Bonjour From Paris: Ticket for One

Originally published in The Tiger Newspaper, Feb. 29, 2016

To my Tigers, 

I just got back from a week-and-a-half break where I got to do some traveling. It was an adventure — and an emotional rollercoaster — to say the least. 

Everything from getting lost to an emotional meltdown over being homesick to feeling accomplished for figuring out a new country’s metro system to facing unexpected expenses to feeling on top of the world because I was just happy.

My meltdown in Brussels went something like this: After being up since 5 a.m. to travel from Paris to Brussels, touring and sitting through lectures all day and almost crying at dinner for no reason other than just missing home, we got Belgian waffles and went to the Delirium — a famous bar that offers over 2,000 craft beers and happens to be a bucket list destination of mine. Needless to say, we were exhausted, and the beers I had had did not help my patience, and the smallest things were upsetting me. 

A group of us decided we were ready for sleep so we left to walk back to our apartment which was about a seven-minute walk away. An hour and a half later, in 34 degree weather and rain, after I broke down and turned on my data to try to get us directions to the hotel, we were still lost. Finally, after running into an awesome British guy, who has seen more of the U.S. than I have, gave us the directions that finally got us back. I walked into the hotel room and set my bag on a small table where it fell less than two feet and broke the Delirium glasses I was trying to keep as souvenirs for another girl and myself. 

I just sat down and full on Kim K. ugly cried. All I could think was “I can’t wait to go home. I just want to be home.”

Fast forward to the end of the trip: London. I’ve been once before, and it’s probably tied with Warsaw for my favorite city in the world. First, I got to see “The Lion King” in theater, which is something I’d been very excited about. 

Needless to say, it was amazing. The music, the set, the costumes, the props, and the incredible amount of detail—it was honestly jaw dropping. The next morning I got to do the number-one thing I HAD to do in London: The Warner Brother Studio’s Harry Potter Tour. Forgive me for being dramatic, but it was probably one of the greatest things I’ve ever done. Seriously though, the amount of time and detail that went into each scene and set is unbelievable. 

During the days, the girls and I spent some time exploring, and I got the chance to do some solo exploring where I found some great markets, bookstores, street performers, musicians (a personal favorite of mine) and, of course, Starbucks. 

On our last night, the rest of the group I was with had tickets to a fashion show, and after finally deciding I didn’t know what to do by myself for most of a day and the evening, I gave in and went to the theater and got the cheapest tickets available for “Wicked” — also an absolutely incredible show.I don’t know a lot about classical music or opera or theater, but my mom was a musician when I was growing up, so hearing songs from musicals or pieces by Mozart and Beethoven always remind me her. 

Sitting in those shows made me happy, not just because they were great shows, but because of how they reminded me of my mom and how happy music and these shows make her. It reminds me of being younger and eating Chinese take out while watching “Phantom of the Opera” or “Fiddler on the Roof” on DVD with my mom and sister and hearing my mom quietly sing along, or listening to the sound of her flute filling the house while she practiced for an upcoming performance. 

While it did make me miss home, it simultaneously made me feel close to home even though I’m 4,000 miles away.

There is a part of me that is excited to go home every single day. I don’t think it means that I am unhappy; I think it just means I have something really incredible to go back to—and for that I couldn’t be any luckier.

Enjoy the sunshine and blue skies you’re getting, Tigers. I promise you’re getting more of it than I am. It’s something I can’t wait to come home to.

Till next time.
- Kelsey

   

 Brussels, Belgium

 Brussels, Belgium

 Brussels, Belgium

 London, England

 Buckingham Palace

Bonjour From Paris: Surviving "Adulthood" While Overseas

Originally published in The Tiger Newspaper, Feb. 15, 2016

Hello again, Tigers, 

I’m back in Paris after a long weekend to Ireland, and I actually have to do some studying this week. Ireland was great, actually much better than I expected it to be. In some ways, almost anything that could have gone wrong did, but it was such an adventure. 

