By the time you read this, I'll be drinking a beer out of a stein in Munich. I'm not trying to brag, because I've come a long way (figuratively and literally) since the beginning of the semester.
Let me explain. In January I felt a bit like Macaulay Culkin. A new semester meant sending our newest batch of American college students and a sizeable percentage of my friends over the pond for a semester in Europe, leaving me home alone.
I didn't study abroad during college, but it seems like a good opportunity to expand horizons and have a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Like the millions of tourists who visit each year, we revel in all Europe has to offer. But I get the feeling many students are unintentionally reinforcing the American stereotype—the Ameri-centric, big-headed visitor image we've seem to cultivate abroad.
Whether that's fair is another issue, but I imagine our forbearers sending us back generations later with a note attached that says ""look what I made!"" The Old World will frown and shake its head, like a parent whose child came back from the playground covered in mud. It's like an extended field trip for grown-ups, and let me tell you the trip is half the journey.
With the possible exception of prisons, airports are just about the only place with lots of congregated people all just trying to leave.
I'm fairly certain if I were ever to fly first class, I'd prefer to board last instead. Supposedly it's part of the luxury, but to me boarding first means the entire rest of the plane walks past you with that half-longing, half-disapproving glance. I'm not sure I can handle that kind of scorn. Flying is stressful enough.
In the back with the other commoners, the middle-aged man next to me opens a satchel of Peanut Butter Crunch. He offers me some but I refuse since I'm not in the habit of accepting cereal from people eating something they're 40 years too old for.
I arrive in Newark, New Jersey. You know how everyone always raves about how beautiful Jersey is? Frankly, I just don't see it. The one plus is there are lots of moving sidewalks in this airport, which I really need to get to that place 30 yards away. Even stranger are the people who get on and stop walking as if it's a ride at the amusement park.
After the layover, I'm on the plane to Europe. The pilot informs us the delay in take off was because of difficulties disconnecting from the terminal. He tells us this will be 60-90 seconds. I wonder if he narrates his entire life in this fashion. ""I'm having a slight delay, I have to take a dump, estimated time of return will be approximately 4-6 minutes local time.""
Somewhere over the Atlantic I have to smile to myself. Twenty-four hours ago I was taking a midterm, and now I'm eating roasted chicken and listening to Miles Davis. But the problem is, this isn't real life. It's not even semi-real life. It's a fantasy, which brings me back to my original point.
People around the world dream of doing just the opposite of us—traveling to America to experience first-hand what we have come to be known for: decadent, often gluttonous lifestyles, overt displays of wealth, lives of luxury—the triumphs of capitalism. We're lucky enough to engage in this, but I think it's important to keep things in perspective.
While we can't board planes fast enough, millions of others clamor to cross our own borders.
Just as Europe opens its arms to us like a cheerful grandparent, we should open ours to those who want a chance in America. After all, it's what got me here in the first place.
