5. Discuss a reading (1)

Goethe? Goathe? Grrtah? I remember when I got made fun of in 11th grade for not knowing this guy. I've never been the same man since.

I don’t know much about Goethe aside from the common parts of his literary fame. Faust, Werther, some poetry,  etc. I know he was as interested as any scholar about science and had an inquisitive mind, enough to collect rocks and plant samples from the many places he traveled. But really,  I don’t know more about Goethe than I do about Hitler. Which is to say I’ve seen a movie and heard some tales, but other than that, I don’t really know much. Actually, I take that back. I don’t think I’ve seen any movies about Goethe. Forget that whole analogy ever happened.
 
“Italian Journey” is a compilation of what seem to be letters and diary entries from Goethe during his travels in Italy.  Goethe writes with a vivid descriptiveness that is fairly enjoyable to read, and I usually take his Italian Journey ith me whenever my girlfriend and I take excursions around Italy. Above is a picture of Greve-in-Chianti, a small wine town in Tuscany that is known for it's chianti wines. I brought Goethe with me that day. And no, I did not read him then. I drank. A lot.
 
My enjoyment from reading “Italian Journey” comes from visualizing a world before our time. The relationships that Goethe forges with the Italians is one based on this almost primal interactivity, where people speak to one another without the influence of technology or assumed foreknowledge. Some of Goethe's first encounters with Italians, for example, are met with an almost scientific scrutiny--he observes them and describes them like an anthropologist stumbling upon a hidden tribe of humans. Yet without capturing them as his subjects or submitting them to slavery, he interacts with them as if they were another people, another culture (of equal stature to the Germans).
 
Goethe’s examination of the world is tribute to how knowledge was not so prevalent during his time. When he sees Italians from Lake Garda, he remarks on their skin color and “how healthy” they seem to appear: “their complexion is probably due to the constant exposure to the rays of the sun, which beats so fiercely at the feet of their mountains.” Goethe’s perception of the world is scientific and scrutinizing, his assumptions and conclusions are all based on logic and its very refreshing reading how this man takes reality and puts the puzzle pieces together. It’s a departure from today’s world, where knowledge is acquired from thin air and is not necessarily derived from experience. It's really refreshing to read how a man is literally taking in reality, understanding it, and then operating from that understanding. It's very primal--despite Goethe's scientific understanding, there isn't alot of intellectual/mental exercising going on. Goethe is reacting to the world from the gut. When he describes the meteorological status of the clouds, he does so because it helps him understand the beauty of weather; when he describes the multiple types of rocks in the soil, it's because he wishes to describe a deeper, richer picture. Goethe speaks poetically, unintentionally.

In titling this post, I just remembered that I endeavored earlier to lead a tour sometime during my stay here in Italy. Just goes to show you how much dedication I can muster in anything not related to video games.

Lucy Honeychurch visits Florence, Italy after years of growing up in the English countryside. A Room With a View excellently depicts the clash of cultures that occurs on her visit as Lucy learns what exist beyond the conservative values she grew up with.

She arrives in Florence with Charlotte, her older cousin who acts as her chaperone. Charlotte’s treatment of Lucy immediately reveals the strictness of Lucy upbringing. She is never allowed out alone at any time of day and any sort of social contact with the opposite sex is a no-no, even with the polite young gentleman and his father who succeeded their nice hotel rooms to Lucy (referred to throughout formally as Miss Honeychurch) and Charlotte.

In Florence, Lucy struggles to break away from the coarseness of her upbringing and explore on her own. Her adventures start small but exposure to Italians and their way of life present her with something new that she finds attractive. In Italy, people of different classes mingle in the street, boys and girls visit without the need for an adult chaperone and she witnesses a young Italian couple displaying their love openly as they kiss along a countryside carriage ride.

Her emersion to this new set of values opens her mind. Upon her return to England and her marriage to a very dull and proper man, she longs for the beauty that she saw in the edginess of Italy.

This grit still exists today and is often in contrast with my own culture. In Europe, PDA seems to be acceptable, a little push in the grocery store isn’t atrocious but a kind reminder that you may be blocking the path of others and drivers often exit their cars and raise their voices to settle road-rage disputes. All of this would be marked faux pas in The States.

