ribbs worn shoes.

Driven by a sense of retrospection, I read through the essay that helped to get me selected for this London experience. What I found were words that at one point I practically knew by heart. This essay was the center of my world for a while -- partly because of its importance to my study abroad plans, but also because of the healing that it provided me. I thought I would share the portions of my essay that touched on Mr Ribb so that all of you could get an idea of why I wanted to come in the first place...

As long as I can remember, I have wanted to study abroad. Before I even knew what was beyond my house in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, I knew I had to be out there; out in a world where my comfort zone is pressed, where history and modernity collide, where people can break from the rhythm of their lives, if only just for a moment. I knew I wanted learn things that cannot be taught, which can only be acquired through life. Now, finally, an opportunity has come for me to not only visit a country abroad, but to become part of a larger community.

Community is a feeling I know very well. Since moving from my house in Pennsylvania, I have lived in a string of small cities and towns that offered some wonderful friends. One of the people who I had been closest to in my life was my high school Latin teacher, Olof Ribb. On the first day of class, he put a picture on the board of two girls sitting under a tree. “Puellae sub arbore sedent,” he said to a room full of blank freshmen faces. “Sub arbore sedent puellae,” he said again, as he pointed to the tree and then to the girls. After four or five minutes of this, it finally clicked. “The girls sit under the tree,” I thought to myself. Little did I know that this was only the beginning of what I would learn from Mr. Ribb…

Olof Ribb would appear to be a simple man to those who don’t know him. Though he turned 59 this year, he still sleeps in a twin bed in a three room apartment. When looking around his living room, you can see what he truly values. Books line his shelves with the names Aristotle, Homer, and Isabelle Allende laid in gold on each spine. The books are in Spanish, Latin, Italian and German—all of which he can speak and read fluently. On his walls hang treasures from distant lands, each probing a hundred questions from your mind. A small, funny looking statue sits on his coffee table demanding your attention with its absurdity. It is a wooden relic from India, a place he’s only been once but yearns to return to one day.

Olof does not spend his money on his home or his car. To him, tangible wealth is worth nothing. What Olof thinks made him wealthy, is his sense of the world. Wealth is nothing that can be juggled among fingertips, but rather the blueprints of the life you have lived. When visiting his house, several friends and I made fun of his twin bed. He just laughed saying “Well, I’m not really in it much,” as he pointed to a wall with a world map that was littered with push pins to represent the places he had been.

When Olof travels, he doesn’t miss a beat. Spending most of his summers exploring Denmark or Sweden, he comes home with hour’s worth of stories to tell. He went to a spa in Norway, where after sitting in a hot tub, patrons would recline in the snow until their skin stop tingling. After renting a bicycle in Italy, he biked along the shore until he reached a place so remote that he skinny dipped in the sea. Though all of his stories were exciting to hear, they would also make me sad: I had no stories of my own. Hearing about his life forced me to evaluate my own. With introspection I’ve seen how naive I am about things outside of ‘my world’ and am now eager to expand my horizons.

On the last day of school, Mr. Ribb took our small advanced Latin class to Olive Garden for dinner. While dining on crab stuffed ravioli, breadsticks, and Italian salad, he gave a little speech about how much our class had meant to him. He spoke to the room full of adults who no longer wore ‘blank freshmen faces’ but rather smiling-through-tears faces of admiration. He gave each of us a card with his contact information and a special quote that he picked out for each of us to remember. I recall blinking through tears to look down and read my card.

“The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.”
- Saint Augustine
Read on, Olivia!

Why he chose that quote for me, I can never imagine; but, ever since the quote has had profound impact on me. My choice to study abroad is as much educational as it is spiritual. Yes, I want to go for all the educational benefits, but I also want a renewed look at myself and my country. I feel that spending this time abroad will broaden my awareness, making me a more rounded person.

After a short struggle with cancer, Olof Ribb died on January 17, 2006. He was only fifty nine years old.

I was stunned. I was confused. I did not cry right away. Since I was not with him when he passed, it was hard for me to convince myself that he was really gone. Two weeks went by, and still, I had not fully accepted his death. Over winter break I flew to Colorado to see some relatives. On the flight, I was lucky enough to get a window seat, since it was such a beautiful day. I sat with my forehead glued to the window, enjoying the clouds lit golden by the sun, when a song swept through my ears…

“The soles of your shoes
are all worn down,
The time for sleep is now,
It’s nothing to cry about,
Cuz we’ll be together other soon.”

