PARIS
February 22, 2009
Submitted to the Arts and Sciences Magazine
Sunday evening Mass in the Notre Dame Cathedral inspires both reverence and introspection. It is impossible to stand in this grand cathedral looking up at its careful craftsmanship without contemplating recent personal decisions or whispering quiet prayers.
Although the outside of the 10-story Notre Dame is imposing with its towers, gargoyles and flying buttresses, the Mass inside of the cathedral has a palpably different atmosphere.
Parting with the frosty night air and walking through the ornately carved Portal of St. Anne entrance, organ music greets visitors with a low, calming tones. The air inside the cathedral is thick with the smoke from numerous white prayer candles mingled with the heavy, cinnamon scent of incense.
In addition to the hundreds of worshipers, tourists mill about the cathedral. The worshippers sit or kneel collectively in the center of the nave, some with heads bowed in prayer and others with their eyes closed, faces set in masks of peace, bereavement or love. The tourists group together along the north and south aisles, admiring the art and architecture or kneeling on the confession benches to take cheesy photos.
Treading softly down the south aisle of the nave, past richly-colored paintings, sculptures and small confession rooms, visitors can catch glimpses of the priest through the stone pillars and candelabras.
The priest, wearing long green robes, stands on the transept at the end of the nave in front of a delicately-carved sculpture of Jesus Christ under a cross. He leads worshippers in a responsive reading, intoning intricate French words that rise along the spiny gothic arches to echo across the vaulted ceiling.
In between the priest’s readings, a woman in similar dress leads the congregation in a hymn. The combination of the worshippers’ melodic chanting and the organ’s resounding notes is haunting – powerful.
Yet even standing in the midst of an awe-inspiring architectural masterpiece, in the midst of crisscrossing arches, mysterious stained-glass windows and cool stone floors, Notre Dame does not feel remote or aloof. In fact, the cathedral has a personal, cozy atmosphere heightened by the close proximity of the worshipers and the warm, hazy air.
The walls seem to still hold the secrets and prayers of people throughout the centuries who have walked the same stone steps and looked on the same alter. These shared secrets and prayers make the cathedral tangible and accessible – a personal, living entity.
No one is truly alone in the Notre Dame. Each visitor or worshiper is connected by the desires that brought them to the church, the promises emblazed on the North Rose Window and finally the blood of Christ.
Although Mass in the Notre Dame Cathedral inspires veneration, at its core, it is not so different from a typical service in the United States. A church is a church no matter the location and a sermon is a sermon no matter the language. It does not matter whether someone is singing a hymn in a Baptist church in Waco, Texas, or in the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, France. Each form of worship is connected by a shared religion and a passion for God.
Baylor students should remember as they listen in chapel, sing at UBC or pray at Highland that their worship is as important and unique as the person sitting in the nave of the Notre Dame Cathedral. The God they worship is holy no matter the church, country, continent and language.
Opinion Column
THE LARIAT
Feb. 19, 2009
Lack of Interaction Leads to Disconnect
Night sets in and the lights of Trafalgar Square illuminate the pillars on the front of the National Gallery in London. A man with long, dark braids plays guitar music on the gallery's steps in a style reminiscent of Bob Marley. The speakers on either side of the guitarist carry his music across the square and the combined effect of the music and lights feels peaceful. The music stops abruptly when a man walks up to the guitarist and holds out a cardboard sign with the words, "Everything will be OK," written across it.
"What is that supposed to mean, man? That's offensive!" the guitarist says loudly.
"It's sarcastic. It's just a joke," the sign holder says in a heavy British accent, stepping back.
"You think that just because I am black. How dare you come over here with that sign? I have a right to be here, man," the guitarist says and the argument continues.
I walk away from the two men toward Trafalgar Square's fountains astonished at the guitarist's reaction. He interpreted the sign in a way the sign holder did not expect when he held up what he thought was a comical message.
After a week studying abroad in the Netherlands with the Baylor in Maastricht program, I have witnessed how differently cultures understand and communicate. A phrase or gesture to one person can have an entirely separate meaning to another.
