ithacation

It was getting to be so obnoxious that I would have to leave the room in the middle of class to hack up a lung. This lingering cough of mine wasn’t showing any signs of disappearing, so I stopped by Gannett Health Services on Friday after my last class got out. Not only was the building surprisingly crowded, but the first two people to enter my waiting room after I had arrived turned out to be two fellow editors from the Daily Sun. The image of the three of us sitting, mask-over-face, squinting into the late afternoon sunlight in the waiting room, was partly entertaining but mostly just a reminder that it was November, a month in which final assignments start piling up and sleep deprivation is on the rise. We Sun editors had been warned about this earlier in the semester, when swine flu filled more headlines than it does now. The last thing we need is for a significant chunk of the editorial board to get some flu-like illness at the same time (although we could probably put out the paper from our respective beds using nothing but Google Docs, Gmail/GChat, and Google Wave).

The situation was worse than I anticipated when I arrived for our weekly editorial board meeting on Sunday and found the room surprisingly empty; even our fearless leader was bedridden. Those of us who were there were either a) hacking up a lung (count me in), or b) desperately trying not to get sick by whatever means possible (turtleneck over mouth, etc.). I boldly claimed at the meeting that I was “only congested”, yet, about six hours later, just after I got home from my evening at the office, I came down with a fever. Monday was spent in bed, and I unfortunately missed out on what ended up being an epic photo shoot for this Friday’s winter sports supplement in the paper. By Tuesday I was fever-free and rejoined my hacking and sniffling peers on campus. Now we have a little less than a week ’til Thanksgiving break (my first in two years), which promises everything from an intense hockey game to a high school reunion this year; should be a nice respite as it always is.

Today, wearing only one layer of clothing (ONE LAYER! ON NOVEMBER 9TH! IN ITHACA!), I made my way to Gannett Health Services, Cornell’s center for everything health-related, for a travel clinic appointment in anticipation of my trip to India in January with IARD 6020. Having traveled to various parts of tropical Latin America before, I’m no stranger to getting a shot here or taking some pills there to ward off malaria or something of the sort.

But what I was met with today was an extensive list of the health risks that face me upon arrival in India. For example, the mosquitoes that transmit malaria only are around from dusk to dawn, BUT their counterparts that carry other diseases for which there are no pre-exposure pills or shots happen to be flying around from dawn ’til dusk, ensuring that the visitor is constantly surrounded by tiny airborne menaces. Of course, everything in the world of travel medicine errs on the side of extreme caution and assuming I take the correct precautions, I should return to Cornell in one piece (as IARD 6020 students have for years) for the spring semester. That said, this list of health risks was matched by an equally impressive list of shots and pills that I should be taking: 4 shots and 2 sets of pills!

My arm might be a bit sore now after getting three of those shots today, but hey, I got the seasonal flu vaccine and the H1N1 vaccine without having to wait in an epically long line, PLUS the added bonus of inching towards immortality.

Last week as I headed back to collegetown from class on North campus, I decided to take a bit (read: 1.5 hours worth) of a detour. Instead of taking the direct route down East Avenue to the engineering quad, I wove my way around Beebe Lake and through some hidden parts of central campus (even central campus has its secrets, I’ve recently discovered). Armed with my camera, my goal was to document the autumnal scenery along my route, since this is sadly my last fall at Cornell. The pictures that follow document the trek. All photos are linked to their individual flickr pages.

Last weekend was Cornell’s annual trustee weekend, during which the board of trustees and lots of VIP alumni return to campus to learn about what’s going on and to make decisions about the University’s future. One of those trustees was trustee emeritus H. Fisk Johnson, current chairman and CEO of S.C. Johnson (”a family company”), and notably one of two people in Cornell’s history to receive five degrees from the University. That’s some serious loyalty to your alma mater.

While Fisk was in town, he gave a talk on global consumption trends and screened a film produced by his family and his company about ten years ago. While I wanted to attend both events, a class got in the way of his consumption talk, so I made it a point to attend the film screening. The movie, Carnaúba: A Son’s Memoir dealt with Fisk’s father, Samuel C. Johnson, who decided in the 1990s to retrace his father’s footsteps; Herbert F. Johnson, Sam’s father and Fisk’s grandfather, had taken a trip to Brazil in 1935 in search of a sustainable source of Carnaúba wax, which was the main ingredient in the company’s wax products. The Carnaúba Palm was found in the northern parts of Brazil, and during his trip down there, Herbert Johnson set up research and production facilities along with schools for local populations in Recife.

I was immediately drawn to the film after reading the two-line description in a Daily Sun ad earlier in the week; here was a movie that dealt with so many of my interests: aviation, travel, Brazil, agriculture, Cornell, and the list went on. Entering Bailey Hall, I noticed that very few (maybe five at most) students had shown up for this screening. I was surrounded by Cornell administrators, trustees, and VIP alumni, and I was expecting something along the lines of a glorified, lengthened advertisement for S.C. Johnson. Sure, it definitely painted the company in a positive light, but the underlying theme of the importance of connections between parents and their children, paralleled by beautiful cinematography and an incredible story of adventure, all combined to produce a surprisingly striking production that left many in the audience teary-eyed by the time the lights came back on.

