My sister and I are close, talking on the phone several times a week, the occasional chit-chat online, checking out boy news, school news and petit gossip — staying on top of each other’s lives in general. She has even visited me at Cornell a few times. However, I have only seen her school, Bard College, once and briefly so, when I helped her move in as a freshman. That visit was dominated by runs to Target, moving furniture, getting lost on campus, filling out forms and shuffling around awkward orientation meetings. Now, with a year come and gone, her college life had taken root, and it was time for me to visit and see what my little sister’s world had become. I wanted to see what her school was really about.
As is with Cornell’s remote location, it’s quite a treat to travel anywhere, having to make an expensive connection with New York or, in this case, Syracuse. I was helped on to the battered silver bullet of the Amtrak car by an oldish, gentlemanly conductor, and made sure to get a seat next to a wide window. I plugged in my iPod and, as I always do on weekend trips, forgot about any homework I had planned to do. The train went down along the wide and spectacular Hudson River Valley, with speckling orange trees hinting at the fall glory to come. Bard College sits right on its riverbanks and, for the first time, I considered the possibility that there might a more beautiful place to go to school than Cornell.
Before I even arrived at Bard, I knew to expect a variety of minor culture shocks — it’s a rather extreme opposite of Cornell. It’s tiny, with just over 2,600 students enrolled, which is a fraction of a Cornell class. On a short walk to the cafeteria, my sister will greet nearly everyone she passes. Everybody lives on campus. Compared to Cornell’s vast swamp of faces spread out through various areas of North, West and Collegetown, Bard is a cozy little neighborhood unto itself. There is no police force, only one security guard called Cliff, adored by all for his good-humored tolerance for their frequent mischief.
This smallness not only lends a social intimacy, but an encouraging familiarity between the staff and students that creates a precious academic environment. There are no obscure, unknown professors and advising is not a once-a-semester affair. There is a real sense of commitment in its faculty — for instance, much unlike Cornell’s Presidential carousel, Bard’s famously progressive and accomplished Leon Botstein has been President of the College since 1975. Also a conductor and director for the American Symphony, he has designed Bard as a true liberal arts college, where education is an intensely personal experience. My sister’s workload is demanding, challenging and it’s quite hard to come by A’s. Yet she loves her classes, so she’s happy. Ideals of success are a far cry from the ones projected at Cornell. And, yes, there is a world outside the Ivies.
Of course, besides sizing up its environment and academics, I partied there too. All the people I saw over the weekend were the very attractive, very hip type—with silky asymmetrical haircuts, skinny jeans, colorful shoes and tight concert t-shirts. The first party was quite normal and fun, with a touch of wild, but Camila and I didn’t stay long. We found out the next day that some eager guests had an inordinately public display of affection (Lust? Drunkenness? Both?) on the front lawn after we left. Only my jaw dropped. Camila giggled, but was generally unsurprised.
The next party in the campus center was wilder. It was celebrating the annual release of Bard’s artistic nude publication. It started with a little fashion show that was mainly concerned with getting the fashion off. Shirts and skirts flipped up and fell off and it ended with full nudity. The editors invited attendees to do the same. The theme, “Sex and Politics,” was quickly forgotten. Despite my minor fright, I played it cool. I’m not scared of the human body, right? Went outside a few times for cigarette breaks. I was a good sport. I danced and drank. Tried not to stare. I kept my clothes on. My sister did too. Did I already mentione this was in Bard’s campus center? Imagine a crazy ole naked party in Libe Café. I was in a different world and loving it. I knew my darling, nutty sister was very, very happy here.
This is one special example of my many college trips, which I have loved to do ever since coming to Cornell. The American college campus is a wonderful thing, providing a nucleated living and studying space for young adults on the cusps of their lives. When you visit a campus, you enter a small world and a big home. Disregarding any amount of diversity a student body might have, the college experience is very much a shared one and every institution is unique. I have spent weekends visiting friends at Georgetown, Princeton, Colgate, Brandeis, Boston University, Tufts and of course, Bard. I see where the cool dorms are. The most social café. Their proud landmarks. Their new friends. Each visit is special and memorable, as I am not merely scuffling along a walking tour, but participating in the world of students, my friends and baby sister. Through the weekend, as I see how happy they are, I always think — “Could I ever go here? What if I ended up here? Would I be a different person?” — as I peek into the new lives of those closest to me.
Yet, every time I roll back on to Cornell’s campus on Sunday, I do know that I am coming home, to the right place, my place.
Erin Geld is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. She can be contacted at esg24@cornell.edu. The Sampling appears alternate Wednesdays.