Coming full circle.

I must preface this blog with a disclaimer. I’m sitting in Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport. I got 4 hours of sleep last night, have been up for 15 hours, and have another 6 or 7 before I go home. For those reasons, I apologize for any gramatical/spelling mistakes in this post, and for general cheesiness.

But like I said:  I’m sitting in Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport.The same place I sat four months ago, anxiously waiting to leave for Paris.

I’m lost for words. This is a particularly peculiar experience for me, as I always have something to say. And yet I can’t find them…

I could find them last night, however. Lying in bed after… embracing privileges denied to 20-year-olds in the U.S., I reflected on the experiences of this past semester. What I felt was a spectrum of emotions capable of putting any pubescent girl to shame.

Melancholy that the program was ending; Excitement to return home; Giddiness… but that may have had more to do with the night’s activities, and less with the fact that I was hours away from returning home; Among an array of countless others.

I reminisced of my times spent with other students. It was a goal of mine to socialize with people outside of my American program, a goal I feel I accomplished successfully. In my classes, I had the privilege to become good friends from students all over the world. I will never forget the people I have met—from Brazil, to the countries of Scandinavia, from Colombia to Cuba, from Palestine to China. I learned a lot in the classroom; including that the people present in said classrooms, weren’t all that different from each other. Education is the great equalizer, I found.

In the classroom, politics didn’t apply. It did not matter who was in conflict with whom. Trade relations or treaty negotiations were never recognized. Not once, did I feel animosity from or towards another student. We are not where we come from. We are people. I’ve been taught since Kindergarten not to stereotype—that you can’t place people into groups. This trip has really solidified that idea for me.

Of all the many things I have learned from this experience, and I am grateful to have learned so very much, that is what I value most: we are all people. All of us children of God (and no, I have no interest in getting into a religious debate).

I have lived in a foreign country. I have taken university-level courses in a foreign language. I have successfully navigated through Paris, and countless other cities by myself. I have learned so much: about France, about the world, about myself. I thank you for having an interest in my thoughts and findings, and appreciate those who have showed me so much support. I love you all endlessly, and wish you all the best with your future adventures.

Love,
Evie

That time I met Salma Hayek!

The highlight of my trip to London! Enjoy :)

Toga, Roma, Popa! (Part I)-- A train ride to remember

I have been avoiding this blog post for far too long, because, quite simply, it's going to be far too long. This weekend, my "church buddies," Melissa and Katie, and I went on an ADVENTCHA (pirate-speak for "adventure")!!! Or, what it is better known as to the masses, a pilgrimage. Ha! Masses! Pun!

Instead of parading outside around St. Thomas Aquinas this year for Palm Sunday, I paraded around Europe, and attended Palm Sunday mass at the Vatican. Oh, and as you've probably heard, there's a new pope! And it just so happened to be his first Sunday mass. It was SO COOL!

But first: getting there!
Our train ride to Rome was probably the most exciting train ride of my life. Wait... yeah-- out of the two I've been on, it was definitely the more exciting. Katie's ticket was for a different car, but Melissa and I were together. So we boarded car 95, and looked for cabin 10, and what we found before us was a dark, small, already occupied car.
"Um, bonsoir?" I muttered. "Ah, CIAO! Scuzi, Umberto!!" It was hard to tell with the lights off, but I had a feeling, call it a sixth-sense if you will, that are cabin-mates were Italian.

And Italian they were! Melissa and I sat down on opposing benches, both of us between older gentlemen and teenage boys. It was silent for just a moment, the only time during our 15-hour journey, before rattling-offs in French, Italian, and English began. "Do you speak English?" "Parli Italiano?" "Parlez-vous français, peut-être?"

Luckily, one of the younger guys spoke English, and a man spoke French. And of course, we all spoke an exaggerated version of sign-language. For everything else, we had Siri. Quickly, we learned that the two teenagers were students of the two gentlemen. The gentlemen introduced themselves by their first names, along with what farm animals shared similar names, and proceded to share with us the boys names, followed by how they were terrible students. They were very interested to hear where we were from-- particularly Melissa. They didn't understand how she went to school in Columbus, but was from Toledo. They really liked to talk about Italian immigration patterns to the United States, and were eager to hear what we thought of an obscure Italian politician, of whom neither Melissa nor I had ever heard. And by "obscure," I mean "the president." Clearly, Melissa and I need to brush up on our Italian politics...

