Arctic Swimming in Norway By Erin Keranen

Early on a February morning, our tour guide told us, “today, we will be going to the beach, which is covered in white sand, so be sure to bring your swim suit and an extra pair of socks.” Socks become a necessary article of clothing for swimming when it is below zero degrees Fahrenheit, and the white sand is snow and ice. A few hours later, while some students who were all dressed in layers stood on the beach, the rest of us ran through the snow and into the Arctic Ocean for possibly the coldest swim of our lives. 

When In France By R.E. Whipple

I once found myself at a bar in Metz, a city in France near the German border. Actually, crossing the border isn’t such a big deal anymore. It feels more like passing from state to state.

In Germany, I was spending three weeks with a guy I thought I was going to marry, and like the Sheryl Crow song, “I don’t think he had a day of fun in his whole life.” But, there we were, two awkward and strange people in France, drinking “whisky-cocas” and talking about the election because it was May 2008.

The bartender kept talking about how the economy was so bad, and I’m trying to pay attention to him rattling off in French. He talked about racism because of all the immigrants coming from North African countries and how they were taking all the jobs. He mumbled something about how he really did like Americans.

Somehow, he started speaking English. I realized then that Europe loves America. They love our John Wayne stagger. They love the way we talk, and they love speaking English.

“Even if he’s black, Obama will to do good things,” the bartender said in slightly broken English with a pleasant smile.

But, I was drunk with my friend. My head was spinning. I didn’t know what to say or do. Suddenly, a very smelly, very drunk man leaned over and handed me a Gauloises, the strongest unfiltered cigarette I have ever had.

“When in France, smoke like the French,” he rasped a laugh.

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