In the wake of terror scares, floods, earthquakes and riots that may threaten Cornell students abroad, the University issued a new travel policy on May 26, 2011, to help protect the 1,400 Cornellians studying abroad.

Amelia Brown '12 examines all that glitters in Dubai

Suzanne Baumgarten contemplates difference (and in the end perhaps similarities) between acknowledged artistic masterworks and the art found everyday.

The Icelandic volcano eruption that has left thousands of travelers stranded across the globe has left at least one refugee in Tompkins County and has stranded several Cornellians studying abroad in Europe at various spring break locations, unable to return to their host countries. 

At approximately the same time The Sun hit newsstands this morning, I was on the other side of the planet in a plane touching down in Rome, Italy to meet up with a few Cornellians studying abroad. For the next two weeks Claire Moser ’11, Danny Solomon ’10 and I will be gallivanting from Paris to Amsterdam to London having the extended Spring Break of our lives (I hope!).

I got up last Wednesday already preparing myself for what has become one of only three school days a week.

Hello again. Welcome back to beautiful Ithaca, land of chapped lips and unattractive winter boots. I hope you all had a great break — though I'm not sure it could have been as interesting as mine.

Apparently, people over 70 years old can sing. I don’t mean sing a little tune — I mean opera singer status. There’s this one particular woman who solos every once in a while, and when she opens her mouth, she really belts it out, singing with every bone in her body, every muscle, every organ.

I’ve never known I was closer to home than when I was flying back from Paris, France to Dallas, Texas, and found a SkyMall magazine in my seat pocket. Granted, I was flying high on Dramamine and a Jim Beam and Coke, but I could have sworn I had died and gone to aeronautic heaven. America, I’d missed you: Who could have forgotten such knick-knack paddy whack pleasures still exist?

Perusing this catalog of crap is almost like the joy I felt as a child picking out a gross (144 pieces) of worthless birthday party favors from Oriental Trading Company (...the name is for real). I was in deep, puppy-sick love with the materiality of shitty goods. Mmm, first world buying power, you taste so sweet.

Last Saturday, I touched down in London-Town with my eyes wide, my hopes high and my fake British accent well-rehearsed and ready to go. I turned my back on the more obvious, tropical, MTV-sponsored locales for the first time and packed my bags for a sun- and body shot-free zone. Just hours into my journey, high above the Atlantic, I was certain I’d made the right choice. Although I admit this may have had something to do with the combination of sitting next to an empty seat on the plane and/or the Valium my lovely mom slipped in my carry-on, my excitement prevailed and after seven pleasant air-borne hours I approached the friendly-looking immigration officer with a skip in my step and a smile.

Officer: “Passport?” … Why of course, sir.