
on an unassuming street. It shares a library and a cafeteria with a neighboring
university – there is no gym, no bookstore, no social hall, and no varsity
sports teams. They don’t even have a Club 40. And this is what seems to be the
defining feature of the universities in Toulouse: they are very barebones. You
go to college to get an education, and that’s it. You can play casually for a
club sports team, or use a community-based gym, but other than that the school
doesn’t have much to offer. Some
student associations will put on events from time to time, but it pales in
comparison to the offerings from MOB or the Event Advisory Board, for example.
Of course, we all know that Dickinson is recognized for its
small class sizes, its plethora of student groups and organizations, and the
beautiful school grounds. It’s almost the exact opposite of Sciences-Po. But
that doesn’t mean I dislike my French school – on the contrary, I feel lucky to
be going here because it has shown me a different system against which I can
compare my own academic experiences. Yes, it’s been very different than
Dickinson, but it has provided me with a new perspective on education on
general, and being here has forced me to develop skills I haven’t exercised
before – like sitting through a 150-minute lecture.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
One Month
It's already been more than a month since I've arrived in France -- one month and three days, to be precise. It doesn't seem like that, really. Sometimes I feel like I've been here for three months, sometimes it feels like just a week. I am continuing to make the adjustment to European life, but it comes to me easier every day. The French language is also becoming easier every day. I don't have to hear a question twice in order to answer it anymore, and my comprehension in my French classes has been improving as well. What continues to be the most difficult cultural hurdle for me is social -- I have not yet found the French to be overwhelming friendly, so it is up to me to reach out to them when I want to make a social connection. This is difficult sometimes, especially in a different language.
There are some other things I wanted to mention about Toulouse in general. The first thing is how much I love the city's bike program. It's called VéloToulouse (translation: BikeToulouse) and this is how it works: there are 253 bike stations all around the city, each with 20 or 25 bikes. The bikes are locked to automatic bike racks, and for 20 euros a year you can have unlimited, 24/7 access to the bikes. You walk up to the automated kiosk, swipe your membership card, choose a bike number, and the lock pops open. You then have 30 minutes to make it to another station somewhere in the city, where you simply pop the bike into an available slot and are on your way. The service is really awesome, especially when you stay out too late to make the last metro (midnight) or bus (1 a.m.). There are two stations within five minutes of my host house, and I use it all the time.
One of the amazing things about Europe is that if you go to an old enough city or village, some piece of history is around you at all times. For example, there is a lot of history behind the street signs in Toulouse. Yes, even European street signs have a story. Here is one:
You'll notice that there are two there -- one looking slightly different than the other. That is because the top one is in traditional French, and the bottom one is in the language Occitan. Occitan is one of France's more than thirty regional languages, and is, obviously, the regional language of the Toulouse area. The city of Toulouse, in an effort to preserve the endangered language, posts its street signs and its metro stops in both French and Occitan.
Another historical aspect of the street signs is their color. The Garonne River, which splits Toulouse, runs from north to south. All the streets in Toulouse that run along the north-south line have yellow signs. All the streets that run along the east-west line have white signs. The reason? Because the Garonne runs north-south, the streets that also run north-south are considered to be going along with the river, and thus they keep it tranquil and undisturbed; the yellow represents the natural, undisturbed color of the river. The streets that run east-west metaphorically cut across the Garonne, disturbing its flow; thus, the white color represents the white, frothy water created when the flow of the river is disturbed. So, the Rue des Couteliers, pictured above, runs from east to west. Interesting, right?
Another side note: the other night I went to a real rugby match, Toulouse vs. Biarritz. I don't know much about rugby, but it was a good time and I imagine that's how an American football game would be. The fans were blowing horns, drinking, and yelling. I was smart and booed when those around me booed, and cheered when those around me cheered. Like they say, when in a rugby stadium, do as the rugby fans do.
There are some other things I wanted to mention about Toulouse in general. The first thing is how much I love the city's bike program. It's called VéloToulouse (translation: BikeToulouse) and this is how it works: there are 253 bike stations all around the city, each with 20 or 25 bikes. The bikes are locked to automatic bike racks, and for 20 euros a year you can have unlimited, 24/7 access to the bikes. You walk up to the automated kiosk, swipe your membership card, choose a bike number, and the lock pops open. You then have 30 minutes to make it to another station somewhere in the city, where you simply pop the bike into an available slot and are on your way. The service is really awesome, especially when you stay out too late to make the last metro (midnight) or bus (1 a.m.). There are two stations within five minutes of my host house, and I use it all the time.
 |
| One of the VéloToulouse bike stations |
One of the amazing things about Europe is that if you go to an old enough city or village, some piece of history is around you at all times. For example, there is a lot of history behind the street signs in Toulouse. Yes, even European street signs have a story. Here is one:
You'll notice that there are two there -- one looking slightly different than the other. That is because the top one is in traditional French, and the bottom one is in the language Occitan. Occitan is one of France's more than thirty regional languages, and is, obviously, the regional language of the Toulouse area. The city of Toulouse, in an effort to preserve the endangered language, posts its street signs and its metro stops in both French and Occitan.