Me with three of the Italian students, and their
 non-French/English -speaking "Prof"

The night continued with each of the 30 Italian students trying to cram into our small 6-person cabin to meet us. Apparently, they had never met Americans. I don't know about Melissa, but I didn't mind at all! I felt like such a celebrity! They were all very friendly-- particularly the boys. As the entered and exited, the "Profs," as their students affectionately called them, introduced them to us by giving us their names, and how good of a student they were. The profs and their students definitely had a different relationship than that of the student-professor relationship in the United States. The students loved to take pictures of their professors, and didn't seem to mind when their teachers called them stupid.

By the end of the night, the non-French-speaking professor seemed to have forgotten that Melissa and I didn't speak any Italian, as he monologued about... well, I'm not sure what. We just nodded. Then he offered to let us live with him for free over the summer if we taught English in their school. It seemed like a bargain to me! ...But we forgot to get his email address. Zoot Alors!

As we were going to bed, the Professors kindly told us, "If anything bothers you in the night-- a bad dream anything-- wake Umberto," pointing to their student. "Not us!" they added laughing. Their stop was in Bologna at 6 am, and of course Melissa and I were still asleep. They were extra quiet to not wake us, but when I did awaken, they each kissed me on both cheeks before leaving, saying, "Ciao, bella! Enchantée, ma cherie!"

Needless to say, our Italian adventure was off to a good start!

You can take the girl of Iowa...

Before we begin, let's all give a birthday shout-out to Miss Madison Jerde! Happy 20th, girlie!


I remember the first time I went to a state fair. (Dream sequence music as I sigh nostalgically...)

'Twas only a few summers ago. My family and I had just moved to Nebraska from Washington D.C. Wanting to get the real "Mid-West" experience, my parents decided that our summer vacation would be to Iowa for the state fair. Turns out, state fairs suck. It was hot and humid, which contributed to the not-so-pleasant smell of bovine fecal matter. My mom kept insisting we see some cow made of butter, I got sick after a bite of a deep-fried Twinkie, and I ran out of money before I could ride the camel.

However, after living and going to school in Iowa for a year and a half, I have grown to appreciate the beauty of the state fair. Heck, this year I even willingly attended! It's hot and humid, but that just means you don't have to shower before you go, and no one will notice over the smell of the cows. Butter cows are awesome, especially if they're accompanied by Harry Potter (don't believe me?). Deep-fried Twinkies are DELICIOUS, but you have to pace yourself, especially if you want to ride a camel at the end of the day.

Iowa culture is a bit different than France's, to say the least. However, if there's one thing I've learned about the universality of human nature since coming to France it's this: Everyone loves a good fair. Even the French.

You heard right, ladies and gentlemen, there is such thing as a state fair in France! Now, it's not actually called that, but it's the same idea. The Salon international de l'argriculture was one of my favorite parts of France thus far!

Even wore my Iowa State t-shirt. Fit right in.

It has all the perks of a normal state fair, like petting zoos, food, and fun shops, BUT it's inside. AND there's free food. AND it's really good. Like, really good. Gelato, anyone? Yeah, really good.

Katie, Jasmine and I walked around, petting animals and practicing our French. The gelato man was really nice, and asked where we from. He hadn't heard of Iowa, but it was pretty easy to describe given our current location...

Also, animals in France are HUGE. I looked like such a tourist, taking pictures of every animal I saw, but I figured that my t-shirt gave me away already.

And FOOD.

Also, some people on stilts tried to chase us and eat our food. I love France.

À Bietôt, tout le monde!

Les Pooches of Paris

I don’t know where 101 Dalmatians was set, but if it’s not Paris, it should be. I’ve only seen 1 Dalmatian thus far, but in the week I’ve been here, I’m certain I’ve seen at least 100 other dogs. On the street, in the métro, even in some posh shops, Parisians don’t seem to have any restrictions on where dogs are allowed to roam.

And in true Evie style, I have pictures to prove it! A note to the wise: the French don’t seem to take well to strangers taking pictures of their hounds.

Exhibit A:

One time I had to ask a lady who brought her dog into Target with her to leave. This was not only a little awkward, but completely heart breaking since it was a little miniature dachshund! If there were Targets in Paris, they would simply ignore this bullet in the guidebook. I saw this woman entering ZARA in the Champs-Élysées the other day. The Champs-Élysées is one of the most posh parts of Paris. I had never seen a Catier, or Louis Vuiton store in person before, but the Champs-Élysées of course had both. I was nervous to touch, or even breath on any of the expensive merchandise, when in walks a lady with her adorable little terrier. I had to snap a picture, which elicited me a glare, but it was worth it. What a cutie!