I can’t help but feel like I’ve grown up more in the 40 days here than I have in the last few years. Sure, going to a school on the other side of the state was a big adjustment and made me grow up some, but even in Clemson I’m somewhere in between a teenager without a lot of responsibilities and being an adult with rent, bills, school and a job. Here, I’m living off of my savings with no income like I’ve been used to for the last several years. I’m far away from my family, having to keep track of my money even more carefully. I’m planning trips around Europe which is pretty glamorous. What I didn’t expect is for it to be as nerve-wracking and stressful as it is. 

Being here in Paris, though, is starting to make me get a better grasp and understanding of the idea and meaning of really being an adult. 

Yes, I am 21. I am a little over the age where I’m only legally an adult with “teen” stamped on the end of my age. I can legally buy alcohol in the U.S., I can sign a lease, I have a job, I pay taxes and I do take care of myself. 

In the last week, I’ve rented a car and taken a road trip literally across a foreign country, went the better part of four days without Wi-Fi, gotten lost several times, stayed in a cottage without “adult” supervision (I say that because I still have a hard time admitting that I and the people I’m with are actually not children anymore). I also spent a good hour thinking I missed my flight when the only flight back to Paris that night was full and I had an 8 a.m. class the next morning.

Since being back, I’ve booked some trains and buses to and from a few different places and lodgings because I have a break at the end of the month. I’m definitely ready for all the planning for the break to be done, because it’s really stressful figuring out all of these logistics. I’m definitely not complaining, but it has without a doubt been a growing experience having to be this responsible for myself. I’m so used to going on trips where the adults do all the planning, and I just pay and show up. I never realized how much work went into all of these trips. 

I guess what I will end with for now is just a reminder that we all need at one point or another to slow down and enjoy the place we are in in our lives. A lot of times we are so focused on the classes we want to take next semester, or the job we want to get after we graduate or the graduate school that we want to get into that we forget to enjoy where we are. 

College really is an amazing time in life. We as college students are stuck in a very “in between” place. We’re in between home and being on our own, in between being a teenager and adulthood, and in between a school schedule with all of its breaks and careers with no summer vacations. It can be annoying and stressful and scary, but it is our last chance to enjoy a little bit of having the best of both worlds. 

Till next time, Tigers. -Kelsey

 Dublin, Ireland

 Somewhere on a roadside in Ireland

 Cliffs of Moher

 Cliffs of Moher

 Cliffs of Moher

 Cliffs of Moher

 Cliffs of Moher - Go Tigers!

Bonjour, from Paris: 2

Something I learned to love when I still went to College of Charleston was to get lost in a city and see where I ended up. I stumbled upon a lot of great little finds and favorite spots. It's something I have always missed since transferring. Clemson is beautiful, but a lot of that beauty requires a car, hiking boots, and some bug spray. I often miss just being able to walk out of my dorm and go down whichever side street I felt like until I hit the water at the Battery.

Being in Paris has given me a chance to relive those freshman year glory days. A group of people decided to go out on Friday, but I was feeling really homesick and just wanted to stay in and watch Friends on Netflix and eat my feelings in whatever was in my fridge. I ended up getting a text from one of the girls in my group asking if I wanted to go explore. I thought it would be good to get out, so I said yes.

Side note. As I'm writing this there is a pigeon picking around at my feet. I'm indoors. I came indoors to get away from this pigeon.

Back to my story. We decided to go to just pick a random metro stop and see what was around there. I'm not exactly sure where we were, and by then it was kind of late so a lot of the shops were closed, but we ended up just walking towards the Eiffel Tower and found a restaurant to grab some creme brûlée because we decided we were craving it. It was a simple evening, but it was something I really needed. I've gone exploring a few times on my own –– which has always been fun –– but it was nice to have someone with me this time.

