I just passed my one-year anniversary for living in Toronto, meaning that I have proved to myself that I can find my way–literally–in a foreign country and even pick-up a touch of French (from all the bi-lingual labels) and a bit of a Canadian accent (much to the joking pleasure of my family).  This is also particularly remarkable because previously I lived a life in which I would pack up and move everything every few months.  Internships, holiday building closings, study abroad, semester changeovers–they all meant boxes and organizing and purging everything (definitely not complaining about the loss of that hassle).  I have learned what I actually need to get by quite comfortably (not a lot) and ultimately that I really don’t value many material things (what’s wrong with washing your clothes more frequently?).

Through all this moving–or lack thereof–I have also learned what I do appreciate about traveling.   While I haven’t taken the time to write about it here, I did go on a few minor trips this year (e.g., L.A., Orlando, Philadelphia, Detroit, Up North, Atlanta, Seattle) and have a few more scheduled in the near future (e.g., San Francisco, Indianapolis, Montreal, Atlanta). Some trips were for school and others for pleasure, and most were worth my time packing and crossing the border so many times.  Learning, laughter, love–got them all thanks to traveling.  These few day trips were certainly worthwhile, but no longer am I interested in visiting a place like that if I can help it.  I tolerated the change of scenery for a few days and the opportunity to see people face-to-face, but for the most part, I’d much rather stay put.  Maybe I’m burning out from all this moving around, becoming a homebody, but I think it’s mostly a change in attitude.  Travel for most people means leaving home in search of something new and enlightening, better and more exciting than your current situation.  It’s the opportunity to hear and see new stories unfold.  But I’ve found I don’t need to travel to get those benefits.

After not traveling, I’ve learned that I can get that same opportunities and experiences within my own little world.  The thing that I loved about traveling so much while abroad and in my undergrad and high school years was meeting new people.  But, as a tourist in a town for a short jaunt, you aren’t actually meeting the locals or engaging in many perspective-changing convsersations.  If anything, you’re more likely to meet another tourist.  Sure, it’s nice to see first-hand ancient relics or swooping displays of nature.  I get that.  But I don’t want just a glimpse of it and then to have to move-on; I want more.

Instead of traveling to a place for a short period, I would much rather live there for at least a few months.  I want to know what it means to live there, how I would adjust to the community, have conversations with the locals, experience the traditions and enjoy the rhythms and little niceties that you just can’t get in a week’s time.  That’s what makes me feel like I can comment on, say, Madrid or Santa Cruz or Chicago.  Entertaining myself in a random place to pass the time and forget about whatever life you’ve temporarily left behind is just not the same, nor really of much interest to me anymore.  Too rushed, too forced, too limited.  I want to know the place through and through or not know it at all.

People argue that travel is about exposing yourself to new perspectives and backgrounds, but I have learned that you can get that through conversation with someone at work, at a get-together where you don’t know everyone or even with someone on the streets or at the store.  Travel through conversation, I say.  Imagine and explore the memories or an interesting debate.

Granted, Toronto is a pretty diverse place, so I am more naturally exposed to people from different background, but it’s really not all about ethnicity, either.  We all have our own experiences and stories to tell.  I don’t need a trip to an unknown location to find someone to share such a story.  Some of the best “trips” I have taken were simply through visiting another person’s home, learning how they live and the stories that even the crummiest of apartments can bring out.

I look forward to continuing to “travel” in Toronto (or whatever city I may be living in) as I meet new people and get to know others better.  Let the conversations keep coming and the memories they open my mind to, too; but my passport, it can stay in the drawer for safe-keeping where it belongs.

I just recently started thinking in Spanish again.  That is, I will put the thoughts from the inner conversation I have running in my head into Spanish.  Just because.  I like playing this game where I ease-drop on people speaking Spanish on the streets or in the markets, linger a bit more slowly in the range of their conversation (discretely, of course) to test if I can understand what they are talking about and how quickly I can do it, maybe even guess which country they are from.  It’s a nice pick-me-up.

Friday, I ran into a guy from the lab who’s from Columbia and, instead of chatting in English, we reverted to Spanish.  I was definitely a bit rusty.  (He admitted to it, too, after living in an English-speaking country for so long.)  But, boy, do I miss Spanish.  I miss reading the labels and signs in Spain (or even in the US), hearing it all around me and being pleasantly surprised and proud when I could figure out what was going on.  Speaking is what I miss most.  That constant struggle for the word, pronunciation, correct grammatical structure–all while trying to keep your cool and enjoy the flow of the exotic, foreign words coming out of your mouth.  It’s about optimizing the skills and tools you have on-the-fly in order to achieve some pre-determined goal (i.e., having a conversation).  This is exactly the challenge I love about research, engineering, even cooking, though I never thought of it that way.  Apparently my brain is craving some mental stimulation.  Speaking “Canadian” English certainly doesn’t afford to these same types of mental exercises, but I do like the surprise little chuckles I get when I hear a different pronunciation or word choice than I am used to.

