SIT Camp Croatia and the real and final end.

When the bus that had taken us from Trieste, Italy, through Slovenia, then through the Istrian Peninsula to Pula, Croatia finally stopped, we were looking at a massive, white hotel that was to be our next home.  Everyone got giddy and forgot immediately the end-of-semester work we had in front of us.  We had a brief orientation meeting, detailing most importantly the free buffet three times a day, and then it felt like college again, or camp.  I spent about half of the first week there fixing up my final project on immigration and integration and creating my presentation, and the other half laying out in the sun.  There were some days where I didn't-- and didn't feel the need to-- leave the hotel area, and other days we ventured into Pula, the closest town, by foot or by rickety bus.  Parts of the Istrian Peninsula used to be governed by the Romans during the days of the Roman Empire, and there's an ancient atmosphere around Pula.  The arch and the colosseum definitely give it away, and the little cobblestone streets are at times reminiscent of the medina and Oudayas in Rabat (but then again, what isn't, to me?).

We were right on the Adriatic Sea, kind of in a hotel complex with tennis courts-- clearly a hot vacation spot for wealthy Eastern Europeans and people from all over.  There was an old fortress along the winding paths, reminding us of how old everything is in that area.  If you followed a certain path it brought you down to the cliffs and the ocean, and one spot was quickly named Mermaid Cove and was the best of them all.  Beautiful sunsets and water that was a shimmering, vibrant aquamarine, and whitish beige cliffs.

View from the balcony off of my hotel room-- yes.

Stones and ruins along the walk of our hotel and the Adriatic

Water

The Fortress near our hotel

The Histria

Sunset on the Adriatic

Lighthouse of sorts

Pula was the closest town to our little resort-esque area, and it, like the rest of Europe, had remnants of a very old grandeur.  Very, very, very old.  In downtown Pula, the landmark was the Arch, which was crafted by a woman and there's some accompanying story of how she had it built to reflect her power and authority over all the men.  The little busses would trundle around the winding streets and stop in front of the Arch plaza, or near the Colosseum, or next to a little park snuck into the twisting streets.  One of the girls on our trip is Bosnian, and she would negotiate the bus stops and restaurant menus for us, since apparently Bosnian and Croatian are almost the same language.  It reminded me of Rome, the area near the Vatican, but at the same time seemed so much older and more... decaying, I suppose.  I wished we had had more time (and energy) to visit more of Croatia, because I got the impression that Pula, with its old, decrepit buildings still visible even in the touristy areas, was an example of how a lot of the rest of this formerly war-torn-- or if not war-torn, then war-touched-- area would be.  In addition to the Arch and the Colosseum, there was a James Joyce Café-- with a statue of Joyce built into/onto one of the outdoor tables.  Wandering around downtown one afternoon, we stopped for another terrible yet addicting and rejuvenating cappucino, and sat at James' table.  

Downtown Pula, with the fountain and Roman Arch and brightly painted buildings

Coffee at the James Joyce café

Sittin' with James

Mini model-fountain of Pula

Pula's Colosseum

Advertising on the bus... genius!

Like I said, by this point I was pretty much exhausted.  I presented my research on the first day of presentations, and after that I was free!  One of our trips into Pula was for Easter Sunday.  I hadn't been to church in a very long time, if you don't count visiting the countless churches that seem obligatory to enter throughout European cities.  But Croatia is predominantly Roman Catholic, with that piece of identity having played a large role in the country's conflicts with surrounding break-away nations.  So I decided to go with a few friends to the service, to see what it was like.  We caught the tale end of it, and it was conducted in Croatian.  There were a lot of little children and elderly people, and a lot of the people we saw were wearing very casual street clothes.  Not what I expected, but I still enjoyed the service-- I thought back to my visit with Olivia and Zahra to the Mosquée de Genève, where we went for our research, and whose service I equally enjoyed.  For me this was another great opportunity to absorb or observe a part of a culture, even though we weren't there for very long at all.