Another historical aspect of the street signs is their color. The Garonne River, which splits Toulouse, runs from north to south. All the streets in Toulouse that run along the north-south line have yellow signs. All the streets that run along the east-west line have white signs. The reason? Because the Garonne runs north-south, the streets that also run north-south are considered to be going along with the river, and thus they keep it tranquil and undisturbed; the yellow represents the natural, undisturbed color of the river. The streets that run east-west metaphorically cut across the Garonne, disturbing its flow; thus, the white color represents the white, frothy water created when the flow of the river is disturbed. So, the Rue des Couteliers, pictured above, runs from east to west. Interesting, right?
Another side note: the other night I went to a real rugby match, Toulouse vs. Biarritz. I don't know much about rugby, but it was a good time and I imagine that's how an American football game would be. The fans were blowing horns, drinking, and yelling. I was smart and booed when those around me booed, and cheered when those around me cheered. Like they say, when in a rugby stadium, do as the rugby fans do.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Flickr Account
Hey all --
I know one of the best ways to share an abroad experience is through pictures -- a picture is worth a thousand words. Uploading all the pictures onto this blog would be a weighty task, and would require you to scroll through pages and pages of the blog. So, to make things easier, I've created an account on the web service Flickr. It's basically an online photo album with a link, and you can visit my photostream at any time and browse through all my pictures. I've uploaded one album so far, and will continue to do so. Here's the link to my photostream:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/ajtoole/
So, check that link every so often and you will get access to my photo album! Let me know if it won't work, and I'll try to get it sorted out.
Thanks!
I know one of the best ways to share an abroad experience is through pictures -- a picture is worth a thousand words. Uploading all the pictures onto this blog would be a weighty task, and would require you to scroll through pages and pages of the blog. So, to make things easier, I've created an account on the web service Flickr. It's basically an online photo album with a link, and you can visit my photostream at any time and browse through all my pictures. I've uploaded one album so far, and will continue to do so. Here's the link to my photostream:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/ajtoole/
So, check that link every so often and you will get access to my photo album! Let me know if it won't work, and I'll try to get it sorted out.
Thanks!
Friday, February 1, 2013
A Trip to the Pyrénées, and Some
This past week has been a busy one, with the onset of classes and projects and homework, etc. The definite highlight of the week, however, was my trip to the Pyrénées with the Dickinson crew. I'll do the play by play:
Day 1 (Saturday)
We met at the Dickinson center at 7:00 a.m., a little early for my tastes, and boarded a coach bus. It was about a 2.5 hour drive (during which I slept), and we arrived in the small town of Estarvielle at mid morning. Estarvielle is exactly how you might expect a small French mountain village to be: it has a population of 32 people, is centered around the church, the houses are ancient, and most people drink for fun. Estarvielle's economy is centered around Pyrenean tourism: skiing, hiking, and snowshoeing in the winter; cycling and hiking in the spring and summer. Many of the small villages in the Pyrénées (and there are many dotting the Lourne Valley) farm cows, goats, and sheep, selling their milk, cheese, and wool to the larger towns surrounding the area.
After settling into the hostel in the center of town ("center" is misleading, since from the center you can throw a rock and successfully reach the 'outskirts' of town), we headed up to the village's church with the church caretaker. She explained that this Catholic church was built in 1632 and has been used ever since. When she explained that the sanctuary had great acoustics, the Dickinson program's director, Madame Toux, whipped her head around and looked me right in the eye. "We have someone here who is in an a cappella group, maybe he can give us a taste of the acoustics in here?" Although the word "maybe" was a part of the sentence, judging from her look there was no maybe about it. So, another student who also sings, Sam, and I stood at the alter and agreed to sing the first verse of "Silent Night" in order to exemplify the acoustics. She was right, they were pretty good.