All cultures exist somewhere along this spectrum of values. Like Lucy, my trip to Florence has transplanted me into a culture whose point along the spectrum lies far from that of my own. Also like Lucy, I’ve have done my best to embrace Italy’s edge. 

In Small Island Andrea Leavy creates a story about navigating fantasy and reality. Hortense and Bernard dream of leaving Jamaica to go to Britain. In their minds they've created this idealized nation. But similar to the immigrant stories in the U.S. about the American Dream, the fantasy of escaping poverty and gaining respect was simply unreal. Hortense and Bernard finally move to Britain but instead encounter extreme racism in spite of their citizenship and loyalty to the Queen.

While I cannot compare my own experience to such extremes. It is clear that as an American we tend to build up these fantasies about where we are going abroad. But it isn't until we finally get to London that we realize the English don't all look like Ricky Jervais, have bad teeth and pompous attitudes. Likewise the stories I hear about how great America is here are just wrong. People think Muslims are welcomed with open arms and that we have the best comedy because Jim Carey is the best! That is just wrong. Small Island teaches one to appreciate things for what they are as opposed to holding things up to what they are not.

Instead of complaining that London is not New York City, that things close to early or the food is horrible. I can say that I love the markets and the idiosyncratic people I meet. There are things here that I simply cannot get anywhere else. But I only know that because I have truly experienced it, not because of things I've heard or seen on television. Like the characters in Small Island who have to reconcile their fantasies of the Motherland, we all have to negotiate the fact that the codes and symbols encoded in our culture don't always represent the truth about all the places we've decided we want to go.

I find it hard reading George Packer’s “The Village of Waiting” while sitting in my massive house in Accra, Ghana. It’s a similar feeling to when I read about Ghana from my fancy apartment in NYC.  The book is about a man’s experience living and working in Togo. Togo is a very different country than Ghana and the book was published in 1984. Packer paints a picture of the village as extremely harsh, underdeveloped, and depressing. It’s hard for me to picture.

A lot has changed since 1984. For starters, the development of the country has progressed immensely. A few friends on the NYU in Ghana program have traveled to Togo on spare weekends. Although I haven’t been there myself, I’ve created an image in my head of the country from the stories they’ve told. They told me that Togo is noticeable poorer than Ghana, or at least poorer than Accra. The beaches are still used as an “unofficial public toilet” - human feces are scattered along the shores. My mind immediately contrasts this with the fancy bank buildings and car dealerships located in Accra.                  

I realized reading this book a fact that I already knew but keep forgetting. As Einstein once so cleverly stated, everything is relative. I remember reading about Ghana before I left and having a hard time picturing my what my life would be like. Dirt roads? Open gutters? Year-round heat? Malaria infested mosquitoes? Unreliable AC, water, internet, power and gas? But now that I’m here it’s just life. Certainly I must realize that even in NY I didn’t I have all of the commodities that people in, let’s say, Beverly Hills have, but it never affected me. Almost anywhere in the world you will be “better off” or “worse off” than someone in another part of the world for one reason or another. My current state of living is not comparable to my state in NY, but I hardly notice it anymore. Reading about life in Togo in 1984, it’s hard to imagine that I ever thought life in Ghana might be tough. 

For the past two weeks, I've been reading Bill Bryson's Notes From a Small Island to get a better sense of what England is like outside of the metropolis that is London. In his attempt to visit as much of England as possible in the course of approximately six weeks, Bryson takes his readers on a literary journey into both the most obscure and most widely known English areas with a ton of anecdotal and opinionated flair. His views reflect those of a both a foreigner (having been born in Iowa in the United States) and a local (having lived in England for nearly 20 years). He isn't afraid to be honest about his opinions of the places he is visiting, which I find extremely refreshing and much more informative than any summary in a travel guide.   
 
As I've sat in cafes, trains and planes reading about his adventures, all I want to do is hop on the next bus to these places and see if they really are as magnificent, boring, or shocking as he conveys them to be. His narrative has really opened my eyes to the greater English world. Everyone always tends to focus on London and all the aspects of city life it has to offer, but proportionately speaking, there is a much greater amount of England that is made up of small towns and quaint villages. Aside from the few cities the NYU staff has organized for students to see, I have not seen much of the England the majority of its citizens live in. All I have seen are the ancient Roman remains of Bath, the towering churches and cathedrals of London, and collegiate institutions of Cambridge. All the other sights and sounds that I have personally witnessed were from behind the thick panes of glass of the bus as we drive along highways and fields to reach our destination. Aside from the few notorious bustling tourist attractions, the majority of England appears to be fields of grazing cows and small quaint towns.
 