As I walk the streets of Maastricht, trying to decipher Dutch menus and navigate by Dutch street signs, I am constantly reminded of how insignificant I am in a world marbled with countless cultures. I learned very quickly while traveling in Europe that awareness of my surroundings and the effect of my actions on others is vital for smooth, safe interaction with other cultures.
But, awareness is not only essential in international travel. Even on Baylor's campus, where the majority of students have similar customs and modes of communication, awareness is important. Students must be able to look outside of the "Baylor Bubble" to the city of Waco. Many times, students forget that Waco encompasses more than Baylor campus and Valley Mills Drive. This narrow-minded attitude, when applied to international travel, would be a tragedy.
Imagine students coming to Maastricht intent to stay in their dormitory, never venturing out on the streets to see the city's sights or meet its inhabitants? They would deprive themselves of chances to learn and grow intellectually and culturally. Baylor students make this same mistake of depriving themselves of cultural, intellectual growth by never interacting with Waco citizens.
Jimmy Dorrell, founder of Mission Waco, describes the disconnect between Baylor students and Waco inhabitants as "two worlds in the same city." Baylor students live in a privileged world without noticing the impoverishment around them. "One in five (Waco) families lives in poverty," Dorrell said. Waco citizens have serious needs and Baylor students have numerous opportunities to reach out through programs such as Mission Waco, which gives 1,700 meals away a year and has volunteering outlets such as a children's center, teen center and homeless shelter.
Awareness of the vast diversity of the world and your reactions and interactions is the first step. Reaching out of your comfort zone and putting yourself in the place of someone who has completely dissimilar beliefs and understanding is the goal.
Claire Moncla is a sophomore professional writing major from Houston.
Feb. 19, 2009
Lack of Interaction Leads to Disconnect
Night sets in and the lights of Trafalgar Square illuminate the pillars on the front of the National Gallery in London. A man with long, dark braids plays guitar music on the gallery's steps in a style reminiscent of Bob Marley. The speakers on either side of the guitarist carry his music across the square and the combined effect of the music and lights feels peaceful. The music stops abruptly when a man walks up to the guitarist and holds out a cardboard sign with the words, "Everything will be OK," written across it.
"What is that supposed to mean, man? That's offensive!" the guitarist says loudly.
"It's sarcastic. It's just a joke," the sign holder says in a heavy British accent, stepping back.
"You think that just because I am black. How dare you come over here with that sign? I have a right to be here, man," the guitarist says and the argument continues.
I walk away from the two men toward Trafalgar Square's fountains astonished at the guitarist's reaction. He interpreted the sign in a way the sign holder did not expect when he held up what he thought was a comical message.
After a week studying abroad in the Netherlands with the Baylor in Maastricht program, I have witnessed how differently cultures understand and communicate. A phrase or gesture to one person can have an entirely separate meaning to another.
As I walk the streets of Maastricht, trying to decipher Dutch menus and navigate by Dutch street signs, I am constantly reminded of how insignificant I am in a world marbled with countless cultures. I learned very quickly while traveling in Europe that awareness of my surroundings and the effect of my actions on others is vital for smooth, safe interaction with other cultures.
But, awareness is not only essential in international travel. Even on Baylor's campus, where the majority of students have similar customs and modes of communication, awareness is important. Students must be able to look outside of the "Baylor Bubble" to the city of Waco. Many times, students forget that Waco encompasses more than Baylor campus and Valley Mills Drive. This narrow-minded attitude, when applied to international travel, would be a tragedy.
Imagine students coming to Maastricht intent to stay in their dormitory, never venturing out on the streets to see the city's sights or meet its inhabitants? They would deprive themselves of chances to learn and grow intellectually and culturally. Baylor students make this same mistake of depriving themselves of cultural, intellectual growth by never interacting with Waco citizens.
Jimmy Dorrell, founder of Mission Waco, describes the disconnect between Baylor students and Waco inhabitants as "two worlds in the same city." Baylor students live in a privileged world without noticing the impoverishment around them. "One in five (Waco) families lives in poverty," Dorrell said. Waco citizens have serious needs and Baylor students have numerous opportunities to reach out through programs such as Mission Waco, which gives 1,700 meals away a year and has volunteering outlets such as a children's center, teen center and homeless shelter.
