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World Class
Three perspectives on student trips abroad
Life Lessons
An American high school pupil makes friends in JapanBy Justin Forth
When I first entered Japan's Narita International Airport, I was amazed at the quiet. I was traveling with 15 other teenagers from the northeastern United States; we were all in Japan to do community service for 30 days through the YMCA. We were speaking to each other at what we thought was standard volume, but in this quiet terminal, our voices seemed loud. The airport was also cleaner than any place we had ever seen.
We set out on a three-hour drive to our temporary home in Utsunomiya, the capital of Tochigi prefecture, passing what seemed like endless miles of rice fields. It was the beginning of a trip that would give me not only dozens of new friends — American and Japanese — but also insights into another culture halfway around the world from my Connecticut home.
At Your Service
The day after we arrived, we were bused three hours to a farm operated by the Asian Rural Institute. ARI teaches people from developing Asian and African countries how to improve their farming. The people at ARI taught us their "work, eat, live" philosophy: Work only for what's necessary to eat; eat only what's necessary to stay alive; and live to start the cycle over the next day. As we worked in the fields for hours at a time, we saw fascinating birds, fish, and plants; but what we enjoyed most was sitting and
talking with the visiting farmers.
GO EAST, YOUNG MAN: Justin Forth (pictured, center) learns about Japan by (left to right) attending a local baseball game, working at the Asian Rural Institute, and visiting Tokyo's bustling Shibuya district.
After working on the farm for a few days, we returned to Utsonomiya to help clean up a huge park near the center of the nearly spotless city. Most of our service, however, was working with Japanese teens eager to learn English. We set aside a few hours each day to give basic lessons. We also taught them catchphrases that are popular among American teens — like, "Yo, what's up?" The most difficult part was explaining the difference between a "hot" person and something hot in temperature.
Getting to Know You
In the time between our duties, we explored Utsunomiya and learned about the local culture. For instance, we soon understood the importance of being prompt, because the buses we took around town always appeared within a minute of the scheduled arrival time. We also noticed that there seemed to be beverage vending machines at every corner, and the only garbage cans visible were next to the machines. We learned that in Japan it's considered rude to eat or drink anything while walking down the street.
Downtown, we came upon Orion Dori, a covered mall where the influence of Western fashion was evident. Popular attire included T-shirts with phrases in English that made no sense. One said: "Perso'ns Ki'ds Dairy Wear, Life is have fun."
Every place we went, we saw tons of video arcades with extreme fighting games, strategy and adventure games, and music games. Cell phones were everywhere, and they seemed to come straight out of some futuristic movie; they had almost unlimited space for pictures, songs, and music videos. Technology aside, the people we got to know were diligent workers and the most polite people I've ever met.
One night, we went to the Tokyo Dome and watched a baseball game between the New York Yankees equivalent, the Yomiuri Giants, and their rival, the Hanshin Tigers (similar to the Boston Red Sox). They weren't the most skilled athletes I'd ever seen, but the crowd support was amazing. People had personalized cheers for their favorite hitters and dedicated sections for "cheer masters." Some fans even bought season tickets for standing room. (The Giants won, 9–8, in the final inning.)
For seven nights during our stay, each of us was sent to live with a Japanese family. The highlight of my entire trip was spending time with Mr. and Mrs. Hibi; their three-year-old son, Kisuke (Kiki); five-year-old daughter, Tame; and nine-year-old son, Kyohei. I'll never forget the first night I spent at their house — that's when I saw the family's closeness. As I fumbled with my hashi (chopsticks), I noticed Tame and Kyohei were helping their little brother learn how to use his training chopsticks. It was such a simple act, but when I looked at their parents beaming with delight, I could see how proud they were.
Memories like that have stayed with me. After living in Japan for those few weeks, my life will never be the same. At every opportunity, I relate something happening in my life at home to something that happened in Japan. Just the other night, I ate at a Japanese sushi bar that my friends and I had been to for special events. This time, I was able to greet the chef and start a basic conversation with him in Japanese.
Justin Forth is a senior at Weston High School in Weston, Connecticut, where he plays guitar in a funk-rock band.
My Renaisssance
A college student learns about art and life during a semester in ItalyBy Chauntelle Folds
Ever since my fifth-grade teacher gave me an atlas, I wanted to explore the world. As a student attending Ohio State University in my home city of Columbus, Ohio, I'd never traveled farther than Walt Disney World. But then I spent three months in Florence, Italy, taking courses at the Accademia Italiana. Studying abroad became my gateway to a new life — a chance to earn needed college credits while experiencing another culture.