Tuesday night was the World Junior Hockey Championships, US versus Canada for the Gold medal (not a part of the Olympics).  A bunch of my friends were going to a bar on campus to watch the game, so I decided to tag along and experience Canada’s national sport like a native as a TV-side fan.

All the TVs in the place were tuned-in to the game, which could be an indication of the interest and national stakes or the fact that it was a Tuesday and nothing else was on; I’m leaning towards the former.  Canada had the home-team advantage not only in the bar, but also on the ice snce the game was in Saskatoon.  We were stationed on the top floor, among one of a few groups of tables with all the chairs and their respective users facing the two big screens.  The place was buzzing with orders of hotwings, and beer glasses draining and re-filling.  There were probably 30 men and women up there, and just as many below.

Not having heard much about the championship, my cousin and I spent most of the time catching-up from the Holidays, occasionally glancing up at the game.  In between plays we gradually learned more about the history of the medal winners (Canada winning a medal nearly every year since its inception in 1974, Gold the past 4 years).  Stats and talk of who was actually a good player, likely heading to a professional career flew around the bar.  Stats about both teams, that is.  Mind you, this is also called the ‘junior’ championship because only amateur players between the ages of 16 and 20 are allowed to play (i.e., high schoolers and college students).

Whenever Canada did something good we could hear not only hoots from the other fans in the room, but also echoing up from downstairs.  At one point a glass on the table jumped (and promtly shattered) from my friend’s fist beating on the table in celebration.  Thank goodness it was empty.  For the US fanbase (count: 3), our cheers and attention to the game was consistently inconsistent.  If we happened to be watching the TV when we scored or saw the white jerseys crowding together from the corner of our eyes, we would interrupt our conversation to maybe cheer and throw a few high fives around.  Such actions, though, brought the glare of the whole room upon us.  Nothing hostile, of course, but certainly palpable.

It was a high-scoring game and tied nearly the entire time with each time answering the other whenever a goal was scored.  In the last few minutes, the US pulled ahead by two goals, but Canada managed to tie it up again and send the game into overtime.  Us Americans got the explanation of the special rules for overtime (sudden death, both teams play one man down) and then went back to our conversation.  The puck dropped and all eyes were intently focused on the game–all eyes but 4, that is.   Suddenly, my cousin looked up and squinted because he couldn’t figure out what was going on.  Only when we saw a mob of white jerseys pile-up in the corner, did we realize the US had scored and won the Gold medal.  We were happy, albeit surprised, but celebrating amidst the stunned and stifled crowd put a damper on that.  After slapping a few hands and saying my goodbyes, I quickly tip-toed out of the bar and escaped from the silence.  The headline for the front page the next day read: US spoils the show.

While many tout that Canada is just like the US, suffering only from a touch of “little brother syndrome,” I have found a few peculiarities in the Great White North that I will simply refer to as ‘differences.’

The Canadian Difference is in the football.  Who can blame them for adoring hockey when there are two 50-yard lines and an extremely deep endzone, among other differences in the ball itself and number of players on the field at a time.  What’s with the 3 downs?

The Canadian Difference is in the butter,  typically sold in ~1lb (450g) bricks instead of the individually wrapped sticks of 8Tbs that lend themselves so nicely to baking measurements.

The Canadian Difference is in the ‘ou.’  More than a spelling difference (e.g., color vs. colour) that is automatically corrected or ostracized with a squiggly, red underline on my computer when writing a group paper or reading emails, the pronunciation of this letter coupling is also quite diversified across Canadian provinces and not merely a silent ‘u.’  And, speaking of weird pronunciations, since when does the word ‘quay’ rhyme with ‘fee’?

The Canadian Difference is in the soft drinks.  Only cola products contain caffeine, leaving no exception to Mountain Dew.

The Canadian Difference is in the coffee.  Tim Hortons and Timbits have replaced Starbucks and Munchkin donuts.

The Canadian Difference is in the healthcare and insurance.  I think I understand referrals and prescription processing…maybe?  But I do understand lower healthcare bills.

The Canadian Difference is in the online retailers.  Amazon.ca–need I say more?

The Canadian Difference is in the Oreos.  Mr. Nabisco has turned into Mr. Christie, resulting in a sweeter, creamier, trans-fattier recipe that cannot be found in packages with as large of quantities for as cheap of prices.  This was all, of course, proven through extremely stringent experimental investigation among both authentic Canadian and American graduate students.