Awareness of the vast diversity of the world and your reactions and interactions is the first step. Reaching out of your comfort zone and putting yourself in the place of someone who has completely dissimilar beliefs and understanding is the goal.
Claire Moncla is a sophomore professional writing major from Houston.
Paris
FRANCE
February 17, 2009
A Masterpiece of Flesh and Blood
Travel Writing
Article 2
There is a certain kind of solace in solitary activity. Groups of people can be boisterous and indecisive. Many times a cup of coffee doesn’t taste as bold or a book isn’t as profound when they are experienced in the midst of a sea of faces and tangle of spoken words.
I experienced two hours alone in Paris this weekend, and although they had a hint of disappointment and a handful of anxiety, they were the two best hours of my trip.
On the last day before I left, I had many last-minute sites to see. I planned to visit Versailles, Place de la Bastille, the Orsay Museum and Notre Dame Cathedral. The most important site to me was the Orsay Museum, which boasts a substantial collection of Impressionist paintings by Monet, Degas, Renoir and many others.
Because our trip to Versailles and Bastille took longer than my group expected, they decided to skip the Orsay Museum to make room for our other excursions. Unable to give up the hour I had planned to pour over the wide brush strokes and passionate compositions of the Impressionist painters, I decided to break away from my group and take the metro to the Orsay Museum myself. After our group decided to meet at 6:30 p.m. in front of Notre Dame, we parted ways in the Bastille metro station. I felt confident and independent walking through the underground. I took the RER to the Musée d’Orsay stop and swiftly exited the train, the wind in the tunnel tugging playfully at my coattail as I walked.
I emerged from the metro station into the fading light of sunset and rushed to the nearby entrance of the museum, noticing the closed ticket counters and empty lines. Was I too late? Had the museum already closed? I checked my phone and it was 5:10 p.m. The museum closed at 6 p.m.
Once I reached the doors, my fears were confirmed. A tall dark-skinned man in a stiff, black suit stood at the entrance turning people away with an impassive look on his face. In my desperation, I tried to argue with him, but the language barrier worked heavily against my favor. I was not going to get into the museum.
Turning to walk towards the Seine River, tears of frustration and disappointment came to eyes. My solitary excursion was worthless. I would not see the Impressionist paintings.
Without even noticing where I was walking, I strolled across the Seine on a pedestrian bridge into the Garden of the Tuileries. I stopped at the very edge as the last rays of sunshine spread out behind Luxor’s obelisk at the west end of the garden.
Even in the winter cold, people filled the garden. Some of the visitors were obviously tourists with cameras around their necks and maps in their hands. The locals sat on chairs among the soft white statues that peppered the garden paths, or walked hand in hand.
I suddenly felt at peace. I was in Paris, the city of love, and there was a wealth of beauty around me. Beauty that did not need to hang in marble-walled museums behind glass cases, or be encased in paint and subjected to a fixed form.
The beauty around me was wild and fluid – living. It was the beauty of a child braking free of her father’s hand and running to the edge of a fountain, pushing dark ringlets out her fascinated eyes as she watched a spigot of water. It was the beauty of two women sitting quietly beneath a mythological statue, seemingly transformed into nymphs by the magic of the garden. It was the beauty of a youthful couple wearing black jeans and rollerblades, stopping by a stretch of green grass to sprawl out on their backs and look up at the sky.
I turned away from the garden knowing I had witnessed a masterpiece of art. I switched on my iPod and put my headphones in, shutting out the sound of evening traffic as I walked parallel to the Seine to Notre Dame. I approached its doors after the sun went down and the lights of the city were reflecting in the river. As I walked through the stone archway, I heard organ music. It was Sunday mass at Notre Dame. The air of the cathedral was thick with the smoke of numerous white candles and the cinnamon scent of incense. I stood amidst a sea of faces and a tangle of spoken words and yet I was solitary – an observer. As worshippers shuffled and stared, sang and recited, I watched another masterpiece of flesh and blood: a work of art.
