The Art of Travel

Who I am is determined by all the things that led up to this exact point. When I wake up, I am the same person plus one more day ahead of me and one less day behind me. Where, does not matter, I am the same person, and I am determined to change over time. Why does change come by slowly and not at the pace I want. I learned that sometimes wherever you run off to, mood swings like a pedestal (at least for me) most things are not as satisfactory as they should be. A missing factor is Kessly’s “highs and lows,” I feel like I am usually on a low and can’t seem to get out of it. Although I had never been to France and I had just arrived from Spain, I felt like I wanted to go home and have tacos. Familiarity is my comfort more than it is for others, but I am trying to extend myself to achieve unfamiliarity as much as I can flex my not so lumber mind. The world of social anxiety makes me believe that I cannot exist with others around me without thinking that they are against me, what do people think when they see me? Do my peers from St. Edward’s like me or do we have to click because we are in a controlled environment. The controlled environment being the same classroom, same teachers, same school, same language, and the difference is that I am me and they are them. We may come from the same university and the same country but that does not mean I will resonate with my peers, at least not all of them. If there is one thing I learned while being in France is that we are rude in the United States at least when it comes to greeting and acknowledging people who are doing us a service. In the US we are used to not saying a word, ordering and getting our requested items and leaving without having to interact with a hello and goodbye. We do not like to talk or have a long dialogue with service workers unless we reach out. France is the opposite and I appreciate them paying their servers minimum wage and not work for tips. Many culture shocks and ways that I feel the United States lacks in humanity and compassion for others, we do not like to help when we can, we do not like inconvenience, we are known to be loud and rowdy, we are not nice, and we are rather judgmental of other cultures. Their transportation system is something that I envy about France because we are forced to drive to places and nothing is in favor for public transportation or walking. One can try to do any of these things but it would be unlikely and illogical. The experience as a whole just backed the idea that no, the United States of America is not the greatest country in the world and lacks a lot of features that European countries have.

The floor tile was a cold pinch against my skin; however, it was welcomed especially after the hot breeze swept over my body for the umpteenth time that day. I was sitting down in my grandma’s living room floor, the television on a low murmur as the adults talked behind me on the green couch. Growing up the television being barely audible never bothered me, it was nice to focus on the images instead of trying to maneuver my way through the English words that came crashing onto me. Usually, each word hit like a wave, one after the other, until they managed to drown me. The Spanish that was being spoken behind me, that was common, that was home and never did I see myself leaving it.

Fast forward to my senior year of high school, I’m walking down the hallway with my friends. They’re all Hispanic, yet we’re all speaking English, our Spanish accents long ago buried. At home we all speak Spanish to our parents, but even then, we catch ourselves forgetting it. Yelling at them in English when we’re too mad to focus on what the right Spanish word to say is. Laughing at ourselves, to keep from being embarrassed, when we get called out for saying something wrong. The feeling was isolating in my family, my brothers having upkept their Spanish to perfection, but understood amongst my friends. We all felt this sense of loss, the feeling that we were slowly losing who we once were. The feeling, as much as I tried to combat it, continued to haunt me all the way to my college years.

Now as a college junior, I continue to have the same feelings and once again the burden is felt among not only me but also my college friends. We’ve made pacts and promises of speaking Spanish to each other to upkeep our native language, but they all fizzle out within a week. As foolish as it might sound, once you’ve met someone in English you can’t meet them again in Spanish. It feels unnatural to talk to someone in your native tongue after having met them in a different one. You feel judged and extremely self-conscious when you try to. This is not to say that I do not like English, I just resent it for making me forget parts of my Spanish. Additionally, this is not the case with everybody, some have found a way to upkeep both languages in a mix of beautiful whirlwinds.

My struggle has caused me to fear new languages. Yes, knowing Spanish, English, Portuguese, and Italian sounds great but it has never interested me. Whenever I had to complete a language requirement, I always chose Spanish, partly in hopes of regaining a bit of what I lost and the other part because it seemed easy enough. It wasn’t until my recent study abroad experience in Paris, France that I felt the longing to learn another language. It was like something shifted inside me and suddenly I had an urge to know and a desire that had gone long unfed.