Yesterday two other girls and I decided to explore Le Marais. Towards the end of the day, we decided to stop in and try some random pubs. The first one was a Mexican pub so we each had a drink and some nachos. Next, realizing how close we were to Notre Dame and decided to look for a place towards the Latin Quarter and ended up in having a drink in a pub from a table near the window where you could see Notre Dame(forever an obsession of mine). Finally, we ended up in another Spanish pub in the Latin Quarter.

Doing things like this is definitely making it feel more like I'm actually living here, and not just on a vacation. All of the touristy spots are well worth the trip, but just purely exploring and seeing what you stumble upon is part of the adventure.

Today has been a good day mood and homesick wise. I miss my family, but I really feel like I'm settling in here. I told myself over and over before coming here that the first month would be the hardest. I think I was right.


-Kelsey

From my solo exploration to the top of Notre Dame

View from the top of Notre Dame

View from the top of Notre Dame

Antique store in Le Marais

Hotel de Ville

Le Marais

Pub near Notre Dame

Bonjour, from Paris

[Originally published in The Tiger on Jan. 28, 2016]

I’ve been in Paris for about a month now. I don’t speak French, I’m 4,138 miles from home, I’m six hours ahead of all of my friends and family, I don’t have an oven, the poor French just can’t say my name (FYI, Kelsey doesn’t translate well to any language in my experience) and Paris is downright expensive. Every day I get a feeling of “Wow, Paris is the most incredible place ever!” but also “Wow, I’m really homesick.” The best way I can describe it is that scene in “Tangled” when Rapunzel leaves her tower, and one second she’s celebrating her new freedom and the next second she’s crying to go back home. And here I am, more than 4,000 miles away from everything that is familiar to me.

I’m still in the process of getting settled. My room is together, I’m learning how the metro system works and I’m learning French; but being in a foreign country is a big adjustment and can be intimidating when you realize you’ve been here for more than a week or two and you’re not getting ready to get on a plane home anytime soon.

I’ll fill you in on a few things that I miss most – Cajun filet chicken biscuits, delivery pizza and (because I just got over bronchitis and pink eye in my first month of being here) Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. It’s also funny how when I’m at home, McDonald’s is a last resort for me. Here though, it’s comforting because it’s so familiar.

This is actually the second time I’ve sat down to write this, because, to be honest, I’m still gathering my own thoughts about this whole experience. I’ve traveled more than some, but a lot less than others. One thing I have learned though is that your expectations are rarely
met –– in good ways and in bad. Things tend to either surpass our expectations, or they fall short. Things don’t always go as planned, and sometimes things downright suck. But honestly, even the things that suck are part of what makes these experiences so great.

For me, it kind of sucks being 4,000 miles away from Bojangles.’ It kind of sucks having to go to a doctor that you have trouble communicating your symptoms with. It kind of sucks being half a day away from my friends and family. But at the same time, I’m in a city many people dream about and never see. I get the chance to climb to the top of 850-year-old cathedrals that took 200 years to build. I get to stand in front of priceless paintings and sculptures of artists like Van Gogh and Da Vinci. I get to go to a school in a building that is a national monument commemorating the 200-year anniversary of the French Revolution, and I get to plan trips to other countries that can be done in a weekend. I get to learn how to really and truly stand on my own two feet in a country where I don’t even speak the language, and where I have to learn how to figure things out on my own.

I don’t really know what to expect for the next four months, but I know it’s going to be the adventure of a lifetime.

It’s intimidating, definitely – but what great adventure isn’t?

Till next time, Tigers.

-Kelsey

Montmarte

          

Museé D'Orsay

Le Seine

Hall of Mirrors, Versailles

Versailles

"It happened, therefore, it can happen again..."

"It happened, therefore, it can happen again: this is the core of what we have to say."
-Primo Levi

Most anyone who knows me or follows me on instagram know that I had the amazing opportunity to go on a trip to Poland and Germany entitled "Tracing the Holocaust in Eastern Europe" this summer. Sounds morbid, I know. I can honestly say, though, it's a trip that has changed me. I know it's not your typical vacation destination, but I honestly encourage anyone who ever has the chance- DO IT.

