Wofford College - Study Abroad

"Are you sad to leave London?"

  

  

    Until I returned from London to my hometown of Gainesville, Georgia, there was one question that "adults" would ask that always topped my "most hated questions" list: "So Sarah, what do you think you'd like to do after you graduate?" Most of my friends hate this question for one simple reason: they don't have an answer. But I have an answer -- it's just an answer most adults don't like to hear.
    My answer takes many forms. Sometimes, when I don't feel like stepping straight into the ring of fire, I mumble elusively, "Oh, I'm going to go to grad school." I don't say which and I don't say for what, and I hope pointlessly that they won't ask.
    Other times, I go for humor. "Well, Mrs. (Insert Last Name Here), I'm thinking about trying to whole 'move to New York, live out of a cardboard box and try unsuccessfully to make the New York Times Bestseller List' method." I usually don't get smiles in return.
    And sometimes, I'm struck by a fit of honesty: "To be frank, I really just want to write. I'm going to go to whatever grad school I can get into in New York -- just to be there -- and I'm going to write. No sir, not for a newspaper. No, not a magazine. I think I'll try my hand at novels. I know, not the smartest plan... I know, especially in this economy... Oh! I'm sorry -- I think I hear my mom calling me way over there at the opposite end of the room..."

  But lately, that question has been the equivalent to reciting my two's times tables. Now I'm doing calculus before I've even learned long division. The question I get now is harder to answer that I've ever imagined and it's not because of the questioner's reaction; it's because of mine.
    The first time I was asked it, I don't think I gave any noticeable indications of my reaction. I didn't drop the glass I was holding, no tears rose at the back of my eyes, I didn't even consider hiding my feelings with a comedic response. Instead, when the question was voiced -- "Are you sad about leaving London?" -- I gripped my glass a little tighter, I glanced down at my shoes and then I looked up and responsed in a tone that was a bit too serious, "Yes... I really am."

    I developed better answers. Once I heard the question, I was prepared to face it again. At first it was a gradual admission: "Yes, I really do miss it. Just living there for three months... it really became my home." As I said this, pictures of London flew through my brain like a movie in fast forward mode: the room I stayed in with my unmade bed, Michaela trying to climb one of the lion statues in Trafalgar Square, people swaying as the bus slams on its brakes, a scene from my favorite play when the actor crumbles to the floor.
    Soon, the question wasn't even a blow. Soon, I could recognize that leaving London wasn't about coming back home and being sad; it was about coming back home -- back to the familiar -- and seeing it in an unfamiliar light. Soon, I could smile and reply, "Yeah, of course I'm sad to leave London. But, at the same time, it's made me realize so much about this place I've lived all my life."
    I've noticed how slow I eat now because meals in Europe aren't just about eating -- they're more about conversation. I can see the different ways in which clothes function in the South and London: in Georgia, people dress for comfort, while London is centered around fashion -- clothes are a means of expression. Fast food in the states means scarfing a hamburger in your car; in London, it means eating a sandwich as you walk back to work.
    But more than anything, living in London has made realize so much about myself. Yes, I could say, I'm sad to leave London because leaving London meant leaving a part of myself that was only just awakened. The part of myself that I could never locate while I'm living in a small city in the South, the part I think, I hope, will come back to me if I ever do make it to New York.
    Yes, I'm sad to leave London. I'm sad that this experience I'll never get to have again has ended. But I'm not really sad. The only reason I could actually be sad is if I never got to go.

The End? No

 

I packed my stuff the last night. Somehow I managed to fit all of my stuff into the same luggage I came over with even though I had collected a few more items. I did have to leave the sheets and towel I brought but oh well. It was weird to think that I was catching a plane home the next day. To be honest I spent a lot of time hoping that a giant snow storm would blow through and my flight would be cancelled. When they would try to put me on the next flight, I would tell them to delay the ticket until at least right before January—since classes start at Wofford then. I wasn’t ready to come home. I was so settled in Amsterdam and I loved it so much; I didn’t want to just walk away. It doesn’t feel like it has been a whole semester! I just got to Amsterdam! Now I had to leave, but not for good. There is a 99.99% chance that I will go to Grad school in the Netherlands! I learned about some of their programs and found a Vet school there. Whether I do Veterinary science or any other science, I am definitely going back! My roommate Daniella and my neighbor Emma also both want to come back for higher education! We have talked about living together and I think that would be so gezellig! Wat leuk!