The Canadian Difference is in the crosswalk behavior.  Even on a deserted street in the middle of a college campus, pedestrians will still wait in the face of the red hand.

The Canadian Difference is in the French that is hardly spoken, despite the bi-lingual food product labels and brochures.  Walking on the streets of Toronto will quickly prove the Franc-en-tongue myth wrong.

The Canadian Difference is in the French Fries, preferably served with gravy and cheese curd?

But it is discovering these oddities–er, differences–that make me love living and studying in Toronto so much.  Keep it coming, Canada.

I love food.  It’s more than oral fixation and sensual infatuation.  More than satisfying cravings or rumbly tummies.  It’s about the preparation process and the excitement of what may come.  It’s an appreciation of high quality products and the chase that it might entail.  But, most importantly, it’s about the shared experience surrounding food, the creation of new memories and, if you’re lucky, stirring up a fond nostalgia past ones.

Following this philosophy, I started my first day in Toronto with a batch of my Oat Everything Cookies.  That grew to a blooming tea party, exotic Asian fruit tasting day and a semi-regular routine of making ice cream using the newly purchased maker.  We record our recipes and brainstorm crazy, can’t-be-found-in-stores flavors, on a group HCIceCream web page.  Already made are Nutella, durian, Italian espresso and cake batter ice creams, as well as a papaya sorbet.  Surprisingly (or not), many of the flavor suggestions revolve around alcohol (e.g., Guinness milk chocolate).

My parents were also kind enough to give/lend me a bread machine, so I have been taking advantage of all the new flours and other raw ingredients that are available in the markets near my apartment and sharing that with my suite- and labmates.

I create and discover new things all the time, almost exclusively with the intent to share them with any- and everyone I can find. Thank you for nurturing my love affair, Toronto.

I have noticed a trend that on Fridays my body is a bit stiffer than normal.  My legs are a tad bit bruised and my knees skinned up a bit.  I have a near-blister on the top of my right foot from wearing crappy, beach flip flops that I don’t mind destroying.  This week (because of the rain, I’m guessing) I found one bug bite on my left leg.  Walking bare foot in the sand, I also must have touched something weird because I have an irritated splotch of skin on my right, inner heel.  At lunch today, I found tiny bruises scattered across both my inner forearms arms (like big, blue freckles) and a small irritation turned bruise on my left, inner forearm arm.  Why do I share all these details with you, you’re wondering?  The details that don’t include hangovers or enlarged livers like the rest of my team from all the beers that get downed post-game before we close up the bar?   The details from this week only, skipping on the series of bike incidents last week that included me hitting a moving car?   Because of dedication, that’s why.  Dedication to beach volleyball.  That’s right, beach volleyball.  I just joined a team that my second-cousin captains and, though we’re only 3/10ths of the way through the season, the fun and stories from Thursday nights are only just beginning…

Despite only living in Toronto for just over a month now, I have become quite an expert on the city and its many neighborhoods.  Much like my interests in the past, my knowledge and curiosity seems to be motivated by food–with an emphasis on sweets (e.g. La Bamboche, Miss Cora’s Kitchen, Suckers).  That’s not to say that public art or festivals or water in any way, shape, or form doesn’t pique my interest, but searching for a place to eat or a new market always gets me going.

Through my wanderings, I have found “the place” that I go to for all my regular shopping needs.  There’s “the place” in Kensington Market with the cheap, fresh produce and the one with all the bulk foods I could ever dream of needing, and “the place” in Chinatown that’s always packed with people that I go to for soy milk and mushrooms.  I find it to be great fun discovering “the place” that I will endorse when someone is looking for such-and-such items.  I end up going to the markets several times a week (though I am not sure that practice will continue in the fall), shopping based on freshness and what I am craving.  To some, this might be a burden, but I enjoy the luxury; you never know what you’re going to find.

Surprisingly enough, people who live in the area or even in Toronto proper, did not know about these places until I pointed them out.  It has become this phenomenon where me, the new girl, knows the city better than the residents.  I find myself pointing out all “the places” I frequent and what I like to purchase there.  I have developed my own insider’s guide and love sharing it with other people–especially the ones who are supposed to know the area well.  It seems that I have become an excellent tour guide for the city I just moved to.  When my family visited this past weekend for Fourth of July (which, as a reminder, is just like any other day in Canada; no fireworks or vacation days), they, too, were surprised by how many places I knew about and that, despite visiting the city a number of times before, they were all new to them.

My exploration has kept me happy and excited about the city.  I have plans to maintain this attitude, even through the highly-anticipated winter.  As one of the characters in Up! is known to say (quoting her hero), “Adventure is out there!” and I think I subscribe to that belief full-heartedly.

