Global Seminars are seminar courses organized by the Princeton Institute for International and Regional Studies in locations around the world where Princeton students are given the opportunity to explore an aspect of life in that region.

One of the best parts of being on campus this time of year is the changing foliage that signals the coming of autumn to New Jersey. Princeton is one of the more beautiful places I’ve ever lived in or visited (check out the Instagram hashtag #princetagram if you want proof). The abundance of pictures of the campus, and the annual rush to capture it on now-ubiquitous cellphone cameras, reminds me of a particular moment from Oman this summer.

It had been a gloriously beautiful day, and so naturally I’d spent most of it as the Millennial in me is supposed to: trying simultaneously to experience it, and to record that experience. However, I eventually found myself in a place that forced some reflection on that dual urge.

We were visiting Salalah, one of the Arab world’s premier tourist destinations. We’d been looking forward to the trip for weeks—every local to whom we spoke said Salalah was the one place we had to visit while we were in the country. Hugging the eastern edge of the Arabian Peninsula, most of Oman is unsurprisingly arid. But Salalah was different, they told us. Salalah was rainy, cool and most amazingly, green.

Midway through our visit, I found myself standing on a hilltop about an hour from the city, in a place as sacred as any to be found in this part of Arabia: the purported tomb of Nabi Ayyub, the Prophet Job revered by all three Abrahamic faiths. The hills rose high above the city and coast, thick with decadent foliage that came as a shock after the sparse desert. An otherworldly mist enveloped the hills, making the verdure seem almost fluorescent in the light.

As I’d done in countless other places, I wandered around with my iPhone at the ready, prepared to capture the perfect image. But frustration set in quickly, because my phone camera seemed inadequate to capture the beauty around me. The green didn’t pop enough, the mist looked too thin on my screen. I snapped away, deeply unsatisfied (I clearly lacked Job’s patience for the task at hand). In surrender, I put my phone in my pocket, defeated.

I’d thought the place beautiful before, but now that I could see it without the incessant buzz at the back of my mind compelling me to find the ideal new cover photo, I could marvel at the misty view. Wandering down the hillside a bit, away from my friends, I stopped on a knoll overlooking a sharp drop off. I stayed there still and quiet for a long while. After a time, I looked around and realized that one-by-one, several others had made their way down to me and had all, without exception, also stopped to steep in the silence.

I kept only one picture from Job’s Tomb, which a friend offered to take as we were walking away. It doesn’t come close to capturing the hillside as I felt it, but the fact that it exists at all reminds me that I was there, and that memory is enough. We do not need the perfect picture, for most experiences will never condense cleanly to a set of pixels. But I cannot fault the urge to try, because when that fluorescent green fades from my mind, I will always have a snapshot to jog it from the mist.

I’ve put several more of my best pictures from Oman below. I’ll have an update on Princeton life here soon!

I spent most of my summer taking photos. You probably could have guessed as much, given that I lived in India for nine weeks. What may come as a bit more of a surprise is how those photos helped me and those around me during my time there.

This past summer I interned at the Indian Institute of Cerebral Palsy (IICP) in Kolkata. Since I expressed interest in pursuing therapy professionally, IICP made sure to place me in various clinics. But, since IICP is such a big place and runs a wide variety of services, they made sure to also place me in areas that went beyond my professional aspirations.

One such area was their department of Augmentative and Alternative Communication (AAC). AAC refers to a range of supplementary tools used to aid individuals with impaired verbal abilities. Since Cerebral Palsy often affects people’s motor but not cognitive abilities, AAC provides an outlet for the individuals to express themselves. AAC in America may commonly take the form of a voice output device or an Ipad. In IICP, since those devices are less readily available, the staff exercises incredible creativity and designs lower-cost alternatives like printed picture-communication boards to serve the same purpose.

And that’s where my photos come in.

