Exchange: 114 Days in The Blink of An Eye

The experiential account of an Exchange in America: August 28^th – December 21^st 2006

Posterity.

As I begin writing this entry, the afternoon of December 21^st, my exchange at the University of Pennsylvania has come to an end, having boarded the bus for Philadelphia International this morning. Behind, I have left people so remarkable they shall never be forgotten and memories that will be forever etched into my consciousness. It seems only yesterday I was sitting in the international departures lounge at Melbourne Airport, analysing how the months ahead would change me, my ability to manage being so distant from family, friends and familiarity, and what was in store. I can even remember the kernel from which it all began – special mention goes out to my good friend Ava who inspired me to get the whole exchange thing rolling.

Now that my mind is free from the manacles of academia, it is time to reflect. Lending to the breadth and depth of the 114 day voyage that has been charted, in disclaimer, the captain’s log will likely fail to adhere to any form of logical progression. Hold that thought, reverse it. I’m going to scribe chronologically by the week, using digital photos as a stimulus/index to the repository of memories. There’ll be an interspersing of journalistic and analytic writing styles, images, audio and video – a grand ten thousand word opus in integrative journaling – brace yourself…to fall asleep.

Week 1 (August 28^th – September 3^rd)

The first two days have been excerpted from the archived entry ‘USA impressions’ of September 2006.

After the two hour highway journey from John F. Kennedy International to Philadelphia, I arrived at my residence, Harnwell College House, signed in, and went up to the room. It is now 2am, thirty five hours since I’d woken up and the longest continuous time I’ve been awake – I have arrived at my destination. Drained, I improvised a makeshift blanket from my overcoat to assuage the cold and attempted to cadge a couple of hours’ sleep on the modest excuse for a mattress.

My first day at Penn was more eventful than I had initially expected. Arising from a state that wasn’t quite sleep at 7am, I resolved to go wander around campus. A map is in order at this point.

University of Pennsylvania Map

There isn’t anything particularly special about Hamilton Village (the area where my high rise is located, corner Locust & 38th Streets) other than its odd abstract sculpture (dubbed ‘fighting tampons’) that rivals Melbourne’s own ‘pick up sticks’ for stupidity masquerading as art.

Five minutes of walking aimlessly, I discover something new and something old. New: squirrels. They are everywhere – possibly the funniest looking creatures I’ve seen with strangely amusing mannerisms. Old: McDonalds. Obscured behind one of the high-rises, a mere two blocks from my room, an outpost of the original fast food empire. Breakfast was an interesting affair. Whilst evaluating the oddity of the ‘Breakfast Burrito,’ I was first approached by the wheelchair-bound Marcus (reminded me of Eddie Murphy, below, in Trading Places) who proceeded to ask for change to buy a drink “to go with [his] breakfast” – a small, curious looking aluminium foil package. I obliged, wished him a good day and started on the hash brown. No sooner than two minutes after my accent had become obvious, the cleaning lady from McDonalds asks “so people really hunt crocodiles for a living in your country?” I was sorely tempted to say that was actually my day job in my best rendition of Paul Hogan, but courtesy prevailed.

Nearing 9am, I made my way to the International House for registration. The next couple of hours was spent on mind-numbingly exciting forms, advice sessions and the like – the proverbial exchange student conveyor belt. Subsequent to chatting with a few fellow exchange students, the rest of the afternoon’s sessions were forsaken in favour of setting up a bank account, venturing into the city to buy bedding, and using the internet.

As you can see from the above, it had been quite the boring day thus far. Of course, that was about to change. In the confines of the resource room I was surfing from at International House, I was oblivious to the fact it had started raining outside – not just an ordinary shower – it was hammering down something torrential.

Knowing I had to get back to my apartment five blocks away, I stood in the foyer contemplating my options. I spotted a slightly worried-looking girl nearby and found she was on exchange from Japan and facing the same dilemma I was. Miki and I hatched a plan that she’d wait with my books whilst I made the dash to the 7-11 a block away to buy an umbrella. I’d then come back with the umbrella, walk her to her building and then go back to mine – it was a brilliant scheme, at least in theory.

Murphy’s law – things don’t always turn out how you plan them. Halfway through the mad dash to 7-11, a truck passing by loses its cargo – crates of belongings, boxes, books and a swivel chair are strewn across the busy street – this poor girl chose a bad day to move in. After stopping traffic and helping put everything back into the truck, I looked like I’d been in a fight with an industrial hose and lost.

I trudged into the store, my waterlogged white Windsor Smiths making ’squish’ sounds, picked up an umbrella and paid for it. I couldn’t help but smile at the irony of it all – there were quite a few customers smirking at yours truly buying an umbrella despite looking as if he’d just jumped into a swimming pool. Soaked to the bone, I went back and escorted Miki under the umbrella to the supermarket, bid her farewell and trekked back to Harnwell. The crowd milling around in the lobby got entertainment in the form of me removing said Windsors and emptying the water from them before going in.

Feeling somewhat ridiculous, I said to a busy-looking girl (whom I later knew as Emily) who was on her way out “it’s a bit wet out there, would you like to borrow my umbrella?” She declined and continued on her way, and I bumped into her two room mates en-route to my room. We got to chatting about the weather and I invited Luisa and Paola in for something to drink. Two of the most striking characters on the floor. Luisa, a highly intelligent and more than slightly crazy engineer/scientist with a passion for Borat, some intriguing theories on the pursuits of life, and likely the funniest girl I’ve ever met with her very unique sense of humour – I like you, high five. Paola, one of the rare and endangered sub-species of Whartonite that is actually kind-hearted; mysterious, insightful, and also a connoisseur of coffee and fashion, especially in the funky hat department. We spent the ensuing three hours on random topics of conversation accompanied by tea and Tim Tams. Not realising the passage of time, we ended up going grocery shopping for microwaveable meals, stopped by Starbucks and returned to Paola and Luisa’s apartment for dinner. That was my crazy Tuesday – chance encounters brought about by irregular circumstances.

Later that week, a disco was hosted by the Office of International Programs for exchange students, which I attended out of curiosity – it isn’t every day you get the chance to see hundreds of unacquainted people from different cultures put in the social context of a disco (below), so inexorably, there was going to be some analysis.