After a semester of studying the Holocaust and an extremely intensive two weeks of interviews, museums, concentration camps, and former Jewish ghettos, I needed a little break from it all. It was not that I had become bored with the subject, more that I had become drained by the subject- as I'm sure you can imagine.

-A little background information: Auschwitz was one of the largest death/labor camps utilized by the Nazis. It was broken up into three sub-camps which served various purposes. Auschwitz III (Monowitz) was destroyed after the liberation. Auschwitz I and II (Birkenau) are the two available for tours. Auschwitz I has been renovated into several mini-museum displays that provide a lot of factual information. Birkenau, though,  has been sanitized and cleaned but has-for the most part- been left as it was when in use. The last part of Auschwitz I is the room that holds the Book of Names- a book with the names of all the known victims. Across from the book is a wall covered with electronic picture frames all showing different current pictures of survivors with their families. From there, you turn to leave and what is in front of you is a wall with a Primo Levi quote painted across it: "It happened, therefore, it can happen again: this is the core of what we have to say."-


Well about two weeks ago, I was browsing Books-A-Million, and I found a section of books they were promoting and found The Boy in the Striped Pajamas was one of them. I had already seen the movie, but I had been encouraged by my trip leader to pick up the book. I almost put it back, but I decided to flip through it. The last few lines literally felt like a kick in the stomach. I was taken right back to standing in front of that wall with that Primo Levi quote staring back at me. I thought of standing at Treblinka- another death camp- staring at the monument with "Never Again" written in multiple languages. I thought about standing there and thinking, "But it has happened again. How does this keep happening?"
No, there has not been another genocide against the Jews. There has though been a genocide in Cambodia. There has been one in Bosnia. There has been one in Rwanda.

We never think something so awful could ever happen. But then it does. And then we think, "Oh, that can never happen again." But, again, it does.

I don't write this to trash talk the human race or to talk about how awful society is. I write this because I still am unable to wrap my mind around the 11 million people- that we know of, a figure that will forever be just a fraction of the number who were truly killed, a number that we can never know- that were killed in the 1940s. In civilized society with educated people. I honestly don't even know how else to describe it other than just questioning, How? How did this happen? How does this keep happening?

All I can say is Primo Levi was right. It did happen. It can happen again. And, unfortunately, it probably will happen again. Maybe not on the same scale. Maybe for different reasons. But it can happen again.



I began this post to more or less talk about The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, but it turned into something a little different. Instead, I'll let the book speak for itself. Even if you've seen the movie, take a minute and pick up the book. It is short, and you can read it in just a few days. I will say this, it is able to very accurately describe the events without a single derogatory name or gruesome description. It's from the eyes of someone with an inability to understand what exactly is happening and how something so awful could happen.


I guess that makes two of us.

Since It's Been Forever...On Being Scared

So last semester I wrote a post on how differently my freshman year turned out from what I had expected. And I think I have only made one other post since then. Oops.
I also talked about the possibility of transferring. Well if you know me, you know it happened. And if you don't, guess what. I go to Clemson now.

Funny thing is, just a few days after I wrote that post- and signed my apartment lease and got my acceptance letter- I went from beyond excited to crying my eyes out every single day thinking "WHAT. DID. I. DO?!" No joke. I sat in Marion Square with my best friend and in cried my eyes out in public because I didn't want to go through with it. I remember what she said to me pretty clearly. I remember her telling me that she would be concerned if I wasn't scared, because this was a big deal. She told me she felt like tiny little CofC was holding me back and that she honestly believed a big school like Clemson was somewhere I would flourish. Over and over, though, she kept telling me that it was okay to be scared.
I remember sitting on the floor in my suitemate's room crying my eyes out again while she told me that everything I was feeling then was exactly what she was feeling at the end of her senior year in highschool.
I remember crying at lunch with my sister because I didn't want to leave her. I'm still not totally sure if she really thought it was a good idea for me to go or if she just wanted to shut me up. Either way, it worked.
I remember pacing back in forth in Anna's living room honestly believing it was something I couldn't go through with.
I  couldn't leave the school I had always dreamed of going to. I couldn't leave the city I had always dreamed of living in- let alone to move out into the boondocks of Clemson. I couldn't leave my family that lived in Charleston. I couldn't leave the security of having them 15 minutes away. I couldn't leave my sister. I couldn't do it. I honestly didn't think I could do it.