Around week three of my stay, I met with the staff of IICP to develop an independent project I would work on throughout the summer. I felt as though I was gaining so much from my placements and wanted to find some way to give back to them. We decided that a synthesis of my passion—therapy—and IICP’s innovative techniques for AAC would be the best method for doing so. It was determined that I would take photos of children in IICP’s school-based therapy clinic during therapy exercises and use those photos to make picture-communication boards for the children to integrate conversation based on therapy time into their curriculum. I spent the next six weeks taking photographs of three wonderful girls, collaborating with their teachers, therapists and, most important, them to design the boards efficiently. The head of rehabilitation there even decided to continue the project after I left!

Oh, and I forgot to mention this ... the children at IICP almost never come from English-speaking backgrounds, something that initially posed a serious linguistic challenge to my American self. As I worked on the project, with the aim of creating modes of expression for those around me, I found that I was opening up with them. I once again was gaining so much more than I anticipated as IICP’s picture communication opened the door to a universal language that had me and everyone around me talking. 

And I love to talk. 

 

Hello, readers!

Imagine: a foreign language professor is trying to explain to you a complex grammatical point about how the endings of words change depending not only on those words’ parts of speech, but also on how they’re being used in a sentence, and that you also have to keep in mind the order of the words in that sentence, not forgetting to factor in whether or not said words are definite or indefinite, or apparently indefinite except that they’re part of a construction that arbitrarily makes them definite because grammarians say so.

Now imagine that lesson is taking place in said foreign language, that the professor is a native speaker with a native (and seemingly impenetrable) accent, and that you do not know half of the grammatical terms they’re using.

The end result looks something like this (and I swear this photo was not staged):

I’m spending my summer in the town of Ibri, Oman, at the Noor Majan Training Institute, where I’m studying Arabic courtesy of the Critical Language Scholarship Program of the U.S. Department of State. My description was, of course, a bit overblown, but there have certainly been days here where I’ve felt a bit out of my depth, whether linguistically, scholastically or culturally.

In all seriousness, the learning curve going into an Arabic immersion classroom was steep, but it improved quickly. Our instructor, Ustaadha Habiba, calibrated her teaching style to our level, and we learned the necessary classroom vocab (and got accustomed to her accent) by sheer exposure and repetition. By the third or fourth week, moments of utter confusion were few and far between, replaced by a sense of basic understanding, punctuated by moments of excitement when we reached a sort of collective “breakthrough” moment.

Four hours seems like a lot of time every day to spend on a single subject, but we mix things up. Every class starts with a 15-minute taqdiim, or presentation, from one of the students on a subject of their choosing. Then, we usually progress into a lesson of some sort about a grammar concept, or the use of a new phrase, construction, or set of vocabulary, which we follow with conversations designed to activate what we’ve just learned. We end class most days with a debate or discussion centered around something from the news media, which is also enlightening because Ustaadha Habiba will talk about Omani perceptions of the issues at hand.

Although it proved difficult at first, having a native speaker conduct the class wholly in Arabic is probably the best part of the program. Comprehension improves through exposure, and I’m exposed to 20 classroom hours every week. It’s at times mentally exhausting, but the rewards are clear now whenever I can get through a conversation with Omanis—be they teachers, taxi drivers or young people—without asking them to repeat themselves or clarify for my clunky Western ears.

Until my next post, when I’ll talk about Omani culture and our travels around the country!

This evening, I’m sitting on an overlook in Södermalm, a neighborhood of Stockholm. Across the water sits City Hall, the stately red brick building famous for being the venue of the annual Nobel Prize banquet. The building and the award program it houses, often considered the pinnacle achievement for those working in the life sciences, literature or economics, brings forth images of the upper echelons of academia, of brilliant professors and expensive labs. Though the number of Nobel laureates employed by a university is often touted as the metric for measuring their quality, my preparations for my summer abroad have shown me that what truly makes a learning environment remarkable, such as that found at Princeton, is a faculty and student body that is enthusiastic, open-minded and approachable.