After the church tour, our group split into two -- half of us went to a café in another village and the other half went to the hostel's kitchen to help cook the night's dinner. Much to my dismay, I was assigned to the cooking group. We were to make garbure, a soup I thought of as the French version of stone soup. Ingredients included potatoes, carrots, onions, turnips, cabbage, leeks, beans, ham, pork ribs, and duck. We basically cut everything up, dumped it all in water, and let it cook for a while. It would end up being delicious that night. While we waited for the soup to cook, another guide arrived and took us on a hike through the valley. We descended from Estarvielle and headed to the bottom of the valley, where there sits a lake and several fields. We hiked along some bluffs over the lake, then went down right next to the water, and then completed our circle back in Estarvielle. With the Pyrénées looming in the distance, it was one of the more beautiful views I had had while in France.
Day 2 (Sunday)
Day two of the trip was reserved for our big snowshoeing outing. After breakfast, we met our guide and were given snowshoes and trekking poles. Our guide, Michel, was one serious guy. He was like the Indiana Jones of the French Pyrénées, complete with the hat and probably a whip under his jacket. We began in the center of the village and made our way to the back, quickly ascending as we hit the side of the valley and began to go up. The hike's route went up the side of the valley, traversed across to the west, and then back down into Estarvielle. When we got to the top of the valley, the view was incredible. We could see our own village as well as all those that dotted the landscape. Michel pointed out some small farmhouses on our way up -- these were built into the side of the valley, with a ladder reaching up to the "first floor," where the farmer lived. Built in the early 1800s by goat farmers, these homes are fairly far from the village but provided the farmer and his goats with plenty of grazing room in the spring and summer.
Most of the students in my group found the snowshoeing to be difficult, but being from Maine I knew a thing or two. I've only been snowshoeing a handful of times, but I think just being from Maine and knowing the snow makes you a better (person) snowshoer overall. The best thing about the hike was the view. All around us were the massive Pyrénées Mountains, and below us lay the valley, with its lake in the middle and a small river snaking through toward Spain. We also had some pretty massive snowball fights along the way, most of which were instigated by the director, Madame Toux.
After descending from the top of the valley, we packed our belongings and hopped on the bus, which took us to another village. Here we visited une fromagerie -- a small cheese farm. It was one farmer and his two assistants, along with dozens of sheep, goats, and two cows. The farmer made cheese, yogurt, milk, and other dairy-based delicacies I had never seen nor tried before. I bought some yogurt and homemade blueberry jam, and we headed back to the bus. On our way we passed a house with a dog tied to a doghouse outside. There were two interesting features of this dog. One, his name was Poopy. Not even joking, it said so on his doghouse:
The other interesting part about seeing the dog was that he responded to French. Thinking I was joking, I said "ici Poopy!" instead of "here Poopy" and his ears perked up and he started to walk over to me. I'm not sure why I was so surprised he responded to French -- I mean he's a French dog. It's not like all dogs are born knowing English and then slowly but surely learned French or Italian or Spanish. I sat there feeling silly -- but even though I knew he had just grown up on French, I was still a little proud of my Poopy for being, in my mind, competently bilingual.
So that was my grand trip to the Pyrénées. If you ever get a chance, go. It is beautiful. I have many more pictures than I posted here, and I am going to create a flickr account in the next few days and posta link here, that will make it easier to view them en masse. Thanks for reading!
Day 1 (Saturday)
We met at the Dickinson center at 7:00 a.m., a little early for my tastes, and boarded a coach bus. It was about a 2.5 hour drive (during which I slept), and we arrived in the small town of Estarvielle at mid morning. Estarvielle is exactly how you might expect a small French mountain village to be: it has a population of 32 people, is centered around the church, the houses are ancient, and most people drink for fun. Estarvielle's economy is centered around Pyrenean tourism: skiing, hiking, and snowshoeing in the winter; cycling and hiking in the spring and summer. Many of the small villages in the Pyrénées (and there are many dotting the Lourne Valley) farm cows, goats, and sheep, selling their milk, cheese, and wool to the larger towns surrounding the area.
After settling into the hostel in the center of town ("center" is misleading, since from the center you can throw a rock and successfully reach the 'outskirts' of town), we headed up to the village's church with the church caretaker. She explained that this Catholic church was built in 1632 and has been used ever since. When she explained that the sanctuary had great acoustics, the Dickinson program's director, Madame Toux, whipped her head around and looked me right in the eye. "We have someone here who is in an a cappella group, maybe he can give us a taste of the acoustics in here?" Although the word "maybe" was a part of the sentence, judging from her look there was no maybe about it. So, another student who also sings, Sam, and I stood at the alter and agreed to sing the first verse of "Silent Night" in order to exemplify the acoustics. She was right, they were pretty good.