Factors of situational context worth noting include:

1. Lack of alcohol – this of course meant that inhibitions weren’t being alleviated by the ’social lubricant’ and a palpable lack of alcohol-induced false bravado
2. Right tail IQ dominance – lending to the very high cut-off to be accepted into exchange at Penn, the vast majority of attendees were in the upper 5% of the normal distribution intellectually; thus providing a rare opportunity to socially analyse this group in isolation.

Under normal circumstances, I’ve a sufficient mental buffer to absorb and recollect social phenomena, but that evening, lending to a vast number of trends in action, I found myself almost constantly taking notes on my MDA. A selection of observed phenomena:

Analytics – Disco Phenomena

Illumination Hypothesis (IH)

This is a curious one. For whatever reason, throughout the course of the evening, the venue lights were turned off and on at random intervals, such that the dance floor switched between states of being brightly lit and near dark. Judging by the way behaviour varied inversely with lux, one could be forgiven for thinking human beings are nocturnal creatures. It was interesting to watch how, in the darkness, people were dancing quite passionately, head-bopping, limbs in the air and the like. However, the moment the lights went on, there was a discernible reduction in the amount of movement – think changing tracks downtempo from Voltio’s Chevere to Boney James’ Smooth Jazz, you get the picture. Evidently, in the absence of the psychologically desensitising effect of alcohol, people have a tendency to be more self-conscious. Darkness has always been more conducive of ‘risky’ and risqué behaviour as we are always more daring under perceived cover of darkness, irrespective of whether it is illusory as in this example. Instinctively darkness made for stealthier hunting; contemporarily for the carrying out of crime, why not then for practising your moonwalk?

Chevere

Smooth Jazz

Attractive Drift (AD)

Another of the amusing observations is AD. This phenomena can be observed in almost any collective dance floor scenario save perhaps ballroom dancing. When a large group of unacquainted people are dancing, they subconsciously drift toward attractive members of the opposite sex. For instance, upon arriving, there was a particularly tall and attractive dark-haired young woman having a drink by the tables. I was willing to wager she’d be the subject of AD. Surely enough, as more people took to the floor, she was dancing (quite well at that), and within perhaps 10 minutes, there seemed to be an unusually high concentration of young men in the vicinity of her and two other women. After some thought, I reached a preliminary conclusion that the causality for this gravitational tendency is multiple. First there is perversion (this encompasses both genders) because it is logically easier to inconspicuously ‘check someone out’ in an environment distracted by music, strobe lights and movement, furthermore, the rules governing personal space are relaxed on the dance floor. Second is a loose association with group theory which essentially maintains that we (generally) like to surround ourselves with people we perceive as attractive or ‘cool’ in the hope that some of this will rub off on ourselves. I make this latter point cautiously as people also often surround themselves with others whom they perceive as ‘inferior’ in order to boost self-esteem. In any club/discotheque environment, the presence of this ‘attractive drift’ is virtually guaranteed – as surely as vultures flock to a piece of fresh meat.

The rest of the week was a veritable blur of functions and outings such as the orientation museum party – a shining example of the virtues of the private tertiary system. One of the great things about going to a university with a A$7.4 billion endowment is that they don’t penny pinch like the sorry state-run institutions in Australia. So when Penn throws a party, it makes Paris Hilton seem conservative (well, almost). To paint a picture, the colossal Philadelphia Museum was booked, a DJ installed on the mezzanine, elaborate five-star standard catering organised and an odd thousand students revelled in the very meaning of ‘Ivy League.’

Week 2 (September 4^th – September 10^th)

Early this week I met my two fellow inhabitants of Harnwell 2011; Geng, another Australian, and Amr, who hails from Egypt. In all sincerity, I don’t think it would have been possible to get two (to use the Americanism) ‘cooler dudes’ as housemates. There was never a dull moment, whether it be chatting to Amr about Warren Buffet and investment strategy or his translating my name into Arabic (where it takes on a crude meaning), Geng’s lamb a la smoke-detector (in spite of this, he does make a mean stir-fry), or his random performance of a certain song from the Top Gun soundtrack, of course the monkey business over the large dish pile inhabiting the sink and mysteriously vanishing food items. Not to mention all the great conversations and good times – it’s difficult to write about such striking characters: my had goes off to you guys. Honourable mention is also in order for our unofficial 4^th man to the quartet – Casey. Lender of the mop and the most altruistic, kind and good spirited fellow I’ve ever met; one of those people who is a privilege to have your circle of friends.

Among the nuances of living on campus is the need to outfit the collective domicile; and in that regard I can proudly say that I have completed my pilgrimage to international student Mecca – taking a long and perilous route via bus to the Philadelphia Ikea. We racked up a sizeable bill on assorted furnishings and kitchenware for the apartment, but the star purchase was a giant stuffed moose named Cletus (equity stakes 50% Geng, 50% Paul) – the moose with a taste for Jack Daniels and by far the most popular resident of Harwell 2011.

Everything had more or less settled in mid-week. Wednesday also marked the commencement of my academic tenure at Penn – the first day of classes. Only one session today; Finance 251 – Buyouts and Acquisitions. Walking in, it had all the hallmarks of a third year course at Melbourne – a couple of students with laptops, people conversing quietly and all manner of caffeinated beverages gracing the large crescent-shaped communal desks that spanned the room.

It made me reminisce of the glory days of 306-330 Business & Financial Analysis with Professor Spear back in Melbourne – the standout course in my studies there. However, by the time Professor Nair concluded his introduction, it was clear Wharton was in a league light years ahead Melbourne. “How many of you interned at Investment Banks over the break?” 80% of the class raised their hands. “How many of you run your own business?” The author flags the fact he does, and gets a few appraising glances. My initial feeling is that I will be in a class of sixty or so fellow highly intelligent Whartonites – driven, fiercely competitive (organic?) people with likely enough killer instinct between them to annex Canada.

Am I worried? I probably should be. Instead I am sitting outside, on a shaded terrace, listening to a four-piece blue grass band playing, watching people walk by and contemplating how strange a species we are. I find myself amongst a crowd of considerable calibre, though I am constantly reminded that most are of affluent heritage and have an ingrained imperative to achieve and attain the lucrative grail of ’success,’ which is a point of contrast to my underlying motivations in life.