Two conversations made me think otherwise-
First, I'll start with my conversation with my favorite professor from CofC. He told me going to class and watching Netflix in my dorm if my sister was busy wasn't a life. He told me I needed to enjoy more than just a few hours of my day.  He told me he believed Clemson could take me further than CofC ever could.

Second, a conversation with a teacher from highschool that I knew could give me some invaluable advice. After about a week of phone tag, we finally got to talk. It was a long conversation so I don't remember all of it, but I remember some of the highlights. He, like Mary, told me that it was okay to be scared. He told me it was okay for it to hurt and for me to cry, because what I was leaving wasn't all bad- in fact, there was a lot of good. Then he said that he had been praying about our conversation and what kept coming to his mind was the story of Abraham. In short, he told me about how God called Abraham from his home to go to a place that he would show him. Abraham obeyed, and settled somewhere new. Before long though, God said, "Okay, now go just a little bit further." I really can't explain what a weight was lifted off my shoulders when he said that.
Finally, I felt like maybe I could do it.

So fast forward to now. October, in Clemson. And guess what- I can't believe I ever had so many doubts. I can't believe I cried so much. I can't believe I came close to giving up on what has become easily one of the best decisions I've ever made.

To sum up Clemson I'll use the words of Joe Sherman:

"There is something in these hills that brings together and binds together and holds together man and woman of all persuasions, of all heights, sizes, weights, and cultural backgrounds -  something that cuts across every difference, spans every gap, penetrates every wall - something that makes a man or a woman stand taller, feel better and say with pride to all within earshot, 'I went to Clemson.' There is something in these hills that you and I can't define and that others can't understand. A wave of warmth that surges through me when 'outsiders' say, 'I don't know what is is about you Clemson people, but your undying love for Clemson is admired by everyone I know'... Yes, there's something in these hills where the Blue Ridge yawns its greatness..."

Finally, to sum up my rambling I'll use the words of Charles Martin-

"'Remember, courage is being scared to death- and saddling up anyway. Being scared is okay. It's better than not being scared. If you're not scared, you're probably cocky and about to get in a whole mess of hurt. Trust me, scared is good."

On Charleston

I've been lucky enough this past year to live in what is easily one of the most beautiful cities in the country- Charleston. This city, along with its beauty, is full of history and epitomizes the south.

This city, at least where I am and in my opinion, is broken up into a few different parts.
There's the predominantly restaurant part, along the same street follows the shopping district, and that intersects with what begins my favorite part of the city- Market Street.

King Street is nice, of course. Ya know, full of really expensive restaurants that serve a lot of food that you can't pronounce and overpriced shrimp and grits. After you spend on arm and a leg on lunch, you can walk down a few blocks to fight your way through the overly crowded, claustrophobic streets filled with tourists where you can finally get into a store where you can then sell your soul and your first born child for a plain white tshirt. After you leave there you realize that the five glasses of sweet tea have finally hit you, but you now have a problem- no public restrooms. So you scurry along and hop into a place where you can buy an over priced water or another sweet tea just so you can use their bathroom. And then you return to fighting the crowd or the ridiculously slow walking people who spread out across the entire sidewalk blocking you from getting where you need to go.
Oh, and did I mention that towards the evening these same streets are filled with drunk college students raising all sorts of hell before going into their dorm and pulling the fire alarm multiple times in the middle of the night just for kicks, or setting off the fire alarm because they're too drunk to remember it requires water before before it goes in the microwave?
Lovely, isn't it?

