One time in the US of A

Washington Monument [by night] - Washington, D.C., USA

Tiesto beating into my ears, casually checking out the first drops of rain I've seen in a while from my office view of downtown Washington, DC.
I've been an intern here for over 6 weeks already... definitely in the swing of things. Is an office job the thing for me? My recent fascination with all things international (yes... recent... right) says no. Want an exciting read for the summer months - Tim Weiner's Legacy of Ashes: The History of the CIA.
After all, it is the only time of the year where us college students get to forget about deadlines, rediscover reading for pleasure and watch a mind-boggling amount of television to counter-balance the strenuous brain cell activity of the school year.
But back to business. I like being an intern generally, I feel productive and professional, both of which are qualities I like to pretend I have. Unfortunately, being an intern is probably not as glamorous as everyone starts off thinking. From collecting together evidence of all my fellow intern friends in this powerhouse city in the summer of 2011, it involves (not in the following order): a lot of sitting around, doing personal business (top hitters - studying for the LSAT during office hours, applying for other internships and researching career possibilities), kicking the copier, befriending the coffee machine and spending way too much time on facebook talking to other interns in or out of your office who have as much free time as you do. The occasional run to the bank is included. If you get research, more power to you. As a diligent intern, your highest hope is to obtain research from someone. On anything. Research is like the golden ticket of the resume as far as the Political Science - Intl Relations internships go, so I have done research on everything and anything this summer: travel policies, competitor organizations, educational opportunities for marginalized populations. Try to link it to my academic goals, you will struggle. Yet I will be able to write on my resume at the end of the summer "did research on...." and as far as the next step goes, that's all that matters.

I guess this season is always a good moment to ask - why do a bunch of able-minded students from top colleges across the country try to impress with their academic and extracurricular achievements when we will all be fighting with the same brands of copiers by the time May comes around? Food for thought right there, if you discount the holy grail that becomes a well branded resume in this marketplace.

Clearly All About Cuba.

 Ballet Nacional de Cuba, Dancers

On Saturday a friend and I got last minute tickets to see Don Quixote performed by the Ballet Nacional de Cuba, at the Kennedy Center. The venue in and of itself is humbling, a proud and grandiose memorial standing along the Potomac river. The sheer size is impressive - spent quite some time craning my neck up to take in the whole picture. Several stages within one facility, a terrace overlooking the river... to be sure the Kennedy Center for Performing Arts is a unique monument to one of the greatest American presidents, whose love of culture and the arts make this remarkable piece of architecture a fitting tribute to his memory.  Past the the views, we stepped into a new world with the Cubans taking the stage here in Washington, DC.

Tout Feu Tout Flamme

"In France, we talk a lot about national identity,” he said. “Well, this is the French national identity: it’s the struggle, it’s resistance, and right now it’s not a big joke for young people"

There was inevitably a point at which politics would come into the picture on this blog. Well here it is. Pretty riled up, I guess, by the trauma France went through. I chose this quote to open up the topic because it is so relevant to the mindlessness of these strikes, the convoluted debate over necessary reforms and the youths' desire for rebellion. 

It is from a New York Times article where a 21 year old French student was being interviewed for the purpose of the article. To me it says so much about what these strikes are about, an issue much deeper than raising retirement age by two measly years. 

France is in a rut, so to speak. Politically, culturally, economically and on the international scene. Amongst the contenders for potential troublemakers: the expansion of Europe, the questioning of the CAP and France's say within the EU as new countries place their stakes in the game - leaving less room for the Franco-friendly policies - but also the struggle the "old continent" is faced with as the Asian tigers are rising, US power declining and a new board game is being set. Furthermore, Europe as a "Euro-tour" destination seems to ironically make our cultural heritage lose value to the rise of consumerist tourism, one city, 3 days at a time. 

No Time for Wrapping Up - Turning a Page

Home, France

Somewhere in the in between

Merci la photographe, so special.