The song is by Death Cab for Cutie and is called “I Will Follow You Into The Dark.” Something about those lines gave me peace. The soles of Olof’s shoes were all worn down. He died a happy man having lived his life well and having seen so many things.

My shoes, however, have yet to be broken in. I am ready to be abroad, to see the world in a new perspective. I am ready to be a Londoner. Having spent years preparing myself to embark on an abroad adventure, I am finally ready to start reading that book.

END

And the good news is, my shoes are looking fairly worn these days...

czech marks the spot.

A lot of you have been asking about my trip to Prague this Spring Break. Here's a quick video with some of the highlights. Do mind my voice however. I've got a bit of a cold so did well to sound pubescent. I had a lovely trip despite the frigid temperatures!


A few things the video missed:

• The best gelato I've ever had
• The fantastic hotel we stayed in - complete with a hot tub and sauna (which we abused)
• The Internet Engineering Task Forcers with whom we shared Goulash and good beer

Overall a great trip! Next on the agenda is Dublin, Ireland later this month. I'm sure we'll have no problem getting into trouble there.

silence of settling.

I know I've let you down lately. My devotion to the blog has become awry as I grow more and more comfortable here. Don't blame me though, blame the experience. As my days tick on, I am feeling less and less the excitement of the mundane. It's not a sad thing, so do not fret. It is more a settling of self; a slipping into comfort. Think of it as putting on a pair of trousers fresh from the warm dryer.

A couple of months ago a trip to the grocery store would have been a cultural experience, worthy of some lofty thought like, "The patterns and rhythms by which people nourish themselves indicate more than just a cultural difference... and so on" (A lifetime in academia has taught me to fluff with the best of them.) But now the grocery store is nothing more than an institution where my math skills are contrasted with my palette - Chicken breast for £3 or a loaf of bread, tub of butter, pack of digestives and bag of carrots for £2.50? It's always a tough choice, but my wallet usually wins.

A couple of months ago I may have mentioned to you my life plan. Some array of the following might have come out, in no particular order: Graduate school, journalist, politics, law school, hobo, Trinidad and Tobago, university professor, optometrist, restaurant, business or prostitution. (Okay, just kidding on the last one - really.) But now I am possibly a little less set on having one certain goal, and more excited about seeing where opportunity lets me drift.

I know all these changes were probably inevitable, and with due time they might have happened in Elon. But London has been like a catalyst, giving me the room and nourishment to reassess myself and my goals. I am left with one question though, and I am not entirely sure that I will ever know the answer. How much of an effect does environment truly have on a person? Will I be different because of my time here? Or has experiencing myself in a different culture only allowed me to see things that were there all along?

non parlo italiano.

It always amazes me how much the world can change over a two-hour flight through the darkness of the European sky. One minute I am lugging my bag onto the tube and the next I am holding onto my seat as I fly around a blind curve on the edge of a mountain in Switzerland. Really, travel is quite mind-blowing. Just think that you could walk from Portugal to China and watch culture change 60 times along the way... it's inspiring.

I spent my past weekend with Sam and his aunt Alesia, at her lovely home in Lugano, Switzerland. Amidst a chaos of small windy roads that just had enough space for one and a half cars (despite claims they were two-lane roads) I found a serene getaway from the hustle and bustle of London. Like a toddler sitting at the grown-ups table, I was able to understand little clips of the language here and there, but for the most part found those speaking around me to be white noise. The speedy flutter of Italian was nothing more than a soundtrack to the beautiful scenery and good company.

The morning after Sam and I arrived we headed down to the lake in Lugano to explore a bit of the town. Watch shops, high-end retail and cute cafes lined the cobblestone streets that wound through the city. I loved the vibrant colors that were affluent on the signs and buildings. England and America seem to have a color-phobia when it comes to architecture that is rather dissapointing.

Feeling through our sense of adventure, Sam and I headed for a hike along the water where we were told some other cool villages could be found. Along the way the sights were pretty spectacular. Homes were just stacked upon one another in a way that is really intriguing. Some homes looked more like a playhouse that a child might dream up as opposed to a legitamate residence. What I would have given to explore some of them...

