Lake Isikli in Denizli Province, Turkey.

The fish is fresh from the lake, the vegetables fresh from the garden, the cheese fresh from the goats. Mustafa and I are preparing dinner in his home in the small town of Civril, Turkey. We have spent the day at the beautiful Lake Isikli and its surrounding villages. We hiked to waterfalls; we talked with fisherman; we hunted down shepherds (for the cheese). An exquisite day untouched by the flashes of other tourists. I feel as those I am the only American to have ever walked these trails.

I met Mustafa, a 26-year-old social worker, through Couch Surfing – a social networking and hospitality exchange website – while trying to find a host in Istanbul. My request generated an unheard of 300+ responses (a testament to Turkish hospitality), including one from Mustafa. His generosity, welcoming nature, and proximity to Pamukkale – a geologist’s playground – sold me. I decided to take a break from the crowds of Istanbul to see another side of Turkey.

Carbonate terraces in Pamukkale.

Mustafa and his roommate, Ramazan, share a two-bedroom house outside of Civril with no neighbors in sight. Vegetables grow in the garden; almonds can be picked from the trees; mountains emerge on the horizon. While my time in Istanbul was incredible – particularly due to the generosity of my host, Dogus University, and Istanbul Traffic Control – it was equally intense. I find respite here. I am incredibly grateful to Mustafa and Ramazan for their invitation.

Unfortunately, Ramazan was unable to join our adventures around the lake, and I have yet to get to know him. He works six days a week as an agricultural engineer. Tomorrow (Sunday) is his day off. Tonight, he will get home in time for dinner, and we will get a chance to talk. Sort of. Ramazan does not speak English. He has never left Turkey. He has never met an American… until today.

The vegetables have been chopped, the salad is prepared, and the fish is ready to cook. The front doorbell rings. It’s only Ramazan – he is just letting us know he has arrived. Mustafa goes to the door to greet him. I linger in the kitchen. The front door opens; Turkish banter wafts through the hall. They come to the kitchen.

Ramazan and I introduce ourselves and sit down at the kitchen table with Mustafa in between us. The fish is cooking. Our simple introductions have exhausted our shared vocabulary. He knows I am a traveling American; I know he is an agricultural engineer. He turns to Mustafa and says something in Turkish. Mustafa turns to me. He would like to ask you some questions. Is that okay?

I nod and smile, not quite knowing what will come my way.

The questions begin, and they won’t soon desist.

…Why did Bush invade Iraq?
…Why are American presidents so aggressive towards other nations?
…Why does the US get involved in the affairs of other nations?
…How would Romney differ from Obama in international affairs?
…How do Americans perceive Islam?
…Why would it matter if Obama was a Muslim?

Each question comes to me through Mustafa, each answer goes back through him to Ramazan. And then comes another question.

I feel the weight of my words. Their importance far exceeds that of any I have written for an exam or spoken in a class debate. There, my words determined my grade; at this kitchen table, my words determine a perception of a nation. To these two young men, I am representing the United States of America. I have become an ambassador by default.

While the intensity of this conversation is a first, the situation itself is not. I have found myself in similar (though diluted) dialogues in every place I have visited. New friends, acquaintances, or hosts inevitably ask me about American politics – usually centered on health care or the election. The frequency of these topics necessitates a focused effort to avoid recorder responses.

As a traveler, I am trying to immerse myself, to experience life in another way, to begin to understand other cultures. Yet, I also bring my own cultural identity. I represent my town, my university, my nation. In accepting this fellowship, I have inadvertently accepted the role of representing Saint Louis, Vanderbilt, and the United States.

The question-and-answer session has lasted almost an hour. The fish has long been ready. I take a sip of water as my last answer is translated. I try to read Ramazan’s face for his approval (or disapproval). Like all the rest, his response is imperceptible. He says something in Turkish.

Mustafa turns to me; I brace myself for the next question. He likes your answers.

I smile.
He smiles.
We break bread.