Easter Sunday

Colosseum

The Square

One day of the last weekend of our stay in Croatia-- and of our semester, and my year, abroad-- the whole group was taken on a trip to Rovinj, a port city north of Pula.  We were to get there via boat-- a cruise through the Brijuni National Park Islands!  A quick couple tales of irony-- when we first got to The Histria, I went exploring "the grounds" of the hotel-complex with some friends, and while we were trying to understand a large map of the area posted on a wooden sign, a man came up to us, speaking first in Croatian, then German.  Luckily Meghan spoke German, and through a mixture of languages we figured out that he was trying to sell us a large group boat tour through the Brijuni National Park.  It was harder to weasel out of that unwelcome interaction-- the raggedy man looked like he was just wandering the deserted playgrounds and fortresses of the complex-- but eventually we convinced him that we would think about it.  Then, one day after everyone had finished presenting and we had an actual day all to ourselves, a group of us tried to go on our own tour of the National Park Islands.  Personalities clashed and tempers were tested among a group who had just spent a touch too long together, navigating strange lands in strange countries.  We missed a bus, ran into some friends who decided not to join us, and when we finally made it to the port city for the boat tour, found out that we were too late to go on the guided tour of the islands.  Apparently they do them by language, and no, it was not possible to just go out on a boat and wander around (we asked).  This ended up turning into a very serendipitously pleasant adventure-- we wandered around the port town whose name I've forgotten by now, sat at a café for a while watching the sun set and people milling around.  Then we decided to forego the nightly buffet (which had begun to get a little monotonous, except for the dessert section, and was making people less and less eager to lay out on the beach in their bathing suits).  We stopped in Pula and bumped into some other wanderers from our group (it was a small area and an even smaller city), so we stopped for pizza, then headed home.  "Home", in this case, more so than all the others.  

Anyways, those were the two times we did not go the the Brijuni Islands, but when we did, it turned out to be beautiful.  There were crumbling, half-standing fortresses and construction on these little tiny islands that created a sort of obstacle course for our boat to sail through.  We saw in the distance the port city where we had been the other day, and eventually, after much sitting and a lunch of too-fresh fish down below in the ship, we got off at the town of Rovinj.  There was a pretty modern-looking sculpture right off the deck, which looked out of place when you looked past just a little and saw winding cobble-stone streets receding into the distance, with an open air market in the foreground.  We were met by a guide and taken through the winding streets, and I felt like I was in a medina all over again.  I was Morocco-homesick and at the same time amazed by the beauty of it all, with flowers and vines blooming somehow in the cracks of the brick and stone buildings, and the shop doors open with some wares spilling out onto the already-too-narrow alleys.  The stones we walked on were uneven, and I saw-- and took pictures of-- so many doors.  I was called out on this by some passing tourists, whose nationality I could not guess, who asked why I was taking so many pictures of doors, and then answered their own question, somehow.  I was amazed by the similarities that I saw, and wondered again at the power of globalization, or the coincidence of it all.  

Group trip through Brijuni Islands National Park

Scattered ruins on the islands

Rovinj!

Olive oil booth at a market, Rovinj 

More doors in the small cobblestone streets...

Moroccan-door blue?

Brijuni Islands in the distance

Inside the Rovinj cathedral

SIT

Medina-esque streets...

Sailing away from Rovinj

We were, as a whole, a very cohesive group.  We saw each other every day, and smaller groups formed, but the people on this program were so amazing and different and unique, and I know we'll be in touch for a long time.  Even through the summer we've been in communication.  I couldn't believe this or foresee it, though, when in the beginning of the semester, a few kids had the idea to make an "SIT Prom" at the end of our time together.  Well, when we got to Croatia it was the moment of truth, and we actually pulled it off-- superlatives, video montage, and all!  These are the kinds of things that result from being with the same 30 people for 4 months, through super-highs and frightening lows of all kinds.  Now that I've been home for a while, it is that constant presence of these people that I miss the most.  This is probably because of the amount of concentrated time we spent together those last 2 weeks in Croatia.  Meals when you could walk down to the buffet and sit with whoever was there and feel at ease, countless loungings-about on the beach at Mermaid Cove, the eventual bus trip from Pula to Zagreb... and of course, prom to celebrate all the fun we had with each other.  We held it at the conveniently located bar in the hotel complex-- the owners, a few Croatian men, couldn't object, seeing as how we had given them a large pre-season boost in sales and traffic already.  