On Friday we went skiing in the -- get this -- Swiss Alps. I know you're impressed. Somehow the beauty of the Alps managed to surpass expectation by leaps and bounds. There are few sights more incredible than miles and miles of snow covered mountains. It's entirely belittling, so gave me a head full of lofty thoughts. Not much can beat thinking about life, faith and love as you surge 30mph down a mountain - perhaps Swiss chocolate, but not much less.

On the topic of Swiss Chocolate. Yes, it is probably some of the most delicious chocolate I've ever had. And yes, I got loads of it that I plan on bringing back to the states. I might save a bar or two for Halloween and give it out to some lucky trick-or-treater...we'll see.

All in all I really enjoyed Switzerland and Italy. The most credit for my experience goes to Sam and Alesia, who were fantastic travel buddies, hilarious story-tellers, exceptional skiers and all around amazing people. I suppose I must also make a heartfelt mention of Roxie, Alesia's dog, who laid on the rug warming in the sun, squirmed at the thought of getting a treat and let me oodle annoyingly over her cuteness. I miss my dogs, so spending time with one was a treat.

Hopefully if the financial and logistical gods smile upon me I will get a chance to return to Switzerland before I tuck my tail between my legs, lower my ears and head back for the United States.

translate this.

There are few languages in this world that can defy cultural boundaries. The language of human suffering or happiness are ones that instantly pop to mind. No matter who you are or where you're from, the sight of a crying woman or laughing baby invokes a certain understanding about that person that is solid and definable. An Indian, Chinese, Australian, American, Iraqi, Mexican, Greek or Ethiopian will all understand the same thing in the same instant. It is a language that is completely human, and we all grow up speaking it.

Yesterday I discovered another international language in which I am quite fluent--the language of soccer.

Inspired by yesterdays unseasonably warm sun and clear sky, my flatmates and I headed for Hyde Park with a soccer ball and sense of ambition -- what can I say, we pack light. We found a sunny patch of grass in the middle of the park that was just begging for some company and began to play. We started out with some awkward passes before moving into a game of keep away. A few minutes later we were approached by a collection of characters from all over the world. Really, it was like the cast of It's A Small World from Disney-- several Australians, a Greek, two Indians, a Russian and then our squadron of five Americans. They were looking for some people to assemble a pick-up game, and we were just crazy enough to agree.

After the teams were divided up our game began. Though nobody had introduced names we were able to communicate nonetheless. "Hey, hey, hey" means "give me the ball" in every language. A knowing look before a throw-in means "this ball is coming to you." And my favorite, "AIEAH" means "Oh Shit! They scored!"

Though we were all strangers from different lands, an hour and a half under the warming London sun with a soccer ball was enough to make us friends. I headed home with dirt smeared calves, a slight pull in my thigh and a powdery face from where the sweat had dried. Never in my time here have I felt so whole and satisfied. Getting back on a soccer field was in a way like finding a home here -- albeit in the center of Hyde Park!

you spin me.

There is something that I need to get off of my chest. It is about time that I confess my new love. It is a love that has burned before, but never so strongly. Housed in morning newspapers, broadcast packages and behind the computer screen, it fuels the day. If you know me, you probably have already seen my affection, but now I am officially declaring it. I love political news.

Having spent the weekend in Harrogate at the Spring Conference for the Liberal Democrats, I find myself somewhat inspired. My weekend was consumed with scurrying around the conference center at 5 a.m. to deliver press clippings to important people. Other than that I helped out around our make-shift office, editing press releases and compiling lists of journalists. I also managed to sit in on a few speeches, from which I learned an extra ordinate amount about the party. I am starting to believe more and more that I might be a Liberal Democrat somewhere inside. Yeah, I've been drinking the Kool-Aid.

Aside from work, I did a lot of observing. Just watching how those around me carefully construct press releases or organize a speaker for the nightly news is vastly interesting. In the end, I have planned to be on the receiving end of all of these messages, so it is valuable to see how the spin works from the inside.

However, the longer that I am here the more that I have been thinking about my own career goals. Working spin has a certain thrill to it that was unexpected. Though I have always stood by the valency and nobility of being a journalist, there is an appeal to the darker, dirtier side of working PR. 'It's the truth -- but on my terms' type stuff. I think that political PR has an appeal because of the importance of the repercussions of the message. PR engages the devious, critical thinking, somewhat conniving and incredibly passionate parts of my personality... and it feels so good!