The small Volvo is wrapped tightly in billows of cloud. We cannot see more than a few feet ahead. I look to my right out the window. I have a feeling I am probably staring at a sheer drop, yet I can’t even see the edge of the road. I am happy to be in the passenger seat. My Swiss host has grown up on these roads and seems relatively nonplussed by the zero visibility. We continue ahead, turning corner after corner as we make our way up the mountain switchbacks, intermittently swerving quickly to the right at the approach of two dim headlights. At one point, we have a close encounter with an entitled cow trotting up the middle of the road. She stares us down before eventually taking a slow step to the side.

We are beginning to regret our decision to take the theoretically scenic overpass back towards Zurich. Felix gestures out the window as we pass by a small parking lot. That is usually a very beautiful view. I nod my head and try to imagine what it would look like. It is hard to convince myself there are mountains behind this curtain of cloud. We are about to reach the top of the overpass. Suddenly, a streak of light breaks through. We can see 10 feet in front of us, then 15, then 20. We have broken free. I swivel around to look behind us. I am met by the grandeur of the Swiss Alps. We have ascended above the clouds.

For the next half hour, Felix and I sip coffee at a café conveniently located atop the overpass. Our conversation wanes as we each drift into thought. As we sit, the clouds rise and fall. In one moment, we have a gorgeous view of the Alps and the blanket of white below. The next, we are enveloped by the midst. With only one more day left in Switzerland – one more day in the truly Western world – I find myself reflecting on the past week and a half.

In Switzerland, everything is perfectly organized. Trains arrive at 13:17 on the dot, every time. Missed connections do not exist. For the past ten days, I have easily hopped from city to city, tram to tram, bus to bus. Planning was nonexistent. The freedom of extensive public transportation allowed for impulsive decisions, some of which led to time spent with various friends from Vanderbilt.

Though I was using a tourist-only Swiss Pass for my travel, which included all forms of inter- and intra-city transport, tickets for locals are not too different. In Zurich, each tram, bus and information board is stamped with the words ein ticket fur alles. One ticket allows for full usage of the incredibly integrated urban transit system – bus to tram to boat. Every part of the city is accessible, provided one can afford the ticket. The Swiss system is incredible. Incredible and expensive. Though the distribution of wealth is much more uniform than in the US, there are still discrepancies. The high cost of transportation, can lead to inequities of access – the one and only caveat of Swiss transportation. This aside, the Swiss have perfected the simplicity of integrated transit.

Tomorrow I will leave the ease and clarity of Switzerland, the ease and clarity of the Western world. Time to descend into the fog.

Felix and I get back into the car. We drive on. Everything goes white.

It’s midnight in Paris, and I am slumped against the wall of an apartment building stairwell. I try to stay awake enough to hear the front door of the building open. When it does, I pop up, walking up or down the stairs as though I have a purpose. I don’t want the residents to be alarmed by the homeless American loitering in the hallway.

My eyelids flutter. My body is ready for sleep – the hours of walking have hit me suddenly. Without the excitement of the city, my energy level plummets. As I yearn for sleep, I am reminded that I am lucky simply to be inside the building.

About an hour and a half earlier, I was happily wandering the streets of Paris, lost in the lights, the people, the activity. I had come from a Democrats Abroad in France meeting. The nominated delegates from this group of American ex-pats shared their experiences at the Democratic Convention, reflecting on the speeches, the atmosphere and the outlook of the coming Presidential election. I was grateful for updates on politics back home, particularly as each European I meet seems eager for information on the subject. While I was at the meeting, my Parisian host went out to dinner with friends. He is supposed to text or call when he is headed back to the apartment – at this point, I am to do the same.

I reach for my phone and turn it on. In about ten minutes, the battery level drops from low to dangerously low. I spend the next 30 minutes turning the phone off and on again to check for messages, trying to conserve as much life as possible. Nothing. Just as I am texting Nicolas to ask when I should meet him, my phone dies. I see no reason to panic. I will simply take the metro to his apartment at a time when I am sure he will be back from dinner. As I realize the caveat to this plan, my heart begins to race.