I went on a canal cruise a while back, and as we were going under a bridge I noticed a saying that was written on the wall; It said, “Terugkomen is niet hetzelfde als blijven” which means “coming back is not the same as staying.” It sent a pang to my heart. I wanted to come back and here was this sign! I wish that I could stay. Yes, I missed my friends and family and pumpkin pie and eggnog but this was Amsterdam! I had friends here too and a lifestyle that I loved. If I did not have science classes that I needed in the spring then I probably would have stayed in Amsterdam for the spring semester. However, I did come home. There are classes I need at Wofford in the spring and no snow storm ever blew through. I did get a little excited when they couldn’t find my reservation at the airport but even that fell through; Northwest over booked the flight and I had no seat, but I waited at the gate and eventually they found me and the two other girls (Kemper and Katie) seats.

Getting to the airport was a hassle. I took the bus with all my luggage to the train station and from there took the train to Schipol Airport . I was wearing a new sweater, my hoodie, my peacoat, a scarf, a hat, and mittens. When I finally got in the train I was so sweaty that I went into the train bathroom, grabbed some paper towels, and wiped myself off.  Sounds nice, ja? I made it though; I got on the plane and settled in my seat next to my two friends. It was going to be a long plane ride; ten and a half hours to Memphis, TN and then from there to Greenville. I did not sleep at all on the long flight even though I was tired. The night before, I stayed up late packing and spending time with friends—we went on a midnight bike ride through the city one last time! I was exhausted when I arrived at Greenville at 10:40 pm—that’s 4:40 am in Amsterdam! It was nice to have a surprise visit from my friends at the airport though. They showed up and greeted me as they normally would—pretending it was any other day saying “hey girl” and passing me! Silly but wonderful friends! My dad was there to pick me up. He was waiting near baggage claim, and I was so glad to see him. It was a really good finish for an abroad trip in Amsterdam.  I left my Dutch country but found my Dutch dad waiting at home!

I have two homes now; Amsterdam is now a home for me and I will return in the future. But I am back at my South Carolina home now and it feels weird. There is no big city waiting outside my window anymore; only trees. I don’t have to bundle up as much when I go outside. I can’t just ride my bike to the store or market or friend’s house; there are no bikes or bike lanes at all! Everywhere I go I hear English; no more Dutch constantly swirling around me. It is a different type of world.

I used to imagine myself as a “country girl;” I wanted to live in the countryside where I could have my own farm. I wanted green to surround me and my neighbors far away. Now I feel a little differently. I loved living in the big city; especially Amsterdam! It wasn’t overwhelming but it always had something to offer. The Dutch seem very precise and use space well. While I used to imagine myself in a giant house (like any other little kid), now I want a smaller, cozy home!

            I miss Amsterdam and the people—my new friends. I enjoyed getting to know them, and I only hope that we can carry on our relationships. We made a lot of great, fun memories that I will cherish forever. I learned many valuable things from our experiences together; from music to relationships to emotions to politics.

            My advice to future study-abroaders:

1)      Choose somewhere you want to go! Don’t go somewhere just for academic reasons. You can work out class schedules wherever you go so don’t limit yourself! Your experience will go so much better if you are where you want to be! Go with the choice that inspires you most; the rest will fall into place!

2)      If possible take classes that are different from your major or main study. Branch out and see some other options—even if it is just art. And don’t overload on tough classes; you don’t want to be stressed with school while you are abroad. Your semester abroad should be more about discovering the world, another environment, and your own interests. The more personal you make the trip, the better!

3)      I recommend going abroad single if at all possible. Long distance relationships are hard and you may find yourself missing home more than enjoying yourself. If you aren’t single then you better make a promise to yourself not to let missing home drive you into depression! (A girl in my program this year missed her boyfriend and home so much that she stayed in bed watching TV on the computer—she didn’t even try to get out of the room. It was depressing to be around her negative attitude) Be proactive and always make an effort to be a part of the society or culture you are living in—you won’t regret it!