It seemed impossible that we would have to separate-- truly impossible.  We tried not to think about the end, instead staying up late on the hotel's terrace or playing kickball on the front lawn.  But eventually the day came, and that morning I woke up to a text and an email saying that the US had killed Osama bin Laden.  We all came down to breakfast talking about the implications, questioning with scared faces the implications of the photos we saw plastered across the online newspapers of ragingly happy American youth-- my peers-- in front of the White House, celebrating his death.  It's funny how being abroad will change your perspective of so many things, and here we got a prime example.  A bunch of us took the bus into Zagreb to catch early flights the next day, after tearful goodbyes and one last mooning from the jokester of the group.  We reached our hostel after walking with all of our luggage instead of bothering with navigating any more public transportation in a foreign language.  We settled in and then found some pizza across the street.  Our small, amputated group discussed the semester, and I reflected on my year.  Back in the hostel after stopping to get one last gelato, we were hanging around when all of a sudden two girls from the group just walked in with all of their luggage!  We found that SIT goodbyes will really never end.  We decided to prolong the night, and went across the street to a local pub, sitting outside reminiscing more.  Eventually it was time to sleep, and then too soon time to wake up.  We saw more friends at the airport-- those who had opted to sleep there for the night-- said more goodbyes, by this point less tearful, more "I'll see you soon".  One plane for me, a layover in Paris and then Norway, and then.... I arrived in Logan Airport, instead of Rabat-Salé.  This was a jolting, disorienting turn of events, in addition to just leaving Croatia and the group in and of itself.  

SIT prom!

Kickball on the lawn of the Histria.

So this is the final end-- the end of what, though, is the question.  I guess it's the end of a year I had planned for and looked forward to for more than a year prior.  People ask you if you think you've changed, which is something that is just so hard to gauge.  I know I'm not the same person I was before I went to Morocco, and the person I was before I went to Switzerland has been altered too.  But how?  Hard to pinpoint.  I am more tolerant of some things, and less tolerant of others.  I am more aware of the consequences of my actions, and the world seems smaller-- I experienced globalization firsthand, especially through my research following North African people and events in Switzerland.  I am more appreciative of where I am, and I seek to understand what makes that place special.  I still have the travel bug, especially to explore more of my own country.  I am proud to be an American, but have had the opportunity to view my country through the eyes of others, and so my perspective has been widened and enriched.  I've learned more that I could have imagined.  I've met people who I love and will cherish forever-- I am so lucky to have met my friends and to have stayed with my host families.  I learned from them, and in an exchange more powerful than language we learned from each other.  I don't doubt that I'll return to these places-- that's the other thing.  At one point in the near future, I believe I'll be back. Because nothing ever really ends, at least something like this, an adventure like this.

ISP, family bonding, and the first goodbye

After our epic journey through Prague and Berlin, I was done with major travels and needed to catch up on some work (the "study" part of being abroad).  I'll take a minute to talk about the ISP, the Independent Study Project which is at the end of all SIT study abroad programs.  Our classes and lectures ended in March, and we had a month in Switzerland to do independent research and interview experts on our research topic.  I had always looked at this ISP as an opportunity to tie together my whole year abroad, so paper, "North African Immigration and Integration into Swiss Society: Challenges to Identity", looked at the effects or Switzerland's integration policies and the work of cultural associations on identity maintenance of North African immigrants living in Switzerland.  I contacted and had conversations, more so than interviews, with five male directors of cultural associations in Geneva and Zurich-- one day taking a 3 hour train ride each way to and from Zurich and having a rapid-fire circuit of interviews with an Algerian and two Moroccan association directors.  As for the men I met with in Geneva, one was Moroccan/Algerian and the other Tunisian.  They were all incredibly dynamic individuals, inspiring, and engaged.  One of them was organizing a concert, "Revolution for a Better Future", to support a small village in Tunisia post-revolution events.  I attended, more out of personal interest than academic necessity. The research for this project was really a lot of fun for me, because it gave me a link to my experiences last semester, and especially with all of the events of the Arab Spring, I felt like my research was relevant to the world today.  Plus, it was really interesting to analyze policies and flaws and possible suggestions from a first-hand perspective, after interviewing these men.  Jumping ahead, last week I completed and presented my paper, and might try to work with it more in the future.