Even within the city of London, I’m starting to notice some of the stark differences in the communities located in the center of town and those in the outskirts. Yesterday, as we passed through the neighborhood of Stratford where the new Olympic stadium is being built for the 2012 games being held in London, we were informed about how the community had been relatively neglected for the past couple of decades and how the administration hoped that the games and the associated developments going up in conjunction would revitalize the area and give it the boost it needed. The buildings in the neighborhood were relatively dilapidated in comparison to the city center; there were few people walking the streets or stores open for business. Construction dominated the area, with machines and empty dirt lots littering the vicinity of the completed skeletons of the stadium and aquatic center. A mere 8 miles outside of the heart of London, things look very different from the sights I’m grown accustomed to seeing.


A live picture of the construction going on in the Olympic Park (source: http://www.formanandfield.com/fisheyeview)
 
Bryson makes many remarks on the changes that have taken place in the towns and cities since he first visited during his time spent in England; some of these changes are slight and insignificant, while others are monumental and life altering. The raising of the Olympic park grounds is supposed to be a monumental change for London, so I’m looking forward to the day when I can revisit that neighborhood and make my own remarks on the changes that have been brought about by this ongoing development. With less than 2 years left (656 days to be exact) until the games begin, things are going to change dramatically in this neighborhood.

I have always inhabited urban spaces. In the course of my travels I have come to appreciate the intricacies of city planning: the architecture used, the influences of modern and traditional structures, the different apartments that are hidden behind the mess of concrete, brick, mortar, and wood, the graffiti, markets, ports, street lamps, intersections, the lay out of streets, transportation systems, and most importantly the cultures that are born out of these spaces. Buenos Aires has provided an adequate urban playground just as much as any other city, but two facts continue to bother me. 
 

For one, portenos do not have a history of building conversation. I gawk at this every time I am reminded of it. This cultural error is hard to go unnoticed; sure, there are some buildings dating back from the 1800's but any well heeled porteno would tell you that they should tear the building down in order to make space for newer, more modern architecture. "El titular de Basta de Demoler asegura a Efe que el problema “más grave” es la desaparición de edificaciones que identifican a los 48 barrios de la capital y que en su mayoría datan de entre 1880 y 1930" (Bicentario Argentina) (The leader of "Stop Demolition" confided that the biggest problem is the dissapearance of buildings that have come to identify the 48 neighborhoods in Buenos Aires and for the most part date from 1880 to 1930) An example of this is the building pictured above "La Confiteria del Molino", an old bakery, restaurant, bar, and shop that has continues to decay and remains abandoned. Building preservation was not something I ever thought would bother me. It doesn't keep me up at night, but I am continually wondering what architectural riches were here before. This question gives birth to many other questions: what does it mean when a culture doesn't have a tradition of conserving its buildings? What is lost? What is gained?  Does this irreverance for their history hint at an underlying current of shame? Does it lend itself to the generational phenomenon of many Argentine somethings general disdain for their government, history, their past, present and future? 

The other thing that has gotten under my skin, is that Buenos Aires is THE most important port city in Argentina, and maybe in all of South America, but yet the city faces its back to its port. Picture cities like Buenos Aires, Los Angeles, Turkey, or Egypt among others. They face the water, sometimes it may be the ocean or the sea. Their traditions, values, and everyday life give priority to the water. It defines their cultural practices. And to me, Buenos Aires should be like that! But, its not. Not at all. Not only is its back faced to the port, the Rio Plata is one of the most polluted rivers. Most call it the "red river" or the "brown river". I sometimes cringe at what environmental activists would think if they took one look at it. 
 