February 17, 2009
A Masterpiece of Flesh and Blood
Travel Writing
Article 2
There is a certain kind of solace in solitary activity. Groups of people can be boisterous and indecisive. Many times a cup of coffee doesn’t taste as bold or a book isn’t as profound when they are experienced in the midst of a sea of faces and tangle of spoken words.
I experienced two hours alone in Paris this weekend, and although they had a hint of disappointment and a handful of anxiety, they were the two best hours of my trip.
On the last day before I left, I had many last-minute sites to see. I planned to visit Versailles, Place de la Bastille, the Orsay Museum and Notre Dame Cathedral. The most important site to me was the Orsay Museum, which boasts a substantial collection of Impressionist paintings by Monet, Degas, Renoir and many others.
Because our trip to Versailles and Bastille took longer than my group expected, they decided to skip the Orsay Museum to make room for our other excursions. Unable to give up the hour I had planned to pour over the wide brush strokes and passionate compositions of the Impressionist painters, I decided to break away from my group and take the metro to the Orsay Museum myself. After our group decided to meet at 6:30 p.m. in front of Notre Dame, we parted ways in the Bastille metro station. I felt confident and independent walking through the underground. I took the RER to the Musée d’Orsay stop and swiftly exited the train, the wind in the tunnel tugging playfully at my coattail as I walked.
I emerged from the metro station into the fading light of sunset and rushed to the nearby entrance of the museum, noticing the closed ticket counters and empty lines. Was I too late? Had the museum already closed? I checked my phone and it was 5:10 p.m. The museum closed at 6 p.m.
Once I reached the doors, my fears were confirmed. A tall dark-skinned man in a stiff, black suit stood at the entrance turning people away with an impassive look on his face. In my desperation, I tried to argue with him, but the language barrier worked heavily against my favor. I was not going to get into the museum.
Turning to walk towards the Seine River, tears of frustration and disappointment came to eyes. My solitary excursion was worthless. I would not see the Impressionist paintings.
Without even noticing where I was walking, I strolled across the Seine on a pedestrian bridge into the Garden of the Tuileries. I stopped at the very edge as the last rays of sunshine spread out behind Luxor’s obelisk at the west end of the garden.
Even in the winter cold, people filled the garden. Some of the visitors were obviously tourists with cameras around their necks and maps in their hands. The locals sat on chairs among the soft white statues that peppered the garden paths, or walked hand in hand.
I suddenly felt at peace. I was in Paris, the city of love, and there was a wealth of beauty around me. Beauty that did not need to hang in marble-walled museums behind glass cases, or be encased in paint and subjected to a fixed form.
The beauty around me was wild and fluid – living. It was the beauty of a child braking free of her father’s hand and running to the edge of a fountain, pushing dark ringlets out her fascinated eyes as she watched a spigot of water. It was the beauty of two women sitting quietly beneath a mythological statue, seemingly transformed into nymphs by the magic of the garden. It was the beauty of a youthful couple wearing black jeans and rollerblades, stopping by a stretch of green grass to sprawl out on their backs and look up at the sky.
I turned away from the garden knowing I had witnessed a masterpiece of art. I switched on my iPod and put my headphones in, shutting out the sound of evening traffic as I walked parallel to the Seine to Notre Dame. I approached its doors after the sun went down and the lights of the city were reflecting in the river. As I walked through the stone archway, I heard organ music. It was Sunday mass at Notre Dame. The air of the cathedral was thick with the smoke of numerous white candles and the cinnamon scent of incense. I stood amidst a sea of faces and a tangle of spoken words and yet I was solitary – an observer. As worshippers shuffled and stared, sang and recited, I watched another masterpiece of flesh and blood: a work of art.
Go Dutch
LARIAT NEWS FEATURE
Feb. 13, 2009
By Claire Moncla and Rachel Rutledge
Reporters
Valentine's Day is a very important holiday to many college students. With the barrage of commercials advertising chocolates, flowers and happy couples, it is easy to become self absorbed. However, foreign views on dating and weddings may put Valentine's Day in perspective.
Relationships in The Netherlands differ from the United States in theory and practice. In the United States, especially among college students, casual dating is becoming an accepted practice. But it is not common in Dutch culture.