Poster for "Revolution for a Better Future", Geneva.

Back to post-travel week, I was still in Switzerland with my host family, in Gland with the oversized red flower pots.  I got used to taking the 20 minute train ride into Geneva every morning to work in cafés or the University library in the Old Town, and as spring came into full force I enjoyed those train rides more and more.  Of course, just because there was work to be done didn't mean that the fun had to stop... One of the most beautiful and fun trips was to the vineyards of Lavaux.  With a few friends, we took a roughly 2 hour train ride along Lac Leman to St. Saphorin, and from there walked for 4 hours through the terraced vineyards along the lake, through town after quaint town.  A brutal sunburn ensued, but the views, company, and stop in a small town for ice cream by the lake made it a perfect day.  Walking in the sweltering heat, looking across the clear blue water at snow-covered mountains was really something, and kind of epitomized Switzerland.

Lac Léman in St. Saphorin.

Old Town (or medina??) in St. Saphorin. 

Wine hike in the Lavaux region.

Cully, lakeside.

More trips to our favorite spots in Nyon, hanging out by the lake watching the Mont Blanc in the distance, and a trip to Bain de Paquis to eat an awkward but delicious fondue as it de-fond'ed because of the chilly twilight air.  I became a regular at a certain café, and took one last bike trip in Gland down to the "beach".  I went with some friends to a comedy show in a hip basement bar in Lausanne, a university town about 20 minutes from Gland, where we sat and tried to follow the rapid-fire, energetic French amid the laughter of the audience.  My host sister, Fanny, and I took a trip to Lausanne with a friend, which was another one of my favorite days, now too many to count.  We took an early train, then went first to the cathedral in Lausanne, and it was there that I realized how much I was going to miss this place.  I had never been to that cathedral before, or had even been in Lausanne for too long.  What was it?  After climbing to the top of the bell tower and looking out over the entire city, we walked around the cobblestone streets sloping up and down, looking into the shops.  The whole time I couldn't help but think how I wished I had visited the town more during my short three months, and also that the program was held in Lausanne as opposed to Geneva... I have come to believe that Geneva is almost too international, losing any sense of Swiss culture, but at the same time embodying it since it is, after all, integral to Switzerland... hmm.

View of Lausanne from the bell tower of the cathedral.

Cathedral in Lausanne.

Rose window, Lausanne cathedral.

Last but certainly not least-- I finally made it to my host-family's chalet!  Yes, the day before I had to leave them for 2 last weeks in Croatia with the program.  We weren't leaving till around 11, so I had just enough time to run into Geneva to pick up some last minute souvenirs/chocolate for people back home.  Then we boarded the train, armed with sandwiches and snacks from Raphael, my host family's favorite bakery (conveniently located across from the Gland train station).  It was a comfortable 3 hour train ride, transferring once, with the villages passing by the window further and further apart and winding through more and more mountains.  The last train we rode felt like a Disney ride, teeny tiny and red.  I munched on tiny baguette sandwiches with my host siblings, watching as we ascended up and up and up.  We reached our stop, and school children got off-- my host brother Guillaume explained how very very isolated these children are, and how removed this part of Switzerland was from the rest.  We started walking up a hill, and I could see a community of chalets and in the distance-- beautiful mountain scenery, literally post-card, Sound of Music, what you imagine when you hear the words "Swiss mountain chalet".  It was like a beach house community but in the mountains.  We walked up and up, on and on and finally made it to the chalet, built by one of Papa Jean's cousins decades ago because his mother's chalet was too out of the way.  I thought that was funny, and marveled at the genuine, honest work that was this wooden chalet.  My host siblings became kids again-- the most important thing was to taste the water.  "Water from the chalet!"  I had been promised great things from this water, and they were right-- it was clean and cold and delicious.  This reminded me of one time last semester, when we were visiting relatives and we visited an aunt who had just come back from the hajj, and she had brought back holy water and Nora and I were given some, even though we were guests and not Muslim.  Water is important and is ascribed importance on so many levels everywhere... one of those many human commonalities.

