The Transition Artist

The tall evergreens and open fields rush by me out the window and I longingly watch the landscape whizz by as I look out the window of the train on my way back to the airport. I wish I had more time here, but I think that’s become one of my biggest sentiments of my time abroad. There’s never enough time.

I spent the weekend in Oslo, Norway with my friend Mamie, who, actually, I only met about two weeks ago in my global communications class in Paris. Mamie and I had only known each other for a total of 24 hours when she mentioned that she was planning to travel to Norway soon, casually offered to let me join (the way people often invite you places and maybe don’t mean it; though she did, it turns out), and I was so enthused about the idea that the next day we found ourselves buying plane tickets. Mamie and I turned out to be really great travel companions, and have experienced so many incredible things this weekend that we became close friends fast.

We left Friday at noon to catch our 4:20pm flight, thinking, as reasonable travelers, that 4 hours sounded like a very appropriate amount of time to give ourselves to get to the airport. What we didn’t realize, however, was that our plane was leaving from a tiny airport that is actually not even in Paris (though it bears the name “Beauvais Paris”). We took the metro to Gare du Nord, where we bought tickets to the airport, only to find that we would have a 40 minute train ride to meet a bus that would take us another hour and 15 minutes to reach the station in Beauvais, from which we had to take a taxi to the airport to catch our plane. Picture Mary-Kate and Ashley meet Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.

To help you visualize this experience a little better, you should also know that luck was in our favor (though stress was a close companion) and we made it to Gare du Nord 5 minutes before our train was to leave. Made it to the bus station 10 minutes before our bus was to leave (but couldn’t find it, and only managed to hop on one minute before the doors closed). Made it to the bus station at 3:15pm (when the boarding for our flight closed at 3:50) and took the last cab (after scrambling to find its absent driver) by 3:20. Made it to the airport by 3:30, cut everyone in line at security (sweating and running, as any American about to miss their flight would be), and reached our gate (which was, laughably, one of four in the whole tiny airport, quite literally right on the other side of security) at 3:45.

In process of trying to make it to Norway, we literally took every possible form of transportation, frantically rushing and worrying about missing the flight, though everyone we interacted with along the way seemed unstressed and confident we would make it. We didn’t understand why everyone felt so casual about our frantic lateness until we made it inside the terminal and the line for boarding hadn’t even formed by the time our doors were supposedly “closed…” Hilariously, we had time to go get lunch and use the restroom before boarding (as we tried not to make eye contact with all of the people we had run past and cut in line at security..) and made it onto the plane 5 minutes before it took off.

Mamie and I still laugh about the series of events that led us to Norway, but wouldn’t trade our experiences for anything, if only because we learned a lot and got closer as a result. We landed Friday evening, and took the bus to meet up with Pauline, Mamie’s Norwegian friend, to get Indian food (the best I’ve ever had) for dinner.

We spent the evening hanging out at Pauline’s boyfriend’s house and went home and slept at Pauline’s new apartment (she just moved to Oslo 3 weeks ago for nursing school). Pauline and her two roommates were exceptionally kind, welcoming, and hospitable all weekend long. We had a typical Norwegian breakfast Saturday morning (bread with brown cheese and jam, cottage cheese, bread with Brie and Nutella, and cucumber and prosciutto on the side), and then spent the day shopping and walking around Olso. We saw everything from the most beautiful Norwegians to incredible parks and nude sculptures to the Oslo Castle (called a “Slott” in Norwegian). Later that evening we made tacos (one thing I never imagined eating in Norway – the Mexican side of my heritage was thrilled), “healthy” chocolate cake, and sat around in the living room laughing and talking with our new Norwegian friends.

The weekend went by far too quickly, and this morning, in another flurry of activity, we got up, re-packed our tiny carry-ons, and went to a Norwegian coffee shop for pastries (various bolles – cinnamon rolls, and skolebrød – school bread – basically a donut). We checked out the Oslo opera house, walked around another lovely side of the city, and watched all the Norwegian families go about their days, with band performances, morning breakfast runs, and casual Sunday errands.

If there’s anything I’m walking away from this weekend with, it’s a better sense of time and place. This morning as I watched families running errands and going about their days as usual, I was struck by how ordinary it was. Everything at once was ordinary (for them) and extraordinary (for me). I’m a displaced American, living in Paris, on a weekend getaway in Norway, living 7 hours ahead of my time zone and watching another culture in awe, as they do things that are completely normal and average to them. I wistfully looked out at the harbor before me and wished I had more time, already thinking about when I might be able to come back, but stopped myself as I realized that my next trip wasn’t all that important.

There will never be enough time. I’ve told Mamie and Pauline multiple times this weekend that, “If I could study abroad ten more times, in a different place each time, I would do it.” But even then I wouldn’t have enough time to live in, experience, and truly know a new culture. I say things like that with the idea that I might get to experience every different culture; that I could know all of them, but I can’t.

The concept of time and experience, I’m finding, is hugely important simply because it defines human experience, though there will never be enough of it for any one human to know everything of this world. And I’m coming to terms with the fact that that’s perfectly okay. In fact, more than okay, it’s necessary. There are so many mysteries, so many unanswered questions, and forever a new adventure. I’ll go on as many of them as I can, and do my best to learn the answers to the questions, but will simply have to work on living consciously in each moment, knowing that it’s special and lovely, even if it isn’t all inclusive. If I choose to spend the rest of my year abroad with this mentality (which I hope to), then there doesn’t need to be enough time, there only needs to be a sense of contentedness attached to every moment that I spend. I hop on my gratitude soap box about every time I write a blog post, but it is necessary! More important than a passport or wallet, gratitude is the one thing I can never forget to bring along on a trip. Or maybe just life in general.

And so as I close a new chapter in the book (one that I hope I’ve simply left a bookmark on to come back and continue writing later), I head back to Paris with a few new clothing items in my backpack, some new friends abroad, and a heart full of happiness and appreciation. Europe has been so good to me, and, in this moment, rather than looking forward to anything else, I just want to reflect on that.

xx