"Dating is more conservative here," Casey O'Dell, a Baylor alumna who now works for the University of Maastricht, said. "It's serial dating, not casual dating."
O'Dell came to The Netherlands in January 2004 as a graduate assistant in the Baylor in Maastricht program. Her introduction to Dutch dating was startling when she realized that after one date, a couple was considered to be boyfriend and girlfriend. She eventually warmed to the idea after meeting Jerome Spronken, a Dutch student, and married him in June 2005.
A reverse example of O'Dell and Spronken, is the relationship between Atticus Mullikin, an American, and Nathalie Ummels, his Dutch wife, who both work at the University of Maastricht. Mullikin surprised Ummels by proposing after three weeks of knowing her. Mullikin broke the social norm by asking Ummels to marry him before properly meeting the family, which is normally a necessity in Dutch culture.
The Dutch also have different views on marriage. Weddings in America are grand occasions that require months, if not a year of planning and large amounts of money to celebrate the union.
In The Netherlands, weddings are a visual expression of the legal formality of marriage.
"It's not as romanticized," O'Dell said.
Because of this view, couples usually live together for several years to confirm compatibility in all areas of life before marrying each other.
"People do everything you do when you're married before they get married," Mullikin said.
This may include having children and buying a house.
The actual ceremony of marriage in The Netherlands is unlike the American ceremony as well because they have two of them.
"Civil and religious ceremonies are equally important here," Mullikin said.
Most couples sign a prenuptial agreement stating intentions while married and if separated.
"It's a very Dutch thing to cover all of your bases," Ummels said.
Though the Dutch do have receptions, the American practice of having lavish receptions with numerous guests and expensive cuisine would not be found in The Netherlands.
"Debt is not an issue here, especially not for weddings," O'Dell said.
Couples save money for their wedding, which is why many wait until they are in their 30s to marry.
Insight into the practicality of Dutch relationships and weddings puts Valentine's Day into a less superficial perspective.
"There is more room to have a close-knit relationship here; you can really enjoy being together," Mullikin said.
American couples can learn important lessons from Dutch culture. The most important aspect of Valentine's Day is not fancy cards, flowers, lavish receptions and expensive dresses; it is relationships, no matter the country or custom.
Feb. 13, 2009
By Claire Moncla and Rachel Rutledge
Reporters
Valentine's Day is a very important holiday to many college students. With the barrage of commercials advertising chocolates, flowers and happy couples, it is easy to become self absorbed. However, foreign views on dating and weddings may put Valentine's Day in perspective.
Relationships in The Netherlands differ from the United States in theory and practice. In the United States, especially among college students, casual dating is becoming an accepted practice. But it is not common in Dutch culture.
"Dating is more conservative here," Casey O'Dell, a Baylor alumna who now works for the University of Maastricht, said. "It's serial dating, not casual dating."
O'Dell came to The Netherlands in January 2004 as a graduate assistant in the Baylor in Maastricht program. Her introduction to Dutch dating was startling when she realized that after one date, a couple was considered to be boyfriend and girlfriend. She eventually warmed to the idea after meeting Jerome Spronken, a Dutch student, and married him in June 2005.
A reverse example of O'Dell and Spronken, is the relationship between Atticus Mullikin, an American, and Nathalie Ummels, his Dutch wife, who both work at the University of Maastricht. Mullikin surprised Ummels by proposing after three weeks of knowing her. Mullikin broke the social norm by asking Ummels to marry him before properly meeting the family, which is normally a necessity in Dutch culture.
The Dutch also have different views on marriage. Weddings in America are grand occasions that require months, if not a year of planning and large amounts of money to celebrate the union.
In The Netherlands, weddings are a visual expression of the legal formality of marriage.
"It's not as romanticized," O'Dell said.
Because of this view, couples usually live together for several years to confirm compatibility in all areas of life before marrying each other.
"People do everything you do when you're married before they get married," Mullikin said.
This may include having children and buying a house.
The actual ceremony of marriage in The Netherlands is unlike the American ceremony as well because they have two of them.