Looking around, a keynote observation is that so fixated are people upon themselves, that the potential for them to engage in interactions classed as anything more than ancillary pleasantries appears severely stymied (much to my dismay). Such fixation inevitably leads to a myriad of pseudo-psychotic symptoms, namely falling slightly out of touch with reality. An amusing take on ‘Penn’ and ‘penn goggles’ by an Urban Dictionary contributor:

Paradigms of superciliousness amuse me enormously – I am presently listening to a conversation between a group of girls sitting at the table adjacent who are discussing Merrill Lynch and Bain Consulting as if deciding what brand their next pair of shiny designer shoes will be. ‘Notorious’ is the only term that does justice to the level of shallowness and pure materialism at this institution, where not being cut-throat is a seeming infraction of Wharton Sharia. It is something of a tragedy that brilliant people willingly consign meaning so narrowly to money and status.

Yet, there are two sides to every coin. The upshot of institutional materialism, among other things is: another day, another lavish function. Convocation, an exercise in showboating – with everything from choral entertainment (audio below) chocolate muffins bearing edible Penn bicolour ‘P’ logos to a prominent ice sculpture of the University’s crest (montage below). It was a highlight of new student orientation, heavy on ritual ceremony and school spirit – though I daresay many attendees were there on exclusive appointment with the caterers. At the conclusion of the function, there was a scramble of people loading up the caterer’s empty cardboard boxes with pastries, cakes, beverages and generally anything that looked like fair game for freeloading. As you may well see, there is simply no flaunting the ‘more is better’ greed principle in economics – no exceptions here.

The Red and The Blue

Week 3 (September 11^th – September 17^th)

Quietness was the theme this week, recovery in the post ISO/NSO lull. Thursday, the international program (IP) had organised a dinner at a local Ethiopian restaurant. The fare was unexpectedly good, being served on colossal 70cm communal plates. Though the food was great, the real highlight were the conversations with fellow IPers, most notably was my first proper chat with April, our floor’s GA or manageress-in-residence. How to describe April? Down to earth, compassionate, a contagious smile and extraordinary affinity for people – in short one of those rare people who is impossible not to like. We engaged the topics of life pursuits and passions, personal histories and the concept of ‘fitting in.’ As if the enthralling conversation weren’t enough, I also credit her for introducing me to the excellent ice cream at Ben & Jerry’s – and if you’re reading this, you still owe me an ice cream April!

Week 4 (September 18^th – September 24^th)

This week was a void in time spent in the flux of academia as assignment season went into full swing. I did however have a long chat about the big topics with the interesting girl that is Tainah over the Arizona Iced tea that she so generously brought and got me hooked on – damn you Tainah. Very different from the average lass, Tainah is a sweet, clever, driven, mild-mannered…(actually not that last one)… Wharton student by day, but by night she is the cheeky grand pimpess of level 20 who has been known to do strange things such as Facebook-marry multiple female partners; outrageously funny and with an uncanny strength of character about her. I can’t resist the urge to quote Homer Simpson: “It’s like being married to Shaft.”

It was also around this time that I met Emma. As the story goes I was restless one Sunday evening and decided to go downstairs and play ‘Quizzo’ (a specific topic flavour of trivia) which the college house ran weekly. Though the week’s topic escaped me, I recall joining the group of cosmonauts from the Lightship Nantucket, of which Emma was an officer. A student of the humanities, Emma struck me as one of those people who is just simply nice. Conscientious and easy-going, she also has a cute Halloween addiction and one of those beautiful always-on smiles that is instantly contagious.

Week 5 (September 25^th – October 1^st)

A bizarre sequence of events on the 29^th of September led to some new territory being explored. Harnwell college house was to hold a Black and White semi-formal that evening, and as per usual, I had purchased a ticket in the knowledge of why I’d be going. My presence at functions is always an affair of the officious bystander – stand somewhere in the vicinity of canapés, absorbing the people and the environment, deeply immersed in analytical thought, and likely looking more than slightly incongruous.

Because we hardly knew anyone in attendance, one of my room-mates and I planned on heading to the Inn at Penn around 9:15 (fashionably late) with me jokingly offering to be his ‘wing-man.’ After painstakingly getting the fold of my pocket square correct, thus completing my ensemble, I gave him a call, to later receive a message that he would be stuck in a group meeting for quite some time.

Contemplating my next move, I could hear distinct commotion down the hall that could only be ladies getting ready to go out. I walked out into the hall to see what was going on and after a brief chat with a few of the ladies and Paola’s trying on of my eccentric overcoat, we decided to walk up together. Half an hour later, I left with the earliest prepared contingent of three.

As we were walking up Locust walk being entertained by Luisa’s the larger-than-life personality; one of them lost a shoe to a gap in the cobblestones. I couldn’t help but smile as I picked it up and put it back on for her – tempted to draw one of my unintelligent parallels, to Cinderella no less, but refrained.

Arriving at the Hilton Inn at Penn, we followed the thunderous noise of R&B and quickly found the function room. Putting down our jackets, we wandered over to the canapés and engaged in conversation whilst awaiting the arrival of the other ladies who were running late. When they arrived, we greeted them, chatted some more and took a few photos. A short while later, the group took to the dance floor, and contrary to my habitual ‘observer’ nature, I joined them. Despite the fact that he cannot dance to save his life, the author jived with a charming young lady and went out for coffee and a chat afterwards. Although, sadly, there wasn’t a Congo line, on balance it was a great night. Below: among the brilliant personalities on our floor including members of the famous Kappa Kappa sorority (from left in photo: Aminah, Luisa, …some random guy, Elena, Giselle, Tainah, Paola, April). Aside: I kind of look like Bosley amongst the angels in that photo.

Week 6 (October 2^nd – October 8^th)

//Edited-out

Week 7 (October 9^th – October 15^th)

Likely the best example of social imperative witnessed on exchange was a Hookah party I attended one evening this week, with the guest of honour of course being an odd contraption known colloquially as a ‘hookah.’ I really don’t know why, but I got endless amusement out of watching a dozen young men and women, sitting in formation, taking turns at chuffing this device whilst watching the Victoria’s Secret fashion parade – house parties are simply the quintessence of college life.

