Page 9 The Lance
A Letter from
"The Travellers"
By Jennifer Hitch
Contributing
Above the Croft door is a sign that reads, “ St. Andrews at Brun-
nenburg. It reminds us that we are still, as Neal Bushoven likes to put it,
“in college. It reminds us that Bill and Martha will grade our Freud papers,
that we d better get to work on our Argo projects for Sizzo, and that Mary
is still waiting for the day when we all can recite the lines from Dante.
Sometimes it’s easy to forget.
It s especially easy to forget when you are half way around the world.
And we have been. Between the 14 of us we have been to Innsbruck, the
Italian Rivera, Florence, Veiona, Bologna, Sienna, Ferrara, Morocco, the
Alps, London, Greece, Geneva, Pisa, Venice, Rome, and Pompeii. That’s
a lot of hours on trains and ferries. That’s a lot of hours to discover what you
are made of.
Each Brunnenburg group develops its own personality. Mary has
dubbed us “The Travellers.” That makes it difficult to describe our time
here. Ask any prior or present Brunnenburger why she or he chose the
semster here and you will inevitably hear, “for the typical Brunnenburg
experience.” It doesn’t exist. But then again, that’s notreally what we mean.
What we mean is personal. The Brunnenburg experience is all about
persons. It is about placing a person in a foreign environment, without the
conveniences of familiarity, and challenging that person intellectually,
physically, and culturally. It is about taking a diverse group of people and
finding out what it takes to build a functioning community. It is about going
back to the origins whether they be of poetry, agroarchaeology, philosophy,
or psychology. Pound says that we must always go back to the source. Brun
nenburg is definitely a source.
Because our time here has been so well-travelled, it makes it almost
impossible to characterize it in one article. I could describe our nights
around the campfires trying to remember the words to “Homeward Bound,”
or our fighting over the last of Bt iggite’s cooking, or our conversations at
Sunday tea with Mary. But what tells the story better are the individual
voices. Only Amy can tell you about her adoptive grandparents. Only Mar
garet can tell you about driving through Medina. Only part of us can tell you
about Opus 1. It is these personal stories that we have shared with each other
that have added to the knowledge, humor, and history of our Brunnenburg
experience. And it is these sloiies tliat we can’t wait to share with you.
And you would be happy for the smell of that place
And never tired of being there, either alone
Or accompanied.
EP Cantos XX
February 14,1991
Cultures
in Collision
By Kim Hallin and
Margaret Rada
Contributing
Stepping off the ferry onto the
African continent, two naive yet
curious American women eager to
have a totally different Fall Break
experience, we recognized that all
of our expectations would soon be
exceeded. As Jamey Donaldson,
John Cox, and the two of us began
walking toward Tangier, the wami
air was filled with a rich combina
tion of stenches - leather, lamb,
hash, excrement. Foreign voices
attacked from every direction,
commanding us, inviting us, threat
ening us, tempting us. We were
allowed no time to stop and collect
ourselves, but quickly hustled along
by the momentum of those around
us. The donkey cart taxis, camel-
ridden beaches, guides de touriste
offieciel (all named Mohammed),
and bombardment of Arabic and
French overwhelmed, yet whetted
our appetites for the adventure to
come.
As two free-thinking, strong-
willed women, we were frustrated
by our lack of independence in
Morocco. Physical threats toward
women are a reality that cannot be
ignored in this country, and any
urges to venture out too far on our
own had to be stifled. Although we
were grateful for the security John
and Jamey provided, as well as
their sensitivity to our position, the
subordinate role was trying. We
were willing to make the sacrifice
however, in order to safely experi
ence as many aspects of Moroccan
culture as possible.
We were first aware that our
undeniable femininity would pre
vent us froin escaping treatment as
objects within minutes of our arri
val. This reahzation hit when John
was approached and indiscretely
offered4,000camels for “the lovely
American ladies. ” Fortunately John
had previously travelled in Arab
countries aijid knew how to tact
fully refuse. He later found an offer
of 40,000 camels and two carpet
shops in Ourazazate considerably
more tempting. Much to Margaret’s
dismay, John displayed an interest
to the shopkeeper, insisting on proof
of the camel’s existence! When it
became obvious that such proof
could not be produced, John be
grudgingly left the shop with Mar
garet in tow.
Experiences such as these are
just a few of the many examples of
ways in which we had to adapt to a
very different role as females.