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Once again, the breeze was hot as it swept over my body like those summers day long ago when I was a child, but this time it was a Parisian breeze, and the body was that of a 21-year-old woman. I was walking to the metro station hoping that line B would not be delayed as I was already running late to class. At this point, I had been in Paris for a week and my ears had grown accustomed to the shifting of languages and the constant strain of trying to understand what people were saying. Once I arrived at the API building, the place where class was held, I greeted the API staff with a proper Parisian bonjour. Having only been there a week I wasn’t close to any of them, so I did not know that Leo spoke six different languages, or that Laure had studied abroad in America, or that Cyprien had been forced to learn a second language in school as a young boy. I didn’t know and hadn’t yet been inspired by their work towards learning multiple languages. In America, we have established English as our norm and have done nothing to strive toward exceeding that standard. In France, almost everyone is bilingual if not trilingual. The comparison, when experienced firsthand, is shocking. It was the API staff, the strangers I interviewed, and the friendships I formed that made me realize I too wanted to be like them. I wanted to know multiple languages and no longer did it cause me fear of becoming disconnected from my roots.

As I return to my regular life, I find myself taking French placement exams and looking for introductory French courses. My focus right now is French but next I want it to be Portuguese and after that Italian. English was my starting point, not my breaking point for it is in other languages that we find our own.

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Giselle is a rising senior at St. Edward’s University. She is an Environmental Science and policy major and a political science minor.

I never thought I would make it to another country all by myself, despite my dreams to do so. I was in third grade when I learned about the seven wonders of the world, it was then that I told myself that in the future I would go around the world and see these wonders. At the time, it seemed like a wild dream to me, something that I may not be able to accomplish. Throughout high school, I continued to dream about the places I wanted to travel to. I was screenshotting, saving, and pinning places on my Pinterest. It only felt like a wild dream.

A year ago, I saw a replica of the Eiffel Tower in Gomez Palacio, Durango, Mexico. I told my dad to slow the car down so that I could take a picture of it, and without thinking, I told my parents “France. I’m going to go to France.” My mom looked at me like I was crazy, which is not far from how I felt in that moment. “When?”, is all that she could muster out. “I don’t know. I just know that I’m going to make it to France and see the real Eiffel Tower in Paris.” I answered. The following fall semester, I found out about The Art of Travel. Without a second thought I went to the study abroad office and asked about how to apply for the program.

Arriving in Paris felt like I was being spit out onto the shore by rough ocean waters. I felt so out of place, so scared, so little. Despite the weeks of preparation, the packing, and even the long flight, it never really hit me until I got off the plane. I was in a new country by myself.

I instantly began to overthink my decision. I felt insane. Why would I go to a country where I don’t speak the language? I remembered my mom telling me that I should just study abroad somewhere in Mexico and for the first time I thought, “maybe I should have done that instead. I speak the language fluently and I’ve been plenty of times.” I shook off the thought and told myself that there was a reason I chose Paris. I wanted to challenge myself. I wanted change. I wanted to experience something new.

I didn’t think so much change was possible in so little time. When I first arrived in Paris, I dreaded going anywhere because I didn’t speak French.  I went from wanting to stay in my dorm to avoid interactions to trying to find new places or cafes to explore because I wasn’t ready to go back to my dorm yet. I was putting myself out of my comfort zone every day.

I finally felt independent. While I felt a sense of independence when first coming to college, it was nothing like what I finally felt in Paris. Truth is, the world always felt as small as Friona, TX growing up. I saw people go to college and then come back to Friona to work as teachers, coaches, or even just to go back to Cargill and work for the rest of their lives.  I was never one to judge, but it’s also not the life that I wanted for myself, especially after working my summers in the factory. Although I didn’t want that life, I always felt that tie tugging me back. I felt tied to Friona because people always assume that I’ll pack my bags and come back as soon as I walk the stage.

All I needed to finally grab the scissors and cut the tie was a glimpse of the world. The world is not just Friona. I should not feel guilty for wanting to leave Friona and explore the world. The Art of Travel is the scissors that I needed and has helped me overcome my guilt.