For my first month here, I was genuinely confused at a culture that couldn't appreciate their buildings or their ports. I stumbled upon this amazing compilation of articles, stories, essays, and documents called the "Argentine Reader" edited by Gabriela Nouzeilles and Graciela Montaldo.  Their introduction is an amazing work of ethnographical research and their aim is "to present to the American public a broader and more complex overview of the country's social, political, and cultural traditions that challenges the almost schizophrenic view of Argentina that still prevails today." The editors many to create a dialogue between the texts to begin to explain the heterogenuity of Buenos Aires, in addition they manage to provide some answers to my questions. I am beginning to understand that because of the constant evolution and changing demographics of cultural makeup of the city of Buenos Aires that there is a constant look abroad for cultural influence. Buenos Aires strives to replica a European city. Thus, any relic of what they deem as inferior influences of the 3rd world is covered by their careful study of Occidental progress. They have been able to create national symbols that make them Argentine, like tango and the gaucho, but their "Argentineness" is not present in the facades of their buildings. Their pride comes for the ability to replicate and copy, not create and improve. This constant construction of identity is found in the absense of conservation and presence of demolition and reconstruction.

 

I am still looking for a sufficient answer to my port question. I have yet to find an adequate explanation. 

I read most of the book Small Island recently and it has been a really fun one or what I’ve heard some call it, “readerly”. Anyway, it’s a novel written by Andrea Levy and happens to be part of a reading list for this required class called “Issues in Contemporary British Politics and Culture”. Try saying that three times fast!

London is one of the most diverse cities in the world. Andrea Levy was born in London to her Jamaican immigrant parents. Her book was published in 2004 to great acclaim and BBC even serialized it. That’s the first  historical context and it says something about the ways in which Britain became a multicultural society.

The historical accuracy of Levy’s book makes for quite an interesting depiction of what it might be like for a young Jamaican lady- Hortense- journeying to London in post WW1 Britain. She goes to meet her husband, Gilbert, who is also from Jamaica where he resides in a white women- Queenie’s building. The novel ends with Gilbert leaving and the Jamaicans having established their own state. They go from being lodgers to where they are a part of their own all-Jamaican community. The novel is not about assimilation, It’s about integration. This is accurate.

After the emancipation of slaves, and perhaps counter-intuitively, racism began to get worse. The British economy was having a horrible time compensating for the sugar industry that up to that point had been powered through slavery. The black people were blamed for the sad state of the economy. Queenie was herself from a place pretty far outside of London and she is made to represent the white’s racist ideals. This goes to show how the empire generated racialized attitudes. There were also particularly bad attitudes towards romantic relationships between black men and white women. Black men were depicted as animals and white women were either depicted as helpless or involved as a result of their own moral inadequacy. The book addresses these fears as well in it’s illustration of a biracial affair.  

The book may feed a sort of nostalgia. Up to a certain point, 1971, most of the immigrants were from common wealth places. There was a law stating that the citizens from former colonies- such as Jamaica- were allowed free entry to Great Britain. In 1971 London was said to be 3 to 4% immigrants; in 2001 it was said to be 8%. Many of the immigrants to Britain in the last 40 years have been seeking asylum and are from various parts of Europe.

In her novel, Small Island, Andrea Levy tells the story of four English residents (immigrants and natives) during World War II. They dealt with social issues, such as discrimination, as well as hardships of warfare (hiding out in bomb shelters, getting separated from family members, and fighting the war itself). This made me recall one of the first weeks of my semester in London. 

NYU set up a bus tour around the city and naturally we saw historical sites, some of which dated back to the war. We passed an old church rather quickly. It looked like a bomb blew off bits of the side of the wall with deep chunks missing from scattered parts. Turns out, that's exactly what happened. After London was continuously attacked and bombed in World War II, England's government took control over rebuilding the city. However, they purposefully left parts of the buildings, such as this church, as they were. This served as a reminder of the war. In Small Island, some of the characters built bomb shelters in their back yard. They would spend the night in this hole in the ground only to wake up the next day and find half of their neighborhood destroyed and surrounded by frantic families and screaming soldiers. Overtime, the characters started going out and getting back into the routine of their lives. They kept going.

