Classes and Culture Shock.

[I know that I promised to tell you about the most special thing in my neighborhood. But I've decided to save that for later.]

Today was the start of our second week of classes at Vesalius College. For me, this meant 1.5 hours of Introduction to Economics followed by three hours of American Politics and Government, with an espresso and a peanut butter and honey sandwich in between.

I really detest Econ. It's just one of those things that my brain doesn't do. Instead, my syllabus is covered in drawings of flowers, penguins, and unicorns, and when I'm not embellishing those, I study my classmates. About a third of them are American, while the rest come from various European countries. Most are majoring in business, economics, communications, or international relations, and their English is excellent.

You can always find the European students in a classroom. Good things to look for are graph paper notebooks, cigarettes, nicely coordinated outfits, and a lack of pores. I think I will befriend one of those girls just to steal her skin regimen.

That is all there is to say about Econ. I get to drop it in a few weeks, when I pick up a literature class at the Université Libre de Bruxelles— the French-speaking school here. Because Vesalius is an American style university, it follows a semester and exam schedule similar to what I'm used to back home. But the ULB is European style, so the semester runs from the start of February through the first week of May, with final exams not taking place until June. They like to see how much students remember after a three-week study period, I think.

My American Politics and Government class is wonderful. I have lots of things to say about it, so many that it will be a different post.

During our orientation here, they devoted a large chunk of time to discussing "culture shock." They told us that culture shock will happen to each of us in different amounts and at different times, and that it involves hitting an emotional low point, which we eventually overcome. I mostly ignored that part of orientation. I was probably thinking about lunch— either, "When is lunch? I'm hungry" or "Man, that lunch was awful. I'm still hungry."

I suppose, though, that what I am feeling right now could be called culture shock. I am not miserable, and most of the time, I am thrilled to be here. But adjusting to Vesalius classes, strange notebooks and hole punches, a new definition of the word "cappuccino," lukewarm baths, and the value of the USD versus the euro is difficult. I am constantly frustrated by communicating in French, which has always been challenging for me. And I miss my dogs.

Studying abroad is the best way to learn an appreciation for another country and a new group of people. But culture shock, the little week or two of grumpiness we feel somewhere during that experience, is the best way to learn an appreciation for home and the people there.