4)      Get a bike (if there are bike lanes), go out often, make friends, be open minded, get your work done before the last week, and have FUN!

My Last weeks...

Two weeks ago I took a day trip to Brugge, Belgium! It was my first time leaving the Netherlands during my semester; I had visited so many places within the country, but I had never crossed the boarder. At first I thought that I would feel bad about not traveling more of Europe while I was there—traveling across boarders there is easy and everything is pretty close; however, in the end I am pleased with my choice of exploring Holland instead of the rest of Europe.  By staying in the Netherlands (especially Amsterdam), I really got a grasp of the Dutch culture, which meant more to me than leaving the country for a weekend to take “touristy” photos. It is nice to go into another region or country and see their true culture and not just the touristy sights.

When I visited Belgium, I definitely went as a tourist! I went with another girl from IES and we only went for one day! Elissa and I met at Central Station early Sunday morning and we bought our tickets. We were just on time to catch the train the leaves every hour; however, the ticket lady kindly reminded us that we had to have our passports. Darn! We both forgot ours, so we each biked back home to get them. It was really annoying because that would mean we would have to wait for the next hourly train! It was also frustrating later because they never checked our passports, so really we could have gone without them. Oh well! We got on our train and finally made it to Brugge by 1 pm even though we left on the nine O’clock train. There was another group of people on our train that were also going to Brugge. They were from Spain and really didn’t understand the train schedule. One of the ladies came over to ask if we were also going to Brugge. I tried to explain that we had to switch trains in Antwerp (which was a really cool, giant station), but she was still a little confused. Eventually she said they would just tag along with us, and I told her that was great! After we got to Brugge we split up, but we still ran into them a few times!

Brugge was really nice of course. It was funny at first though because I imagined that it would be quieter, but as soon as you stepped out of the train station there was a constant stream of people heading to city center. As Elissa’s guide book said, it was quite a “tourist trap.”  Trap or not I was glad to be there. We followed the herd of people until we made it to the main shopping street.  It was a great sunny day and the buildings seemed to glow from the sun. We made it to the Christmas market where there were tons of booths full of colorful items surrounding a big ice skating ring! Naturally we went ice skating! It was so packed on the ice that at times you had to stop from a traffic jam but it was still lots of fun!

We also bought Belgium waffles with chocolate sauce on top and later a pita with lost of chicken in it! It was really good food! As snacks in between we went into the chocolate stores and bought little truffles to try. They were all so delicious but my favorite item of the day was the “Worlds best hot chocolate.” After walking around the small town and taking pictures of the houses on the canal, we went in search of hot chocolate to warm us up. We found a small chocolate store with a café upstairs and a sign that read “Worlds best hot chocolate.” We found our winner! We got to sit in really comfy sofa-like chairs and warm up! Everyone seemed to have these large bowls in front of them and Elissa was hoping that that was what our hot coco came in but it seemed too big so I assumed it was soup. Elissa was right though!  They brought out a large bowl-mug full of warm milk and, on the side, chocolate chips served in a small chocolate bowl! We added the chocolate to our milk and it was delicious! By the end of the day though, I was quite sweetened out! We spent more time in Brugge before catching the train back to Amsterdam.  It was a really long but wonderful day out of the city. It was almost surreal to think that I was in Belgium for a day. 

My last week in Amsterdam was really packed. We had exams up until the last day, final places to visit, last minute shopping, and we all wanted to hang out before leaving. It was unfortunate that the IES end-date wasn’t a week after exams that way we could enjoy the city more before we scampered out. The last weekend, I went to see the nutcracker ballet. It was really cool to see the differences to the “American” performance. They incorporated their Sinterklaas celebration into the play and both Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet were in the play! The theater is amazing in Amsterdam and I am glad I got to go to two ballets!

All of my exams went well I think and we all found time to hang out!

A day in the life of a London traveller...