I am glowing.  So much so that I bet you could see it from another country—like the US.  That’s right, I’m abroad again and re-kindling my intentions to maintain this blog.  I should really be saying that I am “abroad” because my move to Toronto at the beginning of the month is not quite the same as having an ocean of distance away from the world I know.

But, why am I glowing?  Because life is unbelievably good—and it has been for months.  I cannot explain why so many wonderful things have happened to me, but for once in my life, I am not going to question it.  Just when I think things couldn’t be more wonderful, another opportunity or beautiful, little moment meets me and all I can do is glow.

I graduated from Penn with a bang.  Academically, this year was my strongest of my undergraduate career and I made the Dean’s List (3.7 or higher, over both semesters) for my very first time.  After a rocky start my freshman and sophomore years, I set the goal of graduating Cum Laude–which I achieved.  I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology with Spanish language certification and a Bachelor of Applied Science in Computer and Cognitive Science with a minor in Mathematics.  As you know, I even managed to study abroad and be active in a bunch of fun, extracurricular activities.  Getting into all my top graduate schools with generous funding packages was a huge surprise, as I wasn’t even sure I would get accepted to a program at application submission time.

Deciding which school to attend was a very difficult process for me, but I am pleased to report that I am will be attending the University of Toronto in the fall.  Despite having to follow-through on all my commitments as a second-semester senior at Penn, my mind has been focused on graduate school and Toronto for months.  I was so excited to start that within two weeks of graduation, I moved to Toronto to begin research and discovering the city of Toronto.

With this momentum, I set extremely high expectations for Toronto and my new life here as a computer science (well, to be more specific, “human-computer interaction”) graduate  student.    As a grad student, I am looking forward to research, teaching and mentoring, collaborations and international travel (yes, that does not mean just to the US).   I love that I am becoming a member of community of people who share the same passions as I do (i.e. the study of people and applications of technology for our daily, personal health needs).  For years I have been searching for an outlet to do this kind of work, but not until a few months ago did I know this community even existed!

And, even after such a short period of time, I am thrilled to report that all my expectations have been met, if not exceeded.  I love the food/restaurant scene, the Canadian mentality and lifestyle, the bustling cultural diversity (more than 50% of the city is not Canadian, compared to ~30% of NYC), my advisor and academic colleagues, and even relishing Canadian accents.  Public transit, curling, museums, funky stores, specialty shops, Broadway shows and concerts abound.  Sure, I have to deal with the Canadian obsession with hockey and the blurbs of French on all the labels, as well as the annoying logistics of securing a bank account and credit card, student visa, new cell phone plan and the annoyance of dealing with two currencies.  But it’s all worth it to me, so far.  Being a quick train ride away from home is a luxury I will certainly take advantage of.  I do love it here so much.

I lose myself in every moment.  I rarely look at my watch; time flies.  I feel like I am living a dream—but this is better because it’s real.  Can you sense my glow across the border yet?

Now that I am back, I realize that I can tell stories and offer alternative points of view but it is true that you just have to experience some things yourself to fully understand the differences.  Words are not strong enough to convey it all, but unfortunately they are the sturdiest thing I have to keep my memories alive.  I apologize for writing some epic posts but I just don’t want to forget the details.  Even now I need to look at my entries and pictures to remind me of those four months.

Thank goodness I took good notes and forced myself to sit down for a few hours after each adventure editing pictures and collecting my thoughts to write an entry.  Countless memories of people, architecture, and beauty in seven countries are scattered throughout my adventures, trickling every so often into a conversation or accidental thought.

Yet I have so quickly adjusted to living back at home that looking back, my memories seem just as foggy as at the conclusion of any semester.  You would think my brain recognizes that I was abroad last semester (I was only away 129 days and 3700 miles from the country I know for goodness’s sake) and therefore should put some precedence on preserving those precious experiences.  Geez, I can already feel them fading.

This will be my last post about my semester abroad.  I hope you enjoyed tagging along with me for the adventures and I thank you for all your comments and support.  Do you speak Alyssa now?

Every country I visited had some sort of manifestation of counter culture.  Variations of weirdly cut and colored hair, dangling chains, screaming banshee music twanging out of cellphones, piercings in painful-looking locations, baggy and ripped clothes were sported by the populace’s rebellious youth.  While each subculture was trying to be unique and as shocking as possible to the “normal” people, they were nearly all the same across borders.  Teens will always be teens, finding ways to defy authority and distinguish themselves.  And America is no exception to this either.  We have just as strong of a counter culture.

I wasn’t expecting to notice this global commonality, so I suspect that’s why I find it interesting.  As much as I knew Europeans wouldn’t be that different, I was anticipating some awkward (or enlightening, depending on your view) interactions and culture clashes.