Yesterday, the U.S. Department of State Travel issued a travel alert to all U.S. citizens traveling in Europe. Supposedly, France, Germany and the U.K. are likely targets for terrorist attacks. I just got back from Paris this morning. While leaving London's train station, I noticed the King's Cross Underground Station was closed and even more crowded than usual. There was a sense of panic among the people and I felt like they all knew something I didn't. A bit worried, I tried to walk back to my dorm a bit quicker. Suddenly, a British man waved a flyer in my face that said something something "Tube Attack." 

I found out there was a tube strike going on and that's why the station was closed. (Started breathing again.) Lots of people were trying to commute to work and waiting for it to open. Meanwhile, the bus stations were full of people trying to squeeze into the bus as an alternative. I don't know what I would've done or how I would've felt if there had just been a terrorist attack. This travel alert expires January 2011 (a.k.a. the entire time I'm in Europe). 

Like the characters in Small Island, I'm going to have to come above ground and carry on. There is no reason why I should miss experiencing the beauty of Europe out of fear. 

Slowly but surely I have been working my way through "Open Letters," a collection of (surprise!) letters, speeches, and essays written by Vaclav Havel. My progress has been slow, in part, because the writing is so dense and thoughtful that I need to read each sentence about three times. It's like being back in second grade, only much more rewarding. Havel is a gifted writer. I'm embarrassed that this is the first I've read of his works, but I plan to read his plays next. In the meantime, I'm listening to names in history classes and finding that I remember them as addressees of some of these letters. The piece I am going to focus on here is the "Letter to Alexander Dubcek" that Havel wrote in 1969. Dubcek had initiated the democratization of the Prague Spring, but at the time of this letter he had been informed that the Communist Party did not approve of his actions and would be intervening soon.

The letter starts out rather personally: "I don't know if you remember me..." and maintains this tone of formal intimacy (or informal professionalism) throughout. Havel introduces himself and his intention, explains his view of Dubcek's situation, analyzes how Dubcek got there, what the views of the country are, what the views of the Soviet Party are, what Dubcek's options are, and what the results of each option would be. The Party wants Dubcek to renounce his belief in the Prague Spring democratization; Havel wants Dubcek to stand by his earlier decisions and declarations of support. He appeals to Dubcek's national and personal pride, and his finesse reminds the reader that Havel is not merely a Greek chorus but wholly and unmistakably a playwright.

Here are some of the lines from the letter:

“After lengthy consideration, I decided to write to you because I believe that at this moment, it is the only way—within the limited scope available tome—that I can do something for a cause I regard as crucial to the whole country in which I live and in whose language I write”
 
“From a human point of view it is probably unjust that so grave a decision should rest on the shoulders of a single man, and yet it is immensely important that you, here and now, behave the way a majority of us still hope you will behave”
 
“At the same time, I claim no right to instruct you, nor do I intend to play the ‘conscience of the nation.’ My purpose is nothing more that to bring to your own private deliberations different viewpoints and arguments from those which, no doubt, surround you in abundance now, and to strengthen your inner certainties, which are probably being subjected to powerful external assaults and powerful inner doubts”
 
“[If you renounce your belief in the Prague Spring] you would deprive the people of their last certainly, their last remaining ideal, the last trace of their belief in human honor, in the meaning of principled behavior, in a better future, and in the merit of any sacrifice for the community. It would plunge the country deep into moral misery and cause people to lose sight of higher values, leading to a proliferation of selfishness, conformity, careerism, and indifference toward the fate of others”
 
“…I think as a playwright I can—if you’ll allow me—get inside your skin, at least to a certain extent. I think I understand something of your way of thinking, your problems, your hardships, your attitudes, and your intellectual and political traditions, relations, prejudices, and feelings"
In the end, Dubcek silently disappears into the footnotes of history without rising to Havel's challenge (and also without formally publicly admitting concession to the Party).

Considering my friend's quote (see subtitle), apparently the career path from writer to politician has historical roots in the Czech Republic. One of my professors took us to a museum exhibit on Havel and explained as part of her lecture that writers in the Czech Republic have a very distinct social niche. They don't write to entertain or to counsel, but they are responsible for showing the country itself as it is in the hopes that it will then react accordingly. Havel fits this classical tradition, here and in his other letters. Interestingly, after giving him power on account of his strong morals some thought that he was too forgiving and idealistic in his policies. No matter what opinions may be one way or another, his writings make it very clear that he thought carefully about what would be for the good of the whole country and made decisions accordingly. Though Dubcek did not follow his advice, Havel believed that politicians would and could stand up for the people if given support. I don't know that I can have as much faith in government as he did, but I can have faith in the visions of writers and the power of language. And I can't wait to finish this book.