 

As the train pulls up, I hold back my sigh of frustration. People are packed into each carriage like a deck of cards in its box -- except a few stray cards from another deck have found their way inside, forcing the cards to strain against the box. Individuals fill up the aisles, as well as the middle and end spaces in each carriage: many backs are pressed up against the doors, which open slower than usual. A few people squeeze through the mass of bodies to stumble off the train. We, the eager boarders, wait somewhat impatiently. I step onto the train and try to force my body -- including the large lump on my back, my backpack -- inside. It doesn't fit. I step back grudgingly and watch as another person jumps in my place. The train pulls away. I stand back behind the yellow line, as the voice over the intercom instructs, and watch as the train departs. I'll have to catch the next one.

A typical morning at the South Kensington tube station.

I'm luckier when the next train pulls in: the end of one carriage stops in front of me, which is less crowded than the middle doors that everyone runs to. Thinking this time -- I usually don't bring my backpack with me -- I slide it off my back and hold it as I step inside the train. Unfortunately, I'm in the middle -- no side or door to lean against or pole that I can reach to keep my body from lurching forward. I place my backpack between my legs and pray that I don't end up in the arms of the man in front of me: he doesn't look quite awake yet.

I glance around me, but already know what I'm going to see. Men and women of all ages surround me, all seemingly lost in their own minds. Many have thin white cords poking out from their jackets, leading up to their ears: some iPod listeners stare straight ahead quietly, others bob their head, a few even hum or sing under their breath... until someone clears their throat.

Other people are immersed in broadsheets -- newspapers -- or books. Just in case I did space out and forget what time it was -- I've been known to do it -- I would know exactly the time of day just by glancing around the carriage. It's morning because no one has freesheets yet: the London Lite or the London Paper. These newspapers, given out for free by overly eager paper boys at the entrance of the tube, don't come out until late afternoon. Take the tube at 4:30 p.m. and you'll find yourself surrounded by business men and women completely immersed in their freesheet: their own guide to celebrity gossip. And, don't be fooled, just because someone doesn't have a freesheet in their hand, it doesn't mean they aren't reading over the shoulder of the person next to them... or waiting like a hawk for someone to set theirs down so they can snatch it up.

But it's morning, I'm sure of it, because I see a few copies of the Metro in my fellow travellers' hands -- the morning freesheet. I try to catch a glance past the crowded bodies to the station we pull up to: I can't see it, but I know it's not Green Park, the one I'm waiting for. That's not where I get off; my stop, Holborn, is four more stops away. But, there are many people who do get off at this station, so it's my one hope for getting a seat -- or at least getting escaping from the ring of bodies around me to the side of the train. Green Park comes: like I expect, people file out, leaving some -- not sufficient -- room in the carriage. I quickly move to the side of the carriage before the train is filled again with new boarders. Leaning back against the train, my travels are a little easier for the next four stops: my body isn't swaying dangerously against everyone around me.

We arrive at Holborn and file out of the train, going down the stairs and down a hall full of advertisements. Posters line the wall advertising for movies, plays and museums. I glance at them and smile, knowing that in less than a week I'll be back home -- a place where I can afford to see a movie. Once we get to the escalator, two lines emerge: one to stand on the right side of the escalator, the other to walk, well run really, up the left. I'm not late today so I choose the right hand side and watch as people dash by to my left. I suppress a laugh when one sweating man in a suit trips in mid-run: you have to be nimble to make it up the escalator gracefully.

The outside air hits my face in a furious rush as the escalator nears the top. Though the cold usually cripples me, I welcome this harsh breeze; after the foggy windows of the subway, it's a relief. Swipping my oyster card over the sensor, I walk through the doors as they open and towards the tube exit -- "way out" as it's labeled here. I'm almost out when a huffing man runs into me, causing me to stagger and make a small gasp. When I look up, he's already run by with a fleeting "Sorry, miss," thrown over his shoulder. I should be mad, but I smile instead. Sure, the tube isn't glamorous, even compared to my dangerously feeble Chevy Cavalier at home. But right now, I'd rather be taking the tube in London, then in a car driving anywhere else -- especially if it's on the right side of the road.

What is your facebook status?

I had been dreading this holiday day for days. I was going to celebrate my first Thanksgiving outside of the country. I was not going to a get weekend off from school, go shopping on Black Friday with my sister, eat my Grandma’s cooking, or spend the day with my loved ones. I was in another world, Dominican world, where Thanksgiving didn’t exist. This was my reality, and it had not bothered me until Wednesday when my world came crashing down.

