The man next to me on the train had engrossed himself in newspaper articles, (or pretended to,) and I watched the boy on the seat across from me restlessly rub his eyes and close them again, trying to sleep. His effort was, of course, futile, as I knew for a fact that no one in our vicinity on the train could fall asleep with the cheerful noise the other students from my group were making. They didn’t realize how loud they were, of course, or that their occasional bursts of laughter startled even me, but as I hadn’t noticed any signs of deep annoyance displayed blatantly across the faces of those near me in the train car, I decided it wasn’t necessary yet for me to walk down the aisle and hint to my fellow students that perhaps they aught to mute themselves a bit.
We were a group of students from Georgia State in Atlanta studying in Switzerland for maymester, and we were on our way to Geneva. I was the only one in the program who was not an applied linguistics student; I study English and art, and I was there for the simple fact that I find Switzerland stunning. Last summer when studying in Madrid, a couple girlfriends and I took a weekend off to visit Switzerland, and I was utterly enchanted. I remember writing a postcard in Lausanne to my parents, swearing that the next place I’d study abroad would be Switzerland. I was kidding, of course, but now I thumb through the freshly printed pictures from the trip, pictures of my Swiss home, faces of new friends, of the verdant scenery - I returned, even if just for a month. I was there.
This trip, however, was decidedly different from the last one I took to Switzerland. I’d signed myself up for a lot of work in a course I didn’t need just so I could come back. I’d lived with a host family for three weeks, started to become a member of the family, and connected with them so thoroughly I’m embarrassed to admit I feel tears in the back of my throat whenever I read a new email from them. I’d traveled alone this time, saw some stunning scenery and experienced some amazing things on my own, things I can’t really share with anyone else. And then there’s the group I came with - they were a puzzle to me from the very beginning. A puzzle I needed to solve if I wanted to be one of them.
This trip, however, was decidedly different from the last one I took to Switzerland. I’d signed myself up for a lot of work in a course I didn’t need just so I could come back. I’d lived with a host family for three weeks, started to become a member of the family, and connected with them so thoroughly I’m embarrassed to admit I feel tears in the back of my throat whenever I read a new email from them. I’d traveled alone this time, saw some stunning scenery and experienced some amazing things on my own, things I can’t really share with anyone else. And then there’s the group I came with - they were a puzzle to me from the very beginning. A puzzle I needed to solve if I wanted to be one of them.
Enter ethnography project. Each student must pick a microculture to study. These projects will involve observation time and individual interviews. Ethnography is all about studying a culture and trying to understand it by learning how to be a part of it. I knew I’d be studying the students in my group anyway, whether or not I made it official. I made up my mind. “All right guys, hehe, um, who wants to be interviewed?”