Every Parisian apartment building requires a code to get into the front door of the building. Once you are inside, you can buzz up to whomever you are visiting. I have stored Nicolas’ code in my phone – the phone that has now lost all power. I take a hard swallow. I must reach the building before he does and wait outside for him, else I will be utterly unable to reach him. I run to the metro and jump on the first train.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to picture the small keypad outside Nicolas’ home. I reach for the St. Christopher’s medallion around my neck – patron saint of travelers. Suddenly, my lips form four numbers. I can only hope that these are the numbers that will keep me off the streets for the night. I spend the rest of the train ride repeating them to myself.

The French voice on the loudspeaker announces my stop. I step onto the platform and walk towards the exit, all the while hoping I will see Nicolas ahead of me. He is not there. I walk the two blocks to the apartment, open the keypad, and slowly punch in the numbers. A wonderful green light signals that I have indeed remembered the correct code. My body relaxes, and I push open the door. I have a home for the night.

Keep to the left. Keep to the left. This becomes my personal mantra as I take to the streets of London. For merely a pound ($1.60), I have 24-hour access to the Barclay’s Cycle Hire, the London bike share program. If my rentals stay under a half hour, this will be my only fee. I slide my debit card, receive my number, pick a bike, and start the 30-minute timer on my watch. London is mine to explore.

Barclays bicycle.

The bike share system suits my needs perfectly. I am able to easily find a return stand within the half hour on each trip. If I have yet to reach my final destination, I simply return my current bike, check out another, and restart my free 30 minutes. In this way, I spend the day covering much more of the city than would be possible by foot at a cost much less than the London Underground (Tube). My day’s adventures would have consisted of at least 6 separate rides on the Tube. At the cheapest (i.e. non-peak hours), this would cost 12 pounds in total. I suddenly feel much more inclined to treat myself to a Bulmers Cider at the pub.

At the same time, biking London streets is not for the lighthearted. At one point, I find myself surrounded on three sides by double-decker buses – a peninsula sure to fluster the unfamiliar or inexperienced cyclist. Here, confidence is key. Biking these streets is akin to those in New York City. While bike lanes exist, they are inconsistent and frequented by impediments – illegally parked vehicles, reckless drivers, and missing links. While providing a significant adrenaline rush, this cycling ultimately makes me yearn for the protection of a Danish cycle track.

Luckily for those intimidated by cycling in such a fierce environment, London provides plenty of other options, all managed by one umbrella organization. Transport for London (TfL) is responsible for the planning, delivery, and day-to-day operation of London’s public transport system. It manages London’s buses, London Underground, the Docklands Light Railway, London Overground, London Tramlink, London River Services, Victoria Coach Station, the Emirates Air Line, London Transport Museum, London’s Congestion Charging scheme, 580km network of main roads, 6,000 traffic lights, taxi and private hire regulations, and the Barclays Cycle Hire. Every day, around 24 million journeys are made on the TfL network.

As if this was not already an overwhelming task for one overseeing organization, TfL had to then prepare and facilitate transport during the 2012 Olympics. In preparation for the Games, around £6.5bn was invested to upgrade transport links to increase capacity and improve services. Olympic spectators created up to an extra three million journeys each day. Transport for London handled this additional load with astounding success – success that took Londoners by surprise. The impending Games had conjured feelings of coming doom for locals – unending traffic jams, deadlocked roads, buses brimming with people, trains overflowing. Miraculously, this was not the case.

Every spectator to the Olympics was encouraged to use public transport, cycle, or walk. I arrived in London at 7:30 am on Sunday, September 9 – the day of the Paraolympics Closing Ceremony. I staggered off my overnight coach from Edinburgh into Victoria Station.  Minutes later, three friendly – almost overly friendly for my drowsy state – employees of Transport for London greeted me. Good morning, miss! You know, you look a little bit tired today. Can we help you? Where are you trying to go? I was soon outfitted with precise directions to my friend’s apartment, a full map of London, a booklet explaining the time and location of all Olympic-related events, information on public transit, and an additional map designed to encourage walking and cycling from Victoria Station. On this map, concentric circles designated areas within a 5-, 10-, 15- and 20-minute walk with similar concentric circles for cycling distances.