It began as any other Wednesday, with Senora yelling my name to come and eat breakfast. As I got ready for school, Senora remembered that I had to prepare something for our program’s Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday. I had forgotten all about Thanksgiving because it was too painful to think of, but now I had to think of something that I, Regina Fuller, could cook for other human beings to eat. Not being one for a culinary challenge, I decided that I would make brownies as my contribution and gave Senora $500 pesos to buy the mix.

Senora left for the supermarket, and I tried to begin my homework. However, thoughts of Thanksgiving invaded my work. In my email, I received a notice from Wofford Housing about check out and check in times for the holiday weekend. Normally, I was home before this email was sent out, due to the proximity of my house to Wofford’s campus; however, this year I did not beat the email home. I couldn’t check out of my dorm because I was out of the country. Keeping on this track of unproductivity, I checked facebook, doubling my pain. All of my “friends” had updated their statuses: people from the Wofford crew described how they were driving home or how home felt while my high school friends described the excitement of rediscovering their long lost love, Spartanburg. But I couldn’t update my status because I wasn’t going home for Thanksgiving.

The preoccupation of updating my status haunted the rest of my Wednesday. My day proceeded as usual: I went to my Dominican Dance class, two hour Spanish class, and one hour culture class. Although I was physically in class, mentally I was not. My thoughts centered on what I would be doing if I were home. Would I be at my grandmother’s house tasting Thanksgiving food or out with friends from high school catching up on old times? What would be my status if I were in America, I wondered.

After my last class of the day, the surrounding Dominican world closed in on me. I no longer wanted to see PUCMM but Wofford. I no longer wanted to hang out with the strangers in my program whom I had grown to call friends; I wanted to be with my own friends. But most of all, I did not want to go home to the people, my Dominican family, whom I had lived with for the past three months; I wanted to be with my family. These thoughts flooded my head while tears streamed down my cheeks in the taxi ride home. I didn’t care about all the Spanish I had learned or how much I had grown as a person, I wanted to leave right then. I wanted to define my status.

Soon, the taxi arrived at my house and I tried to pull myself together. I couldn’t let Señora see me crying. I hurried into the house and into my room to avoid all human contact. Seconds later, my stupor was interrupted by pounding on the door. Señora informed me that I was being rude and must come out to talk with her and my sister. I grudgingly left my room for the kitchen, only to be surprised by the brownies and cornbread that awaited me. While I was at school, my house mom and sister cooked the brownies and cornbread for me because they knew after seven hours of class, I would not have been the best of cooks. Two people, whom I had known for a little over three months, cared enough about me to spend their whole afternoon doing something I was supposed to be doing. My chore required two trips to the supermarket (because I did not check to see if we had all the ingredients in the house), hours of labor, and dirtied every pan in the house. Moved by the kindness of my Dominican family, I went to bed grateful but still hadn’t solved the riddle of my status.

The next morning was Thanksgiving, and it was more successful than I thought. Our program had a potluck dinner and the food that my classmates cooked was actually good! Everyone loved my brownies and I of course toke credit for Señora’s hard work of baking them. For these two hours, I forgot about my status and what I would be doing in America; I enjoyed the company of my classmates and professors.

After the Thanksgiving dinner, I returned to my house. Once again my mind centered on my status. What is Regina doing right now? I didn’t have the answer. But my status update went far beyond Facebook to my innermost being. What is my status, I pondered. Is my life here fake and my life in America real, even though I have done ‘real’ things here? Am I still a Wofford student even though I live as a PUCMM student? Can I still identify myself as a Southerner even though I am now a Santiguera? Who am I and what is my status?

As the cursor on facebook stared back at me waiting for a response, my friend Kim reminded me that facebook really wasn’t that important, and sometimes it is best to not have a status. Right then, I realized I no longer have a status. Yes, the basics remain defined: Regina Fuller, age 20, South Carolina native, Wofford student, aunt, and daughter, but everything else was now undefined. I had passions and interests before coming to this island, but now, some have changed. I can’t choose my ‘real’ American life over my ‘fake’ Dominican life but must somehow embrace them both. Who I was and who I have become can not be summed up into 50 characters or into any amount of words. I now have a dual identity, in which I am neither purely American nor purely Dominican; I am undefined.