My time in Paris has helped me realize that my dreams can become reality. I didn’t know what independence was until I was in Paris and had to do things for myself for once. I had to fill out forms for my luggage and had to ask for medicine at the pharmacy without having anyone to look at for help. I had to grab my stuff and go get food by myself if I was hungry. I had to commute to school by myself because I didn’t want to make any of my peers wait on me every morning.

I gained confidence. I initially felt so self-conscious, but I knew that I was doing things that I had only ever dreamed of doing. I was always afraid that my ship would sink as soon as I left Friona, but it has continued to sail even among the strongest waves. Being in Paris helped me realize that I could thrive and create my own reality in a new place.

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Kessly Salinas is a rising senior at St. Edward’s University. She is majoring in Global Studies and minoring in Journalism and Digital Media.

I chose to do The Art of Travel in Paris because I wanted to challenge myself by traveling to a place I was not familiar with and where I did not know the language. I did little to no research before this trip. I didn’t practice French and read very little about French customs and practices. This probably sounds like a recipe for disaster in unpreparedness. However, I looked at this as an opportunity to approach this trip to France with an open mind and heart. 

Traveling to Europe was a chance for me to be submerged into another culture I had not experienced before. I took advantage of this by striving to interact with French people throughout the trip. As I didn’t know French, the language barrier was obviously a large obstacle. The phrase “Parlez vous Anglais”, which means “Do you speak English”, was one of the key phrases I picked up early on. Though there were some that didn’t know English, there were many that did. I found that even those who would say they only knew a little bit of English were actually fairly fluent. 

When I told people that I was going on a study abroad trip to Paris, people would state the well-known stereotype that French people are rude, specifically to Americans. Though I’m sure there are French who purposely are rude to Americans, I found this French unfriendliness to be misunderstood. In interacting with the French, I learned that they often aren’t super open or friendly like Americans are in conversation. I found that I liked this practice. There was no need for sugar coating. It made conversations straight and to the point.

Despite this cultural misunderstanding, I never felt more aware of my Americaness than while in France. Though I was born in America, since I am Mexican, I never really considered myself American. Despite my brown skin and proficiency in Spanish, I often stood out like a sore thumb because I could not speak French and spoke perfect English. While in Paris I had the opportunity to interact with French people of Latino heritage. I found that even though we spoke the same Spanish and could bond over Latino music, there was still a cultural difference between French and American interpersonal practices.

I met a group of French Peruvian friends early on in the trip in the Latin Quarter of Paris. They were born in France but their families were from Peru. One of the friends in the group spoke about their belief in the importance of remembering their Peruvian roots despite being born in France. They were fluent in Spanish and mentioned how they wanted to explore their Peruvian roots unlike the friends in their group who fully claimed their French nationality and did not find importance in learning about their cultural roots. This interaction reminded me of how I perceived my American identity as a Mexican. 

Traveling to Paris pushed me out of my comfort zone and challenged me to operate outside by bounds of familiarity. I learned how I operated in another country that I did not know the language and culture of. I also learned and found similarities in the struggle of fitting into cultural identity in another country. This experience has inspired me to explore other countries and cultures. I hope to return to Paris in the future and I look forward to the new experiences I will have on my next visit to France.

When I was nine years old, I fell in love with Paris. 

Framed photos of Parisian streets filled my walls, Eiffel Tower statues and knick-knacks crowded my shelves. My days were spent tracing the Eiffel Tower onto notebooks, picking out berets to wear to class, and setting every short story I wrote in France – no matter the prompt. I even threw a Paris themed birthday party, with an Eiffel Tower birthday cake and decorations to match. I had never been to Paris, and I haven’t the slightest clue of how this love affair began, but it did. And from that moment forward, I promised myself that one day I would visit the city of my dreams.

As I grew older, my love never faltered. I would dream of mornings spent at Cafe De Flore, lost in a great novel or jotting down poems in a journal. Eiffel tower tracings turned into detailed drawings of seventeen year old me sprawled on a Parisian park bench with a bottle of wine. Everything would make sense when I was finally there. 

When I heard about my university’s summer abroad program in Paris, I knew I had to apply. But if I’m being honest, I didn’t think I would actually go through with it. I could barely afford my rent, I had no savings, no job to keep me afloat. Surely, I wouldn’t actually go through with it. 