London map.

As impressed as I was by these maps, I would soon find them almost completely unnecessary. Nearly every corner of the city had city maps – both a full-city map as well as a localized map of your current location. These localized maps provided the same concentric circles designating transit times for walking and cycling. Each version of the map included your specific location and orientation (an arrow pointing in the direction you currently faced). With these stands so accessible, I found fewer and fewer reasons to pull out my own personal map.

Transport for London, I commend you. You successfully made one of the largest cities in the world easy to navigate for thousands upon thousands of Olympic spectators. Even though you only allotted a brief 20 minutes to meet with me, I will forgive this oversight as it was in the wake of your Olympic exhaustion. While most believe the fireworks on my first night in London celebrated the 2012 Olympic athletes, I would like to suggest they also celebrated your success (…as well as my arrival to the city). A job well done.

Cheers to you, TfL, the silent victors of the 2012 Olympic Games. [Now, please, protected cycle tracks.]

“We cannot continue to deceive ourselves thinking that to paint a little line on a road is a bike way. A bicycle way that is not safe for an 8-year old is not a bicycle way.” — Enrique Peñalosa, former mayor of Bogotá.

I follow Chris up the stairs, relieved that I didn’t have to make a request to do so. I will never understand why anyone would choose the first level of a double decker bus. We sit on the left side of the aisle. I’m in the window seat. I turn my body to face Chris as she tells me the story of the Edinburgh trams. Two young couples are sitting on the right side of the aisle, directly behind Chris in my line of vision. It becomes increasingly difficult to concentrate on the story as it becomes increasingly clear why these couples have chosen the second level. They are taking full advantage of this “private” public space… Luckily, I find good reason to look away as Chris gestures out the window.

We are navigating through construction, again and again, as we try to make it out of New Town in Edinburgh and towards Tranent, the hometown of my wonderful hosts in Scotland – Chris and Malcolm. Torn down the middle, the streets are being prepared for the addition of a tram network. Had this project gone according to plan, I would be riding the tram two years into existence. As it stands now, the suturing of the pavement has been pushed back to an unknown future date, leaving the innards exposed in this otherwise gorgeous city. The beauty of the adjacent Georgian row houses is certainly tainted when juxtaposed to the orange construction equipment, metal fences, and upturned soil.

The bus lurches around the corner. Unused to riding at this higher elevation, I fear we will tip. I quickly turn to look out the window, half expecting to see the ground rising up to meet us. My eyes meet the landscape. I cannot remember my last thought – I have come face to face with the rugged coast of Scotland. The sun breaks through the clouds, the water glistens, my heart warms. Glaciers have kissed this land, carving out a craggy oasis. I become lost in the beauty through the remainder of the 45-minute ride.

We turn landward and come to a stop. I am reluctant to get off the bus. A short walk brings us to the doorstep of Chris’ house where her husband, Malcolm, meets us. Over a cuppa, Malcolm and Chris continue to explain the tram project. Frustration coats every word. They both questioned the project from the beginning, not understanding why Edinburgh needed trams given the reliability, efficiency, and breadth of the bus system. The timeline of the project has only heightened this distrust, proving to them the stupidity of the idea. I ask why it was ever started. Their mouths open… and close again. Silence. Then Chris says, “Manchester.” Malcolm agrees, “Yeah, they wanted to be like Manchester.”

Just that morning, I had traveled by coach from Manchester after spending a couple of wonderful days visiting family. To catch my 9 am Megabus, I rode the tram from one end of a line to the city center. The tram was efficient, very well used, and particularly livened by the excited chatter of uniformed children returning to school for the first day of fall term. This system has been successful within the context of Manchester. What works in one city cannot necessarily translate to another.

I soon learn that Malcolm and Chris are certainly not alone in their tram evaluation. This word has become synonymous with government inefficiency on the streets of Edinburgh. I would suggest avoiding the subject altogether.  Not taking my own advice, I continue to press for more information on the project. Professor Eric Laurier from the University of Edinburgh provided some background information over our lunch meeting.