When I arrived in Florence with my fellow American students, the August humidity plastered my clothes to my body. But as we crossed the Arno River, I didn't notice the heat. Looking at the Ponte Vecchio — the multicolored bridge with shops in shades of ocher, umber, and tan — I marveled at its beauty.
ITALIAN LESSONS: Chauntelle Folds (pictured, left) finds inspiration while visiting landmarks, such as the Cathedral of Florence (left) and the Colosseum in Rome (right).
Within hours of settling into our narrow townhouse, I had my first experience with the differences between Italian and American ways. After my hair dryer spurted red-orange flames, I realized that sometimes a converter is not enough. I quickly learned that, when living in a foreign country, it's important to adapt.
Yet who could find it difficult to adapt to a city where intricately carved designs etch building exteriors and sculptures of saints adorn facades? My apartment was two minutes away from a palace. My home for three months was in the city that was home to the Renaissance.
Art History
To better appreciate the city's history, art, and traditions, I signed up for History of Tuscany and Italian Style courses. I learned about the brilliant
innovation of Brunelleschi's Cupola (dome), which was built without scaffolding atop the Cathedral of Florence. I also learned about the long arm of the Medici family,
which not only controlled the city's government during the Renaissance but also commissioned and befriended the period's greatest artists: Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and Botticelli.
In one class, Professor Paola Esposito explained how Botticelli made the female body a thing of beauty during a time when artists were more focused on the strength and prowess of men. When I saw Primavera and The Birth of Venus at the Uffizi Gallery, I could see that Botticelli gave the women in his paintings a loveliness that other works of the period lacked. At the Galleria dell'Accademia, I gazed at Michelangelo's towering, flawless David for almost half an hour, wondering at the purity of its beauty. I became addicted to art.
Everyday Life
As enlightening as my studies were, the lessons I learned just by being in Italy were also invaluable. Every morning, I turned the knob of our gas stove from chiuso to aperto to cook breakfast. If we were out of milk, cheese, or any other necessity, I'd go to a small grocery shop that was a
two-minute walk from the house. The husband-and-wife owners always greeted me with "Buon giorno" and a smile. They didn't speak English, so shopping there was a chance for me to practice my Italian, and they were always eager to help.
In fact, one of the things I liked best about my Italian life was the sense of community that pervaded the neighborhood. Everything I needed was within walking distance — restaurants, grocery store, boutiques, even photo developers. Restaurateurs knew their patrons by name, and there was always time for good conversation.
I had to get used to the siestas — shops typically close from 1 p.m. to 4 p.m. on weekdays — and the fact that most doors remain shut on Sunday. There was no 24-hour anything. But it was refreshing to be in a place where business and money didn't seem to be society's driving force. Family, relaxation, and enjoying life were paramount.
After class, I'd go for long walks to absorb the city's atmosphere. One September evening, I wandered into the Piazza Santissima Annunziata, where boys with peashooters were running around and children were carrying bright-colored lanterns on the ends of sticks. I was in the middle of the Festival of Rificolona, which marks the eve of the Nativity of the Virgin. A parade of floats and hundreds of people carrying lanterns traveled the streets to the Basilica of Santissima Annunziata, where the best float was chosen and the Florentine Madonna was elected. After the festivities, I followed the crowds to a gelateria — I figured they'd know the best place. The thick vanilla ice cream was so rich and good, it left me speechless.
The months sped by. Riding through the streets of Florence for the last time before returning stateside, I knew I'd miss my second home. In Italy, I'd learned to relax, to take time to enjoy life, and to let the world reveal its beauty. The world is much larger than I'd imagined. But after this experience, I'm not afraid of its vastness; I'm eager to discover it all.
Chauntelle Folds, a graduate of Ohio State University, is an intern at Black Enterprise magazine in New York.
In the French Style
A mother gains insight when her daughter returns from ParisBy Kathleen Clary Miller
When we entered the baggage claim area at John Wayne Airport, my younger daughter, Kate, and I stood at the foot of the stairs that her older sister, Clary, would descend to retrieve her luggage. It had been seven months since we'd last seen her — our first separation longer than a spring break. She was arriving on a commuter flight from Dallas, where she'd already passed through customs.
THE FRENCH CONNECTION: Clary Miller (left) returns from studying in Paris to find that her mom, writer Kathleen Clary Miller (right), has learned something, too.
