TRAVEL! (First Edition)

One perk of a four-month stay anywhere is that anything you learn can be teased out a little at a time. There’s not an overwhelming rush, and strolling is a pleasant option. Whatever collection you eventually take with you can grow at an unhurried, gentle pace.

In light of this one-piece-at-a-time approach, I’ve written this piece as the first of a series to continue through my time here in Dublin. In case the capitalized title didn’t already give it away, I’m calling it TRAVEL! with great originality (restrain your applause if you can). The rough plan is to compile the benefits of seeking out new places and highlight one aspect in every post. The point is partly to narrate what I experience, but also to advocate for travel as almost a necessity. If I can articulate even one of the insights I find, maybe it’ll convince someone else to take the same plunge, and that would be worth all these posts. So the TRAVEL! title is not only a shameless clickbait but also a direct command. Let’s get started.

The most immediate benefit of travel has been experiencing the people of different countries. UCD boasts an active International Student Society, and after the first week of classes I have met an Israeli, a Portuguese student, a Belgian, a Swede, a New Zealander, a Turk, one or two Australians, a pair of Italians, two Lithuanians, three Texarkanians, a few Canadians, a few Austrians, a few Chinese, plenty of French, a multitude of Germans, and countless Irish. Recounting that entire list was nearly long enough for me to think I might try sneaking in a joke to break up its length. Part of it is that I’ve intentionally sought out foreign students: at one event I met a great guy from Washington, D.C., and we respectfully agreed to abandon our conversation to meet the assorted nationalities around us. We even shook on it. I’ve been meeting Americans all my life, and while I’m here I’d like to capitalize on the international stream flowing through the university.

Meeting students from around the world submerges me in all sorts of learning, whether trite or grave. For instance, one Irish student explained that he goes out with the lads every night except Sundays. An Italian bemoaned the amount of makeup that American girls wear. That Israeli friend worries about her home’s political tension. One German declared that I couldn’t live my fullest life without trying burnt punch at a Berlin Christmas market. Another German railed against the racial tensions spilling out of her country’s recent protests. Facts about foreign fun and foreign fears never stop flying here, where the children of Europe huddle into pubs and buses and classrooms.

The backgrounds of my new friends also challenge me to better understand who I am, what my own country is. I had foolishly underestimated that part of travel. Surely I would be learning about Ireland, England, France, all those places where I would physically travel. But so far I’ve had the right tools to become the most introspective I’ve ever been. Languages—English, Spanish, French, German—which are spoken here point out how dependent I am on the verbal with friends. When the people you meet tend to be bi- or trilingual, English conversations can be slowed. Only then do you realize that your communication, whether humor, plans, questions, or answers, is taken for granted and tied to just one language out of a thousand. That fact means that you still have work to do in this new setting, and it’s humbling.

Also pressing is how irrevocably American I am here. For one, my first words actively give me away. “You American?” Golly, how ever did you guess? The next second, I say “Y’all” and am promptly outed as a Texan. But accents are topical. American priorities, on the other hand, have never been so difficult to explain. Just about every European has demanded to know the logic of the American drinking age, and nearly everyone treats it like a personal affront. How can I explain the nuances of American drinking culture, or of the political culture, or of the gun culture? Any cultural conversation I’ve ever had contained at least a basic level of common understanding. Until now. There is so much that I can’t articulate, because I’ve never really had to before.

September 11th posed a similar impasse. I missed home terribly on that Tuesday, because I knew that there was unity and remembrance back in the States, whereas Dublin barely blinked. But if a foreigner had asked me why 9/11 strikes me so deeply, I wouldn’t have had the words. The attacks’ impact is deep and grave, but I’ve never had to frame it from inside another culture. Similar to the language question, understanding my country is only beginning. It’s what happens when you walk out the front door of your house to stroll through the neighborhood; you see the front yard, the doors, the windows, and the driveway together for the first time.

So get out and meet people you wouldn’t normally encounter (I promised advocacy and so I have to give it). Meeting people of varied cultural backgrounds forces realizations about community and self. There’s just no way to know something deeply without trying something else for a change. A painting’s features are more clearly defined with sharp contrasts of color—painting metaphors are new for me, but I visited the National Gallery last week. Not that the visit makes me an instant expert. The walls adorned in mankind’s greatest aesthetics just suggested that I could possibly appreciate something new.