 |
| A view of the church |
 |
| The side door of the church |
 |
| The center of town and the Pyrénées in the background |
After the church tour, our group split into two -- half of us went to a café in another village and the other half went to the hostel's kitchen to help cook the night's dinner. Much to my dismay, I was assigned to the cooking group. We were to make garbure, a soup I thought of as the French version of stone soup. Ingredients included potatoes, carrots, onions, turnips, cabbage, leeks, beans, ham, pork ribs, and duck. We basically cut everything up, dumped it all in water, and let it cook for a while. It would end up being delicious that night. While we waited for the soup to cook, another guide arrived and took us on a hike through the valley. We descended from Estarvielle and headed to the bottom of the valley, where there sits a lake and several fields. We hiked along some bluffs over the lake, then went down right next to the water, and then completed our circle back in Estarvielle. With the Pyrénées looming in the distance, it was one of the more beautiful views I had had while in France.
 |
| A view of the valley across the lake. You're looking at Spain right through those clouds and just past the edge of the valley. |
After the hike around the lake and the valley, we walked to the home of our guide's friend. We were welcomed inside a cold and austere dwelling where we all sat and listened to the story told by the friend, a young woman in her late 20s or early 30s. She had studied chemistry at a university in Bordeaux and had gotten a job in a lab upon graduation. However, she was bored with that life, and decided to move to the mountains and pursue a more natural form of chemistry: making organic foods. She now makes a living working for the tourism industry and moonlights as a producer of organic jams, jellies, breads, and, most importantly, alcoholic beverages. Her speciality is called Frênésies Pyrénées. It is a slightly alcoholic (2% ABV) fermented juice made from the leaves of the ash tree (le frêne). We were given samples, and it tasted like pear flavored champagne. That's my best description. I liked it so much I bought a bottle! Apparently this juice has become so popular that she has been able to market it in some of the bigger towns nearby.
Day 2 (Sunday)
Day two of the trip was reserved for our big snowshoeing outing. After breakfast, we met our guide and were given snowshoes and trekking poles. Our guide, Michel, was one serious guy. He was like the Indiana Jones of the French Pyrénées, complete with the hat and probably a whip under his jacket. We began in the center of the village and made our way to the back, quickly ascending as we hit the side of the valley and began to go up. The hike's route went up the side of the valley, traversed across to the west, and then back down into Estarvielle. When we got to the top of the valley, the view was incredible. We could see our own village as well as all those that dotted the landscape. Michel pointed out some small farmhouses on our way up -- these were built into the side of the valley, with a ladder reaching up to the "first floor," where the farmer lived. Built in the early 1800s by goat farmers, these homes are fairly far from the village but provided the farmer and his goats with plenty of grazing room in the spring and summer.
 |
| The house built into the side of the valley |
Most of the students in my group found the snowshoeing to be difficult, but being from Maine I knew a thing or two. I've only been snowshoeing a handful of times, but I think just being from Maine and knowing the snow makes you a better (person) snowshoer overall. The best thing about the hike was the view. All around us were the massive Pyrénées Mountains, and below us lay the valley, with its lake in the middle and a small river snaking through toward Spain. We also had some pretty massive snowball fights along the way, most of which were instigated by the director, Madame Toux.
 |
| Estarvielle and its church from the top of the valley |
 |
| A famous L.L. Bean model we met on our hike |
 |
| A cross placed on a high point of the valley -- un cairn |
 |
| The might Pyrénées |
After descending from the top of the valley, we packed our belongings and hopped on the bus, which took us to another village. Here we visited une fromagerie -- a small cheese farm. It was one farmer and his two assistants, along with dozens of sheep, goats, and two cows. The farmer made cheese, yogurt, milk, and other dairy-based delicacies I had never seen nor tried before. I bought some yogurt and homemade blueberry jam, and we headed back to the bus. On our way we passed a house with a dog tied to a doghouse outside. There were two interesting features of this dog. One, his name was Poopy. Not even joking, it said so on his doghouse:
The other interesting part about seeing the dog was that he responded to French. Thinking I was joking, I said "ici Poopy!" instead of "here Poopy" and his ears perked up and he started to walk over to me. I'm not sure why I was so surprised he responded to French -- I mean he's a French dog. It's not like all dogs are born knowing English and then slowly but surely learned French or Italian or Spanish. I sat there feeling silly -- but even though I knew he had just grown up on French, I was still a little proud of my Poopy for being, in my mind, competently bilingual.
So that was my grand trip to the Pyrénées. If you ever get a chance, go. It is beautiful. I have many more pictures than I posted here, and I am going to create a flickr account in the next few days and posta link here, that will make it easier to view them en masse. Thanks for reading!
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