The tram idea was birthed in attempt to connect the city center of Edinburgh and the airport by public transit. While commendable in purpose, Professor Laurier believes the easy solution was overlooked in lieu of the grand. The current rail system runs just past the airport and into the city center. A simple link between the two (rail and airport) could have avoided the massive construction efforts necessitated by the tram.

Donald, my guide to the Scottish highlands and co-owner of the Hairy Coo Tour Company, continues the story.  Not only is the project behind schedule but it has also doubled in price yet shortened in track length. Businesses located along the construction have suffered. Getting to a shop just on the other side of the street can require walking multiple blocks out of the way and then looping back to it. I myself couldn’t be bothered to make the extra effort to visit a store that initially peeked my interest. These are the costs of expanding transportation, but what if the new network was never needed?

Donald is a man brimming with Scottish pride. He speaks of now-US Open champion Andy Murray as a son. He can remember every detail of Scottish history with perfect clarity. His tours operate on a “tips only” basis – he wants people of all budgets to experience the Scotland he loves. Yet, he sees this choice of the government to be very misguided. The Lothian bus system – the main provider in the city of Edinburgh – is regarded as the best, and most extensive, in the United Kingdom. It allows access to every part of the city as well as the surrounding suburbs and towns. With such a great system already in place, why expand in such a costly manner?

When I found out how far away my hosts lived from the City Center of Edinburgh, I was a bit disappointed. I thought the commute would be a hassle, taking time away from my precious few days in the city. I was pleasantly surprised to see it become a favorite part of my visit. The ease, and beauty, of the journey transformed a “means to an end” into an experience in and of itself. The Lothian buses serve the people of Edinburgh perfectly. In this context, it is hard to imagine a prospering tram, unless it comes at the cost of the bus system. I don’t know which scenario is worse.

I leave Scotland first and foremost with a newfound love. I fell head over heels for the warmth of the people, the charm of the city, and the beauty of the land. I also leave with an adjusted view on transit expansion. More isn’t always better. Yes, light rail is sexy. But it’s potential in a city must be carefully analyzed before introduction. Its success in a neighboring region is simply not enough to validate the costs.

Globalization can lead to wonderful shared innovation, but it can also rob cities of their individuality. We must be careful to perceive and preserve this uniqueness. Edinburgh deserves to be more than a shadow of Manchester.  It deserves a transit solution designed specifically for its own needs and limitations. Maybe the tram will prove to be exactly this; maybe Lothian buses were already enough.

A few miles into biking the C99, Denmark's first cycling superhighway, from Copenhagen to Albertslund.

New York Times. National Public Radio. Huffington Post. All have recently reported on one of the latest Danish cycling projects: Cycling Superhighways. The first of 26, dubbed the C99, opened last April to connect the town of Albertslund to Copenhagen (22 km). Two more will open this fall. This project necessitated collaboration between the Capitol region of Denmark and 18 municipalities – an impressive organizational feat in and of itself. With all the publicity in the US, the Superhighway became a must-see (or must-ride) on my Copenhagen itinerary.

The goal of the superhighways is to provide an easy route between outlying suburbs and the Copenhagen City Center – a way to promote cycling for those that have a longer commute to work or school. 48% of Copenhagen cyclists say that the main reason they choose the bicycle is that it’s the fastest and easiest way to get around. As such, the focus for increasing trips to work and school by bicycle – currently at 36% and higher than cars, public transit, or walking – is to continue to make travel times competitive with other forms of transportation. When commuting distances are longer, travel time becomes even more important. Too many brief stops, detours, and stretches where overtaking is impossible make travel times much longer. Hence, the need for the development of “superhighways.”

Biking the C99 was quite a pleasure, allowing me to experience the project for myself as well as visit new areas of Greater Copenhagen. However, it was not something entirely new. Rather than paving a new “freeway” for cyclists, the project rests on improved integration of existing tracks, with the addition of some necessary connectors, and implementation of new technologies such as Intelligent Traffic System, Green Wave, and detecting groups of cyclists and prioritizing them at intersections. Green Wave technology times lights so cyclists biking at an average speed will not have to stop. Intelligent Traffic System transforms the street from being static to dynamic by using LED light in the asphalt to signal which transport form has priority and when. For example, cycle tracks can be widened into the sidewalk during rush hour to accommodate increased bikers. In total, the project is holistic in nature, even incorporating partnerships with companies to improve facilities for employees choosing to bike to work.