I had the opportunity to speak briefly with Fisk following the screening and I took the opportunity to explain how I could connect with the film on so many different levels; my experiences and observations in the Amazonian state of Pará played a significant role in my decision to study International Agriculture & Rural Development at Cornell. Fisk gave me a copy of the DVD to share with my friends and family, and I plan on doing just that; my rave reviews have generated some interest among those I know, and not just those who are fascinated by things like reconstructing a Sikorsky floatplane from the 1930s and flying it to Brazil.

If you ever come across the film or have the opportunity to view it, I highly recommend it. It’s a great story of family, adventure, discovery, and legacy.

For fall break last week, I headed north of the border with a fellow Sun editor to visit a friend from home who goes to school in Montréal. While I had visited her a couple of times before, I’ve always visited at the beginning of January when her spring semester is just starting and the mercury refuses to budge above 15F. Visiting during a more comfortable time of the year allowed us to explore the city for once, not to mention experience the autumn scenery on the six hour drive. And, since I was definitely not alone in my choice of fall break destination, I met up with three other Cornellians at a pub in Montréal, continuing the trend of the world being full of Cornellians wherever I happen to be (Shanghai, the Caribbean, JFK airport, etc.).

Fall break always seems to come at the point when your sleep schedule has been squeezed into the strangest hours, when exhaustion from piles of prelims and papers makes every day pass increasingly slowly, and when the idea of a change of scene is very welcome. While it was strange not heading home to Connecticut for fall break, the two extra days off were still exactly what I needed: a relaxing distraction. On Monday (Columbus Day in the US and Canadian Thanksgiving up north), I accomplished absolutely nothing besides procuring some Montréal bagels for my apartment; accomplishing nothing after weeks of tackling a seemingly infinite to-do list is a wonderful, wonderful feeling.

Upon my return to Ithaca, I was, of course, met with the consequences of my inactivity: a wall of work (some that I knew about, some that seemed to appear from nowhere) that made the short week seem painfully long. Also adding to that stress was the fact that it snowed on Wednesday. Not cool. Now I’m back into the swing of things, trying to tear down the post-it notes on the wall behind my computer as quickly as I put them up. At least it’s not snowing anymore.

As I pulled myself out of bed at the all-too-early hour of 9:30 yesterday morning (c’mon…it WAS a Monday…and my roommates and I were inexplicably glued to the TV for a late-night showing of Titanic on Sunday night…), parts of my arms and back were unusually sore. What could I have possibly done yesterday? I was at the Sun most of Sunday night, but putting out a newspaper doesn’t exactly qualify as strenuous physical activity. After my short term memory stopped failing me, I remembered: Phi-Tug.

Phi-Tug is a philanthropic event put on every year by Phi Kappa Tau fraternity that puts all-male, all-female, and co-ed teams against each other with the ultimate goal of determining a campus tug-of-war champion in each of the three divisions, all while raising money for Hole in the Wall Camps. As a freshman, I had seen the event happening, but this year was my first as an active participant. A bunch of friends from around campus came together to form a team we called “The Humble Tuggers”.

We took on such formidable foes as the choir, a sorority that decided to make a co-ed team, and other random groups from around campus. The all-male and all-female divisions consisted mostly of teams from fraternities and sororities, respectively. One major exception was the hilarious yet intimidating team fielded by the varsity wrestling team, which, not surprisingly, took the trophy in the all-male division. At one point, the six wrestlers even beat a team of twelve guys. I’m glad they weren’t in our division, because we ended up taking the trophy home in the co-ed division. By the end of the competition, the quad was a bit muddier than when we had arrived, but Cornell had determined its 2009-2010 tug-of-war champions. (Our strategy? On the count of three, all pulling together in an attempt to destabilize the opponent; it worked almost every time.)

And so began and ended my career of garnering ‘athletic’ accolades at a Division I school.

I was wearing shorts last week, if I recall correctly. Ithaca was still basking in the seemingly endless sunshine that, in a normal year, would have ceased to exist after orientation week (or so it always seems…).

Then came this week. The mercury plummeted and the skies turned grey; we won’t be making it out of the 40s today, and the wind chill is in the mid 30s. Maybe not so coincidentally, this week marked the unofficial start of prelim season. Every professor on campus feels the need to get at least one major test or assignment in during the couple of weeks leading up to our long Columbus Day weekend. Seats will become harder to come by in the library, partially because nobody wants to play frisbee on the arts quad when it’s 37 and drizzling. Soon enough, though, we’ll have a long weekend to recharge. Judging from what I’ve heard from my fellow Daily Sun editors, I wouldn’t be surprised to run into friends on the streets of Montréal in a couple of weekends.