In this country made of fried cheese and goulash, there is a nationalistic pride that is timeless, but so new (the idea of a Czech[oslovak] independent nation didn’t become realized until the early 20th century). I’ve discovered during class discussions and discussions with locals how few Czechs are willing to relocate themselves, how they are looked down upon by family members for wanting more than what the Czech Republic can offer them. It’s funny to me how this remains true today as it did when Milan Kundera wrote about Tereza’s return to Prague during the Prague Spring of 1968 in his The Unbearable Lightness of Being.
 
While there were a lot of interpersonal relationship issues going on between Tereza and her adulterous husband, Tomas, I think her move still had a lot to do with her connection to Czechoslovak soil. She had a desire to take photographs of the tanks and violence during and after the Prague Spring of 1968. Her bond to her country was so strong that she left the safety of Zürich to return to her native Prague. Tomas joined her five days later, realizing that perhaps she was his nation, that he needed her more than she realized.
 
I find it really interesting how a nation can be so affected by its insulation even two decades after liberation. The Czech Republic had tight borders under communism made especially tight after the failed coup of Prague Spring. As a result, even today it is looked down upon for Czechs to leave the Republic in search of opportunities abroad. Many return home after trying to make lives for themselves in other countries and realizing the horrendous costs of living (England is a big one, because the British pound is so strong).
 
While Kundera was primarily focusing on the intimacy issues between Tereza and Tomas, I think his illustration of expatriate Czechoslovaks is as important and relevant when he wrote his book as it is today. Tereza returned to Prague just in time to be locked there by the Communist regime, a prisoner in her own home. There is a sense here that you lose a part of yourself – you are no longer a Czech[oslovak] in other words – when you “forsake” your country. This national pride makes me think that the Czechs were always a nation, always unified. But they didn’t even have their own country until the beginning of the 20th century, and then they were occupied by Nazis and then they were occupied by Communists… Perhaps this is why they are so suspicious of outsiders, so suspicious of outside opportunities in far away countries.
 
I love this nationalism, the craziness that ensued last night when a drunk Czech man started singing loudly in a pub and ended with “ah! Traditional Moravian folk song…” 

Saidiya Hartman’s Lose Your Mother: A Journey Along the Atlantic Slave Routeis both comforting and terrifying. It is comforting in that it conveys a story that is relatable to almost any individual traveling abroad to an unfamiliar place. It is reassuring to know that anyone who is foreign to a country, regardless of whether or not it is made obvious by their immediate appearance, experiences sentiments of isolation and loneliness.

At the same time, this very idea is terrifying. It is scary to think that even as an African-American woman, Hartman so obviously stood out that even a young child could point her out as an abruni.Does a pale, little white girl with big curly hair even stand a chance here? Is there enough traditional kente-cloth apparel to conceal this identity? And despite the physical differences, will there always be an air of resentment because of where I come from and what I have? In the Prologue, Hartman states “In Ghana, it is said that a stranger is like the water running over the ground after a rainstorm: it soon dries up and leaves behind no traces” (p.8) This raised questions of hopelessness- no matter how many houses I build or children I sponsor, I will still be remembered as just another American student, if anything at all.

Hartman discusses the resentment the Ghanaians felt towards the African Americans who infiltrated their homeland, presuming they knew what would make Ghana a better country more so than those who actually lived there. “They loved Ghana from a comfortable distance.” (p. 44) and this forced me to question my own existence in Ghana. By living in one of the more affluent neighborhoods and attending one of the top universities, am I getting the real Ghanaian experience? Does one actually exist? And if so, is it possible to detach oneself from preconceived notions in order to gain an entirely new perspective? It was interesting to contrast Hartman’s approach to familiarizing herself to Africa by immersing herself in all the painful historical aspects, while Maya Angelou consciously avoided the locations that illustrated the “ugly history of slavery” (p. 42) This made me realize that I hold the power to create my own image of the Ghanaian experience, which is what ever I want it to be.