The weekend marked my first foray out of Philadelphia – a weekend in New York City. I will make no attempt to conceal the fact that I am atrocious at chronicling. My preference for analytical writing stems from the genre lending well to abstract cognition. Spending two days wandering the streets of the big apple will give you sensory overload, and two months would unlikely do the place due justice – there is no city that compares. I visited over a dozen places, a few of which are cited briefly below.

• Chinatown, a shady and unkempt neighbourhood overflowing with street grocers, restaurants, junk shops and peddlers of designer knock-offs, with the distinct atmospheric resemblance to the old Jackie Chan movies completed by an pungent, omnipotent smell of raw fish.
• Soho, the once pre-eminent artist haunt of New York, has now morphed into a high-end fashion destination with many unique boutiques and trendy cafés.
• Wall Street, the world’s financial centre, home to the New York Stock Exchange and the bulge bracket investment banks, reminiscent of many a movie scene.
• Times Square. If the above is the financial centre, this piece of real estate on 42nd and Broadway is dubbed the centre of the universe. It is almost a singularity of illuminated motion advertisements which includes the monolithic 36.6m tall, $50 million NASDAQ sign. A piece of interesting trivia, it is also the most expensive property in the United States ‘Here and Now’ edition of Monopoly.

Whilst traipsing among the lights in the evening, I saw this unusual sight:

• New York Public Library: ornate architecture and incredible atmosphere, one of my all time favourite movie scenes, being the Bowler hat frenzy from The Thomas Crown Affair, was filmed on location here.
• Central Park: An enormous area of idyllic parkland and lakes, some 4km long (larger than Melbourne’s central business district) that occupies middle Manhattan.
• Grand Central station hails from the days gone by when train travel was sophisticated, it oozes classical elegance with concourses that stretch to vanishing point and even houses an opulent underground restaurant.
• Metropolitan Museum of Art, established in 1872, one of the largest and most pioneering museums in the world, housing many famous pieces such as Monet’s La Grenouillére. It has  an enormous diversity of works and styles exhibited across no less than 19 departments.

A plethora of photographs can be found via the Flickr link in the right frame.

Week 8 (October 16^th – October 22^nd)

Wednesday October 18th, I was looking forward to spending the forthcoming five day Autumn (no, not ‘Fall’) break on campus taking a bit of a break and catching up with the copious amount of work that was beckoning at the time. Though for no particular reason, that afternoon I made a spur of the moment decision to join a couple of friends on a trip to Boston. In the space of thirty minutes, the wheels had been set in motion with the booking of accommodation and formulation of a minimalist packing list (the author often travels out of a briefcase).

Fast forward to Friday evening, and by 8:30pm I am boarding the dubious ‘Chinatown Bus’ from Philadelphia to New York with my colleagues Laurent and Pasarn. A two hour journey peppered with Cantonese cursing on the part of the driver later, we arrived in Chinatown, New York City. A subsequent subway ride up to Queens landed us at the abode of one of Pasarn’s relatives, who generously let us stay the night. Based on a simple function of an operational temperature control system and mattress thicker than 10cm, it was the most comfortable night’s sleep I’ve had in seven weeks.

We awoke at 7:00am the following morning to the tune of various musical alarms (mine an instrumental from the Soundtrack of ‘The Thomas Crown Affair’), and made for a quick spot of breakfast at the tragically American ‘Dunkin Donuts.’ The subway brought us back to Chinatown, and we haphazardly found our way to Manhattan Bridge, the location for the next leg of our journey: New York to Boston on none other than the ‘Fung Wah Bus.’By sheer luck we were able to get the last few tickets for the 9:30am departure, and we hastened aboard.

Coincidentally, I met an interesting character by the name of Lauren on the bus and we engaged in all manner of conversation; from the dynamics of how different areas of the brain are activated in face versus object recognition, to politics, environmentalism, music, films and pursuits in life. Turns out Lauren also attended the University of Pennsylvania and is undertaking a Cognitive Science subject among other things. We had a bit of a laugh about her aversion to drinking coffee in crowded places and my strange tendency to treat women like a therapist treats patients (something which I really have to stop doing).

The rest of the journey was spent listening to a selection of tracks on my MDA and reading a couple of fascinating accounts from the text I was reviewing for my Abnormal Psychology course: Irvin Yalom’s ‘Love’s Executioner,’ a collection of true stories about a psychotherapist’s encounters with patients. One of the opening lines in particular made me smile; words to the effect of: ‘Love and psychoanalysis do not mix’- such a truth hath never been uttered.

I closed the book as we were on the approach to Boston and gave my packet of M&M’s to Lauren, who I felt needed them more than I did. We parted ways: her going to meet with a friend, and us to get lunch and find our way to the hotel (which was, alas, not the most conveniently located establishment). Subsequent to numerous interchanges and waiting half an hour for a particularly elusive bus, we arrived at the Prescott Hotel II(intriguingly, a defunct and converted Mental Asylum, below) in the vicinity of 4pm, took a couple of photos, unpacked, and ventured back to find the nearest train station so we could journey back to central Boston.

As it was getting quite late, we concatenated the day’s itinerary and spent the last shreds of daylight walking along the Charles River, which was somewhat reminiscent of Melbourne. Dinner was next on the agenda, so we wandered along Newbury Street, Boston’s boulevard of high fashion and lavishness, and stopped by the Upper Crust pizzeria for supper. It’s not too often I rave about epicure, but this establishment served possibly the best pizza I’ve had to date.

Some thirty minutes later, we stumbled upon a Guinness World Record attempt at a city park – most jack-o-lanterns in one place at one time. Boston’s 30,128 flaming pumpkins were indeed a surreal sight, with rows of them resembling landing lights at an airport and a monolithic five storey tower rising from the middle of the park (video below).

Nothing quite like waking up in a Mental Institution. The following day we trudged out for a late lunch at Quincy Market and then pressed on to that other academic Mecca: Harvard. Admittedly, their magnificent campus located on the banks of the picturesque Charles river is a far cry from the unclean Schuylkill, but I take solace in the fact Wharton dominates Harvard as best the world’s No. 1 undergraduate business school. Coincidentally, it was Regatta weekend, so we watched the rowing and picked up ‘complimentary goods’ at the nautical festival, fittingly dubbed ‘Rowapalooza.’ Back exploring the grounds of Harvard, we bumped into some fellow Philadelphians also in Boston for fall break and increased the size of our roving party. After picking up mandatory Harvard merchandise, we made our way downtown and had dinner at a not-too-bad Vietnamese restaurant somewhere in city centre.