Footrests and handrails along the superhighway.

The superhighways are a perfect example of Denmark’s three pronged approach to promoting cycling, as described to me by Secretariat of the Cycling Embassy of Denmark, Mai-Britt Kristenson: infrastructure, campaigns, and appreciation. According to the Embassy, one cannot establish a cycling culture without a combination of the three. Firstly, the infrastructure allows cycling to become a viable option. Secondly, campaigns like the Danish Bike to School and Bike to Work promote and inform residents about cycling in Copenhagen. And thirdly, small additions like footrests and handrails – allowing cyclists to stay mounted on bikes while waiting for the light to change – are a way to say “thank you for cycling,” sending the message that cyclists are part of a group that matters.

The superhighways are just one way that Denmark, and Copenhagen in particular, is working to establish itself as the leader in urban cycling. While cycling policies should be created unique to a region and city, Copenhagen and Denmark can provide inspiration to other policymakers. In fact, cities such as Chicago, San Francisco and Portland have all visited Copenhagen this summer for such inspiration. While I am often blinded by the huge lead countries like Denmark have in cycling, Mai-Britt reminded me of the unique role for the US. As the iconic car-centric nation, our transition to biking can be extremely powerful to other car-centric counties. If the United States can become bike-friendly, any country can. We can become a leader in our own right.

“Cycling is not a goal in itself but rather a highly prioritized political tool for creating a more livable city.” –Ayfer Baykal, Mayor of Technical and Environmental Administration, Copenhagen

For more information about cycling in Copenhagen, please visit www.kk.dk/cityofcyclists

The gravel crunches under my tires, and I’m careful not to lose traction. With the almost-full moon breaking from the clouds, I can just barely make out the path in front of me. My eyes adjust. Fog rises from the tall grasses to my right; a fenced pasture to my left. I’m beginning to remember. Horses graze there during the day. The old bicycle I have borrowed becomes a metronome, click click clicking with every passing second. It is just after 1 am, and I am trying to make my way home. Lasse – the best friend of my Danish host brother – has pointed me in the direction of a short cut, a short cut I have taken a year and a half earlier, and one I hope I can remember.

This is Copenhagen – an oasis for cyclists. In one moment, I am navigating through buildings and streets. The next, I have slipped into a covered forest, transported to a Danish countryside, with only the sounds of my own bicycle. I will come out at a metro stop, concert hall, and beautiful (read expensive) waterfront condominiums. The integration of cycle tracks, bicycle lanes, and greenways is impeccable. Not to mention the driverless metro, buses, S-tog, and regional trains – all of which will readily accept your bicycle as an additional passenger, without extra charge.

I have returned to Denmark after over a year’s absence. In some ways, my time away was only a blink. I immediately feel at home with my host family. We pick up our same patterns, jokes, and activities – afternoon coffee, hours of beach volleyball, bike rides along the shore, Danish garden parties. It has all been wonderful.

Yet, at the same time, Denmark has lost its newness. It has become a home, a home that I love but that no longer holds the same adventure. When I arrived for the first time, I was infatuated by the novelty of this Scandinavian nation, one so different than my home. Everyday brought fresh experiences. Now these experiences are rich in associations. As I bike across town, I am hit by memories rather than awe. While equally good, these are not at all the same. These memories are sweet, savory and comforting. I yearn for the zest of the unfamiliar.

I am reminded why I have chosen this year of travel – for the adventure, the challenge, the growth. At times I fantasized about simply moving back to Denmark; I am now reassured in my decision to do otherwise. While I now revel in time with people I love and a place I love, I simultaneously itch for the adventures to come. I am ready to trade the ease of familiarity for the discomfort, and fruit, of the unexplored.

