Halfway through. I was only halfway through my semester abroad in Paris when I was told to get back to the United States as quickly as possible, as cases of the coronavirus slowly began to increase daily by the tens and then by the hundreds in France.

I come from a pretty flat state, so mountains are new to me. And my inclination whenever I encounter a new thing is to seek to understand what I’m looking at and how I feel, but mountains make that impossible. 

When I was in middle school, my bedroom was decorated in a Parisian theme. Eiffel towers were thrown all over my room and pink was splattered everywhere. I suppose I was intrigued by the foreignness of a culture I’d never experienced and by the words I didn’t understand. I dreamed of the day I would get to go to Europe and see it all myself. As I grew older and graduated from the pink Parisian room, I hung a large world map on my wall. I pinned all of the places that I had been in green and all of the places I wished to see in red.

I’m going to write about a topic that is not at all new right now and one that is honestly getting a little old: the coronavirus. I, for one, totally expect at least 4 new emails or news notifications regarding the newest border closure or social/travel restriction every day. I’m tired of hearing about it, but still feel the need to discuss it as it still seems completely extraordinary and impossible even after all this time.

On Sunday, March 8^th, I went to my favorite bookstore in the neighborhood called Observatory. As I was walking into OBZ Books, I noticed an ice cream stand wedged in the alley between the bookstore and the restaurant next door. This stand caught my attention not only due to its location but also due to the man behind the counter. He was not pushy or aggressive, not annoying or obnoxious, like a lot of the street vendors in Cape Town.

Due to everything rapidly changing with the Coronavirus, these posts will now be a little condensed into the next couple days. I know a lot of what we’re currently going through in Chile is very specific to this particular moment in history, but I think it’s worth it for future study abroad students to know the history of where they’re about to go.

A few members of my family came to visit me this past week. While we have had many interesting and amazing experiences, one in particular stands out. One morning we woke up at 0430 and hiked to the Lion’s Head peak for sunrise. Although it was a little cold, the hike was great and featured several spectacular views. The most interesting part of the hike took place on a flat part of the trail near the summit that was exposed to very strong winds.

Last week, Michelle, a friend from my American college, and I joined a group of South Africans on their weekly Sunday morning hike. We were invited to the group by a woman whom we had met on the trails of Table Mountain. The group hikes on a new trail every Sunday morning. When we showed up at the entrance to the Houte Bay Pipe Track, we were greeted by a group of middle-aged (and older) individuals. Our immediate reaction was one of disappointment.

Not too long ago, I was at the most southern point of the African continent: the Cape of Agulhas. The sun sat high in the sky, the rocks jutted violently out of the sea, the water crashed noisily into the shore. Following the compulsory group picture at the plaque indicating the significance of the location, I walked along the beach looking for shells, rocks, and the like. Not only do these items make great gifts and keepsakes, but they also help satisfy my curiosity about life on different parts of planet Earth.

I’m sitting in Terminal 4 of JFK Airport. After a 5-hour delay on my flight out of Dublin, I have finally made it to New York, only to find that my connecting flight to Detroit has been cancelled, and I have been rebooked for a flight tomorrow at 6 a.m.