With each month that passed, everything was strangely coming together. I got into the program, I won a couple of scholarships, I even landed a paid internship. I kept expecting something to go wrong, things like these never actually work out for me. But nothing ever did. Before I knew it, I was packing up and boarding my flight. 

My first day on European soil was surreal. I remember staring out the window as we drove to our dorms, in sheer awe of the streets, lights, and buildings that were once confined to my imagination. But with the days that came, I found myself feeling lost. 

It was hard to come to terms with the fact that coming to Paris wasn’t all I had made it up to be. I always thought once I arrived, I’d find myself, but I constantly felt like I didn’t belong. I would go to cafes by myself and feel a pit in my stomach, the anxiety of having to speak to someone that didn’t understand me. I was ashamed for not bothering to learn their language, to be in their country and be so naive. I constantly felt like I wasn’t doing enough. At the same time, I felt like I was wasting my time. I felt like my life was on pause. It was getting hard to live in the moment when I knew my life, my real life, wasn’t here. 

I didn’t realize that following my dreams also meant there were things I would miss. I missed my friends, my apartment, my three-minute walk to Cork & Brew for an iced coffee to-go. I missed the ease of conversation in a language I knew. I missed the familiarity of my surroundings, of knowing which restaurants or bars were good and which weren’t. I missed home. But as I realized this, I felt ungrateful. 

By the end of the trip, I became more comfortable with the city. My friends and I would board the metro and point out confused Americans and reminisce on how that was us just a few weeks ago. I learned how to order what I wanted at a boulangerie, how to navigate the city, how to blend in and adapt. I learned to live in the moment. 

A week before our trip came to an end, we all decided we had to experience hanging out by the Eiffel tower to watch the sunset. So, we walked to the Cite Marche across campus to pick up some snacks and bottles of wine, boarded the Metro, and secured a spot on the damp grass across the Eiffel tower. 

As I sat under the Eiffel tower, surrounded by people who were mere strangers just weeks ago, but have now become a precious part of me, I realized. I realized that the months of saving money, of figuring out flights, it was all worth it. I realized that there were peach kirs to be drunk, pain au chocolat’s to be eaten, cobblestone steps to be walked on. There were days of getting lost on the metro, walking until our feet were sore, and of struggling to communicate with waiters among us. 

Under the Eiffel tower, where so many promises had been made by thousands before me, I realized I had finally fulfilled the one I made to my nine-year-old self. And it really was worth it.

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America is a rising senior at St. Edwards University. She is a Communication and Critical Media Arts major. 

As I mind-numbingly watched the airport conveyor belt make another turn, I noticed most of the people from my flight were long gone, on their way to begin — or end — their adventure abroad. The conveyor belt was empty, save for an unfamiliar brown duffel bag that longingly awaited its owner. I felt a strong kinship with this insentient object. Woe is us, right? I walked around in circles until I could no longer bring myself to ignore the bitter truth: my suitcase had not arrived. It is one of, if not the biggest fear for any traveler, and it was happening to me, on my five week trip… on another continent. 

After dealing with all the painful, logistical details, I wished the brown duffel bag good luck and exited the Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport with only a small carry-on and what was on my person. The carry-on stored a handful of possessions: my laptop, some toiletries and medications, a pair of white Converse sneakers, and yoga pants. For the flight, I had worn a white tee, jeans, the clunkiest Dr. Marten boots imaginable, and a crossbody purse, which luckily contained all my important documents. I boarded a taxi to central Paris with the hopes that my things would arrive soon, because what else could I do? 

As the hours morphed into days, and the days into weeks, I lost all hope that my suitcase would be found, but I didn’t gain any bitterness in the process. It is very unpleasant to not have your belongings, especially while abroad — to put it frankly, it sucks. But realistically, there was nothing I could do but wait, and choosing to sulk would only further sully a trip I had eagerly awaited for months. In reality, there were issues far bigger than me that were – and still are – plaguing airports everywhere: staffing shortages, workers’ strikes, and more. My lost luggage was not a personal vendetta against me, no matter how much it felt like it, and I refused to let myself treat it as such. 