It was back in late March when I received an email from the International Internship Office informing me that I had been awarded a scholarship to spend eight weeks of my summer working for a member of the Swedish Parliament in Stockholm. My summer work would include conducting research and facilitating a seminar about macroeconomic policy. I was advised to start thinking about the project, as it was completely up to me to choose the topic. 

Realizing that my knowledge of Scandinavian economic policy consisted of little more than the smattering of information I’d picked up from The Economist, I decided to call in the big guns. I fired off a few emails to Princeton professors with expertise in the area.

I was surprised by the response rate–all the professors emailed me back almost immediately, and by the end of the week, I walked out of my fourth meeting with an accumulated five pages of topic proposals. Each professor was incredibly helpful and took the time to explain the background and significance of suggested topics (who knew that a recent surge in Swedish nationalism might lead to tougher immigration laws that could threaten entrepreneurial growth in the country). I had walked into meetings with these well-established economists and political scientists completely directionless, with nothing but a vague understanding of Sweden’s “middle way.” I walked out with a firm grasp of many of the issues facing the country.

It wasn’t just professors who helped prepare me for a summer abroad. In May, I was introduced to Johanna, a Princeton senior from southern Sweden. I was immediately blown away by how enthusiastic and helpful she was in offering advice. She quickly arranged a dinner for me and a few other Princeton students who would be spending the summer in Sweden. She came to the dinner with cultural information she thought would be important for us to know. She told us to “never, ever wear your shoes inside someone’s house,” and that “you have to try Kalles–fish eggs in a tube–but only once. Then never again.” She then turned over a contact list of her childhood friends who now live in Stockholm and who had already agreed to show us the city.

Finally, she invited all of us–four students who she had only just met–for a weekend trip to her house in Southern Sweden. It was an offer we enthusiastically accepted, and a trip we took during one of our first weeks in Sweden. It was a fantastic time. She took us swimming in the North Sea, rappelling on the Kullaberg peninsula, and even hiking through the forest to visit the illegally constructed, interactive sculpture, Nimis. The trip was an amazing opportunity not only to get to see a different part of Sweden, but also a chance to learn about Swedish social and economic issues from an entirely new angle.

While the Stockholm City Hall is a striking building, and while I’m sure the Nobel banquet is spectacular, I realize that any significant evaluation of a university based on such lofty criteria as the number of noble laureates it employs is almost useless. Being around faculty members who will respond to a cold call email and welcome me into their offices and explaining the ins and outs of industrial conglomeration, or around students willing to spend hours helping me translate Swedish political websites is just so much more important.

Greetings from London! As Tigers and Tigresses travel all over the world during summer, I’d like to offer my personal tale on connecting with alumni for career advice while abroad.

A one-click search on Alumni Careers Network (ACN) reveals 60 alumni currently working in the UK. I found two working in the Greater London area in the management consulting industry, which is what I’m considering. I carefully crafted two emails asking each of them if we could meet up for a coffee chat to discuss my interest in consulting, and within a day both have replied. Now this might sound astounding to you that busy Princeton alumni would respond to a sophomore’s email so promptly, but know that ACN is an online database on which more than 4,000 alumni around the world voluntarily registered to assist students in their career choice.  Lesson No.1? Alumni on ACN volunteered themselves to help, so don’t be afraid to reach out.

One of the two alumni, Mr. Ulanov ’78 was out of the country, so instead of a coffee chat, we conversed over emails. Mr. Ulanov advised that rather than becoming a management consulting generalist right out of college, I go into industry first and later switch to consulting and consult on that particular industry. He believes that for recent college grads, first-hand experience in industry is much more valuable than knowledge of the overall landscape that consulting offers. I often hear people say that consulting is a good out-of-college option as it exposes young people to a wide variety of industries, so it’s really interesting to hear Mr. Ulanov advise otherwise. This is an ongoing debate that I’ll surely carry on into my further career search.