Well when I finally can get by all the slow sidewalk-hogs and tourists, I hit Market Street. From there, I hop on over and walk by the old city market and remember going through there to working on a project where I got to interview the sweetgrass weavers who grew up there, and I think about all the history the Market holds. To the left and the right, I can walk by ice cream shops and get hit with the enchantingly sweet smell of homemade ice cream. I tend to stick to South Market Street for no real reason. Walking down there I pass Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. and think of southern classic that is Forest Gump. And about how much I love fried shrimp, but that's another story. Walking down Market Street, I find myself a lot less annoyed with the tourists because now these are families. I'm weaving in and out of little girls skipping around in sundresses, little boys on top of the world on their dad's shoulders, and retirees enjoying their 80th year.

After Market Street, we are intersected with East Bay Street. Another street with overpriced restaurants, yes, but this one has a different charm to it. And a Subway with a public bathroom. East Bay is home to some of that classic Charleston architecture that I'm so deeply in love with. East Bay also has that city liveliness that I love. Along this street you can walk by some restaurants with outdoor seating, and old southern men sitting outside of Charlestowne Tobacco & Wine smoking cigars and waving as you walk by.
When I walk down East Bay, I think of my senior year in high school when my class came down to Charleston for the day to take a tour of the Old Exchange. When I walk down East Bay, I think about that trip and my class- the people I grew up with in my little tiny school from my hometown. I think about the bond we all had, and I think about one teacher in particular who went on the trip with us. I think about her not just because she was my senior English teacher, but because she poured her heart and soul into teaching us more than just sonnets and literary interpretation. She poured her heart and soul into teaching us about duty, responsibility, and wisdom. During the years I got to know her, I grew to admire, respect, and love her for her strength, tenacity, wisdom, and the love she had for us.

Down East Bay, across from South End Brewery I take a left turn and am at the Waterfront Park. Here, I walk by the kids running through the fountain and remember when my sister and I did the same thing both as little kids, and later as high schoolers. I walk down a little further to the dock, where I went many a time last semester just to get away from campus and the city noise, look out over the water, and clear my head. I remember my first time there. I got the dock, sat down, and took the first deep breath I had taken in a while. Recently I started eno-ing a little further down in a shady spot when the weathers nice. Just a few days ago, in fact, I decided to take my exploration a little further.

I had been to the Battery before, but this time was different. I sat down on a towel, underneath one of the many trees at White Point Garden and just looked around. There weren't any drunk teenagers, no expensive stores or restaurants, no commercialism, none of it. There were people eno-ing, family picnics, dogs playing fetch, kids chasing bubbles, a wedding that had just finished, and people taking leisurely strolls near the water. In the midst of a hustle and bustle city, here was a place that was calm and relaxed and everywhere I looked there was a happy family. Just a few yards away from me was a little family picnic with a few young kids and two little dogs. The adults just sat on the blankets and ate sandwiches while the kids ran around the spot playing with the dogs. Something about that picture just made me really happy as cliche as it might sound.

                                                       (my view, minus the family picnic)


I continued my exploration along South Battery Street, crossed over to Murray Street and just walked until the road curved near Tradd Street before turning around. When I walk down there I think of my mom. I think of how much I miss her and how much I know she misses me. One of my mom's biggest dreams is to move down here to Charleston near her sister and near my sister and me. She always talks about taking walks down at the Battery and jokes about me buying her one of those South of Broad homes overlooking the water if she doesn't win the lottery first.

I kept exploring and just fell in love with Charleston all over again. Walking through their is like walking through an old southern fairytale.
I fell in love with South of Broad. Anything that has ever described it as anything short of perfect was an absolute lie. I love everything about it. It's like somewhere between King Street and White Point Garden took you into a different time. There is just something about walking through there and weaving in and out of traveling families and locals fishing and walking by old, southern Charlestonians sipping sweet tea from their porch and waving to me as I walk by.

It's like everything about the south wrapped up in just a couple of streets.

 

                                      Just a few snapshots from my most recent exploration :)