As I waited, nervously anticipating the sight of her tennis shoes on the risers, my mind shifted from one worry to another. Would she have time to organize for her senior year at USC — to repack, purchase a parking pass, buy books? Where exactly was this so-called "safe" apartment her friend had found somewhere in Los Angeles?
I thought back to the sunny Saturday a year earlier when Clary had approached me in the kitchen. She was home for the weekend and, as usual, wanted to do her laundry. She couldn't decide which shirt to wear to church. She said she didn't feel pretty because she'd lost her summer tan.
Then she asked me if I'd let her study in Paris for a semester. My brain started aching. Clary had been valedictorian of her high school graduating class, but I doubted her street smarts.
"Mom, if I do this one thing, I will come back and be able to do anything!" she pleaded.
Of course, I let her go.
Now the day of her return had arrived, yet I felt agitated — excited to see my child, to be sure, but also something more. Whom would I be seeing? Had her experience changed her? Had I been right to let her go?
The plane arrived. Exhausted business travelers began deplaning and casually greeting spouses. Then my daughter appeared, alone on the steep stairway. Six months earlier, an uncertain girl wearing jeans and a T-shirt had boarded the international transport; now, the young woman who emerged to descend the stairs brought tears to my eyes. Dressed in a coquettish knee-length skirt, chic brown halter top, and Parisian-print silk scarf around her slender neck, she took each graceful step in high heels. She was utterly transformed.
We embraced each other, and I cried, overwhelmed by the beauty of this lovely young woman who seemed to have conquered the world. In a flurry of hugs and exclamations, the three of us gathered her luggage. "Merci," she said to the airport employee who held the door for us. We all chuckled as she unconsciously slipped into her new second language. As the sun set, we piled into the car and chattered all the way home, giddy with the excitement of being reunited. At home, we unwrapped her gifts — French chocolate, a bottle of wine, and for me, an exquisite white blouse from a shop on Rue de Rivoli. It was past midnight before we could settle down enough to sleep.
Metamorphosis did not end that day. After coming home, Clary volunteered in the Joint Educational Project, a program in which USC students tutor children in Los Angeles inner-city schools. Her subject? French, of course. She and a coworker, who had also studied abroad, fashioned passports and airline tickets imprinted with the students' names, cooked crepes for them, and taught them to say bonjour and other words in French.
Clary graduated in May, her history diploma in hand and Sorbonne Certificate of Merit in heart. "I want to do something international," she mused. "Maybe be an interpreter or work for the government in some capacity where I spend a lot of time experiencing other countries."
As I listened to my daughter's confident voice, I thought back to my trepidation over her trip, then recalled that day at the airport when the girl who had departed a child stood before me, a grown woman. Her new Parisian friend Monique e-mailed to invite Clary back to her flat on Rue Philippe de Girard for dinner — anytime. Despite my fear that the world would be too big for her, it's proven to be a small one, indeed, for my grown-up daughter.
Kathleen Clary Miller's work has appeared in Newsweek, the Los Angeles Times, and The Orange County Register.
Photo credits by grouping from top: Justin Forth, Chauntelle Folds, and Leslie Bird.
Global Exchange
- More than 191,300 students studied abroad during the 2003–2004 school year, a 9.6 percent increase from a year earlier.
- UCLA ranked third in the nation for the largest number of students studying abroad, with more than 2,000.
- Nations that attracted the most students: United Kingdom, 32,200; Italy, 21,900; Spain, 20,000; France, 13,700; Australia, 11,400.
— Source: Open Doors 2005 Report on International Educational Exchange, published by the Institute of International Education
Homework
Research
Go to your school's study abroad office to see what programs they recommend. Most colleges and universities offer school-sponsored programs or cosponsored programs through independent companies. Look for programs with courses that will transfer back to your home school.
Prepare
Apply for a passport and visa as soon as you've been accepted into a program. Visas are required for programs lasting more than three months, and the entire passport and visa process can take up to two and a half months.
Budget
Make a budget and stick to it. You want your funds to last for the duration of the program. Don't live extravagantly for a month only to find you have to scrimp for the rest of your stay.
Live like the locals
Appreciate a country by eating traditional food and learning local customs. Try neighborhood, family-run restaurants, where you can typically get low-cost, authentic food and a real taste of the culture.
— Chauntelle Folds
You are reading the September/October 2006 issue of Westways. Some information contained in this publication is time-sensitive, and the terms of some offers (cruise or vacation packages, for example) or services (provisions for roadside assistance, for example) might have been superseded by subsequent information and might no longer apply.