September 11, 2002

About two minutes. That’s how long my introduction to the Centre-in-Strasbourg program lasted.

A stiff handlebar to the posterior and an icy glare from a perturbed Strasbourger flew in the face of comforting words from Profs. Bradshaw and Reigelman regarding a smooth landing in the Old World. There I was, the wide-eyed touriste admiring a block of picturesque Alsacian architecture, not unlike the average Centre student sauntering from Cowan Dining Commons to the post office on a nice fall day. Before I could say “Pierre,” I caught a Schwinn in the seat and was tossed from the demarcated bike path I had so foolishly entered. I felt like I had dragged my Radio Flyer onto the Tour de France. No, Benjamin, we aren’t in Danville anymore.

The bicycle incident was my first lesson in European living, and more were soon to follow. The good thing about the notorious (and overexaggerated) rudeness of the French is that the locals quickly let us interlopers know what is and is not acceptable in their culture. The entire Centre delegation parading 24 strong down a small pedestrian thoroughfare, acting as if we were both the float and the band, turned out not to be the best way to assimilate. Mumbling flagrantly broken French to a waitress or store clerk, however, proved to be quite alright, as very bad French is received much more favorably than even the simplest and best English.