Breakfast was the staple bacon, eggs and home fries at the YMCA, followed by a couple of hours of slumming before we joined a contingent of the exchange crowd for lunch at Quincy Market. If one ventures to Boston, one must sample the city’s famous dish – Clam Chowder, a thick creamy soup served in a bowl made of pastadura style bread. Boston Chowder Co.’s recipe was a particularly fine example. Having enjoyed the hearty meal, we made for the architecturally striking Zakim Bunker Hill Bridge (below) and managed to unite with the rest of the mob along the way

After a short while traversing the streets, the ad-hoc committee then disbanded, and our trio resumed its whirlwind weekend expedition with the PeterPan bus bound for Providence, RI. During our brief stay on Rhode Island, we were fortunate enough to be afforded lodging by the charming Liana, a friend of Laurent’s and student of Brown University, with, among other things a passion for Arabic and Linguistics. We spent a while exploring the city of Providence, had dinner at a lovely Italian restaurant a short drive from Brown (below) and finished the night with a coffee. As always, I somehow ended up having one of those random conversations, this time on topics of politics and history with Frank, a regular at the small fair-trade coffee shop we visited. The following day the spontaneous adventure concluded and we returned to Penn.

Week 9 (October 23^rd – October 29^th)

In anticipation of Halloween, I found myself on Amazon sleuthing for eccentric pieces of costume. After some hours rummaging through some nine thousand listings, I struck gold – a full head, freakishly realistic evil chicken mask. This was exactly what the doctor ordered – the humble beginnings of a frivolous social experiment: Penn Chicken Man.
A test run was in order before Halloween, so I donned the bizarre piece of headgear and joined my roommate at a party being held by a group he was a member of. In addition to the face-obscuring mask, I added a second dimension – I would not communicate verbally, only by gesture. Admittedly it was immense fun – the anonymity a mask affords frees one from certain inhibitions and bestows the ability to dance in ‘out of character’ fashion (you see, when one is wearing a chicken mask, one owns the conga line.) A disproportionate amount of attention and intrigue was predictably attracted as everyone wanted to know who was behind the mask.

Some weeks later at a thanksgiving dinner, I was introduced as ‘the chicken guy’ and achieved instant recognition. Theory holds that a strong point of contrast about a person’s appearance or character (for example purple hair) entails a positive effect on remembrance and significantly faster identification. For this reason, wearing an outrageous tie at a job interview or telling someone you’re among Cirque du Soleil’s troupe will gain you near permanent impression.

On the topic of psychology (he says casually), I decided to undertake two courses in the field as a bit of flavour to the heavy finance focus of my degree: Abnormal Psychology and Social Psychology. Though the highlight of these studies was the absorbing material which provoked much thought and expanded my knowledge of the discipline, passing reference must go to the faculty staff. Only in the wonderful world of Psychology can you get a female lecturer with a penchant for elongating the abbreviation ‘WTF,’ and another being nostalgic about smoking dope in her younger years. This is the field I should have pursued, and one of few professions that appreciates the elegance of prose. Sigmund Freud is my homeboy.

Week 10 (October 30^th – November 5^th)

Halloween was a sight to behold. I was fortunate enough to be invited by Emma to her Halloween party. Let me just say for the record that Emma (even in the guise of Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas, below) is a culinary prodigy – I have never seen a young lady with such skill. Awaiting us was an impossibly stylised apartment with charming Halloween décor that was liable to induce sensory overload and a veritable buffet of themed canapés, the star of which being Emma’s special warm dip which was artichoke based if memory serves me correctly. Between good food, great company and an enthralling game of Taboo (I’ll resist the urge to delve into Freud’s pioneering of the word), it was a memorable night.

Of course Halloween doesn’t finish at 11pm – armed with the fabled chicken mask, I went reverse trick-or-treating i.e. doling out candy with Geng, Luisa and Jeannie. The latter member of our trick-or-treating quartet is none other than the quiet and imaginative Jeannie, a sweet, perceptive dreamer, ever immersed in deep thought, with life wisdom beyond her years. (I still owe you for mopping our floor!) During the shenanigans, I managed to make a couple of people jump on the street and even terrorised a couple of kids, such as the defenceless young April below. Isn’t she cute?

Week 11 (November 6^th – November 12^th)

I needed a change from walking around like Gibbs from NCIS at 10pm with a Starbucks Venti White Chocolate Mocha. Fortuitously, whilst on one of the weeks’ evening strolls, change presented itself in the form of Metropolitan Café, a small coffee shop hidden just beyond the ‘FroGro’ (FreshGrocer) frontier or border of Penn campus with the West Philly Ghetto. In short: the best coffee tasted in my Philadelphia travels, the charismatic little café soon became my haunt for thrashing out Psychology papers and pieces of reflection on cold evenings.

Week 12 (November 13^th – November 19^th)

My regular walks through West Philadelphia often saw me bump into homeless people and beggars on the streets. On my first day as mentioned, I met the wheelchair bound Marcus on my way to McDonalds and bought him a drink to go with his breakfast. I have been forced to adjust my approach and level of compassion in this regard due to moral depravity among a number of beggars. One episode in particular springs to mind; late one November afternoon I was out grocery shopping and was approached by a fellow of about sixty who had allegedly just come out of hospital and needed a few dollars to get back home (he wore a hospital wristband so it sounded legitimate), I obliged and wished him a safe trip home.
Perhaps ten days later, the man, not recognizing me, approached again and spun the same story – verbatim; at which point I mentioned that I had given him money ten days before. Clearly this was a person appropriating good nature by spinning lies to elicit sympathy…and cash.

Analytics – Begonomics

Begging, like any other industry, is subject to the laws of economics. The streets of Philadelphia exemplify this, lending to the relatively high poverty levels and consequent large number of beggars. The beggars are technically competing with each other for a scarce resource: that is, compassion. Compassion of the kind that involves people parting with green. Coupling this with the fact that those of the small proportion of people who do give, don’t do so freely (i.e. substantially and to every beggar), we have a standard supply-demand disequilibrium where demand for ‘compassion’ outstrips supply – considerably.

