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Learn a lot from the locals

In The Art of Travel, 2. Communicating, Sydney by Falynn

My father was born and raised in Levin, New Zealand. My father’s accent and way with words is something I don’t notice anymore. However, it becomes evident when friends meet my dad for the first time and I see the surprised and perplexed look on their faces. Even though we’re all speaking the same language, my friends can obviously pick …

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Not All Coffee is Created Equal

In The Art of Travel, 2. Communicating, Sydney by Flurin

I encountered my first minor communication struggle when I wanted a taste of my favorite and possibly the most ubiquitously consumed drug on the planet: coffee. I was shocked to learn that the barista did not know what an ‘americano’ is, so after a few seconds of gathering myself in order to switch out of autopilot, I almost condescendingly explained …

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I Am Dumb in Spanish

In The Art of Travel, 2. Communicating, Buenos Aires by Kiana

There is one way I feel that I can accurately describe my experience thus far with the language barrier. It’s a Monday morning in Spanish class, and I’m explaining the spread of neoliberalism in post World War II Latin American nations. One hour later, I’m in a nail salon, and all I’m able to spit out is “hola….. nails..?” It’s …

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Fak jó!

In The Art of Travel, 2. Communicating, Prague by Vivian

Fak jó! or f*** you! That is the question. (… or statement.) Did you know that in Czech “fak jó” (pronounced exactly the same as a rather explicit English statement) means “really” in English? Now you might respond, “fak jó”? And to respond to that, yes, it really does. All jokes aside though, as much fun it is to live …

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Nerozumím česky

In The Art of Travel, 2. Communicating, Prague by Maria Alejandra

Yesterday I went on an NYU sponsored trip to Czech Switzerland National Park, a majestic forest filled with unbelievable views that make you feel as if you are in Narnia. (Indeed, some of the shots in the Narnia film series were filmed in this park–my inner child practically skipped up the hill with absolute joy…to the frustration of my legs …

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The Space Between Our Words

In The Art of Travel, 2. Communicating, Prague by Alice

Languages are such cunning crafts of culture. They weave into your life and become invisible, discreet. They fuse into your life in ways that you can’t really understand until you leave them and take rest on a foreign shore. One can never really know how much one takes for granted until the sounds and symbols of an unfamiliar place robs …

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“Lost in translation”

In The Art of Travel, 2. Communicating, Paris by Howard

English is not my first language. I have been studying English inconsistently for almost 12 years now and I can finally say that I obtain this widely used language. French? The only two words I knew after this whole summer without practicing are “Bonjour” and “Merci”. I knew “ca va” too, but it would not be smart to say that …

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G’day Mate

In The Art of Travel, 2. Communicating, Sydney by Nicolas

Learning how to handle expectations can be an extremely difficult, and at times, disorienting task. Whether you’re experiencing a different cuisine, trying out a new product you just purchased, or judging the value of an alternative service you just received, regardless of the outcome, it’s easy to fall victim to feelings of dissatisfaction and regret. Yet, often when you are …

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Sono di… Florence?

In The Art of Travel, 2. Communicating, Florence by Isabel

I’m a liar. A bad one, but a liar nonetheless. No, I don’t lie on my taxes. I only lie when it’s necessary. The best example I can think of, and the one that has happened more than once, is when dealing with creepy people. Take last night. I was at Babylon, a dance club in Florence. I was dancing …

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Thank you, little girl

In The Art of Travel, 2. Communicating, Shanghai by Rachel

Briefly tutored by a Chinese-American friend, I knew approximately two Chinese phrases before arriving in Shanghai: xiè xiè, meaning ‘thank you,’ and xiǎo mèi, which roughly means ‘little girl.’ Whenever I’d do something stupid, my friends would shake their heads at me while calling me xiǎo mèi. Somehow, it never crossed my mind that getting around in Shanghai with only …