Chatting with Marion (assignment 3)

Most 14 year-old girls dream of Robert Pattinson in Twilight, or the new Justin Bieber CD, but Marion Rohé dreams of the United States. Born and raised in Dijon, France, Marion has always wanted to study abroad in the U.S.A. Just last year, the Rohé family was host to American exchange student Rebecca Cassidy, from Ohio. Sitting cross-legged on her living room couch, Marion says that she would like to visit Cincinnati, Ohio, since that is where Rebecca is from. “And to study!” Marion’s mother, Sylvie, adds quickly. While she doesn’t know yet what she wants to study, she does have her sights set on one destination: The Statue of Liberty. “In France, we learn in [our] English classroom [about] the Statue of Liberty every year... France gave it to the United States.” It is this international bond that helps her to connect with a land her parents haven’t even visited. I ask her when she would like to go, and she quickly says “Right away! With you!” Grinning from ear to ear, she sits back against the couch, and leaves it at that.

Dictator's log: Monday. July 19. 12:31 A.M.

Dear Reader,
I am beginning to think that trying to conquer Italy in July was not the best idea. It is entirely too hot. While the food is excellent, the gelato divine, and the people hospitable, the heat is unbearable. I shower in the morning after I wake and in the evening before I sleep and neither make a bit of difference, I still smell. I start sweating before I can even get dressed. These are certainly not the ideal circumstances for victory. However, my recent trip to Munich, Germany has revived my spirits greatly and given me hope. Yes, Germany is much cooler than Florence, making conquest much easier, but I could never achieve success there. You see, it is entirely too westernized to be easily conquered, even by a mastermind like myself. So while I will have to stick with my original plan of occupying Italy, I was nevertheless amused by my short sabbatical with the Germans.

Upon my arrival, via train, I was greeted with the friendly sight of a Starbucks Coffee. I know that for me, and certainly for the rest of the group, this brightened our spirits tremendously. We all rushed into line to have a bit of American cravings satisfied. This was going to be a good trip. A very good trip. After downing our beverages and quickly dropping off our luggage at the hostel, we all boarded a train to Dachau concentration camp. I must preface this by saying this is not an enjoyable daytrip. Yes it is incredible to experience but no, it is certainly not fun. The horrors that so many experienced are difficult to imagine by simply reading a history book. There is no way that one can picture or even begin to understand what these people went through. For starters, the gate to the “camp” has the words “Work makes you free” written across the entryway. A slight the Germans found funny. The bunkhouses were beyond crowded, being built for 200 but stuffed with 2,000. Thankfully, the newly built crematorium was never put into use, since the camp was liberated shortly after it was finished.
That’s enough depressing content for one post... moving directly forward...

The rest of my visit was not nearly as depressing (thank goodness!). The very same night, our group paid a friendly (albeit, slightly embarrassing, due to the “authentic” German lederhosen and dirndls purchased and worn for the occasion) visit to the REAL Hofbräuhaus. My meal consisted of disgusting, mustard-like dressing on my salad, followed by the best, most delicious chicken I’ve ever had. I split it with my friend and co-conspirator, Amy, and together we picked the bones clean until there wasn’t a single morsel of meat left. So good. The evening ended with a mime picking me up, which caused my dress to fly up, and resulted in me flashing the entire square. Thankfully, a picture was not taken, much to the dismay of my friends, who were beside themselves with laughter.

My favorite part of the trip, however, was not the entirely too delicious poultry, or even the spectacle of men cracking whips in the air, which supposedly qualifies as a band? Apparently the Hofbräuhaus thinks so. No, it was neither of these things. After a long and very hot bike tour all over Munich, our group stopped at a local river for a swim. I know what you’re thinking and no, it is not like the lazy river around the Beach Waterpark in Cincinnati. The stream comes down from the Alps and is therefore very cold and very rapid. So fast that even though it is only three feet deep, the bottom is never reached because you are swept away before you have time to touch down. After a brisk first ride down the river, one of our group members thought it would be an excellent idea to take a picture with all of us holding on to a bridge that the river passed underneath. So we all jumped in and, when the time came, grabbed on to the bottom of the bridge. Unfortunately, we did not take into account the strength of the rushing water and were immediately pulled down underneath the bridge... along with the bottoms of our bathing suits. Thankfully, no trunks were lost (for long) and no bottomless swimmers emerged from the water.All-in-all, it was a splendid weekend and many of us were disappointed when we were forced to return to the hot and humid city of Florence, and the dreaded classes it contains.

And for your viewing pleasure:

Destination: BMW Museum (assignment 2)