How the ‘equilibrating’ mechanism operates in practice is interesting. The price of compassion (the amount of effort a beggar need expend to attain alms) rises, which yields an equilibrium ‘price,’ defining how direly in need (or creative) the beggar must be to achieve success. Following on from this, if the beggar isn’t in a position of severe and genuine hardship, it becomes necessary for him or her to employ increasingly elaborate but believable hoaxes to demonstrate their ‘worthiness’ over competing beggars and sway targets to oblige with their wallets.

Notably, the aforementioned equilibrium is only partial as quantity remains unresolved. That is to say, there is unsatisfied demand for compassion because demand perpetually exceeds supply and beggars’ demand isn’t projected elsewhere when the ‘price’ rises as compassion has no substitutes.

This creates the spur to adjust methodology – the bid ‘price’ can be clean (genuine hardship) or indeed dirty (contrived story), meaning that we need to devise and apply a test of some sort to differentiate those who legitimately deserve compassion from those who are exploiting generosity immorally. Otherwise, there is a risk of generosity being misdirected toward avaricious con artists and away from those who are truly in need.

International Food Fest was on this week. An eclectic culinary event held on the 25th floor rooftop lounge where students in the international program (well, those of us who could cook) prepared dishes from various countries and hosted a buffet. After weeks of careful planning and requisitioning ingredient from the other side of the world via post, Iron Chef Waterstone, representing Australia, submitted his entry of three lavish pavlovas. No one knew what the hell it was, but it sure went quick for a mystery cake. Unlike a friend of mine who makes her brownies with a certain ’special ingredient,’ I didn’t even need to add dope to generate wacky euphoric effects:

Week 13 (November 20^th – November 26^th)

Recipe for Thanksgiving weekend: get a band of six exchange students together, book a hostel and bus it down to Washington DC. We each parted with $15 worth of green for the ride on the ever ‘reliable’ Chinatown Bus. Though the service is horrendously inefficient, the entertainment is first-rate: a manic driver that has no concept of the term ’speed limit,’ constantly juxtaposing between cursing in Mandarin and laughing like an hyena that’s just inhaled a significant quantity of Helium.

Capitol Hill (above) was our first on the agenda, the epicentre of American Democracy, complete with no-access cordoning and a couple of Feds with machine guns, the scene was but an elegant poetic metaphor. Backtracking to find our hostel, we eventually managed to locate it, only to find that the booking I put through a few days in advance was not on their system. So the author stands there negotiating whilst trying to carefully balance understanding with assertiveness. Eventually, some thirty minutes later, the clerk managed to find a workaround and get our room. By this time, one of my comrades had purchased a packet of chips from a vending machine, only to have the cruel hand of fate intervene by ensuring the prize got stuck in the machine. Between six of us and some twenty minutes, we achieved a brilliant engineering feat and finally freed the captive from the jaws of the vending machine. Two liberating victories under our belts, it was onto the memorial circuit to visit the famous reflecting pool and Washington’s myriad monuments and memorials.

After a brief dinner interlude at the fine Qdoba institution, we called it a day after one final attraction, the White House. Nothing interesting had happened up until this point, but something had to give. Of the memorable moments in DC, first place would have to go to the antics of a certain Frenchman who had the urge to purge his renal system by-product one evening and figured what better place to do so than through a fence – into the gardens of the White House. In itself the act would have rated a 7, but for the fact that an off-duty Federal Police Officer witnessed the misdemeanour from afar and walks up to confront the Frenchman:

Cop: “Did I just see you doing what I think you did?”
Frenchman: “No”
Cop: “I’ll ask you again…”
Frenchman: “No, I was just pretending for the camera” …(awkward silence follows)
Cop: “…I think its time for you to leave” (severe tone)

After walking a safe distance away, we were laughing and poking fun at him. He then delivers these ingots of verbal bullion: “What? I try to make funny stuff and she not appreciate it,” and “I did it for my country.” 10 – gold.

The next day encompassed more roving about and sightseeing, with the standout performers being the National Air and Space Museum, The Smithsonian Institution and revisiting the Washington Monument by night (above). In a true display of the long arms of commercialisation, the National Air and Space Museum housed a futuristic McDonalds with a dozen or so supermarket checkout-style lanes, serving wondrous fat-laden ‘food’ *Dr. Evil ‘Death Star’ hand gesture* at equally futuristic prices in the vicinity of A$10 for a Big Mac meal.

One of the tragic paradoxes of Washington is that it holds itself out to be a clean and forward-thinking modern citadel; however it fails those that fate has dealt a bad hand considerably. There were countless homeless people on the streets, a jaded looking Coprolalic woman muttering obscenities in the McDonalds we stopped by, and another that looked like death sitting on a park bench asking for food. I’m not normally a fan of polarising statements, but whilst I give accolades to the United States for its financial, commercial and technological achievements, it would appear that the humanistic domains of Welfare, Health and Education often take a back seat to excessive focus on fighting wars and exerting econo-politcal duress. Oftentimes, the perception is that it almost seems to turn blind eye. The mindset is illustrated beautifully by these words I saw painted on the tailgate of a truck that evening.

Returning from DC after nightfall, the highly-connected Frenchies already had word of an Ultraviolet party happening on campus, so we hung out for a while then headed out to said party. Nothing conspicuous as we walked in – two floors of college kids in various stages of inebriation, a group of males playing ‘beer pong’ and, naturally, inadequately attired females in their cliques on the UV-illuminated ‘dance floor’. Pretty normal picture to me.

As the night wore on, things got more interesting. No, not because of the lewd and amusing luminous taglines being written on flesh with highlighters, but for (1) increased levels of intoxication leading to false macho bravado, and (2) the distinctive scent of Eau de Cannabis. The short of it was that one fellow made a quip about kissing a girl to the girl’s ex-boyfriend. Ensuing, all hell broke loose and there was quite a vicious altercation between the two, punches being thrown, blood drawn and a table broken. Psychiatric principle had a better than even probability on there being an emotional young lady crying in the bathroom. Surely enough as I walk in there is quiet sobbing. I offer her some tissues and counsel out of politeness – the former were accepted.