Ask any Cornell student their favorite, secluded spot on campus and they’ll take no longer than a couple of seconds coming up with an answer. When I arrived on campus, I was confronted with the unexpected yet pleasant reality that I would run into people I knew nearly everywhere I went. This was great for social life, but sitting down in Olin Library’s Libe Café to get some work done has never yielded more than two minutes of concentration. It’s guaranteed that at least two fellow Daily Sun staffers or editors (Sunnies) will be seated nearby; in the blink of an eye, all of us will be talking and none of us will be working. This can be a problem, and that’s where the niche comes in.

My sophomore year, I discovered the perfect spot. Located in the basement of Warren Hall, conveniently two doors down from my advisor’s office, the Alfalfa Room was one of the few cafés on campus where there was always an available seat — a far cry from the hustle and bustle of Libe Cafe. I could escape to this consistently overheated corner of campus to eat, drink, and be merry studious. The staff there was always friendly and the room, while modernized to a degree, still had an old poster in the wall showing the Ag Quad from above — about 50 years ago.

Returning to my niche once classes started up again this semester, I was shocked to encounter locked doors, and through those doors was not a vibrant cafe but a new storage area for excess office furniture. While I’m sure the Alfalfa Room’s closing has to do with university-wide budget cuts and upcoming plans to renovate Warren Hall, I felt lost. I’m still feeling out new spots on campus, but the one that felt like home is now relegated to the history books — if there are history books about obscure Cornell Dining facilities, that is.

H1N1 has been a hot topic on campus since last April, but with the tragic death of junior Warren Schor last Friday, the nation’s eyes were turned on our campus as a prime example of how the flu is affecting colleges across the country. Freshmen who only recently discovered where their classes are held are being confronted with yet another stressful element to add to the already taxing transition to college life: a pandemic.

The response can be seen everywhere. Gallons of hand sanitizer are strategically positioned at every conceivable nook and cranny on campus. Cornell is branding small bottles of hand sanitizer with the University’s logo and distributing them to students living in on-campus housing. Today’s career fair in Barton Hall was a handshake-free event (see inset photo). Cornell’s infamous, massive sleepover for season hockey tickets has been called off. The list goes on.

While the fear of becoming seriously ill is definitely present in everyone’s mind, the real concern among most students seems to be fear of missing so much class. How will I ever catch up after being bed-ridden for a week? Those in-class quizzes, essays, readings, discussions are sure to add up. There are plenty of students circulating themselves on campus for that reason; they’re probably better off in bed, but they can’t stand to get so far behind. My professors have been somewhat understanding of students’ illness, but the reality is that most of the class is still showing up and there’s material that needs to be covered. It’s sometimes difficult to strike a balance, but in the interests of your fellow students, I ask that the swined-out zombies hacking up a lung on campus take a while to recover at home.

At the offices of the Daily Sun, staffers and editors are under strict orders to keep away if they show even the first signs of swine flu. If the entire editorial board were to become sick all at once, putting out a daily paper would be quite a herculean task. That’s why the top drawer of the photo department’s desk is now home to some heavy duty antibacterial wipes.

Here’s to hoping it doesn’t get much worse.

[Photo: Mark H. Anbinder]

Returning to the US last December after a semester in South America, I felt comfortable with my ability to converse in Spanish. I listened to podcasts and read the news in Spanish to retain as much as possible as I went through a semester and summer with little practice and no Spanish classes.

Now, for the 2009 fall semester, enter Portuguese.

I’d been to Brazil for ten days in high school and had found that if I added a funky accent to my Spanish vocabulary, I could get by well enough such that people could kind of understand what I was trying to say. Reading was no problem, but when it came to comprehending the words coming out of a native speaker’s mouth (and actually correctly pronouncing the language), I was lost.

Come the first class of PORT 2090 two Thursdays ago, I had minimally prepared myself by a) occasionally listening to the weekly BBC Brasil news podcast in Portuguese and b) having remembered to bring my Lonely Planet Brazilian Portuguese phrase book up to Ithaca. Our first several 75 minute classes have been devoted entirely to the pronunciation of vowels, diphthongs, and some consonants. Easy enough, I assumed, as someone who’s developed a decent Spanish accent.

But no. The sounds that letters and combinations thereof can make is mind-boggling. Our class of 18 has about half native English speakers and half native Spanish speakers, yet both parties seem to encounter some issues when trying to correctly distinguish between an a, an â, an ã, and an á. Add to that the fact that a simple change in accent mark on one letter can change the entire meaning of a word, and you have a recipe for confusion. That’s why we’ve spent four classes so far covering the basics, without even touching on the most basic of vocabulary. For example, the whole concept of nasalization (or, in Portuguese, nasalização) is new to all of us and requires the use of parts of the nose, mouth, and throat that English and Spanish have never dared to make sounds with.

My goal for the end of the year in this (year-long) course is to be able to return to Brazil one day and encounter many fewer furrowed brows.