Six cities ago, I was in the U.S., saying goodbyes, forgetting to pack important essentials and purging my carry-on of any threatening chapsticks. A hectic four weeks later, I'm finally about to move into my apartment in the Netherlands.Between the haze of jet-lag and whirlwind tourism, my week in Spain and two weeks in Paris seem to stand on their own, apart from ordinary measures of time. (The haziness, of course, had nothing to do with any trips to a Basque cidery (see above photo)...although I do highly recommend you visit one.).
I spent most of my time in Spain researching an article about language and politics in the Basque Country and trying to remember that saying 'tortilla española' (which I pretty much lived on for a week) is quite a social faux pas in an area where many want more independence from Spain. I stayed the first half of the week in Bilbao and Guernica, and, via a madcap bus ride through the hills, arrived in the coastal town of San Sebastian for the latter half.
One flight from Madrid later, I arrived in the City of Lights, and met up with the other Medill students participating in the Global Program.
For those of you who know my talent for managing to get lost in some, well, less savory areas of major cities, in Paris I had no such troubles. This was probably because one of these dealer-filled spots was right next to my roommate's and my metro stop, and I knew exactly where I was when I disembarked there each night.
This came as something of a surprise. On the first day, when I asked the landlord if there was anywhere we shouldn't go at night, he told me, affronted, "All of Paris is safe at night."
I didn't want to offend him, so I just explained that in some larger American cities you had to be careful where you walked in the evening.
"Yes, the most dangerous places in the world, I think, are the United States and Afghanistan," he replied. The next day, while perusing my 'Let's Go Paris' guidebook, I decided to read about our part of the city, 'Les Halles' (which is a charming, boutique-and-cafe-filled area during the day and early evening). At night, however, the area was listed as "Let's Not Go." This knowledge made getting home through the shadowy park at night all the more interesting (there was more light glinting off bling than shining from street lamps).
Our classes were held at Science Po, a university in Paris. Every day we had different journalists, who had reported for top publications in areas as diverse as Lebanon, Colombia, Iraq, Darfur and London, speak to us about reporting abroad.
We also squeezed in time for visits to Versailles (gorgeous), the Catacombs (a claustrophobic attack waiting to happen) and, of course, Notre Dame (pronounced the French way, for the love of God). I consider my pilgrimage to the cathedral the sole reason the Irish beat MSU that Saturday :)
Last Sunday, I finally arrived in The Hague, where I'll be interning for the Institute for War and Peace Reporting this quarter. And, after one week in a B&B, tomorrow I will finally settle into my apartment!
The Hague has been wonderful so far. The city is beautiful, quaint, and, most importantly, filled with lovely pastries. Is there such a thing as 'the grad-school 15'?
Work has already been intense, but will, I think, prove absolutely fascinating. On my first day, I attended a sentencing, and saw a former Bosnian-Serb government official, Momcilo Krajisnik receive 27 years for crimes against humanity, including extermination, murder, persecution, deportation and forced transfer of non-Serb civilians.
Next week, I'll begin covering trials and will write up what happens for a Courtside section on IWPR's Web site. On Friday, I wrote my first short article for the site's Briefly Noted section.