Analytics – Emotional Underdevelopment

Though I am by no means adequately qualified nor experienced to properly substantiate the claim that follows, I will make it nonetheless. Young people are, in general, emotionally ill-equipped and therefore incapable of maintaining psychologically stable relationships. The transitory phases between infancy and adulthood, otherwise known as childhood and adolescence have contracted markedly due to a morally reprehensible society. In the course of the past few days I have seen heavily made up girls and a gang of boys with tattoos and piercings travelling unaccompanied on trains – all no older than fourteen.

How does this relate to the college party brawl? Well, the artificial acceleration of the interceding formative stages results in emotional underdevelopment, skewed perceptions and attitudes toward affection, love, relationships and morality, lack of psychological control and naivety. So instead of shrugging of a childish coarse remark as any mature person would, the subject (like the fellow at the party) reverts to violence – the common animalistic reaction when one perceives being threatened by competition.

A more complex adaptation of this theory on emotional underdevelopment underlies my hesitance at pursuing a relationship at present. Economically, it makes little sense to devote resources toward such a difficult objective – from experience it is not easy to find a woman of around twenty who has her head screwed on (relatively) straight, and more importantly understands how the dynamics of a good, balanced relationship should work and be mature about it. Ideally, she’d also have to appreciate my taste in music, but that’s wishful thinking. It’s like Hall & Oates said: “I can’t go for that.”

Week 14 (November 27^th – December 3^rd)

December had come, classes and coursework were coming to an end, and final exams were looming over the horizon. This was very much a week of the odd (read: late night walks photographing anything interesting chanced upon and driving around Philadelphia for no particular reason at 2am). One such instance, out photographing one evening, I was unexpectedly invited into the Psi Upsilon fraternity, aptly nicknamed ‘the castle’ for its grey stone exterior and old-money sophistication: leather, chandeliers, dark wood panelling and the token taxidermy head above the fireplace – categorically one of the most charismatic buildings on Campus.

Another such evening as it were, I was browsing a community classifieds site for a travel companion, end up getting sidetracked and, of course, my curiosity leads me to the personals section. Scrolling down, a plethora of contrived seductive and shallow titles, until one catches my attention: “I must be retarded.” Though not seeking a relationship, I was intrigued. Feeling daring at the time, a tongue-in-cheek response to the ad is promptly penned.

The following morning I received a reply with an IM address, and that evening I signed on out of curiosity. It would have been about midnight when we started chatting. By 3am we were talking self-actualisation over eggs, toast and home fries at a 24-hour diner somewhere in the vicinity of Rittenhouse square. Whilst I wouldn’t say having random in-depth conversations with people I don’t even know gets me out of bed in the morning, it is definitely something that will keep me out of bed until 7am. Such interactions are what makes life interesting (for me at least) so a big thank-you to my spontaneous comrade for her engaging conversation and out-of-box thinking.

Week 15 (December 4^th – December 10^th)

Harnwell had a New York trip on this Saturday, and though I’d been four times already, hey, it was New York. Unfortunately the mode of transportation left a lot to be desired, $5 return gets you a seat on a stereotypical, old yellow school bus with legroom fit for a ten year old – a driver by the name of ‘Otto’ would have been the finishing touch.

Arriving in the Museum district on Fifth avenue, I made a mental note of major attractions still to be visited, but ended up straying off the beaten track. New York is an absorbing city not only for its size and myriad attractions, but for its characters. Madison Square Park was the first destination, the location of the famous Shake Shack, plugged as having the best burgers in New York. Alas it was closed so I took the opportunity to engage in random photography. One of the characters I saw was the man in the photo below. He was sitting in the cold on a park bench, feeding the squirrels and smiling. It never ceases to catch my attention when I come across people like these, for in New York especially, a city wearing blinkers, a city at the mercy of the clock, a city that never stops – a person who exists outside that mindset is an anomaly very seldom seen.

Continuing my aimless saunter, I came across New York’s Grand Lodge, stronghold of Freemasons, the original secret society often referenced in popular culture such as in the Da Vinci Code. The building is the most opulent structure I encountered in the States, and even the photo below does not do it justice. Marble, mahogany, gold leaf abound, giving the foyer a near palatial aura. Perhaps I’ll seek out a membership to the order if I can identify with a critical mass of points in their belief system.

Feeling adventurous, I went and caught the G subway down to Bedford Avenue in Queens and finally saw some of the New York culture I was looking for. Like an eclectic ghetto, with dark graffiti-covered streets (below), a long strip of small shops and restaurants with huge variety of cuisines, and artsy retro and vintage boutiques hidden amongst warehouses and commercial sites. I ventured into a few, and found they were full of not only interesting pieces, but also people – quite literally hives for non-conformist demographic groups.

I spotted a brightly lit yellow shopfront amidst a street of houses and found San Loco, a folk-hero inspired Mexican restaurant and acquired tacos from the crazy house adorned with paintings of a wrestling-type character that resembled a masked Nacho Libre. Before catching the G back for the return bus to Penn, I was fortunate enough to stumble upon New York Muffins, a tiny coffee shop with standing room for perhaps a dozen – which served sublime coffee at half Starbuck’s going rate.

Week 16 (December 11^th – December 17^th)

Needing a distraction from academic drudgery one afternoon, I navigated the odd ten blocks down to Penn’s ice skating rink where OIP had organised an afternoon on the ice for the international students. Admittedly, it was more fun than I had anticipated, having never skated before, but it would have been even more fun watching yours truly attempt to skate and occasionally spinning out. Amusingly, I also got a few pointers from a professional who’d been teaching 35 years – the embodiment and character of ‘Chubbs’ from Happy Gilmore (below), only skating, not golf.

Following ice skating, I traipsed back to Huntsman Hall (below) on foot to ‘experience’ Winter Whartonland. Get over some of the spectacles witnessed I cannot. Firstly there was the feverish competition between teams of Whartonite freshmen, building…wait for it…Gingerbread houses. Second was the twenty deep queue that was rushing a few tables on the forum level. When I ventured closer, the table attendants were giving away free (naturally Wharton-branded) scarves. That’s right folks, a crowd of students, each of whom pays US $40,000 p.a. in fees – waiting in line for half an hour, jostling like rowdy schoolchildren: to get a $10 scarf. It’s equally as sadistic as scrambling to collect one hundred wumpa fruit in Crash Bandicoot for a one-up when you’re on 99 lives already – stooges.