"Civil and religious ceremonies are equally important here," Mullikin said.
Most couples sign a prenuptial agreement stating intentions while married and if separated.
"It's a very Dutch thing to cover all of your bases," Ummels said.
Though the Dutch do have receptions, the American practice of having lavish receptions with numerous guests and expensive cuisine would not be found in The Netherlands.
"Debt is not an issue here, especially not for weddings," O'Dell said.
Couples save money for their wedding, which is why many wait until they are in their 30s to marry.
Insight into the practicality of Dutch relationships and weddings puts Valentine's Day into a less superficial perspective.
"There is more room to have a close-knit relationship here; you can really enjoy being together," Mullikin said.
American couples can learn important lessons from Dutch culture. The most important aspect of Valentine's Day is not fancy cards, flowers, lavish receptions and expensive dresses; it is relationships, no matter the country or custom.
Travels Begin
SWITZERLAND
February 10, 2009
Travel WritingArticle 1
I had thrilling ideas about European travel. I imagined myself a modern day Thoreau. Each country I traveled through would be the woods near Walden Pond and each train the cabin in which I would conduct my observations and write my commentary for the world to read.
But travel is not the glamorous adventure I dreamed. I cannot simply jump from one country to the next transporting myself on the wings of my enthusiasm and feeding myself with the words from my pen; I needed the security of transportation, food and lodging.
I learned very quickly that a pragmatic approach to travel is the safest and most successful approach. Preparation and planning are vital for smooth travel. Unfortunately, I learned the hard way about the necessity of preparation and planning.
My roommate and I decided to go to Switzerland last weekend after hearing five girls from our group talking about Geneva. I did not know very much about Switzerland, but I have always wanted to see the Alps. The group of girls had booked rooms already in a hostel that we could stay in for Thursday and Friday, so my roommate and I only had to book rooms for Saturday. We reserved our rooms in a hostel called the Lazy Falken early in the week leading up to our trip, but we did not do any more extensive research or preparation. We planned to take a train from Maastricht to Paris, changing trains between the two in Brussels, and then going from Paris to Geneva.
Although our train from Brussels to Paris required reservations, we decided to make them at the station in Maastricht before we left for Brussels. When we arrived at the Maastricht train station, however, most of the seats on the reserve train were taken and my roommate and I had to go on a later train than the group of girls. When we finally arrived in the Paris Gare de Lyon station, we checked the schedule and realized that there were no more trains going from Paris to Geneva that evening. We were stuck in Paris without any place to stay.
As I stood on the platform looking at the train schedule, helplessness overwhelmed me. I felt tiny and insignificant. The air in the station was humming with activity. Men in stiff suits and leather-bound briefcases strode purposefully by on their way home from business meetings or conferences. Mothers holding the hands of small children rushed to catch their connection. Friends walked by laughing and stopped to buy a cup of coffee at a vendor. Reunited families embraced one another and parting couples kissed as the intercom blared and trains arrived and departed in a whoosh of air. But my roommate and I were alone and silent amidst the cacophony.
We had not properly prepared and planned. We had not made reservations ahead of time and we did not look to make sure we could catch the last train going from Paris to Geneva. Our lack of preparation left us stranded.
But we could not stand on the platform forever. We had to find somewhere to spend the night. We made our way to an information center and I tried in broken French and stilted English to communicate our predicament to the attendant. He wrote down a street name and a hostel on a scrap of paper and handed it to me, indicating with his hand that we should turn left after we exited the train station.
After a short walk down a dark street – the stones clattering against my boots as my teeth clattered together in the cold – we saw a blinking sign that said “HOSTEL” in bright red letters. We had found a place to stay.
Although circumstances worked out in our favor, I keep wondering what would have happened if my roommate and I had not found an information desk, if we had gotten lost outside the train station or if the hostel had been full.
Many young people, like me, have the idea that traveling in a foreign country will be a grand adventure. They romanticize it, but the reality is travel takes careful consideration and planning. It sounds glamorous to go from place to place without a worry or care, but it is not. There is nothing glamorous about being stranded and nothing exciting about being hungry. It is much more prudent to be prepared in any situation.
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