Adjusting our clothing so that we
did not expose too much of our
bodies (i.e. no shorts), being a com
plete minority in small, desert towns
where women did not play roles
- visible to outsiders, and having to
completely ignore stares, whistles,
and comments (that were usually
more than enough to provoke a re
sponse) were other necessary ame
liorations and behavior (we real
ized they were primarily threats
issued by people with a different
conception of sexuality and gender
roles), there was a sense of viola
tion of the freedom and personal
rights to which we are accustomed.
Playing word games and sing
ing off-key Eagles as we toured the
country in our cramped, rental
Renault 4, running over an old
Muslim woman in the Medina of
Marrakesh (ask Margaret for de
tails!), bread, cheese, and water
interspersed with mint tea and
Tangene, all combine as integral
components of this venture. Though
the bombardment of our senses and
specific individual experiences will
long remain in each of our minds.
The most unforgettable aspect of
the journey has to be the personal
insight we gained about the roles of
women in different societies. Real
izing that our own culture is far
from perfect, never again will we
be able to take for granted the free
dom and opportunity we experi
ence as American women. Morocco
was indeed a different - yet stimu
lating, challenging, and educational
Fall Break Experience.
A History Lesson from Berlin
By Jennifer Hitch
Contributing
October 5,1990; two days after
German Reunification, I found
myself sitting in an Irish pub talk
ing with American soldiers about
the changes in Berlin. They were
all ready to tell me how the Ameri
can troops repeatedly beat the
French at war games, and how the
British troops always ended up
fighting with the locals. But that
really wasn’t what I was after. I
wanted to know what it was like to
see history change before your eyes.
Mark, a psychology graduate from
Michigan University, had been
living in Berlin for the past year and
he had seen all the stages in the re
moval of the wall. You would think
that they would’ve been celebrat
ing at the wall. Instead, on October
4th, there was fighting and looting
and tear gas at the Brandenburg
Gate. The picture Mark painted was
a sad one: The East Berliners flood
ing into the West with a loss of
pride and the West Berliners all
snarling at their new visitors who
crowded their streets and threat
ened their jobs. “There’s not much
for us to do anymore,” he said. “We
used to have a toy city where we
practiced manuevers, you know.
We’d get out the guns, attack the U-
bahn. Then the Russians would get
out their guns and we’d sit and stare
at each other. We’d talk sometimes.
Now the govemment has sold our
city to make housing for the East
Berliners.”
The next day I walked with Kim
Hallin and Diane Healy to the Bran
denburg Gate. We walked past the
merchant and over to where the
Wall used to stand. Suddenly it
struck me as being real. A year ago
I had sat in Winston-Salem main
lounge listening to a lecture spon
sored by the History Club on the
possibilities of a German Reunifi
cation. Then, I had received it as
interesting speculation. And now, I
was walking across a field where
the barrier used to stand. I was in
the unified Germany. I had watched
history come to pass. I thought of
the millions of attempts at crossing
that line. For me, it was all so terri
bly easy. As we crossed over into
the back streets of East Berlin we
saw the contrast from the bright
lights of the West. The walls were
riddled with bullet holes. There was
a flag folded in the shape of a hung
soldier in protest. There was the
Haus am Check Point Charlie, the
museum that houses the stories of
those people on both sides of the
Wall. The stories were heart-break-
ing. For me, it was a timely lesson.
It reminded me that we are never as
isolated as we think. We are all the
benefactors of history,
lin. They were all ready to tell me
how the American troops repeat
edly beat the French at war games,
and how the British troops always
ended up fighting with the locals.
But that really wasn’t what I was
after. I wanted to know what it was
like to see history change before
your eyes. Mark, a psychology
graduate from Michigan Univer
sity, had been living in Berlin for
the past year and he had seen all the
stages in the removal of the wall.
You would think that they would ’ ve
been celebrating at the wall. In
stead, on October 4th, there was
fighting and looting and tear gas at
the Brandenburg Gate. The picture
Mark painted was a sad one: The
East Berliners flooding into the
West with a loss of pride and the
West Berliners all snarling at their
new visitors who crowded their
streets and threatened their jobs.
“There’s not much for us to do any
more,” he said. “We used to have a
toy city where we practiced man
uevers, you know. We’d get out the
guns, attack the U-bahn. Then the
Russians would get out their guns
and we’d sit and stare at each other.
We’d talk sometimes. Now the gov
emment has sold our city to make
housing for the East Berliners.”
The next day I walked with Kim
Hallin and Diane Healy to the Bran-
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