With sleep within my grasp, I began to embrace my new identity and status: undefined.

Regina

Feestdag!

Thanksgiving! I was both delighted and sad to see it come! We had organized a potluck dinner two nights before through e-mail, and everyone signed up for a certain dish. Everyone was so willing! Food options were taken quickly and soon there was nothing left to be taken! I think we were all excited about our holiday away from home. I surly was exciting; I was going to make stuffing! But seeing that it was Thanksgiving meant that it was already November 27th! No! How could that be? I need more time! The semester is coming to a close too quickly! I love it here so much and feel so comfortable here now that coming home seems weird. Why leave this great place for the stressful US? For now I am going to go with Family and Friends as my answer. But back to the big day! My lovely roommate went out early to buy bread for our stuffing before she went to class. At first we were not sure if stuffing was an option. Everyone always makes it in the oven and all we have is a stove; however, I remembered that my mom had sent me several recipes early in the semester one of which was stuffing. I had disregarded most of them because they all seemed to need an oven, but on a second glance I realized that I could make this stuffing on the stove! We were saved...what is thanksgiving without stuffing!? So I awoke that morning to two large loves of fresh bread, onions, celery, and spices! I could smell it already, but it would have to wait until later in the afternoon.

Brittney Getz from Wofford was in town visiting me for the holiday, and we had plans for the morning. We headed out into the city on my bike...yes my bike...two of us on one bike. She sat on my luggage rack, and I got a good leg work-out! Thighs of Steel! It was a little bit of a challenge finding out balance but we did it on our second try! Once we got into the main part of the city we walked so that we could actually take pictures. We walked quite a lot that day: from Nieuw Markt to Dam to Spui to Leidseplein...and back! That’s pretty darn far! We left my bike at Nieuw markt and then walked to Dam square (its a big tourist spot). From there we walked down the big shopping street and checked out a few shops. We turned off the Spui and walked down a street that supposedly had a "US & British Food Store;" we were looking for pumpkin pie puree and egg nog! We walked right past the small shop with a green awning and found ourselves in Leidseplein--we must have missed it, so we turned around and tried again, this time with success! Unfortunately our success stopped there. We were an hour too late for the pumpkin pie filling--supposedly he sold his last one--and the egg nog was 10 euro for a can--little too much for me! We walked out empty handed but it was worth a shot. I have never really thought about what "American foods" I have been "missing." Obviously I wasn't really missing them. It was funny to walk into this small shop and see the shelves stuffed with cheerios and baked beans and other assorted "US foods."  The only thing I missed was egg nog but I had heard about a "replacement" so we would try that later. 

We headed home so that we could make the stuffing. It was pretty easy. While I chopped and cooked, Brittney looked up the Macy's Day parade so that we could have it going in the background...just for fun. We also watched a little Home Alone 2. It was a good day. Our room smelled so wonderful but across the hall our friends were burning up a storm. John said that he was going to make cornbread, but of course we have no oven so he was making stove top in a brownie pan. It cooked really well! All the edges were burnt to a crisp and hard as a rock. The middle was still good so we just cut off half and inch of black crust and it was good to go! He also made green beans in mushroom soup! Yumm! His roommate was making fried chicken and deviled eggs for us! He did a super job! Mandy brought garlic mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and squash. She added beer to the squash for flavor and boy did it add flavor! It was quite beer-y but it was fine and funny! My roommate made us salad and Michael brought bread and dessert. We had so many desserts since more than one person contributed. We had a cherry pie, apple crumble, apple pie, ice cream, truffles, apple sauce, and stroop waffels! It was great! Jason was the "booze-man" and brought wine, champagne, sparkling cider, and seasonal beers for us to try.  We had a delicious meal and a great time. Our dinner lasted from 7:30 until midnight! Gezellig! I had such a great Thanksgiving with these new friends! We laughed at jokes, stories, and the quite moments that Michael offered! We were so inspired by this meal that we are going to have another one similar to it next Tuesday!