Saturday, the opportune time for slapdash behaviour. There was nothing happening on campus, so I figured I’d set out to wander the streets of Philadelphia. First was a stopover at Reading Terminal Market for lunch. On my way in I can hear the distinct echo of enthusiastic Afro-American slang. Sure enough there was a crazy guy loudly greeting random people “wassup G” and performing various victory/psyc howls. Its times like these that compel me to carry a camera. My taking the shot below elicits a manically happy and incredulous cry: “sh……t, you got me man.” Kudos to Mr. Fat Tuesday for his unusual antics brightening up people’s days; and while I’m dishing out kudos, also to the Amish pork stall for their implausibly fine “boneless rib sandwich” which was a taste to be reckoned with.

The next idea to surface was a spot of photography at Love Park (JFK Plaza, below). Peculiarly, I saw a woman peeking out from behind a wall surreptitiously as if playing hide and seek – ever curious I approached her to ask why. Turns out she was waiting for her son to come by with his girlfriend, and he was planning on proposing to here in front of the ‘love’ sculpture (pictured below) and she (the mother) wanted to take a photo of the moment. Luck had it that I was carrying my bag of tricks around, so I offered to covertly film from afar and send her the video over the web.

So I stood there, DV in hand and filmed: they approached with the fellow looking very nervous, stopped in front of the sculpture and looked vacantly around as if admiring the sights. He then kisses her on the cheek, takes her hand, gets down on one knee, pulls out the box and proposes. She looks momentarily stunned, they embrace, both smiling from ear to ear. If only one could make a career out of being in the right place at the right time to capture moments like these for people – it would be one of the most worthwhile jobs conceivable.

Content with the day’s random act of kindness, I went down to see my homeboy at ‘Shirt Corner Plus’ on 2nd and Market Streets to pimp my wardrobe. You really have to go there to appreciate this shop, but I’ll attempt to describe as best I can. It’s a men’s boutique with racks of suits in out-there colours, thirties style three-pieces and all manner of overcoats, and their wardrobe consultant is a ‘cool’ fellow who is the character and embodiment of Eddie Murphy, only wearing glasses and a foot shorter – damn that guy is funny. Any self-respecting gentleman looking for classic wardrobe additions should be sure to drop by, the service is impeccable and selection enormous. The author left with a cream knee-length overcoat to match the cream Fedora just purchased from ‘Shirt Corner Plus’ across the road. Fo’ Shizzle.

Week 17 (December 18^th – December 21^st)

Being the final few days, it was high time for doing something crazy. For yours truly this constitutes hiring a BMW, going on a late night road trip with a few of the boys and returning said BMW at 6am on a Monday morning. The ride is booked, I catch the trolley up to Union Square and the valet has the silver 2006 325i sitting there quietly idling.

After an hour or so driving the machine about, it’s easy to understand why the marque holds its reputation for engineering brilliance. Remarkable handling prowess, smooth gear changes, swift acceleration from the six-cylinder’s 160Kw, the slightly metallic grunt of said engine when pushed, and a general seamless composure/ride that could only come from BMW. Subsequent to the test drive, I head back to Penn to pick up Geng, Gilles and Nick, two of our French ‘brothers.’ The passengers are hungry so we cruise around Central Philadelphia for some time, windows down, rap blaring, quite possibly borne from a surreptitious desire to be ‘Quantum Negros.’

Failing to find both provisions and parking in the city, we hit the interstate and, half an hour later, end up at a McDonald’s somewhere in Jersey. Roughly an hour of greasy McD’s and parking lot shenanigans (lets just say the German handled impressively under pressure) later, the silver 325i began its run back to Philadelphia.

En route we decided to stop at the Philadelphia Museum of Art (as featured in Rocky) to take some photos. By chance there are some self-labelled “stupid Americans” at the top of the Museum’s grandiose stairs, who proceeded to back their rental car (a not-too-cheap Mazda 6 MPS) down said stairs, just for late night kicks – creating the painful sound of undercarriage grinding against stone. Chance also had it that I had my new DV camcorder at hand, and so, courtesy of YouTube, there is now an action video of their tomfoolery below.

The last day saw a final exam in Social Psychology – which was completed in a entirely detached frame of mind. I walked out of the building with the strange sensation you get when you know you’re experiencing a turning point: I’d just technically graduated and ruled the psychological ledger on the academic stage of my development, sixteen years after it began. I was now charged with the task of finding a niche in society, an anti-pursuit that will be interesting to say the least.

Around 1am on departure day I got a knock on the door from none other than Emma – who gave me a lovely card and the secret recipe to her sticky date pudding: something which is almost, but not quite as sweet as she is. I’m horrible for rambling when it comes to these rare people, but feel compelled to say that if just one percent of people were as thoughtful as she, the world would really be that much better a place – keep spreading that wonderful smile!

After that much welcomed distraction, I at last was able to zip up my bags in finality – a bittersweet moment. Content to have home just over the hill after the most remarkable 114 days of my life, yet regretting what I’d be leaving behind – a rich environment for a different kind of learning, for experiencing life and some of the most brilliant personalities I have ever encountered. A semester was truly not enough but c’est la vie. To all those I haven’t mentioned in this piece – though words on occasion elude me, memories indefinitely remain.

Epilogue

Now sitting at my desk on a Summer’s evening in Melbourne, some 10,284 miles away, reflecting insofar as life experience goes: the preceding three years doesn’t so much as hold a candle to those three months on exchange. The people I’ve met, the experiences I’ve had, the sights I’ve seen – have been nothing short of mind-blowing. Looking back, one of the key impetuses for going on exchange was to test the upper boundary of psychological tolerance to change. Having never left the shores of Australia before, 20 weeks abroad was a challenging proposition. Needless to say, though I took no more care deciding to go on exchange than I would putting an extra spoon of sugar in my tea, I can say in retrospect that the whimsical decision paid off.

On that note, an enormous heartfelt thank-you to everyone who was part of the experience and the adventure – from each of you I have learned something unique and it has been an immeasurable pleasure trekking alongside you on life’s road, however briefly. I wish each of you all the best in your lives, whichever paths you choose to pursue and hope that our paths will indeed cross again someday.

Fittingly, I will end with a quote by Benjamin Franklin:

He that would live in peace and at ease, must not speak all he knows, nor judge all he sees. (1736)

P. X. Waterstone

~Fin
 

~ by X on February 7, 2007.