Hartman questions herself about memory and slavery; “What is it we choose to remember about the past and what is it we will to forget?” (p.15) The only thing John instructs Saidiya to do is not to lie when she goes back to America. I agree that it would be inappropriate and untruthful to go back to New York and tell everyone that Ghana was absolutely perfect and comfortable, because that is not at all the case. What I do believe is that there is a balance between false advertising and also depicting a situation that will send my mother into tears thinking about how could she have sent her little baby to a place like that!  I wonder what pieces of my experience in Ghana I will bring back to New York with me, and parts are best left in Ghana. 

In America I’ve always been the one who’s interested in everything multicultural. I grew up on Japanese cartoons, I read French literature in French, and my favorite music comes in a variety of Slavic languages. When I was younger, I always longed to go abroad. Trips around the U.S. were okay, but going to another country? Much more exciting. In a different country, there’s a whole new culture. Why do you think I’m a foreign language major today?
 
And yet I’ve never felt more American than when studying abroad. Not just American, but super duper obnoxious, stereotypical American. I try not to be the über tourist. I don’t wander aimlessly, looking amazed at everything I see. I pretend to know where I’m going at all times, hating the moments when I have to pull out a map. There have been times when I wanted to photograph monuments or particularly interesting graffiti, but have been too embarrassed, for fear of looking like a tourist.
 
But it all comes out in the end. I am that drunken American. I am loud and aggressive and I down liquor like it’s my job. I somehow forget all of that Italian or Spanish I was learning in class the day before, and any hopes of a foreigner understanding me are severely hampered. And God knows why, but I’m not really ashamed by my behavior. I find it amusing. It’s okay that I’m absolutely ridiculous and an embarrassment to my country, I don’t mind. I think in these moments I’m actually proud of being an American, albeit another statistic in one of those articles about “le americane ubriache.”
 
I have never loved America more than when I’m living abroad. As Beppe Severgnini says in La Bella Figura, “[Y]ou leave Italy to feel more Italian.” Severgnini explains that when abroad, Italians feel a certain national pride. They flock together and essentially express their Italianness to all that they meet. In the same regard, I have left America, and I feel pretty damn American. I’ve acquired a drunken American pride, and I can’t even drink in the States. It’s okay, I’ll be twenty-one when I get back, and I’ll celebrate my newfound love of my native country.
 
I miss you, America.

“For Italy was offering her the most priceless of all possessions – her own soul.”
 
Over the summer NYU assigned all students studying abroad in Florence the “mandatory” task of reading A Room with a View, and, in typical NYU fashion, didn’t use the book at all when we got here, neither in orientation nor any time after. Being the top-notch scholar that I am, I had half of the book read when I got here, only to find that I was the only one who even bought the book. So in the hopes of gleaning something from this classic, I persevered.
 
For those of you who don’t know anything about the book, it is essentially about a woman who vacations in Italy and becomes a changed person as a result. She experiences sincere emotion in Florence, and connects the city with a birth of passion (although she doesn’t recognize this until long after she has returned home and finally realizes that she loves the man she met in Italy).
 
This connection between new places and new feelings is an interesting one, and obviously one that has been acknowledged for a long time (the novel was written in 1908). The heroine, Lucy, is changed not only by the boldness of the man she meets in Florence, but by the way people live there. Italians live in a more equal and unstructured social framework than she is used to, and she finds herself emboldened by it. After her trip to Italy she begins to dwell a lot on equality, particularly between the sexes and between social classes, as well as democracy. Without her travel experience, she would have never been able to admit her love for George and definitely would never find the strength to break off the engagement that prevented her from being with George (that and their difference in social standing).
 
The quote from the book that I used above is a testament to how Lucy was changed by Florence. Travel was able to strengthen her emotionally and mentally. It made her more brave and connected to her own soul. I’m not sure that she ever realized that her experiences abroad were what changed her, but it is made clear to the reader.
 
By traveling and expanding your horizons and your threshold of knowledge, you not only get to know more of the world, but you know more of yourself. I have even experienced this to some extent so far in the month I’ve spent in this city. I know more about what I can and can’t handle; I have surprised myself in dealing with new situations that I never would have encountered back home in the environment that I know and am comfortable in. Living on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean from where I have essentially been rooted for over twenty years is bound to throw you into situations you would never know how to deal with before. Being able to react and surprise yourself with the outcome is one of the fruits of travel that I have experienced so far, and hopefully, as in this book, I will come home with a new understanding of myself and what I want in my life.