In the beginning, it was hard — I have to admit. I had the one outfit and extra pair of yoga pants, which, by the way, is a major sartorial faux pas in France (so those were out of the picture). The Dr. Martens boots were to only be worn for short periods of time, unless I wanted to add aching feet to my list of complaints. With the compensation money I was given, I purchased my essentials and went about the trip, but I struggled to feel comfortable. It was hard to replace the things I had carefully acquired over the years, and it was even harder to have to rummage to the bottom of a pile of white pants in order to find a pair in “my size.” The painful dressing room experience that followed was enough to have me reconsidering the yoga pants. 

As I walked through the streets of Paris, I gazed upon the uber-stylish French women, each more put together than the last, and then at myself, with my plain outfit and ratty sneakers. I couldn’t help but think I was misrepresenting myself. These are just temporary, I wanted to shout, I can look like you girls, too – I have better things coming! 

Prior to the trip, I imagined the version of myself I would present while roaming the 4th arrondissement, a famously trendy neighborhood. I meticulously planned what I would bring on the trip — essentially, my entire closet — and purchased whatever else I thought would be necessary: a vintage Missoni cardigan, a long, flowy dress, a romantic, black blouse. I would look like the best version of myself, or better yet — like a completely new person! But alas, Air France had different plans for me. 

My lost suitcase did not ruin my trip, nor did it serve as the catalyst for a reinvention of myself in Paris. Whether I found myself admiring Ernst Ludwig Kirchner’s Woman before the Mirror at the Centre Pompidou or warding off French men at seedy nightclubs, I was usually too engrossed in my environment to have any thoughts, vain or not, about my appearance and the way I was presenting myself to the world, or, much less, my luggage that was probably somewhere in the cold recesses of an airport. In truth, it is too exhausting to worry about things that are out of your control. I would’ve done a great disservice not only to the city but to myself had I constantly over-worried or moped, especially given the amount of life and excitement that surrounded me 24/7. It was easier to move forward and struggle to get another French waiter’s attention instead – trust me. 

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Towards the end of my trip, while sitting at a cafe, I looked down at my then-white, now-beige sneakers. They looked as though they had been to hell and back and, for good measure, gone two or three more times.  I did not complain or weep or brood about their condition. I didn’t even have time to —  our fleeting waiter was finally approaching the table. I studied the two empty glasses of Kir Royal before me and thought hard about my next decision.  “Another one, merci!” I told the waiter with a smile a half-second later.

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Andrea Cardenas is a rising senior majoring in Communication and minoring in Spanish. 

Sometimes, I think we miss memories more than we miss places. These moments that could only happen because of the places you were and people you were with. You won’t miss the place as much as you will miss the way it looked as the backdrop to special moments in your life.

The first time I went to the Eiffel Tower, I went all the way to the top with my high school French club. Because, at the time, the way to make the most of your time at the Eiffel Tower was to go to the top.

Picture this, twelve teenage American girls with intermediate level French skills all enter the top of the Eiffel Tower. Needless to say, it was loud. At this time, we had studied French for at least four years, and this was our peak. I remember stepping out the elevator and immediately feeling the wind hit my face. Paris was the only thing you could see for miles, well, I guess kilometers. I remember smiling for pictures and worrying about how the wind was making my hair look. We could hear my teacher yelling “Les filles! Les filles!’ Desperately trying to get our attention so we wouldn’t make a fool of ourselves. However, this did not stop us from laughing and smiling the whole time we were up there. It was dark and we could hear other people around us fulfilling their somewhat immature dreams of being there as well. Since French had been a part of my life since I was young, it felt like this was a moment I had been preparing for.

The second time I was at the Eiffel Tower, it was with one of my friends from elementary school and her family. Her mother took her, her sisters, and me to Paris that summer. They had a family tradition where each of the siblings went on a trip to Europe with their dad after graduating high school. What made this different, was that her dad had passed away just two years earlier. I felt very honored to be on this trip with her and her family.  It was approaching the end of our time there, and we decided to see the Eiffel Tower at night. We stood around waiting and eating crepes. Eventually, we saw the lights gradually start to pop up on the tower until it was a full-blown sparkle. I can’t remember whose idea it was to hop on the carousel at that moment, but it was a good one. We were throwing our heads back and laughing at the fact that we were all on a children’s ride and genuinely having a good time. Right then, there was a moment of joy amidst several months of sadness I had seen my friend living in. That night, the Eiffel Tower served as the backdrop to a different moment in my life. One that not only meant a lot to me, but even more to those around me.

