On Mountains and Museums

I realized that I enjoyed a nine-week winter break, and I am out of practice at being a student, much less in a French speaking classroom. Luckily for me, my Monday classes are overwhelmingly forgiving, despite their foreign-language instruction. For example, my "language and Culture" class, which I was highly looking forward to, as perhaps an introduction to the role of language in various societies across the world, has spend the past two lessons discussing how well the Swiss Army knife exemplifies the Swiss people and how drinking Ovalmatine Chocolate may save your life if your are caught in a blizzard. Ah well, c'est la vie suisse.

Last Thursday, I was very much enjoying my American Literature Survey Course. Not just because it is taught in English, but because the professor, a lovely woman from New England, reads the texts to the class, carefully pronouncing each word, treating each phrase with so much care and respect that it is as if she were telling us the most wonderful story ever written to the class. It reminds me of the way my Aunt Colleen used to read Poe to my cousins and me at our All-Girl Sleepovers, in the way that she becomes the one person in the world responsible for conveying the beauty of the written word. Anyways, I was enjoying her reading of "Young Goodman Brown" when I glanced out the window and saw the Alps for the very first time. It has been so foggy and cloudy (and actually a bit smoggy, which I did not expect to see in Switzerland) that before then, I only just knew that the mountains were hiding across the lake. Now I can happily say that I have seen the Alps, even if not perfectly clearly, and have been mesmerized by their serene beauty.

I visited Ouchy this weekend and found it rather similar to Dana Point Harbor. Just with less pollution and fewer boats. And to clarify, it is not pronounced like the boo-boo, ouchie, but Oo-shee. There, I went to the museum of photography and visited a three story exhibit of Edward Steichen. I wish that I could comment more positively on this, but I had great hopes for the museum, and I'm afraid that I was slightly less than impressed. Not by the museum itself, as it was a handsome building atop a hill overlooking the lake, but by the lack of diversity of photographers. Well, I guess I could always go visit the Louvre.

Last night all of my flatmates had guests over, so we had a proper collection of internationals, a melange of young people from the US, Switzerland, Russia, China, France and Austria. I love the fact that I have been able to escape the obsession with celebrities and Access Hollywood, and even more that I have traded that with the possibility to hear stories of different experiences of the world. For example, I had never met anyone before yesterday that could tell me firsthand was it was like to experience the Soviet collapse. Or to have faced racism while backpacking through Europe. Or come from Vienna, but never heard of the Von Trapp Family Singers. (Ok, maybe that one doesn't quite fit, but I'm still putting it in my list.) It makes me feel smarter, more culturally aware, which is pretty sweet, but really that's what this whole thing is about, right?