The BMW museum is much what one would expect a modern, state-of-the-art car museum to be. Everything is completely sterile, neat, and over the top modern. As I sit in the strange, square-looking “chair,” I am surprised at how comfortable it actually is. The table, which is lit from the inside, is warm to the touch. There is no distinguishable smell in air, which means it must be clean. Looking around, the ceilings are high, which gives the entire place a sense of grandeur, albeit slightly drafty. The entire interior is silver and concrete, with the exception of one wall made entirely of glass. The whole place gives off the feeling that it was designed to impress. I can’t really distinguish individual voices; just the quiet and gentle humming of visitors. The vastness of the museum keeps all noises at a murmur. Visitors are mostly tourists with cameras and backpacks. One lady, however, is dressed for a banquet or gala of sorts. She is wearing a shimmery metallic dress that complements her silver hair. She is casually and elegantly sipping her glass of pomegranate juice. She is in no rush. Her serenity is almost mesmerizing amidst the hustle and bustle of the other guests. Over my left-hand shoulder, workers try to keep the cars clean as tourists excitedly leave fingerprints across the shiny exteriors. “Mamaaaa....” At the table next to me, a little girl complains as her mother scolds her for only eating parts of her sandwich. She whines as her mom takes the sandwich, wraps it all together, and hands it back. Even in other cultures kids are forced to eat all their food. I can’t understand what they say, but it is a familiar scene, especially coming from a large family myself. The girl quietly sobs into her glass of juice. Poor kid. I can sympathize with her plight. Various plants have been placed carefully around the room. Being all pruned and shaped, they offer absolutely no warmth to the hard decor. There is a couch in one end of the room, which is shaped like a serpentine river and looks just as uninviting. The dignified lady has left. Her meal has been placed and stacked carefully on her tray. The cool air-conditioning is a wonderful relief from the hot July climate. The little girl has stopped crying and is now dancing around the table. Just as in other countries, children are quick to forget their worries. Around the museum, people are coming, going, and trying to figure out their next destination on little folded maps. I guess this is what innovation looks like.

Dictator's log: Monday. July 5. 4:57 P.M. (assignment 1)

Dear Reader,

As you already know, I trekked over to Venice for three days, and while I quite agreed with Venice, Venice did not quite agree with me. I’m pretty sure it felt threatened by my visit and it’s impending defeat. This resulted in a rather pitiful display of my own human weakness. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I was sick. But fear not, my ailment did not manage to keep me from getting a rather good feel for Venice. After arriving in Venice via boat after a 4-hour bus ride, we were marched directly to Saint Marc’s Square where we would have our tour of the Doge’s palace. Now, as you can imagine, Venice has many side streets and canals and bridges that all

intertwine and connect. All in all, it took our group two full, long, and rather arduous hours to finally make it to our destination, after being led by our fearless leader, Sandro. (He even waved a map in the air for us to follow... to make sure that everyone knew without a doubt that we were tourists). And if that wasn’t enough, we were then informed that our two-hour tour of the Doge’s palace and Saint Marc’s Church would begin shortly. I don’t think I am gifted enough to describe to you the pain and agony in all of our knees, feet, and minds. Not to mention it was the hottest day the Italians had seen all summer. I hate to admit it, but the Doge’s Palace was not nearly as incredible as I imagined it to be... but that could very well have been affected by my exhaustion and the extreme heat. I guess we’ll never know.

My favorite part of the stay actually took place the day I was the sickest. After the very nice doctor came and saw both myself and my fellow invalid, Kaitlin (she is unfortunately suffering from a rather infected and swollen foot), the two of us set out on an adventure to find the nearest pharmacy to fill our prescriptions. Just a short distance from our hotel was a .50 cent gondola ride that would take us to the directly opposite side of the canal. We paid the gondolier (is that what they’re called? I have no idea) and took our seats on the rocking boat. It was very hot. Not long after we sat down, a cute little British couple joined us. They were from Nottingham, England, and were on the last day of their week vacation to Venice. They couldn’t believe the heat either. They were smart and had a strategy though: They would go into every air-conditioned shop they passed, cool off, and then scurry into the next store. That is the kind of thinking I need on my side. I really should have gotten their names so that later I might recruit them to my crusade. Oh well... So the doctor failed to tell us, as she left at approximately two o’clock, that on Saturday most pharmacies either close at 2pm or aren’t open at all. Kaitlin and I walked to about four different locations until we finally asked a local. And then we had to walk twenty more minutes to the nearest open location. Never fear, we managed quite well and were able to get a more complete viewing of Venice.

Dear Reader, I must say that my view of Italy in general has greatly changed since my arrival about a week ago. Before coming, I imagined most Europeans to be very prim and proper, in contrast to the boisterous and annoying Americans I am used to. Now while it is true that most Italians (at least the ones I have met), tend to behave a little more ...calm... there have definitely been some surprises. Before dinner one night, our group chose to walk around a local square as we waited for our tables to be ready. As we rounded the corner to what I expected to be yet another beautiful Venetian square, filled with pretty terraces and doors, I was suddenly met with the view of a man in a speedo, bright pink shirt, and decorated with a full Christmas wreath, and a long-stemmed rose sticking precariously out of his headband.

He was surrounded by a group of other young adults, his ‘friends’ I suppose, who were jeering,chanting, and hitting him in the buttocks with some plastic rods. I immediately turned my face in utter disgust, but as it continued I have to admit I couldn’t help but watch. Apparently, when someone graduates school in Italy, their friends take them out and humiliate them in public. This unfortunate man had just become a doctor. So while the rest of the piazza was tranquil, the air calm (albeit hot and disgustingly sticky), and the sun gently setting behind the buildings, this poor young man was subjected to endless ridicule and bottom beatings. (He had the red marks streaked across his backside and legs to prove it). I must say that he handled his embarrassment quite well, even while my fellow teammates whacked him mercilessly with the rods. I could use him on my side. (but with some longer shorts)

I have decided, my dear Reader, that the fastest way to make myself known to the general public, would be to write a book. Just as Hitler and other dictators destroyed and banned books because of their overwhelming power and influence, I have also realized the great power of the written word. To document my crusade in actual print would be vital to my cause. I believe that the chapter on my Venice trip would begun thus: “Superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.”* Without competency, no one could ever navigate Venice.

*Quote taken from Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice, act 1 scene 2*