Well there's little to say about the end of my time in India besides the fact that I fell dreadfully ill. Although, that isn't quite true, I managed to make it to New Delhi, Agra (the Taj... a dream..) and Jaipur (contestably) considering that's where I fell ill, never to leave my bed for more than 24h after that. Writer's block? Maybe, but mostly discouraged by how this destroyed the end of my time in a country that has changed me forever. It's hard to accept that an experience you'd put so much work into and aimed at being a memory etched it your mind forever would be so, but with that sting of being on IVs at the hospital for the last 48h of your time there, barely well enough to make your flight out.
So the end of India will be for my privilege alone, which may not be such a bad thing after all. There are emotions you can't express to others unless they go experience it themselves.
If I have to conclude India in some way before linking to the next stage of my life, that would be it: go. Go see it for yourself. Experience, open your heart, eyes and mind. And let that country take you away. Because it will. Thank you to all those who made this summer what it was to me, magical, and unforgettable. I'll be back ;-)


Now here I am, precisely a month after my return to France from India, and already happily settled in yet a new city & country: London, United-Kingdom. Not that this is the great unknown... having lived here before, England feels familiar and new all at once. Experiencing this city at 9 and 20 years old being two completely different things, I've been enjoying feeling a little lost but still knowing my way around. Classes have started, preceded by the crazyness that was Freshers (the Brits have got orientation down to an art!) and setting up an apartment.

Living It Up in a City of Dreams

Haji Ali Mosque, Bombay, India

A couple of us from Deep Griha decided to go to Mumbai for the weekend. Several of my friends had not had the chance to go yet, and I was definitely up for yet another trip to this incredible city. We left on Friday afternoon, and had booked a small guesthouse on Colaba Causeway, tourist and expat central in South Mumbai.

The train ride there was infinitely nicer than my first experience alone, partly because I was with a couple of friends, but most of all due to my discovery of the “Ladies Carriage”. The kind of idea that would never pop up in our very formatted minds, but there is indeed a ladies carriage reserved on each train, which gives women a possibility to ride comfortably without having to shove their elbows in the sides of the men trying to jump at the general seating carriages. Somehow it seems strange having to take an all-women’s carriage, but it also gave me a better understanding of the numerous stares I was subjected to on my first trip, being a young white girl traveling alone in the general seating section where mostly men sat, save a few women traveling with their husbands.

Lost In the Goan Jungle

Sooo. Goa.
It's always funny to end up in a place that has so much social history and stereotypes attached to it. Like walking into a movie. We took a night bus from Poone to Mapsa, Goa. The trip takes about 10 hours, of which most are spent jumping about in your seat from the excess of potholes. We arrived at about 7AM Friday morning, and sat for a while at a chai stand by the bus terminal, waiting for the local friend who was taking us on this trip to make a decision as to our next move. He dragged us along to a local bus, where we sat waiting to depart. It occured to me that we only left once the bus was full. An interesting new way of conceiving bus departure and arrival times. Once on its way, we drove through the Goan jungle, as I renamed it. Everything is palm trees, exotic plants and green, green, green everywhere.
And this is when the nightmare began. First we got off on the driver's indication that this was our stop. Then our friend was convinced that we were at the wrong stop, and made us walk back in the direction we had driven from for 20 minutes, before realizing that we were walking in the wrong direction. We sat for awhile on the side of the road and then took yet another bus, this time to the end of the line. When they say the end of the line, they mean it. We literally stopped facing a lagoon, where men were fishing using spears off of boats. Another world. It looked like the tropical jungle, and we soon realized that we had no service = no communication with the rest of the world. We found a shack selling mango juice and cadbury (a combination that seems to have become essential throughout my experience... ) and then got on a bus that was apparently meant to leave back in the other direction.

Let's Walk This Path Together

Thursday 12th August 2010, HIV Awareness Youth Rally in Pune.
We left home at about 8.30AM, planning to arrive around 9AM. Obviously we were half an hour late. You don't change a way of life. The departure for the march was planned from the front of the ruins of the Shaniwarwada Palace (pictured earlier on this blog), and as we arrived, contingents from the army and medical training programs were already lined up in uniform, belting slogans and proudly holding up their banners. Along with them were the volunteers from different Poone-based organizations, arguably running around in complete chaos comparatively to our organized allies.
We all gathered for the photo-op, and then stood with our banners and "HIV Positive" shirts (Positive about Living with HIV.... getit?) for about 20 minutes as speeches, flower givings and street theater went on before us... all in Marathi. You get really good at laughing and clapping on cue is all I'm saying.