Rosary College - Yearbook (River Forest, IL)

Page 18 text:

FRIBOURG A strange tense excitement filled our hearts as the HMS MAURETANIA bellowed forth her final plaintive whistle of farewell to America. Pressed against the deck railing, we anxiously scanned the bleak horizon for one last loving look at the majestic lady who guards our home port. This was it — that long-awaited day when we were to set out on the high seas for our junior year abroad. The six and a half days that followed were wondrous ones, filled with tangy salt spray and fresh ocean winds. How young and gay were our hearts as we hustled down the gang plank in Cork, Ireland! We jogged in pony carts through the streets of Cork, vigorously kissed the Blarney Stone, and danced the Irish jig in Killarney. Shakespeare emerged from the text-book and became a living, breathing man when we visited his shrine at Stratford-on-Avon. A grim realization of the futility of war came to us as we gazed on the bomb ruins of London. A day of gliding in a touring boat through the canals of old Amsterdam was brought to a boisterous finish as we clomped around our hotel rooms in our newly- purchased wooden shoes. It was in Brussels that we stammered out our first feeble phrases in French a ramericaine. In Bruges, Belgium, we marvelled, saucer-eyed, at the deftly-flying fingers of the lace-makers. Suddenly we realized with a start that our first month of travel was over and that the next stop was home, the Villa des Fougeres, in Fribourg, Switzerland. For us, Fribourg will ever hold a wealth of warm and joyful memories. Nestled in the rolling hills between the Alps and the Jura mountains, it embraces the old and the new in a fantastic pattern. Strolling along the modern boulevard of Perolles, one can see on the surrounding hills the three remaining towers of the medieval town walls; to- day little girls in bobby socks playfully sprinkle one another with water at the same public fountain where mothers did the family laundry four hundred years ago! Centrally located in town, the Villa is, from the outside, a storybook Swiss chalet. But one need only open the front door a wee crack, and it is immediately evident that here lies a bit of the U.S.A. Somewhere a ping-pong ball bounces ceaselessly, the tempting aroma of hamburgers frying fills the air (thanks to Sister Paulina, O.P., the Villa's culinary genius), and Bing Crosby croons in the distance. There is Sister George, the Villa Mom, watching carefully and lovingly over her brood of noisy chicks, and chiding them, with a twinkle in her eye, when she hears English in her maison fran- caise. Sister Cinthia, Sister Marie Michele, Sister Annora, and Mademoiselle Bessaud are all there, each adding in her own individual way to the charm and gaiety which is Fougeres. All classes are held in French, both at the Villa and at the University, and more than several days passed before that magic door swung open and we began to compre- hend. The University, where most of us attended some classes, is startling with its modern architectural lines. It was here that we became acquainted with students from more than fifteen different nations, and learned that international peace and friendship could be more than a naive, idealistic dream.