The first time I began to really consider the role of slavery in the history of Ghana was when we visited the Elmina slave castle during one of the weekend excursions NYU had arranged for us. We toured the castle in the pouring rain on the ninth anniversary of September 11th. Even now it’s still difficult to capture the kinds of emotions that were stirred with in me by that visit. As we wandered from the church, to the dungeons, to the governor’s bedroom (a place where many, many women were raped) it was hard to feel somehow overcome by the past horrors that had occurred there. At the end of the tour we all gathered by the Door of No Return. People walked through this door to board ships and suffer harrowing journeys that would bring them to live as slaves in foreign lands. As we stood huddled and wet upon that hallowed ground our associate director took the opportunity to speak about the power of this place, the power of this day, and the power of all of us to take these things into consideration and prevent such injustices from ever happening again. We then laid down a wreath and had a moment of silence before collectively declaring “Never again!”

 Despite this experience and the others that NYU in Ghana has arranged for us to have on our future excursions it still feels far too easy to get so caught up in the day to day aspects of life in Ghana that I neglect to consider this dark aspect of Ghanaian history. I think that one of the benefits of reading Saidiya Hartman’s Lose Your Mother: A Journey Along the Atlantic Slave Route was the way it made me further consider the role slavery played in Ghana. Many of the individual stories Hartman relates are horrifying and drew a real emotional reaction from me but it was especially important to understand these stories in context. It’s easier for one individual’s stories to weigh on your heart and mind but the true horror lies in the way such tragedies were systematically carried out.

Hartman also made a very interesting point when she discussed the way most Ghanaians express little more than disinterest in this aspect of their history. This was a concept that I had already discussed with several of my fellow students after returning from Elmina. Many of us noticed that the tour groups of the castle were made up predominantly of tourists. Upon asking our Ghanaian friends about whether they had ever been they generally dismissed the idea and expressed little interest in going. Reading Hartman’s discussion of this issue starts to give me a sense of why Ghanaians don’t explore this aspect of their history and it also makes me want to further explore the issue. Overall the opportunity to visit the Elmina slave castle combined with Hartman’s book have started to give me a stronger understanding of the role of slavery in Ghanaian history and makes me want to continue to try to enhance that understanding.

While my book Small Island mostly focuses on the struggles two Jamaican characters had when coming to live in England after World War II, there are still many things they describe about the country that I can relate to. Communication is one of them. There are many scenes in the book where the English people just cannot understand what these characters are saying, even though they’re speaking in English. Their accent and phrasing seem to confuse and frustrate everyone they talk to. I’ve experienced similar difficulties, although not quite to the same extent as them. It’s very common for me to have to repeat something or try pronouncing it in a different way when I talk to people here. I occasionally have to have someone with a thick English accent repeat something as well. Also, sometimes you’ll say words that are just not acceptable to the English, but are common in America. The most obvious example is soccer. If you say soccer here, you’ll not only get looks, but usually some mocking. Also, queue is much preferred over line and tube instead of subway is a good one to remember.
 
Another thing the main character in the book notices is how dreary many of the people on the street look. She observes that they all wear dark-colored, woolen coats. Now, this is certainly not a generalization I want to make, but after living in New York, it does seem like there is less color here. Just as she missed the bright, tropical colors of Jamaica, I sometimes find myself missing the diversity of clothing and styles in New York. And although many of the trends and styles are the same in America and in England, I often find myself wondering if people can see that I’m American from what I’m wearing.
 
The biggest difference between the world the book takes place in and the world I’m in now is the change from the fear of diversity to the celebration of it. In the book, the main characters are outcasts and usually discriminated against because of the color or their skin. However now, London is one of the most diverse cities in the world, and in everyday life there is no sign of racism anywhere. In fact, it is a land of immigrants. Many of the people you deal with on a day-to-day basis – the person serving you coffee, the shop clerk – are not from England. This is something we are discussing in my British Culture and Politics class, and an interesting topic to look at now or in the past.