Exhibit B:

I met this sweet little guy on our way back from Versailles on the RER, (the railway that takes you in and out of Paris). I learned from previous experience to ask before taking a picture. His owner seemed to think it a little odd, but helped him pose none-the-less. The French don’t seem to mind dogs on the train, but be warned: Feet on the seats will earn you a 45 € fine!

Exhibit C:

The one exception: Cafés! Parisians don’t seem to like to have animals in the same places they eat, which I suppose is understandable.

Violà! There you go. In the first week, I have realized just how incredible Paris is! I love everything about this city, from the architecture, to the people, even the public transit. The fact that dogs are allowed almost everywhere just tells me that this is the perfect city for me... and that I should have snuck Bosco on to my flight.

À Bietôt!

Good bye? Good cry! (Ba-da chh!)

Sitting in Chicago's O'Hare International Airport, watching a full-length live-action version of Toy Story on YouTube. 

You can read every study abroad handbook, all your orientation materials, and even witty blogs online, but nothing prepares you for saying goodbye, (but witty blogs with clever rhyming titles are hilarious and fun, so keep reading them…). It’s the last thing on everyone’s mind: you think about taking pictures under the Eiffel Tower, having wine by the Seine, and kis-… talking to cute French boys, but you don’t think about saying goodbye. Of course I knew my parents weren’t coming to France, but actually realizing I’d have to make my own breakfast and start using a real alarm clock again was tough. Oh yeah, and I’ll like… miss them and stuff…

After the customary farewell photo, hugs and kisses commenced. I thought I was fine, until mid-hug, my mom took in a dramatic, shaky breath… and then, through no fault of my own, I started crying… perfusely. Thanks a lot, mom.

To combat future embarrassing public displays of what I like to refer to as, “Au revoir Ailments,” I propose these useful tips:

 1. Buy your parents a human-sized Kennel.

I didn’t even say goodbye to my dogs. This is a big deal for me—especially since I get separation anxiety when they go to the groomer. I put them away an hour before I left, and went on my merry way, distracting myself with the latest episode of Kourtney and Kim take Miami. I gave them a bone, and ignored the puddles of precious that stared up at me for an hour… If only I could forego saying goodbye to my parents and substitute it with quality entertainment! Plus, they can’t get into any trouble while I’m gone if they’re locked up in cages. Problem. Solved.

      2. Don’t look back!

After saying goodbye and making the long walk down to security, I had finally composed myself. And, needless to say, after being groped, poked and prodded, my tear ducts were as likely to produce tears as Janet Jackson performing the halftime show at the SuperBowl tonight. That changed, however, when I turned to give my parents one last wave. Again, I blame my mother. I always cry when I see someone crying. At this point, my make up was resembling the Joker at the end of the second Batman movie. That being said…

3    3.  Wear waterproof mascara!

Use your imagination.

Exhibit A

4    4.  Think about how you’re on your way to Paris, and about to have buckets of foreign fun!

      Definitely the best medicine: Distraction! Well, that and running to the bathroom to fix the monstrocity that is now your face and pretending that no one saw you cry.

Crushed it.

À Bientôt!

Visa, Visa, Mastercard

So this past weekend was an important step in preparation for my trip to France: I applied for my student visa!


The French consolate requires that applicants show up in person to apply for visas. Since the closest consulate is in Chicago, Mom and I took full advantage of the big city. Who needs a going away party, when you can party with your momma? Exactly.

She definitely spoiled me on our "mini-vacation." I thought bell-hops and room service were the things of movies before staying at the J.W. Marriott. I felt like Grace Kelly when the concierge took my hand as I was getting out of the car. Plus, there was a bath tub the size of a small pool. Needless to say, I took advantage of that immediately. 

We hit up some classic Chicago sites, like the sculpture garden in front of the art Institute, and Margie's Candies, an old-school ice cream parlor where the Beatles ate! We ate at a few "Gastro Pubs," took in some classic Chicago pizza, and even a little Starbucks. Most importantly, we found time to shop! I don't know how I survived so long without a Nordstrom Rack. I picked up a money belt, a traveler bag, and luggage locks, and I'm certain France will be the perfect location to rock my new Sperry's!

We didn't have time to creep on Obama's house though, but something to look forward to next time. What a great last hurrah with my momma!