Easter bunny brioche from Raphael!

Ma famille-- going to the chalet at Les Granges

Picturesque-- this is real.

Blue

The chalet!

View from a window over the couch

We toured around the whole little chalet, looking at grandma Diana's mountain outfit that had been hand-made for her and looked very much like something out of the Sound of Music or the rented Polish dance costume I wore once in a dance.  There were all sorts of little nooks and crannies with windows looking out onto the mountains and the valley, complete with cows grazing.  In one of the small attic bedrooms I found an old poster advertising Royal Air Maroc, and I couldn't (and can't) stop seeing parallels and being reminded of where I've been.  Or maybe it's just globalization.  

Serieusement??

Then it was time for the grand tour-- not only was this picturesque chalet overlooking a serene and almost imaginary scene, but there was a waterfall at the end of the walking trail!  Of course.  Along the way, Fanny and Guillaume showed me their favorite things to do and places to play along the trail as kids.  This included a game where Fanny pelted Guillaume with fallen pinecones, and the little clovers that you could eat and get a surprisingly intense sour flavor from such a small little leaf, and their favorite rock-climbing hide out.  The started scrambling up it, and excused me from joining them if I didn't want to come up.  They were surprised and truly happy when I said of course I was climbing up with them!  I wasn't going to miss out on any of this childhood joy and fun.  We reached the waterfall and crossed a narrow, rickety bridge that Guillaume took pleasure in rocking while we were walking on it.  We climbed some steps built into the mountainside, looked even further into the distance, over mountains and into valleys, looking at the specks of cows and the sparkling of the Rhône river-- the same one that runs through France.  It was breathtaking.  I am so lucky, just so lucky.  

The Rhône river from the side of a mountain

Playing in the woods :)

Bridge to the waterfall

We went back to the chalet for some tea and more of that indescribable water, and some smuggled chocolates (of course).  Then we walked back through the chalet-town, onto the Disney train, and began the journey home.  On the train back on the ground, so to speak, we acquired Magali at the stop in Lausanne where she was coming from school.  Someone asked her if she was thirsty and she said no, but when they clarified that it was from the chalet she accepted excitedly-- too funny.  It was like we all reunited on that train, and everyone was so happy to see each other, and we laughed when we were all sprayed by the beer that someone had opened too enthusiastically while the train lurched forward.  We got home in time for a last dinner, one more time around the table with Papa Jean and Diana and the kids and Anne and me.  I finished packing and put together the photo album I had made for them as a thank you gift-- all photos of the scenery I had seen traveling throughout their beautiful country.  Switzerland is so varied and vast, and I realized just how special each corner of it is.  There were tears that night, mostly my own until Anne stated, matter-of-factly, that I should not cry, because I will surely be back in Europe, and I will surely come back again.  That shut me right up, and I was good to go until the morning, when I snuffled as I tried to shove my shoes into my suitcases and my bemused and wary host brother looked on.  Anne walked me to the train station, for the last time, and even now I feel how sad I was then.  They had been home to me for three months, and I had gotten attached once again.  But that's what makes it worth it, I suppose.  

rue de la savoie, with the strange oversized red pots

Home sweet home

On the too-many-hour long train ride from Geneva to Trieste, Italy, all of the students talked and laughed and reminisced, and it didn't seem so bad because we were all still together and still had a few weeks of adventure in front of us.  A different adventure, but one we were all looking forward to.  Man, I wish I had taken pictures of that train ride through northern Italy... it was rural and countryside and great.  I watched it fly by.