Recently, I was in Paris studying with my school. While it felt like the days were long due the sheer volume of exciting things we did, sitting here now, it feels like time flew by. In Paris, I was able to not only go to new places, and meet new people, but I was also able to learn how to navigate around a big city. My third and most recent time at the Eiffel tower was this past June. I was drinking wine and eating snacks. It started with two bottles of wine to share with four people and turned into multiple bottles with 12 people.

It just so happened that I was in Paris at the same time as one of my hometown friends who decided to meet us there along with some of the friends she had made. Everyone was enjoying each other’s company and I was still experiencing that same issue with the wind and my hair I had the first time I was here. There was music playing just loud enough on other people’s speakers to serve as the perfect background music for us. Not only did I have the freedom of being in college, but I also had a full understanding of how to use the public transportation system to get home by taking RER B towards Robinson, and the possibility of a Tunisian man meeting me under the Eiffel Tower in fifteen minutes? Who had I become? This is not something that would happen to me at home. Once again, I found myself at a pivotal moment with the Eiffel Tower’s silhouette taking shape in the background.

I have been to the Eiffel tower three different times now.  Each with different groups of people and as different versions of myself. The first time, I went to the top and saw all that I thought the Eiffel tower had to offer, one of the best views of Paris. Now, if anything, the Eiffel Tower offers more than a backdrop for great pictures, but also as the perfect setting for memories to be made.

It is strange to think that just two weeks ago, I was at the Eiffel tower with our study abroad group. Staring up at the twinkling lights of one of the world’s most iconic buildings is definitely a humbling experience, to say the least. While watching the beautiful structure light up, it is easy to be hypnotized by everything about it. From the tower itself to the many people sitting in the garden, all mesmerized by the magic of the city of Paris.

Before coming to France, I spent a lot of time on my own. I had recently moved into an apartment and though I do have a roommate, she is often at work or with relatives who also live in Austin, so for the last four weeks before leaving for Paris, I had gotten very used to living by myself. I was buying a lot of pre-made frozen meals to avoid the arduous process of cooking a real meal, consistently slept in until 11 a.m., and would often walk around my apartment with no pants on. Living in Paris for five weeks with a group of nine other people forced me to change my habits. For one, no more walking around without pants! We were expected to be up early for our daily excursions, so no more waking up at 11 a.m. As incredible as Paris’ épiceries are, with their wide variety of fresh fruits and vegetables, they definitely lack in the area of frozen meals. Despite these stark differences, I found myself quickly adjusting to this new routine and even enjoying this new way of living.

While waking up early enough to enjoy a quick breakfast and teaching myself how to cook simple meals were little adjustments that enhanced my time in Paris, I noticed more significant changes too. The biggest change in my daily habits that I experienced from this study abroad trip was the number of social interactions that occurred on a daily basis. From ordering an espresso at what became my favorite boulangerie before class, to having profound conversations with people who quickly became close friends, these interactions showed me the importance of genuine connections with others.

Some of my favorite parts of the trip were staying up late, sitting on the balcony of Maison de Norvège and talking to people from the study abroad group. It was through these late-night conversations that I feel like I truly got to know everyone and why they were choosing to study abroad in the first place. These chats helped me to realize the importance of getting to know someone on a personal level; of really understanding who someone is as a person. It is from these types of connections that allowed me to appreciate those present in my life and crave relationships with new people.

Nothing could have prepared me for the incredible, unpredictable, life-changing experience that was the Art of Travel. I am so grateful for this experience. I will take what I have learned in Paris and use that to better myself as an individual. Though it may seem harder to do in the city of Austin, the things that I have learned in Paris will help me to create new connections with strangers and to cultivate the relationships with the people in my life.

Photo Essay: captions can be seen with Speaker Notes