The rest of Brittney's visit went well also. I showed her around Amsterdam and the wonderful time that it has provided for me! We went on a canal tour and ate pannekoeken and poffertjes! Zo lekker!!! We also bought some Advocaat which is the stuff that was supposed to be a "replacement" for egg-nog.  It was funny walking into the Liquor store. The man there was so friendly! When we walked in the door he turned and said in dutch, "you guys thirsty?" Haha  I asked him about this Advocaat and he said that it was good on ice cream and we had some left over from Thanksgiving so we thought we would give it a try. It was wel oke but it wasn't quite egg nog. Not as  delicious...sad day...oh well! It was worth the try. Now we just have to figure out what to do with this alcoholic beverage! YAY! What a great time of the year, no?
Annemarieke loves Holland/Amsterdam!

My own British family

When I signed up to stay with a British family for a weekend, I had high hopes. I expected everything: a hot meal or two that didn't come out of a microwave -- like mine usual do -- a plethora of new British phrases and, most importantly, a bed with springs that don't cut off my circulation.
    I was estastic when I learned I would stay with a family in Lincolnshire, which is an area of countryside in the Northern part of England. It was exactly what I wanted: one weekend away to see a part of Britain that didn't include an overwhelming number of buildings, underground stations or outfits in display windows that cost more than my entire wardrobe. I packed my backpack with as many layers as possible, as my host mum advised me to do, and left with the content idea that maybe wherever I was going had more sheep than people.
    Even though I expected everything, the everything I got wasn't what I expected.
    At the train station, I met Caroline, my host mother. Though I had left the train with a dozen nervous queries, they evaporated when I recognized that there was nothing I could fear in this woman. She had round glasses and an easy smile. When I went to the right side of the car -- thinking it was the passenger's side, as it would be in America -- babbling on about how I couldn't remember the last time I rode in a car, she simply tapped my arm and smiled, "Wrong side."
    Later I met her foster children: two boys named Dan, 17, and Ashley, 13. Like my brother Robert, who is also 17, Dan is obsessed with his Xbox. More than that, they both tell the kind of funny jokes you hate, but you have to laugh at. The way he teased Ashley reminded me of the way Robert -- lovingly I'm sure -- tells me I'm his favorite big brother. I couldn't help but smirk as I watched their mini-fights.
    Likewise, I couldn't help but think of Ashley as my temporary replacement for my littlest brother Lee. I don't think he knew how to react to me at first: he didn't speak to me much, and when he did, he abruptly told me I couldn't be American because I wasn't a gamer. Later, when I refused a snack, he said, "You aren't like any other Americans I've met. They ate all the time."
    He started to warm up to me though. When he played the old shoulder tap trick -- where you tap the shoulder furthest from you of the person beside you -- I simply turned around and smiled at him, "You know, we do that in America, too." By the end of the weekend, he didn't mind letting my inexperienced fingers hold his playstation controller. Besides, half of the entertainment of playing with me was watching my three lives disappear before I even figured out how to aim my gun.
    My favorite was Roxy. A family friend of Caroline's, she was on a vacation from boarding school and came to stay for the weekend. A replica my 14-year-old Jordan, I fought a losing battle all weekend trying not to call her the wrong name. Like Jordan, she has entered the stage that no teenage girl can be blamed for: she was self-conscious and just wanted people to like her.
    Mortified when Caroline let her borrow a coat that hung like a deflated hot air balloon over her tiny frame, Roxy tried to convince her that her light jacket would suffice in below freezing temperatures. She got up early to straighten her hair and spent many precious minutes on her make-up, applying mascara with an ease I still can't master. Yet, just like Jordan, she is hardly a barbie doll. Smart and funny, she kept up with the boys' banter and rolled her eyes at me every now and then as if to say, "Why do we even listen to these guys?"
    And Caroline had no problem treating me like a daughter. Whether she was asking what I'd like her to make for dinner or yelling from the room below me to be careful with the water when I was taking a shower, I knew I momentarily had become one of her children. As if it were only a question of tying a knot betweeen two pieces of thread, she gladly bound me to the long string of people she already cares for. When I left, I fumbled with my words: there was no way I could express my gratitude.
    I went to Lincolnshire wanting a home and all of its simple amenities. I never thought I'd get there and find the most real kind of home: family.