Study abroad can happen anywhere you might travel

I can be an envious person.

I envy those people who have fat pockets, sweet cars and were… I can be an envious person.

I envy those people who have fat pockets, sweet cars and were never mistaken for a boy during their adolescent years. In the last few years, however, I have really envied people who get to travel.

The last two summers I watched as my roommates flitted off around the world – one to Italy, one to Australia, two to Italy again, one to France. While one was sky diving over the Great Barrier Reef, I was serving sandwiches at Primanti’s, saving up to pay my tuition and making daily trips to the grocery store to buy Lactaid to sustain my pregnant sister.

How amazing it must be to study abroad – to have a support system in a foreign country, but to also have the thrill of independence and self-discovery. When my roommates would call, I could hear the excitement in their voices even across the ocean and the thousands of miles that separated us. As my senior year rapidly approached, I resigned myself to the realization that I wouldn’t get the chance to leave the country before I graduated.

When my best guy friend, Mike, called and asked if I wanted to vacation in the Bahamas this past summer, I thought there was no way I could afford it – until he told me he was going to pay. Count me in! My bags were packed a month in advance.

OK, OK, I know the Bahamas are close enough to the U.S. that I could probably build a bamboo raft and float back if I needed to, but let a girl dream.

To top it off, we were staying on one of those all-inclusive resorts, so although I didn’t expect the full cultural experience of immersion in another country, I still had my journal in tow, prepared to catch every tidbit of interesting adventure. Here was my chance to study abroad.

Pretty close to the last minute, the others who were joining us backed out, leaving just Mike and me. Upon arrival at the resort, everyone immediately assumed we were newlyweds. I think we really confused them when we looked at each other, shook our heads and said, “No way.”

And it started out as the typical beachy resort vacation: lounging in the sand, floating in the clear blue water, soaking up the sun, sipping fruity frozen drinks. Taken at face value, it was simply setting up to be a dream vacation – until one of the entertainers pulled me out of a lounge chair and forced me to be his partner for the merengue lesson he was giving by the pool.

I was horrified. I always avoided Latin dances because I can’t exactly shake it like Shakira – apparently my hips do lie. But I went with it, and by the end of the lesson, I had the steps mastered. The instructor was a young German named Stefan who resembled Antonio Banderas more so than a European. He made me promise to dance with him at the disco that night.

After dinner and the cliched evening show, Mike and I headed to the disco where Stefan introduced us to the rest of the entertainment staff. At the resort, it is their job to keep the guests involved and feeling welcome, but having lost the friends we were originally coming with, we were desperate to hang out with some fun people who were our age.

Thankfully, they welcomed us into their diverse group, and we shut the disco down and headed to the other side of the resort – the staff quarters. Being that “Dirty Dancing” is perhaps my favorite movie of all time, this was nearly a dream come true. But I was stunned to see how different their side of the resort was from ours.

They were crammed into rooms, and as the week went on, they revealed to us that they were forced to be on the resort from 8 a.m. until 1 a.m. for six days out of the week. Their pay didn’t even add up to minimum wage.

Each night, Mike and I sat in a circle with this group of amazing people. Many were from Italy, two from Germany, one from Poland, two from England, one from France, three from Mexico – all fluent in at least four languages. In the U.S., we barely have to be fluent in one language to get a decent paying job.

I learned about each of their cultures, their families, their values. I saw what they thought about the typical “lazy American tourist” and I also saw how Mike and I helped to change their perspectives. I will remember those nights more than how picturesque the beach was with its unlimited cocktails. I’ll remember Stefan taking me around the island, and the night the power went out on the resort and we sat with the staff by candlelight and without air conditioning.

I actually cried when Mike and I left. I realized how much more than just a tan the week had given me. I realized you don’t have to go halfway around the world, or even that far away from home, to find a rich, meaningful cultural experience. Studying abroad is all in the eyes of the beholder.

Swap travel stories with Jessica. E-mail her at jrp14@pitt.edu.