Last Friday, my team presented our project to the SISE panel of judges. Having been assigned corporate responsibility, we developed a unique labeling system for Kellogg Company products hinged on a future of transparency between consumer and corporation with regards to environmental impact. As one of our teammates had significant experience in graphic design, the finished prototype was quite polished. Using life cycle assessment of Kellogg’s Corn Flakes, we identified key areas for improvement and recommended specific technologies.

Unfortunately, we placed second. While generally a satisfactory outcome, second place felt a bit disappointing, as it was a prize in name only while the first place team received $1000 for each member. The things I could have done with that money! Oh well. The winning team was quite impressive (electric cars and DOD partnership). Additionally, the SISE program is encouraging (and supposedly helping) us to present our idea to Kellogg’s, believing it to have great potential and marketability. While I may not be able to directly partake in this effort, I believe my teammates are interested in forwarding the project.

After the competition, I packed my belongings and checked out of University of Illinois at Chicago. Much to the amusement of my friends and chagrin of the hostess, I proceeded to bring my packed bag to a restaurant to celebrate the birthday of Grace Burnworth with Lonyae Thomas and Grace Suh. It was a wonderful Vanderbilt reunion. After dinner and good-byes, I met up with my mother, who was anxious to spend one last night with me before I left the US. In the morning, I would go to DC.

I have now been “on the road” for just over one week. A week from yesterday, on August 8, I boarded the Megabus from Saint Louis to Chicago. This ordinary trip – one I have done various times for weekends away and visiting friends – has become the first leg to a most unordinary year.

I am in Chicago as one of about 70 students, mostly graduate, from across the country participating in the University of Illinois at Chicago Summer Institute on Energy and Sustainability (SISE). Partner institutions include University of Chicago, Northwestern, Argonne National Laboratory and Clean Energy Trust. The mission of the Institute is to educate future decision makers on energy and sustainability through interdisciplinary lectures – thus providing an overview of the technical challenges and potential solutions, the economic and social barriers to implementation, the policy and planning needed to implement sustainable energy and the entrepreneurship that will deliver innovative energy technologies.

This experience has provided the unique opportunity to interact with intelligent students from many different backgrounds while learning from experts of many different backgrounds. It has been incredibly informative, intellectually stimulating, and EXHAUSTING. In addition to our daily programming, we have been split into 14 different research groups. Within these groups, we are designing innovative approaches to one of four assigned projects – materials, aviation biofuels, corporate responsibility, and electric cars – that include policy, technology, and entrepreneurial components. As we meet each day until at least 6 pm, this research has been conducted into, and beyond, the evening hours, leaving little time for full recuperation. The presentations of our projects tomorrow in front of our peers, mentors, and a panel of judges will serve as the conclusion to the 10-day program.

When I leave Chicago on Saturday for Washington, DC, I will have inherited a wealth of information from SISE surrounding issues of sustainability and energy. I will have met many current experts in these fields, as well as many future experts in the form of my fellow participants. I will have been pushed to develop solutions to extraordinarily large problems in a very small window of time.

Most importantly, I will leave with a firm belief in the need for interdisciplinary approaches to global challenges. Even within my small research group, our diverse backgrounds have led to a much stronger, more comprehensive product. Unique approaches and differing knowledge bases created initial discourse and clash, but this superficial conflict forced us to face our assumptions, to challenge our mindsets, and to expand our perspectives. In the end, our conflicts became sources of innovation; our differences became complements.

It is in this way we must approach global challenges – challenging each other, inspiring each other, complementing each other.

From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines,

Going where I list, my own master, total and absolute,

Listening to others, and considering well what they say,

Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,

Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.

I inhale great draughts of space;

The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.

I am larger, better than I thought;

I did not know I held so much goodness.

All seems beautiful to me;

I can repeat over to men and women, You have done such good to me,

I would do the same to you.

I will recruit for myself and you as I go;

I will scatter myself among men and women as I go;

I will toss the new gladness and roughness among them;

Whoever denies me, it shall not trouble me;

Whoever accepts me, he or she shall be blessed, and shall bless me.

–Walt Whitman, “Song of the Open Road”