Ms. Murphree ’04 and I met up for coffee, and her stories confirmed what I learned about consulting from second-hand sources—she enjoys working with driven, smart and interesting colleagues, and seeing the insights they bring to clients. She also commented that when consulting firms recruit undergraduates, they look at their potential, not their existing business knowledge. As much as I love Princeton’s liberal arts education, occasionally I feel like I’m missing out on the “practical” part of my education, so it was really reassuring to hear Ms. Murphree say that an undergrad experience at Princeton should be focused on building critical thinking skills, and not to worry, that “practical” knowledge will come with on job training later on.

This is true for almost all things at Princeton, but seems particularly appropriate when it comes to connecting with alumni: There are so many people willing to help you out there. Sometimes all it takes is a little initiative.

Happy summer!

If you’re the sort of person who likes to travel, or hasn’t travelled much but would like to, Princeton has you covered. Princeton students find about ten-and-a-half billion ways to see the country and the world, most often with the help of the school’s incredible resources. I’ve taken advantage of a few—you heard about Paris—but at this moment alone I’ve got friends in Galway, Azerbaijan, Paris, Ecuador, Israel, London, Nigeria, Beijing, and Morocco.

Travel, like many of man’s other lofty pursuits like symphony orchestra, or twerking, has a discernible rhythm.

The count starts slowly, gradually. Subtle notes begin a week out from the trip. A few extra toiletries appear. Perhaps I don’t wear clothes that I know I’ll want to bring so they won’t have to be washed again. The controlled chaos of my room becomes gradually ordered as space is made for the looming organizational storm.

A few days out, the beat quickens. I make an official “List of Things That Must Be Done,” which comes with an implied “or else.” What “else” might happen isn’t ever really clear, but my mother has imbued me with a distinct sense of terror toward the world. If I don’t pack my flashlight, there could be a massive power outage. If I don’t bring antibiotics, I’ll surely come down with a life-threatening strain of the flu borne by the desert sands. If I don’t prepare a vial of holy water, then I’ll be defenseless against inevitable zombie hoards. The Boy Scout motto states, “Be prepared”; the Beth Lawrence motto continues, “…for every possible apocalypse.”

By the eve of departure, I’ve taken care of the initial List’s items, but 20 new last-minute errands have refilled it, a hydra in notepad form. The metronome beats louder. I pick up dry cleaning. I buy funky new argyle socks because the gray ones my sister got me for Christmas (Killer present, sis!) are boring. I grab two new sets of in-ear headphones because the dog recently acquired a funny but also kind of gross taste for earwax. I arrive at CVS right before they close, stopping the disgruntled worker as he’s locking the doors so I can purchase shaving cream.

During the late-night rush to pack, the rhythm becomes a gallop. I have an uncanny ability to pack bags right up to the weight limit (48 pounds this time, a small victory). I inevitably think I haven’t packed enough, and will inevitably wonder why I brought half this stuff in two weeks.

And then I am done, except that I can’t sleep. This always happens, whether I’m coming back to Nashville or Princeton or going someplace else, but it’s particularly pronounced tonight. The metronome should have stopped by now, but it’s still ticking. Ticking. Ticking. Nothing remains to do, but sheer inertia keeps it running until I’m finally en route.

Takeoff. The metronome stops. The buzz of the plane engine lulls me to sleep.

Four airports and a brief stop in D.C. later, I’m in Ibri, Oman for a summer of Arabic study. More on that soon!

Okay, so maybe the title makes me seem crazier than I really am. Backtrack. As you may remember, this summer I am set to volunteer at the Indian Institute of Cerebral Palsy in Kolkata, India ...

A little look into my experience of Princeton in Beijing last summer. There were teachers and food, weather and adventures!

And the next September, instead of beginning my first year at Princeton, I embarked on the most amazing experience of my life.